The Poetical Works of Henry Brooke ... In Four Volumes Octavo. Revised and corrected by the Original Manuscript With a Portrait of the Author, and His Life By Miss Brooke. The Third Edition |
 | I. |
|
|
| I. |
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| I. |
| II. |
PROLOGUE TO THE EARL OF ESSEX,
|
| II. |
|
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
|
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
|
 | The Poetical Works of Henry Brooke |  |
363
PROLOGUE TO THE EARL OF ESSEX,
A TRAGEDY.
This night, to your free censure, are exposed
Scenes, now, almost two hundred winters, closed:
Scenes, yet, that ought to be for ever near,
To Freedom sacred, and to Virtue dear!
Scenes, now, almost two hundred winters, closed:
Scenes, yet, that ought to be for ever near,
To Freedom sacred, and to Virtue dear!
Deep is the spring, whose stream this night we draw;
Its source is Truth—'tis Liberty made Law:
A draught divine to ev'ry generous breast;
The cordial of the Wretched—of the Blest!
The juice, by which the strength of souls is fed;
Without whose aliment, who lives—is dead.
Its source is Truth—'tis Liberty made Law:
A draught divine to ev'ry generous breast;
The cordial of the Wretched—of the Blest!
The juice, by which the strength of souls is fed;
Without whose aliment, who lives—is dead.
If aught is honest, noble, kind, or great,
Which yet may give some British hearts to beat;
If aught has been by mighty fathers won,
Which yet descends to animate a son;
However weak the warmth, or dim the beam,
We shew from whence the distant glory came;
And lead you backward, by the kindred ray,
To the full blaze of Britain's brightest day—
Elizabeth!—a light till then unknown,
The virgin sun, of Truth's meridian, shone,
And in the Subject's Freedom fix'd a Living Throne.
Which yet may give some British hearts to beat;
If aught has been by mighty fathers won,
Which yet descends to animate a son;
However weak the warmth, or dim the beam,
We shew from whence the distant glory came;
And lead you backward, by the kindred ray,
To the full blaze of Britain's brightest day—
364
The virgin sun, of Truth's meridian, shone,
And in the Subject's Freedom fix'd a Living Throne.
Is there, to whom one Privilege is sure,
Who holds fair Property, as yet, secure?—
Is there, to whom Religion stands endear'd,
So hardly rescued, so divinely clear'd?—
Is there, who claims, who feels, who prizes aught,
For which the Hero bled, the Patriot wrought?—
Elizabeth, as one inspiring soul,
Reform'd, connected, and affirm'd the whole;
And sent the blessings down, thro' ev'ry reign,
For you to clasp, to cherish, and retain!
Who holds fair Property, as yet, secure?—
Is there, to whom Religion stands endear'd,
So hardly rescued, so divinely clear'd?—
Is there, who claims, who feels, who prizes aught,
For which the Hero bled, the Patriot wrought?—
Elizabeth, as one inspiring soul,
Reform'd, connected, and affirm'd the whole;
And sent the blessings down, thro' ev'ry reign,
For you to clasp, to cherish, and retain!
Like Cynthia, peerless queen, supremely crown'd,
Her guardian constellations blazed around—
Selected chiefs, for council, as for fight;
Her men of wisdom, and her men of might;
Whose acts, illustrating our annals, stand
The grace, the good, the glory of the land!
For then no Courtly Faction stood confest—
Who serv'd his Country, serv'd his Queen the best!
Her guardian constellations blazed around—
Selected chiefs, for council, as for fight;
Her men of wisdom, and her men of might;
Whose acts, illustrating our annals, stand
The grace, the good, the glory of the land!
For then no Courtly Faction stood confest—
Who serv'd his Country, serv'd his Queen the best!
If yet, among those godlike men of old,
Some taint of earth lay mingled with the mould;
On human frailty if misfortune grew,
And sufferings, such as all who read must rue—
Thro' time descending let the sorrow flow,
And you who share the virtue, share the woe!
Some taint of earth lay mingled with the mould;
On human frailty if misfortune grew,
And sufferings, such as all who read must rue—
Thro' time descending let the sorrow flow,
And you who share the virtue, share the woe!
| The Poetical Works of Henry Brooke | |