 | The poetical works of George Keate |  |
143
PROLOGUE TO THE Play of KING JOHN, Acted at Mr. Newcomb's at Hackney, 1769.
The Bard whose Scenes this Night your Thoughts engage,
Has somewhere told us, All the World's a Stage,
Where all in one great Farce their Talents try,
Are born,—love,—wed,—grow covetous—and die.
From hence I think we fairly may infer
That Nature is, or should be, Manager;
And yet, in Nature's spite we ev'ry Day
Cast our own Parts ourselves, and spoil her Play;
Some vain Conceit disturbs her steady Plan,
And Art debauches that strange Creature Man:
Hence, e'er Life's Curtain drops, this Truth is plain,
That few the Characters they take,—sustain.
Has somewhere told us, All the World's a Stage,
Where all in one great Farce their Talents try,
Are born,—love,—wed,—grow covetous—and die.
From hence I think we fairly may infer
That Nature is, or should be, Manager;
And yet, in Nature's spite we ev'ry Day
Cast our own Parts ourselves, and spoil her Play;
144
And Art debauches that strange Creature Man:
Hence, e'er Life's Curtain drops, this Truth is plain,
That few the Characters they take,—sustain.
See, Cato-like, in Freedom's boasted Cause,
The mad'ning Patriot raves of dying Laws,
With ready Lash pursues the venal Tribe;—
But what's the Sequel?—Exit—with a Bribe.
The mad'ning Patriot raves of dying Laws,
With ready Lash pursues the venal Tribe;—
But what's the Sequel?—Exit—with a Bribe.
Not less a Play'r the Methodist appears,
In some hir'd Barn his casual Stage he rears;
Prophane, loquacious, insolent, and loud,
The grave Jack-pudding of a sniv'ling Crowd;
Them of their Sins and Dangers he acquaints:
Pockets their Cash—then leaves them to the Saints.—
In some hir'd Barn his casual Stage he rears;
Prophane, loquacious, insolent, and loud,
The grave Jack-pudding of a sniv'ling Crowd;
Them of their Sins and Dangers he acquaints:
Pockets their Cash—then leaves them to the Saints.—
The Prude austere, who shuns each forward Spark,
Meets less reserv'd, her Footman in the Dark;
Misers would lib'ral seem, Coquettes sincere,
False Wits sententious, Hypocrites severe.
What on Life's Stage can Parts like these command?—
The Mark of Scorn let Affectation stand!
Meets less reserv'd, her Footman in the Dark;
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False Wits sententious, Hypocrites severe.
What on Life's Stage can Parts like these command?—
The Mark of Scorn let Affectation stand!
If then the finish'd Man can sometimes err,
And make Mistakes on the World's Theatre,
Desert himself as various Passions call,
And prove at last no Character at all,
We ask your Candour if in us appears
Th'imperfect Growth of unexperienc'd years;
Tho' Buds, yet Learning like the Sun, has Pow'r
To rear the Stem, and paint the future Flow'r!—
If John should not each Stroke of Guilt impart,
Nor Constance triumph o'er the feeling Heart,
Think in Life's happy Morn we cannot know
The sad Extent of Baseness, or of Woe!
Boys as we are, to us each Scene is new,
Tho' sometimes wrong, e'en there we copy you:
To bold Attempts be then indulgence shewn,
And learn to pity Faults so like your own.
And make Mistakes on the World's Theatre,
Desert himself as various Passions call,
And prove at last no Character at all,
We ask your Candour if in us appears
Th'imperfect Growth of unexperienc'd years;
Tho' Buds, yet Learning like the Sun, has Pow'r
To rear the Stem, and paint the future Flow'r!—
If John should not each Stroke of Guilt impart,
Nor Constance triumph o'er the feeling Heart,
Think in Life's happy Morn we cannot know
The sad Extent of Baseness, or of Woe!
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Tho' sometimes wrong, e'en there we copy you:
To bold Attempts be then indulgence shewn,
And learn to pity Faults so like your own.
| The poetical works of George Keate | |