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<DATE>2007-11-04</DATE>
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<NAME>Emma Leeson Huber</NAME>
<RESP>MURP</RESP>
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<ITEM>Proofed and reviewed as part of batch B071012.apex.</ITEM>
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<IDG S="marc" R="OX" ID="A81771">
<STC T="W">D2335</STC>
<BIBNO T="umi">99899970</BIBNO>
<VID>135053</VID>
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<DIV1 TYPE="text">
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<HEAD>PROLOGUE To His <HI>ROYAL HIGHNESS,</HI> Upon His fir&s;t appearance at the <HI>D&V;KE'S THEATRE</HI> &s;ince his Return from <HI>SCOTLAND.</HI></HEAD>
<BYLINE><HI>Written by Mr.</HI> Dryden. </BYLINE>
<STAGE><HI>Spoken by Mr.</HI> Smith.</STAGE>
<L>IN tho&s;e cold Regions which no Summers chear,</L>
<L>When brooding darkne&s;s covers half the year,</L>
<L>To hollow Caves the &s;hivering Natives go;</L>
<L>Bears range abroad, and hunt in tracks of Snow:</L>
<L>But when the tedious Twilight wears away,</L>
<L>And Stars grow paler at th' approach of Day,</L>
<L>The longing Crowds to frozen Mountains run,</L>
<L>Happy who fir&s;t can &s;ee the glimmering Sun!</L>
<L>The &s;urly Salvage Off-&s;pring di&s;appear;</L>
<L>And cur&s;e the bright Succe&s;&s;our of the Year.</L>
<L>Yet, though rough Bears in Covert &s;eek defence,</L>
<L>White Foxes &s;tay, with &s;eeming Innocence:</L>
<L>That crafty kind with day-light can di&s;pen&s;e.</L>
<L>Still we are throng'd &s;o full with <HI>Reynard</HI>'s race,</L>
<L>That Loyal Subjects &s;carce can find a place:</L>
<L>Thus mode&s;t Truth is ca&s;t behind the Crowd:</L>
<L>Truth &s;peaks too Low; Hypocri&s;ie too Loud.</L>
<L>Let 'em be fir&s;t, to flatter in &s;ucce&s;s;</L>
<L>Duty can &s;tay; but Guilt has need to pre&s;s.</L>
<L>Once, when true Zeal the Sons of God did call,</L>
<L>To make their &s;olemn &s;how at Heaven's <HI>White-hall,</HI></L>
<L>The fawning Devil appear'd among the re&s;t,</L>
<L>And made as good a Courtier as the be&s;t.</L>
<L>The Friends of <HI>Job,</HI> who rail'd at him before,</L>
<L>Came Cap in hand when he had three times more.</L>
<L>Yet, late Repentance may, perhaps, be true;</L>
<L>Kings can forgive if Rebels can but &s;ue:</L>
<L>A Tyrant's Pow'r in rigour is expre&s;t:</L>
<L>The Father yearns in the true Prince's Brea&s;t.</L>
<L>We grant an Ore'grown Whig no grace can mend;</L>
<L>But mo&s;t are Babes, that know not they offend.</L>
<L>The Crowd, to re&s;tle&s;s motion &s;till enclin'd,</L>
<L>Are Clouds, that rack according to the Wind.</L>
<L>Driv'n by their Chiefs they &s;torms of Hail-&s;tones pour:</L>
<L>Then mourn, and &s;often to a &s;ilent &s;howre.</L>
<L>O welcome to this much offending Land</L>
<L>The Prince that brings forgivene&s;s in his hand!</L>
<L>Thus Angels on glad Me&s;&s;ages appear:</L>
<L>Their fir&s;t Salute commands us not to fear:</L>
<L>Thus Heav'n, that cou'd con&s;train us to obey,</L>
<L>(With rev'rence if we might pre&s;ume to &s;ay,)</L>
<L>Seems to relax the rights of Sov'reign &s;way:</L>
<L>Permits to Man the choice of Good and Ill;</L>
<L>And makes us Happy by our own Free-will.</L>
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<P>London, <HI>Printed for</HI> J. Ton&s;on, <HI>at the</HI> Judge<HI>'s</HI> Head <HI>in</HI> Chancery-lane, <HI>1682.</HI></P>
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