A Lenten Prologue Refused by the PLAYER'S.  
OUR Prologue-Wit grows flat: the Nap's worn off;  
And howsoe'er We turn, and trim the Stuff,  
The Gloss is gone, that looked at first so gaudy;  
'Tis now no Jest to hear young Girls talk Bawdy.  
But Plots, and Parties give new matter birth;  
And State Distractions serve you here for mirth!  
At England's cost Poets now purchase Fame  
While factious Heats destroy us, without Shame  
These wanton Nero's fiddle to the Flame.  
The Stage, like old Rump-Pulpits, is become  
The Scene of News, a furious Party's Drum.  
Here Poets beat their brains for Volunteers,  
And take fast hold of Asses by their Ears.  
Their jingling Rhyme for Reason here you swallow;  
Like Orpheus' Music it makes Beasts to follow.  
What an enlightening Grace is want of Bread?  
How it can change a libeler's Heart, and clear a Laureates Head!  
Open his eyes till the mad Prophet see 
Medal P. 14   
Plots working in a future power to be  
Traitors unformed to his Second Sight are clear;  
And Squadrons here, and Squadrons there appear;  
Rebellion is the Burden of the Seer.  
To Bays in Vision were of late revealed  
Whigg-Armies, 
Rehearsal Com. p. 31.  that at Knightsbridge lay concealed.  
And though no mortal eye could see't before  
The Battle was just entering at the Door! 
Rehearsally Comedy p. 52   
A dangerous Association— signed by None!  
The joiner's Plot to seize the King alone!  
Stephen with College made this Dire compact;  
The watchful Irish took 'em in the Fact—  
Of riding armed! Oh Traitorous Overt Act!  
With each of'em an ancient Pistol sided;  
Against the Statute in that Case provided.  
But why was such an Host of Swearers pressed?  
Their succour was ill Husbandry at best.  
Bayes' crowned Muse, by Sovereign Right of Satire,  
Without desert, can dubb a man a Traitor.  
And Toryes, without troubling Law, or Reason,  
By loyal Instinct can find Plots and Treason.  
But here's our Comfort, though they never scan  
The merits of the Cause, but of the Man,  
Our gracious Statesmen vow not to forsake  
Law 〈◊〉 that is made by Judges whom they Make.  
Behind the Curtain, by Court-Wires, with ease  
They turn those Pliant Puppets as they please.  
With frequent Parliaments our hopes they feed,  
Such shall be sure to meet— but when there's Need.  
When a sick State, and sinking Church call for 'em,  
Then 'tis our Tories most of all abhor 'em.  
Then Prayer, that Christian Weapon of defence,  
Grateful to Heaven, at Court is an Offence,  
If it dare speak th' untampered Nations sense.  
Nay Paper's Tumult, when our Senates cease;  
And some Men's Names alone can break the Peace.  
Petitioning disturbs the Kingdom's Quiet;  
As choosing honest Sheriffs makes a Ryott.  
To punish Rascals, and bring France to Reason,  
Is to be hot, and press things out of Season;  
And to damn Popery is Irish Treason.  
To love the King, and Knaves about him hate,  
Is a Fanatic Plot against the State.  
To Skreen his Person from a Popish Gun  
Has all the mischief in't of Forty One.  
To save our Faith and keep our Freedom's Charter,  
Is once again to make a Royal Martyr.  
This Logic is of Tories deep inditing  
The very best they have— but Oaths, and Fight.  
Let 'em then chime it on, if 'twill oblige ye,  
And Roger vapour o'er us in Effigy.  
Let 'em in Ballads give their folly Vent,  
And sing up Nonsense to their Heart's content.  
If for the King (as All's pretended) they  
May here drink Healths, and curse, sure We may pray.  
Heaven once more keep him then for Healing Ends  
Safe from old Foes— but most from his new Friends!  
Such Protestants as prop a Popish Cause,  
And loyal men, that break all Bound of Laws!  
Whose Pride is with his Servants Salaries fed,  
And when they have scarce left him a Crust of Bread,  
Their corrupt Fathers foreign Steps to follow,  
Cheat even of scraps, and that last Sopp would swallow.  
French Fetters may this Isle no more endure;  
Spite of Rome's Arts stand England's Church secure,  
Not from such Brothers as desire to mend it,  
But false Sons, who designing worse to rend it  
With lewd Lives, and no Fortunes would defend it.  
FINIS.