John Dryden - Delphi Poets Series
Page 63
Prologue and Epilogue to The Maiden Queen, or Secret Love, When acted by the Women only
Prologue and Epilogue to Marriage-à-la-Mode
Prologue and Epilogue to The Assignation, or Love in a Nunnery
Prologue and Epilogue to Amboyna, or the Cruelties of the Dutch to the English Merchants
Prologue and Epilogue to the University of Oxford
Prologue and Epilogue. Spoken at the opening of the New House, March 26, 1674
Prologue and Epilogue to the University of Oxford
Prologue and Epilogue to Aureng-Zebe
Epilogue to Calisto, or the Chaste Nymph
Epilogue to The Man of Mode, or Sir Fopling Flutter
Prologue to Circe
Earlier version of Prologue to Circe
Prologue and Epilogue to All for Love, or the World well Lost
Epilogue to Mithridates, King of Pontus
Prologue and Epilogue to The Kind Keeper, or Mr. Limberham
Prologue to The True Widow
Prologue and Epilogue to Œdipus
Prologue and Epilogue to Troilus and Cressida, or Truth found Too Late
Prologue to Cæsar Borgia, Son of Pope Alexander the Sixth
The Prologue at Oxford, 1680
Prologue to The Loyal General
Prologue to The Spanish Fryar, or the Double Discovery
Epilogue to Tamerlane the Great
A Prologue (“Gallants, a bashful Poet bids me say”)
Prologue and Epilogue to The Princess of Cleves
First Prologue to the University of Oxford
Second Prologue to the University of Oxford
Third Prologue to the University of Oxford
Prologue to The Unhappy Favourite
Epilogue to The Unhappy Favourite, or the Earl of Essex
Prologue to his Royal Highness upon his first appearance at the Duke’s Theatre since his Return from Scotland
Prologue to the Duchess on her Return from Scotland
Prologue and Epilogues to The Loyal Brother, or the Persian Prince
Prologue and Epilogue to the King and Queen
Prologue and Epilogue to The Duke of Guise
Epilogue to Constantine the Great
Prologue to Disappointment, or the Mother in Fashion
Prologue and Epilogue to Albion and Albanius
Prologue and Epilogue to Don Sebastian
Prologue to The Prophetess
Prologue and Epilogue to Amphitryon, or the Two Sosias
Prologue to Mistakes, or the False Report
Prologue and Epilogue to King Arthur, or the British Worthy
Prologue and Epilogue to Cleomenes, the Spartan Heroe
Epilogue to Henry II, King of England, with the Death of Rosamond
Prologue and Epilogue to Love Triumphant, or Nature will Prevail
Epilogue to The Husband his own Cuckold
Prologue and Epilogue on the Occasion of a Representation for Dryden’s Benefit, March 25, 1700
SONGS FROM THE PLAYS
Song of Aerial Spirits, from The Indian Queen
Hymn to the Sun, from The Indian Queen
I look’d and saw within the Book of Fate, from The Indian Emperor
Ah fading joy, how quickly art thou past!, from The Indian Emperor
I Feed a Flame within which so torments me, from The Maiden Queen
Make ready fair Lady to night, from Sir Martin Marr-All
Blind Love, to this hour, from Sir Martin Marr-All (after Voiture)
You charm’d me not with that fair face, from An Evening’s Love
After the pangs of a desperate Lover, from An Evening’s Love
Calm was the Even, and clear was the Sky, from An Evening’s Love
Celimena, of my heart, from An Evening’s Love
You pleasing Dreams of Love and sweet delight, from Tyrannick Love
Ah how sweet it is to love, from Tyrannick Love
Wherever I am, and whatever I doe, from The Conquest of Granada
Song of the Zambra Dance, from The Conquest of Granada
How unhappy a Lover am I, from The Conquest of Granada, Part II
Why should a foolish Marriage Vow, from Marriage-à-la-Mode
Whilst Alexis lay prest, from Marriage-à-la-Mode
Long betwixt Love and fear Phillis tormented, from The Assignation
