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THE ZAMBRA DANCE

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That what this poet writes comes short of Faintly, methought, she spoke; for all the you,

while And imitates you ill, (which most he fears,) She bid me not believe her, with a smile. Or else his writing is not worse than theirs. “ Then die,” said I: she still denied; Yet, tho' you judge (as sure the critics “ And is it thus, thus, thus,” she cried, will)

You use a harmless maid ? ” — and so she That some before him writ with greater

died ! skill, In this one praise he has their fame surpass'd,

I wak’d, and straight I knew, To please an age more gallant than the I lov'd so well, it made my dream prove last.

true:

Fancy, the kinder mistress of the two, SONGS

Fancy had done what Phyllis would not

do!
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Ah, cruel nymph, cease your disdain,
While I can dream, you scorn in vain

Asleep or waking, you must ease my pain. BENEATH a myrtle shade,

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Which love for none but happy lovers made,
I slept; and straight my love before me
brought

WHEREVER I am, and whatever I do, Phyllis, the object of my waking thought. My Phyllis is still in my mind; Undress'd she came my flames to meet, When angry, I mean not to Phyllis to go, While love strow'd flow'rs beneath her feet; My feet, of themselves, the

way

find: Flow'rs which, so press'd by her, became Unknown to myself I am just at her door, more sweet.

And, when I would rail, I can bring out

no more,

Than: “ Phyllis too fair and unkind !” From the bright vision's head A careless veil of lawn was loosely spread: From lier white temples fell her shaded When Phyllis I see, my heart bounds in my hair,

breast, Like cloudy sunshine, not too brown nor And the love I would stifle is shown; fair;

But asleep, or awake, I am never at rest, 10 Her hands, her lips, did love inspire;

When from my eyes Phyllis is gone. Her every grace my heart did fire:

Sometimes a sad dream does delude my sad But most her eyes, which languish'd with mind; desire.

But, alas! when I wake, and no Phyllis

I find,

How I sigh to myself all alone ! “Ah, charming fair,” said I, “ How long can you my bliss and yours deny ?

Should a king be my rival in her I adore, By nature and by love this lonely shade He should offer his treasure in vain: Was for revenge of suff’ring lovers made. O let me alone to be happy and poor, Silence and shades with love agree;

And give me my Phyllis again! Both shelter you and favor me:

Let Phyllis be mine, and but ever be kind, You cannot blush, because I cannot see.” I could to a desart with her be confin'd,

And envy no monarch his reign.

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“No, let me die," she said, " Rather than lose the spotless name of

maid!”

Alas! I discover too much of my love,

And she too well knows her own pow'r !

PROLOGUE SPOKEN THE FIRST DAY OF THE KING'S HOUSE ACTING AFTER THE FIRE

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[The Theater Royal in Drury Lane was burnt on January 25, 1672. (See FitzGerald : A New History of the English Stage, 1882; vol. i, p. 137.) The King's Company in their distress moved to the old playhouse in Lincoln's Inn Fields, which had recently been vacated by their rivals, the Duke of York's Company, in favor of a new and gaudy theater in Dorset Gardens; on February 26 they gave a performance of Beaumont and Fletcher's Wit without Money, for which Dryden wrote this prologue (Malone, I, 1, 76). The piece is printed anonymously in Westminster Drollery, the Second Part, 1672, and in Covent Garden Drollery, 1672; and, with Dryden's name, in Miscellany Poems, 1684, from which the present text and heading are taken.] So shipwrack'd passengers escape to land, So look they, when on the bare beach they

stand Dropping and cold, and their first fear

scarce o'er, Expecting famine on a desart shore. From that hard climate we must wait for

bread, Whence ev'n the natives, forc'd by hunger,

fled. Our stage does human chance present to

view, But ne'er before was seen so sadly true: You are chang'd too, and your pretense to see Is but a nobler name for charity. Your own provisions furnish out our feasts, While you the founders make yourselves the

guests. Of all mankind beside Fate had some)

care, But for poor Wit no portion did prepare: 'T is left a rent-charge to the brave and

fair. You cherish'd it, and now its fall you mourn, Which blind unmanner'd zealots make their

scorn, Who think that fire a judgment on the stage, Which spar'd not temples in its furious rage. But as our new-built city rises higher, So from old theaters may new aspire, Since Fate contrives magnificence by fire. Our great metropolis does far surpass Whate'er is now, and equals all that was: Our wit as far does foreign wit excel, And, like a king, should in a palace dwell.

