processions to the place, and gave Cleomenes the title of Hero, and the Son of the gods, till the philosophers satisfied them, by saying, "That, as oxen breed bees, putrefying horses breed hornets, and beetles rise from the carcases of dead asses, so the humours and juices of the marrow of a man's body, coagulating, produce serpents." And this the antients observing, appropriated a serpent rather than any other creature to heroes. PROLOGUE, SPOKEN BY MR MOUNTFORD. I think, or hope at least, the coast is clear; That none but men of wit and sense are here; That our Bear-Garden friends are all away, Who bounce with hands and feet, and cry, Play, Play; Who, to save coach-hire, trudge along the street, Then print our matted seats with dirty feet; Who, while we speak, make love to orange-wenches, And, between acts, stand strutting on the benches; Where got a cock-horse, making vile grimaces, They to the boxes show their booby faces. A Merry-Andrew such a mob will serve, And treat them with such wit as they deserve. Let them go people Ireland, where there's need Of such new planters to repair the breed; Or to Virginia or Jamaica steer, But have a care of some French privateer; For, if they should become the prize of battle, They'll take them, black and white, for Irish cattle. Arise, true judges, in your own defence, Controul these foplings, and declare for sense: For, should the fools prevail, they stop not there, But make their next descent upon the fair. Then rise, ye fair; for it concerns you most, That fools no longer should your favours boast; 'Tis time you should renounce them, for we find They plead a senseless claim to womankind: Such squires are only fit for country-towns, To stink of ale, and dust a stand with clowns; Who, to be chosen for the land's protectors, Tope and get drunk before their wise electors. Let not farce lovers your weak choice upbraid, But turn them over to the chamber-maid; Or, if they come to see our tragic scenes, Instruct them what a Spartan hero means: Teach them how manly passions ought to move, For such as cannot think, can never love; And, since they needs will judge the poet's art, Point them with fescues to each shining part. Our author hopes in you; but still in pain, He fears your charms will be employed in vain. You can make fools of wits, we find each hour; But to make wits of fools, is past your power. DRAMATIS PERSONÆ. CLEOMENES, _King of Sparta_. CLEONIDAS, _his Son by his first Wife_. PTOLEMY, _King of Egypt_. SOSIBIUS, _his Minister of State_. CLEANTHES, _Son to_ SOSIBIUS, _Friend to_ CLEOMENES, _Captain of_ PTOLEMY'S _Guard_. PANTHEUS, _a Noble Spartan, the Favourite of_ CLEOMENES. CŒNUS, _a Messenian Lord_.