  Prologue spoken by Mrs. Cook the first Day. Written by Mrs. Behn. The Fair on the Thames so called. With that assurance we to day address, As standard Beauties, certain of Success. With careless Pride at once they charm and vex, And scorn the little Censures of their Sex. Sure of the unregarded Spoyl, despise The needless Affectation of the Eyes, The softening Languishment that faintly warms, But trust alone to their resistless Charms. So we secur'd by undisputed Wit, Disdain the damning Malice of the Pit, Nor need false Arts to set great Nature off, Or studied tricks to force the Clap and Laugh. For here's no Theam for you to work upon. Faith seem to talk to Jenny, I advise, Of who likes who, and how Loves Markets rise. Try these hard Times how to abate the Price; Tell her how cheap were Damsels on the Ice. 'Mongst City-Wives, and Daughters that came there, How far a Guinny went at Blanket-Fair. Thus you may find some good Excuse for failing Of your beloved Exercise of Railing. That when Friend cryes—How did the Play succeed? Deme, I hardly minded—what they did. We shall not your Ill-nature please to day, With some fond Scribblers new uncertain Play, Loose as vain Youth, and tedious as dull Age, Or Love and Honour that o're-runs the Stage. Fam'd and substantial Authors give this Treat, And 'twill be solemn, Noble all and Great. Wit, sacred Wit, is all the bus'ness here; Great Fletcher, and the greater Rochester. Now name the hardy Man one fault dares find, In the vast Work of two such Heroes joyn'd. None but Great Strephon's soft and pow'rful Wit Durst undertake to mend what Fletcher writ, Different their heav'nly Notes; yet both agree To make an everlasting Harmony. Listen, ye Virgins, to his charming Song, Eternal Musick dwelt upon his Tongue. The Gods of Love and Wit inspir'd his Pen, And Love and Beauty was his glorious Theam. Now, Ladies, you may celebrate his Name, Without a scandal on your spotless Fame. With Praise his dear lov'd Memory pursue, And pay his Death, what to his Life was due. |
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