Prologue

Fruitful in good and ill, the teaming earth To wheat and tares affords promiscuous birth: At once, from nature's womb, rise woe and weal; The springs that poison, and the streams that heal. Nay more, her offspring each and all contain, Within themselves, both antidote and bane. Each is a jarring world, where death yields life; And concord rises out of endless strife. Each seems distinct, yet all together bound: And separate and collectively is found A hoard of infinite; a countless mass Of miracles within a blade of grass.

First of the tribe, and master of the whole, Man stands erect; the sovereign and the soul. In him all union and disunion shine: He's now above half brute; now more than half divine. Wayward in humour; infinite in wit; The slave of all, to none will he submit; In act an idiot; in conceit a sage; Mov'd by a breath, he'll brave the tempest's rage; Now soar, a demi-god; now sink, a straw; Now weep, a child; now give the planets law.

Railing at wretchedness, in folly wise, Alive to all the bliss that he denies, Worthy your laughter or perhaps your tears, Brain-sick of errors past, to night appears A moody mortal; sketch'd on this mad plan; A surly misanthrope, and yet a man.

Within his orbit other beings move; Some urg'd by av'rice, others spurr'd by love, To aid or injure him, as passion drives; The worst of servants; and the best of wives: With many more, all waiting here within; My task being ended, ready to begin. Hear, and decide, like men who think and feel: For, from this night's decree, there's no appeal.