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PROLOGUE,

Written by HENRY JAMES PYE, Esq.

Spoken by MR. EYRE.

9000 nani

WHILE SHAKESPEARE's plastic pencil to your eyes

Bids the majestic tow'rs of Venice rise,
Scenes to the British Muse appropriate long
The favorite objects of dramatic song:-
For here in dreadful pathos, wildly great,
He thrill'd the soul with DESDEMONA's fate,
Here gentler OTWAY taught the tear to flow
At the sad tale of BELVIDERA's woe:-
Surely a British audience must deplore
The wreck of ancient glories now no more!
Where now the daring prows, that plow'd the deep
From Acre's trophied walls to Calpe's steep?
To the light breeze the sail of commerce gave,
Or swept the faded crescent from the wave ?
Sunk, funk, alas! in dire oppression's hour,
The abject vaffals of a foreign power!

Omens of better hope, and happier fate,
ALBION, on thy commercial empire wait.
Thy royal merchants, not intent alone
Treafures to bring from earth's remotest zone,
Bright science waft with ev'ry fav'ring win.),
Spread Virtue's love, and meliorate mankind.
Their barks in peace the hardy seamen form
A living bulwark 'gainst the battle's storm ;
Induc'd by them, strong Agriculture's arm
Clothes all our vales with verdure's livelier charm;
Our forests wave with more luxuriart pride;
Our fertile uplands richer harvests hide.

Stout

Stout Labor digs the metal from the mine,
While skill and industry the mass refine,
Defence and plenty to our fields afford,
And forge alike the coulter and the sword;
The real arts of Alchymy unfold,
And ev'ry baser substance turn to gold.

In the just choice by wise BASSANIO made,
This folemn truth our Poet's per convey'd :
Silver and gold, of sultry climes the-birth, -
By general use ftamp'd with ideal worth,
Are but the signs of wealth.-IBERIA pines
In poverty, amid Potosi's mines ;
While the rude ores our northern mountains yield
Open to manly toil an ample field,
Give us the means our plenteous marts to store
With ev'ry produce drawn from ev'ry shore;
Bid bold exertion animate the soul,
And prudence point, and vigor reach the goal:
The glorious prize where faith and honor guard,
And wealth is strict integrity's reward.
Hence learns commercial credit to com

mmand,
By one flight touch of her etherial wand,
More treasures than in Ocean's caverns lie,
Qr Earth's exhausted entrails can supply.

TROTSESELOSTEET

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MERCHANT OF VENICE.

ACT I.

SCE N E I.

A Street in Venice.

Antonio, SALARINO, and SOLANIO, Discovered.

Antonio.
IN footh, I know not why I am so fad;
It wearies me ; you say, it wearies you.
But how I caught it, found it, or came by it,
What stuff 'tis made of, whereof it is born,
I am to learn.
And such a want-wit sadness makes of me,
That I have much ado to know myself.

Sala. Your mind is tossing on the ocean:
There, where your argofies with portly fail,
Like signiors and rich burghers of the flood,
Or as it were the pageants of the sea,
Do over-pcer the petty traffickers,
That curt'ly to them, do them reverence,
As they fly by them with their woven wings.

Sol. Believe me, fir, had I such venture forth,
The better part of my affections would
B

Be

1

Be with my hopes abroad. I should be still
Plucking the grass, to know where sits the wind;
Peering in maps for ports, and piers, and roads ;
And every object, that might make me fear
Misfortune to my ventures, out of doubt,
Would make me fad.

Sala. My wind, cooling my broth,
Would blow me to an ague, when I thought
What harm a wind too great might do at seq.
I should not see the sandy hour-glass run,
But I should think of shallows, and of flats;
And see my wealthy Andrew dock'd in fand,
Vailing her high top lower than her ribs,
To kiss her burial.--Should I go to church,
And see the holy edifice of stone,
And not bethink me straight of dangerous rocks?
Which, touching but my gentle vessel's fide,
Would scatter all her spices on the stream ;
Enrobe the roaring waters with
And, in a word, but even now worth this,
And now worth nothing? Shall I have the thought
To think on this: and shall I lack the thought,
That such a thing, bechanc'd, would make me

sad? But, tell not me; I know, Antonio Is fad to think upon his merchandize.

Ant. Believe me, no: I thank my fortune for it, My ventures are not in one bottom trusted,

Nor

my silks ;

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