University of Virginia Library

THE PROLOGUE.

THe times wherein old Pompion was a Saint,
When men far'd hardly yet without complaint
On vilest Cates; the dainty Indian Maize
Was eat with Clamp-shells out of wooden Trayes
Under thatcht Hutts without the cry of Rent,
And the best Sawce to every Dish, Content.
When Flesh was food, and hairy skins made coats,
And men as wel as birds had chirping Notes.
When Cimnels were accounted noble bloud
Among the tribes of common herbage food.
Of Ceres bounty form'd was many a knack
Enough to fill poor Robins Almanack.
These golden times (too fortunate to hold)
Were quickly sin'd away for love of gold.
Twas then among the bushes, not the street
If one in place did an inferiour meet,
Good morrow Brother, is there ought you want?
Take freely of me, what I have you ha'nt.
Plain Tom and Dick would pass as currant now,
As ever since Your Servant Sir and bow.
Deep-skirted doublets, puritanick capes
Which now would render men like upright Apes,
Was comlier wear our wiser Fathers thought
Than the cast fashions from all Europe brought.
Twas in those dayes an honest Grace would hold
Till an hot puddin grew at heart a cold.
And men had better stomachs to religion
Than I to capon, turkey-cock or pigeon.
When honest Sisters met to pray not prate
About their own and not their neighbours state.
During Plain Dealings Reign, that worthy Stud
Of th' ancient planters race before the flood
These times were good, Merchants car'd not a rush
For other fare than Jonakin and Mush.
Although men far'd and lodged very hard
Yet Innocence was better than a Guard.
Twas long before spiders and wormes had drawn
Their dungy webs or hid with cheating Lawne
New-Englands beautyes, which stil seem'd to me
Illustrious in their own simplicity.
Twas ere the neighbouring Virgin-land had broke
The Hogsheads of her worse than hellish smoak.
Twas ere the Islands sent their Presents in,
Which but to use was counted next to sin.
Twas ere a Barge had made so rich a fraight
As Chocholatte, dust-gold and bitts of eight.
Ere wines from France and Moscovadoe too
Without the which the drink will scarsly doe,
From western Isles, ere fruits and dilicacies,
Did rot maids teeth and spoil their hansome faces.
Or ere these times did chance the noise of war
Was from our towns and hearts removed far.
No Bugbear Comets in the chrystal air
To drive our christian Planters to despair.
No sooner pagan malice peeped forth
But Valour snib'd it; then were men of worth
Who by their prayers slew thousands Angel like,
Their weapons are unseen with which they strike.
Then had the Churches rest, as yet the coales
Were covered up in most contentious souls.
Freeness in Judgment, union in affection,
Dear love, sound truth they were our grand protection.
These were the twins which in our Councells sate,
These gave prognosticks of our future fate,
If these be longer liv'd our hopes increase,
These warrs will usher in a longer peace:
But if New-Englands love die in its youth
The grave will open next for blessed Truth.
This Theame is out of date, the peacefull hours
When Castles needed not but pleasant bowers.
Not ink, but bloud and tears now serve the turn
To draw the figure of New-Englands Urne.
New-Englands hour of passion is at hand,
No power except Divine can it withstand;
Scarce hath her glass of fifty years run out,
But her old prosperous Steeds turn heads about,
Tracking themselves back to their poor beginnings,
To fear and fare upon their fruits of sinnings:
So that the mirrour of the Christian world
Lyes burnt to heaps in part, her Streamers furl'd
Grief reigns, joyes flee and dismal fears surprize,
Not dastard spirits only but the wise.
Thus have the fairest hopes deceiv'd the eye
Of the big swoln Expectant standing by.
Thus the proud Ship after a little turn
Sinks into Neptunes arms to find its Urn.
Thus hath the heir to many thousands born
Been in an instant from the mother torn.
Ev'n thus thine infant cheeks begin to pale,
And thy supporters through great losses fail.
This is the Prologue to thy future woe,
The Epilogue no mortal yet can know.