Prologue

SEE—here are men, who're bound by ties to tread In honour's paths;—by obligations led To serve the fair; to dry the Orphan's tears, The widow's pleas; and dissipate their fears; To wield our swords in Christian's sacred came; To vanquish Turks, and trample on their laws; To pass our lives in righteousness and truth, To serve our brethern, and instruct our youth. Poor CYMON too, we awfully revere,— Are strangers to servility and fear; Knights of an ancient order!—doom'd to trace The sacred rules of all EMMANUEL'S Race; A Judas ne'er encouragement can find Among a band, where three in one must bind, Who're ever mindful of that dreadful day, When fleeting souls resume their pristine clay: Memento mori—Cloud-cap'd Towers fall, And universal Chaos buries all. This institution—ancient in its kind, I Fethard first was polish'd and refin'd; Why not?—When beauties such as ye inspire Our gallant Knights, and set their souls on fire; In lovely order,—see the polish'd rows, Their friendship for the Royal Craft disclose; The secret faithful Craft—who joys can feel, Nor cry they roast-meat—fare they e'er so well. May such for ever be the ladies choice, Free from deceit—and free from every vice; And more (ye fair) than all your slave has said, You're sure that men will grace your nuptual bed; No wan Italians,—no pale fribbles we, But flesh and blood, brave, honest, frank and free.