TO Sir CHARLES SIDLEY BARONET.

SIR,

I am afraid I shall displease you, by setting your Name, before so scandalous a thing as a Pamphlet of mine; but when I have told you the reason, I believe you will pardon me. I make not use of your Name to add a lustre to mine; I am not so much concerned for it. Fame built on Poetry is like a Castle in the Air, which the next Wind demolithes. I have heard of great Armies Mustered in the Air, but never of any thing they Conquered. Such are the Forces of Poetry, I have had my Ears torn with the noise of a Poets Drums and Trumpets, of the Bellowing of his Actors, and the clapping of his Audience, but I never heard of one inch of firm Land be gained. All be fought for was Inchanted Ground, which now he seems to possess, and anon it vanishes, has nothing real in it but the vexation of obscene Bards, which disturb him with their croaking, whilst be wakes, and defile him by muting upon him if ever be sleeps. No wise Man can much regard what his share is in such a barren and floating Place.

My concernment is for some little Truth and good Sense, Commodities which no one will expect to find aboard such a Paper Boat, as a Play, were it not convoy'd by so flourishing and great Reputation as yours. I speak not my own, but the opinion of some of the wisest Men of this Age, this Play is no indifferent Satyre upon the most pompous fortunate and potent Folly, that ever reigned over the minds of men, called Popery. My Lord Bacon says, good Books ought to have no other Patrons but Truth and Reason. Many other things ought to be, that never will. If Truth and Reason were things so potent, how came Folly and Error to prevail over e'm in all Ages and Nations? How came Wisdom to live among the Antients in Porches and Tubs, and Fools to shine in Palaces whilst living, and in Temples when dead? How came Truth among Christians to be troden under first, for several hundreds of Years, whilst Error and Folly rode on mens Shoulders, and trod on Princes Necks? Mens Shoulders had never been so ill us'd, if their Heads had been good. And when a Germane Fryar discoverd Truth, by an accident as strange as another did

Gunpowder, how came the latter mischievous invention, to have fifty times the success of the former, and to pierce a hundred times as many Heads and Hearts? If Truth in Schools and Churches meet so much contempt, what must it expect in so wretched a thing as a Play is now esteemed? The wisest Men among the Ancients indeed, thought themselves scarce wise enough to judge Drammaique Poetry, but ours think themselves much too Wise, and throw it off as a Trifle for Women and Fools to play with; and by that means it pines more and more into a Trifts. For what vigour soever is necessary to please Ladies elsewhere, Impotence best delights e'm upon the Stage. The Poets that will hit the right Mark, must him at the Boxes, and what Arrows they shoot over them are all lost, nor are our Male Judges of a more Masculine Spirit. I have always observed when an Actor talks Sense, the Audience begins to sleep, but when an unnatural passion sets him a grimacing and bowling as if he were in a fit of the Stone, they immediately waken, listen, and stare, as if some rare Operator were about to Cut him: In short, Sense is so great a stranger to the most, that it is never welcome to Company for its own sake, but the sake of the Introducer. For this reason I use your Name to guide that share of it is in this Play through the Press, as I did Shakespear's to support it on the Stage. I called it in the Prologue Shakespear's. Play, though he has no Title to the 4cth part of it. The Text I took out of his Second Part of Henry the Sixth, but as most Texts are serv'd, I left it as soon as I could. For though Shakespear be generally very delightful, he is not so always. His Volumn is all up-bill and down; Paradise was never more pleasant than some parts of it, nor Ireland and Greenland colder, and more uninbabirable then others. And I have undertaken to cultivate one of the most barren Places in it. The Trees are all Shrubs, and the Men Pigmies, nothing has any Spirit, or shape; the Cardinal is duller then ever Priest was. And he has budled up the Murder of Duke Humphry, as if he had been guilty of himself, and was afraid to shew how it was done: But I have been more bold, to the great displeasure of some, who are it seems ashamed of their own mysteries, for there is not a Tool us'd in the murder of Duke Humphry in this Play, but what is takes out of their own Church Armory, nor a word put into the mouth of the Cardinal and his foolish Instruments, but what first dropt from the Heads that adorn their own Church Battlements. I cou'd he large in Quotations did I not nauseate Pedantry. I shall only shew that what serves here to make the Comical parts of a Play, does in the Popish Countries compose the gravest part of their Devotion. I make the foolish Murderer complain that be cou'd not thrive, though he kept every Day a Holy-day in honour of some Saint. Now nothing is more known then that in those Countries, the great Trafique between them and their Saints, almost ruine all other Trades. The People are forced to keep so many Holy-days, that they have not Working-dayes enough to keep themselves; when they shou'd he labouring to fill their Bellies, they are cramming Latine into their Mouth, in the honour of some Saint, who perhaps understands not a word of the Language, unless be learnt it since he died, which is a great doubt. And they have so many Saints, that the People in Heaven starve those upon Earth, and country to what is done in other Famines, the Dead devour the Living. No Manufactury

