A Poet once the Spartans led to fight,
  And made them conquer in the muse’s right;
  So would our poet lead you on this day,
  Showing your tortured fathers in his play. 
  To one well born the affront is worse, and more,
  When he’s abused and baffled by a boor: 
  With an ill grace the Dutch their mischiefs do,
  They’ve both ill nature and ill manners too. 
  Well may they boast themselves an ancient nation,
  For they were bred ere manners were in fashion,
  And their new commonwealth has set them free,
  Only from honour and civility. 
  Venetians do not more uncouthly ride,
  Than did their lubber state mankind bestride;
  Their sway became them with as ill a mien,
  As their own paunches swell above their chin: 
  Yet is their empire no true growth, but humour,
  And only two kings’ touch can cure the tumour. 
  As Cato did his Afric fruits display,
  So we before your eyes their Indies lay: 
  All loyal English will, like him, conclude,
  Let Caesar live, and Carthage be subdued!

* * * * *

XIII.

PROLOGUE.

SPOKEN AT THE OPENING OF THE NEW HOUSE, MARCH 26, 1674.

  A plain-built[47] house, after so long a stay,
  Will send you half unsatisfied away;
  When, fallen from your expected pomp, you find
  A bare convenience only is design’d. 
  You, who each day can theatres behold,
  Like Nero’s palace, shining all with gold,
  Our mean ungilded stage will scorn, we fear,
  And, for the homely room, disdain the cheer. 
  Yet now cheap druggets to a mode are grown,
  And a plain suit, since we can make but one, 10
  Is better than to be by tarnish’d gawdry known. 
  They, who are by your favours wealthy made,
  With mighty sums may carry on the trade: 
  We, broken bankers, half destroy’d by fire,
  With our small stock to humble roofs retire: 
  Pity our loss, while you their pomp admire. 
  For fame and honour we no longer strive,
  We yield in both, and only beg to live: 
  Unable to support their vast expense,
  Who build and treat with such magnificence; 20
  That, like the ambitious monarchs of the age,
  They give the law to our provincial stage. 
  Great neighbours enviously promote excess,
  While they impose their splendour on the less. 
  But only fools, and they of vast estate,
  The extremity of modes will imitate,
  The dangling knee-fringe, and the bib-cravat. 
  Yet if some pride with want may be allow’d,
  We in our plainness may be justly proud: 
  Our royal master will’d it should be so; 30
  Whate’er he’s pleased to own, can need no show: 
  That sacred name gives ornament and grace,
  And, like his stamp, makes basest metals