Fragmenta aurea A collection of all the incomparable peeces, written by Sir John Suckling. And published by a friend to perpetuate his memory. Printed by his owne copies.
Suckling, John, Sir, 1609-1642.
Prologue to the Court.
TIs strange perchance (you'll thinke) that she that di' d•
At Christmas, should at Easter be a Bride:
But 'tis a privilege the Poets have,
To take the long-since dead out of the grave:
Nor is this all, old Heroes a sleepe
'Twixt marble coverlets, and six foot deep•
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In earth, they boldly wake, and make them doe
All they did living here—sometimes more too,
They give fresh life, reverse and alter Fate,
And yet more bold, Almightie-like create:
And out of nothing onely to deifie
Reason, and Reasons friend, Philosophie,
Fame, honour, valour, all that's great, or good,
Or is at least 'mongst us, so understood,
They give, heav'ns theirs, no handsome woman dies,
But if they please, is strait some star i'th' skies—
But oh—
How those poore men of Meetre doe
Flatter themselves with that, that is not true,
And 'cause they can trim up a little prose,
And spoile it handsomly, vainly suppose
Th' are Omnipotent, can doe all those things
That can be done onely by Gods and Kings.
Of this wild guilt, hee faine would bee thought free,
That writ this Play, and therefore (Sir) by mee,
Hee humbly begs, you would be pleas'd to know,
Aglaura's but repriev'd this night, and though
Shee now appeares upon a Poets call,
Shee's not to live, unlesse you say shee shall.
