4419228Madagascar; with Other Poems — Prologue to a reviv'd Play of Mr Fletcher's, call'd The Woman-haterWilliam Davenant
Prologue to a reviv'd Play ofMrFletcher's, call'd The Woman-hater.
Ladies! take't as a secret in your Eare, In stead of homage, and kind welcome here, I heartily could wish, you all were gone; For if you stay, good faith, wee are undone. Alas! you now expect, the usuall wayes Of our addresse, which is, your Sexes praise: But wee to night, unluckily must speake, Such things, will make your Lovers Heart-strings breake; Bely your Virtues, and your beauties staine, With words, contriv'd long since, in your disdaine. 'Tis strange you stirre not yet; not all this while Lift up your Fannes, to hide a scornefull smile: Whisper, nor jog your Lords to steale away; So leave us t'act, unto our selves, our Play: 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.