I, that am glad, thy Innocence was thy Guilt,
And wish that all the_ Muses blood were spilt
In such a Martyrdome, to vex their eyes,
Do crown thy murdred Poeme: which shall rise
A glorified work to Time, when Fire,
Or mothes shall eat, what all these Fools admire.
BEN. JONSON.
This Dialogue newly added, was spoken by way of Prologue to both their
Majesties, at the first acting of this Pastoral at Somerset-house on
Twelfth-night, 1633.
Priest.
A broiling Lamb on Pans chief Altar lies,
My Wreath, my Censor, Virge, and Incense by:
But I delayed the pretious Sacrifice,
To shew thee here, a Gentle Deity.
Nymph.
Nor was I to thy sacred Summons slow,
Hither I came as swift as th' Eagles wing,
Or threatning shaft from vext Dianaes bow,
To see this Islands God; the worlds best King.
Priest.
Bless then that Queen, that doth his eyes invite And ears, t'obey her Scepter, half this night.
Nymph.