 | Hecuba |  |
PROLOGUE. Written by Mr. Lloyd. And spoken by Mr. Garrick.
A Grecian
bard, two thousand years ago,
Plan'd this sad fable, of illustrious woe;
Waken'd each soft emotion of the breast,
And call'd forth tears, that would not be supprest.
Plan'd this sad fable, of illustrious woe;
Waken'd each soft emotion of the breast,
And call'd forth tears, that would not be supprest.
Yet, O ye mighty sirs, of judgement chaste,
Who, lacking genius, have a deal of taste,
Can you forgive our modern ancient piece,
Which brings no chorus, tho' it comes from Greece;
Kind social chorus, which all humours meets,
And sings and dances, up and down the streets.
—Oh! might true taste in these unclassic days,
Revive the Grecian fashions, with their plays!
Then rais'd on stilts, our players would stalk and rage,
And at three steps, stride o'er a modern stage;
Each gesture then would boast unusual charms,
From lengthen'd legs, stuff'd body, sprawling arms!
Your critic eye would then no pigmies see,
But buskins make a giant, ev'n of Me.
No features then the poet's mind would trace,
But one blank vizor blot out all the face.
O! glorious times, when actors thus could strike
Expressive, inexpressive, all alike!
Less change of face, than in our Punch they saw,
For Punch can roll his eyes, and wag his jaw
With one set glare they mouth'd the rumbling verse,
Our Gog and Magog look not half so fierce!
Who, lacking genius, have a deal of taste,
Can you forgive our modern ancient piece,
Which brings no chorus, tho' it comes from Greece;
Kind social chorus, which all humours meets,
And sings and dances, up and down the streets.
—Oh! might true taste in these unclassic days,
Revive the Grecian fashions, with their plays!
Then rais'd on stilts, our players would stalk and rage,
And at three steps, stride o'er a modern stage;
Each gesture then would boast unusual charms,
From lengthen'd legs, stuff'd body, sprawling arms!
Your critic eye would then no pigmies see,
But buskins make a giant, ev'n of Me.
No features then the poet's mind would trace,
But one blank vizor blot out all the face.
O! glorious times, when actors thus could strike
Expressive, inexpressive, all alike!
Less change of face, than in our Punch they saw,
For Punch can roll his eyes, and wag his jaw
With one set glare they mouth'd the rumbling verse,
Our Gog and Magog look not half so fierce!
Yet tho' depriv'd of instruments like these,
Nature, perhaps, may find a way to please;
Which, wheresoe'er she glows with genuine flame,
In Greece, in Rome, in England, is the same.
Nature, perhaps, may find a way to please;
Which, wheresoe'er she glows with genuine flame,
In Greece, in Rome, in England, is the same.
Of raillery then, ye modern wits beware,
Nor damn the Grecian poet, for the player.
Theirs was the skill, with honest help of art,
To win by just degrees, the yielding heart.
What if our Shakespear claims the magic throne,
And in one instant makes us all his own,
They differ only, in the point of view,
For Shakespear's nature, was their nature too.
Nor damn the Grecian poet, for the player.
Theirs was the skill, with honest help of art,
To win by just degrees, the yielding heart.
What if our Shakespear claims the magic throne,
And in one instant makes us all his own,
They differ only, in the point of view,
For Shakespear's nature, was their nature too.
| Hecuba | |