From the PROLOGUE - Spoken by Don Carlos
KNOW all ye Whigs and Tories of the Pit,
(Ye furious Guelphs and Gibelins of Wit,
Who for the Cause, and Crimes of Forty One
So furiously maintain the Quarrel on)
Our Author, as you'll find it writ in Story,
Has hitherto been a most wicked Tory ;
But now, to th' joy o'th' Brethren be it spoken,
Our Sister's vain mistaken Eyes ate open;
And wifely valuing her dear Interest now,
All-powerful Whigs, converted is to you.
'Twas long she did maintain the Royal Cause,
Argu'd, disputed, rail'd with great Applause;
Writ Madrigals and Doggerel on the Times,
And charg'd you all with your Fore-fathers Crimes;
Nay, confidently swore no plot was true,
But that so slyly carried on by you:
Rais'd horrid Scandals on you, hellish Stories,
In Conventicles how you eat young Tories;
As Jew did heretofore eat Christian Suckling;
And brought an Odium on your pious Gulling:
When this is all Malice it self can say,
You for the good Old Cause devoutly eat and pray,
Tho this one Text were able to convert ye,
Ye needy Tribe of Scriblers to the Party;
Yet there are more advantages than these,
For write, invent, and make what Plots you please,
The wicked Party keep your Witnesses,
Like frugal Cuckold-makers you beget
Brats that secur'd by others fires shall sit.
Your Conventicling Miracles out-do
All that the Whore of Babylon e'er knew:
By wondrous art you make Rogues honest Men,
And when you please transform 'em Rogues again.
To day a Saint, is he but hang a Papist,
Peach a true Protestant, your Saint's turn'd Atheist:
And dying Sacraments do less prevails
Than living ones, tho took in Lamb's-Wool-Ale.
Who wou'd not then be for a Common-weal,
To have the Villain cover'd with his Zeal?
A Zeal, who for Convenience can dispense
With Plays provided there's no Wit nor Sense.
For Wit's profane, ,and Jesuitical,
And Plotting's Popery, and the Devil and all.
We then have fitted you with one to day,
'Tis writ as 'twere a Recantation Play;
Renouncing all that has pretence to witty,
T' oblige the Reverend Brumigham's o' th' City:
No smutty Scenes, no Jests to move your Laughter,
Nor Love that so debauches all your Daughters.
But shou'd the Torys now, who will desert me,
Because they find no dry bobs on your Party,
Resolve to hiss, as late did Popish Crew,
By Yea and Nay, she'll throw her self on you,
The grand Inquest of Whigs, to whom she's true.
Then let 'em rail and hiss, and damn their fill,
Your Verdict will be Ignoramus still.
KNOW all ye Whigs and Tories of the Pit,
(Ye furious Guelphs and Gibelins of Wit,
Who for the Cause, and Crimes of Forty One
So furiously maintain the Quarrel on)
Our Author, as you'll find it writ in Story,
Has hitherto been a most wicked Tory ;
But now, to th' joy o'th' Brethren be it spoken,
Our Sister's vain mistaken Eyes ate open;
And wifely valuing her dear Interest now,
All-powerful Whigs, converted is to you.
'Twas long she did maintain the Royal Cause,
Argu'd, disputed, rail'd with great Applause;
Writ Madrigals and Doggerel on the Times,
And charg'd you all with your Fore-fathers Crimes;
Nay, confidently swore no plot was true,
But that so slyly carried on by you:
Rais'd horrid Scandals on you, hellish Stories,
In Conventicles how you eat young Tories;
As Jew did heretofore eat Christian Suckling;
And brought an Odium on your pious Gulling:
When this is all Malice it self can say,
You for the good Old Cause devoutly eat and pray,
Tho this one Text were able to convert ye,
Ye needy Tribe of Scriblers to the Party;
Yet there are more advantages than these,
For write, invent, and make what Plots you please,
The wicked Party keep your Witnesses,
Like frugal Cuckold-makers you beget
Brats that secur'd by others fires shall sit.
Your Conventicling Miracles out-do
All that the Whore of Babylon e'er knew:
By wondrous art you make Rogues honest Men,
And when you please transform 'em Rogues again.
To day a Saint, is he but hang a Papist,
Peach a true Protestant, your Saint's turn'd Atheist:
And dying Sacraments do less prevails
Than living ones, tho took in Lamb's-Wool-Ale.
Who wou'd not then be for a Common-weal,
To have the Villain cover'd with his Zeal?
A Zeal, who for Convenience can dispense
With Plays provided there's no Wit nor Sense.
For Wit's profane, ,and Jesuitical,
And Plotting's Popery, and the Devil and all.
We then have fitted you with one to day,
'Tis writ as 'twere a Recantation Play;
Renouncing all that has pretence to witty,
T' oblige the Reverend Brumigham's o' th' City:
No smutty Scenes, no Jests to move your Laughter,
Nor Love that so debauches all your Daughters.
But shou'd the Torys now, who will desert me,
Because they find no dry bobs on your Party,
Resolve to hiss, as late did Popish Crew,
By Yea and Nay, she'll throw her self on you,
The grand Inquest of Whigs, to whom she's true.
Then let 'em rail and hiss, and damn their fill,
Your Verdict will be Ignoramus still.
