Gallants, a bashful poet bids me say, <br />He's come to lose his maidenhead to-day. <br />Be not too fierce; for he's but green of age, <br />And ne'er, till now, debauched upon the stage. <br />He wants the suffering part of resolution, <br />And comes with blushes to his execution. <br />Ere you deflower his Muse, he hopes the pit <br />Will make some settlement upon his wit. <br />Promise him well, before the play begin; <br />For he would fain be cozened into sin. <br />'Tis not but that he knows you mean to fail; <br />But, if you leave him after being frail, <br />He'll have, at least, a fair pretence to rail; <br />To call you base, and swear you used him ill, <br />And put you in the new Deserters' Bill. <br />Lord, what a troop of perjured men we see; <br />Enow to fill another Mercury! <br />But this the ladies may with patience brook; <br />Theirs are not the first colours you forsook. <br />He would be loath the beauties to offend; <br />But, if he should, he's not too old to mend. <br />He's a young plant, in his first year of bearing; <br />But his friend swears, he will be worth the rearing. <br />His gloss is still upon him; though 'tis true <br />He's yet unripe, yet take him for the blue. <br />You think an apricot half green is best; <br />There's sweet and sour, and one side good at least. <br />Mangos and limes, whose nourishment is little, <br />Though not for food, are yet preserved for pickle, <br />So this green writer may pretend, at least, <br />To whet your stomachs for a better feast. <br />He makes this difference in the sexes too; <br />He sells to men, he gives himself to you. <br />To both he would contribute some delight; <br />A mere poetical hermaphrodite. <br />Thus he's equipped, both to be wooed, and woo; <br />With arms offensive, and defensive too; <br />'Tis hard, he thinks, if neither part will do.<br /><br />John Dryden<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-prologue-2/
