And Truth diffufe her radiance from the Stage. Ennobled, yet unchang'd, if Nature thine:

If truths like thefe with pleafing language jur;
If no wild draught depart from Reafon's rules,
Nor gods his heroes, nor his lovers fools:
Intriguing wits!. his artless plot forgive;
And fpare him, beauties! tho' his lovers live.

Be this at leaft his praife, be this his pride;
To force applaufe no modern arts are tried.
Should partial cat-calls all his hopes confound,
Should welcome fleep relieve the weary wit,
He bids no trumpet quell the fatal found.
He rolls not thunders o'er the drowfy pit,
No fares to captivate the judgment fpreads;
Nor bribes your eyes to prejudice your heads
Unmov'd tho' witlings fneer, and rivals rail;
Studious to pleafe, yet not afham'd to fail
He fcorns the meek addrefs, the fuppliant ftrain,
With merit needlefs, and without it vain.
In Reafon, Nature, Truth, he dares to truft;
Ye fops, be filent; and ye wits, be just.

40. Prologue to Comus, for the Benefit of Mil-
ton's Grand-daughter; 1750. Spoken by Mr.
Garrick,
JOHNSON.

E patriot crowds who burn for England's fame,
Ye nymphs whofe bofoms beat at Milton's

name,

Whose gen'rous zeal, unbought by flatt'ring

rhymes,

hames the mean pensions of Augustan times;
mmortal patrons of fucceeding days,
Attend this prelude of perpetual praife;
et wit, condemn'd the feeble war to wage,
With clofe malevolence, or public rage;
et ftudy, worn with virtue's fruitless lore,
Behold this Theatre, and grieve no more.
This might, diftinguifh'd by your fmiles, shall tell,
That never Britain can in vain excel;
The flighted arts futurity fhall trust,
And rifing ages haften to be just.

At length our mighty bard's victorious lays
Will the loud voice of univerfal praife;
And baffled spite, with hopeless anguish dumb,
Wields to renown the centuries to come;
With ardent hafte each candidate of fame
Ambitious catches at his tow'ring name;
le fees, and pitying fees, vain wealth bestow
Thofe pageant honours which he scorn'd below,
While crowds aloft he laureat bust behold,
Or trace his form on circulating gold.
Jnknown, unheeded, long his offspring lay,
And want hung threat'ning o'er her flow decay.
What tho' the thine with no Miltonian fire,
No fav'ring mufe her morning dreams inspire,
Yet fofter claims the melting heart engage,
Her youth laborious, and her blameleis age;
Hers the mild merits of domeftic life,
The patient fufferer, and the faithful wife.
Thus grac'd with humble virtue's native charms,
Her grandfire leaves her in Britannia's arms;
Secure with peace, with competence to dwell,
While tutelary natious guard her cell.
Yours is the charge, ye fair, ye wise, ye brave !
'Tis yours to crown defert-beyond the grave.

41. Occafional Prologue, spoken by Mr. Garrick, at the Opening of Drury-Lane Theatre, September 5, 1750.

AS heroes, ftates, and kingdoms, rise and fall;

So (with the mighty to compare the fmall)
Thro' int'reft, whim, or, if you pleafe, thro' fate,
We feel commotions in our mimic ftate:

The fock and bufkin fly from stage to stage;
A year's alliance is with us-an age!
And where's the wonder? all furprise must cease,
When we reflect how int'reft, or caprice,
Makes real kings break articles of peace.

66

Strengthen'd with new allies, our foes prepare;
Cry, havoc and let flip the dogs of war."
To thake our fouls, the papers of the day
Drew forth the adverfe pow'r in dread
array;
A pow'r, might ftrike the boldeft with ditmay:
Yet, fearlefs ftill, we take the field with spirit,
Our ladies too, with fouls and tongues untam❜d,
Arm'd cap à pie in felf-fufficient merit.
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 patsions guide,
Defert each day, and fly from fide to fide:
Others, like Swifs, love fighting as their trade;
For, beat or beating, they must all be paid.

Sacred to Shakspeare was this spot design'd,
To pierce the heart, and humanize the mind.
But if an empty houfe, the actor's curfe,
Shews us our Lears and Hamlets lofe their force;
Unwilling, we must change the nobler fccne,
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 struggle 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 pursue;
The conflict glorious! for we'll fight for you:
And, fhould we fail to gain the wifh'd applaufe,
At leaft we're vanquish'd in a noble caufe.

