PROLOGUE ΤΟ Mr. ADDISON's Tragedy O F CAT O wake the foul by tender ftrokes of art, To raise the genius, and to mend the heart; To make mankind, in confcious virtue bold, Live o'er each fcene, and be what they behold: For this the Tragic Mufe firft trod the flage, Commanding tears to fream thro' ev'ry age; Tyrants no more their favage nature kept, And foes to virtue wonder'd how they wept. Our author fhuns by vulgar fprings to move The hero's glory, or the virgin's love; In pitying Love, we but our weakness show, And wild Ambition well deferves its woe. Here tears fhall flow from a more gen'rous cause, Such tears as Patriots fhed for dying Laws: 5 10 He bids 15 20 25 Who hears him groan, and does not wish to bleed? 35 Show'd Rome her Cato's figure drawn in ftate; 30 As her dead Father's rev'rend image past, The pomp was darken'd, and the day o'ercaft; The Triumph ceas'd, tears gufh'd from ev'ry eye; The World's great Victor pafs'd unheeded by; Her laft good man dejected Rome ador'd, And honour'd Cæfar's lefs than Cato's fword. Britons, attend: be worth like this approv'd, And fhow, you have the virtue to be mov'd. With honeft fcorn the firft fam'd Cato view'd Rome learning arts from Greece, whom she subdu'd; Your scene precarioufly fubfifts too long On French translation, and Italian fong. 41 Dare to have fense yourselves; affert the stage, EPILOGUE ΤΟ Mr. Rowe's JANE SHORE. Design'd for Mrs. OLDFIELD. RODIGIOUS this! the Frail-one of our Play PRO From her own Sex fhould mercy find to day! 6 You might have held the pretty head aside, "How ftrangely you expofe yourself, my dear?" But let me die, all raillery apart, Our fex are still forgiving at their heart; And, did not wicked custom so contrive, There are, 'tis true, who tell another tale, II 15 Such rage without betrays the fire within; finners. 20 25 30 Well, if our Author in the Wife offends, He has a Hufband that will make amends: He draws him gentle, tender, and forgiving, And fure fuch kind good creatures may be living. In days of old, they pardon'd breach of vows, Stern Cato's felf was no relentless spouse : Plu--Plutarch, what's his name, that writes his life? Tells us, that Cato dearly lov'd his Wife: Yet if a friend, a night or fo, fhould need her, He'd recommend her as a special breeder. To lend a wife, few here would fcruple make, 35 But, pray, which of you all would take her back? Tho' with the Stoic Chief our stage may ring, 'The Stoic Hufband was the glorious thing. The man had courage, was a fage, 'tis true, And lov'd his country-but what's that to you? 40 Those strange examples ne'er were made to fit ye, But the kind cuckold might inftruct the City: There, many an honeft man may copy Cato, Who ne'er faw naked fword, or look'd in Plato. |