A Prologue, Spoke by Mr Frodsham, at York

Once on a time, his earthly rounds patrolling,
(Your heathen gods were always fond of strolling)
Jove rambled near the cot of kind Philemon,
When night attended by a tempest came on;
And as the rain fell pattering, helter skelter,
The deity implor'd the hind for shelter.

Philemon plac'd his godship close beside him,
While goody Baucis made the fire that dry'd him;
With more benevolence than one that's richer,
He spread the board, he fill'd the friendly pitcher;
And, fond to give his guest a meal of pleasure,
Sung a rough song, in his rude country measure.

Jove was so pleas'd with these good-natur'd sallies,
Philemon's cot he conjur'd to a palace.

Taste, like great Jupiter, came here to try us,
(Oft from the boxes we perceiv'd her spy us)
Whether she lik'd us and our warm endeavours;
Whether she found that we deserv'd her favours,
I know not: But it's certain she commanded,
Our humble theatre should be expanded.

The orders she pronounc'd were scarcely ended,
But, like Philemon's house, the stage extended:
And thus the friendly goddess bids me greet ye:
'Tis in that circle [Pointing to the boxes] she designs to meet ye.
Pedants would fix her residence with heathens,
But she prefers old York to Rome or Athens.