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The Poetical Works of John Critchley Prince

Edited by R. A. Douglas Lithgow

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358

PROLOGUE,

SPOKEN, ON THE OCCASION OF AN AMATEUR PLAY, FOR A CHARITABLE PURPOSE.

Friends of the Drama! gathered here to-night,
With hearts of feeling and with looks of light;
Humbly, but hopefully, we crave once more,
That kind indulgence ye have shown before.
Roused into pity for the pining Poor,
We venture now to tread this honoured floor;
This great arena where the Kemble stood,
And fiery Kean portrayed the deed of blood;
Where gifted Cooke drew down your willing cheers,
And graceful Young beguiled you of your tears;
Where manly Vandenhoff, with true disguise,
Brought the unyielding Roman to your eyes;
Where stern Macready, mighty in his age,
Hath dared to dignify the drooping stage;
Well may we feel distrustful of our powers,
When men like these have charmed your evening hours,
And we are willing humbly to confess,
“'Tis not in mortals to command success;”
But should we violate dramatic laws,
Deign to forgive us—for our holy cause!
When haggard thousands cry aloud for bread,
With scarce a shelter for each weary head;

359

When desperate fathers lift the felon hand,
And naked mothers wander o'er the land—
Mothers whose hearts are racked with daily pain,
To hear their offspring wail for food in vain!
Can we do less than sympathise, and try
To wipe one tear-drop from the sufferer's eye?
Can we do less than faithfully combine
With others labouring in the work divine;—
That work of Charity! which must impart
A mutual blessing to the human heart?
To you, dear friends, we venture to appeal,
Fully assured that ye have souls to feel,
And as within ye Pity's pleadings wake,
O'erlook our failures for sweet Pity's sake!
The gentle Author of our chosen scene,
Kind to his fellow-man hath ever been;
And he hath suffered, more than many know,
Yet won renown which none can overthrow.
For him we plead not, for the public voice
Hath spoken loudly, proudly of our choice;
Be his alone the triumph and the fame,
And, if your judgment will it, ours the blame;
'Tis your's to hear, and flatter, or to frown,
'Tis our's to lay our free-will offerings down,
In the full hope that we shall bear away
Your smiles and favours till some future day.
 

Leigh Hunt, “A Legend of Florence.”