The works of Mr. Thomas Brown Serious and Comical, In Prose and Verse; In four volumes. The Fourth Edition, Corrected, and much Enlarged from his Originals never before publish'd. With a key to all his Writings |
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 | The works of Mr. Thomas Brown |  |
107
Prologue spoken before the University of Oxford, 1683.
When
Greece o'erwhelm'd in the wide Deluge lay,
And all the Land was one continu'd Sea,
The Muses Hill secure and lofty stood,
Above the vain Attempts of the insulting Flood.
There good Deucalion first saluted Land,
Put in his Boat, and touch'd the happy Strand.
So when wild Faction all our Land alarm'd,
Our Land by the prevaling Jugglers charm'd.
When pregnant with dire Seeds the Clouds did rise,
Presaging civil Tempests in our Skies.
Here Godlike Charles did a safe Harbour win,
Here laugh'd at all the Threats of daring Sin,
And shunn'd the popular Deluge as it came rowling in.
With you no perjur'd Bog-trotters were found,
With Meal-tub Plots and Armies under-ground,
Rogues, that wou'd damn themselves for half a Crown.
Rogues, that for one poor draught of middling Beer
Wou'd hang a Parish, and for Tripe a Shire.
'Tis true, some few you had, but Traytors come
Here to receive, not to deserve their doom.
So Paradice the Serpent gain'd at first,
Enter'd the blest Abodes, but strait he was accurst.
And all the Land was one continu'd Sea,
The Muses Hill secure and lofty stood,
Above the vain Attempts of the insulting Flood.
There good Deucalion first saluted Land,
Put in his Boat, and touch'd the happy Strand.
So when wild Faction all our Land alarm'd,
Our Land by the prevaling Jugglers charm'd.
When pregnant with dire Seeds the Clouds did rise,
Presaging civil Tempests in our Skies.
Here Godlike Charles did a safe Harbour win,
Here laugh'd at all the Threats of daring Sin,
And shunn'd the popular Deluge as it came rowling in.
With you no perjur'd Bog-trotters were found,
With Meal-tub Plots and Armies under-ground,
Rogues, that wou'd damn themselves for half a Crown.
Rogues, that for one poor draught of middling Beer
Wou'd hang a Parish, and for Tripe a Shire.
'Tis true, some few you had, but Traytors come
Here to receive, not to deserve their doom.
So Paradice the Serpent gain'd at first,
Enter'd the blest Abodes, but strait he was accurst.
This is your Happiness:
But we are still alarm'd with senseless noise,
Guildhall Elections, and leud frantick Cries.
Tir'd with dull Managers of duller Plots,
And free-born Slaves, and Magna-Charta Sots.
Oh wou'd the Town a pattern take from you,
Whom the worst times still found to Cæsar true.
Discords wou'd cease, ill-natur'd Jars retire,
And every Muse in Charles's praise conspire.
Peace with her Train wou'd guard our Halcyon shore,
And Britain envy Saturn's Age no more.
But we are still alarm'd with senseless noise,
Guildhall Elections, and leud frantick Cries.
Tir'd with dull Managers of duller Plots,
And free-born Slaves, and Magna-Charta Sots.
Oh wou'd the Town a pattern take from you,
Whom the worst times still found to Cæsar true.
Discords wou'd cease, ill-natur'd Jars retire,
And every Muse in Charles's praise conspire.
Peace with her Train wou'd guard our Halcyon shore,
And Britain envy Saturn's Age no more.
| The works of Mr. Thomas Brown | |