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Trust the Muse: her eye commands
Distant times and distant lands;

Through bursting clouds, in opening skies,
Sees from discord union rise;
And friendship bind unwilling foes
In firmer ties than duty knows.

Torn rudely from its parent tree,
Yon scion rising in the west
Will soon its genuine glory see,

And court again the fostering breast, Whose nurture gave its powers to spread, And feel their force, and lift an alien head.

The parent tree, when storms impend,
Shall own affection's warmth again;
Again his fostering aid shall lend;

Nor hear the suppliant plead in vain ; Shall stretch protecting branches round, Extend the shelter, and forget the wound.

Two Britains through th' admiring world Shall wing their way with sails unfurl'd; Each from the other's kindred state Avert by turns the bolts of fate; And acts of mutual amity endear The Tyre and Carthage of a wider sphere.

When Rome's divided eagles flew ;
And different thrones her empire knew,
The varying language soon disjoin'd
The boasted masters of mankind:
But here, no ills like those we fear,
No varying language threatens here;
Congenial worth, congenial flame,

Their manners and their arts the same,
To the same tongue shall glowing themes afford,
And British heroes act, and British bards record.

Fly, swift, ye years! ye minutes haste!
And in the future lose the past;
O'er many a thought-afflicting tale,
Oblivion, cast thy friendly veil!
Let not Memory breathe a sigh,

Or backward turn th' indignant eye;
Nor the insidious arts of foes

Enlarge the breach that longs to close,

But acts of amity alone inspire

Say, can you listen to the artless woes
Of an old tale, which every school-boy knows?
Where to your hearts alone the scenes apply,
No merit theirs but pure simplicity.

Our bard has play'd a most adventurous part,
And turn'd upon himself the critic's art ;
Stripp'd each luxuriant plume from fancy's wings,
And torn up similies like vulgar things:
Nay ev'n each moral, sentimental stroke,
Where not the character, but poet spoke,
He lopp'd, as foreign to his chaste design,
Nor spar'd an useless, though a golden line.

These are his arts; if these cannot atone For all those nameless errours yet unknown; If, shunning faults which nobler bards commit, He wants their force to strike th' attentive pit; Be just, and tell him so; he asks advice, Willing to learn, and would not ask it twice. Your kind applause may bid him write-beware! Or kinder censure teach him to forbear.

EPILOGUE

TO THE ROMAN FATHER.

SPOKEN BY MRS. PRITCHARD. 1750.

LADIES, by me our courteous author sends
His compliments to all his female friends;
And thanks them from his soul for every bright
Indulgent tear, which they have shed to night.
Sorrow in virtue's cause proclaims a mind,
And gives to beauty graces more refin'd.
O who could bear the loveliest form of art,
A cherub's face, without a feeling heart!
T is there alone, whatever charms we boast,
Though men may flatter, and though men will toast,
'T is there alone they find the joy sincere;
The wife, the parent, and the friend, are there:
All else, the veriest rakes themselves must own,
Are but the paltry play-things of the town;
The painted clouds, which glittering tempt the
chase,

Then melt in air, and mock the vain embrace.
Well then; the private virtues, 't is confest,
Are the soft inmates of the female breast.
But then, they fill so full that crowded space,

Firm faith, and cordial love, and wake the willing That the poor public seldom finds a place. lyre.

PROLOGUES AND EPILOGUES.

PROLOGUE

TO THE ROMAN FATHER.

SPOKEN BY MR. BARRY. 1750.

BRITONS, to night in native pomp we come,
True heroes all, from virtuous ancient Rome;
In those far distant times when Romans knew
The sweets of guarded liberty, like you;
And, safe from ills which force or faction brings,
Saw freedom reign beneath the smile of kings.
Yet from such times, and such plain chiefs as
these,

What can we frame a polish'd age to please?

