The Mad Lover | ||
Prologue.
To please all's impossible, and to despaireRuins our selves, and dampes the Writers care:
Would we knew what to doe, or say, or when
To find the mindes here equall with the men:
But we must venture; now to Sea we goe,
Faire fortune with us, give us roome, and blow;
Remember ye'ar all venturers; and in this Play
How many twelve-pences ye have 'stow'd this day:
Remember for returne of your delight,
We launch, and plough through stormes of feare, and spight:
Give us your fore-windes fairely, fill our wings,
And steere us right, and as the Saylors sing,
Loden with Wealth, on wanton seas, so we
Shall make our home-bound-voyage chearfully;
And you our noble Merchants, for your treasure
Share equally the fraught, we run for pleasure.
The Mad Lover | ||