The Lady of Pleasure

The Lady of Pleasure - A Comedie, as It Was Acted by Her Majesties Servants, at the Private House in Drury Lane

Cannot want encouragement to present a Poeme to your Lordship, while you possesse so noble a breast, in which so many seedes of honour, to the example and glory of your Name obtain'd, before your yeares a happy maturity. This Comedy fortunate in the Scene, and one that may challenge a place in the first forme of the Authors compositions, most humbly addresseth it selfe to your honour, if it meete your gracious acceptance, and that you repent not to be a Patron, your Lordshipps will onely crownes the imagination, and for ever by this favour oblige, tew. Be patient Madam, you may have your pleasure. Are. Tis that I came to towne for, I wo'd not Endure againe the countrey conversation, To be the Lady of sixe shires I the men So neare the Primitive making, they retaine A sence of nothing but the earth, their braines And barren heads standing as much in want Of plowing as their ground, to heare a fellow Make himselfe merry and his horse with whisteling Sellingers round, to observe with what solemnitie They keepe their Wakes, and throw for pewter Candlestickes, How they become the Morris, whith whose bells They ring all into Whitson Ales, and sweate, Through twenty Scarffes and Napkins, till the Hobbyhorse Tire, and the maide Marrian dissolv'd to a gelly, Be kept for spoone meate. Ste. These with your pardon are no Argument To make the country life appeare so hatefull, At least to your particular, who enjoy'd A blessing in that calme; would you be pleasd To thinke so, and the pleasure of a kingdome, While your owne will commanded what should move Delight, your husbands love and power joyned To give your life more harmony, you liv'd there, Secure and innocent, beloved of all, Praisd for your hospitality, and praid for, You might be envied, but malice knew Not where you dwelt, I wo'd not prophecy But leave to your owne apprehension What may succeede your change. Are. You doe imagine, No doubt, you have talk'd wisely, and confuted, London past all defence, your Master should Doe well to send you backe into the countrie, With title of Superintendent Baylie. Ste. How Madam. Are. Even so sir. Ste. I am a Gentleman though now your servant. Are. A country-gentleman, By your affection to converse with stuble, His tenants will advance your wit, and plumpe it so With beefe and bag-pudding. Ste. You may say your pleasure, It becomes not me dispute. Are. Complaine to the Lord of the soyle your master. Ste. Y'are a woman of an ungovern'd passion, and I pitty you. ......Buy Now (To Read More)

Product details

Ebook Number: 45050
Author: Shirley, James
Release Date: Mar 1, 2014
Format: eBook
Language: English