e_ was produced at the
Duke's Theatre, Dorset Garden, in the autumn of 1682, not later than the
end of October. An excellent rattling farce, it seems to have kept the
stage at intervals for some twenty years. On 11 August, 1715, there was
a revival at Lincoln's Inn Fields. It is billed as 'not acted ten
years'. Spiller played Guiliom, Mrs. Moor Isabella, and Mrs. Thurmond
Julia. There is no further record of its performance.

THE FALSE COUNT: or, A New Way to play an old Game.

PROLOGUE.

Spoken by Mr. _Smith_.

_Know all ye Whigs and Tories of the Pit,
(Ye furious Guelphs and Gibelins of Wit,
Who for the Cause, and Crimes of Forty One
So furiously maintain the Quarrel on)
Our Author, as you'll find it writ in Story,
Has hitherto been a most wicked Tory;
But now, to th'joy o'th' Brethren be it spoken,
Our Sister's vain mistaken Eyes are open;
And wisely valuing her dear Interest now,
All-powerful Whigs, converted is to you.
'Twas long she did maintain the Royal Cause,
Argu'd, disputed, rail'd with great Applause;
Writ Madrigals and Doggerel on the Times,
And charg'd you all with your Fore-fathers Crimes;
Nay, confidently swore no Plot was true,
But that so slily carried on by you:
Raised horrid Scandals on you, hellish Stories,
In Conventicles how you eat young Tories;
As_ Jew _did heretofore eat_ Christian _Suckling;
And brought an _Odium_ on your pious Gutling:
When this is all Malice it self can say,
You for the good Old Cause devoutly eat and pray.
Though this one Text were able to convert ye,
Ye needy Tribe of Scriblers to the Party;
Yet there are more advantages than these,
For write, invent, and make what Plots you please,
The wicked Party keep your Witnesses;
Like frugal Cuckold-makers you beget
Brats that secur'd by others fires shall sit.
Your Conventicling Miracles out-do
All that the Whore of_ Babylon _e'er knew:
By wondrous art you make Rogues honest Men,
And when you please transform 'em Rogues again.
To day a Saint, if he but hang a Papist,
Peach a true Protestant, your Saint's turn'd Atheist:
And dying Sacraments do less prevail,
Than living ones, though took in Lamb's-Wool-Ale.
Who wou'd not then be for a Common-weal,
To have the Villain covered with his Zeal?
A Zeal, who for Convenience can dispense
With Plays provided there's no Wit nor Sense.
For Wit's profane, and Jesuitical,
And Plotting's Popery, and the Devil and all.
We then have fitted you with one to day,
'Tis wr