thrives like that of Saint-making, all others must contribute to that, and even the Workmanship of God must grow poor to enrich that of the Priests. When all the Saints had disappointed this poor Fellow, I make him go to a Priest for advice, who instead of bidding him follow his calling, sets him a mumbling a Prayer, which he tells him is of that efficacy, that if he says it over Thirty Days together, it will procure him in the end what ever he asks for. What appears too ridiculous here for the mouth of a Stage-fool, in a Country no less polished then France, is recommended to the Faith and Devotion of no less a Prince then the Dauphin, in a little Book entitnled,

HEAVRES Dedidees a Monsiegneur le Dauphin, contenant L'Office qui se dit en L'Eglise, avec l'Exercice du Matin, & en soir, & le Catechisme dresse par les Peres de la Mission.

The Prayer is to the Virgin Mary, in the 229th Page, in the middle of the Prayer 'tis said,—Here demand what ever you please.

When this Prayer would not do, I make the Priest give him another, conveyed by an Angel as he says into the Grave of a Germane Lady, who had her Head cut off, and lived after it two and twenty Hours, not being able to die, till she had Confessed and Communicated. And the Prayer had this miraculous power annext to it, that whosoever did but carry it about him, shou'd never suffer by Sea or by Land, &c. This I found in a little French Book of Devotion to the Virgin Mary, Licenced by the Fathers of the Augustine Friars, as containing nothing in it contrary to Catholick Faith, and recommended to the People with an extraordinary Approbation; by what charter these Prayers claim such great Priviledges, is not said, yet must be believed. Some think me very profane, for bringing what belongs to the Church upon the Stage; but they may allow me that, since they have carried many things that belong to the Stage into the Church. To expose these Follies to the People is the business of this Play, and I believe you will pardon me that I borrow some assistance from your Reputation, since you your self have of late to your very great Honour, employ'd your Interest and excellent Understanding in the same design. And though you can do it better in common Conversation, then I by all my Study and Premeditation. It fellows not, because Lightning sometimes shoots through all the Heavens, and rends the Oaks, a Man may not light a Candle in the Night: To binder this Rush light from being blown cut, is the reason why I place your Name before it. I have a mind the Play shou'd be read, and every one will read it, if they think you like it. I know few Understandings so universally esteem'd as yours, and for so good Reason. It wou'd be foolish in we to lash out into unnecessary praises of a Wit that has been so long the delight and ornament of the Nation, and is now become the Defence of what is very dear to it, Truth, Liberty, and Property. I have so deeply felt, what the loss of Property is, that I cannot but honour the Defenders of it, though their defence comes too late to me. I may appear vain in my complaint, but People will Groan when they are in pain; my Father, and by consequence my self, his Heir, was stript long since (by the advice of some ill great Men, who sacrifice

both private and publick Interest to their own) of the Maity of a Province so considerable, the French Crown thought it worth contending for, many Years. And if that fortunate Kingdom strove for it, you may imagine they got it. I have great hopes of a speedy reparation from the great Justice Clemency and Goodness of his Majesty. But this loss made me run into that Madness, call'd Poetry, and inhabit that Bedlam, call'd a Stage. I have been so happy, that for several Years, certain Gentlemen unknown to me, have fallen on me, and endeavoured to Bleed me when ever I appear'd. I wish I knew 'em, that I might thank 'em for the Kindness they have done me, though they design'd me nothing but Mischief. The grounds of their Antipathy I know not. Fools I confess may be very well moved to bark at Poets, from the same cause, that they say all kind of Dogs do at Skinners, from a natural instinct that gives 'em notice their own Hides are in danger. But I have no great scent of Blood upon me, and therefore must impute their Aversions to those Occult Qualities that puzle Philosophers. This convinces me, 'tis necessary for me to flie to some Wise Mans protection; and I cannot be safer than under yours. Poets are too poor to be beg'd, 'tis well if they can get Guardians for begging. I am confident you will be entreated to take upon you the Guardianship of this little parcel of a Mad-mans Estate, now I have told you for what good uses it 'tis design'd. And if so, this will do well, and I shall live at ease, for those who will behave themselves very rudely to me as a Poet, and to this as a thing for publick entertainment, will be very civil to this when it is under your care, and to me when I am received by you: For

Sir,
Your very humble Servant,
JOHN CROWN.

Henry the Sixth; OR, THE MURDER OF THE Duke of Glocester. The First Part.