 | The Loyal Lovers |  |
The Author to his Honorable Friends.
Think mee not proud as poor, when you shall seeI borrow not in my necessity.
And should I steal, (though common in this age)
I should (by some) be trap't in every page.
Then hue and cry comes forth, swiftly pursu'd
At length I'me taken, guiltie found, and mew'd.
Now, as for Justice, (faith) I'me like to finde
Her, like Fortune muffled, if not stark blinde.
All Deprecations then, when deprehended,
Little availe mee; The Judge ascended
Appears two Critick wouldbees, point blank swears
That all the wit they found about mee's theirs.
Which grant it were, let it be prais'd by sence,
And 'twill be found not worth 'bove thirteen pence,
Which wants of halter proof. Now 'twere ill done
To hang a man ne're rob'd 'twixt sun and sun.
Nor have I stoln by night, (as I can think)
Unlesse 'twere home to bed full fraight with drink.
But such, as wanted virtue to infuse
The Heliconian fire into my Muse.
I know you'l guess what beer and ale can do,
Where daily care's had to procure that too.
My Jury now (might I but choose) should be
Such as hath liv'd high, and know miserie.
And if such quit mee not, I'm sure they'l say,
'Twas (partly) want of money spoyl'd my play.
Since Ile not steal, nor borrow, give mee wit;
'Tis in your power to make mee purchase it.
I cannot blush to own what comes from friends,
Give, and forgive, I have obtein'd my Ends.
| The Loyal Lovers | |