A prologue written by Mr. Dryden, to a new play, call'd, The loyal brother Dryden, John, 1631-1700. 1682 Approx. 6 KB of XML-encoded text transcribed from 2 1-bit group-IV TIFF page images. Text Creation Partnership, Ann Arbor, MI ; Oxford (UK) : 2008-09 (EEBO-TCP Phase 1). A36672 Wing D2341 ESTC R403 11778073 ocm 11778073 48953 This keyboarded and encoded edition of the work described above is co-owned by the institutions providing financial support to the Early English Books Online Text Creation Partnership. This Phase I text is available for reuse, according to the terms of Creative Commons 0 1.0 Universal . The text can be copied, modified, distributed and performed, even for commercial purposes, all without asking permission. Early English books online. (EEBO-TCP ; phase 1, no. A36672) Transcribed from: (Early English Books Online ; image set 48953) Images scanned from microfilm: (Early English books, 1641-1700 ; 489:19) A prologue written by Mr. Dryden, to a new play, call'd, The loyal brother Dryden, John, 1631-1700. Southerne, Thomas, 1660-1746. Loyal brother. 1 sheet ([2] p.) Printed for J. Tonson, London : [1682] Broadside. Reproduction of original in Huntington Library. Created by converting TCP files to TEI P5 using tcp2tei.xsl, TEI @ Oxford. Re-processed by University of Nebraska-Lincoln and Northwestern, with changes to facilitate morpho-syntactic tagging. Gap elements of known extent have been transformed into placeholder characters or elements to simplify the filling in of gaps by user contributors. 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Copies of the texts have been issued variously as SGML (TCP schema; ASCII text with mnemonic sdata character entities); displayable XML (TCP schema; characters represented either as UTF-8 Unicode or text strings within braces); or lossless XML (TEI P5, characters represented either as UTF-8 Unicode or TEI g elements). Keying and markup guidelines are available at the Text Creation Partnership web site . eng Broadsides -- England -- London -- 17th century 2007-06 TCP Assigned for keying and markup 2007-07 Apex CoVantage Keyed and coded from ProQuest page images 2007-08 Jason Colman Sampled and proofread 2007-08 Jason Colman Text and markup reviewed and edited 2008-02 pfs Batch review (QC) and XML conversion A PROLOGUE Written by Mr. Dryden , to a New Play , call'd , The Loyal Brother , &c. POets , like Lawfull Monarchs , rul'd the Stage , Till Criticks , like Damn'd Whiggs , debauch'd our Age. Mark how they jump : Criticks wou'd regulate Our Theatres , and Whiggs reform our State : Both pretend love , and both ( Plague rot 'em ) hate . The Critick humbly seems Advice to bring , The fawning Whigg Petitions to the King : But ones advice into a Satyr slides ; T'others Petition a Remonstrance hides . These will no Taxes give , and those no Pence : Criticks wou'd starve the Poet , Whiggs the Prince . The Critick all our troops of friends discards ; Just so the Whigg wou'd fain pull down the Guards . Guards are illegal , that drive foes away , As watchfull Shepherds , that fright beasts of prey . Kings , who Disband such needless Aids as these , Are safe — as long as e're their Subjects please . And that wou'd be till next Queen Besses night : Which thus , grave penny Chroniclers endite . Sir Edmond-berry , first , in wofull wise , Leads up the show , and Milks their Maudlin eyes . There 's not a Butcher's Wife but Dribs her part , And pities the poor Pageant from her heart ; Who , to provoke revenge , rides round the fire , And , with a civil congee , does retire . But guiltless blood to ground must never fall : There 's Antichrist behind , to pay for all . The Punk of Babylon in Pomp appears , A lewd Old Gentleman of Seventy years . Whose Age in vain our Mercy wou'd implore ; For few take pity on an Old-cast Whore. The Devil , who brought him to the shame , takes part ; Sits cheek by jowl , in black , to cheer his heart : Like Theef and Parson in a Tyburn-Cart . The word is giv'n ; and with a loud Huzzaw The Miter'd Moppet from his Chair they draw : On the slain Corps contending Nations fall ; Alas , what 's one poor Pope among 'em all ! He burns ; now all true hearts your Triumphs ring ; And next ( for fashion ) cry , God save the King. A needful Cry in midst of such Alarms : When Forty thousand Men are up in Arms. But after he 's once sav'd , to make amends , In each succeeding Health they Damn his Friends : So God begins , but still the Devil ends . What if some one inspir'd with Zeal , shou'd call ▪ Come let 's go cry , God save him at White Hall ? His best friends wou'd not like this over-care : Or think him e're the safer for that pray'r . Five Praying Saints are by an Act allow'd : But not the whole Church-Militant , in crowd . Yet , should heav'n all the true Petitions drain Of Presbyterians , who wou'd Kings maintain ; Of Forty thousand , five wou'd scarce remain . The EPILOGUE by the same Hand ; Spoken by Mrs. Sarah Cook. A Virgin Poet was serv'd up to day ; Who till this hour , ne're cackled for a Play : He 's neither yet a Whigg nor Tory-Boy ; But , like a Girl , whom several wou'd enjoy , Begs leave to make the best of his own natural Toy . Were I to play my callow Author's game , The King's House wou'd instruct me , by the Name : There 's Loyalty to one : I wish no more : A Commonwealth sounds like a Common Whore. Let Husband or Gallant be what they will , One part of Woman is true Tory still . If any Factious spirit shou'd rebell , Our Sex , with ease , can every rising quell . Then , as you hope we shou'd your failings hide , An honest Jury for our play provide : Whiggs , at their Poets never take offence ; They save dull Culpritts who have Murther'd Sense : Tho Nonsense is a nauseous heavy Mass , The Vehicle call'd Faction makes it pass . Faction in Play 's the Commonwealths man's bribe : The leaden farthing of the Canting Tribe : Though void in payment Laws and Statutes make it . The Neighbourhood , that knows the Man , will take it . 'T is Faction buys the Votes of half the Pit ; Theirs is the Pention-Parliament of wit. In City-Clubs their venom let 'em vent ; For there 't is safe , in its own Element : Here , where their madness can have no pretence , Let 'em forget themselves an hour in sense . In one poor Isle , why shou'd two Factions be ? Small diffrence in your Vices I can see ; In Drink and Drabs both sides too well agree . Wou'd there were more Preferments in the Land ; If Places fell , the party cou'd not stand . Of this damn'd grievance ev'ry Whigg complains ; They grunt like Hogs , till they have got their Grains . Mean time you see what Trade our Plots advance , We send each year good Money into France : And they , that know what Merchandise we need , Send o're true Protestants , to mend our breed . FINIS . London , Printed for J. Tonson .