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PROLOGUE, Spoken by Mr. RYAN.

What pleasing Hopes the youthful Bard inflame,
Of mighty Honours and immortal Fame!
Wild as his Strains his Expectation strays,
'Till Judgment here his Fantom merit lays:
'Till, candid, you present the Critic's Glass,
And show the fancy'd Elephant!—an Ass!
Such often is the Fate of those who write,
As it may prove the Poet's of to-night:
But he, tho' young, is modest in his Cause,
And owns he hardly dares expect Applause:
From fabled Woes he makes his fond Pretence,
A shining Moral, drest in humble Sense.
His Muse to-night on Trial does appear,
Nor can he doubt impartial Judgment here:
If bad his Cause, he prays no clam'rous Roar;
Dismiss him gently,—he'll offend no more.
But should the Plant be found such Fruit to bear
As pays the Culture, and rewards our Care;
No Plea for kind Indulgence need be mov'd,
That were to doubt the Goodness oft we've prov'd!


Your Favours will exalt his humble Strains,
And arm his Cæsars for our mimic Plains.
On British Worth we glory to depend,
That Worth so us'd our Labours to befriend!
Once more, with native Zeal, assert our Cause,
And give a rising Genius kind Applause.