that in a great Meafure I owe the fmall Share of Letters I have to your Lordship. For Your Lordship's Example taught me to be asham'd of Idlenefs; and I firft grew in love with Books, and learn'd to value them, by the wonderful Progrefs which even in Your tender Years You made in them; fo that Learning and Improvement grew daily more and more lovely in my Eyes, as they fhone in You.

Your Lordship has an extraordinary Reafon to be a Patron of Poetry, for Your great Father lov'd it. May Your Lordfhip's Fame and Employments grow as great or greater than his were; and may Your Virtues find a Poet to record them, equal (if poffible) to that great * Genius which fung of him.

My flender humble Talent muft not hope for it; for You have a Judgment which I must always submit to, to a general Goodness which I never (to its worth) can value: And who can praise that well which he knows not how to comprehend?

Already the Eyes and Expectations of Men of the beft Judgment are fix'd upon

You:

*Mr. Waller.

You: For wherefoever You come, You have their Attention when present, and their Praise when You are gone: And I am fure (if I obtain but your Lordship's Pardon) I fhall have the Congratulation of all my Friends, for having taken this Opportunity to exprefs myself,

Your Lordship's

moft bumble Servant,

THO. OTWAY.

PROLOGUE,

I

Spoken by Mr. BETTERTON.

N Ages paft, (when will thofe times renew?)
When Empires flourish'd, fo did Poets too.
When great Auguftus the World's Empire held.
Horace and Ovid's happy Verfe excell' d.
Ovid's foft Genius, and his tender Arts
Of moving Nature, melted hardeft Hearts..
It did th' Imperial Beauty, Julia, move
To liften to the Language of his Love.
Her Father honour'd him: And on her Breaft,
With ravish'd Senfe in her Embraces preft,
He lay tranfported, fancy-full and bleft.
Horace's lofty Genius boldlier rear'd

His manly Head, and through all Nature fteer'd;
Her richest Pleafures in his Verfe refin'd,
And wrought 'em to the Relish of the Mind.
He lafb'd, with a true Poet's fearless Rage,
The Villanies and Follies of the Age.
Therefore Mecenas, that great Fav'rite, rais'd
Him high, and by him was he highly prais'd.
Our Shakespear wrote too in an Age as bleft,
The happiest Poet of his Time, and beft;
A gracious Prince's Favour chear'd bis Mufe,
A conflant Favour he ne'er fear'd to lofe.
Therefore he wrote with Fancy unconfin'd,
And Thoughts that were Immortal as his Mind..
And from the Crop of his luxuriant Pen
E'er fince fucceeding Poets bumbly glean.

}

Though

wrong.

Though much the most unworthy of the Throng,
Our this Day's Poet fears he's done him
Like greedy Beggars that feals Sheaves away,
You'll find b'has rifled him of half a Play.
Amidst his bafer Drofs you'll fee it shine
Moft beautiful, amazing and Divine.

To fuch low Shifts, of late are Poets worn,
Whilft we both Wit's and Cæsar's absence mourn.
Oh! when will He and Poetry return?
When fhall we there again behold him fit
'Midft fhining Boxes and a Courtly Pit,
The Lord of Hearts, and Prefident of Wit?
When that bleft Day (quick may it come) appears,
His Cares once banish'd, and his Nation's Fears,
The joyful Mufes on their Hills fall fing
Triumphant Songs of Britain's happy King.
Plenty and Peace fhall flourish in our Isle,
And all things like the English Beauty fmile.
You, Criticks, fball forget your Natural Spite,
And Poets with unbounded Fancy write.
Ev'n this Day's Poet fhall be alter'd quite:
His Thoughts more loftily and freely flow;
And he himself, whilft you his Verse allow,
As much tranfported as he's humble now.

Dramatis