XXIX.
PROLOGUE[58] TO HIS ROYAL HIGHNESS,
UPON HIS FIRST APPEARANCE AT THE DUKE"S THEATRE, AFTER HIS RETURN FROM SCOTLAND, 1682.
In those cold regions which no summers cheer, Where brooding darkness covers half the year, To hollow caves the shivering natives go; Bears range abroad, and hunt in tracks of snow: But when the tedious twilight wears away, And stars grow paler at the approach of day, The longing crowds to frozen mountains run; Happy who first can see the glimmering sun: The surly savage offspring disappear, And curse the bright successor of the year. 10 Yet, though rough bears in covert seek defence, White foxes stay, with seeming innocence: That crafty kind with daylight can dispense.
Still we are throng"d so full with Reynard"s race, That loyal subjects scarce can find a place: Thus modest truth is cast behind the crowd: Truth speaks too low: hypocrisy too loud.
Let them be first to flatter in success; Duty can stay, but guilt has need to press.
Once, when true zeal the sons of G.o.d did call, 20 To make their solemn show at heaven"s Whitehall, The fawning Devil appear"d among the rest, And made as good a courtier as the best.
The friends of Job, who rail"d at him before, Came, cap in hand, when he had three times more.
Yet late repentance may, perhaps, be true; Kings can forgive, if rebels can but sue: A tyrant"s power in rigour is express"d; The father yearns in the true prince"s breast.
We grant, an o"ergrown Whig no grace can mend; 30 But most are babes, that know not they offend.
The crowd, to restless motion still inclined, Are clouds, that tack according to the wind.
Driven by their chiefs, they storms of hailstones pour; Then mourn, and soften to a silent shower.
O welcome to this much-offending land, The prince that brings forgiveness in his hand!
Thus angels on glad messages appear: Their first salute commands us not to fear.
Thus Heaven, that could constrain us to obey, 40 (With reverence if we might presume to say) Seems to relax the rights of sovereign sway: Permits to man the choice of good and ill, And makes us happy by our own free will.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 58: "Prologue:" spoken when the Duke of York returned from Scotland in triumph. He went to the theatre in Dorset Gardens, when this was uttered as the Prologue to "Venice Preserved."]
x.x.x.
PROLOGUE TO "THE EARL OF ESs.e.x; OR, THE UNHAPPY FAVOURITE;"
BY MR J. BANKS, 1682.
SPOKEN TO THE KING AND QUEEN AT THEIR COMING TO THE HOUSE.
When first the ark was landed on the sh.o.r.e, And Heaven had vow"d to curse the ground no more; When tops of hills the longing patriarch saw, And the new scene of earth began to draw; The dove was sent to view the waves" decrease, And first brought back to man the pledge of peace.
"Tis needless to apply, when those appear, Who bring the olive, and who plant it here.
We have before our eyes the royal dove, Still innocent, as harbinger of love: 10 The ark is open"d to dismiss the train, And people with a better race the plain.
Tell me, ye Powers! why should vain man pursue, With endless toil, each object that is new, And for the seeming substance leave the true?
Why should he quit for hopes his certain good, And loathe the manna of his daily food?
Must England still the scene of changes be, Tost and tempestuous, like our ambient sea?
Must still our weather and our wills agree? 20 Without our blood our liberties we have: Who that is free would fight to be a slave?
Or, what can wars to after-times a.s.sure, Of which our present age is not secure?
All that our monarch would for us ordain, Is but to 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 lost, then beasts their brutal force employ, And first their lord, and then themselves destroy. 30 What civil broils have cost, we know too well; Oh! let it be enough that once we fell!
And every heart conspire, and every tongue, Still to have such a king, and this king long.
x.x.xI.
EPILOGUE FOR "THE KING"S HOUSE."[59]
We act by fits and starts, like drowning men, But just peep up, and then pop down again.
Let those who call us wicked change their sense; For never men lived more on Providence.
Not lottery cavaliers are half so poor, Nor broken cits, nor a vacation wh.o.r.e; Not courts, nor courtiers living on the rents Of the three last ungiving parliaments: So wretched, that, if Pharaoh could divine, He might have spared his dream of seven lean kine, 10 And changed his vision for the Muses Nine.
The comet that, they say, portends a dearth, Was but a vapour drawn from play-house earth: Pent there since our last fire, and, Lilly says, Foreshows 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 20 Four farthings out to buy the Hatfield maid?
Or, which is duller yet, and more would spite us, Democritus his wars with Herac.l.i.tus?
Such are the authors who have run us down, And exercised you critics of the town.
Yet these are pearls to your lampooning rhymes, Ye abuse yourselves more dully than the times.
Scandal, the glory of the English nation, Is worn to rags, and scribbled out of fashion.
Such harmless thrusts, as if, like fencers wise, 30 They had agreed their play before their prize.
Faith! they may hang their harps upon the willows; "Tis just like children when they box with pillows.
Then put an end to civil wars for shame; Let each knight-errant, who has wrong"d a dame, Throw down his pen, and give her, as he can, The satisfaction of a gentleman.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 59: Epilogue spoken in 1682; and full of temporary allusions now of no earthly interest.]
x.x.xII.
PROLOGUE TO "THE LOYAL BROTHER; OR, THE PERSIAN PRINCE;"[60]
BY MR SOUTHERN, 1682.
POETS, like lawful monarchs, ruled the stage, Till critics, like d.a.m.n"d Whigs, debauch"d our age.
Mark how they jump: critics would regulate Our theatres, and Whigs reform our state: Both pretend love, and both (plague rot them!) hate.
The critic humbly seems advice to bring; The fawning Whig pet.i.tions to the king: But one"s advice into a satire slides; The other"s pet.i.tion a remonstrance hides.
These will no taxes give, and those no pence; 10 Critics would starve the poet, Whigs the prince.
The critic all our troops of friends discards; Just so the Whig would fain pull down the guards.