Then Prologue
comes, Ads-lightikins, crys Sir John, You shall hear notable Conceits
anon: How neatly, Sir, he'll bob the Court and French King, And tickle
away- you know who- for Wenching. All this won't do, they e'en may
spare their Speeches, For all their greasing will not buy 'em
Britches; To get a penny new found ways must take, As forming Popes,
and Squibs and Crackers make. In Coffee-Houses some their talent vent,
Rail for the Cause against the Government, And make a pretty thriving
living on't, For who would let a useful Member want. Things being
brought to this distressed Estate, 'Twere fit you took the matter in
Debate. There was a time, when Loyally by you, True Wit and Sense
received Allegiance due, Our King of Poets had his Tribute pay'd, His
Peers secur'd beneath his Laurel's shade. What Crimes have they
committed, they must be Driven to the last and worst Extremity? Oh,
let it not be said of English Men, Who have to Wit so just and noble
been, They should their Loyal Principles recant, And let the glorious
Monarch of it want. THE END .
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