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The Lady-Errant

A Tragi-Comedy
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
The Prologue.
  
  

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The Prologue.

Sacred to your Delight
Be the short Revels of this Night;
That Calme that in yond Myrtles moves,
Crowne all your Thoughts, and Loves:
And as the fatall Yew-tree shews
No Spring among those happy Boughs,
So be all Care quite banisht hence
Whiles easie Quiet rocks your Sence.
We cannot here complain
Of want of Presence, or of Train;
For if choice Beauties make the Court,
And their Light guild the Sport,
This honour'd Ring presents us here
Glories as rich and fresh as there;
And it may under Question fall,
Which is more Court, This, or White-Hall.
Be't so. But then the Face
Of what we bring fits not the Place,
And so we shall pull down what ere
Your Glories have built here:
Yet if you will conceive, that though
The Poem's forc'd, We are not so;
And that each Sex keeps to it's Part,
Nature may plead excuse for Art.
As then there's no Offence
Giv'n to the Weak or Stubborn hence,
Being the Female's Habit is
Her owne, and the Male's his:
So (if great things may steer by less)
May you the same in looks express:
Your Weare is Smiles, and Gracious Eyes;
When ere you frown 'tis but disguise.