Mr. Cooke's Original Poems with Imitations and Translations of Several Select Passages of the Antients, In Four Parts: To which are added Proposals For perfecting the English Language |
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 | Mr. Cooke's Original Poems |  |
PROLOGUE the First. To Penelope, A Burlesque Opera, performed in the Year 1728.
If Eyes which from a pious Sorrow flow,
If Virtue struggling thro a Length of Woe,
Are Objects to demand a gen'rous Tear,
Who, Britons, shall deny the Tribute here?
If Virtue struggling thro a Length of Woe,
Are Objects to demand a gen'rous Tear,
Who, Britons, shall deny the Tribute here?
This Night our Bard on Homer builds his Fame;
Who is not aw'd at that immortal Name!
Our Scenes, in all the Pomp of Grief, disclose
A Matron chast, a Man of wond'rous Woes,
A Hero doom'd to change, when scarcely wed,
For the rough Trade of War the bridal Bed,
Thro various Lands, and Men unknown, to roam,
Far from his sole Delight, and native Home,
From Perils great, hard Lot! to greater toss'd,
Twenty long Years by adverse Fortune cross'd;
Yet see him great above Afflictions rise,
The Admiration of the brave and wise!
Who is not aw'd at that immortal Name!
Our Scenes, in all the Pomp of Grief, disclose
A Matron chast, a Man of wond'rous Woes,
A Hero doom'd to change, when scarcely wed,
For the rough Trade of War the bridal Bed,
Thro various Lands, and Men unknown, to roam,
Far from his sole Delight, and native Home,
From Perils great, hard Lot! to greater toss'd,
Twenty long Years by adverse Fortune cross'd;
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The Admiration of the brave and wise!
O! ye bright Stars of Love, ye virtuous Fair,
When ye behold our widow'd Wife despair,
When you behold her charming in Distress,
All beauteous in her Negligence of Dress,
Let a soft Tear a-down your Roses steal,
To shew us what by Sympathy ye feel.
When ye behold our widow'd Wife despair,
When you behold her charming in Distress,
All beauteous in her Negligence of Dress,
Let a soft Tear a-down your Roses steal,
To shew us what by Sympathy ye feel.
The Time was once, the Poet's happyer Days,
When ev'ry Breast in Sighs confess'd his Praise.
We want not living Chronicles to tell,
When Belvedira dy'd, and Jaffeir fell,
How Hearts of Heros melted with Applause,
And softest Bosoms heav'd in Jaffeir's Cause.
The present Taste for Farce we would controul,
And to kind Pity mould the gen'rous Soul.
When ev'ry Breast in Sighs confess'd his Praise.
We want not living Chronicles to tell,
When Belvedira dy'd, and Jaffeir fell,
How Hearts of Heros melted with Applause,
And softest Bosoms heav'd in Jaffeir's Cause.
The present Taste for Farce we would controul,
And to kind Pity mould the gen'rous Soul.
When, Picture of Distress, our Dame appears,
Her Tresses loose, her Eyes bedew'd with Tears,
Learn, O! ye Fair, learn from our virtuous Wife,
How to support with Fame a widow'd Life.
Her Tresses loose, her Eyes bedew'd with Tears,
Learn, O! ye Fair, learn from our virtuous Wife,
How to support with Fame a widow'd Life.
| Mr. Cooke's Original Poems | |