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PROLOGUE.

Written by the Author, and spoken by Mr. Hull.
Our modern Poets scarce know how to chuse
A subject worthy of the Tragic Muse;
For Bards so well have glean'd th'Historic field,
That scarce one sheaf th'exhausted ancients yield;
And these, our timid author leaves to men,
For classic themes demand a classic pen:
Yet still the wilds of fiction open lie,
A flow'ry prospect, and a boundless sky:
But hard the task the sober path to chuse,
And wand'ring Fancy's treacherous baits refuse.
—She dares not touch the Drama's nobler strings,
The fate of nations, and the fall of Kings;
The humbler scenes of private life she shews,
A simple story of domestic woes.
The weight of crowns, a kingdom's weal or woe,
How few can judge, because how few can know!
But here you all may boast the Critic's art,
Here, all are judges—who possess a heart.
To govern Empires is the lot of few,
But all who live have passions to subdue;
And, ev'n by Patriots let it be confess'd,
These Rebel Subjects ought to be suppress'd,
These Ravagers which spoil the human breast.
Oh! deign to learn this obvious lesson here!
The verse is feeble, but the moral clear.
Your candour once endur'd our Author's lays,
Endure them now—that will be ample praise.