This play, Madam, being left in my hands by the Author to Introduce to the Publick, I thought my self oblig’d to say thus much in its defence, and that it was also a Duty upon me to choose a Patroness proper for it, and the Author having pitcht upon your Name to do Honour to some of her Works, I thought your Protection, could be so usefull to none, as to this, whose owning it may Silence the Malice of its Enemies; Your Wit and Judgment being to be Submitted to in all Cases; Besides your Natural Tenderness and Compassion for the Unfortunate, gives you in a manner another Title to it: The Preference which is due to you upon so many Accounts is therefore the Reason of this present Address, for at the Worst, if this Play should be so Unfortunate as not to be thought worthy of your Acceptance; Yet it is certain, that its worth any Man’s while to have the Honour of subscribing himself, Madam, Your Most Obedient Humble, Servant, G. J. THE WIDOW RANTER: Or, the History of Bacon in _Virginia_. PROLOGUE, By Mr. _Dryden_. Heaven save ye, Gallants; and this hopeful Age, Y’ are welcome to the downfal of the Stage: The Fools have laboured long in their Vocation; And Vice (the Manufacture of the Nation) O’er-stocks the Town so much, and thrives so well, That Fops and Knaves grow Drugs, and will not sell. In vain our Wares on Theaters are shown, When each has a Plantation of his own. His Cruse ne’er fails; for whatsoe’er he spends, There’s still God’s plenty for himself and Friends. Shou’d Men be rated by Poetick Rules, Lord, what a Poll would there be rais’d from Fools! Mean time poor Wit prohibited must lie, As if ‘twere made some _French_ Commodity. Fools you will have, and rais’d at vast expence; And yet as soon as seen, they give offence. Time was, when none would cry that Oaf was me, But now you strive about your Pedigree: Bauble and Cap no sooner are thrown down, But there’s a Muss of more than half the Town. Each one will challenge a Child’s part at least, A sign the Family is well increas’d. Of Foreign Cattle there’s no longer need, When we’re supply’d so fast with _English_ Breed, Well! Flourish, Countrymen; drink, swear and roar, Let every free-born Subject keep his Whore; And wandring in the Wilderness about, At end of Forty Years not wear her out. But when you see these Pictures, let none dare To own beyond a Limb or single share: For where the Punk is common, he’s a Sot, Who needs will father what the Parish got. DRAMATIS PERSONÆ. MEN.