The Works of Abraham Cowley/Volume 1/Prologue to "The Cutter of Colman-street"
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For works with similar titles, see Prologue.
PROLOGUE
TO THE
CUTTER OF COLMAN STREET.
As, when the midland sea is no-where clear
From dreadful fleets of Tunis and Argier—
Which coast about, to all they meet with foes,
And upon which nought can be got but blows—
The merchant-ships so much their passage doubt,
That, though full-freighted, none dares venture out,
And trade decays, and scarcity ensues:
Just so the timorous wits of late refuse,
Though laded, to put forth upon the stage,
Affrighted by the criticks of this age.
It is a party numerous, watchful, bold;
They can from nought, which sails in sight, withhold;
Nor do their cheap, though mortal, thunder spare;
They shoot, alas! with wind-guns charg'd with air.
But yet, gentlemen-criticks of Argier,
For your own interest I'd advise ye here,
To let this little forlorn-hope go by
Safe and untouch'd, "That must not be" (you'll cry).
If ye be wise, it must; I'll tell you why.
There are seven, eight, nine—stay—there are behind
Ten plays at least, which wait but for a wind,
And the glad news that we the enemy miss;
And those are all your own, if you spare this.
Some are but new trimm'd up, others quite new;
Some by known shipwrights built, and others too
By that great author made, whoe'er he be,
That styles himself "Person of Quality:"
All these, if we miscarry here to-day,
Will rather till they rot in th' harbour stay;
Nay, they will back again, though they were come
Ev'n to their last safe road, the tyring-room.
Therefore again I say, If you be wise,
Let this for once pass free; let it suffice
That we, your sovereign power here to avow,
Thus humbly, ere we pass, strike sail to you,
From dreadful fleets of Tunis and Argier—
Which coast about, to all they meet with foes,
And upon which nought can be got but blows—
The merchant-ships so much their passage doubt,
That, though full-freighted, none dares venture out,
And trade decays, and scarcity ensues:
Just so the timorous wits of late refuse,
Though laded, to put forth upon the stage,
Affrighted by the criticks of this age.
It is a party numerous, watchful, bold;
They can from nought, which sails in sight, withhold;
Nor do their cheap, though mortal, thunder spare;
They shoot, alas! with wind-guns charg'd with air.
But yet, gentlemen-criticks of Argier,
For your own interest I'd advise ye here,
To let this little forlorn-hope go by
Safe and untouch'd, "That must not be" (you'll cry).
If ye be wise, it must; I'll tell you why.
There are seven, eight, nine—stay—there are behind
Ten plays at least, which wait but for a wind,
And the glad news that we the enemy miss;
And those are all your own, if you spare this.
Some are but new trimm'd up, others quite new;
Some by known shipwrights built, and others too
By that great author made, whoe'er he be,
That styles himself "Person of Quality:"
All these, if we miscarry here to-day,
Will rather till they rot in th' harbour stay;
Nay, they will back again, though they were come
Ev'n to their last safe road, the tyring-room.
Therefore again I say, If you be wise,
Let this for once pass free; let it suffice
That we, your sovereign power here to avow,
Thus humbly, ere we pass, strike sail to you,
ADDED AT COURT.
STAY, gentlemen; what I have said was all
But forc'd submission, which I now recall.
Ye're all but pirates now again; for here
Does the true sovereign of the seas appear,
The sovereign of these narrow seas of wit;
'T is his own Thames; he knows and governs it.
'T is his dominion and domain; as he
Pleases, 't is either shut to us, or free.
Not only, if his passport we obtain,
We fear no little rovers of the main;
But, if our Neptune his calm visage show,
No wave shall dare to rise or wind to blow.
STAY, gentlemen; what I have said was all
But forc'd submission, which I now recall.
Ye're all but pirates now again; for here
Does the true sovereign of the seas appear,
The sovereign of these narrow seas of wit;
'T is his own Thames; he knows and governs it.
'T is his dominion and domain; as he
Pleases, 't is either shut to us, or free.
Not only, if his passport we obtain,
We fear no little rovers of the main;
But, if our Neptune his calm visage show,
No wave shall dare to rise or wind to blow.
END OF THE FIRST VOLUME.
Printed by T. Davison, White-friars.