 | Athelwold |  |
PROLOGUE. Spoken by Mr. WILKS.
Our
Author's Wishes, partial to the Stage,
Not for himself, your Favour wou'd engage:
Not his own Cause, but ours, he wou'd defend,
Nor fears an Enemy,—nor tasks a Friend:
But, frankly, bids me own, that from his Plays,
He means no Profit, and deserves no Praise.
Not for himself, your Favour wou'd engage:
Not his own Cause, but ours, he wou'd defend,
Nor fears an Enemy,—nor tasks a Friend:
But, frankly, bids me own, that from his Plays,
He means no Profit, and deserves no Praise.
Yet, has he one fond Passion to impart;
One favourite Weakness, that has warm'd his Heart!
Constant, he doats on a declining Fair;
Yet, recommends his Mistress to your Care;
Tho' past her Bloom, still tempting she appears,
A mid-ag'd Matron,—of three thousand Years!
Slight not Dame Tragedy,—nor fancy, Sirs,
That Pain, and Spleen, and Age, alone, are hers:
Old, as you think her, still, she moves, and warms,
Smiles thro' the Soul, and swells the Heart with Charms.
But the vain Prude, too coy, to yield, at Pleasure,
Vows, she'll be wedded,—or withhold her Treasure.
Take her, to Wife;—the Match cou'd ne'er be wrong,
But, for one Quality—she'll live too long.
One favourite Weakness, that has warm'd his Heart!
Constant, he doats on a declining Fair;
Yet, recommends his Mistress to your Care;
Tho' past her Bloom, still tempting she appears,
A mid-ag'd Matron,—of three thousand Years!
Slight not Dame Tragedy,—nor fancy, Sirs,
That Pain, and Spleen, and Age, alone, are hers:
Old, as you think her, still, she moves, and warms,
Smiles thro' the Soul, and swells the Heart with Charms.
But the vain Prude, too coy, to yield, at Pleasure,
Vows, she'll be wedded,—or withhold her Treasure.
Take her, to Wife;—the Match cou'd ne'er be wrong,
But, for one Quality—she'll live too long.
Cou'd ye, for once, forgive the serious Strain,
And bear a useful Truth, undress'd, and plain?—
Fain wou'd the Muse remind you, that the Stage
Receiv'd most Honour, from the wisest Age.
Athens shone brightest, when the crowded Scene
Fir'd her bold Sons,—to dare,—to act,—to mean!
Greatly, to copy the departed Great,
And be the Chiefs, they learnt to emulate.
Warm'd, by this Heat, which to their Plays they ow'd,
The guided Passions of a People glow'd:
High beat their cherish'd Hearts, in Glory's Cause;
Firm stood their Freedom, and long liv'd their Laws:
Charm'd into Virtue, and by Pleasure taught,
The raptur'd Youth, the meant Impression caught,
Grew up to Greatness, Liberty, and Arts,
And snatch'd the Heroe's, from the Player's Parts.
And bear a useful Truth, undress'd, and plain?—
Fain wou'd the Muse remind you, that the Stage
Receiv'd most Honour, from the wisest Age.
Athens shone brightest, when the crowded Scene
Fir'd her bold Sons,—to dare,—to act,—to mean!
Greatly, to copy the departed Great,
And be the Chiefs, they learnt to emulate.
The guided Passions of a People glow'd:
High beat their cherish'd Hearts, in Glory's Cause;
Firm stood their Freedom, and long liv'd their Laws:
Charm'd into Virtue, and by Pleasure taught,
The raptur'd Youth, the meant Impression caught,
Grew up to Greatness, Liberty, and Arts,
And snatch'd the Heroe's, from the Player's Parts.
Oh! cou'd we live, to hail the future Day,
When sparkling Folly shall give Genius way;
When low, light, Scenes shall tempt the Eye, in vain;
And Passion's Power impress the Heart, again;
Then shall the Muses, like their Monarch, smile,
And all Heaven's Blessings crown his happy Isle!
When sparkling Folly shall give Genius way;
When low, light, Scenes shall tempt the Eye, in vain;
And Passion's Power impress the Heart, again;
Then shall the Muses, like their Monarch, smile,
And all Heaven's Blessings crown his happy Isle!
| Athelwold | |