And I suspect there 's many a fair-one here,
Who pour'd her sorrows on Horatia's bier,
That still retains so much of flesh and blood,
She'd fairly hang the brother, if she could.
Why, ladies, to be sure, if that be all,
At your tribunal he must stand or fall.
Whate'er his country or his sire decreed,
You are his judges now, and he must plead.
Like other culprit youths, he wanted grace;
But could have no self-interest in the case.
Had she been wife, or mistress, or a friend,
It might have answer'd some convenient end:
But a mere sister, whom he lov'd-to take
Her life away-and for his country's sake!
Faith, ladies, you may pardon him; indeed
There's very little fear the crime should spread.
True patriots are but rare among the men,
And really might be useful, now and then.
Then do not check, by your disapprobation,
A spirit which once rul'd the British nation,
And still might rule-would you but set the fashion,

PROLOGUE

TO EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR.

SPOKEN BY MR. GARRICK, 1751.

CRITICS! your favour is our author's right-
The well-known scenes we shall present to night,
Are no weak efforts of a modern pen,
But the strong touches of immortal Ben;
A rough old bard, whose honest pride disdain'd
Applause itself, unless by merit gain'd-
And would to night your loudest praise disclaim,
Should his great shade perceive the doubtful fame,
Not to his labours granted, but his name.
Boldly he wrote, and boldly told the age,
"He dar'd not prostitute the useful stage,
Or purchase their delight at such a rate,
As for it he himself must justly hate;
But rather begg'd they would be pleas'd to see
From him such plays as other plays should be;
Would learn from him to scorn a motley scene,
And leave their monsters, to be pleas'd with men."
Thus spoke the bard. And though the times are
chang'd,

Since his free Muse for fools the city rang'd;
And satire had not then appear'd in state,
To lash the finer follies of the great;
Yet let no prejudice infect your mind,
Nor slight the gold, because not quite refin'd;
With no false niceness this performance view,
Nor damn for low, whate'er is just and true:
Sure to those scenes some honour should be paid,
Which Camden patroniz'd, and Shakspeare play'd:
Nature was Nature then, and still survives;
The garb may alter, but the substance lives,

Lives in this play-where each may find complete,
His pictur'd self—Then favour the deceit--
Kindly forget the hundred years between ;
Become old Britons, and admire old Ben.

PROLOGUE

TO CREUSA.

SPOKEN BY MR. ROSS, 1754.

PROLOGUES of old, the learn'd in language say,
Were merely introductions to the play,
Spoken by gods, or ghosts, or men who knew
Whate'er was previous to the scenes in view;
And complaisantly came to lay before ye
The several heads and windings of the story.

But modern times and British rules are such,
Our bards beforehand must not tell too much;
Nor dare we, like the neighb'ring French, admit
Ev'n confidants, who might instruct the pit,
By asking questions of the leading few,
And hearing secrets which before they knew.

Yet what we can to help this antique piece We will attempt.-Our scene to night is Greece, And, by the magic of the poet's rod, This stage the temple of the Delphic god! Where kings, and chiefs, and sages came of old, Like modern fools, to have their fortunes told; And monarchs were enthron'd, or nations freed, As an old priest, or wither'd maid, decreed. Yet think not all were equally deceiv'd, Some knew, more doubted, many more believ'd.

In short, these oracles and witching rhymes
Were but the pious frauds of ancient times;
Wisely contriv'd to keep mankind in awe,
When faith was wonder, and religion law!

Thus much premis'd to ev'ry feeling breast,
We leave the scenes themselves to tell the rest.
-Yet something sure was to the critics said,
Which I forget-some invocation made!

Ye critic bands, like jealous guardians, plac'd To watch th' encroachments on the realms of taste, From you our author would two boons obtain, Not wholly diffident, nor wholly vain : Two things he asks; 't is modest, sure, from you Who can do all things, to request but two: First to his scenes a kind attention pay, Then judge!-with candour judge-and we obey.

EPILOGUE

TO CREUSA.

SPOKEN BY MISS HAUGHTON, WHO ACTED THE PYTHIA.

1754.

