 | The Brothers |  |
PROLOGUE. Written by Mr. Dodsley, and spoken by Mr. Havard.
The
Tragic Muse, revolving many a Page
Of Time's long Records drawn from every Age,
Forms not her Plans on low or trivial Deeds,
But marks the striking!—When some Hero bleeds
To save his Country, then her Powers inspire,
And Souls congenial catch the Patriot Fire.—
When bold Oppression grinds a suffering Land;
When the keen Dagger gleams in Murder's Hand;
When black Conspiracy infects the Throng;
Or fell Revenge sits brooding o'er his Wrong:
Then walks she forth in Terror; at her Frown
Guilt shrinks appall'd, tho' seated on a Throne.
But the rack'd Soul when dark Suspicions rend,
When Brothers hate, and Sons with Sires contend;
When clashing Interests War eternal wage;
And Love, the tenderest Passion, turns to Rage;
Then Grief on every Visage stands imprest,
And Pity throbs in every feeling Breast:
Hope, Fear, and Indignation rise by turns,
And the strong Scene with various Passion burns.
Such is our Tale.—Nor blush if Tears should flow;
They're Virtue's Tribute paid to human Woe.
Such Drops new Lustre to bright Eyes impart;
The silent Witness of a tender Heart:
Such Drops adorn the noblest Hero's Cheek,
And paint his Worth, in Strokes that more than speak:
Not he who cannot weep, but he who can,
Shews the great Soul, and proves himself a Man.
Of Time's long Records drawn from every Age,
Forms not her Plans on low or trivial Deeds,
But marks the striking!—When some Hero bleeds
To save his Country, then her Powers inspire,
And Souls congenial catch the Patriot Fire.—
When bold Oppression grinds a suffering Land;
When the keen Dagger gleams in Murder's Hand;
When black Conspiracy infects the Throng;
Or fell Revenge sits brooding o'er his Wrong:
Then walks she forth in Terror; at her Frown
Guilt shrinks appall'd, tho' seated on a Throne.
But the rack'd Soul when dark Suspicions rend,
When Brothers hate, and Sons with Sires contend;
When clashing Interests War eternal wage;
And Love, the tenderest Passion, turns to Rage;
Then Grief on every Visage stands imprest,
And Pity throbs in every feeling Breast:
Hope, Fear, and Indignation rise by turns,
And the strong Scene with various Passion burns.
Such is our Tale.—Nor blush if Tears should flow;
They're Virtue's Tribute paid to human Woe.
Such Drops new Lustre to bright Eyes impart;
The silent Witness of a tender Heart:
Such Drops adorn the noblest Hero's Cheek,
And paint his Worth, in Strokes that more than speak:
Not he who cannot weep, but he who can,
Shews the great Soul, and proves himself a Man.
Yet do not idly grieve at others Pain,
Nor let the Tears of Nature fall in vain:
Watch the close Crimes from whence their Ills have grown,
And from their Frailties learn to mend your own.
Nor let the Tears of Nature fall in vain:
Watch the close Crimes from whence their Ills have grown,
And from their Frailties learn to mend your own.
| The Brothers | |