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Tell me, ye powers, why shouldvain man pursue,
blood our liberties we have : Who that is free would fight to be a Nave? Or, what can wars to after-times assure, Of which our present age is not secure ? All that our monarch would for us ordain, Is but t’enjoy the blessings of his reign., Our land's an Eden, and the main's our fence, While we preserve our state of innocence: That loft, then beasts their brutal force employ, And first their lord, and then themselves destroy, What civil broils have cost, we know too well; Oh! let it be enough that once we fell ! And ev'ry heart conspire, and ev'ry tongue, Still to have such a king, and this king long
EPILOGUE for the KING's House. .
E act by fits and starts, like drowning men,
But just peep up, and then popdown again. Let those who call us wicked change their sense For never men liv'd more on Providence. Not lottery cavaliers are half so poor, Nor broken cits, nor a vacation whore. Not courts, nor courtiers living on the rents Of the three last ungiving parliaments : So wretched, that, if Pharaoh could divine, Hemight have spar'd his dream of seven lean kine, And chang’d his vision for the muses nine. The comet, that, they say, portends a dearth, Was but a vapor drawn from play-house earth: : Pent there fince our last fire, and, Lilly says, Forelhews our change of state, and thin third-days. 'Tis not our want of wit that keeps us poor ; For then the printer's press would suffer more. Their pamphleteers each day their venom spit; They thrive by treason, and we starve by wit. Confess the truth, which of you has not laid Four farthings out to buy the Hatfield maid ?
Or, which is duller yet, and more would spite us,
PROLOGUE to the Loyal Brother:
The PERSIAN PRINCE.
[By Mr. SOUTHERNE,
OETS, like lawful monarchs, rul’d the stage,
And that would be till next queen Bess's night :
eyes. There's not a butcher's wife but dribs her
part, And pities the poor pageant from her heart; Who, to provoke revenge, rides round the fire, And, with a civil congé, does retire : But guiltless blood to ground must never fall There's Antichrist behind, to pay for all. The punk of Babylon in pomp appears, À lewd old gentleman of seventy years : Whose
age in vain our mercy would implore ; For few take pity on an old-cast whore. The devil, who brought him to the shame,
takes part ;
Sits cheek by jowl, in black, to cheer his heart;
in midst of such alarms, When forty thousand men are up in arms.