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PROLOGUE. AS 1 needy Gallants in the Scriv’ners hands | |
| Court the rich Knave that gripes their Mortgag’d Lands, | |
| The first fat Buck of all the Season’s sent, | |
| And Keeper takes no Fee in Complement; | |
| The doteage of some Englishmen is such. | 5 |
| To fawn on those who ruine them, the Dutch. | |
| They shall have all rather than make a War | |
| With those who of the same Religion are. | |
| The Streights, the Guiney Trade, the Herrings too, | |
| Nay, to keep friendship, 2 they shall pickle you. | 10 |
| Some are resolv’d not to find out the Cheat, | |
| But Cuckold-like, love him who does the Feat: | |
| What injuries soe’r upon us fall, | |
| Yet still the same Religion answers all: | |
| Religion wheedled you to Civil War, | 15 |
| Drew English Blood, and Dutchmens now wou’d spare. | |
| Be gull’d no longer; for you’l find it true, | |
| They have no more Religion, faith—then you; | |
| Interest’s the God they worship in their State; | |
| And you, I take it, have not much of that. | 20 |
| Well, Monarchys may own Religions name, | |
| But States are Atheists in their very frame. | |
| They share a sin, and such proportions fall | |
| That, like a stink, ’tis nothing to ’em all. | |
| How they love England, you shall see this day: | 25 |
| No Map shows Holland truer then our Play: | |
| Their Pictures and Inscriptions well we know; | |
| We may be bold one Medal sure to show. | |
| View then their Falshoods, Rapine, Cruelty; | |
| And think what once they were they still would be: | 30 |
| But hope not either Language, Plot, or Art; | |
| ’Twas writ in haste, but with an English Heart: | |
| And lest hope Wit; in Dutchmen that would be | |
| As much improper as would Honesty. | |
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EPILOGUE A Poet once the Spartan’s led to fight, | 35 |
| And made ’em conquer in the Muses right: | |
| So would our Poet lead you on this day, | |
| Showing your tortur’d Fathers in his Play. | |
| To one well born th’ affront is worse and more, | |
| When he’s abus’d and baffled by a Bore: | 40 |
| With an ill Grace the Dutch their mischiefs do, | |
| They’ve both ill Nature and ill Manners too. | |
| Well may they boast themselves an antient Nation, | |
| For they were bred e’re Manners were in fashion: | |
| And their new Common wealth has set ’em free, | 45 |
| Onely from Honour and Civility. | |
| Venetians do not more uncouthly ride, | |
| Than did their Lubber-State Mankind bestride; | |
| Their Sway became ’em with as ill a Meen, | |
| As their own Paunches swell above their Chin: | 50 |
| Yet is their Empire no true Growth but Humour, | |
| And onely two Kings’ touch can cure the Tumor. | |
| As Cato did his Affricque Fruits display, | |
| So we before your Eies their Indies lay: | |
| All loyal English will like him conclude, | 55 |
| Let Cæsar Live, and Carthage be subdu’d! | |