Epithalamium, from Amboyna
Song of the Sea Fight, from Amboyna
Song from the Italian, from The Kind Keeper
Song to Apollo, from Œdipus
Can Life be a Blessing, from Troilus and Cressida
Farwell ungratefull Traytor, from The Spanish Fryar
Song betwixt a Shepherd and a Shepherdess, from The Duke of Guise
Celia, that I once was blest, from Amphitryon
Fair Iris I love and hourly I dye, from Amphitryon
Pastoral Dialogue, from Amphitryon
Oh Sight, the Mother of Desires, from King Arthur
How happy the Lover, from King Arthur
Song of Æolus, from King Arthur
Song of Pan and Nereide, from King Arthur
Your Hay it is Mow’d, and your Corn is Reap’d, from King Arthur
Song of Venus, from King Arthur
No, no, poor suff’ring Heart, no Change endeavour, from Cleomenes
Song of Jealousie, from Love Triumphant
Song for a Girl, from Love Triumphant
Prologue and Epilogue to The Wild Gallant
PROLOGUE
IS it not strange to hear a Poet say,
He comes to ask you how you like the Play?
You have not seen it yet! alas ’tis true;
But now your Love and Hatred judge, not You.
And cruel Factions (brib’d by Interest) come, 5
Not to weigh Merit, but to give their Doome.
Our Poet, therefore, jealous of th’ Event,
And (though much Boldness takes) not confident,
Has sent me whither you, Fair ladies, too
Sometimes upon as small Occasions goe, 10
And from this Scheme, drawn for the Hour and Day,
Bid me inquire the Fortune of his Play.
The curtain drawn discovers two Astrologers;
The Prologue is presented to them.
1 Astrol. reads. A figure of the heavenly Bodies in their several Apartments, Feb. the 5th, half an hour after three after Noon, from whence you are to judge the success of a new play, called the Wild Gallant.
2 Astrol. Who must judge of it, we or these gentlemen? We’ll not meddle with it; so tell your poet. Here are, in this House, the ablest Mathematicians in Europe for his purpose.
They will resolve the Question, e’r they part. 15
1 Ast. Yet let us judge it by the Rules of Art:
First Jupiter, the Ascendants Lord disgrac’d,
In the twelfth House and near grim Saturn plac’d,
Denote short life unto the Play: —
2 Ast. — Jove yet,
In his apartment Sagitary, set 20
Under his own Roof, cannot take much Wrong.
1 Ast. Why then the Life’s not very short, nor long;
2 Ast. The Luck not very good, nor very ill;
Prolo. That is to say, ’tis as ’tis taken still.
1 Ast. But, brother, Ptolomy the learned says, 25
’Tis the fifth House from whence we judge of Plays.
Venus, the Lady of that House, I find
Is Peregrine; your Play is ill design’d;
It should have been but one continued Song,
Or at the least a Dance of 3 hours long. 30
2 Ast. But yet the greatest Mischief does remain,
The twelfth Apartment bears the Lord of Spain;
Whence I conclude, it is your Author’s Lot,
To be indanger’d by a Spanish plot.
Prolo. Our Poet yet Protection hopes from you; 35
But bribes you not with any thing that’s new.
Nature is old,
which Poets imitate;
And for Wit, those that boast their own estate
Forget Fletcher and Ben before them went,
Their Elder Brothers, and that vastly spent: 40
So much, ‘twill hardly be repair’d again,
Not though supply’d with all the wealth of Spain.
This Play is English, and the growth your own;
As such it yields to English Plays alone.
He could have wish’d it better for your Sakes, 45
But that in Plays he finds you love Mistakes:
Besides, he thought it was in vain to mend
What you are bound in Honour to defend;
That English wit, how e’r despis’d by some,
Like English valour, still may overcome. 50
EPILOGUE
The Wilde Gallant has quite play’d out his Game;
He’s marry’d now, and that will make him tame.