Ar length I'm freed from tragical parade,
No more a Pythian priestess-though a maid;
At once resigning, with my sacred dwelling,
My wreaths, my wand, my arts of fortune-telling.
Yet superstitious folks, no doubt, are here,
Who still regard me with a kind of fear,
Lest to their secret thoughts these prying eyes
Should boldly pass, and take them by surprise.
And fairly own my science all a cheat,
Nay, though I disavow the whole deceit,
Should I declare, in spite of ears and eyes,
They'd all believe it, and with dear delight
The beaux were handsome, or the critics wise,

Say to themselves at least,

"The girl has taste;" "The woman's in the right."
Or, should I tell the ladies, so dispos'd,
They 'd get good matches ere the season clos'd,
They'd smile, perhaps, with seeming discontent,
And, sneering, wonder what the creature meant ;
But whisper to their friends, with beating heart,
"Suppose there should be something in her art!"
Grave statesmen too would chuckle, should I say,
On such a motion, and by such a day,
They would be summon'd from their own affairs
To 'tend the nation's more important cares:
"Well, if I must-howe'er I dread the load,
I'll undergo it-for my country's good."

All men are bubbles; in a skilful hand,
The ruling passion is the conjurer's wand.
Whether we praise, foretell, persuade, advise,
'T is that alone confirms us fools or wise.
The devil without may spread the tempting sin,
But the sure conqueror is-the devil within.

A SECOND PROLOGUE

TO CREUSA.

SPOKEN BY MRS. PRITCHARD. 1754.

STAY, ladies-Though I'm almost tir'd to death With this long part-and am so out of breathYet such a lucky thought kind Heaven has sent, That if I die for 't, I must give it vent.

PROLOGUES AND EPILOGUES.

The men you know are gone. And now sup

pose,

Before our lords and masters are rechose,
We take th' advantage of an empty town,
And choose a house of commons of our own?
What think ye, cannot we make laws?-and then
Cannot we too unmake them, like the men ?
O place us once in good St. Stephen's pews,
We'll show them women have their public use.
Imprimis, they shall marry; not a man

Past twenty-five, but what shall wear the chain.
Next we 'll in earnest set about reclaiming;
For, by my life and soul, we 'll put down gaming:
We'll spoil their deep destructive midnight play;
The laws we make, we 'll force them to obey;
Unless we let them, when their spirits flag,
Piddle with us, ye know, at quinze and brag.
"I hope, my dearest," says some well-bred spouse,
"When such a bill shall come before your house,
That you'll consider men are men-at least
That you'll not speak, my dear."-Not speak?—
[these-
the beast!
What, would you wound my honour?-Wrongs like
For this, sir, I shall bring you on your knees.
-Or, if we 're quite good-natur'd, tell the man,
We'll do him all the service that we can.

Then for ourselves, what projects, what designs!
We'll tax, and double tax, their nasty wines;
But duty-free import our blonds and laces,
French hoops, French silks, French cambrics, and
-French faces.

In short, my scheine is not completed quite,
But I may tell you more another night.
So come again, come all, and let us raise
Such glorious trophies to our country's praise,
That all true Britons shall with one consent
Cry out, "Long live the female parliament!"

PROLOGUE

TO THE ORPHAN OF CHINA,
SPOKEN BY MR. Holland, 1759.

If undistinguish'd loyalty prevails

Where nature shrinks, and strong affection fails,
On China's tenets charge the fond mistake,
And spare his errour for his virtue's sake.

From nobler motives our allegiance springs,
For Britain knows no right divine in kings;
From freedom's choice that boasted right arose,
And through each line from freedom's choice it
flows,

Justice, with mercy join'd, the throne maintains;
And in his people's hearts-our monarch reigns.

PROLOGUE

TO THE SCHOOL FOR LOVERS,

AS IT WAS INTENDed to have been SPOKEN, 1762.
SUCCESS makes people vain.-The maxim 's true,
We all confess it-and not over new.
The veriest clown who stumps along the streets,
And doffs his hat to each grave cit he meets,
Some twelve months hence, bedaub'd with livery
lace,

Shall thrust his saucy flambeau in your face.
Not so our bard: though twice your kind applause
Has, on this fickle spot, espous'd his cause;
He owns, with gratitude, th' obliging debt;
Has twice been favour'd, and is modest yet.
Plain tragedy, his first adventurous care,
Spoke to your hearts, and found an echo there.
Plain comedy to night, with strokes refin'd,
Would catch the coyest features of the mind;
Would play politely with your hopes and fears,
And sometimes smiles provoke, and sometimes tears.
Your giant wits, like those of old, may climb
Olympus high, and step o'er space and time;
May stride, with seven-leagu'd boots, from shore to
shore,

And, nobly by transgressing, charm you more.
Alas! our author dares not laugh at schools,
Plain sense confines his humbler Muse to rules.
Form'd on the classic scale his structures rise,
He shifts no scenes to dazzle and surprise.

