The Siege of Berwick A Tragedy |
PROLOGUE. WRITTEN BY THE AUTHOR; And Spoken by Mr. Harley.
|
| 1. |
| 2. |
| 3. |
| 4. |
 | The Siege of Berwick |  |
vi
PROLOGUE. WRITTEN BY THE AUTHOR; And Spoken by Mr. Harley.
While
fears and hopes alternate thoughts suggest,
And now disturb, now soothe the Author's breast;
While expectation breathes an awful pause,
Ere yet the ready hand the curtain draws,
Ere yet the action glows—I come a spy,
To cast around a reconnoit'ring eye.
Yet then, as I this fearful Pit explore,
Where Authors sometimes fall to rise no more,
Here when th' Adventurer dares you to the field,
If his fond efforts some small merit yield,
I've seen your gen'rous arm forbear the blow,
And raise to life and fame the grateful foe.
And now disturb, now soothe the Author's breast;
While expectation breathes an awful pause,
Ere yet the ready hand the curtain draws,
Ere yet the action glows—I come a spy,
To cast around a reconnoit'ring eye.
Yet then, as I this fearful Pit explore,
Where Authors sometimes fall to rise no more,
Here when th' Adventurer dares you to the field,
If his fond efforts some small merit yield,
I've seen your gen'rous arm forbear the blow,
And raise to life and fame the grateful foe.
For you, the boist'rous inmates of the sky!
Bold is the man who dares your pow'r defy;
With you confusion her loud compact forms,
You ride the clouds, and are yourselves the storms.
Yet have I seen you mitigate your rage,
And spare the Adventurer struggling on the Stage;
If in some scenes (the rest tho' feebly done)
Unerring Nature own'd her genuine Son,
Your glowing soul has grasp'd the Author's cause,
And hurl'd around the thunder of applause.
Bold is the man who dares your pow'r defy;
With you confusion her loud compact forms,
You ride the clouds, and are yourselves the storms.
Yet have I seen you mitigate your rage,
And spare the Adventurer struggling on the Stage;
vii
Unerring Nature own'd her genuine Son,
Your glowing soul has grasp'd the Author's cause,
And hurl'd around the thunder of applause.
For you, ye glittering Amazonian train,
Whose power is dreaded on the critic plain!
Tho' marshal'd to the war by taste severe,
Yet meek indulgence follows in the rear:
And oft on beauty's cheek I've lov'd to trace,
Soft stealing down, the holy tear of grace.
Whose power is dreaded on the critic plain!
Tho' marshal'd to the war by taste severe,
Yet meek indulgence follows in the rear:
And oft on beauty's cheek I've lov'd to trace,
Soft stealing down, the holy tear of grace.
Rais'd by the thoughts these soothing hopes create,
I'll bid the Bard come forth, and meet his fate,
The tyrant Terror from his breast erase,
Rush on the scene, and combat for your praise.
I'll bid the Bard come forth, and meet his fate,
The tyrant Terror from his breast erase,
Rush on the scene, and combat for your praise.
| The Siege of Berwick | |