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Don't frown, my friends, [to the band] you foon fhall
melt again;

But, if not there, is felt each dying ftrain,
Poor I fhall Speak and you will fcrape in vain.
To fee me now, you think the ftrangest thing!
For, like friend Benedict, I cannot fing:
Yet in this Prologue, cry but you Coraggio!
I'll Speak you both a jig, and an adagio.

A Perfian king, as Perfian tales relate,
Oft went difguis'd, to hear the people prate;
So, curious I, fometimes steal forth, incog.
To hear what critics croak of me-king Log.
Three nights ago, I heard a tête à tête,
Which fix'd, at once, our English Opera's fate:
One was a youth born here, but flush from Rome,
The other born abroad, but here is home;
And first the English foreigner began,
Who thus addreis'd the foreign Englishman:
An English Operatis not to be borne;
I, both my country, and their mufic fcorn,

Oh, damn their Ally Croakers, and their early-born.
Signor fi-bat fans-wors recitativo :

Il tutto, è bestiale e cativo,

This faid, I made my exit, full of terrors!
And now afk mercy, for the following errors:
Excufe us firft, for foolishly fuppofing;
Your countryman could pleafe you in compofing;
An Op'ra too!-play'd by an English band,
Wrote in a language which you understand-
I dare not fay, WHO wrote it-I could tell ye,
To foften matters-Signor Shakespearelli:
This aukward drama-(I confefs th' offence)
Is guilty too, of poetry and sense,

And then the price we take-you'll all abuse it,
So low, fo unlike Op'ras---but excuse it,
We'll mend that fault, whenever you fhall chufe it.
Our laft mifchance, and worfe than all the rest,
Which turns the whole performance to a jest,
OUR fingers all are well, and all will do their best.
But why would this rath fool, this Englishman,
Attempt an Op'ra ?-'tis the ftrangeft plan!

Struck with the wonders of his mafter's art,
Whole facred dramas shake and melt the heart,

Whofe

Whose heaven-born ftrains the coldest breast infpire,
Whole chorus-thunder fets the foul on fire!
Inflam'd, aftonish'd! at thofe magic airs,
When Sampson groans, and frantic Saul defpairs,
The pupil wrote his work is now before ye,
And waits your ftamp of infamy, or glory!
Yet, ere his errors and his faults are known,
He fays, thofe faults, thofe errors, are his own;
If through the clouds appear fome glimm'ring rays,
They're sparks he caught from his great mafter's blaze

OCCASIONAL PROLOGUE: AT THE OPENING OF DRURY-LANE THEATRE. Spoken by Mr. GARRICK.

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S heroes, ftates, and kingdoms rife and fall:
So (with the mighty to compare the fmall-)
Thro' int'reft, whim, or if you please thro' fate,
We feel commotions in our mimick ftate;

The fock and bufkin fly from ftage to stage';
A year's alliance is with us-an age!

And where's the wonder? All furprize muft ceafe,
When we reflect, how int'rcft, or caprice,
Make real kings break articles of peace.

Strengthen'd with new allies, our foes prepare;
Cry bavock! and let flip the dogs of war.
To shake our fouls, the papers of the day
Drew forth the adverfe power in dread array:
A power, might ftrike the boldeft with difmay:
Yet fearlefs ftill we take the field with fpirit,
Arm'd cap-a-pie in felf-fufficient merit.
Our ladies too with fouls and tongues untam'd,
Fire up like Britons, when the battle's nam'd:
Each female heart pants for the glorious ftrife,
From Hamlet's mother, to the cobler's wife.
Some few there are, whom paltry paffions guide,
Defert each day, and fly from fide to fide;
Others like Swifs, love fighting as their trade,
For beat, or beating-they muft all be paid.
Sacred to Shakespeare, was this fpot defign'd,
To pierce the heart, and humanize the mind;

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But

But if an empty houfe, the actor's curfe,

Shews us our Lears, and Hamlets, lofe their force;
& Unwilling we muft change the nobler fcene,
And in our turn, prefent you harlequin :
Quit poets, and fet carpenters to work,
Shew gaudy fcenes, or mount the vaulting Turk.
For tho' we actors one and all agree
Boldly to ftruggle for our-vanity;

If want comes on, importance must retreat;
Our firft, great, ruling paffion is to eat.
To keep the field, all-methods we'll purfue;
The conflict glorious! for we fight for you:
And should we fail to gain the wifh'd applaufe,
At least we're vanquifh'd in a noble caufe.

