The Country Wife: Prologue

P R O L O G U E

Spoken by Mr. HART.

POETS, like Cudgell'd Bullies, never do
At first or second Blow submit to you;
But will provoke you still, and ne'er have done,
Till you are weary first, with laying on:
The late so baffled Scribler of this Day,
Though he stands trembling, bids me boldly say,
What we, before most Plays are us'd to do,
For Poets out of Fear, first draw on you;
In a fierce Prologue, the still Pit defy,
And e'er you speak, like Castril, give the Lye;
But tho' our Bays's Battles oft I've fought,
And with bruis'd Knuckles, their dear Conquests bought;
Nay, never yet fear'd Odds upon the Stage,
In Prologue dare not hector with the Age,
But wou'd take Quarter from your saving hands,
Tho' Bays within all yielding countermands,
Says, you confed'rate Wits no Quarter give,
Therefore his Play shan't ask your leave to live:
Well, let the vain rash Fop, by huffing so,
Think to obtain the better Terms of you;
But we, the Actors, humbly will submit,
Now, and at any time, to a full Pit;
Nay, often we anticipate your Rage,
And murder Poets for you on our Stage:
We set no Guards upon our Tyring-Room,
But when with flying Colours, there you come,
We patiently you see, give up to you,
Our Poets, Virgins, nay our Matrons too.