 | The Gamesters |  |
PROLOGUE. WRITTEN AND SPOKEN By Mr. GARRICK.
Whene'er the wits of France take pen in hand,To give a sketch of you, and this our land;
One settled maxim through the whole you see—
To wit—their great superiority!
Urge what you will, they still have this to say;
That you who ape them, are less wise than they.
'Tis thus these well bred letter-writers use us;
They trip o'er here, with half an eye peruse us;
Embrace us, eat our meat, and then—abuse us.
When this same play was writ, that's now before ye,
The English stage had reach'd its point of glory
No paulty thefts disgrac'd this author's pen,
He painted English manners, English men;
And form'd his taste on Shakespear and old Ben.
Then were French farces, fashions, quite unknown;
Our wits wrote well, and all they writ their own:
These were the times when no infatuation,
No vicious modes, no zeal for imitation,
Had chang'd, deform'd, and sunk the British nation.
Should you be ever from yourselves estrang'd,
The cock will crow, to see the lion chang'd!
To boast our liberty is weak, and vain,
While tyrant vices in our bosoms reign;
Not liberty alone, a nation saves;
Corrupted freemen are the worst of slaves.
Let Pruffia's sons each English breast inflame;
O be our spirit, as our cause, the same!
And as our hearts with one religion glow,
Let us with all their ardors drive the foe,
As heav'n had rais'd our arm, as heav'n had giv'n the blow!
Would you re-kindle all your ancient fires?
Extinguish first your modern, vain desires:
Still it is yours, your glories to retrieve;
Lop but the branches, and the tree shall live:
With these erect a pile for sacrifice!
And in the midst—throw all your cards and dice!
Then fire the heap; and as it sinks to earth,
The British genius shall have second birth!
Shall, Phœnix-like, rise perfect from the flame,
Spring from the dust, and mount again to fame!
| The Gamesters | |