The hapless youth in an enchanting dream, Thus views with extacy his fair one's charms; And whilst the playful tints of fancy beam, Believes he clasps his mistress in his arms. Till sadly waking, with tumultuous joy, And bends with sorrow o'er the silent dead. Like Lillystone did great Apelles draw, When he so graceful shap'd the queen of love; Titian's soft colouring, Guido's graceful air, Yet who, that sees her portraits, won't declare, Such soft emotions in her bosom reign, A PROLOGUE Spoken by me at the Theatre in Southend the Night of Miss Brookes's Benefit. IN that just mirror of the human mind, Where each variety of acting shares. And Shakespeare's judgment who'll presume to doubt, Will any in this house or any out? If any here should dare our bard t' asperse, And think that he, like minor sons of verse, All how unlike each other, all how true; Tho' here we see all truth, all fiction there; Him Him from whose lips the gentle accents flow, Whose arm omnipotent can spread alarms, Could make John Bull with taxes blest, a store, Could make the budget, (that Pandora's Box, So small in stature seem, tho' grown so big, He call'd the budget, Billy's sucking pig. Yet some then thought, in spite of John's wise head, Sure beast so strange was never seen before, The more it suck'd, it grunting squeak'd for more ; Yet stranger too, tho' that may seem a jest, Its mother strengthen'd, when it drain'd her breast! To To it doth Heav'n such wond'rous vigour send, But hence these jokes on patriot god-like Pitt, Trust me who thinks not Pitt all good and wise, Candid he'd own, Pitt's rich capacious mind Whilst Bonaparte, whom the devil take, Shews that he's born for whom, his own dear sake; Old Nick's sweet babe, to whom some witch gave suck, And for his fortune gave, the devil's luck. Gentle Jane Shore to-night with meagre looks, (Her face not much unlike the phiz of Brookes,) Implores your patronage, yet lanker still, Will be Brooke's visage, if her house don't fill. No cheeks more smooth than hers, nor any plumper, Should she behold this house to-night a bumper; Should Should she behold, like Lady Faddle's rout, Pinion'd and squeez'd like fowls upon a spit, Then would your Brookes with gratitude run o'er, And in a flood of joy raise up her head, Dripping like Neptune's on his oozy bed. Whilst rich Old Thames, who owes so much to Brooks, And Thames with Neptune in close friendship join'd, For which don't lash her with the critic's rod. Did you not think me now a horrid bore, I'd crave your int rest for your native Shore, And trespass on your time one moment more. Close to the sea too shall I plead in vain, When Southend shore to you is no small gain; And |