PROLOGUE,

Written by BE VILL HIGGONS, Efq;

The ghosts of SHAKESPEARE and DRYDEN arife,
crown'd with lawrel.

Dryd. T

HIS radiant circle, reverend Shakespeare, view;
An audience only to the bufkin due.

Shakesp. A scene fo noble, ancient Greece ne'er saw,
Nor Pompey's dome, when Rome the world gave law.
I feel at once both wonder and delight,

By beauty warm'd, tranfcendently fo bright,

Well, Dryden, might'st thou fing; well may these heroes fight. Dryd. With all the outward luftre which you find,

They want the nobler beauties of the mind.

Their fickly judgments, what is just, refuse,

And French grimace, buffoons, and mimicks choose;
Our feenes defert, fome wretched farce to fee;

They know not nature, for they tafte not thee.

Shakesp. Whofe ftupid fouls thy passion cannot move,
Are deaf indeed to nature and to love.

When thy Egyptian weeps, what eyes are dry!
Or who can live to fee thy Roman die?

Dryd. Thro' perspectives revers'd, they nature view,
Which give the passions images, not true.
Strephon for Strephon fighs; and Sappho dies,
Shot to the foul by brighter Sappho's eyes:
No wonder then their wand'ring passions roam,
And feel not nature, whom th'ave overcome.
For fhame, let genial love prevail agen,
You beaux, love ladies; and you ladies, men.

Shakefp. These crimes unknown, in our lefs polifh'd age,

Now feem above correction of the stage;

Lefs heinous faults, our juftice does purfue;

To day we punish a stock-jobbing Jew.

A piece of justice, terrible and strange;
Which, if purfu'd, would make a thin exchange.
The law's defect, the juster muse supplies,
'Tis only we can make you good, or wife,
Whom heaven Spares, the poet will chastise.
Thefe fcenes in their rough native dress were mine;
But now improv'd with nobler luftre shine;
The first rude fketches Shakespeare's pencil drew,
But all the fhining mafter-strokes are new.
This play, ye critics, fhall your fury stand,
Adorn'd, and refcu'd by a faultless hand.

Dryd. I long endeavour'd to fupport thy stage,
With the faint copies of thy nobler rage,
But toil'd in vain for an ungenerous age.
They ftarv'd me living; nay, deny'd me fame,
And fcarce, now dead, do justice to my name.
Would you repent? Be to my afhes kind,

Indulge the pledges I have left behind.

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*The profits of this Play were defign'd for Mr. Dryden: but, upon his death, given to his fon.

Officers belonging to the court of justice, fervants and attendants, men and women.

SCENE, Venice.

THE

JEW of VENICE.

A

COMEDY.

ACT I. SCENE I.

Enter BASSANIO, ANTONIO, GRATIANO, and LORENZO.

Anto.

HOLD the world, but as a ftage, Gratiano,

66

Where every man must play fome certain part, And mine's a serious one.

Grat. Laughter and mirth be mine:

Why should a man, whose blood is warm and young,

Sit like his grandfire, cut in alabaster!

Sleep when he wakes, and creep into the jaundice,

By being peevish! I tell thee what, Antonio!

I love thee, and it is my love that speaks:
There are a fort of men, whose visages
Do cream and mantle, like a standing pond;
And do a wilful ftillness entertain,

Screwing their faces in a politic form,
To cheat obfervers with a falfe opinion
Of wisdom, gravity, profound conceit;
As who should fay, I am, Sir, an oracle.
Oh, my Antonio! I do know of these,
Who therefore only are reputed wife,
For faying nothing; but more of this
Another time. 'Let you and I, Lorenzo,

Take a fhort turn: once more, my friends, be merry.

All have their follies; merry fools are best.