_Fust_. Ay, sir, I think it is not amiss to remind people of those things which they are now-a-days too apt to disbelieve; besides, we have lately had an act against witches, and I don't question but shortly we shall have one against ghosts. But come, Mr Trapwit, as we are for this once to give the precedence to comedy, e'en let us begin. _Trap_. Ay, ay, with all my heart. Come, come, where's the gentleman who speaks the prologue? This prologue, Mr Fustian, was given me by a friend, who does not care to own it till he tries whether it succeeds or no. _Enter_ Player _for the Prologue_. Come, sir, make a very low bow to the audience; and shew as much concern as possible in your looks. PROLOGUE. As crafty lawyers, to acquire applause, Try various arts to get a doubtful cause; Or, as a dancing master in a jigg, With various steps instructs the dancing prig; Or as a doctor writes you different bills; Or as a quack prescribes you different pills; Or as a fiddler plays more tunes than one; Or as a baker bakes more bread than brown; Or as a tumbler tumbles up and down; So does our author, rummaging his brain, By various methods try to entertain; Brings a strange groupe of characters before you, And shews you here at once both Whig and Tory; Or court and country party you may call 'em: But without fear and favour he will maul 'em. To you, then, mighty sages of the pit-- _Trap_. Oh! dear sir, seem a little more affected, I beseech you; advance to the front of the stage, make a low bow, lay your hand upon your heart, fetch a deep sigh, and pull out your handkerchief: To you, then, mighty sages of the pit-- _Prol_. To you, then, mighty sages of the pit, Our author humbly does his cause submit. He trys to please--oh! take it not amiss: And though it should be dull, oh! do not hiss; Laugh, if you can--if you cannot laugh, weep: When you can wake no longer--fall asleep. _Trap_. Very well! very well, sir! You have affected me, I am sure. _Fust_. And so he will the audience, I'll answer for them. _Trap_. Oh, sir, you're too good-natured; but, sir, I do assure you I had writ a much better prologue of my own; but, as this came gratis, have reserved it for my next play--a prologue saved is a prologue got, brother Fustian. But come, where are your actors? Is Mr Mayor and the Aldermen at the table? _Promp_. Yes, sir; but they want wine, and we can get none from the quaker's cellar without ready money. _Trap_. Rat him! can't he trust till the third night? Here, take sixpence, and fetch two pots of porter, put it into bottles, and it will do for wine well enough. _Fust_. Ay, faith, and the wine will be as good as the wit, I'll answer for it. [_Aside_.