Classic Poem

LIB. II.

Prologue.

Or bene the Manes of that Cynick spright ,
Cloth'd with some stubburn clay & led to light?
Or do the relique ashes of his graue
Reuiue and rise from their forsaken caue?
That so with gall-weet words and speeches rude,
Controls the maners of the multitude.
Enuie belike incites his pining heart,
And bids it sate it selfe with others smart.
Nay, no dispight: but angry Nemesis,
Whose scourge doth follow all that done amisse:
That scourge I beare, albe in ruder fist,
And wound, and strike, and pardon whom she list.