A PROLOGUE to Lady JANE GRAY, sent by an Unknown Hand

When waking Terrors rouze the guilty Breast, And satal Visions break the Murd'rer's Rest; When Vengeance does Ambition's Fate decree, And Tyrants bleed, to set whole Nations free; Tho the Muse saddens each distressed Scene, Unmov'd is ev'ry Breast, and ev'ry Fate serene; The mournful Lines no tender Heart subdue, Compassion is to suff'ring Goodness due. The Poet your Attention begs once more, T' atone for Characters here drawn before: No Royal Mistress sighs through ev'ry Page, And breathes her dying Sorrows on the Stage: No lovely Fair by soft Persuasion won, Lays down the Load of Life, when Honour's gone.

Nobly to bear the Changes of our State, To stand unmov'd against the Storms of Fate, A brave Contempt of Life, and Grandeur lost; Such glorious Toils a Female Name can boast. Our Author draws not Beauty's heavenly Smile, T' invite our Wishes, and our Hearts beguile. No soft Enchantments languish in her Eye, No Blossoms sade, nor sick'ning Roses die: A nobler Passion ev'ry Breast must move, Than youthful Raptures, or the Joys of Love. A Mind unchang'd, superiour to a Crown, Bravely defies the angry Tyrant's Frown; The same, if Fortune sinks, or mounts on high, Or if the World's extended Ruins lie: With gen'rous Scorn she lays the Scepter down, Great Souls shine brightest, by Misfortunes shown: With patient Courage she sustains the Blow, And triumphs o'er Variety of Woe. Through ev'ry Scene the sad Distress is new; How well feign'd Life does represent the true! Unhappy Age! who views the bloody Stain, But must with Tears record Maria's Reign? When Zeal, by Doctrine flatter'd lawless Will, Instructed by Religion's Voice to kill.

Ye British Fair! lament in silent Woe, Let ev'ry Eye with tender Pity flow: The lovely Form through falling Drops will seem Like flou'ry Shadows on the silver Stream. Thus beauty, Heaven's sweet Ornament, shall prove Enrich'd by Virtue, as ador'd by Love. Forget your Charms, fond Woman's dear Delight, The Fops will languish here another Night. No Conquest from dissembline Smiles we fear, She only kills, who wounds us with a Tear.