PROLOGUE TO THE REVIVED ALCHEMIST. THE Alchemist; Fire, breeding Gold, our Theme: Here must no Melancholy be, nor Phlegm. Young Ben, not Old, writ this, when in his Prime, Solid in Judgement, and in Wit sublime. The Sisters, who at Thespian Springs their Blood Cool with fresh Streams, All, in a Merry Mood, Their wat'ry Cups, and Pittances declined, At Bread-street's Mermaid with our Poet dined: Where, what they Drank, or who played most the Rig, Fame modestly conceals: but He grew big Of this prized Issue; when a Jovial Maid, His Brows besprinkling with Canary, said. Pregnant by Us, produce no Mortal Birth; Thy active Soul, quitting the sordid Earth, Shall mongst heavens glittering Hieroglyphics trade, And Pegasus, our winged Sumpter, jade, Who from Parnassus never brought to Greece, Nor Roman Stage, so rare a Masterpiece. This Story, true or false, may well be spared; The Actors are in question, not the Bard: How they shall humour their oft-varied Parts, To get your Money, Company, and Hearts, Since all Tradition, and like Helps are lost. Reading our Bill new pasted on the Post, Grave Stagers both, one, to the other said, The ALCHEMIST? What! are the Fellows mad? Who shall Doll Common Act? Their tender Tib's Have neither Lungs, nor Confidence, nor Ribs. Who Face, and Subtle? Parts, all Air, and Fire: They, whom the Author did Himself inspire, Taught, Line by Line, each Tittle, Accent, Word, ne'er reached His Height; all after, more absurd, Shadows of fainter Shadows, wheresoever A Fox he pencilled, copied out a Bear. Encouragement for young Beginners small: Yet howsoe'er we'll venture; have at All. Bold Ignorance (they say) falls seldom short In Camp, the Country, City, or the Court. Armed with the Influence of your fair Aspects, Ourselves we'll conquer, and our own Defects. A thousand Eyes dart rays into our Hearts, Would make Stones speak, and Stocks play well their Parts: Some few Malignant Beams we need not fear, Where shines such Glory in so bright a Sphere.