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PROLOGUE. WHEN 1 Athens all the Græcian State 2 did guide, | |
| And Greece gave Laws to all the World beside; | |
| Then Sophocles with Socrates did sit, | |
| Supreme in Wisdom one, and one in Wit: | |
| And Wit from Wisdom differ’d not in those, | 5 |
| But as ’twas Sung in Verse or said in Prose. | |
| Then Œdipus, on crowded Theaters | |
| Drew all admiring Eyes and listning Ears: | |
| The pleas’d Spectator shouted every Line, | |
| The noblest, manliest, and the best Design! | 10 |
| And every Critick of each learned Age | |
| By this just Model has reform’d the Stage. | |
| Now, should it fail, (as Heav’n avert our fear!) | |
| Damn it in silence, lest the World should hear. | |
| For were it known this Poem did not please, | 15 |
| You might set up for perfect Salvages: | |
| Your Neighbours would not look on you as men: | |
| But think the Nation all turned Picts agen. | |
| Faith, as you manage matters, ’tis not fit | |
| You should suspect your selves of too much Wit. | 20 |
| Drive not the jeast too far, but spare this piece; | |
| And for this once be not more Wise than Greece. | |
| See twice! Do not pell-mell to Damning fall, | |
| Like true-born Brittains, who ne’re think at all: | |
| Pray be advis’d; and though at Mons you won, | 25 |
| On pointed Cannon do not always run. | |
| With some Respect to antient Wit proceed, | |
| And take the four first 3 Councils for your Creed. | |
| But, when you lay Tradition wholly by, | |
| And on the private Spirit alone relye, | 30 |
| You turn Fanaticks in your Poetry. | |
| If, notwithstanding all that we can say, | |
| You needs will have your pen’worths of the Play, | |
| And come resolv’d to Damn, because you pay, | |
| Record it, in memorial of the Fact, | 35 |
| The first Play bury’d since the Wollen Act. | |
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EPILOGUE WHAT Sophocles could undertake alone, | |
| Our Poets found a Work for more than one; | |
| And therefore Two lay tugging at the piece, | |
| With all their force, to draw the pondrous Mass from Greece; | 40 |
| A weight that bent ev’n Seneca’s strong Muse, | |
| And which Corneille’s Shoulders did refuse: | |
| So hard it is th’ Athenian Harp to string! | |
| So much two Consuls yield to one just King. | |
| Terrour and Pity 4 this whole Poem sway; | 45 |
| The mightiest Machines that can mount 5 a Play; | |
| How heavy will those Vulgar Souls be found, | |
| Whom two such Engines cannot move from Ground! | |
| When Greece and Rome have smil’d upon this Birth, | |
| You can but damn for one poor spot of Earth; | 50 |
| And when your Children find your judgment such, | |
| They’ll scorn their Sires, and wish themselves born Dutch; | |
| Each haughty Poet will infer with ease, | |
| How much his Wit must under-write to please. | |
| As some strong Churle would brandishing advance | 55 |
| The monumental Sword that conquer’d France, | |
| So you by judging this your judgments teach, | |
| Thus far you like, that is, thus far you reach. | |
| Since then the Vote of full two Thousand years | |
| Has Crown’d this Plot, and all the Dead are theirs, | 60 |
| Think it a Debt you pay, not Alms you give, | |
| And in your own defence let this Play live. | |
| Think ’em not vain, when Sophocles is shown, | |
| To praise his worth, they humbly doubt their own. | |
| Yet as weak States each other’s pow’r assure, | 65 |
| Weak Poets by Conjunction are secure. | |
| Their Treat is what your Pallats rellish most, | |
| Charm! Song! and Show! a Murder and a Ghost! | |
| We know not what you can desire or hope, | |
| To please you more, but burning of a Pope. | 70 |
