 | The Earl of Essex |  |
PROLOGUE To the EARL of ESSEX. Spoken by Mr. SHERIDAN.
Whene'er
the brave, the gen'rous, and the just,
Whene'er the patriot sinks to silent dust,
The tragic muse attends the mournful hearse,
And pays her tribute of immortal verse.
Inspir'd by noble deeds, she seeks the plain,
In honour's cause, where mighty chiefs are slain;
And bathes with tears the sod that wraps the dead,
And bids the turf lie lightly on his head.
Whene'er the patriot sinks to silent dust,
The tragic muse attends the mournful hearse,
And pays her tribute of immortal verse.
Inspir'd by noble deeds, she seeks the plain,
In honour's cause, where mighty chiefs are slain;
And bathes with tears the sod that wraps the dead,
And bids the turf lie lightly on his head.
Nor thus content, she opens death's cold womb,
And bursts the cearments of the awful tomb
To cast him up again—to bid him live,
And to the scene his form and pressure give.
And bursts the cearments of the awful tomb
To cast him up again—to bid him live,
And to the scene his form and pressure give.
Thus once fam'd Essex at her voice appears,
Emerging from the sacred dust of years.
Emerging from the sacred dust of years.
Nor deem it much, that we retrace to-night,
A tale to which you've list'ned with delight.
How oft of yore, to learned Athens' eyes
Did new Electras and new Phædras rise?
In France how many Theban monarchs groan
For Laius' blood, and incest not their own?
When there new Iphigenias have the sigh,
Fresh drops of pity gush from ev'ry eye.
On the same theme tho' rival wits appear,
The heart still finds the sympathetic tear.
A tale to which you've list'ned with delight.
How oft of yore, to learned Athens' eyes
Did new Electras and new Phædras rise?
In France how many Theban monarchs groan
For Laius' blood, and incest not their own?
When there new Iphigenias have the sigh,
Fresh drops of pity gush from ev'ry eye.
On the same theme tho' rival wits appear,
The heart still finds the sympathetic tear.
If there soft pity pours her plenteous store,
For fabled kings and empires now no more;
Much more should you—from freedom's glorious plan,
Who still inherit all the rights of man;
Much more should you, with kindred sorrows glow
For your own chiefs, your own domestic woe;
Much more a British story should impart
The warmest feelings to each British heart.
For fabled kings and empires now no more;
Much more should you—from freedom's glorious plan,
Who still inherit all the rights of man;
Much more should you, with kindred sorrows glow
For your own chiefs, your own domestic woe;
Much more a British story should impart
The warmest feelings to each British heart.
| The Earl of Essex | |