Classic Poem

PROLOGUE

Is it not strange to hear a poet say,
He comes to ask you how you like the play?
You have not seen it yet! alas! 'tis true;
But now your love and hatred judge, not you;
And cruel factions, brib'd by interest, come,
Not to weigh merit, but to give their doom.
Our poet therefore, jealous of th' event,
And (tho' much boldness takes) not confident,
Has sent me whither you, fair ladies, too,
Sometimes upon as small occasions go,
And from this scheme, drawn for the hour and day,
Bid me inquire the fortune of his play.
First Astrol. [ Reads. ] A figure of the heavenly bodies in their several apartments, Feb. the 5th, half an hour after three after noon, from whence you are to judge the success of a new play call'd The Wild Gallani .
2 Astrol. Who must judge of it, we, or these gentlemen? — We'll not meddle with it, so tell your poet. Here are in this house the ablest mathematicians in Europe for his purpose.
They will resolve the question ere they part.
1 Astrol. Yet let us judge it by the rules of art.
First Jupiter, the ascendant's lord disgrac'd,
In the twelfth house, and near grim Saturn plac'd,
Denote short life unto the play.
2 Astrol. Jove yet,
In his apartment Sagittary set,
Under his own roof, cannot take much wrong.
1 Astrol. Why then the life's not very short, nor long.
2 Astrol. The luck not very good, nor very ill.
Prolo. That is to say, 'tis as 'tis taken still.
1 Astrol. But, brother, Ptolemy the learned says,
'Tis the fifth house from whence we judge of plays.
Venus, the lady of that house, I find
Is peregrine: your play is ill design'd;
It should have been but one continued song,
Or at the least a dance of three hours long.
2 Astrol. But yet the greatest mischief does remain,
The twelfth apartment bears the lord of Spain;
Whence I conclude, it is your author's lot,
To be indanger'd by a Spanish plot.
Prolo. Our poet yet protection hopes from you,
But bribes you not with anything that's new.
Nature is old, which poets imitate,
And for wit, those that boast their own estate,
Forget Fletcher and Ben before them went,
Their elder brothers, and that vastly spent:
So much, 't will hardly be repair'd again,
Not tho' supplied with all the wealth of Spain.
This play is English, and the growth your own;
As such, it yields to English plays alone.
He could have wish'd it better for your sakes,
But that in plays he finds you love mistakes:
Besides, he thought it was in vain to mend
What you are bound in honor to defend,
That English wit, (howe'er despis'd by some,)
Like English valor, still may overcome.

EPILOGUE

The Wild Gallant has quite play'd out his game;
He's married now, and that will make him tame;
Or, if you think marriage will not reclaim him,
The critics swear they'll damn him, but they'll tame him.
Yet, tho' our poet's threaten'd most by these,
They are the only people he can please,
For he, to humor them, has shown to-day
That which they only like, a wretched play.
But, tho' his play be ill, here have been shown
The greatest wits and beauties of the town;
And his occasion having brought you here,
You are too grateful to become severe.
There is not any person here so mean
But he may freely judge each act and scene;
But if you bid him choose his judges then,
He boldly names true English gentlemen;
For he ne'er thought a handsome garb or dress
So great a crime to make their judgment less;
And with these gallants he these ladies joins,
To judge that language their converse refines.
But if their censures should condemn his play,
Far from disputing, he does only pray
He may Leander's destiny obtain:
Now spare him, drown him when he comes again.