Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, PROLOGUE TO KING AND QUEEN, AT THE OPENING OF THEIR THEATRE, by JOHN DRYDEN


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

PROLOGUE TO KING AND QUEEN, AT THE OPENING OF THEIR THEATRE, by                 Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: Since faction ebbs, and rogues grow out of fashion
Last Line: Whigg poets and whigg sheriffs may hang together.
Subject(s): Plays & Playwrights ; Theater & Theaters; Dramatists; Stage Life


SINCE Faction ebbs, and Rogues grow out of Fashion,
Their penny-Scribes take care t' inform the Nation
How well men thrive in this or that Plantation:

How Pennsylvania's Air agrees with Quakers,
And Carolina's with Associators:
Both e'en too good for Madmen and for Traitors.

Truth is, our Land with Saints is so run o'er,
And every Age produces such a store,
That now there's need of two New-Englands more.

What's this, you'll say, to Us and our Vocation?
Only thus much, that we have left our Station,

And made this Theatre our new Plantation.
The Factious Natives never cou'd agree;
But aiming, as they call'd it, to be Free,
Those Play-house Whiggs set up for Property.

Some say they no Obedience paid of late,
But would new Fears and Jealousies create,
'Till topsy-turvy they had turned the State.

Plain Sense, without the Talent of Foretelling,
Might guess 'twould end in down-right knocks and quelling;
For seldom comes there better of Rebelling.

When Men will, needlessly, their Freedom barter
For lawless Pow'r, sometimes they catch a Tartar;
(There's a damned word that rhimes to this, call'd Charter.)

But since the Victory with Us remains,
You shall be call'd to Twelve in all our gains,
(If you'll not think Us sawcy for our Pains.)

Old men shall have good old Plays to delight 'em:
And you, fair Ladies and Galants, that slight 'em,
We'll treat with good new Plays, if our new Wits can write 'em.

We'll take no blundering Verse, no fustian Tumour,
No dribling Love from this or that Presumer,
No dull fat Fooll shamm'd on the Stage for humour.

For, faith, some of 'em such vile stuff have made,
As none but Fools or Fairies ever Play'd;
But 'twas, as Shop-men say, to force a Trade.

We've giv'n you Tragedies all sense defying;
And singing men in woeful Metre dying;
This 'tis when heavy Lubbers will be flying.

All these disasters we well hope to weather;
We bring you none of our old Lumber hether;
Whigg Poets and Whigg Sheriffs may hang together.





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