_Fust_. This prologue was writ by a friend.

PROLOGUE.

When Death's sharp scythe has mowed the hero down, The muse again awakes him to renown; She tells proud Fate that all her darts are vain, And bids the hero live and strut about again: Nor is she only able to restore, But she can make what ne'er was made before; Can search the realms of Fancy, and create What never came into the brain of Fate.

Forth from these realms, to entertain to-night, She brings imaginary kings and queens to light, Bids Common Sense in person mount the stage, And Harlequin to storm in tragick rage.

Britons, attend; and decent reverence shew To her, who made th' Athenian bosoms glow; Whom the undaunted Romans could revere, And who in Shakespeare's time was worshipp'd here: If none of these can her success presage, Your hearts at least a wonder may engage: Oh I love her like her sister monsters of the age.

_Sneer_. Faith, sir, your friend has writ a very fine prologue.

_Fust_. Do you think so? Why then, sir, I must a.s.sure you, that friend is no other than myself. But come, now for the tragedy. Gentlemen, I must desire you all to clear the stage, for I have several scenes which I could wish it was as big again for.

2d Player _enters and whispers_ TRAPWIT.

2 _Play_. Sir, a gentlewoman desires to speak to you.

_Trap_. Is she in a chair?

_2 Play_. No, sir, she is in a riding-hood, and says she has brought you a clean shirt. [_Exit_.

_Trap_. I'll come to her.--Mr Fustian, you must excuse me a moment; a lady of quality hath sent to take some boxes. [_Exit_.

_Promp_. Common Sense, sir, desires to speak with you in the green-room.

_Fust_. I'll wait upon her.

_Sneer_. You ought, for it is the first message, I believe, you ever received from her. [_Aside_.

[_Exeunt_ Fus. _and_ SNEER.

_Enter_ a Dancer.

_Dane_. Look'e, Mr Prompter, I expect to dance first G.o.ddess; I will not dance under Miss Minuet; I am sure I shew more to the audience than any lady upon the stage.

_Promp_. Madam, it is not my business.

_Dane_. I don't know whose business it is; but I think the town ought to be the judges of a dancer's merit; I am sure they are on my side; and if I am not used better, I'll go to France; for now we have got all their dancers away, perhaps they may be glad of some of ours.

_Promp_. Heyday! what's the matter?

[_A noise within_.

_Enter_ Player.

_Play_. The author and Common Sense are quarrelling in the green-room.

_Promp_. Nay, then, that's better worth seeing than anything in the play. [_Exit_ Promp.

_Danc_. Hang this play, and all plays; the dancers are the only people that support the house; if it were not for us they might act their Shakspeare to empty benches.

ACT IV.

SCENE I.--_Enter_ FUSTIAN _and_ SNEERWELL.

_Fust_. These little things, Mr Sneerwell, will sometimes happen. Indeed a poet undergoes a great deal before he comes to his third night; first with the muses, who are humorous ladies, and must be attended; for if they take it into their head at any time to go abroad and leave you, you will pump your brain in vain: then, sir, with the master of a playhouse to get it acted, whom you generally follow a quarter of a year before you know whether he will receive it or no; and then, perhaps, he tells you it won't do, and returns it to you again, reserving the subject, and perhaps the name, which he brings out in his next pantomime; but if he should receive the play, then you must attend again to get it writ out into parts and rehea.r.s.ed. Well, sir, at last, the rehearsals begin; then, sir, begins another scene of trouble with the actors, some of whom don't like their parts, and all are continually plaguing you with alterations: at length, after having waded through all these difficulties, his play appears on the stage, where one man hisses out of resentment to the author, a second out of dislike to the house, a third out of dislike to the actor, a fourth out of dislike to the play, a fifth for the joke sake, a sixth to keep all the rest in company. Enemies abuse him, friends give him up, the play is d.a.m.ned, and the author goes to the devil: so ends the farce.

_Sneer_. The tragedy, rather, I think, Mr Fustian. But what's become of Trapwit?

_Fust_. Gone off, I suppose; I knew he would not stay; he is so taken up with his own performances, that he has no time to attend any others. But come, Prompter, will the tragedy never begin?

_Enter_ Prompter.

_Promp_. Yes, sir, they are all ready; come, draw up the curtain.

[FIREBRAND, LAW, _and_ PHYSICK _discovered_.

_Sneer_. Pray, Mr Fustian, who are these personages?

_Fust_. That in the middle, sir, is Firebrand, priest of the Sun; he on the right represents Law, and he on the left Physick.

_Fireb_. Avert these omens, ye auspicious stars!

_Fust_. What omens? where the devil is the thunder and lightning!

_Promp_. Why don't you let go the thunder there, and flash your rosin? [_Thunder and lightning_.

_Fust_. Now, sir, begin if you please. I desire, sir, you will get a larger thunderbowl and two pennyworth more of lightning against the representation. Now, sir, if you please.

_Fireb_. Avert these omens, ye auspicious stars!

O Law! O Physick! As last, even late, I offer'd sacred incense in the temple, The temple shook--strange prodigies appeared; A cat in boots did dance a rigadoon, While a huge dog play'd on the violin; And whilst I trembling at the altar stood, Voices were heard i' th' air, and seem'd to say, "Awake, my drowsy sons, and sleep no more."

They must mean something!--

_Law_. Certainly they must.

We have our omens too! The other day A mighty deluge swam into our hall, As if it meant to wash away the law: Lawyers were forced to ride on porters' shoulders: One, O prodigious omen! tumbled down, And he and all his briefs were sous'd together.

Now, if I durst my sentiments declare, I think it is not hard to guess the meaning.

_Fireb_. Speak boldly; by the powers I serve, I swear You speak in safety, even though you speak Against the G.o.ds, provided that you speak Not against priests.

_Law_. What then can the powers Mean by these omens, but to rouse us up From the lethargick sway of Common Sense?

And well they urge, for while that drowsy queen Maintains her empire, what becomes of us?