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PROLOGUE

SPOKEN BY

Mr. GARRICK,

At the Opening of the Theatre in DRURY-LANE 1747By the Same.

'HEN learning's triumph o'er her barb'rous foes
Firft rear'd the stage, immortal SHAKESPEAR rose;

Each change of many-colour'd life he drew,
Exhaufted worlds, and then imagin'd new :
Exiftence faw him fpurn her bounded reign,
And panting Time toil'd after him in vain :
His pow'rful ftrokes prefiding Truth impress'd,
And unrefifted paffion ftorm'd the breast.

Then JOHNSON came, inftructed from the fchool,
To please in method, and invent by rule;
His ftudious patience, and laborious art,
By regular approach affail'd the heart;
Cold approbation gave the ling'ring bays,
For those who durft not cenfure, scarce cou'd praise,
A mortal born, he met the general doom,
But left, like Egypt's kings, a lafting tomb.

The

The wits of Charles found eafier ways to fame,
Nor wish'd for JOHNSON's art, or SHAKESPEAR'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 thefe afpir'd to lafting praise,
And proudly hop'd to pimp in future days.
Their caufe was gen'ral, their supports were strong,
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, while paffion flept.
Yet ftill did virtue deign the ftage to tread,
Philofophy remain'd, though 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 joyful day,
And pantomime and fong confirm'd her sway.
But who the coming changes can prefage,
And mark the future periods of the stage?
Perhaps if fkill 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

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 every meteor of caprice muft play,
And chace 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 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 chace the charms of found, the pomp of shew,
For useful mirth, and salutary woe;

Bid fcenic virtue form the rifing age,

And truth diffuse her radiance from the ftage,

Of

Of ACTIVE and RETIRED LIFE.

AN

EPISTLE to H. C. Efq;

Meo quidem judicio neuter culpandus, alter dum expetit debitos titulos, alter dum mavult videri comtempfiffe. PLIN. Ep.

By WILLIAM MELMOTH, Efq;

First printed in the Year MDCCXXXV.

E S, you condemn thofe fages too refin'd,

Y That gravely lecture ere know

That gravely lecture ere they know mankind;
Who whilft ambition's fiercer fires they blame,
Would damp each useful fpark that kindles fame.
'Tis in false estimates the folly lies ;

The paffion's blameless, when the judgment's wife.
In vain philofophers with warmth conteft,
Life's fecret fhade, or open walk is beft:
Each has its feparate joys, and each its use:
This calls the patriot forth, and that the mufe.
Hence not alike to all the fpecies, heav'n
An equal thirft of publick fame has given :
Patrius it forms to fhine in action great;
While Decio's talents beft adorn retreat.

If

If where Pierian maids delight to dwell,
The haunts of filence, and the peaceful cell,
Had, fair Aftræa! been thy Talbot's choice,

Could lift'ning crowds now hang upon his voice?
And thou, bleft maid, might'ft long have wept in vain
The diftant glories of a fecond reign,

In exile doom'd yet ages to complain.

Were high ambition ftill the power confefs'd
That rul'd with equal fway in every breast,
Say where the glories of the facred nine?

Where Homer's verfe fublime, or, Milton, thine?
Nor thou, fweet bard! who "turn'd the tuneful art,
"From found to fenfe, from fancy to the heart."
Thy lays inftructive to the world hadft giv'n,
Nor greatly juftified the ways of heav'n.

Let fatire blast with ev'ry mark of hate,
The vain afpirer, or dishonest great,

Whom love of wealth, or wild ambition's fway
Push forward, ftill regardless of the way;

High and more high who aim with restless pride,
Where neither reason, nor fair virtue guide:
And Him, the wretch, who labors on with pain,
For the low lucre of an ufelefs gain,

(Wife but to get, and active but to fave)
May scorn deferv'd fill follow to the grave.
But he who fond to raise a splendid name,
On life's ambitious heights wou'd fix his fame,

In

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