Spoken by the Lady SLINGSBY.
Fair Ladies, pity an unhappy Maid,
By Fortune, and by faithless Love betray'd.
Innocent once—I scarce knew how to sin,
Till that unlucky Devil entring in,
Did all my Honour, all my Faith undo:
LOVE! like Ambition makes us Rebels too:
And of all Treasons, mine was most accurst;
Rebelling 'gainst a KING and FATHER first.
A Sin, which Heav'n nor Man can e're forgive;
Nor could I Act it with the Face to live.
My Dagger did my Honours cause redress;
But Oh! my blushing Ghost must needs confess,
Had my young Charming Lover faithful been,
I fear I dy'd with unrepented Sin.
There's nothing can my Reputation save
With all the True, the Loyal and the Brave;
Not my Remorse, or Death can expiate
With them a Treason 'gainst the KING and State.
Some Love-sick Maid perhaps, now I am gone,
(Raging with Love, and by that Love undone,)
May form some little Argument for me,
T' excuse m' Ingratitude and Treachery.
Some of the Sparks too, that infect the Pit,
(Whose Honesty is equal to their Wit,
And think Rebellion but a petty Crime,
Can turn to all sides Int'rest does incline,)
May cry 'I gad I think the Wench is wise;
'Had it prov'd Lucky, 'twas the Way to rise.
'She had a Roman Spirit, that disdains
'Dull Loyalty, and the Yoke of Sovereigns.
'A Pox of Fathers, and Reproach to come;
'She was the first and Noblest Whig of Rome.
But may that Ghost in quiet never rest,
Who thinks it self with Traytors Praises blest.
[Mrs. Behn's Satyr on Dryden.]
(On Mr. Dryden, Renegate.)
Scorning religion all thy life time past,
And now embracing popery at last,
Is like thyself; & what thou'st done before
Defying wife and marrying a whore.
Alas! how leering Hereticks will laugh
To see a gray old hedge bird caught with chaffe.
A Poet too from great heroick theames
And inspiration, fallen to dreaming dreams.
But this the priests will get by thee at least
That if they mend thee, miracles are not ceast.
For 'tis not more to cure the lame & blind,
Than heal an impious ulcerated mind.
This if they do, and give thee but a grain
Of common honesty, or common shame,
'Twill be more credit to their cause I grant,
Than 'twould to make another man a saint.
But thou noe party ever shalt adorn,
To thy own shame & Nature's scandall borne:
All shun alike thy ugly outward part,
Whilest none have right or title to thy heart.
Resolved to stand & constant to the time,
Fix'd in thy lewdness, settled in thy crime.
Whilest Moses with the Israelites abode,
Thou seemdst content to worship Moses' God:
But since he went & since thy master fell,
Thou foundst a golden calf would do as well.
And when another Moses shall arise
Once more I know thou'lt rub and clear thy eyes,
And turn to be an Israelite again, }
For when the play is done & finisht clean, }
What should the Poet doe but shift the scene. }
[VALENTINIAN.]
Prologue spoken by Mrs. Cook the first Day.
Written by Mrs. Behn.