<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=529358" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Prologue: The Pleasant Comedy Of Old Fortunatus</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">OF Love's sweet war our timorous Muse doth sing,<br>And to the bosom of each gentle dear,<br>Offers her artless tunes, borne on the wing<br>Of sacred poesy. A benumbing fear,<br>That your nice souls, cloyed with delicious sounds,<br>Will loath her lowly notes, makes her pull in<br>Her fainting pinions, and her spirit confounds,<br>Before the weak voice of her song begin.<br>Yet since within the circle of each eye,<br>Being like so many suns in his round sphere,<br>No wrinkle yet is seen, she'll dare to fly,<br>Borne up with hopes, that as you oft do rear<br>With your fair hands, those who would else sink down,<br>So some will deign to smile, where all might frown:<br>And for this small circumference must stand,<br>For the imagined surface of much land,<br>Of many kingdoms, and since many a mile<br>Should here be measured out, our Muse entreats<br>Your thoughts to help poor art, and to allow<br>That I may serve as Chorus to her senses;<br>She begs your pardon, for she'll send one forth,<br>Not when the laws of poesy do call,<br>But as the story needs; your gracious eye<br>Gives life to Fortunatus' history.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Thomas+Dekker">Thomas Dekker</a><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=529358" data-title="Prologue: The Pleasant Comedy Of Old Fortunatus de Thomas Dekker" data-description="OF Love's sweet war our timorous Muse doth sing, And to the bosom of each gentle dear, Offers her artless tunes, borne on the wing Of sacred poesy. A benumbing fear, That your nice souls, cloyed with delicious sounds, Will loath her lowly notes, m..."></div> </div> </div>

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