* * * * *

Alas! what is it to his scene to know
How many coaches in Hyde Park did show
Last spring? what fun to-day at Medley’s was? 
If Dunstan or the Phoenix best wine has? &c. &c.

In the Induction the prologue is interrupted by the entrance of four gentlewomen, “lady-like attired,” representative of Mirth, Tattle, Expectation, and Censure or Curiosity.  The last-named is charged with coming to the theatre “to see who wears the new suit to-day; whose clothes are best formed, whatever the part be; which actor has the best leg and foot; what king plays without cuffs, and his queen without gloves; who rides post in stockings and dances in boots.”  It is to be noted, too, that at this time the audience occupying the humbler places in the theatre are very harshly spoken of in the prologues.  They are referred to as—­

                   The vulgar sort
    Of nutcrackers that only come for sport—­

and as “grounds of your people that sit in the oblique caves and wedges of your house, your sinful sixpenny mechanicks,” &c.

It is plain, however, that the rudeness of Ben Jonson’s prologues had given offence, for, indeed, he employed them not merely to lecture his audience, but also to lash and laugh to scorn rival playwrights.  So to “The Magnetic Lady” no prologue was provided, but an Induction, in the course of which “a boy of the house” discourses with two gentlemen concerning the play, and explains that the author will “not be entreated to give it a prologue.  He has lost too much that way already, he says.  He will not woo the Gentile ignoramus so much.  But careless of all vulgar censure, as not depending on common approbation, he is confident it shall super-please judicious spectators, and to them he leaves it to work with the rest by example or otherwise.”  Further, the boy gives valuable advice upon the subject of criticism, bidding the gentlemen take seats and “fly everything you see to the mark, and censure it freely, so you interrupt not the series or thread of the argument, to break or pucker it with unnecessary questions.  For I must tell you that a good play is like a skein of silk, which, if you take by the right end you may wind off at pleasure on the bottom or card of your discourse in a tale or so—­how you will; but if you light on the wrong end you will pull all into a knot or elf-lock, which nothing but the shears or a candle will undo or separate.”

After the Restoration prologues appear to have been held more than ever necessary to theatrical exhibitions.  The writing of prologues even became a kind of special and profitable vocation.  Dryden’s customary fee for a prologue was five guineas, which contented him, until in 1682 he demanded of Southerne ten guineas for a prologue to “The Loyal Brothers,” alleging that the players had hitherto had his goods too cheaply, and from that time forward ten guineas