 | The Successful Pyrate |  |
PROLOGUE. Spoken by Mr. Wilks.
In
ancient Days, when Poetry was young,
She sung her Labours to the vulgar Throng,
Artless and unattir'd from Door to Door
The Goddess wander'd, innocent and poor.
In Magick Verse her moving Fable dress'd,
And the rude World, at once both taught and pleas'd.
When that old Bard appear'd, whose Verse with Time
Keeps Pace, but never will decay like him;
Yet Homer, tho' immortal were his Lays,
In that dark Age scarce got him Bread and Praise.
At length the Stage of Athens rais'd her Head,
With grateful Joy receiv'd the virtuous Maid,
And call'd her Daughter Musick to her Aid.
These beauteous Painting join'd, and the gay Scene
Gave new Delight, the Pencil grac'd the Pen.
She sung her Labours to the vulgar Throng,
Artless and unattir'd from Door to Door
The Goddess wander'd, innocent and poor.
In Magick Verse her moving Fable dress'd,
And the rude World, at once both taught and pleas'd.
When that old Bard appear'd, whose Verse with Time
Keeps Pace, but never will decay like him;
Yet Homer, tho' immortal were his Lays,
In that dark Age scarce got him Bread and Praise.
At length the Stage of Athens rais'd her Head,
With grateful Joy receiv'd the virtuous Maid,
And call'd her Daughter Musick to her Aid.
These beauteous Painting join'd, and the gay Scene
Gave new Delight, the Pencil grac'd the Pen.
Now they unite to please our Reason's Taste,
And with immortal Food the ravish'd Fancy feast,
By them dead Worth revives, old Heroes Rise,
And with dissembled Grief, give real Joys.
Without the Toil the distant World you see,
And view all Nature in Epitome—
This Stage has long with home-bred Fops been cloy'd,
And ev'ry shining Coxcomb here enjoy'd:
Our Author, therefore, willing to delight,
Begs Leave—t'import a Fool or two to Night;
While young remov'd to Africk's warmest Bed
Transplanted Slips of the true English Breed.
Then—When our Musick bids the Curtain rise,
And shows the shadow'd Landskip to your Eyes,
Let powerful Fancy your weak Faith beguile,
Believe your selves in Madagascar's Isle.
Behold the Men and Manners of the Place,
We'll make your Passage easie cross the Seas:
The Curtain—in three Hours, will drop again,
And set you—safely down—in Drury-Lane.
And with immortal Food the ravish'd Fancy feast,
By them dead Worth revives, old Heroes Rise,
And with dissembled Grief, give real Joys.
Without the Toil the distant World you see,
And view all Nature in Epitome—
This Stage has long with home-bred Fops been cloy'd,
And ev'ry shining Coxcomb here enjoy'd:
Our Author, therefore, willing to delight,
Begs Leave—t'import a Fool or two to Night;
Transplanted Slips of the true English Breed.
Then—When our Musick bids the Curtain rise,
And shows the shadow'd Landskip to your Eyes,
Let powerful Fancy your weak Faith beguile,
Believe your selves in Madagascar's Isle.
Behold the Men and Manners of the Place,
We'll make your Passage easie cross the Seas:
The Curtain—in three Hours, will drop again,
And set you—safely down—in Drury-Lane.
| The Successful Pyrate | |