Chapter XI: Prologue

When Death's sharp scythe has mowed the hero down, The muse again awakes him to renown; She tells proud Fate that all her darts are vain, And bids the hero live and strut about again: Nor is she only able to restore, But she can make what ne'er was made before; Can search the realms of Fancy, and create What never came into the brain of Fate.

Forth from these realms, to entertain to-night, She brings imaginary kings and queens to light, Bids Common Sense in person mount the stage, And Harlequin to storm in tragick rage. Britons, attend; and decent reverence shew To her, who made th' Athenian bosoms glow; Whom the undaunted Romans could revere, And who in Shakespeare's time was worshipp'd here: If none of these can her success presage, Your hearts at least a wonder may engage: Oh I love her like her sister monsters of the age.

_Sneer_. Faith, sir, your friend has writ a very fine prologue.

_Fust_. Do you think so? Why then, sir, I must assure you, that friend is no other than myself. But come, now for the tragedy. Gentlemen, I must desire you all to clear the stage, for I have several scenes which I could wish it was as big again for.

2d Player _enters and whispers_ TRAPWIT.

2 _Play_. Sir, a gentlewoman desires to speak to you.

_Trap_. Is she in a chair?

_2 Play_. No, sir, she is in a riding-hood, and says she has brought you a clean shirt. [_Exit_.

_Trap_. I'll come to her.--Mr Fustian, you must excuse me a moment; a lady of quality hath sent to take some boxes. [_Exit_.

_Promp_. Common Sense, sir, desires to speak with you in the green-room.

_Fust_. I'll wait upon her.

_Sneer_. You ought, for it is the first message, I believe, you ever received from her. [_Aside_. [_Exeunt_ Fus. _and_ SNEER.

_Enter_ a Dancer.

_Dane_. Look'e, Mr Prompter, I expect to dance first goddess; I will not dance under Miss Minuet; I am sure I shew more to the audience than any lady upon the stage.

_Promp_. Madam, it is not my business.

_Dane_. I don't know whose business it is; but I think the town ought to be the judges of a dancer's merit; I am sure they are on my side; and if I am not used better, I'll go to France; for now we have got all their dancers away, perhaps they may be glad of some of ours.

_Promp_. Heyday! what's the matter?
[_A noise within_.

_Enter_ Player.

_Play_. The author and Common Sense are quarrelling in the green-room.

_Promp_. Nay, then, that's better worth seeing than anything in the play. [_Exit_ Promp.

_Danc_. Hang this play, and all plays; the dancers are the only people that support the house; if it were not for us they might act their Shakspeare to empty benches.