The works of Allan Ramsay :: :: University of Virginia Library

“On Monday last the new Theatre in Carrubber's Close was opened (which is thought by all Judges to be as complete, and finished with as good a Taste as any one of its Size in the three Kingdoms) when the following Prologue was spoken by Mr Bridges.”

Long has it been the Bus'ness of the Stage
To mend our Manners, and reform the Age.
This Task the Muse by Nature was assign'd,
E're Christian Light shone in upon the Mind;
Ev'n since those glorious Truths to Men appear'd,
Her moral Precepts still have been rever'd,
And where the sacred Monitors have fail'd,
Just Satyre from the Stage hath oft prevail'd.
Tho' some sour Criticks full of Phlegm and Spleen,
Condemn her Use as hellish and obscene;
And from their gloomy thoughts and want of Sense,
Think what diverts the Mind gives Heav'n Offence.
Would such from Truth and Reason form their Sample,
They'll find what's meant for Precept, what Example,
Nor think when Vice and Folly shall appear,
The Characters were drawn for them to wear.
Fools in their native Follies should be shown,
and Vice must have its Language to be known.
To such this Lesson then we recommend,
Let each mend one, the Stage will have its End,
Good Sense shall flourish, Reason triumphant reign,
And Hypocrites no more their Power Maintain;

140

The Muse shall once again resume her Throne,
And our Stage vie with Athens or with Rome.
Long in those Realms she held her rapid Flight,
Filling their Minds with Profit and Delight.
Till in despight of Sense, and wits Disgrace,
Dull Ignorance a while usurp'd her Place,
For many ages bore the Palm alone,
And wild Buffoons defil'd her sacred Throne.
But late at length she reach'd Britannia's Shore,
And Shakespear taught her once again to soar.
At last transplanted by your tender Care
She hopes to keep her Seat of Empire here.
To your Protection then ye Fair and Great,
This Fabrick to her Use we consecrate.
On you it will depend to raise her Name,
And in Edina fix her lasting Fame.

141

To the Honourable DUNCAN FORBES of Culloden, Lord President of the SESSION,

AND All our other Good JUDGES, who are careful of the Honour of the Government, and the Property of the Subject;

The Address of Allan Ramsay, Humbly means and shaws,

To You, My LORDS, whase Elevation
Makes You the Wardens of the Nation,
While You by equal Justice stand,
With Lawtie's Ballance in Your Hand;
To You, whase penetrating Skill
Can eithly redd the Good frae Ill,
And ken them well whase fair Behaviour
Deserve Reward and Royal Favour,
As like you do, these stonkerd Fellows
Wha merit naithing but the Gallows:
To You, with humble Bow, Your Bard,
Whase greatest Brag is Your Regard,
Begs leave to lay his Case before Ye,
And for an Outgate to implore Ye.

Last Year, My Lords, nae farrer gane,
A costly Wark was undertane
By me, wha had not the least Dread
An Act wad knock it on the Head:
A Play-house new, at vast Expence,
To be a large, yet bein Defence,
In Winter-nights, 'gainst Wind and Weet,
To ward frae Cauld the Lasses sweet;
While they with bonny Smiles attended,
To have their little Failures mended;
Where Satire, striving still to free them,
Hads out his Glass, to let them see them.

142

Here, under Rules of right Decorum,
By placing Consequence before 'em,
I kept our Troop, by Pith of Reason,
Frae Bawdy, Atheism, and Treason;
And only preach'd, frae Moral Fable,
The best Instruction they were able;
While they, by Doctrine Linsy Woolsy,
Set aff the Utile with Dulce.

And shall the Man, to whom this Task falls,
Suffer amang confounded Rascals;
That, like vile Adders, dart their Stings,
And fear nae God, nor honour Kings?
Shall I, wha for a Tract of Years
Have sung to Commons and to Peers,
And got the general Approbation
Of all within the British Nation,
At last be twin'd of all my Hopes
By them that wont to be my Props?
Be made a Loser, and engage
With Troubles in declining Age;
While Wights, to whom my Credit stands
For Sums, make sour and thrawin Demands?

Shall London have its Houses twa,
And we be doom'd to've nane ava?
Is our Metrop'lis, anes the Place
Where langsine dwelt the Royal Race
Of Fergus, this gate dwindled down
T'a Level with ilk Claghan Town,
While thus she suffers the Subversion
Of her maist rational Diversion?

When Ice and Snaw o'ercleads the Isle,
Wha now will think it worth their while,
To leave their gowsty Country Bowers,
For, the anes blythsome, Edinburgh's Towers,
Where there's nae Glee to give Delight,
And ward frae Spleen the langsome Night?
For which they'll now have nae Relief,
But sonk at hame, and cleck Mischief.

143

Is there aught better than the Stage,
To mend the Follies of the Age,
If manag'd as it ought to be,
Frae ilka Vice and Blaidry free?
Which may be done, with perfect Ease,
And nought be heard that shall displease,
Or give the least Offence or Pain,
If we can hae't restor'd again.
Wherefore, My Lords, I humbly pray
Our Lads may be allow'd to play,
At least till New-house Debts be paid off,
The Clause that I'm the maist afraid of;
Which Laid lyes on my single Back,
And I maun pay it ilka Plack.

Now, it's but just the Legislature
Shou'd either say that I'm a Fauter,
Or thole me to employ my Bigging,
Or of the Burthen ease my Rigging,
By ord'ring, frae the publick Fund,
A Sum to pay for what I'm bound;
Syne, for a mends for what I've lost,
Edge me into some canny Post,
With the good Liking of our King,
And your Petitioner shall—sing.

Edinburgh, July 25. 1737.