ENOUGH of Greece and Rome. Th' exhausted store In one poor garden's solitary grove,

Of either nation now can charm no more:
Ev'n adventitious helps in vain we try,
Our triumphs languish in the public eye;
And grave processions, musically slow,

Here pass unheeded-as a lord mayor's show.

On eagle wings the poet of to night
Soars for fresh virtues to the source of light,
To China's eastern realms; and boldly bears
Confucius' morals to Britannia's ears.
Accept th' imported boon; as echoing Greece
Receiv'd from wand'ring chiefs her golden fleece;
[home.
Nor only richer by the spoils become,
But praise th' advent'rous youth who brings them
One dubious character, we own, he draws,
A patriot zealous in a monarch's cause!
Nice is the task the varying hand to guide,
And teach the blending colours to divide ;
Where, rainbow-like, th' encroaching tints invade
Each other's bounds, and mingle light with shade.
If then, assiduous to obtain his end,

You find too far the subject's zeal extend;

Like the primeval pair, his lovers rove;
And in due time will each transaction pass,
-Unless some hasty critic shakes the glass.

PROLOGUE

TO THE SCHOOL FOR LOVERS,

AS SPOKEN BY Mr. Carrick, 1762.

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Has, on this fickle spot, espous'd his cause:

This epilogue was spoken at the time of a ge- He owns, with gratitude th' obliging debt;

neral election.

VOL. XVII.

Has twice been favour'd, and is modest yet.
T

Your giant wits, like those of old, may climb
Olympus high, and step o'er space and time;
May stride, with seven-leagu'd boots from shore to
shore,

No spot, no blemish, the fair frame deforms,
No avarice taints, no naughty passion warms
Your firmer hearts. No love of change in you-
E'er taught desire to stray....

ARAMINTA.

... All this is true.

And, nobly by transgressing, charm you more. Alas! our author dares not laugh at schoolsPlain sense confines his humbler Muse to rules: He shifts no scenes-But here I stopp'd him short-Yet stay; the men, perchance, may call it sneer, "Not change your scenes?" said I—“ I'm sorry for 't:

And some few ladies think you not sincere.
For your petition, whether wrong or right,
Another time, if I should want a spouse,
Whate'er it be, withdraw it for to night.

My constant friends above, around, below,
Have English tastes, and love both change and show:
Without such aids, ev'n Shakspeare would be flat-I may myself report it to the house:

Our crowded pantomimes are proofs of that.
What eager transport stares from every eye,
When pullies rattle, and our Genii fly!
When tin cascades like falling waters gleam;
Or through the canvass-bursts the real stream,
While thirsty Islington laments in vain
Half her New River roll'd to Drury Lane.
Lord, sir," said I, "for gallery, boxes, pit,
I'll back my Harlequin against your wit"-

Yet still the author, anxious for his play,
Shook his wise head-"What will the critics say?"
"As usual, sir-abuse you all they can!"-
"And what the ladies?"-"He's a charming
man!

A charming piece!-One scarce knows what it

means:

But that's no matter where there's such sweet
scenes!"

Still he persists-and let him-entre nous-
I know your tastes, and will indulge them too.
Change you shall have; so set your hearts at ease:
Write as he will, we 'll act it as you please.

EPILOGUE

TO THE SCHOOL FOR LOVERS.

SPOKEN BEFORE THE DANCE, BY MRS. YATES AND MR.
PALMER, IN THE CHARACTERS OF ARAMINTA AND
MODELY, 1762.

ARAMINTA.

WELL, ladies, am I right, or am I not?
Should not this foolish passion be forgot;
This fluttering something, scarce to be express'd,
Which pleads for coxcombs in each female breast?
How mortified he look'd!-and looks so still.
[Turning to Modely.
He really may repent-perhaps he will.-

MODELY.

Will, Araminta?-Ladies, be so good,
Man's made of frail materials, flesh and blood.
We all offend at some unhappy crisis,
Have whims, caprices, vanities,-and vices.
Your happier sex by Nature was design'd,
Her last best work, to perfect human kind.