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She. What her honor denied you in life,

In her death she will give to your

love.
Such a flame as is true
After fate will renew,

29 For the souls to meet closer above.

But we with golden hopes are vainly fed, Talk high, and entertain you in a shed: Your presence here, for which we humbly

sue, Will grace old theaters, and build up new.

PROLOGUE FOR THE WOMEN WHEN THEY ACTED AT THE OLD THEATER IN LINCOLN'S INN FIELDS

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PROLOGUE TO ARVIRAGUS,

REVIV'D

SPOKEN BY MR. HART

[The title proves that this prologue was written between February 26, 1672, when the King's Company began performances in the old theater, and March 26, 1674, when they opened their new house in Drury Lane. It probably came near the beginning of this period; otherwise the jests in it would have lost their savor. It was first printed in Miscellany Poems, 1684.] WERE none of you gallants e'er driven so

hard, As when the poor kind soul was under

guard, And could not do 't at home, in some by

street To take a lodging, and in private meet ? Such is our case: we can't appoint our

house, The lovers' old and wonted rendezvous, But hither to this trusty nook remove; The worse the lodging is, the more the love. For much good pastime, many a dear sweet

hug, Is stol'n in garrets on the humble rug. Here 's good accommodation in the pit; The grave demurely in the midst And so the hot Burgundian on the side Ply vizard-mask, and o'er the benches stride: Here are convenient upper boxes too For those that make the most triumphant

show; All that keep coaches must not sit below. There, gallants, you betwixt the acts retire, And at dull plays have something to ad

mire; We, who look up, can your addresses mark, And see the creatures coupled in the ark: So we expect the lovers, braves, and wits ; The gaudy house with scenes will serve for

cits.

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(Arviragus and Philicia, a tragi-comedy by Lodowick Carlell, was first published in 1639. The revival may be dated soon after the retreat of the King's Company to the old house at Lincoln's Inn Fields. This prologue was first printed, with title as above, in Miscellany Poems, 1684.] With sickly actors and an old house too, We're match'd with glorious theaters and

new, And with our alehouse scenes, and clothes

bare worn, Can neither raise old plays, nor new adorn. If all these ills could not undo us quite, A brisk French troop is grown your dear

delight, Who with broad bloody bills call you each

day, To laugh and break your buttons at their

play; Or see some serious piece, which we presume Is fall’n from some incomparable plume; And therefore, Messieurs, if you'll do us

grace, Send lackeys early, to preserve your place. We dare not on your privilege intrench, Or ask you why you like 'em. · They are

French. Therefore some go with courtesy exceeding, Neither to hear nor see, but show their

breeding; Each lady striving to out-laugh the rest, To make it seem they understood the jest. Their countrymen come in, and nothing pay, To teach us English where to clap the play: Civil, igad ! our hospitable land Bears all the charge, for them to understand: Meantime we languish, and neglected lie, Like wives, while you keep better company; And wish for our own sakes, without a

satire, You'd less good breeding, or had more

good nature.

may sit,

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PROLOGUE AND EPILOGUE TO [SECRET

LOVE, OR] THE MAIDEN QUEEN, WHEN ACTED BY THE WOMEN ONLY

[These two pieces are taken from Covent Garden Drollery, 1672. They must be of about the same date as the preceding prologue. Though they were

under Dry

worse,

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SPOKEN BY MRS, BOUTEL

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den's name in his lifetime, there seems no Yet at some weapons men have still the reason to doubt his authorship of them. The above heading is due in part to Christie.] Why should not then we women act

alone, PROLOGUE Or whence are men so necessary grown

? Ours are so old, they are as good as none.

Some who have tried 'em, if you'll take WOMEN like us (passing for men), you 'll their oaths, cry,

Swear they're as arrant tinsel as their Presume too much upon your secrecy.

clothes. There's not a fop in town but will pretend | Imagine us but what we represent, To know the cheat himself, or by his friend. And we could e'en give you as good conThen make no words on 't, gallants, 't is e'en

tent. true,

Our faces, shapes, all's better than you see, We are condemn'd to look, and strut, like And for the rest they want as much as we. you.

O would the highest powers be kind to us, Since we thus freely our hard fate con- And grant us to set up a female house ! fess,

We'll make ourselves to please both sexes Accept us these bad times in any dress.

then, You'll find the sweet on 't, now old pan- To the men women, to the women men. taloons

Here, we presume, our legs are no ill sight, Will go as far as formerly new gowns; And they would give you no ill dreams at And from your own cast wigs expect no

night. frowns.

