 | The Wife |  |
292
PROLOGUE, SPOKEN BY MR. WARDE.
Untoward fate no luckless wight invades
More sorely than the Man who drives two trades;
Like Esop's bat, between two natures placed,
Scowl'd at by mice, among the birds disgraced.
Our author thus, of twofold fame exactor,
Is doubly scouted,—both as Bard and Actor!
Wanting in haste a Prologue, he applied
To three poetic friends; was thrice denied.
Each glared on him with supercilious glance,
As on a Poor Relation met by chance;
And one was heard, with more repulsive air,
To mutter “Vagabond,” “Rogue,” “Strolling Player!”
A poet once, he found—and look'd aghast—
By turning actor, he had lost his caste.
The verse patch'd up at length—with like ill fortune
His friends behind the scenes he did importune
To speak his lines. He found them all fight shy,
Nodding their heads in cool civility.
More sorely than the Man who drives two trades;
Like Esop's bat, between two natures placed,
Scowl'd at by mice, among the birds disgraced.
Our author thus, of twofold fame exactor,
Is doubly scouted,—both as Bard and Actor!
Wanting in haste a Prologue, he applied
To three poetic friends; was thrice denied.
Each glared on him with supercilious glance,
As on a Poor Relation met by chance;
And one was heard, with more repulsive air,
To mutter “Vagabond,” “Rogue,” “Strolling Player!”
A poet once, he found—and look'd aghast—
By turning actor, he had lost his caste.
The verse patch'd up at length—with like ill fortune
His friends behind the scenes he did importune
To speak his lines. He found them all fight shy,
Nodding their heads in cool civility.
“Their service in the Drama was enough,
The poet might recite the poet's stuff!”
The rogues—they like him hugely—but it stung 'em,
Somehow—to think a Bard had got among 'em.
Their mind made up—no earthly pleading shook it,
In pure compassion till I undertook it.
Disown'd by Poets and by Actors too,
Dear Patrons of both arts, he turns to you!
If in your hearts some tender feelings dwell
From sweet Virginia, or heroic Tell:
If in the scenes which follow you can trace
What once has pleased you—an unbidden grace—
A touch of nature's work—an awkward start
Or ebullition of an Irish heart—
Cry, clap, commend it! If you like them not,
Your former favours cannot be forgot.
Condemn them—damn them—hiss them if you will—
Their author is your grateful servant still!
The poet might recite the poet's stuff!”
The rogues—they like him hugely—but it stung 'em,
Somehow—to think a Bard had got among 'em.
Their mind made up—no earthly pleading shook it,
In pure compassion till I undertook it.
Disown'd by Poets and by Actors too,
Dear Patrons of both arts, he turns to you!
If in your hearts some tender feelings dwell
From sweet Virginia, or heroic Tell:
If in the scenes which follow you can trace
What once has pleased you—an unbidden grace—
A touch of nature's work—an awkward start
Or ebullition of an Irish heart—
Cry, clap, commend it! If you like them not,
Your former favours cannot be forgot.
Condemn them—damn them—hiss them if you will—
Their author is your grateful servant still!
| The Wife | |