_Fust_. Sir, I would not have you think I give up the cause of tragedy; but my ghost, being ill, sir, cannot get up without danger, and I would not risque the life of my ghost on any account.

_Trap_. You are in the right on't, sir; for a ghost is the soul of tragedy.

_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.