 | Miscellanies (1785) |  |
263
PROLOGUE TO THE TRAGEDY OF CATO.
The tender force of Charity to prove,
And wake the social passions into love,
To draw the cherub tear from Pity's eye,
And strike the nerve of gen'rous Sympathy;
To raise the bleeding hero from the ground,
And pour Compassions balm upon the wound;
To soothe the orphans and the widow's grief,
And bring to honest Poverty relief;
The sick to succour, and reward the bold,
For this, to-night, “ye are what ye behold,”
For this soft Mercy, heav'n-descended Fair,
Hath made a crouded Theatre her care,
For this we play, well pleas'd the patriot's part,
And woo the feelings of the public heart.
And wake the social passions into love,
To draw the cherub tear from Pity's eye,
And strike the nerve of gen'rous Sympathy;
To raise the bleeding hero from the ground,
And pour Compassions balm upon the wound;
To soothe the orphans and the widow's grief,
And bring to honest Poverty relief;
The sick to succour, and reward the bold,
For this, to-night, “ye are what ye behold,”
For this soft Mercy, heav'n-descended Fair,
Hath made a crouded Theatre her care,
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And woo the feelings of the public heart.
And see how wide the social flame extends,
Here forms a radiant circle, there ascends,
Full in the center here I see it glow,
There dart a glory on the plain below.
What lovely Lucias, Marcias shine around,
What noble Jubas grace yon glittering bound.
Lo! Pity pleads the veteran warrior's cause,
All hail the brilliant circle which she draws!
With reverence bow we at her sacred shrine,
O! who but proves her ardour is divine.
The actor sinks—farewell our mimic plain,
My soul is soften'd, and I feel as man.
Here forms a radiant circle, there ascends,
Full in the center here I see it glow,
There dart a glory on the plain below.
What lovely Lucias, Marcias shine around,
What noble Jubas grace yon glittering bound.
Lo! Pity pleads the veteran warrior's cause,
All hail the brilliant circle which she draws!
With reverence bow we at her sacred shrine,
O! who but proves her ardour is divine.
The actor sinks—farewell our mimic plain,
My soul is soften'd, and I feel as man.
| Miscellanies (1785) | |