PROLOGUE, SPOKEN BY MR. GARRICK, At the Opening of the Theatre Royal, DRURY LANE, 1747. WHEN Learning's triumph o'er her barb'rous foes Then Jonfon came, inftructed from the fchool, The wits of Charles found easier ways to fame, Nor wifh'd for Jonfon's art, or Shakspeare's flame. Themselves they ftudied, as they felt they writ; Intrigue was plot, obfcenity was wit. Vice always found a fympathetic friend; Till Shame regain'd the poft that Senfe betray'd Then, crush'd by rules, and weaken'd as refin'd, For years the pow'r of Tragedy declin'd; From bard to bard the frigid caution crept, Till Declamation roar'd whilst Paffion flept; Yet ftill did Virtue deign the stage to tread, Philofophy remain'd, though Nature fled. But forc'd, at length, her antient reign to quit, She faw great Fauftus lay the ghost of Wit; Exulting Folly hail'd the joyful day, And Pantomime and Song confirm'd her fway. But who the coming changes can prefage, And mark the future periods of the stage? Perhaps, if skill could diftant times explore, New Behns, new Durfeys, yet remain in store Perhaps where Lear has rav'd, and Hamlet dy'd, On flying cars new forcerers may ride: Perhaps (for who can guess th' effects of chance?) Here Hunt may box, or Mahomet * may dance. Hard is his lot that, here by Fortune plac'd, Muft watch the wild viciffitudes of taste ; With ev'ry meteor of caprice must play, And chase the new-blown bubbles of the day. Ah! let not Cenfure term our fate our choice, The stage but echoes back the publick voice; The drama's laws, the drama's patrons give, For we that live to please, must please to live. Then prompt no more the follies you decry, As tyrants doom their tools of guilt to die; * Hunt, a famous boxer on the ftage; Mahomet, a ropedancer, who had exhibited at Covent-Garden Theatre the winter before, faid to be a Turk. "Tis "Tis yours, this night, to bid the reign commencé Of rescued Nature and reviving Sense; of Show, To chafe the charms of Sound, the pomp IRENE; |