 | Belisarius |  |
PROLOGUE.
Who hath not heard of Belisarius' fate,
The guardian warrior of Rome's sinking state?
His open foes with glory he o'ercame,
But could not Envy's rancorous venom tame:
And when unnumber'd dangers he had braved,
Was forced to beg from those his arm had saved.
By malice render'd blind, he took his stand,
And ask'd for charity's assisting hand.
With honour, shame, thus Ministers could sport,
Such was the gratitude which fill'd a court.
The guardian warrior of Rome's sinking state?
His open foes with glory he o'ercame,
But could not Envy's rancorous venom tame:
And when unnumber'd dangers he had braved,
Was forced to beg from those his arm had saved.
By malice render'd blind, he took his stand,
And ask'd for charity's assisting hand.
With honour, shame, thus Ministers could sport,
Such was the gratitude which fill'd a court.
Shakespeare, who rich in genius, dared pourtray
Whate'er imagination could survey,
Or possibility's wide scope contain,
Who mingled Kings and Jesters in his strain,
Would not perhaps have scrupled here to trace
The Hero's utmost lowness of disgrace;
Nature and truth his power would have confest,
And sympathetic woe fill'd every breast.
Whate'er imagination could survey,
Or possibility's wide scope contain,
Who mingled Kings and Jesters in his strain,
Would not perhaps have scrupled here to trace
The Hero's utmost lowness of disgrace;
Nature and truth his power would have confest,
And sympathetic woe fill'd every breast.
Not thus the humbler Author of to night,
He feels the blaze of his superiour light,
Laments the chains which modern play-wrights bind,
The shackles which controul the elastic mind,
And fears (tho dignified by worth and age)
To bring a Beggar on the Tragic stage.
He feels the blaze of his superiour light,
Laments the chains which modern play-wrights bind,
The shackles which controul the elastic mind,
And fears (tho dignified by worth and age)
To bring a Beggar on the Tragic stage.
He paints him great, he paints him in distress,
In battle stern, in peace intent to bless;
Loyal mid persecution most unjust,
Severely steady to his patriot trust;
Yet not insensible to sorrow's dart,
With Cato's virtues, not his stoic heart;
With the nice feelings which adorn the man,
Yet firmly rivetted to honour's plan.
In battle stern, in peace intent to bless;
Loyal mid persecution most unjust,
Severely steady to his patriot trust;
Yet not insensible to sorrow's dart,
With Cato's virtues, not his stoic heart;
With the nice feelings which adorn the man,
Yet firmly rivetted to honour's plan.
He paints the griefs his relatives sustain,
Filial affection, sharp domestic pain,
Griefs which the finer nerves of passion tear,
And pain creating frenzy and despair.
Filial affection, sharp domestic pain,
Griefs which the finer nerves of passion tear,
And pain creating frenzy and despair.
Oh! may our efforts aid our Bard's design,
And on your breasts stamp each pathetic line!
So shall we draw the tear from Beauty's eye,
So shall each manly bosom heave a sigh;
So shall the moral scene your hearts engage,
And nature, sense, and virtue, grace our stage.
And on your breasts stamp each pathetic line!
So shall we draw the tear from Beauty's eye,
So shall each manly bosom heave a sigh;
So shall the moral scene your hearts engage,
And nature, sense, and virtue, grace our stage.
| Belisarius | |