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PRELUDE

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History has shut her heavy books

On Nelly and her glittering looks,

"But gossip, though seldom to a woman kind,"

Has oft, and sweetly, brought me to your mind;

And many a merry quip has she to tell

Of Drury Lane and Orange Nell,

With wit and rags and Chaney fruit to sell,

Or sparkling on the boards as Saucy Florimel

In the bright Court's radiant press

I was the sweetest naughtiness

Who joyed to dance, to sing, to tease,

But meddled with no deeper things than these.

Unlettered wench in gold brocade,

Laughter wher'ere I went I made,

Gay through the unthinking hours I played,

And the Dark King my smile obeyed.

Death stole my love and ended all my pleasure,

Meekly I sought the earth that hid my treasure,

And left behind this slight and humble Tale,

Yet with oblivion may these claims prevail,

None to my pity sued in vain,

To no creature caused I grief or pain.

I loved once and could not love again.

Have patience with poor Nell of Drury Lane.

A DECORATION

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"Vous plaisez à tout le monde

Et tout le monde vous plait."

—Le Brun Écouchard.

"How many miles to Babylon?

Three score miles and ten.

Can I get there by candle light?

Yes, and back again." —Anon.