 | Tancred and Sigismunda |  |
84
EPILOGUE.
Spoken by Miss Budgell.
Cramm'd
to the Throat with wholesome moral Stuff,
Alas! poor Audience! you have had enough.
Was ever hapless Heroine of a Play
In such a piteous Plight as ours To-day?
Was ever Woman so by Love betray'd?
Match'd with two Husbands, and yet—die a Maid.
But bless me!—hold—What Sounds are these I hear!—
I see the TRAGIC MUSE herself appear.
The Back-Scene opens, and discovers a romantic Silvan Landskip;
from which Mrs. Cibber, in the Character of the
Tragic Muse, advances slowly to Musick, and speaks
the following Lines.
Alas! poor Audience! you have had enough.
Was ever hapless Heroine of a Play
In such a piteous Plight as ours To-day?
Was ever Woman so by Love betray'd?
Match'd with two Husbands, and yet—die a Maid.
But bless me!—hold—What Sounds are these I hear!—
I see the TRAGIC MUSE herself appear.
Hence with your flippant Epilogue, that tries
To wipe the virtuous Tear from British Eyes;
That dares my moral Tragic Scene profane,
With Strains—at best, unsuiting, light and vain.
Hence from the pure unsully'd Beams that play
In yon fair Eyes, where Virtue shines—Away!
To wipe the virtuous Tear from British Eyes;
That dares my moral Tragic Scene profane,
With Strains—at best, unsuiting, light and vain.
Hence from the pure unsully'd Beams that play
In yon fair Eyes, where Virtue shines—Away!
Britons, to you from chaste Castalian Groves,
Where dwell the tender, oft unhappy Loves;
Where Shades of Heroes roam, each mighty Name,
And court my Aid to rise again to Fame;
To you I come, to Freedom's noblest Seat,
And in Britannia fix my last Retreat.
Where dwell the tender, oft unhappy Loves;
Where Shades of Heroes roam, each mighty Name,
And court my Aid to rise again to Fame;
To you I come, to Freedom's noblest Seat,
And in Britannia fix my last Retreat.
In Greece, and Rome, I watch'd the Publick Weal;
The purple Tyrant trembled at my Steel:
Nor did I less o'er private Sorrows reign,
And mend the melting Heart with softer Pain.
On France and You then rose my brightning Star,
With social Ray—The Arts are ne'er at War.
O as your Fire and Genius stronger blaze,
As yours are generous Freedom's bolder Lays,
Let not the Gallick Taste leave yours behind,
In decent Manners and in Life refin'd;
Banish the motley Mode, to tag low Verse,
The laughing Ballad to the mournful Herse.
When thro' five Acts your Hearts have learnt to glow,
Touch'd with the sacred Force of honest Woe;
O keep the dear Impression on your Breast,
Nor idly lose it for a wretched Jest!
The purple Tyrant trembled at my Steel:
Nor did I less o'er private Sorrows reign,
And mend the melting Heart with softer Pain.
On France and You then rose my brightning Star,
With social Ray—The Arts are ne'er at War.
O as your Fire and Genius stronger blaze,
As yours are generous Freedom's bolder Lays,
Let not the Gallick Taste leave yours behind,
In decent Manners and in Life refin'd;
Banish the motley Mode, to tag low Verse,
The laughing Ballad to the mournful Herse.
When thro' five Acts your Hearts have learnt to glow,
Touch'd with the sacred Force of honest Woe;
O keep the dear Impression on your Breast,
Nor idly lose it for a wretched Jest!
| Tancred and Sigismunda | |