 | The Fall of the Earl of Essex |  |
PROLOGUE. Spoken by Mr. GIFFARD.
Justly
afraid to dare the Critick's Rage,
Or wake to Censure so severe an Age,
Our humble Author quits an Author's Pride,
And lays his own imperfect Schemes aside;
Invokes the Genius of the Bards of Old,
To change his Tinsel into solid Gold:
Their's was the Secret, and at their Command
The Mine shall kindle in a barren Land;
Their magick Touch disclose the secret Vein,
And stamp their Image on the Ore again.
Or wake to Censure so severe an Age,
Our humble Author quits an Author's Pride,
And lays his own imperfect Schemes aside;
Invokes the Genius of the Bards of Old,
To change his Tinsel into solid Gold:
Their's was the Secret, and at their Command
The Mine shall kindle in a barren Land;
Their magick Touch disclose the secret Vein,
And stamp their Image on the Ore again.
The Tragick Tale that now demands our Tears,
Has charm'd Attention for a Length of Years:
A Master-Pencil sketch'd the bold Design,
And mark'd the Passions strong in ev'ry Line.
Here Love and Sorrow stung the mourning Maid,
Here Anger threaten'd, and here Fraud betray'd;
In every Change he lavish'd all his Art,
And ev'ry Change commanded ev'ry Heart.
—But, Grief to tell, what Painting should express,
The Life of Beauty, and the Pomp of Dress;
With wild, with careless Hand he ill supply'd,
The Painting languish'd, and the Beauty dy'd:
A Mass of random Colours rudely laid,
Almost deform'd the noble Sketch he made.
—In Fondness then for such a fav'rite Tale,
In Hope th'Endeavour will in Part prevail,
This Grace a modern Bard attempts to give,
And like the Outline make the Colours live.
The Rest is yours—Success is always Fame,
And sure Success is due to Essex' Name:
Inur'd to Praise, he charm'd for half an Age,
The darling Heroe of the British Stage.
Still let his Virtue merit your Applause,
Still let your Sorrows flow in Virtue's Cause:
With genial Warmth revive the blasted Bays,
'Tis just to censure, but 'tis kind to praise.
Has charm'd Attention for a Length of Years:
A Master-Pencil sketch'd the bold Design,
And mark'd the Passions strong in ev'ry Line.
Here Love and Sorrow stung the mourning Maid,
Here Anger threaten'd, and here Fraud betray'd;
In every Change he lavish'd all his Art,
And ev'ry Change commanded ev'ry Heart.
—But, Grief to tell, what Painting should express,
The Life of Beauty, and the Pomp of Dress;
With wild, with careless Hand he ill supply'd,
The Painting languish'd, and the Beauty dy'd:
A Mass of random Colours rudely laid,
Almost deform'd the noble Sketch he made.
—In Fondness then for such a fav'rite Tale,
In Hope th'Endeavour will in Part prevail,
And like the Outline make the Colours live.
The Rest is yours—Success is always Fame,
And sure Success is due to Essex' Name:
Inur'd to Praise, he charm'd for half an Age,
The darling Heroe of the British Stage.
Still let his Virtue merit your Applause,
Still let your Sorrows flow in Virtue's Cause:
With genial Warmth revive the blasted Bays,
'Tis just to censure, but 'tis kind to praise.
| The Fall of the Earl of Essex | |