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 reared the stage, immortal Shakspeare rose:
Each change of many-coloured life he drew,
Exhausted worlds, and then imagined new.
Existence saw him spurn her bounded reign,
And panting time toiled after him in vain,
His powerful strokes, presiding truth impressed,
And unresisted passion stormed 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 essayed 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 wished 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 sympathetick 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 regained the post that Sense betrayed,
And Virtue called Oblivion to her aid.
Then crushed by rules, and weakened as refined,
For years the power of tragedy declined;

From bard to bard the frigid caution crept, '
Till declamation roared, whilst passion slept;
Yet still did Virtue deign the stage to tread,
Philosophy remained, though Nature fled!
But forced, at length, her ancient reign to quit,
She saw great Faustus lay the ghost of wit;
Exulting Folly hailed the joyous day,
And pantomine and song confirmed 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 raved, and Hamlet died,
On flying cars new sorcerers may ride;

Perhaps (for who can guess the effects of chance)

Here Hunt* may box, or Mahomet† 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 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 descry,
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 change the charms of sound, the pomp of show, For useful mirth and salutary woe

Bid scenick virtue, form the rising age,

And truth, diffuse her radiance from the stage.

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

A famous stage boxer.

† A rope dancer.

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, condemned the feeble war to wage,
With close malevolence, or publick rage;
Let study, worn with virtue's fruitless lore,
Behold this theatre, and grieve no more:
This night, distinguished by your smiles, shall tell
That never Britain 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 scorned below;
While crowds aloft the laureat burst behold,
Or trace his form on circulating gold.
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;
Her's the mild merits of domestick life,
The patient sufferer, and the faithful wife.
Thus grac'd 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 THE COMEDY OF

THE GOOD-NATURED MAN, 1769.

PREST 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 epidemick care;
Like Cæsar's pilot, dignified by fate,

Tost in one common storm with all the great;
Distressed alike, the statesman and the wit,
When one the borough courts, and one the pit