 | Almyna : Or, The Arabian Vow |  |
PROLOGUE.
Spoke by Mr. Cibber.
To
You the Patrons of the lab'ring Player,
Who spight of Syren sound for Sense declare;
Whose Manlier Judgments, more Delighted hear
What well informs the Mind, than vainly charms the Ear.
To You its firm Support, the Stage opprest
Calls loud for Aid against the Modish Tast:
The Charms of Musick we with you confess,
But hope you'll think no well wrought Play has less;
And, if the Noblest Scenes, ill Play'd, are damn'd,
Why is the same Defect in Musick cramm'd?
Who spight of Syren sound for Sense declare;
Whose Manlier Judgments, more Delighted hear
What well informs the Mind, than vainly charms the Ear.
To You its firm Support, the Stage opprest
Calls loud for Aid against the Modish Tast:
The Charms of Musick we with you confess,
But hope you'll think no well wrought Play has less;
And, if the Noblest Scenes, ill Play'd, are damn'd,
Why is the same Defect in Musick cramm'd?
For Opera's, like Tragedy, require
The Actor's Force of Gesture, and his Fire;
Were those just Graces, join'd to Voice, alas!
A dark Translated Nonsense then might pass.
But when you see with dangling Arms, and lifeless Eyes,
A hum-drum Princess chaunt her Lullabyes.
Who holds the Ponyard to a Life persued,
As if not meant to offer Death, but Food.
Methinks such Sights shou'd make you sleep, not smile,
And fairly own 'tis Vox & Preterea Nihil.
The Actor's Force of Gesture, and his Fire;
Were those just Graces, join'd to Voice, alas!
A dark Translated Nonsense then might pass.
But when you see with dangling Arms, and lifeless Eyes,
A hum-drum Princess chaunt her Lullabyes.
Who holds the Ponyard to a Life persued,
As if not meant to offer Death, but Food.
And fairly own 'tis Vox & Preterea Nihil.
Why then such Summs expended for an Art,
Which Nature only does to warmer Climes impart?
And shall to the Support of that alone,
The Art in which we're own'd t'excel, go down?
So, oft we see in this high-tasted Age,
Chast Wives for Wantons, treated like the Stage.
Strange! that Deceit shou'd more than Truth intice:
For soon you'd see, were but your Judgments nice,
That Opera's a Strumpet by her Price.
Which Nature only does to warmer Climes impart?
And shall to the Support of that alone,
The Art in which we're own'd t'excel, go down?
So, oft we see in this high-tasted Age,
Chast Wives for Wantons, treated like the Stage.
Strange! that Deceit shou'd more than Truth intice:
For soon you'd see, were but your Judgments nice,
That Opera's a Strumpet by her Price.
All Nations are for some Perfection Fam'd,
Let's not for losing what we have be sham'd:
Let French-men Dance; th'Italians, Sing, and Paint,
Perfections we must have from them or want:
Arms we may teach 'em Both, and Both must say,
Our best Diversion is an English PLAY.
Let's not for losing what we have be sham'd:
Let French-men Dance; th'Italians, Sing, and Paint,
Perfections we must have from them or want:
Arms we may teach 'em Both, and Both must say,
Our best Diversion is an English PLAY.
| Almyna : Or, The Arabian Vow | |