Prologue to Lady Jane Gray, A. Sent by an unknown Hand -

Sent by an unknown Hand.

When waking Terrors rouze the guilty Breast,
And fatal Visions break the Murd'rer's Rest,
When Vengeance does Ambition's Fate decree,
And Tyrants Bleed to set whole Nations free;
Tho' the Muse saddens each distressed Scene,
Unmov'd is ev'ry Breast, and ev'ry Face serene;
The mournful Lines no tender Heart subdue;
Compassion is to suff'ing Goodness due.
The Poet your Attention begs once more,
T' atone for Characters here drawn before:
No royal Mistress sighs through ev'ry Page,
And breaths her dying Sorrows on the Stage:
No lovely Fair, by soft Persuasion won,
Lays down the Load of Life when Honor's gone.
Nobly to bear the Changes of our State,
To stand unmov'd against the Storms of Fate,
A brave Contempt of Life and Grandeur lost;
Such glorious Toils a Female Name can boast.
Our Author draws not Beauty's heav'nly Smile,
T' invite our Wishes, and our Hearts beguile:
No soft Enchantments languish in her Eye,
No Blossoms fade, nor sick'ning Roses die.
A nobler Passion ev'ry Breast must move,
Than youthful Raptures, or the Joys of Love.
A Mind unchang'd, superior to a Crown,
Bravely defies the angry Tyrant's Frown;
The same, if Fortune sinks, or mounts on high,
Or if the World's extended Ruins lie:
With gen'rous Scorn she lays the Scepter down;
Great Souls shine brightest by Misfortunes shown:
With patient Courage she sustains the Blow,
And triumphs o'er variety of Woe;
Through ev'ry Scene the sad Distress is new:
How well feign'd Life does represent the true!
Unhappy Age! who views the bloody Stain,
But must with Tears record Maria' s Reign!
When Zeal by Doctrine flatter'd lawless Will,
Instructed by Religion's Voice to kill.
Ye British Fair! lament in silent Woe ;
Let ev'ry Eye with tender Pity flow;
The lovely Form through falling Drops will seem
Like flow'ry Shadows of the silver Stream.
Thus Beauty, Heav'n's sweet Ornament, shall prove
Enrich'd by Virtue, as adorn'd by Love.
Forget your Charms, fond Woman's dear Delight,
The Fops will languish here another Night.
No Conquest from dissembling Smiles we fear;
She only kills, who wounds us with a Tear.
Translation: 
Language: 
Rate this poem: 

Reviews

No reviews yet.