Or if you think Marriage will not reclaim him,
The Critiques swear they’ll damn him, but they’ll tame him.
Yet, though our Poet’s threatened most by these, 55
They are the only People he can please:
For he, to humour them, has shown to day
That which they only like, a wretched Play.
But though his Play be ill, here have been shown
The greatest Wits and Beauties of the Town; 60
And his Occasion having brought you here,
You are too grateful to become severe.
There is not any Person here so mean,
But he may freely judge each Act and Scene.
But if you bid him chuse his Judges, then 65
He boldly names true English Gentlemen;
For he ne’r thought a handsome Garb or Dress
So great a Crime to make their Judgment less;
And with these Gallants he these Ladies joyns,
To judge that Language their Converse refines. 70
But if their Censures should condemn his Play,
Far from disputing, he does only pray
He may Leanders Destiny obtain:
Now spare him, drown him when he comes again.
Prologue to The Rival Ladies
‘TIS much desir’d, you Judges of the Town
Would pass a vote to put all Prologues down;
For who can show me, since they first were writ,
They e’r converted one hard-harted Wit?
Yet the World’s mended well; in former Days 5
Good Prologues were as scarce as now good Plays.
For the reforming Poets of our Age
In this first Charge spend their poetique rage.
Expect no more when once the Prologue’s done;
The wit is ended ere the Play’s begun. 10
You now have Habits, Dances, Scenes, and Rhymes,
High Language often, ay, and Sense sometimes.
As for a clear Contrivance, doubt it not;
They blow out Candles to give Light to th’ Plot.
And for Surprize, two Bloody-minded Men 15
Fight till they dye, then rise and dance again.
Such deep Intrigues you’re welcome to this Day:
But blame your Selves, not him who writ the Play.
Though his Plot’s dull as can be well desir’d,
Wit stiff as any you have e’r admir’d, 20
He’s bound to please, not to write well, and knows
There is a mode in Playes as well as Cloaths;
Therefore, kind Judges —
A Second Prologue enters.
2. Hold! would you admit
For Judges all you see within the Pit?
1. Whom would he then except, or on what Score? 25
2. All who (like him) have writ ill Plays before;
For they, like Thieves condemn’d, are hangmen made
To execute the Members of their Trade.
All that are writing now he would disown,
But then he must except — ev’n all the Town; 30
All Chol’rique losing Gamesters, who in spight
Will damn to Day, because they lost last Night;
All Servants, whom their Mistress’ Scorn upbraids,
All Maudlin Lovers, and all slighted Maids,
All who are out of Humour or severe, 35
All that want Wit, or hope to find it here.
Prologue and Epilogue to The Indian Emperor
PROLOGUE.
ALMIGHTY critiques! whom our Indians here
Worship, just as they do the Devil — for fear;
In Rev’rence to your Power, I come this day,
To give you timely warning of our Play.
The Scenes are old, the Habits are the same 5
We wore last Year, before the Spaniards came.
Our Prologue, th’ old-cast too
For to observe the new it should at least
Be spoke by some ingenious Bird or Beast.
Now, if you stay, the Blood that shall be shed 10
From this poor Play be all upon your Head.
We neither promise you one Dance or Show;
Then Plot and Language, they are wanting too.
But you, kind Wits, will those light Faults excuse,
Those are the common Frailties of the Muse; 15
Which who observes, he buys his Place too dear;
For ’tis your Business to be cozen’d here.
These wretched Spies of Wit must then confess,
They take more Pains to please themselves the less.
Grant us such Judges, Phœbus, we request, 20
As still mistake themselves into a Jest;
Such easy Judges that our Poet may
Himself admire the Fortune of his Play;
And arrogantly, as his Fellows do,
Think he writes well, because he pleases you. 25
This he conceives not hard to bring about,
If all of you would join to help him out:
Would each Man take but what he understands,
And leave the rest upon the Poet’s Hands.
