The guardians yield, by force superior plied-
To Interest, Prudence; and to Flattery, Pride.
Here Beauty falls betray'd, despised, distress'd,
And hissing Infamy proclaims the rest.

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Where, then, shall Hope and Fear their objects find? Must dull suspense corrupt the stagnant mind?

B

Must helpless man, in ignorance sedate,

Roll darkling down the torrent of his fate?

Must no dislike alarm, no wishes rise,

No cries invoke the mercies of the skies?
Inquirer, cease! petitions yet remain,

Which Heaven may hear, nor deem Religion vain.
Still raise for good the supplicating voice,

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But leave to Heaven the measure and the choice;
Safe in His power, whose eyes discern afar
The secret ambush of a specious prayer,
Implore His aid, in His decisions rest,
Secure whate'er He gives, He gives the best.
Yet when the sense of sacred presence fires,
And strong devotion to the skies aspires,
Pour forth thy fervours for a healthful mind,
Obedient passions, and a will resign'd;
For love, which scarce collective man can fill
For patience, sovereign o'er transmuted ill;
For faith, that, panting for a happier seat,
Counts death kind Nature's signal of retreat :
These goods for man the laws of Heaven ordain,
These goods He grants, who grants the power to gain ;
With these celestial Wisdom calms the mind,

And makes the happiness she does not find.

360

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 stage, immortal Shakspeare rose ;
Each change of many-colour'd life he drew,
Exhausted worlds, and then imagined new :
Existence saw him spurn her bounded reign,
And panting Time toil'd after him in vain ;
His powerful strokes presiding Truth impress'd,
And unresisted Passion storm'd the breast.

Then Jonson came, instructed from the school,
To please in method, and invent by rule;
His studious patience and laborious art,

By regular approach essay'd the heart:
Cold Approbation gave the lingering bays,

For those who durst not censure, scarce could praise;
A mortal born, he met the general doom,

But left, like Egypt's kings, a lasting tomb.

The wits of Charles found easier ways to fame,
Nor wish'd for Jonson's art, or Shakspeare's flame.
Themselves they studied; as they felt, they writ :
Intrigue was plot, obscenity was wit.

Vice always found a sympathetic friend;
They pleased their age, and did not aim to mend.
Yet bards like these aspired to lasting praise,
And proudly hoped to pimp in future days.

Their cause was general, their supports were strong;
Their slaves were willing, and their reign was long :
Till Shame 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 refined,
For years the power of Tragedy declined;
From bard to bard the frigid caution crept,
Till Declamation roar'd, whilst Passion slept ;
Yet still did Virtue deign the stage to tread,
Philosophy remain'd though Nature fled.
But forced, at length, her ancient reign to quit,
She saw great Faustus lay the ghost of Wit;
Exulting Folly hail'd the joyous day,
And Pantomime and Song 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,1 new Durfeys, yet remain in store;
Perhaps where Lear has raved, and Hamlet died,
On flying cars new sorcerers may ride;

2

Perhaps (for who can guess the effects of chance?)
Here Hunt may box, or Mahomet 3 may dance.
Hard is his lot that, here by Fortune placed,
Must watch the wild vicissitudes of Taste;
With every meteor of Caprice must play,
And chase the new-blown bubbles of the day.
Ah let not Censure term our fate our choice,
The Stage but echoes back the public 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 rescued Nature, and reviving Sense;

To chase the charms of Sound, the pomp of Show,
For useful Mirth and salutary Woe;

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'Behn:' Afra, a popular but obscure novelist and play-wright.—2 'Hunt:' a famous stage-boxer.- 'Mahomet :' a rope-dancer.

Bid scenic Virtue form the rising age,
And Truth diffuse her radiance from Stage.

61

PROLOGUE

SPOKEN BY MR GARRICK BEFORE THE 'MASQUE OF COMUS,' ACTED FOR THE BENEFIT OF MILTON'S GRAND

DAUGHTER.

YE patriot crowds, who burn for England's fame!
Ye nymphs, whose bosoms beat at Milton's name,
Whose generous zeal, unbought by flattering rhymes,
Shames the mean pensions of Augustan times!
Immortal patrons of succeeding days,
Attend this prelude of perpetual praise ;
Let Wit, condemn'd the feeble war to wage
With close Malevolence, or Public Rage;
Let Study, worn with virtue's fruitless lore,
Behold this theatre, and grieve no more.
This night, distinguish'd by your smiles, shall tell
That never Briton can in vain excel :
The slightest arts futurity shall trust,
And rising ages hasten to be just.

At length our mighty bard's victorious lays
Fill the loud voice of universal praise;
And baffled Spite, with hopeless anguish dumb,
Yields to Renown the centuries to come;
With ardent haste each candidate of fame,
Ambitious, catches at his towering name;
He sees, and pitying sees, vain wealth bestow
Those pageant honours which he scorn'd below.
While crowds aloft the laureate bust behold,
Or trace his form on circulating gold,

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Unknown-unheeded, long his offspring lay,

And Want hung threatening o'er her slow decay.
What though she shine with no Miltonian fire,
No favouring Muse her morning dreams inspire?
Yet softer claims the melting heart engage,
Her youth laborious, and her blameless age;
Hers the mild merits of domestic life,
The patient sufferer, and the faithful wife.
Thus graced with humble Virtue's native charms,
Her grandsire leaves her in Britannia's arms;
Secure with peace, with competence to dwell,
While tutelary nations guard her cell.

Yours is the charge, ye fair! ye wise! ye brave!
'Tis yours to crown desert-beyond the grave.

PROLOGUE

TO GOLDSMITH'S COMEDY OF 'THE GOOD-NATURED MAN,'

1769.

PRESS'D by the load of life, the weary mind

Surveys the general toil of human kind;

With cool submission joins the labouring train,
And social sorrow loses half its pain.

Our anxious bard without complaint may share
This bustling season's epidemic care;
Like Cæsar's pilot, dignified by Fate,

Toss'd in one common storm with all the great;
Distress'd alike the statesman and the wit,
When one the borough courts, and one the pit.
The busy candidates for power and fame
Have hopes, and fears, and wishes just the same;
Disabled both to combat, or to fly,

Must hear all taunts, and hear without reply.

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