 | St. Patrick For Ireland |  |
The Prologue.
We know not what will take, your pallats areVarious, and many of them sick I feare:
We can but serve up what our Poets dresse,
And not considering cost, or paines to please;
We should be very happy, if at last,
We could find out the humour of your taste,
That we might fit, and feast it, so that you
Were constant to your selves, and kept that true;
For some have their opinions so displeas'd,
They come not with a purpose to be pleas'd:
Or like some birds that leave the flowry fields,
They only stoop at that corruption yeilds.
It were a custome would lesse staine the times,
To praise the vertues, when you chide the crimes.
This is but cold encouragement, but we
Hope here are few of those, or if there be,
We wish 'em not infectious, nor confine
We censures; woo'd each soule were masculine:
For your owne sakes we wish all here to day,
Knew but the art and labour of a Play;
Then you would value the true Muses paine,
The throwes and travell of a teeming braine.
But we have no despaire, that all here may
Be friends, and come with candor to this Play.
St. Patrick whose large story cannot be
Bound in the limits of one Play, if ye
First welcome this, you'll grace our Poets art,
And give him Courage for a second part.
| St. Patrick For Ireland | |