 | Little John And The Giants |  |
5
PROLOGUE,
SPOKEN AT THE SECOND REPRESENTATION.
From a Free Stage commanded to retreat,
Shun'd by the Cautious, silenced by the Great,
Our author opens all his heart to view,
And wishes to be tried, by Heaven, and you.
Shun'd by the Cautious, silenced by the Great,
Our author opens all his heart to view,
And wishes to be tried, by Heaven, and you.
In all he labour'd, and in all he taught,
If e'er his works inspired one impious thought;
If e'er disloyalty has stained his pen,
Or faction pois'nous to the peace of men;
If yet one verse from malice learn'd to flow,
Or made, of worthy men, a single foe;
If reputation by one stroke has bled;
If e'er he tinged one modest cheek with red;
If even, when Vice stood hateful to his sight,
He pointed where one partial shaft should light—
He then will be the foremost to declare
His sufferings merited, their censure fair.
If e'er his works inspired one impious thought;
If e'er disloyalty has stained his pen,
Or faction pois'nous to the peace of men;
If yet one verse from malice learn'd to flow,
Or made, of worthy men, a single foe;
If reputation by one stroke has bled;
If e'er he tinged one modest cheek with red;
If even, when Vice stood hateful to his sight,
He pointed where one partial shaft should light—
He then will be the foremost to declare
His sufferings merited, their censure fair.
He, by no party duped, no faction sway'd
Claims the high road where Truth and Nature lead:
Takes, with fair Liberty, his tour abroad;
And walks, unwarp'd by pique, by Power unaw'd.
Should Slander tempt, should Injury provoke,
He deviates not, nor aims one sidelong stroke:
But where Guilt stands, or thrusts upon his way,
Let it reform—or feel him as it may!
Claims the high road where Truth and Nature lead:
Takes, with fair Liberty, his tour abroad;
And walks, unwarp'd by pique, by Power unaw'd.
Should Slander tempt, should Injury provoke,
He deviates not, nor aims one sidelong stroke:
6
Let it reform—or feel him as it may!
What antique whim, what out of fashion'd taste,
Tempts modern meetings to a moral feast?
No clamorous drum is here, no wanton dance,
Nor songs from Italy, nor cooks from France:
Your table is with mental dishes spread,
And cates on which immortal souls are fed;
That give the newborn sentiment to grow,
Its thought to widen, and its worth to glow;
That touch the heart, and humanize the mind,
And pour in all that's feeling, good, and kind;
Yet bid heroic ardours stand confest,
And nerve the stubborn Patriot in the breast.
Such is the feast that's relish'd by the few;
Tempts modern meetings to a moral feast?
No clamorous drum is here, no wanton dance,
Nor songs from Italy, nor cooks from France:
Your table is with mental dishes spread,
And cates on which immortal souls are fed;
That give the newborn sentiment to grow,
Its thought to widen, and its worth to glow;
That touch the heart, and humanize the mind,
And pour in all that's feeling, good, and kind;
Yet bid heroic ardours stand confest,
And nerve the stubborn Patriot in the breast.
The Food of Angels!—
[To the Ladies.
And of men, like you!
| Little John And The Giants | |