Yet when the sense of sacred presence fires,
And strong devotion to the skies 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,
These goods he grants, who grants the pow'r to gain;
With these celestial Wifdom calms the mind,
And makes the happiness fhe does not find.
PROLOGUE
SPOKEN by Mr. GARRICK,
At the Opening of the Theatre Royal, DRURY-LANE, 1747.
HEN Learning's triumph o'er her barbarous
foes
First rear'd the ftage, immortal Shakespeare rofe;
Each change of many-colour'd life he drew,
Exhaufted worlds, and then imagin'd new:
Existence faw him fpurn her bounded reign,
And panting time toil'd after him in vain.
His powerful ftrokes prefiding truth imprefs'd,
And unrefifted paffion ftorm'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, fcarce 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 studied; as they felt, they writ: Intrigue was plot, obfcenity was wit.
Vice always found a sympathetick friend;
They pleas'd their age, and did not aim to mend.
Yet bards like these aspir'd to lafting praise,
And proudly hop'd to pimp in future days.
Their caufe was gen'ral, their fupports were ftrong;
Their flaves were willing, and their reign was long:
Till fhame regain'd the poft that fenfe 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 flept;
Yet ftill did virtue deign the ftage to tread,
Philofophy remain'd tho' nature filed.
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 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,
Must watch the wild viciffitudes of tafte;
With every meteor of caprice muft 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, muft 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 yours, this night, to bid the reign commence Of refcu'd nature, and reviving sense;
To chafe the charms of found, the pomp
For useful mirth and falutary woe;
Bid fcenick 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 COMUS,
Acted at DRURY-LANE THEATRE, for the Benefit of
MILTON'S Grand-daughter.
YE patriot crowds who burn for England's fame,
Ye nymphs whofe bofoms beat at Milton's name,
Whofe generous zeal, unbought by flatt'ring rhymes,
Shames the mean penfions of Auguftan times;
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, diftinguifh'd by your fimiles, fhall tell
That never Britain can in vain excel;
The flighted arts futurity fhall truft,
And rifing ages haften to be just.
At length our mighty bard's victorious lays
Fill the loud voice of univerfal praife;
And baffled fpite, with hopelefs 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 bust 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 with peace, with competence to dwell,
While tutelary nations guard her cell.
Yours is the charge, ye fair, ye wife, ye brave!
'Tis yours to crown defert-beyond the grave.
THE GOOD-NATUR'D MAN. 1769.
REST by the load of life, the weary mind
Surveys the general toil of human kind,
With cool fubmiffion joins the lab'ring train,
And focial forrow lofes half its pain;
|