THE Play, great Sir, is done; yet needs must fear, Though you brought all your Father's Mercies here, It may offend your Highness, and we have now Three hours done Treason here, for ought we know. But power your grace can above Nature give, It can give Pow'r to make Abortives Live. In which if our bold wishes should be crost, 'Tis but the Life of one poor week t 'has lost; Though it should fall beneath your mortal scorn, Scarce could it Dye more quickly then 'twas Born. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...UPON JULIA'S CLOTHES by ROBERT HERRICK ADLESTROP by PHILIP EDWARD THOMAS HE GIVES HIS BELOVED CERTAIN RHYMES by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS LINES TO A TEAPOT by JOANNA BAILLIE TO REV. W. H. MILBURN by LEVI BISHOP UNDER A THOUSAND WORDS by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN SELF-CONGRATULATION by ANNE BRONTE THE WANDERER: 3. IN ENGLAND: 'MEDIO DE FONTE LEPORUM SURGIT AMARI..' by EDWARD ROBERT BULWER-LYTTON |