§42. Occafiona! Prologue, spoken at Covent-Garden
Theatre by Mr. Barry; 1750.

WHEN vice or folly over-runs a ftate,

Weak politicians lay the blame on fate:
When rulers ufeful fubjects ceafe to prize,
And damn for arts that caus'd themselves to rife;
When jealoufies and fears poffefs the throne,
And kings allow no merit—but their own;
Can it be ftrange, that inen for flight prepare,
And ftrive to raise a colony elsewhere?
This custom has prevail'd in ev'ry age,
And has been fometimes practis'd on the ftage:
Who fearless arm, and take the field with spirit,
For-entre nous-thefe managers of merit,
Have curb'd us monarchs with their haughty mien,
And Herod § have out-Herod-ed-within.

O, they can torture twenty thousand ways!
[Pointing to the Green-Recr.
Make bouncing Bajazet | retreat from Bays
The ladies** too, with ev'ry pow'r to charm,
Whofe face and fire an anchorite might warm,
Have felt the fury of a tyrant's arm.
By felfish arts expell'd our ancient feat,
In fearch of candour, and in search of meat,
We from your favour hope for this retreat.

In which papers was this paragraph: "We hear that Mr. Quin, Mrs. Cibber, Mr. Barry, Mr. Macklin, and Mrs. Woffington, are engaged at Covent-Garden theatre for the enfuing season."-On the part of DruryLane theatre it was notified, "That two celebrated actors from Dublin were engaged to perform there, alfo Mifs Bellamy, and a new actress, Signor Fauson, the comic dancer, and his wife, and a gentleman to fing, whe had not been on any stage." || Both Quin and Barry.

4 +Mrs. Pritchard.

¶ Mr. Garrick,

+ Mrs. Clive.

& Mr. Quin.

* Mrs. Cibber, &c.

A child, faid to be but four years of age, had been introduced on the stage of Drury-Lane theatre, to play

'Tis faid, this night, a certain wag intends
To laugh at us, our calling, and our friends:
If lords and ladies, and fuch dainty folks,
Are cur'd of auction-hunting by his jokes;
Should this odd doctrine fpread throughout the
Before you buy, be fure to understand; [land,
O, think on us, what various ills will flow,
When great ones only purchase what they know!
Why laugh at tafle? It is a harmless fashion,
And quite fubdues each detrimental paflion :
The fair-ones hearts will ne'er incline to man,
While thus they rage for-china and japan.
The virtuofo too, and connoiffeur,
Are ever decent, delicate, and pure;
The fimalleft hair their loofer thoughts might hold,
Juft warm when fingle, and when married-cold;
Their blood, at fight of beauty, gently flows;
Their Venus must be old, and want a nofe!
No am'rous paffion with deep knowledge thrives;
'Tis the complaint, indeed, of all our wives !
'Tis faid virtú to such a height is grown
All artists are encourag'd-but our own.
Be not deceiv'd; I here declare on oath,
I never yet fold goods of foreign growth:
Ne'er fent commiffions out to Grecce or Rome;
My beft antiquities are made at home.
I've Romans, Greeks, Italians, near at hand,
True Britons all-and living in the Strand.
I ne'er for trinkets rack my pericranium;
They furnish out my room from Herculaneum.
But bufh-

Should it be known that English are employ'd,
Our manufacture is at once deftroy'd;
No matter what our countrymen deferve,
They'll thrive as ancients, but as moderns ftarve-
If we fhould fall, to you it will be owing;
Farewel to arts-they are going, going, going!
The fatal hammer's in your hand, O town!
Then fet us up-and knock the poet down.

§ 46.

But would the ladies in our cause appear,
One look would filence ev'ry critic here.
If you but fmile, 'twill cheer our tim'rous hearts,
And give us courage to perform our parts.

To you, ye fair ones, then, we make address,
And beg protection for this night's fuccefs.
Look gently on our faults, and, where we fail,
Let pity to our tender youth prevail.
Our caufe is in your hands; and Cato, who
Difdain'd great Cæfar's yoke, fubmits to you.

$47. Prologue to the Fairies; 1755. Written and poken by Mr. Garrick.

A

[Enter-interrupting the band of mufic.
Moment ftop your tuneful fingers, pray,
While here, as ufual, I my duty pay.
[To the audience.
Don't frown, my friends [to the bund]; you ́
foon fhall melt again;

But, if not there is felt each dying ftrain,
Poor I fhall speak, and you will ferape, in vain..
To fee me now, you think the ftrangest thing!
For, like friend Benedick, I cannot fing:
Yet, in this prologue, cry but you corragio!
I'll speak you both a jig, and an ndagio.