At present, let us strive to mend the age;
Let justice reign, at least upon the stage.
Where the fair dames, who like to live by rule,
May learn two lessons from the Lovers' School;
While Calia's choice instructs them how to choose,
And my refusal warns them to refuse.

PROLOGUE

TO ALMIDA.

SPOKEN EY MR. REDDISH, 1771.

CRITICS be dumb-to night a lady sues.
From soft Italia's shores, an English Muse,
Though fate there binds her in a pleasing chain,
Sends to our stage the offspring of her brain:
True to her birth she pants for British bays,
And to her country trusts for genuine praise.
From infancy well read in tragic lore,
She treads the path her father trod before;
To the same candid judges trusts her cause,
And hopes the same indulgence and applause.
No Salic law here bars the female's claim,
Who pleads hereditary right to fame.

Of love and arms she sings, the mighty two,
Whose powers uniting must the world subdue;
Of love and arms! in that heroic age,
Which knew no poet's, no historian's page;
But war to glory form'd the unletter'd mind,
And chivalry alone taught morals to mankind;
Nor taught in vain: the youth who dar'd aspire
To the nice honours of a lover's fire,
Observ'd with duteous care each rigid rule,
Each stern command of labour's patient school;
Was early train'd to bear the sultry beams
Of burning suns, and winter's fierce extremes;
Was brave, was temperate: to one idol fair
His vows he breath'd, his wishes center'd there:
Honour alone could gain her kind regard;
Honour was virtue, beauty its reward.
And shall not British breasts, in beauty's cause,
Adopt to night the manners which she draws?
Male writers we confess are lawful prize,
Giants and monsters that but rarely rise!
With their enormous spoils your triumphs grace,
Attack, confound, exterminate the race;
But when a lady tempts the critic war,
Be all knights errant, and protect the fair.

ADDITIONAL POEMS

OF

WILLIAM WHITEHEAD.

PUBLISHED BY MR. MASON, &c.

THE VISION OF SOLOMON'.

WRITTEN WHEN AT SCHOOL.

'T was night, and sleep with gently waving wand
Sat softly brooding o'er that monarch's brow,
Whose waking nod could Judah's realms command,
Or deal destruction to the frighted foe,
Great David's son-But at this tranquil hour,

No dreams of state disturb'd his peaceful bed,
To nobler heights his thoughts unfetter'd soar,
And brighter visions hover round his head.
Let meaner kings by mortals guard their state:
Around his sacred couch aërial legates wait.

"Hail, best belov'd!" superior to the rest

One bending angel cry'd with heav'nly voice, "Earth, seas, and air stand to thy view confest, And God's own mandate ratifies thy choice. Choose then from these-say, shall thy pow'r extend Where suns scarce warm this Earth's remotest shore?

Shall India's lords beneath thy sceptre bend,

Whilst their black troops stand silent and adore? To thee, sole lord, shall Earth her stores unfold, Pour all her gems to thee, and mines that flame with gold?

"Shall Ocean's waves, obedient to thy call,
As erst to Moses, rang'd in order stand,
While crowds once more admire the floating wall,
And treasures open on the glitt❜ring sand?
Or shall Fame's breath inspire each softer air,
The just and good to distant worlds resound,
While Peace, fair goddess, leads the smiling year,
Swells the glad grain, and spreads the harvest
round,

Bids Jordan's stream extend its azure pride,

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The mingled train advanc'd; to close the rear,
As lost in thought, appear'd a pensive maid,

Pleas'd with reflected fruits that tremble in the Bright was her aspect, lovely yet severe,

tide?"

The cherub spoke-when Power majestic rose,
A Tyrian tinctur'd robe she dragg'd behind,
Whose artful folds at ev'ry turn disclose
Sceptres and crowns that flutter'd in the wind.

'See 2 Chron. chap. i. verses 7-12.

In virgin white her decent limbs array'd, She mov'd in sober state; on either side

A beauteous handmaid friendly aid bestow'd, Fair Virtue here, her view from Earth to guide; There Contemplation rais'd her golden rod. Hail, Wisdom, hail! I see and bless the sight, First-born of Heav'n, pure source of intellectual light.

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