Trick'd out in filks and fmiles let me appear,
And fix, as fign of peace, the Rainbow here;
Raise your compaffion and your mirth together,
And prove to-day an emblem of fair weather!.
PROLOGUE TO THE ROMAN FATHER,
Acted at the Theatre at Briftol, on Friday, July 14, $769.
For the Family of the late Mr. POWELL
Spoken by Mr. HOLLAND.
HEN fancied forrows wake the Player's art,
A fhort-liv'd anguish feizes on the heart:
Tears, real tears he fheds, feels real pain;
But the dream vanifh'd, he's himself again.
No fuch relief, alas! his bofom knows,
When the fad tear from home-felt forrow flows:
Paffions cling round the foul, do all we can-
He plays no part, and can't shake off the man.
Where'er I tread, where'er I turn my eyes,
Of my loft Friend new images arise.
Can I forget, that from our earliest age,
His talents known, I led him to the Stage?
Can I forget, this circle in my view,
His first great pride-to be approv'd by You?
- His foul, with ev'ry tender feeling bleft,
The holy flame of gratitude poffeft.
Soft as the stream yon facred fprings impart,
The milk of human- kindness warm'd his heart.
Peace, Peace be with him! may the prefent Stage
Contend, like him, your favour to engage !
May we, like him, deserve your kindness shown,
Like him, with gratitude that kindness own!
So fhall our art pursue the nobleft plan,
And each good Actor prove an Honest Man.
EPILOGUE TO TIMANTHES,
Spoken by Mrs. YATES.
WHAT horrors fill the Tragick Poet's brain!
Plague, Murder, Rape and Inceft, croud
He pants for miseries, delights in ills,
The blood of Fathers, Mothers, Children, fpills;
Stabs, poifons, massacres, and, in his rage,
With Daggers, Bowls, and Carpets, ftrews the Stage.
Our gentler Poet, in foft Opera bred,
Italian Crotchets finging in his head,
Winds to a profperous end the fine-drawn tale,
And roars-but roars like any Nightingale.
Woman, whate'er fhe be-Maid, Widow, Wife
A quiet woman is the charm of life.
And fure Cephifa was a gentle creature,
Full of the milk and honey of good nature.
Imported for a spouse, by spouse refus'd!
Was ever maid fo fhamefully abus'd?
And yet, alas, poor Prince! I could not blame him-
One wife, I knew, was full enough to tame him.
Ifmena, and Timanthes, and Olynthus,
Might all be happy-for I chofe Cherinthus.
But what a barb'rous law was this of Thrace!
How cruel there was each young lady's cafe!
A virgin, plac'd upon the dreadful roll,
A hapless virgin must have stood the poll,
But by Timanthes made a lucky bride,
Ifmena prudently difqualified.
Ladies, to you alone our Author fues: 'Tis yours to cherish, or condemn his Muse. The Theatre's a Mirror, and each Play Should be a very Looking-Glafs, they fay; His Looking-Glafs reflects no moles or pimples, But fhews you full of graces, fmiles, and dimples. If you approve yourfelves, refolve to fpare, And, Criticks! then attack him, if
PROLOGUE
To the TRAGEDY of CLEMENTINA/
Spoken by Mr. BENSLEY.
March, 1771
N thefe our moral and religious days,
Men dread the crying fin of writing Plays;
While fome, whose wicked wit incurs the blame, Howe'er they love the trespass, fly the shame.
If, a new holy war with vice to wage,
Some Preacher quits the Pulpit for the Stage,
The Rev'rend Bard, with much remorfe and fear,
Attempts to give his Evening Lecture here:
The work, engender'd, to the world must rife
But yet the father may elude our eyes.
The parish on this trick of youth might frown,
And thus, unown'd, 'tis thrown upon the town.
At our Director's door he lays the fin,
Who fees the Babe, relents, and takes it in ;
To fwathe and dress it first unftrings his purfe,
Then kindly puts it out to you to nurse.
Should fome Young Counfel, thro' his lucklefs ftar, By writing Plays turn truant to the Bar.
|