 | Matilda |  |
PROLOGUE. Written by a FRIEND. Spoken by Mr. SMITH.
A Tragic Tale, from Norman William's Age,Simple, and unadorn'd, attempts the Stage.
Our silly Bard, more simple than his Tale.
Thinks on your polish'd Manners to prevail;
What in those barb'rous Days were counted Crimes,
Are Slips of course in these enlighten'd Times:
Let not your Ancestors too rude appear,
Though firm in Friendship, and in Love sincere.
Love then like Glory did each Heart inflame,
Beauty was Virtue, and to win it, Fame,
Now Lovers lose their Mistresses with Grace,
As at New-Market they would lose a Race,
Where, if in Hopes they seem a little cross'd,
'Tis for the Money of the Match that's lost.
When Tilts and Tournaments call'd forth the Brave,
The Fame of spotless Innocence to save,
Each gallant Knight preferr'd his Love to Life,
For then the greatest Blessing was a Wife:
To prove their Chastity the dauntless Fair
Would walk through Flames, nor singe a single Hair;
Nay, some so chaste, so cold to all Desire,
Not only scap'd it, they put out the Fire!
But now no Heroes die for Love's sweet Passion,
And fiery Trials are quite out of Fashion.
Ye Sons of Frailty—you whom Rage devours,
For you this Night the Muse exerts her Pow'rs;
She bids the Furies in their Terrors rise!
In Valour's Breast their Scorpion Stings they dart,
First fire the Brain, and then corrupt the Heart.
But what avails all Virtue! Passion's gust,
Like Whirlwinds, drive it from the Heart like Dust;
When Reason dawns, well may Repentance mourn
Love, Friendship, Duty, by the Roots up-torn.
To sooth this fatal Vice, the Flatterer tells
In stormy Minds how warmest Friendship dwells;
The Tree whose sheltering Arms spread kindly round,
If Light'ning-struck, lies blasted on the Ground;
In vain will Merits past Indulgence claim,
One Moment's Rashness blasts whole Years of Fame.
| Matilda | |