 | Miscellanies, in Verse and Prose |  |
Prologue, design'd for the Adelphi, in 1720.
The Clime that, as some late Subscribers hold,Abounds with Iv'ry teeth, and dust of Gold,
Once (as unquestion'd Authors plainly show it)
In spite of all its wealth, produc'd a Poet.
Him we import to-night, like Stage Projectors,
And here sit You, our African Directors.
The character I act is that of One
By nature fond of an adopted Son;
One who could see the faults he would not chide,
And prais'd for erring on the milder side:
Mov'd by this image of Paternal care,
Adopt an Alien Play, ye pitying Fair;
With eyes of mercy view our first essays,
And chuse to pardon, where ye cannot praise.
62
The joy of sight, and prize of constant Love;
Nor envy, nor disease your beauties blast,
Nor falling stocks your radiant looks o'ercast;
Nor broken rest prevent your early sally,
Nor stops delay your passage to Change-Alley.
And, oh! (I'll speak, if grief will give me leave)
So may the Lords your Callicoes reprieve.
But stay, my lovely Advocates for Sattin,
I mainly fear ye do not all speak Latin:
Should unknown sounds fatigue your ears to-night,
Think on Hay-Market ere ye damn us quite.
French, and Italian, both are foreign Speeches,
Like that which now your clemency beseeches:
Ours is familiar to the Learn'd; and know,
To you, ye Fair, it had of course been so,
Had you been born two thousand years ago;
When Rome's old Heroes in this language sung,
Had taught the conquer'd world their native tongue:
But fortune now that privilege denies;
No speech, so known, the present age supplies;
None, Ladies, but the speech of your Beholders eyes:
For universal, each victorious hour,
In theirs the language is; in yours the pow'r.
| Miscellanies, in Verse and Prose | |