In dreams both sexes may their passions The ladies we shall not so easily please;

ease; They 'll say: “What impudent bold things You make us then as civil as you please. are these,

This would prevent the houses joining too, That dare provoke, yet cannot do us right, At which we are as much displeas'd as Like men with huffing looks that dare not

you; fight !”

For all our women most devoutly swear, But this reproach our courage must not Each would be rather a poor actress here daunt:

Then to be made a Mamamouchi there. 30 The bravest soldier may a weapon want; Let her that doubts us still send her gallant.

PROLOGUE, EPILOGUE, AND Ladies, in us you 'll youth and beauty find,

SONGS FROM MARRIAGE À LA All things, but one, according to your mind;

MODE And when your eyes and ears are feasted here,

[The date of this lively comedy, by Dryden, Rise up and make out the short meal else- is fixed by the opening lines of the prologue, where.

which apparently “ allude to the equipment of

the fleet which afterwards engaged the Dutch EPILOGUE

off Southwold Bay, May 28, 1672” (Malone,

I, 1, 106). The play was printed in 1673. SPOKEN BY MRS. REEVES

The prologue and epilogue, and the second of What think you, sirs, was 't not all well

the two songs, were printed in the Covent

Garden Drollery, 1672; both songs appear also enough?

in New Court Songs and Poems, by R. V., Will you not grant that we can strut and

Gent., 1672; and the second of them in Westhuff ?

minster Drollery, the Second Part, 1672.] Men may be proud; but faith, for aught I see,

PROLOGUE They neither walk nor cock so well as we. And for the fighting part, we may in time LORD, how reform’d and quiet are we grown, Grow

up

to swagger in heroic rhyme; Since all our braves and all our wits are For tho' we cannot boast of equal force,

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Fop-corner now is free from civil war, For that's one way, howe'er the play fall White-wig and vizard make no longer jar.

short, France, and the fleet, have swept the town T'oblige the town, the city, and the court.

so clear That we can act in peace, and you can

EPILOGUE hear. [Those that durst fight are gone to get re- Thus have my spouse and I inform’d the nown,

nation, And those that durst not, blush to stand in And led you all the way to reformation; town.]

Not with dull morals, gravely writ, like 'T was a sad sight, before they march'd

those from home,

Which men of easy phlegm with care comTo see our warriors in red waistcoats

pose come,

(Your poets of stiff words and limber sense, With hair tuck'd up, into our tiring-room. Born on the confines of indifference;) But 't was more sad to hear their last But by examples drawn, I dare to say, adieu:

From most of you who hear and see the The women sobb’d, and swore they would be play. true;

There are more Rhodophils in this theater, And so they were, as long as e'er they More Palamedes, and some few wives, I could,

fear: But powerful guinea cannot be withstood, But yet too far our poet would not run; And they were made of playhouse flesh Tho' 't was well offer'd, there was nothing and blood.

done, Fate did their friends for double use or- He would not quite the woman's frailty dain;

bare, In wars abroad they grinning honor gain, But stripp'd 'em to the waist, and left 'em And mistresses for all that stay maintain.

there: Now they are gone,'t is dead vacation here, And the men's faults are less severely For neither friends nor enemies appear.

shown, Poor pensivę punk now peeps ere plays be- For he considers that himself is one. gin,

Some stabbing wits, to bloody satire bent, Sees the bare bench, and dares not venture Would treat both sexes with less compliin;

ment; But manages her last half-crown with care, Would lay the scene at home; of husbands And trudges to the Mall, on foot, for air.

teli, Our city friends so far will hardly come, For wenches taking up their wives i'th' They can take up with pleasures nearer Mell; home;

And a brisk bout, which each of them did And see gay shows and gaudy scenes else

want, where;

Made by mistake of mistress and gallant. For we presume they seldom come to hear. Our modest author thought it was enough But they have now ta’en up a glorious To cut you off a sample of the stuff: trade,

He spar'd my shame, which you,

I'm

sure, And cutting Morecraft struts in masquer

would not, ade.

For you were all for driving on the plot: There's all our hope, for we shall show You sigh’d when I came in to break the to-day

sport, A masking ball, to recommend our play; And set your teeth when each design fell Nay, to endear 'em more, and let 'em see

short. We scorn to come behind in courtesy, To wives and servants all good wishes lend, We'll follow the new mode which they be- But the poor cuckold seldom finds a friend. gin,

Since, therefore, court and town will take And treat 'em with a room, and couch no pity, within:

I humbly cast myself upon the city.

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