 | The Noble Stranger |  |
Prologue.
Blest Fate protect me! what a lustre's here?How many Starres deck this our little spheare?
And all predominate, have the influence
To blast, or cherish, punish, or dispence:
Your aspects yet are cleare, then joyn in one,
And prove a happy constellation.
Our Author does beleeve there will not want
Some to subscribe the Factious Covenant
Of your prescitian wits, if such there are,
Proclaime 'hem Rebells, and bid open warre.
'Las Poesie's become so shallow now,
All knowes to judge, what like, what disallow.
The briske Shops fore-man undertakes with's Ell
To sound the depth of Aganippas Well:
Weigh out each syllable, measure each line,
And then with as much confidence define
Whether false or currant, as those who know
Distinction 'twixt Phæbean straines and low.
Our Country audience too will crye downe playes;
And why, there is not foole enough he sayes.
Gentlemen, y'are grown queasie too of late,
'Tis meere variety does satiate.
Faith use our Author well, breath gentle ayre:
Force not his blooming hopes to a despaire.
'Tis the first accent of his tender Muse,
He hopes 'twill please you; if not, doe not use
A severe Censure, for by me he prayes
Crowne not with Cypres, though you give no Bayes.
| The Noble Stranger | |