Phaeton : Or, The Fatal Divorce A Tragedy |
THE PROLOGUE. Spoken by Mr. Powel, Mrs. Cross, &c.
|
 | 1. |
| 1. |
 | 2. |
| 3. |
| 4. |
| 5. |
 | Phaeton : Or, The Fatal Divorce |  |
THE PROLOGUE. Spoken by Mr. Powel, Mrs. Cross, &c.
Cou'd
we but hope Athenian Judges here,
We shou'd have then but little Cause to fear.
Euripides to Night adorns our Stage,
For Tragic Passions fam'd in every Age.
In every Age ador'd by men of Sence,
Comes here on you, to prove his Influence.
Fixt in his Glory now Two Thousand Years,
No puny Critick's weak Attaques he fears,
O! that he could be try'd here by his Peers.
Him the Wise Socrates alone wou'd see,
(Socrates the Wisest by the Gods Decree.)
His Faults our Author hopes that you will please
To pardon for the Beauties of Euripides.
If you damn this (as who knows but you may,
Consid'ring What strange things y' encourage er'y day)
This our New Poet boldly bid me say—
Since pou with Trash more willingly are fed,
He'l toil no more to give you wholsome Bread.
But quit the Antients, and avoid th'Expence
Of Nature, Probability, and Sense:
And furnish out with Speed another Play,
Of Empty Bombast in your Modern Way.
Forc'd Passions, undistinguish'd Manners Use,
Surprizing Impossibilities he'l Chuse,
With all th'unnatural Charms of your own darling Muse.
Mrs. Cross and six of the Youngest Actresses come forward.
We shou'd have then but little Cause to fear.
Euripides to Night adorns our Stage,
For Tragic Passions fam'd in every Age.
In every Age ador'd by men of Sence,
Comes here on you, to prove his Influence.
Fixt in his Glory now Two Thousand Years,
No puny Critick's weak Attaques he fears,
O! that he could be try'd here by his Peers.
Him the Wise Socrates alone wou'd see,
(Socrates the Wisest by the Gods Decree.)
His Faults our Author hopes that you will please
To pardon for the Beauties of Euripides.
If you damn this (as who knows but you may,
Consid'ring What strange things y' encourage er'y day)
This our New Poet boldly bid me say—
Since pou with Trash more willingly are fed,
He'l toil no more to give you wholsome Bread.
But quit the Antients, and avoid th'Expence
Of Nature, Probability, and Sense:
And furnish out with Speed another Play,
Of Empty Bombast in your Modern Way.
Forc'd Passions, undistinguish'd Manners Use,
Surprizing Impossibilities he'l Chuse,
With all th'unnatural Charms of your own darling Muse.
Mrs. Cross.
Lord, Mr. Powel! What d'you talk of those
Hard Words, to Courtiers, Soldiers, Cits, and Beaux?
We speak the Language of All Flesh and Blood.
Mr. Powel.
Oh! Mrs. Cross pray do as you think good.
Exit.
Mrs. Cross.
On our Advice our Poet thinks not fit
To trust his Fortune wholly to your Wit,
For that's the Rock, on which he fears to Split.
As much a surer way his Hopes t'Advance,
He wisely borrows Ornaments from France.
Here's what you Use to to take so much Delight in,
Musick, and Dance, and every thing but Fighting.
And tho' he knew that always here wou'd please,
He left it out to Complement the Peace.
But yet for fear this shou'd not make you easie,
He sent all us here, in hopes to please ye.
For when a wanting Friend has often fail'd,
With the rich Churl our Sex has soon prevail'd,
Molded th'ingenerous Cully to their Mind,
And made him prove most Prodigally kind,
If then this Charming Tribe shou'd fail to win ye,
I needs must say some strange dull Devil's in ye.
Cannot our Eyes, our Youth, our Form appease ye?
And have we Nothing?—Nothing that can please ye?
Has Malice such Confounded Pow'r o're ye,
That you will damn, tho' Youth, and Charms implore ye?
—Well if your darling Envy damn this Play
(At least before we've had a full third day)
All your Efforts I hear I will defie.
The first.
And I.
2d.
And I.
3d.
And I.
4th.
And I.
5th.
And I.
Miss Chock.
Not one of us—I'm sure I'll ne're comply.
Mrs. Cross.
You hear what Doom is past, therefore beware,
And for our Sakes the unknown Poets Spare,
All you that have Loves Fear before your Sight,
For Women may be honest out of Spight.
| Phaeton : Or, The Fatal Divorce | |