 | The Coronation |  |
The Prologue.
Since tis become the Title of our Play,A woman once in a Coronation may
With pardon, speake the Prologue, give as free
A welcome to the Theater, as he
That with a little beard, a long blacke cloke,
With a starch'd face, and supple legge hath spoke
Before the Playes the twelve month, let me then
Present a welcome to these Gentlemen,
If you be kind, and noble, you will not
Thinke the worse of me for my petticote.
But to the Play, the Poet bad me tell
His feares first in the title, lest it swell
Some thoughts with expectation of a straine,
That but once could be seene in a Kings raigne,
This Coronation, he hopes you may
See often, while the genious of his Play,
Doth prophesie the Conduites may runne wine,
When the dayes triumph's ended, and divine
Briske Nectar swell his temples to a rage,
With something of more price to invest the stage.
There rests but to prepare you, that although
It be a Coronation, there doth flow
No undermirth, such as doth lar'd the scene
For course delight, the language here is cleare.
And confident our Poet bad me say,
Heele bate you but the folly of a Play.
For which although dull soules his pen dispise,
Who thinkes it yet too carely to be wise.
The nobler will thanke his muse, at least
Excuse him, cause his thought aym'd at the best,
To censure Poet, Play, and Prologue too.
But what have J omitted? is there not
A blush upon my cheekes that I forgot
The Ladies, and a Female Prologue too?
Your pardon noble Gentlewomen, you
Were first within my thoughts, J know you sit
As free, and high Commissioners of wit,
Have cleare, and active soules, nay though the men
Were lost in your eyes, they'l be found agen,
You are the bright intelligences move,
And make a harmony this sphere of Love,
Be you propitious then, our Poet sayes,
Our wreath from you, is worth their grove of Bayes:
| The Coronation | |