EPILOGUE.
Spoken by a Mercury.
To all and singular in this full Meeting, 30
Ladies and Gallants, Phœbus sends me greeting.
To all his Sons, by whate’er Title known,
Whether of Court, of Coffee-house, or Town;
From his most mighty Sons, whose Confidence
Is plac’d in lofty Sound and humble Sense, 35
Even to his little Infants of the Time,
Who write new Songs and trust in Tune and Rhyme;
Be’t known, that Phœbus (being daily griev’d
To see good Prays condemn’d and bad receiv’d)
Ordains your Judgment upon every Cause 40
Henceforth be limited by wholesome Laws.
He first thinks fit no Sonnetteer advance
His Censure farther than the Song or Dance.
Your Wit burlesque may one Step higher climb,
And in his Sphere may judge all dogrel Rhyme; 45
All proves, and moves, and loves, and honours too;
All that appears high Sense, and scarce is low.
As for the Coffee-wits, he says not much;
Their proper Business is to damn the Dutch.
For the great Dons of Wit —— — 50
Phœbus gives them full Privilege alone
To damn all others, and cry up their own.
Last, for the Ladies, ’tis Apollo’s Will,
They should have power to save, but not to kill;
For Love and he long since have thought it fit, 55
Wit live by Beauty, Beauty reign by Wit.
Prologue to Secret Love, or the Maiden Queen
FIRST PROLOGUE.
1
HE who writ this, not without Pains and Thought,
From French and English Theaters has brought
Th’ exactest Rules by which a Play is wrought,
2
&n
bsp; The Unities of Action, Place, and Time;
The Scenes unbroken; and a mingled chime 5
Of Johnsons Humour with Corneilles rhyme.
3
But while dead colours he with care did lay,
He fears his Wit or Plot he did not weigh,
Which are the living Beauties of a Play.
4
Plays are like Towns, which, howe’re fortifi’d 10
By Engineers, have still some weaker side,
By the o’reseen Defendant unespy’d.
5
And with that Art you make approaches now;
Such skilful fury in Assaults you show,
That every Poet without shame may bow. 15
6
Ours therefore humbly would attend your doom,
If, Souldier-like, he may have Terms to come
With flying colours and with beat of Drum.
The Prologue goes out, and stayes while a Tune is play’d, after which he returnes again.
SECOND PROLOGUE.
I had forgot one half, I do protest,
And now am sent again to speak the rest. 20
He bows to every great and noble Wit;
But to the little Hectors of the Pit
Our Poet’s sturdy, and will not submit.
He’ll be before-hand with ‘em, and not stay
To see each peevish Critick stab his Play; 25
Each Puny Censor, who, his skill to boast,
Is cheaply witty on the Poets Cost.
No Criticks Verdict should, of right, stand good,
They are excepted all, as men of blood;
And the same Law should shield him from their fury, 30
Which has excluded Butchers from a Jury.
You’d all be Wits —— —— —
But writing’s tedious, and that way may fail;
The most compendious Method is to rail;
Which you so like, you think your selves ill us’d, 35
When in smart Prologues you are not abus’d,
A civil Prologue is approv’d by no man;
You hate it as you do a Civil woman.
Your Fancy’s pall’d, and liberally you pay
To have it quicken’d, e’re you see a Play. 40
Just as old Sinners, worn from their delight,
Give money to be whip’d to appetite.
But what a Pox keep I so much ado
To save our Poet? he is one of you;
A Brother Judgment, and, as I hear say, 45
A cursed Critick as e’er damned a Play.
Good salvage Gentlemen, your own kind spare;
He is, like you, a very Wolf or Bear;
Yet think not he’ll your ancient rights invade,
Or stop the course of your free damning trade; 50
For he (he vows) at no Friend’s Play can sit,