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Timoleon

A Tragedy
  
  
  
  
PROLOGUE.
  
  
  

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PROLOGUE.

Written by a Friend.
Spoken by Mr. WILKS.
To strike the Soul with Horror, and Surprise,
Our Barns we burn, our fiery Dragon flies.
With Gods and Goddesses we fill the Scene,
Who dance—at the Command of Harlequin.
And if these fail a crouded House to bring,
Our Heroines warble, and our Heroes sing.
Cæsar, Othello, Brutus, and Mackbeth
Shrink at the Names of Hunter and Mackheath.
By these all Tastes at once we reconcile;
The Galleries clap, but where the Boxes smile;
Wits, Ideots, Courtiers, Clowns in these accord;
For Tom can sing a Ballad like my Lord.
Nurse too may now the Tutor's Part engage,
And breed your Sons, without the Latin Page,
In all the useful Knowledge of the Age.
Hard therefore is the Task of those who write,
To please a Town fantastick, yet polite.
Sparing of Praise, to every Fault severe,
Tir'd with what once you could with Raptures hear.
Our trembling Bard to please you much would strive,
And humbly begs you'd let his First-born live.
Some Hopes he has you will his Work approve;
His Hero burns with Liberty, and Love.


With Liberty, each manly Briton's Care;
With Love, inspir'd by every British Fair.
Attentive then the Grecian Patriot view,
While, strict the Paths of Virtue to pursue,
Nor Love, nor Friendship, nor the Ties of Blood
Abate his Ardor for the publick Good.
While every Breast receives the glorious Flame,
And bounds at Liberty's enchanting Name,
Think on those Heroes, who the Blessing brought;
For this Nassau, for this your Marlbro' fought:
For this—But aw'd with reverential Fear,
The Muse the glorious Subject must forbear.
They who with Pleasure Peace and Freedom give,
With Pain the Tribute of our Praise receive.