 | Raffaelle Cimaro |  |
PROLOGUE.
(Enter the Genius of Prologue, habited in a black gown.)
Once more, to greet a British Theatre,
Do I, the genius of old prologue, come,
From you to ask a boon due to my age,
And those delights which, in a better time,
I gave your forefathers: to you I come
To beg your patient hearing of my cause.
Do I, the genius of old prologue, come,
From you to ask a boon due to my age,
And those delights which, in a better time,
I gave your forefathers: to you I come
To beg your patient hearing of my cause.
While Marlow painted, with a sweeping hand,
The wond'rous workings of tumultuous minds,
I held a plain, but just and useful, office,
To shew the moral ere the play began,
That men might catch instruction with delight,
And view, indeed, a mirror of their minds.
The wond'rous workings of tumultuous minds,
I held a plain, but just and useful, office,
To shew the moral ere the play began,
That men might catch instruction with delight,
And view, indeed, a mirror of their minds.
Shakspeare, whose soul of alchemy could turn
The dullest dregs of nature into fire,
Gave me a swelling and more lofty strain,
And bade me, ere his martial king appeared,
Announce his entry with high sounding words
That breath'd the trumpet's voice in every line,
And great imaginations that conveyed
The soul back to the very field of war;
And to his mast'ry who would not obey,
And minister to his unearthly greatness?
The dullest dregs of nature into fire,
Gave me a swelling and more lofty strain,
And bade me, ere his martial king appeared,
Announce his entry with high sounding words
That breath'd the trumpet's voice in every line,
And great imaginations that conveyed
The soul back to the very field of war;
And to his mast'ry who would not obey,
And minister to his unearthly greatness?
Jonson, severely conscious of his worth,
Made me the organ of his bold appeal
To reason and to learning, and by me
Taught men to judge him by his own just rule;
And sometimes, lifted past his usual nature,
Condemn'd and brav'd the follies of the time.
Made me the organ of his bold appeal
To reason and to learning, and by me
Taught men to judge him by his own just rule;
And sometimes, lifted past his usual nature,
Condemn'd and brav'd the follies of the time.
Then came a troop with Dryden at their head;
He scarcely owning them, but they delighted
With his example, that 'gan swell me up
With high and bombast sentences, and mirth
Began to steal upon my sober face.
Meanwhile my sister Epilogue, debauch'd
With low and ribald jests, no more address'd
The town with Rosalind's mirthful innocence:
Nor could the example of Pope's critic pen,
Nor Johnson's just and noble sentiment,
Redeem me from unworthy gaieties;
From this the better morals of the age,
Perchance its dulness, now have rescued me:
But still the trembling sycophant by me
Brays out in fears his unpoetic baseness,
Or buys your suffrage with a very list
Of weak excuses, which he hopes are needless.
To you I come to save me from this fate,
I was ordain'd for great men's greatest purpose;
In me you should behold the power of truth
Pointing with magic finger to the Scene,
And tracing in't the heartfelt application,
Making the guilty turn with paly cheek,
As they consider of my fearful words,
Shewing to man with nice discrimination
The causes that provoke a tragic end;
Speaking a noble, just, and moral truth,
And then enforcing it by great example.
He scarcely owning them, but they delighted
With his example, that 'gan swell me up
With high and bombast sentences, and mirth
Began to steal upon my sober face.
Meanwhile my sister Epilogue, debauch'd
With low and ribald jests, no more address'd
The town with Rosalind's mirthful innocence:
Nor could the example of Pope's critic pen,
Nor Johnson's just and noble sentiment,
Redeem me from unworthy gaieties;
From this the better morals of the age,
Perchance its dulness, now have rescued me:
But still the trembling sycophant by me
Brays out in fears his unpoetic baseness,
Or buys your suffrage with a very list
Of weak excuses, which he hopes are needless.
To you I come to save me from this fate,
I was ordain'd for great men's greatest purpose;
In me you should behold the power of truth
Pointing with magic finger to the Scene,
And tracing in't the heartfelt application,
Making the guilty turn with paly cheek,
As they consider of my fearful words,
Shewing to man with nice discrimination
Speaking a noble, just, and moral truth,
And then enforcing it by great example.
To night we offer to your good attention,
The picture of a selfish sensualist,
One trick'd with many meretricious virtues—
False courage, generosity and coolness,
And able to do much—yet doing nought,
Save for himself—a man of worldly wisdom—
Mark him, and ponder deeply on the scene,
And turn the mind from listless apathy
To fit amusement for a human soul:
This reward claims our author—I have done,
And to your favor leave our bold attempt.
The picture of a selfish sensualist,
One trick'd with many meretricious virtues—
False courage, generosity and coolness,
And able to do much—yet doing nought,
Save for himself—a man of worldly wisdom—
Mark him, and ponder deeply on the scene,
And turn the mind from listless apathy
To fit amusement for a human soul:
This reward claims our author—I have done,
And to your favor leave our bold attempt.
| Raffaelle Cimaro | |