The Rival Sisters A Tragedy |
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PROLOGUE, Occasioned by the death of Mr. Henderson, For Mrs. HENDERSON's Night, At the Theatre Royal in Covent-Garden, on Saturday, February 25, 1786. Spoken by Mrs. SIDDONS.
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 | The Rival Sisters |  |
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PROLOGUE, Occasioned by the death of Mr. Henderson, For Mrs. HENDERSON's Night, At the Theatre Royal in Covent-Garden, on Saturday, February 25, 1786. Spoken by Mrs. SIDDONS.
ERE fiction try this night her magick strain,
And blend mysteriously delight with pain;
Ere yet she wake her train of hopes and fears
For Jaffier's wrongs, and Belvidera's tears;
Will you permit a true, a recent grief
To vent it's charge, and seek that sad relief?
And blend mysteriously delight with pain;
Ere yet she wake her train of hopes and fears
For Jaffier's wrongs, and Belvidera's tears;
Will you permit a true, a recent grief
To vent it's charge, and seek that sad relief?
How shall we feel the tale of feign'd distress,
While on the heart our own afflictions press?
When our own friend, when Henderson expires,
And from the tomb one parting pang requires!
While on the heart our own afflictions press?
When our own friend, when Henderson expires,
And from the tomb one parting pang requires!
In yonder Abbey shall he rest his head,
And on this spot no virtuous drop be shed?
And on this spot no virtuous drop be shed?
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You will indulge our grief:—Those crowded rows
Shew you have hearts that feel domestic woes;
Hearts, that with gen'rous emulation burn
To raise the widow drooping o'er his urn;
And to his child, when reason's op'ning ray
Shall tell her, whom she lost, this truth convey;
Her father's worth made each good man his friend,
Honour'd through life, regretted in his end!
And for his relatives to help his store
An audience gave, when he could give no more.
Shew you have hearts that feel domestic woes;
Hearts, that with gen'rous emulation burn
To raise the widow drooping o'er his urn;
And to his child, when reason's op'ning ray
Shall tell her, whom she lost, this truth convey;
Her father's worth made each good man his friend,
Honour'd through life, regretted in his end!
And for his relatives to help his store
An audience gave, when he could give no more.
Him we all mourn: his friends still heave the sigh,
And still the tear stands trembling in the eye.
His was each mild, each amiable art,
The gentlest manners, and the feeling heart.
Fair simple truth, benevolence to all;
A gen'rous warmth, that glow'd at friendship's call.
A judg'ment sure, while learning toil'd behind;
His mirth was wit; his humour, sense refin'd.
A soul above all guile, all meaner views;
The friend of science; friend of ev'ry muse!
Oft have I known him in my vernal year—
This no feign'd grief:—no artificial tear!
Oft in this breast he wak'd the muses flame,
Fond to advise, and point my way to fame.
Who most shall praise him, all are still at strife:
Expiring virtue leaves a void in life.
And still the tear stands trembling in the eye.
His was each mild, each amiable art,
The gentlest manners, and the feeling heart.
Fair simple truth, benevolence to all;
A gen'rous warmth, that glow'd at friendship's call.
A judg'ment sure, while learning toil'd behind;
His mirth was wit; his humour, sense refin'd.
A soul above all guile, all meaner views;
The friend of science; friend of ev'ry muse!
Oft have I known him in my vernal year—
This no feign'd grief:—no artificial tear!
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Fond to advise, and point my way to fame.
Who most shall praise him, all are still at strife:
Expiring virtue leaves a void in life.
A void our scene has felt:—with Shakespeare's page
Who now like him shall animate the stage?
Hamlet, Macbeth, and Benedick, and Lear,
Richard, and Woolsey, pleas'd each learned ear.
If feigning well be our consummate art,
How great his praise, who in Iago's part
Could utter thoughts so foreign to his heart?
Falstaff, who shook this house with mirthful roar,
Is now no counterfeit:—He'll rise no more!
'Twas Henderson's the drama to pervade,
Each passion touch, and give each nicer shade.
When o'er these boards the Roman Father pass'd—
But I forbear—That effort was his last.—
The muse there saw his zeal, though rack'd with pain,
While the slow fever ambush'd in each vein.
She sought the bed, where pale and wan he lay,
And vainly try'd to chase disease away;
Watch'd ev'ry look, and number'd ev'ry sigh;
And gently,—as he liv'd,—she saw him die.
Wild with her griefs, she join'd the mournful throng,
With sullen sound as the hearse mov'd along:
Through the dim vaulted isles she led the way,
And gave to genius past his kindred clay;
Heard the last requiem o'er his relicks cold,
And with her tears bedew'd the hallow'd mould.
Who now like him shall animate the stage?
Hamlet, Macbeth, and Benedick, and Lear,
Richard, and Woolsey, pleas'd each learned ear.
If feigning well be our consummate art,
How great his praise, who in Iago's part
Could utter thoughts so foreign to his heart?
Falstaff, who shook this house with mirthful roar,
Is now no counterfeit:—He'll rise no more!
'Twas Henderson's the drama to pervade,
Each passion touch, and give each nicer shade.
When o'er these boards the Roman Father pass'd—
But I forbear—That effort was his last.—
The muse there saw his zeal, though rack'd with pain,
While the slow fever ambush'd in each vein.
She sought the bed, where pale and wan he lay,
And vainly try'd to chase disease away;
Watch'd ev'ry look, and number'd ev'ry sigh;
And gently,—as he liv'd,—she saw him die.
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With sullen sound as the hearse mov'd along:
Through the dim vaulted isles she led the way,
And gave to genius past his kindred clay;
Heard the last requiem o'er his relicks cold,
And with her tears bedew'd the hallow'd mould.
In faithful verse, there near the lonely cell,
The fair recording epitaph may tell,
That he, who now lies mould'ring into dust,
Was good, was upright, generous, and just;
By talents form'd, to grace the poet's lays;
By virtue form'd, to dignify his days.
The fair recording epitaph may tell,
That he, who now lies mould'ring into dust,
Was good, was upright, generous, and just;
By talents form'd, to grace the poet's lays;
By virtue form'd, to dignify his days.
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