MR. HAYNES His Recantation-Prologue Upon his first Appearance on the STAGE AFTER HIS RETURN from ROME.  
AS you dislikt the Converts of the Nation,  
That went to Rome, and left your Congregation;  
By the same Rule, pray, kindly entertain  
Your Penitent lost Sheep return'd again:  
For Reconverted Haynes( taught by the Age.)  
Is now come back to's Primitive Church— the Stage,  
And owns his Crimes; that's leaving in the Lurch  
His Mother Play-House, She's my Mother Church.  
As Penitents some go from you to Rome,  
A Penitent from Rome to you I come;  
Tho' I, from you to Rome, did never go  
As renegade to Her, but Spy for you:  
For seeing the Beau's and Banterer's every Day,  
tired, even with themselves, in every Play,  
I went to Rome, to seek out Fops more new,  
And more Ridiculous than any of you,  
A Miracle from Rome I thought might do.  
Besides, when I left you, ye all designed for Rome,  
But seeing you came not over— I came home,  
Like most of you, finding myself mistaken,  
I early tacked about to save my Bacon. Pox on't,  
At Rome, a Godly Part they made me Play,  
A damned unnatural one for me you'l fay,  
They would not let me Drink, nor Roar, nor Swear,  
But fobbed me off with Penance and with Prayer;  
Guess how that Penance went down with a Player.  
That ever any Player should ha'the Face  
Ere to pretend to such a thing as Grace!  
Never in all that time to break a Jest!  
Nor ever drink one Bumper to the Best!  
'twas very hard. Indeed th' Italian Nation  
Did put this Phiz a little out of Fashion:  
But yielding Nature, and this Tempting Place  
Confirms me Flesh and Blood now,' spite of Grace;  
Therefore Dear Loving Sisters of the Pit,  
Again, your Brother Renegade admit;  
And don't esteem me less, 'cause I did live  
Where saucy Boys claim your Prerogative. No Sisters, no,  
I ne'er turned heretic— in Love at least  
To Decent Whoring kept my Thoughts still Chast.  
For you, Pert Gallants, who are daily known  
To love all Whores— But her of Babylon.  
You'll ne'er damn Haynes for his Religion;  
For to make us of any, Me or You,  
Were such a Miracle Rome ne'er could do. Well Sirs,  
Being thus confessed, and freed from Rome's Pollution, Kneeling  
I beg from your kind Hands, my Absolution.   

LONDON, Printed for Richard Baldwin, near the Black Bull in the Old bailie, 1689.