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Muft no diflike alarm, no wishes rise,

No cries invoke the mercies of the skies?
Enquirer, ceafe, petitions yet remain,

Which heav'n may hear, nor deem religion vain.
Still raife for good the fupplicating voice,

But leave to heav'n the measure and the choice.
Safe in his pow'r, whose eyes difcern afar
The fecret ambush of a fpecious pray'r.
Implore his aid, in his decifions reft,
Secure whate'er he gives, he gives the best.
Yet when the sense of facred prefence fires,
And strong devotion to the fkies afpires,
Pour forth thy fervours for a healthful mind,
Obedient paffions, and a will refign'd;
For love, which fcarce collective man can fill;
For patience, fov'reign o'er tranfmuted ill;
For faith, that panting for a happier feat,
Counts death kind Nature's fignal of retreat :
Thefe goods for man the laws of heav'n ordain,
Thefe goods he grants, who grants the pow'r to gain ;
With thefe celeftial Wisdom calms the mind,

And makes the happiness fhe does not find.

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PROLOGUE

SPOKEN by Mr. GARRICK,

At the Opening of the Theatre Royal, DRURY-LANE,

1747.

WHEN Learning's triumph o'er her barbarous

foes

First rear'd the flage, immortal Shakespeare rofe;
Each change of many-colour'd life he drew,
Exhausted worlds, and then imagin'd new :
Existence faw him spurn her bounded reign,
And panting time toil'd after him in vain.
His powerful strokes presiding truth impress'd,
And unrefifted paffion storm'd the breast.

Then Jonfon came, inftructed from the school,
To please in method, and invent by rule;
His ftudious patience and laborious art,

By regular approach effay'd the heart:
Cold approbation gave the lingering bays;
For those who durft not cenfure, scarce could praise.
A mortal born, he met the gen'ral doom,
But left, like Egypt's kings, a lafting tomb.

The wits of Charles found easier ways to fame, Nor wish'd for Jonfon's art, or Shakespeare's flame. Themselves they ftudied; as they felt, they writ: Intrigue was plot, obfcenity was wit.

Vice always found a fympathetick friend;
They pleas'd their age, and did not aim to mend..
Yet bards like thefe afpir'd to lafting praise,

And proudly hop'd to pimp in future days.

Their caufe was gen'ral, their fupports were strong;
Their flaves were willing, and their reign was long :
Till fhame regain'd the post that sense betray'd,
And virtue call'd oblivion to her aid.

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 whilft paffion slept ;
Yet ftill did virtue deign the ftage to tread,
Philofophy remain'd tho' nature fled.

But forc'd, at length, her ancient reign to quit,
She faw great Fauftus lay the ghost of wit;
Exulting folly hail'd the joyous day,
And pantomime and fong confirm'd her sway.
But who the coming changes can presage,
And mark the future periods of the stage?
Perhaps if skill could distant 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 guefs th' effects of chance)
Here Hunt may box, or Mahomet * may dance.

*Hunt, a famous boxer on the ftage; Mahomet, a rope-dancer, who had exhibited at Covent-Garden theatre the winter before, faid to be a Turk.

Hard

Hard is his lot that here by fortune plac'd,
Muft watch the wild viciffitudes of taste;
With every 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;
'Tis yours, this night, to bid the reign commence
Of refcu'd nature, and reviving fense;

To chase the charms of found, the pomp of show,
For useful mirth and falutary woe;

Bid scenick virtue form the rifing age,
And truth diffuse her radiance from the stage.

PROLOGUE

SPOKEN by Mr. GARRICK, April 5, 1750,

Before the MASQUE of COM US,

Acted at DRURY-LANE THEATRE, for the Benefit of MILTON'S Grand-daughter.

YE

E patriot crowds who burn for England's fame, Ye nymphs whose bosoms beat at Milton's name, Whose generous zeal, unbought by flatt'ring rhymes, Shames the mean penfions of Auguftan times;

VOL. LXXII.

Immor

Immortal patrons of fucceeding days,
Attend this prelude of perpetual praise ;
Let wit condemn'd the feeble war to wage,
With close malevolence, or publick rage;
Let ftudy, worn with virtue's fruitless lore,
Behold this theatre, and grieve no more.
This night, diftinguish'd by your fmiles, fhall tell
That never Britain can in vain excel;
The flighted arts futurity fhall truft,
And rifing ages haften to be juft.

At length our mighty bard's victorious lays.
Fill the loud voice of univerfal praife;

And baffled spite, with hopeless anguish dumb,
Yields to renown the centuries to come;
With ardent hafte each candidate of fame,
Ambitious catches at his tow'ring name;
He fees, and pitying fees, vain wealth bestow
Those pageant honours which he fcorn'd below,
While crowds aloft the laureat buft behold,
Or trace his form on circulating gold.
Unknown-unheeded, long his offspring lay,
And want hung threat'ning o'er her flow decay.
What tho' fhe fhine with no Miltonian fire,
No favouring mufe her morning dreams infpire ?
Yet fofter claims the melting heart engage,
Her youth laborious, and her blameless age;
Hers the mild merits of domestick life,
The patient fufferer, and the faithful wife.
Thus grac'd with humble virtue's native charms,
Her grandfire leaves her in Britannia's arms;

Secure

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