Already I am worn with cares and age,
And just abandoning the ungrateful stage;
Unprofitably kept at heaven's expense,
I live a rent-charge on his providence.
But you, whom every Muse and Grace adorn,
Whom I foresee to better fortune born,
Be kind to my remains; and, oh defend,
Against your judgment, your departed friend!
Let not the insulting foe my fame pursue,
But shield those laurels which descend to you:
And take for tribute what these lines express:
You merit more, but could my love do less.
Dryden
THE
Way of the World,
A
COMEDY.
As it is ACTED