Poems by the Late Reverend Dr. Thomas Blacklock Together with an Essay on the Education of the Blind. To Which is Prefixed A New Account of the Life and Writings of the Author |
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PROLOGUE to HAMLET
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 | Poems by the Late Reverend Dr. Thomas Blacklock |  |
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PROLOGUE to HAMLET
Inspir'd with pleasing hope to entertain,
Once more we offer Shakespeare's heav'nly strain;
While hov'ring round, his laurel'd shade surveys
What eyes shall pour their tribute to his praise;
What hearts with tender pity shall regret
The bitter grief that clouds Ophelia's fate.
Once more we offer Shakespeare's heav'nly strain;
While hov'ring round, his laurel'd shade surveys
What eyes shall pour their tribute to his praise;
What hearts with tender pity shall regret
The bitter grief that clouds Ophelia's fate.
Once fair she flourish'd, nature's joy and pride,
But droop'd and wither'd, when a father dy'd.
Severe extremes of tenderness and woe,
When love and virtue mourn one common blow;
When griefs alternate o'er the bosom reign,
And ev'ry sense, and ev'ry thought is pain!
Here nature triumph'd, on her throne sublime,
And mock'd each pigmy muse of later time;
Till Shakespeare touch'd the soul with all her smart,
And stamp'd her living image on the heart.
But droop'd and wither'd, when a father dy'd.
Severe extremes of tenderness and woe,
When love and virtue mourn one common blow;
When griefs alternate o'er the bosom reign,
And ev'ry sense, and ev'ry thought is pain!
Here nature triumph'd, on her throne sublime,
And mock'd each pigmy muse of later time;
Till Shakespeare touch'd the soul with all her smart,
And stamp'd her living image on the heart.
From his instructive song we deeply feel,
How vainly guilt its horrors would conceal.
Tho' night and silence with the fraud conspire,
To bid the crime from human search retire;
Tho' yet the traitor seem from harm secure,
And fate a while suspend th' avenging hour:
Tho' fortune nurse him with a mother's care,
And deck her pageant in a short-liv'd glare:
In vain he struggles to disguise his smart,
A living plague corrodes his ulcer'd heart;
While ev'ry form of ruin meets his eyes,
And heav'n's vindictive terrors round him rise.
How vainly guilt its horrors would conceal.
Tho' night and silence with the fraud conspire,
To bid the crime from human search retire;
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And fate a while suspend th' avenging hour:
Tho' fortune nurse him with a mother's care,
And deck her pageant in a short-liv'd glare:
In vain he struggles to disguise his smart,
A living plague corrodes his ulcer'd heart;
While ev'ry form of ruin meets his eyes,
And heav'n's vindictive terrors round him rise.
Such salutary truths their light diffuse,
Where honours due attend the tragic muse;
Deep by her sacred signature imprest,
They mingle with the soul, and warm the breast.
Hence taught of old, the pious and the sage,
With veneration, patroniz'd the stage.
Where honours due attend the tragic muse;
Deep by her sacred signature imprest,
They mingle with the soul, and warm the breast.
Hence taught of old, the pious and the sage,
With veneration, patroniz'd the stage.
But, soft! methinks you cry with some surprise,
“How long intend you thus to moralize?”
Our prologue deviates from establish'd rules,
Nor shocks the fair, nor calls the critics fools,
'Tis true; but, dully fond of common sense,
We still think spleen to wit has no pretence;
Think impudence is far remote from spirit,
And modesty, tho' aukward, has some merit.
“How long intend you thus to moralize?”
Our prologue deviates from establish'd rules,
Nor shocks the fair, nor calls the critics fools,
'Tis true; but, dully fond of common sense,
We still think spleen to wit has no pretence;
Think impudence is far remote from spirit,
And modesty, tho' aukward, has some merit.
| Poems by the Late Reverend Dr. Thomas Blacklock | |