THE PROLOGUE.
As when the Midland Sea is no where clear
From dreadfull Fleets of Tunis and Argier,
Which coast about, to all they meet with Foes,
And upon which nought can be got but Blowes,
The Merchand Ships so much their passage doubt,
That, though full-freighted, none dares venture out,
And Trade dacayes, and Scarcity ensues;
Just so the timerous Wits of late refuse,
Though laded, to put forth upon the Stage,
Affrighted by the Critiques of this age.
It is a Party numerous, watchfull, bold;
They can from nought, which sailes in sight, with-hold.
Nor doe their cheap, though mortal, Thunder spare;
They shoot, alas, with Wind-gunns, charg'd with Air.
But yet, Gentlemen Critiques of Argier,
For your own int'rest I'de advise ye here
To let this little Forlorn Hope goe by
Safe and untoucht; That must not be (you'l cry)
If ye be wise, it must; Ile tell yee why.
There are Seven, Eight, Nine,—stay—there are behind
Ten Playes at least, which wait but for a Wind,
And the glad News that we the Enemy miss,
And those are all your own, if you spare This.
Some are but new trim'd up, others quite New,
Some by known Shipwrights built, and others too
By that great Author made, who ere he be,
That stiles himself Person of Qualitie.
All these, if we miscarry here to day,
Will rather till they Rot in th' Harbour stay,
Nay they will back again, though they were come,
Ev'n to their last safe Rode, to Tyring room.
From dreadfull Fleets of Tunis and Argier,
Which coast about, to all they meet with Foes,
And upon which nought can be got but Blowes,
The Merchand Ships so much their passage doubt,
That, though full-freighted, none dares venture out,
And Trade dacayes, and Scarcity ensues;
Just so the timerous Wits of late refuse,
Though laded, to put forth upon the Stage,
Affrighted by the Critiques of this age.
It is a Party numerous, watchfull, bold;
They can from nought, which sailes in sight, with-hold.
Nor doe their cheap, though mortal, Thunder spare;
They shoot, alas, with Wind-gunns, charg'd with Air.
But yet, Gentlemen Critiques of Argier,
For your own int'rest I'de advise ye here
To let this little Forlorn Hope goe by
Safe and untoucht; That must not be (you'l cry)
If ye be wise, it must; Ile tell yee why.
There are Seven, Eight, Nine,—stay—there are behind
Ten Playes at least, which wait but for a Wind,
And the glad News that we the Enemy miss,
And those are all your own, if you spare This.
Some are but new trim'd up, others quite New,
Some by known Shipwrights built, and others too
By that great Author made, who ere he be,
That stiles himself Person of Qualitie.
All these, if we miscarry here to day,
Will rather till they Rot in th' Harbour stay,
Nay they will back again, though they were come,
Ev'n to their last safe Rode, to Tyring room.
There-
