A Prologue to Don Carlos

'Twas long debated, wheither to a Play, So known as this, which we present to-day, A Prologue, for the Audience shou'd be writt, To add to all the rest, th' expence of Witt; When in this Kingdom, 'tis so hard to find, And from such store of Mints, so little's coin'd, That shou'd the Muses senate, dam̄ the old, The new, no pleasing com̄erce cou'd uphold; Which makes us a supply, to treat you seek From such a Bank, as time nor chance can break; And Ottaway's heroick thoughts, rehearse; Love in his Lines, and dye in his smooth Verse. Not tire ye, with a Farce, on powder'd Beauxs, Who like some Trees, thrive with redoubl'd blows; And a new crop of tawdry follys bear, After the lash, of each satirick year; Whom Silence mortifys the surer way, Since Beaux, unminded, only do decay. Nor shall we greive Ladys, with fading Graces, By any Plott, but shewing yonger faces. We'll allso spare our safe return'd com̄anders, And be as mild, as their campagn in Flanders. Nay, tho' we'll poyson too, the Queen of Spain, It sha'nt be long, ere she revives again. In our design, no secret malice lyes, And All may 'scape, that can withstand our Eyes. But Gentlemen, Ill tell ye, least ye say Ye were surpris'd, and vanquish'd by foul play, Our Eyes, for conquest, are so well prepar'd, You'd need be warn'd to stand upon your guard. The Black, with unsheath'd glances, all defying, The softer Grey, in dang'rous Ambush lying, And on each Cheeck, the youthfull colours flying, Which we expect, shou'd no resistance meet, Till every heart, lyes beating at our feet. Now, if you'll stay, repent itt not hereafter, When that subdu'd, you find we give no quarter; Nor think itt hard, we put stale witt upon you, Who shew fresh Beauty, and excuse your mony.