Prologue -
Our play's a parallel: the Holy League
Begot our Cov'nant, Guisards got the Whig;
Whate'er our hot-brained sheriffs did advance
Was, like our fashions, first produced in France;
And when worn out, well scourged, and banished there,
Sent over like their godly beggars here.
Could the same trick, twice played, our nation gull?
It looks as if the devil were grown dull,
Or served us up in scorn his broken meat,
And thought we were not worth a better cheat.
The fulsome cov'nant one would think in reason
Had given us all our bellies-full of treason;
And yet, the name but changed, our nasty nation
Chaws its own excrement, th' Association.
'Tis true we have not learned their pois'ning way,
For that's a mode but newly come in play;
Besides, your drug's uncertain to prevail,
But your true Protestant can never fail
With that compendious instrument, a flail.
Go on, and bite, ev'n though the hook lies bare,
Twice in one age expel the lawful heir;
Once more decide religion by the sword,
And purchase for us a new tyrant lord.
Pray for your King, but yet your purses spare,
Make him not two pence richer by your prayer.
To show you love him much, chastise him more,
And make him very great, and very poor.
Push him to wars, but still no pence advance,
Let him lose England to recover France.
Cry freedom up with popular noisy votes,
And get enough to cut each other's throats;
Lop all the rights that fence your monarch's throne,
For fear of too much power, pray leave him none.
A noise was made of arbitrary sway,
But in revenge you Whigs have found a way
An arbitrary duty now to pay.
Let his own servants turn to save their stake,
Glean from his plenty, and his wants forsake;
But let some Judas near his person stay
To swallow the last sop and then betray.
Make London independent of the crown,
A realm apart, the Kingdom of the Town.
Let ignoramus juries find no traitors,
And ignoramus poets scribble satires.
And that your meaning none may fail to scan,
Do what in coffee-houses you began:
Pull down the master and set up the man.
Begot our Cov'nant, Guisards got the Whig;
Whate'er our hot-brained sheriffs did advance
Was, like our fashions, first produced in France;
And when worn out, well scourged, and banished there,
Sent over like their godly beggars here.
Could the same trick, twice played, our nation gull?
It looks as if the devil were grown dull,
Or served us up in scorn his broken meat,
And thought we were not worth a better cheat.
The fulsome cov'nant one would think in reason
Had given us all our bellies-full of treason;
And yet, the name but changed, our nasty nation
Chaws its own excrement, th' Association.
'Tis true we have not learned their pois'ning way,
For that's a mode but newly come in play;
Besides, your drug's uncertain to prevail,
But your true Protestant can never fail
With that compendious instrument, a flail.
Go on, and bite, ev'n though the hook lies bare,
Twice in one age expel the lawful heir;
Once more decide religion by the sword,
And purchase for us a new tyrant lord.
Pray for your King, but yet your purses spare,
Make him not two pence richer by your prayer.
To show you love him much, chastise him more,
And make him very great, and very poor.
Push him to wars, but still no pence advance,
Let him lose England to recover France.
Cry freedom up with popular noisy votes,
And get enough to cut each other's throats;
Lop all the rights that fence your monarch's throne,
For fear of too much power, pray leave him none.
A noise was made of arbitrary sway,
But in revenge you Whigs have found a way
An arbitrary duty now to pay.
Let his own servants turn to save their stake,
Glean from his plenty, and his wants forsake;
But let some Judas near his person stay
To swallow the last sop and then betray.
Make London independent of the crown,
A realm apart, the Kingdom of the Town.
Let ignoramus juries find no traitors,
And ignoramus poets scribble satires.
And that your meaning none may fail to scan,
Do what in coffee-houses you began:
Pull down the master and set up the man.
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