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Then sure, there may be hope, you can subdue,
Your patience to endure, an Act, or two:
Nay more, when you are told, our Poets rage
Pursues but one example, which that age
Wherein he liv'd produc'd; and wee rely
Not on the truth, but the varietie.
His Muse beleev'd not, what she then did write;
Her Wings, were wom to make a nobler flight;
Soar'd high, and to the Stars, your Sex did raise;
For which, full Twenty yeares, he wore the Bayes.
'Twas hee reduc'd Evadne from her scorne,
And taught the sad Aspasia how to mourne;
Gave Arethusa's love, a glad releefe;
And made Panthea elegant in griefe.
If these great Trophies of his noble Muse,
Cannot one humor 'gainst your Sex excuse
Which wee present to night; you'l finde a way
How to make good, the Libell in our Play:
So you are cruell to your selves; whilst he
(Safe in the fame of his integritie)
Will be a Prophet, not a Poet thought;
And this fine Web last long, though loosely wrought.
Your patience to endure, an Act, or two:
Nay more, when you are told, our Poets rage
Pursues but one example, which that age
Wherein he liv'd produc'd; and wee rely
Not on the truth, but the varietie.
His Muse beleev'd not, what she then did write;
Her Wings, were wom to make a nobler flight;
Soar'd high, and to the Stars, your Sex did raise;
For which, full Twenty yeares, he wore the Bayes.
'Twas hee reduc'd Evadne from her scorne,
And taught the sad Aspasia how to mourne;
Gave Arethusa's love, a glad releefe;
And made Panthea elegant in griefe.
If these great Trophies of his noble Muse,
Cannot one humor 'gainst your Sex excuse
Which wee present to night; you'l finde a way
How to make good, the Libell in our Play:
So you are cruell to your selves; whilst he
(Safe in the fame of his integritie)
Will be a Prophet, not a Poet thought;
And this fine Web last long, though loosely wrought.
To
