A Prologue of the Author's to a Masque at Witten

Expect not here a curious river fine :
Our wits are short of that- — alas the time !
The neat refined language of the court
We know not ; if we did, our country sport
Must not be too ambitious : 'tis for kings.
Not for their subjects, to have such rare things.
Besides, though, I confess, Parnassus hardly.
Yet Helicon this summer-time is dry :
Our wits were at an ebb, or very low ;
And, to say troth, I think they cannot flow.
But yet a gracious influence from you
May alter nature in our brow-sick crew.
Have patience then, we pray, and sit awhile.
And, if a laugh be too much, lend a smile.