 | The Revengeful Queen |  |
PROLOGUE.
As
a Pale Virgin coyly do's refuse.
To grant the Favour which she longs to lose;
Faintly contending, that she may remove
The actual Consummation of her Love;
Fain wou'd she have her Dreams unridled to her,
Yet bashfully resists him, that wou'd shew her:
Seems to desire no farther Prosecution,
Yet wishes for the Hour of Execution;
At length she understands the full Intent,
Partly by Rape, and partly by Consent.
To grant the Favour which she longs to lose;
Faintly contending, that she may remove
The actual Consummation of her Love;
Fain wou'd she have her Dreams unridled to her,
Yet bashfully resists him, that wou'd shew her:
Seems to desire no farther Prosecution,
Yet wishes for the Hour of Execution;
At length she understands the full Intent,
Partly by Rape, and partly by Consent.
So this Day's Author between Hope and Fear,
Hopes to succeed, yet trembles to appear.
He struggl'd long against his Muse's force,
(Jades are more headstrong, than a Well-bred Horse)
His Phillis first, by Songs, he try'd to move,
Two curst Diseases, Poetry and Love!
And having once giv'n loose to her dull Rage,
She now has Impudence to mount the Stage.
Just so the Nymph, no more by Honor aw'd,
She turns Pit-Whore, then Gallery, then Bawd.
Too like are Poets to a common Whore,
As being much despis'd, and very Poor.
No better Evidence can I'm sure be found,
Where there are some kind Masks, where Wits abound.
How happy were't wou'd both leave off in time!
Scribling and Loving quit, while in their Prime.
But being pleas'd at first, they still go on,
And never leave, till they are both undone.
Till one is swing'd, and till the other's damn'd.
Oh Jove avert from both what I have nam'd!
Hopes to succeed, yet trembles to appear.
He struggl'd long against his Muse's force,
(Jades are more headstrong, than a Well-bred Horse)
His Phillis first, by Songs, he try'd to move,
Two curst Diseases, Poetry and Love!
And having once giv'n loose to her dull Rage,
She now has Impudence to mount the Stage.
Just so the Nymph, no more by Honor aw'd,
She turns Pit-Whore, then Gallery, then Bawd.
Too like are Poets to a common Whore,
As being much despis'd, and very Poor.
No better Evidence can I'm sure be found,
Where there are some kind Masks, where Wits abound.
How happy were't wou'd both leave off in time!
Scribling and Loving quit, while in their Prime.
But being pleas'd at first, they still go on,
And never leave, till they are both undone.
Till one is swing'd, and till the other's damn'd.
Oh Jove avert from both what I have nam'd!
| The Revengeful Queen | |