Prologue to "King Arthur"

SPOKEN BY MR BETTERTON.

  Sure there's a dearth of wit in this dull town,
  When silly plays so savourily go down;
  As, when clipt money passes, 'tis a sign
  A nation is not over-stock'd with coin.
  Happy is he who, in his own defence,
  Can write just level to your humble sense;
  Who higher than your pitch can never go;
  And, doubtless, he must creep, who writes below.
  So have I seen, in hall of knight, or lord,
  A weak arm throw on a long shovel-board;                            10
  He barely lays his piece, bar rubs and knocks,
  Secured by weakness not to reach the box.
  A feeble poet will his business do,
  Who, straining all he can, comes up to you:
  For, if you like yourselves, you like him too.
  An ape his own dear image will embrace;
  An ugly beau adores a hatchet face:
  So, some of you, on pure instinct of nature,
  Are led, by kind, to admire your fellow-creature.
  In fear of which, our house has sent this day,                      20
  To insure our new-built vessel, call'd a play;
  No sooner named, than one cries out, These stagers
  Come in good time, to make more work for wagers.
  The town divides, if it will take or no:
  The courtiers bet, the cits, the merchants too;
  A sign they have but little else to do.
  Bets, at the first, were fool-traps; where the wise,
  Like spiders, lay in ambush for the flies:
  But now they're grown a common trade for all,
  And actions by the new book rise and fall;                          30
  Wits, cheats, and fops, are free of wager-hall.
  One policy as far as Lyons carries;
  Another, nearer home, sets up for Paris.
  Our bets, at last, would e'en to Rome extend,
  But that the pope has proved our trusty friend.
  Indeed, it were a bargain worth our money,
  Could we insure another Ottoboni.
  Among the rest there are a sharping set,
  That pray for us, and yet against us bet.
  Sure Heaven itself is at a loss to know                             40
  If these would have their prayers be heard, or no:
  For, in great stakes, we piously suppose,
  Men pray but very faintly they may lose.
  Leave off these wagers; for, in conscience speaking,
  The city needs not your new tricks for breaking:
  And if you gallants lose, to all appearing,
  You'll want an equipage for volunteering;
  While thus, no spark of honour left within ye,
  When you should draw the sword, you draw the guinea.