 | Penelope |  |
PROLOGUE. Spoke by Mr. PHOENIX.
If
Eyes which from a pious Sorrow flow,
If Virtue struggling thro' a Length of Woe,
Are Objects to demand a generous Tear,
Who, Britons, shall deny the Tribute here?
If Virtue struggling thro' a Length of Woe,
Are Objects to demand a generous Tear,
Who, Britons, shall deny the Tribute here?
This Night our Bard on Homer builds his Fame:
Who is not aw'd at that immortal Name!
Our Scenes, in all the Pomp of Grief, disclose
A Matron chaste, a Man of wond'rous Woes,
A Heroe doom'd to change, when scarcely wed,
For the rough Trade of War the bridal Bed;
Thro' various Lands, and Men unknown, to roam,
Far from his Soul's Delight, and native Home.
From Perils great, hard Lot! to greater toss'd;
Twenty long Years by adverse Fortune cross'd:
Yet see him great above Afflictions rise;
The Admiration of the brave and wise!
Who is not aw'd at that immortal Name!
Our Scenes, in all the Pomp of Grief, disclose
A Matron chaste, a Man of wond'rous Woes,
A Heroe doom'd to change, when scarcely wed,
For the rough Trade of War the bridal Bed;
Thro' various Lands, and Men unknown, to roam,
Far from his Soul's Delight, and native Home.
From Perils great, hard Lot! to greater toss'd;
Twenty long Years by adverse Fortune cross'd:
Yet see him great above Afflictions rise;
The Admiration of the brave and wise!
15
Oh! ye bright Stars of Love! ye virtuous Fair!
When you behold our widow'd Wife's Despair,
When you behold her charming in Distress,
All beauteous in her Negligence of Dress,
Let a soft Tear adown your Roses steal,
To shew Us what, by Sympathy, you feel.
When you behold our widow'd Wife's Despair,
When you behold her charming in Distress,
All beauteous in her Negligence of Dress,
Let a soft Tear adown your Roses steal,
To shew Us what, by Sympathy, you feel.
There was a Time, the Muses happyer Days,
When all, in Sighs, confess'd the Poet's Praise.
We want not living Chronicles to tell,
When Belvedira dy'd, and Jaffeir fell,
How Hearts of Heroes melted with Applause,
And softest Bosoms heav'd in Jaffeir's Cause.
The present Taste for Farce we would controul,
And to kind Pity mold the generous Soul.
When all, in Sighs, confess'd the Poet's Praise.
We want not living Chronicles to tell,
When Belvedira dy'd, and Jaffeir fell,
How Hearts of Heroes melted with Applause,
And softest Bosoms heav'd in Jaffeir's Cause.
The present Taste for Farce we would controul,
And to kind Pity mold the generous Soul.
When, in Distress, our virtuous Dame appears,
Her Tresses loose, her Eyes bedew'd with Tears,
Learn, Oh! ye Fair, learn from our lovely Wife,
How to support, with Fame, a widow'd Life.
Her Tresses loose, her Eyes bedew'd with Tears,
Learn, Oh! ye Fair, learn from our lovely Wife,
How to support, with Fame, a widow'd Life.
| Penelope | |