Literary relics of the late Joseph Richardson Dedicated by permission to His Grace the duke of Northumberland: Consisting of The Comedy of the fugitive, and a few short poems; with a sketch of the life of the author by an intimate friend; in which those numbers of the rolliads and probationary odes written by Mr. Richardson are particularized. The whole collected and prepared for the press by Mrs. Richardson |
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PROLOGUE SPOKEN BY MR. KEMBLE,
TO AN AFTER-PIECE, ENTITLED, “THE GLORIOUS FIRST OF JUNE,”
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 | Literary relics of the late Joseph Richardson |  |
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PROLOGUE SPOKEN BY MR. KEMBLE, TO AN AFTER-PIECE, ENTITLED, “THE GLORIOUS FIRST OF JUNE,”
PERFORMED AT DRURY LANE THEATRE FOR THE BENEFIT OF THE WIDOWS AND ORPHANS OF THOSE SEAMEN WHO FELL DURING THE ACTION, IN WHICH THE ENGLISH FLEET, UNDER THE COMMAND OF LORD HOWE, OBTAINED A SIGNAL VICTORY OVER THE FRENCH.
Of all the virtues which enamour'd Fame
Connects for ever with a Briton's name,
None sounds more sweetly from her trump than thee,
Thou first, best excellence, Humanity!
Say, shall a light which from its beaming sphere
Dispels the mist of sad Misfortune's tear;
Pierces the worst abodes which Miseries haunt,
And cheers the languid eye of drooping Want;
Shall it to-night with feebler lustre shine,
When Justice joins her rites at Pity's shrine?
No—every eye with generous drops bedew'd,
Shall own that bounty here, is gratitude.
Connects for ever with a Briton's name,
None sounds more sweetly from her trump than thee,
Thou first, best excellence, Humanity!
Say, shall a light which from its beaming sphere
Dispels the mist of sad Misfortune's tear;
Pierces the worst abodes which Miseries haunt,
And cheers the languid eye of drooping Want;
Shall it to-night with feebler lustre shine,
When Justice joins her rites at Pity's shrine?
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Shall own that bounty here, is gratitude.
Ye hapless Orphans, doom'd no more to share
The fond protection of a father's care;
Ye widow'd mourners doom'd no more to know
The sheltering kindness which the brave bestow;
To-night our tenderest sympathy shall prove,
(Our sympathy!—a sad exchange for love,)
That when those slaughter'd heroes you bemoan,
Your sacred griefs you do not bear alone,
For in each British heart your sorrows are their own.
The fond protection of a father's care;
Ye widow'd mourners doom'd no more to know
The sheltering kindness which the brave bestow;
To-night our tenderest sympathy shall prove,
(Our sympathy!—a sad exchange for love,)
That when those slaughter'd heroes you bemoan,
Your sacred griefs you do not bear alone,
For in each British heart your sorrows are their own.
Ye gallant spirits who to Heaven are fled,
Now rank'd, now honour'd, with the glorious dead;
If of your former Being aught survive,
And Memory hold her fond prerogative;
How will your heighten'd natures joy to see
Old England safe!—Old England safe and free!
Sav'd by that Valour, which, dismiss'd from earth,
Claims from above, the meed of patriot worth.—
These the grac'd ornaments that deck your bier,
The brave man's sigh and gentle beauty's tear;
Glory herself at such a shrine may bow—
And what is glory, but a name for Howe!
Pity's sweet records still shall bear his name,
Exalting conquest into nobler fame:
Touch'd by her hand, the Victor's wreaths assume
A softer verdure, and a richer bloom.
As, when the Sun impetuous pours his ray,
And dazzles nature with redundant day,
If on some lonely spot his beams he throws,
Where, dress'd in sweets, retires the bashful rose,
We feel his gentler virtue in the flower,
And love his mildness, while we own his power.
Now rank'd, now honour'd, with the glorious dead;
If of your former Being aught survive,
And Memory hold her fond prerogative;
How will your heighten'd natures joy to see
Old England safe!—Old England safe and free!
Sav'd by that Valour, which, dismiss'd from earth,
Claims from above, the meed of patriot worth.—
These the grac'd ornaments that deck your bier,
The brave man's sigh and gentle beauty's tear;
Glory herself at such a shrine may bow—
And what is glory, but a name for Howe!
Pity's sweet records still shall bear his name,
Exalting conquest into nobler fame:
Touch'd by her hand, the Victor's wreaths assume
A softer verdure, and a richer bloom.
169
And dazzles nature with redundant day,
If on some lonely spot his beams he throws,
Where, dress'd in sweets, retires the bashful rose,
We feel his gentler virtue in the flower,
And love his mildness, while we own his power.
Divided eulogy this night imparts,
To British spirit, and to British hearts;
Those who assert their injur'd Country's cause,
Those who crown Valour with its best applause:
Alike in cherish'd memory shall live,
They who have won the Laurel, you who give.
To British spirit, and to British hearts;
Those who assert their injur'd Country's cause,
Those who crown Valour with its best applause:
Alike in cherish'd memory shall live,
They who have won the Laurel, you who give.
| Literary relics of the late Joseph Richardson | |