PROLOGUE

ΤΟ

AMBOYNA.

AS needy gallants in the scriveners' hands, Court the rich knave that gripes their mortgag'd

lands,

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The firft fat buck of all the feafon's fent,
And keeper takes no fee in compliment:
The dotage of fome Englishmen is such,
To fawn on those who ruin them-the Dutch.
They fhall have all, rather than make a war
With those who of the fame religion are.
The Straits, the Guinea trade, the herrings too,
Nay, to keep friendship, they shall pickle you. 10
Some are refolv'd not to find out the cheat,
But, cuckold like, love him who does the feat:
What injuries foe'er upon us fall,

Yet, ftill, The fame religion, answers all:
Religion wheedled

you

to civil war,

15

Drew English blood, and Dutchmen's now would fpare:

Be gull'd no longer, for you'll find it true, They have no more religion, faith-than you;

Intereft's the god they worship in their state; And you, I take it, have not much of that. 20 Well, monarchies may own religion's name, But ftates are atheifts in their very frame. They share a fin, and such proportions fall, That, like a stink, 'tis nothing to them all. How they love England, you shall see this day; No map fhews Holland truer than our play: 26 Their pictures and infcriptions well we know; We may be bold one medal fure to fhow. View then their falfehoods, rapine, cruelty; And think what once they were, they still would

be:

30

But hope not either language, plot, or art;
"Twas writ in hafte, but with an English heart:
And leaft hope wit; in Dutchmen that would be
As much improper, as would honefty.

EPILOGUE

ΤΟ

AMBOYNA.

A POET once the Spartans led to fight,
And made them conquer in the mufe's right;
So would our poet lead you on this day,
Showing your tortur'd fathers in his play.
To one well-born the affront is worfe, and more,
When he's abus'd, and baffled by a boor:
With an ill grace the Dutch their mifchiefs do,
They've both ill-nature and ill-manners too.
Well may they boaft themselves an ancient na-
tion,

6

For they were bred ere manners were in fashion; And their new commonwealth has fet them free,

Only from honour and civility.

Venetians do not more uncouthly ride,

11

Than did their lubber ftate mankind beftride; Their fway became them with as ill a mien, 15 As their own paunches fwell above their chin: Yet is their empire no true growth, but humour, And only two kings' touch can cure the tumour.

!

As Cato did his Afric fruits difplay,
So we before your eyes their Indies lay:
All loyal English will, like him, conclude,
Let Cæfar live, and Carthage be fubdued!

20

PROLOGUE

SPOKEN AT

THE OPENING OF THE NEW HOUSE*,

MARCH 26, 1674.

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A PLAIN built houfe, after fo long a stay,
Will fend you half unfatisfy'd away ;
When, fall'n from your expected pomp, you find
A bare convenience only is defign'd.
You, who each day can theatres behold,
Like Nero's palace, fhining all with gold,
Our mean ungilded stage will scorn, we fear,
And, for the homely room, difdain the chear.
Yet now cheap druggets to a mode are grown,
And a plain fuit, fince we can make but one, 100
Is better than to be by tarnish'd gawdry
known.

* This prologue must certainly have been written for the King's company, which I fuppofe at this time might have opened their houfe in Drury-lane. The reflection cast upon the taste of the town in these three lines,

""Twere folly now a stately pile to raise,

"To build a playhouse while you throw down plays, "While scenes, machines, and empty operas reign:"

is certainly levelled at the Duke's company, who had exhibited the Siege of Rhodes, and other expensive operas, and who now were getting up Pfyche, Circe, &c, DERRICK,