EPILOGUE To a TRAGEDY call'd TAMERLANE the Great. L [By Mr. SAUNDERS, 1681.] this day Adies, the beardless author of A woman wit has often grac'd the stage; } PRO PROLOGUE To the UNIVERSITY OF OXFORD, 1681. T HE fam'd Italian muse, whose rhimes advance Orlando, and the Paladins of France, Records, that, when our wit and sense is flown, 'Tis lodg'd within the circle of the moon, In earthen jars, which one, who thither foar'd, Set to his nose, snuff'd up, and was restor'd. Whate'er the story be, the moral's true; "The wit we lost in town, we find in you. Our poets their fled parts may draw from hence, And fill their windy heads with fober sense. When London votes with Southwark's disagree, Here may they find their long-loft loyalty. Here busy senates, to th' old cause inclin'd, May snuff the votes their fellows left behind : Your country neighbours, when their grain grows dear, May come, and find their last provifion here: Whereas we cannot much lament our lofs, Who neither carry'd back, nor brought one cross. We look'd what representatives would bring; But they help'd us, just as they did the king. Yet we despair not; for we now lay forth The Sibyls books to those who know their worth; And tho' the first was facrific'd before, These volumes doubly will the price restore. Our poet bade us hope this grace to find, To whom by long prescription you are kind. He, whose undaunted Muse, with loyal rage, Has never spar'd the vices of the age, Here finding nothing that his spleen can raise, Is forc'd to turn his fatire into praise. PRO PROLOGUE To his ROYAL HIGHNESS, Upon his first Appearance at the DUKE'S THEATRE after his Return from Scotland, 1682. I N those cold regions which no fummers chear, To hollow caves the shiv'ring natives go; } Duty can stay, but guilt has need to press. And made as good a courtier as the beft. The The friends of Job, who rail'd at him before, } PROLOGUE To the EARL of ESSEX. [By Mr. J. BANKS, 1682.] Spoken to the KING and the QUEEN at their coming to the House. W HEN first the ark was landed on the shore, more; When tops of hills the longing patriarch faw, The dove was sent to view the waves decrease, And first brought back to man the pledge of peace. 'Tis needless to apply, when those appear, Who bring the olive, and who plant it here. We have before our eyes the royal dove, Still innocent as harbinger of love: The ark is open'd to dismiss the train, And people with a better race the plain. Tell me, ye powers, why should vain man pursue, With endless toil, each object that is new, And for the seeming substance leave the true? } And loath the manna of his daily food? Must England still the scene of changes be, } Without our blood our liberties we have: Who that is free would fight to be a slave? Or, |