[122]: Prologue de Every man out of his humour.
With an armed and resolute hand,
I'll strip the ragged follies of the time.
Naked as at their birth....
And with a whip of steel,
Print wounding lashes in their iron ribs.
I fear no mood stamp'd in a private brow,
When I am pleased t'unmask a public vice;
I fear no strumpet's drugs, no ruffian's stab,
Shoud I detect their hateful luxuries.
(Every man out of his humour; Prologue.)
O sacred Poesy, thou spirit of arts
The soul of science, and the queen of souls,
What profane violence, almost sacrilege,
Hath here been offered thy divinities!
That thine own guiltless poverty should arm
Prodigious ignorance to wound thee thus!...
.... Would men learn but to distinguish spirits,
And set true difference 'twixt those jaded wits,
That run a broken pace for common hire,
And the high raptures of a happy muse,
Borne on the wings of her immortal thought
That kicks at earth with a disdainful heel,
And beats at heaven gates with her bright hoofs;
They would not then, with such distorted faces,
And desperate censures, stab at Poesy.
(Poetaster, acte I, sc. i.)
[124]: Voir le deuxième acte de Catilina.
.... Now I see your wisdom, judgment, strength,
Quickness and will, to apprehend the means
To your own good and greatness, I protest
Myself through rarified, and turn'd all flame
In your affection.
(Sejan, acte II, sc. i.)