 | Fatal Curiosity |  |
PROLOGUE,
Written by Henry Feilding, Esq;Spoken by Mr. Roberts.
The tragic Muse has long forgot to please
With Shakespear's Nature, or with Fletcher's Ease:
No Passion mov'd, thro' five long Acts you sit,
Charm'd with the Poet's Language, or his Wit.
Fine Things are said, no matter whence they fall;
Each single Character might speak them all.
With Shakespear's Nature, or with Fletcher's Ease:
No Passion mov'd, thro' five long Acts you sit,
Charm'd with the Poet's Language, or his Wit.
Fine Things are said, no matter whence they fall;
Each single Character might speak them all.
But from this modern fashionable Way,
To Night, our Author begs your Leave to stray.
No fustian Hero rages here to Night;
No Armies fall, to fix a Tyrant's Right:
From lower Life we draw our Scene's Distress:
—Let not your Equals move your Pity less!
Virtue distrest in humble State support;
Nor think, she never lives without the Court.
To Night, our Author begs your Leave to stray.
No fustian Hero rages here to Night;
No Armies fall, to fix a Tyrant's Right:
From lower Life we draw our Scene's Distress:
—Let not your Equals move your Pity less!
Virtue distrest in humble State support;
Nor think, she never lives without the Court.
Tho' to our Scenes no Royal Robes belong,
And tho' our little Stage as yet be young,
Throw both your Scorn and Prejudice aside,
Let us with Favour, not Contempt be try'd;
Thro' the first Acts a kind Attention lend,
The growing Scene shall force you to attend;
Shall catch the Eyes of every tender Fair,
And make them charm their Lovers with a Tear.
The Lover too by Pity shall impart
His tender Passion to his fair One's Heart:
The Breast which others Anguish cannot move,
Was ne'er the Seat of Friendship, or of Love.
And tho' our little Stage as yet be young,
Throw both your Scorn and Prejudice aside,
Let us with Favour, not Contempt be try'd;
Thro' the first Acts a kind Attention lend,
The growing Scene shall force you to attend;
Shall catch the Eyes of every tender Fair,
And make them charm their Lovers with a Tear.
The Lover too by Pity shall impart
His tender Passion to his fair One's Heart:
The Breast which others Anguish cannot move,
Was ne'er the Seat of Friendship, or of Love.
| Fatal Curiosity | |