 | The Slighted Maid |  |
THE PROLOGUE TO THE KING.
If Favours merit Thanks, what then is dueFor Blessings, Sir, deriv'd to Us from You?
Such Blessings as no People, ever since
They prosper'd into Kingdoms, ow'd a Prince:
Three Nations (by all other disesteem'd)
To Honour and to Freedom you redeem'd.
Now your Nobility are Lords age'n,
Your Commonalty Valiant Loyal Men.
Th'Oil that Anointed you heal'd our sad wounds,
Your Laws have fix'd us in our old just Bounds.
When to your Throne you came, Justice return'd
From Heav'n, and on the Bench (o're which she mourn'd,)
Sits in your Splendour, gives (not takes) the Word,
And with her Ballance over-rules the Sword,
Which now protects your poorest Subject's Plea,
And guards the Labours of your Land and Sea.
Nor is Toil barr'd from Pleasure any more,
For, Publick Recreations you restore;
Not Roman Theatres, that were design'd
For Sword-play; our Plays recreate the Mind,
Instruct the Judgment, which Mens Nature learns,
And how to manage Low and High Concerns:
Our whole Globe in this Hemisphere we see
Inlightne with the Raies of Majesty.
Where all, but th'Authors doubtful Eye, looks clear,
But, Sir, he hopes you'l smile away his fear.
| The Slighted Maid | |