The Siege of Berwick A Tragedy |
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The EPILOGUE. WRITTEN BY THE AUTHOR, AND SPOKEN BY
Mrs. POPE.
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 | The Siege of Berwick |  |
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The EPILOGUE. WRITTEN BY THE AUTHOR, AND SPOKEN BY Mrs. POPE.
As
now I come unarm'd, without a dart,
I fear I can't presume to touch your heart;
But your indulgence, here so often found,
Has on my heart, at least, imprest a wound;
A sacred wound! which I am proud to feel,
Which, if I know myself, will never heal.
I fear I can't presume to touch your heart;
But your indulgence, here so often found,
Has on my heart, at least, imprest a wound;
A sacred wound! which I am proud to feel,
Which, if I know myself, will never heal.
Methinks I hear you say, Dear Mrs. Pope,
Amidst what mould'ring Annals did you grope,
And dig, from out the mine of tragic ore,
A tale unfashion'd from the days of yore—
Where two wild Boys take such prodigious pains,
And are determin'd to be hung in chains?
Amidst what mould'ring Annals did you grope,
And dig, from out the mine of tragic ore,
A tale unfashion'd from the days of yore—
Where two wild Boys take such prodigious pains,
And are determin'd to be hung in chains?
Goes your complaint to this?—that we display
A tale unsuited to the modern day?
Does this fam'd Island then produce no more
The bright atchievements of the days of yore?
Avert the thought!—still ancient Glory tow'rs,
And warm heroic Virtue still is ours!
Ev'n here, as I the martial theme pursue,
Full many a mother rises to my view,
Whose ardent Sons domestic comforts fly,
To seek th' advancing Foe with kindling eye,
And, braving the full force of hostile pow'r,
Add to their Country's wreath another flow'r.
A tale unsuited to the modern day?
Does this fam'd Island then produce no more
The bright atchievements of the days of yore?
Avert the thought!—still ancient Glory tow'rs,
And warm heroic Virtue still is ours!
Ev'n here, as I the martial theme pursue,
Full many a mother rises to my view,
Whose ardent Sons domestic comforts fly,
To seek th' advancing Foe with kindling eye,
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Add to their Country's wreath another flow'r.
No station, titles, here exemption claim;
All feel alike the sympathetic flame:
E'en SHE whose life adds splendour to a Throne,
Whom ev'ry British heart delights to own—
E'en SHE beholds her brave undaunted Son,
In early youth the path of danger run!
All feel alike the sympathetic flame:
E'en SHE whose life adds splendour to a Throne,
Whom ev'ry British heart delights to own—
E'en SHE beholds her brave undaunted Son,
In early youth the path of danger run!
Happy the realm, in this convulsive Age,
Whose tragic scenes are only on the Stage!
Calamity extends her wither'd hand,
And drags her harrow o'er a neighb'ring Land;
While you, reclin'd beneath a softer sway,
Bask and enjoy a bright unclouded day.
Whose tragic scenes are only on the Stage!
Calamity extends her wither'd hand,
And drags her harrow o'er a neighb'ring Land;
While you, reclin'd beneath a softer sway,
Bask and enjoy a bright unclouded day.
Depress'd by civic storms, deform'd with woes,
Stung by the pangs of agonizing throes,
A Nation falls.—'Tis yours to still the storm,
To raise with gen'rous arm her bleeding form,
To soothe her shame, administer relief,
To close the gushing artery of grief,
To cast a veil o'er each disgraceful seam,
And once more lift her to her own esteem.
Stung by the pangs of agonizing throes,
A Nation falls.—'Tis yours to still the storm,
To raise with gen'rous arm her bleeding form,
To soothe her shame, administer relief,
To close the gushing artery of grief,
To cast a veil o'er each disgraceful seam,
And once more lift her to her own esteem.
This Godlike act, which is reserv'd for you,
With glowing zeal and confidence pursue:
This act from future times shall homage claim,
Extend your worth, and consecrate your fame!
With glowing zeal and confidence pursue:
This act from future times shall homage claim,
Extend your worth, and consecrate your fame!
| The Siege of Berwick | |