_This Prologue must have been spoken at Oxford during the residence of the Duke of York in Scotland, in 1681-2. The humour turns upon a part of the company having attended the Duke to Scotland, where, among other luxuries little known to my countrymen, he introduced, during his residence at Holy Rood House, the amusements of the theatre. I can say little about the actors commemorated in the following verses, excepting, that their stage was erected in the tennis-court of the palace, which was afterwards converted into some sort of manufactory, and finally, burned down many years ago. Besides these deserters, whom Dryden has described very ludicrously, he mentions a sort of strolling company, composed, it would seem, of Irishmen, who had lately acted at Oxford._ Discord, and plots, which have undone our age, With the same ruin have o'erwhelmed the stage. Our house has suffered in the common woe, We have been troubled with Scotch rebels too. Our brethren are from Thames to Tweed departed, } And of our sisters, all the kinder-hearted } To Edinburgh gone, or coached, or carted. } With bonny bluecap there they act all night For Scotch half-crown, in English three-pence hight. One nymph, to whom fat Sir John Falstaff's lean, There with her single person fills the scene. Another, with long use and age decayed, Dived here old woman, and rose there a maid. Our trusty door-keepers of former time There strut and swagger in heroic rhime. Tack but a copper-lace to drugget suit, And there's a hero made without dispute; And that, which was a capon's tail before, Becomes a plume for Indian emperor. But all his subjects, to express the care Of imitation go, like Indians, bare; Laced linen there would be a dangerous thing; } It might perhaps a new rebellion bring; } The Scot, who wore it, would be chosen king. } But why should I these renegades describe, When you yourselves have seen a lewder tribe? Teague has been here, and, to this learned pit, With Irish action slandered English wit; You have beheld such barbarous Macs appear, As merited a second massacre;[363] Such as, like Cain, were branded with disgrace, And had their country stamped upon their face. When strollers durst presume to pick your purse, We humbly thought our broken troop not worse. How ill soe'er our action may deserve, Oxford's a place where wit can never starve. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 363: Alluding to the Irish massacre.] AN EPILOGUE FOR THE KING'S HOUSE _From the date of the various circumstances referred to, this Epilogue seems to have been spoken in 1681-2._