Prologue To "the Loyal Brother; Or, The Persian Prince;"[1] By Mr Southern, 1682. Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis
Rhyme Scheme: AABBBCCDDEFGGHHIIJJK KLLMNOOPPQQLLLPROOCC PPPPPOOSSTTUUU| POETS like lawful monarchs ruled the stage | A |
| Till critics like damn'd Whigs debauch'd our age | A |
| Mark how they jump critics would regulate | B |
| Our theatres and Whigs reform our state | B |
| Both pretend love and both plague rot them hate | B |
| The critic humbly seems advice to bring | C |
| The fawning Whig petitions to the king | C |
| But one's advice into a satire slides | D |
| The other's petition a remonstrance hides | D |
| These will no taxes give and those no pence | E |
| Critics would starve the poet Whigs the prince | F |
| The critic all our troops of friends discards | G |
| Just so the Whig would fain pull down the guards | G |
| Guards are illegal that drive foes away | H |
| As watchful shepherds that fright beasts of prey | H |
| Kings who disband such needless aids as these | I |
| Are safe as long as e'er their subjects please | I |
| And that would be till next Queen Bess's night | J |
| Which thus grave penny chroniclers indite | J |
| Sir Edmondbury first in woful wise | K |
| Leads up the show and milks their maudlin eyes | K |
| There's not a butcher's wife but dribs her part | L |
| And pities the poor pageant from her heart | L |
| Who to provoke revenge rides round the fire | M |
| And with a civil cong does retire | N |
| But guiltless blood to ground must never fall | O |
| There's Antichrist behind to pay for all | O |
| The punk of Babylon in pomp appears | P |
| A lewd old gentleman of seventy years | P |
| Whose age in vain our mercy would implore | Q |
| For few take pity on an old cast whore | Q |
| The Devil who brought him to the shame takes part | L |
| Sits cheek by jowl in black to cheer his heart | L |
| Like thief and parson in a Tyburn cart | L |
| The word is given and with a loud huzza | P |
| The mitred puppet from his chair they draw | R |
| On the slain corpse contending nations fall | O |
| Alas what's one poor Pope among them all | O |
| He burns now all true hearts your triumphs ring | C |
| And next for fashion cry God save the king | C |
| A needful cry in midst of such alarms | P |
| When forty thousand men are up in arms | P |
| But after he's once saved to make amends | P |
| In each succeeding health they damn his friends | P |
| So God begins but still the Devil ends | P |
| What if some one inspired with zeal should call | O |
| Come let's go cry God save him at Whitehall | O |
| His best friends would not like this over care | S |
| Or think him ere the safer for this prayer | S |
| Five praying saints are by an act allow'd | T |
| But not the whole church militant in crowd | T |
| Yet should Heaven all the true petitions drain | U |
| Of Presbyterians who would kings maintain | U |
| Of forty thousand five would scarce remain | U |
John Dryden
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