 | Manuel |  |
ix
PROLOGUE, SPOKEN BY MR. S. PENLEY.
The Bard, who, till your favour grac'd his name,
And cheer'd his outset on the path to fame,
With unrewarded zeal had toil'd to use
The fancied favour of the serious Muse,
A vent'rous suppliant, dares again address
The friends, whose plaudits were his first success.
And cheer'd his outset on the path to fame,
With unrewarded zeal had toil'd to use
The fancied favour of the serious Muse,
A vent'rous suppliant, dares again address
The friends, whose plaudits were his first success.
Should, then, his tragic numbers please no more,
(Who may not fail, where Johnson fail'd before?)
Forbear harsh blame, nor deem yourselves exempt,—
Your kindness lur'd him to the rash attempt.
But should (more grateful thought!) his plaintive tale
Wake the soft tear, and o'er the heart prevail,
From self-approving breasts your praise will burst,
To hail the genius that yourselves have nurst.
(Who may not fail, where Johnson fail'd before?)
Forbear harsh blame, nor deem yourselves exempt,—
Your kindness lur'd him to the rash attempt.
But should (more grateful thought!) his plaintive tale
Wake the soft tear, and o'er the heart prevail,
From self-approving breasts your praise will burst,
To hail the genius that yourselves have nurst.
When the high deeds, long lost in time's expanse,
Of Moor and Spaniard realiz'd romance,
Your Bard has fabled his sad scene, to shew
A maiden's constancy and father's woe.
From Erin, sister Isle! he trembling sends
His vent'rous off'ring to his British friends;
Nor envious scoff nor party feud we fear,
To mar the welcome of the stranger here.
Of Moor and Spaniard realiz'd romance,
Your Bard has fabled his sad scene, to shew
A maiden's constancy and father's woe.
From Erin, sister Isle! he trembling sends
His vent'rous off'ring to his British friends;
Nor envious scoff nor party feud we fear,
To mar the welcome of the stranger here.
| Manuel | |