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therefore easily drawn to defpife what they know nothing of. But, my Lord, among all thefe mortifying Thoughts, it is still a Pleasure to the Mufes, to think there are fome Men of too delicate Understandings to give into the Taftes of a depraved Age; Men that have not only the Power but the Will, to protect thofe Arts which they love, because they are Mafters of them.

It would be very eafy for me to diftinguish one among thofe few, after the most advantageous Manner; but all Men of cominon Sense have concurred in doing it already, and there is no Need of a Panegyric.

I could be almoft tempted to expoftulate with the reft of the World (for I am fure there is no Occafion to make an Apology to Your Lordship) in Defence of Poetry. I am far from thinking of a good Poet, as the Stoics did of their Wife-man, that he was fufficient for every Thing, could be every Thing, and excel in every Thing, as he pleased; yet fure

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may be allowed to fay, that that Brightnefs, Quickness, that Strength and Greatness of Thinking, which is required in any of the nobler

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nobler Kinds of Poetry, would raise a Man to an uncommon Diftinction in any Profeffion or Business, that has a Relation to good Sense and Understanding. One modern Inftance can at least be given, where the fame Genius that fhone in Poetry, was found equal to the. firft Employments of the State; and where the fame Man, who by his Virtue and Wifdom was highly useful to, and inftrumental in the Safety and Happiness of his native Country, had been equally ornamental to it

in his Wit.

This is what I could not help faying, for the Honor of an Art which has been formerly the Favorite of the greatest Men. Not that it wants a Recommendation to Your Lordship, who have always been a conftant and generous Protector of it. This indeed would be much more properly faid to the World, and when I have told them what Men have equally adorned it, and been adorned by it, I might not unfitly apply to them, what Horace faid to the Pifo's,

Ne forté Pudori

Sit tibi Mufa Lyræ folers & Cantor Apollo

For

For my own inconfiderable Pretenfions to Verfe, I fhall, I confefs, think better- even of them, than I have ever yet done, if they. fhall afford me the Honor to be always thought,

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PROLOGUE,

Spoken by Mr. BETTERTON.

INCE to your fam'd Fore-Fathers quite contrary,
You from their Pleafures, as their Wisdom, vary;
What Art, what Method, fhall the Poet find,
To hit the Taste of each fantastic Mind?
Legions of Joys your wand'ring Fancies lead,
Like Summer Flies, which in the Shambles breed;
Each Year they fwarm anew, and to the laft fucceed.
Time was, when Fools by Fellowship were known;
But now they stray; and in this populou's Town
Each Coxcomb has a Folly of his own.

Some drefs, fome dance, fome play; not to forget
Your Piquet Parties, and your dear Baffet.

Some praife, fome rail, fome bow, and some make Faces;
Your Country Squires hunt Foxes, your Court, Places.
The City ico fills up the various Scene,

Where Fools lay Wagers, and where wife Men win.
One rails at Cælia for a late Mifchance;

One grumbles, and cries up the Pow'r of France.
This Man talks Politics, and that takes Pills;
One cures his own, and one the Nation's Ills.

Now Fidling, and the Charms of Sing-Song, win ye;
Harmonious Peg, and warbling Valentini.

As to your Drinking---but, for That, we spare it,
Nor with your other vile Delights compare it,
There's fomething more than Sound, there's Senfe in Claret.
Mean-phile neglected Verfe, in long Disgrace,
Among ft your many Pleafures finds no Place;
The virtuous Laws of Common-fenfe forfavearing,
You damn us like packt Juries, without hearing.

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Each

Each puny Whipfter here, is Wit enough,
With scornful Airs, and fupercilious Snuff,
To cry, This Tragedy's fuch damn'd grave Stuff.
But now we hope more equal Judges come,
Since Flanders fends the gen'rous Warriors home:
You that have fought for Liberty and Laws,
Whofe Valor the proud Gallic Tyrant awes,
Join to affert the finking Mufes Caufe;
Since the fame Flame, by different Ways expreft,
Glows in the Hero's and the Poet's Breaft;

The fame great Thoughts, that roufe you to the Fight,
Infpire the Mufe, and bid the Poet write.

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