Well! you expect a _Prologue_ to the Play, And you expect it too Petition-way; With _Chapeau bas_ beseeching you t’ excuse A damn’d Intrigue of an unpractis’d Muse; Tell you it’s Fortune waits upon your Smiles, And when you frown, Lord, how you kill the whiles! Or else to rally up the Sins of th’ Age, And bring each Fop in Town upon the Stage; And in one Prologue run more Vices o’er, Than either Court or City knew before: Ah! that’s a Wonder which will please you too, But my Commission’s not to please you now. First then for you grave _Dons_, who love no Play But what is regular, Great _Johnson’s_ way; Who hate the _Monsieur_ with the Farce and Droll, But are for things well said with Spirit and Soul; ‘Tis you I mean, whose Judgments will admit No Interludes of fooling with your Wit; You’re here defeated, and anon will cry, ‘Sdeath! wou’d ‘twere Treason to write Comedy. So! there’s a Party lost; now for the rest, Who swear they’d rather hear a smutty Jest Spoken by _Nokes_ or _Angel_, than a Scene Of the admir’d and well penn’d _Cataline_; Who love the comick Hat, the Jig and Dance, Things that are fitted to their Ignorance: You too are quite undone, for here’s no Farce Damn me! you’ll cry, this Play will be mine A---- Not serious, nor yet comick, what is’t then? Th’ imperfect issue of a lukewarm Brain: ‘Twas born before its time, and such a Whelp; As all the after-lickings could not help. Bait it then as ye please, we’ll not defend it, But he that dis-approves it, let him mend it._ DRAMATIS PERSONÆ MEN. _Frederick_, Son to the Duke. _Curtius_, his Friend. _Lorenzo_, a rich extravagant Lord, a kind of Favourite to _Frederick_. _Salvator_, Father to _Lorenzo_ and _Laura_. _Antonio_, a Nobleman of _Florence_. _Alberto_, his dear Friend, a Nobleman also. _Pietro_, Man to _Curtius_. _Galliard_, Servant to the Prince. _Guilliam_, Man to _Cloris_, a Country-fellow. Valet to _Antonio_. WOMEN. _Clarina_, Wife to _Antonio_. _Ismena_, Sister to _Antonio_, in love with _Alberto_. _Laura_, Sister to _Lorenzo_, in love with _Curtius_. _Cloris_, Sister to _Curtius_, disguis’d like a Country Maid, in love with _Frederick_. _Isabella_, Woman to _Clarina_. _Lucia_, Maid to _Cloris_. Pages and Musick. SCENE, The Court of _Florence_. ACT I. SCENE I. The Chamber of _Cloris_. Enter _Cloris_ drest in her Night Attire, with _Frederick_ dressing himself. _Clo._ And will you leave me now to Fears, Which Love it self can hardly satisfy? But those, and that together sure will kill me, If you stay long away. _Fred._ My Dear, ‘tis almost day, and we must part; Should those rude Eyes ‘mongst whom thou dwell’st perceive us, ‘Twould prove unhappy both to thee and me. _Clo._ And will you, Sir, be constant to your Vows?