BUT if kind Fortune, who we sometimes know
Can take a heroe from a puppet-shew,
In mood propitious should her fav'rite call,
On royal stage in royal pomp to bawl,
Forgetful of himself he rears the head,
And scorns the dunghill where he first was bred:
Conversing now with well-dress'd kings and queens,
With gods and goddesses behind the scenes,
He sweats beneath the terror-nodding plume,
Taught by Mock Honours Real Pride t' assume.
On this great stage the World, no monarch e'er
Was half so haughty as a Monarch-Player.