 | Poems (1806) |  |
186
AN ADDRESS, SPOKEN BY Mrs. SIDDONS,
ON THE LAST NIGHT OF HER ACTING IN EXETER, 1789.
Disguis'd no longer by the scenic mask,
To speak with justness is no easy task.
Methinks the hackney'd theme I would not prove
Of fulsome compliment, or mean self-love:
Yet, though some doubt, some danger, I perceive,
I must not, cannot, take a silent leave.
To speak with justness is no easy task.
Methinks the hackney'd theme I would not prove
Of fulsome compliment, or mean self-love:
Yet, though some doubt, some danger, I perceive,
I must not, cannot, take a silent leave.
Whate'er my powers—if tender Pity came,
Glow'd on your cheeks, and trembled through your frame;
If, at my bidding, terror struck the soul,
If (while Despair press'd onward to its goal)
Madness rush'd in, and Horror's aweful form
Imperious urg'd the wild conflicting storm;
Whate'er my pow'rs—if faithful to their aim,
'Twas but my duty, and what you might claim.
Glow'd on your cheeks, and trembled through your frame;
If, at my bidding, terror struck the soul,
If (while Despair press'd onward to its goal)
Madness rush'd in, and Horror's aweful form
Imperious urg'd the wild conflicting storm;
Whate'er my pow'rs—if faithful to their aim,
'Twas but my duty, and what you might claim.
187
Yet, be this honest pride to night confest—
With no inglorious art I mov'd the breast,
Aided the Muse, enforc'd her moral laws,
Nor rous'd the passions, but in Virtue's cause.
With no inglorious art I mov'd the breast,
Aided the Muse, enforc'd her moral laws,
Nor rous'd the passions, but in Virtue's cause.
Let me be proud, (base flattery I disdain)
That mute attention listen'd to my strain;
That Candour heard well-pleas'd, and Taste refin'd,)
Which guides each nicer impulse of the mind.
Your echoing plaudits ne'er shall I forget;
Distance or time shall not erase the debt.
That mute attention listen'd to my strain;
That Candour heard well-pleas'd, and Taste refin'd,)
Which guides each nicer impulse of the mind.
Your echoing plaudits ne'er shall I forget;
Distance or time shall not erase the debt.
Accumulated thanks I owe to you
For a lov'd brother, and a sister due;
Here have they past the happiest of their days,
Oft have their tongues been lavish in your praise.
For a lov'd brother, and a sister due;
Here have they past the happiest of their days,
Oft have their tongues been lavish in your praise.
Farewell!—this conscious heart knows how to prize
A liberal audience; the true worth of sighs,
Of tears, whose fountain in the ingenuous soul
No sordid mixture owns, no vile controul;
The sighs which burst, the sacred tears which flow,
From that pure source of sympathetic woe.
Farewell!—such merit ever condescends—
May I presume to say—Farewell, my friends?
I will—for none but Envy can repine,
When I dare call the friends of virtue—mine.
A liberal audience; the true worth of sighs,
Of tears, whose fountain in the ingenuous soul
No sordid mixture owns, no vile controul;
The sighs which burst, the sacred tears which flow,
From that pure source of sympathetic woe.
Farewell!—such merit ever condescends—
May I presume to say—Farewell, my friends?
I will—for none but Envy can repine,
When I dare call the friends of virtue—mine.
D.
| Poems (1806) | |