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Spoken by Mrs. BARRY, who acted LAVINIA.

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MISCHIEF on't! tho' I'm again alive, May I believe this Play of ours fhall thrive? This drumming, trumpeting, and fighting play: Why, what a devil will the people say?

The nation that's without, and hears the din,

Will fwear we're raifing volunteers again.

For know, our Poet, when this Play was made,

Had nought but drums and trumpets in his head;
Had banish'd poetry, and all her charms,
And needs the fool would be a man at arms.
No Prentice e'er, grown weary of indentures,
Had fuch a lunging mind to feek adventures,
Nay, fure at laft th' Infection gen'ral grew;
For t'other day I was a captain too:

Neither for Flanders nor for France to roam,
But, juft as you were all, to ftay at home.
And now for you who here come wrapt in cloaks,
Only for love of Underhill and nurfe Noakes,
Our poet fays, One day t'a play ye come,
Which ferves ye half a year for wit at home.

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But which amongst you is there to be found,
Will take his third day's pawn for fifty pound?
Or, now he is cafhier'd, will fairly venture
To give him ready money for's debenture?
Therefore when he receiv'd that fatal doom,
This play came forth, in hopes his friends would come
To help a poor disbanded foldier home.

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PROLOGUE

то

GUSTAVUS

BR

VA SA..

RITONS! this night prefents a ftate diftrefs'd,
Tho' brave, yet vanquish'd; and tho' great, op.
prefs'd;

Vice, rav'ning Vulture, on her vitals prey'd,
Her peers, her prelates, fell corruption fway'd;
Their rights, for pow'r, th' ambitious weakly fold,
The wealthy, poorly, for fuperfluous gold;
Hence wafting ills, hence fev'ring factions rofe,
And gave large entrance to invading foes;
Truth, juftice, honour fled th' infected Shore.
For freedom, facred freedom was no more.
Then, greatly rifing in his country's right,
Her hero, her deliverer fprung to light;
A race of hardy, northern fons he led,
Guiltlefs of courts, untainted, and unread,
Whofe inborn fpirit fpurn'd th' ignoble fee,

Whofe hands fcorn'd bondage, for their hearts were free,
Afk ye what law their conqu'ring caufe confefs'?
Great nature's law, the law within the breaft,
Form'd by no art, and to no fe& confin'd,
But ftamp'd by heav'n upon th' unletter'd mind.
Such, fuch, of old the first-born natives were,
Who breath'd the virtues of Britannia's air,
Their realm, when mighty Cajar vainly fought;"
For mightier freedom against Cæfar fought,
And rudely drove the fam'd invader home,
To tyrannize o'er polish'd-venal Rome.

C3

7

Our Bard, exalted in a freeborn flame,
To ev'ry nation wou'd transfer this claim.
He to no ftate, no climate bounds his page,
He bids the moral beam thro' ev'ry age;
Then be your judgment gen'rous as his plan,
Ye fons of freedom!-fave the friend of Man.

PROLO OGUE

то

TANCRED AND SIGISMUNDA.

Bi

OLD is the man who, in this nicer age,
Prefumes to tread the chalte corrected stage.
Now, with gay tinfel arts we can no more
Conceal the want of Nature's fterling ore;
Our spells are vanish'd, broke our magic wand,
That us'd to waft you over fea and land.
Before your light the fairy people fade,
The Damons ily.-The ghost itself is laid.
In vain of martial fcenes the loud alarms,
The mighty Prompter thund'ring out to arms,
The Playhoufe poffe clatt'ring from afar,
The clofe-wedg'd battle, and the din of war.
Now ev'n the fenate feldom we convene;
The yawning fathers nod behind the fcene.
Your tafte rejects the glitt'ring falfe fublime,
To figh in metaphor, and die in rhime.

High rant is tumbled from his gall'ry throne;
Defcription, dreams,-nay, fimiles are gone.

What fhall we then? to please you, how devife?
Whofe judgment fits not in your ears and eyes.
Thrice happy! could we catch great Shakespeare's art,
To trace the deep receffes of the heart;

His fimple, plain fublime; to which is giv'n

To ftrike the foul with darted flame from heaven:
Could we awake foft Otway's tender woe,

The pomp of verse and golden lines of Rowe.
We to your hearts apply: let them attend;
Before their filent, eandid bar we bend.
If warn'd they liften; 'tis our noblest praise;
If cold, they wither all the Mufe's bays.

PRO

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