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PROLOGUE.
This Night your tributary Tears we claim,For Scenes that Southern drew; a fav'rite Name!
He touch'd your Fathers' Hearts with gen'rous Woe,
And taught your Mothers' youthful Eyes to flow;
For this he claims hereditary Praise,
From Wits and Beauties of our modern Days;
Yet, Slave to Custom in a laughing Age,
With ribbald Mirth he stain'd the sacred Page;
While Virtue's Shrine he rear'd, taught Vice to mock,
And join'd, in Sport, the Buskin and the Sock:
O! haste to part them!—burst th'opprobious Band!
Thus Art and Nature, with one Voice demand:
O! haste to part them! blushing Virtue cries;—
Thus urg'd, our Bard this Night to part them tries.—
To mix with Southern's though his Verse aspire,
He bows with Rev'rence to the hoary Sire:
With honest Zeal, a Father's Shame he veils;
Pleas'd to succeed, not blushing though he fails:
Fearless, yet humble; for 'tis all his Aim,
That hence you go no worse than here you came:
Let then his Purpose consecrate his Deed,
And from your Virtue your Applause proceed.
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