5

The privilege of poetry (or it may be the vanity of the pretenders to it) has given 'em a kind of right to pretend, at the same time, to the favour of those, whom their high birth and excellent qualities have plac'd in a very distinguishing manner above the rest of the world. If this be not a receiv'd maxim, yet I am sure I am to wish it were, that I may have at least some kind of excuse for laying this tragedy at Your Grace's feet. I have too much reason to fear that it may prove but an indifferent entertainment to Your Grace, since if I have any way succeeded in it, 10 it has been in describing those violent passions which have been always strangers to so happy a temper, and so noble and so exalted a virtue as Your Grace is mistress of. Yet for all this, I cannot but confess the vanity which I have, to hope that there may be something so moving in the 15 misfortunes and distress of the play, as may be not altogether unworthy of Your Grace's pity. This is one of the main designs of tragedy, and to excite this generous pity

in the greatest minds, may pass for some kind of success in this way of writing. I am sensible of the presumption 20 I am guilty of by this hope, and how much it is that I pretend to in Your Grace's approbation; if it be my good fortune to meet with any little share of it, I shall always look upon it as much more to me than the general applause of the theatre, or even the praise of a good critick. Your 25 Grace's name is the best protection this play can hope for, since the world, ill natur'd as it is, agrees in an universal respect and deference for Your Grace's person and character. In so censorious an age as this is, where malice furnishes out all the publick conversations, where every body 30 pulls and is pull'd to pieces of course, and where there is hardly such a thing as being merry, but at another's expence; yet by a publick and uncommon justice to the Dutchess of Ormond, her name has never been mention'd, but as it ought, tho' she has beauty enough to provoke de- 35 traction from the fairest of her own sex, and virtue enough to make the loose and dissolute of the other (a very formidable party) her enemies. Instead of this they agree to say nothing of her but what she deserves, that her spirit is worthy of her birth; her sweetness of the love and re- 40 spect of all the world; her piety, of her religion; her service, of her royal mistress; and her beauty and truth, of her lord; that in short every part of her character is just, and that she is the best reward for one of the greatest hero's this age has produc'd. This, Madam, is what you 45 must allow people every where to say: those whom you shall leave behind you in England will have something further to add, the loss we shall suffer by Your Grace's

journey to Ireland; the Queen's pleasure, and the impatient wishes of that nation are about to deprive us of two 50 of our publick ornaments. But there is no arguing against reasons so prevalent as these. Those who shall lament

acquiesce in the wisdom

Your Grace's absence will yet and justice of Her Majesty's choice: among all whose royal favours none cou'd be so agreeable, upon a thousand 55 accounts, to that people, as the Duke of Ormond. With what joy, what acclamations shall they meet a governor, who beside their former obligations to his family, has so lately ventur'd his life and fortune for their preservation? What duty, what submission shall they not pay to that 60 authority which the Queen has delegated to a person so dear to 'em? And with what honour, what respect shall they receive Your Grace, when they look upon you as the noblest and best pattern Her Majesty cou'd send 'em, of her own royal goodness, and personal virtues? They shall 65 behold Your Grace with the same pleasure the English shall take when ever it shall be their good fortune to see you return again to your native country. In England Your Grace is become a publick concern, and as your going away will be attended with a general sorrow, so 70 your return shall give as general a joy; and to none of those many, more than to,

Madam,

Your Grace's

most Obedient, and

most Humble Servant,

N. ROWE.

PROLOGUE

SPOKEN BY MR. Betterton

Long has the fate of kings and empires been
The common bus'ness of the tragick scene,
As if misfortune made the throne her seat,
And none cou'd be unhappy but the great.
Dearly, 't is true, each buys the crown he wears,
And many are the mighty monarch's cares:
By foreign foes and home-bred factions prest,
Few are the joys he knows, and short his hours of

rest.

Stories like these with wonder we may hear,
But far remote, and in a higher sphere,
We ne'er can pity what we ne'er can share.
Like distant battles of the Pole and Swede,
Which frugal citizens o'er coffee read,
Careless for who shall fail or who succeed.
Therefore an humbler theme our author chose,
A melancholy tale of private woes:
No princes here lost royalty bemoan,

But you shall meet with sorrows like your own;
Here see imperious love his vassals treat,
As hardly as ambition does the great;

11 We. 1714, Who.

5

IO

15

20