 | The Princess of Cleve |  |
THE PROLOGUE.
Trust was the Glory of the foremost Age,When Truth and Love with Friendship did engage;
When Man to Man cou'd walk with Arms entwin'd,
And vent their Griefs in spaces of the Wind;
Express their minds, and speak their thoughts as clear,
As Eastern Mornings op'ning to the year.
But since that Law and Treachery came in,
And open Honesty was made a Sin,
Men wait for Men as Dogs for Foxes prey,
And Women wait the closing of the day.
There's scarce a man that ventures to be good,
For Truth by Knaves was never understood;
For there's the Curse, when Vice o'er Vertue rules,
That all the World are Knaves or downright Fools.
So they may make advantage of th'Allay,
They'll take the Dross and through the Gold away.
Women turn Usurers with their own affright,
And Want's the Hag that rides 'em all the night.
The little Mob, the City Wastcoateer,
Will pinch the Back to make the Buttock bare,
And drain the last poor Guinea from her Dear.
Thus Times are turn'd upon a private end,
There's scarce a Man that's generous to his Friend.
But there's a Monarch on a Throne sublime,
That makes Truth Law, and gives the Poets Rhime;
Be his the bus'ness of our little Fates,
Our mean Contentions, and their high Debates.
By Sea and Land our most Imperial Lord,
With all the Praises Blest that Hearts afford,
With Lawrels Crown'd, unconquer'd by the Sword:
William the Sovereign of our whole Affairs,
Our Guide in Peace, and Council in the Wars.
| The Princess of Cleve | |