So shipwracked passengers escape to land, <br />So look they, when on the bare beach they stand, <br />Dropping and cold, and their first fear scarce o'er, <br />Expecting famine on a desert shore. <br />From that hard climate we must wait for bread, <br />Whence even the natives, forced by hunger, fled. <br />Our stage does human chance present to view, <br />But ne'er before was seen so sadly true: <br />You are changed too, and your pretence to see <br />Is but a nobler name for charity. <br />Your own provisions furnish out our feasts, <br />While you, the founders, make yourselves the guests. <br />Of all mankind beside, fate had some care, <br />But for poor Wit no portion did prepare, <br />'Tis left a rent-charge to the brave and fair. <br />You cherished it, and now its fall you mourn, <br />Which blind unmannered zealots make their scorn, <br />Who think that fire a judgment on the stage, <br />Which spared not temples in its furious rage. <br />But as our new-built city rises higher, <br />So from old theatres may new aspire, <br />Since fate contrives magnificence by fire. <br />Our great metropolis does far surpass <br />Whate'er is now, and equals all that was: <br />Our wit as far does foreign wit excel, <br />And, like a king, should in a palace dwell. <br />But we with golden hopes are vainly fed <br />Talk high, and entertain you in a shed: <br />Your presence here, for which we humbly sue <br />Will grace old theatres, and build up new.<br /><br />John Dryden<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/prologue-spoken-the-first-day-of-the-king-s-house-acting-after-the-fire/