A Perfian king, as Perfian tales relate,
Oft went difguis'd, to hear the people prate!
So, curious I fometimes fteal forth, incog,
To hear what critics croak of me-King Log.
Three nights ago, I heard a tête à téte,
Which fix'd at once our Englith opera's fate :
One was a youth born here, but flush from Roine;
The other born abroad, but here his home:
And firft the English foreigner began,
Who thus addrefs'd the foreign Englishman:
"An English opera! 'tis not to be borne ;
"I both my country and their mufic fcorn.
"O, damn their Ally Croakers, and their
"Early-horn!

Prologue to Cato. Alted in 1753 by the
Scholars of the free Grammar School at Derby," Signior fi-bat jons---vors recitativo :
for the Benefit of the Orphan of the late Uber." Il tutto, è beftiale e cativo."
Written by one of the Scholars, aged 16.

No Garrick here majestic treads the stage,

No Quin your whole attention to engage;
No practis'd actor here the fcene employs;
But a raw parcel of unfkilful boys.
Shall we disfigur'd in a fchool-boy fce
Cato's great foul in bafe epitome?
Can critics bear fuch flavery as this?
Would not e'en Cato join the critic's hifs?
What shall we fay, then? what excuses make?
Our credit and fuccefs lie both at stake.

As when fome peafant, who, to treat hist
lord,

Brings out his little ftock, and decks his board
With what his ill-ftor'd cupboard will afford,
With awkward bows, and ill-plac'd rustic airs,
To make excufes for his feaft prepares;
So we, with tremor mix'd with vaft delight,
View the bright audience which appears to-night,
And, conícious of its meannefs, hardly dare
To bid you welcome to our homely fare.

This faid, I made my exit full of terrors:
And now afk pardon, for the following errors.

Excufe us, first, for foolishly fuppoling
Your countrymen could pleafe you in compofing;
An opera 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 Shakspearelli:
This awkward drama (I confefs th' offence)
Is guilty too of poetry and fenfe:

And then the price we take--you'll all abuse it,
So low, fo unlike op'ras-but excufe it,
We'll mend that fault, whenever you shall

chufe it.

Our last mifchance, and worse than all the reft,
Which turns the whole performance to a jeft,
Our fingers all are well, and all will do their belt.
But why would this rafh fool, this Englishman,
Attempt an opera-'Tis the ftrangeft plan!

Struck with the wonders of his master's art,
Whofe facred dramas fhake and melt the heaft,
ff
Whofe

Whose heaven-born strains the coldeft breaft To one, at least, your ufual favours fhew;

$48. Prologue to Virginia; 1754. Written and spoken by Mr. GARRICK. PROLOGUES, like compliments, are lofs of

time,

A female afks it can a man fay No!
Should you indulge our novice, yet unfeen,
And crown her, with your hands, a tragic queen;
Should you, with fmiles, a confidence impart,
To calin thofe fears which speak a feeling heart,
Affift each ftruggle of ingenuous fhame,
Which curbs a genius in its road to fame ;
With one with more her whole ambition ends-
She hopes fome merit, to deferve fuch friends.

$49. Epilogue to the fame; 1754. GARRICK,
THE poet's pen can, like a conjurer's wand,

Or kill or raife his heroine at command: And I fhall, fpirit-like, before I fink, think. Not courteoufly enquire, but tell you what you From top to bottom I shall make you ftare, 'Tis penning bows, and making legs, in rhyme: By hitting all your judgments to a hair! 'Tis cringing at the door, with fimp'ring grin, And, firft, with you above I fhall beginWhen we fhould fhew the company within.[To the upper galery, So thinks our bard, who, stiff in claffic knowledge, Good-natur'd fouls, they're ready all to grin. Preferves too much the buckram of the col-Though twelvepence feat you there, fo near the

lege..

"Your modern prologues, and fuch whims as
"these,
[phocles."
"The Greeks ne'er knew-turn, turn to So-
"I read no Greek, Sir-when I was at school,
"Terence had prologues-Terence was no fool."
"He had; but why" replied the bard, in rage:
"Exotics, monfters, had poffefs'd the stage,
"But we have none, in this enlighten'd age!
"Your Britons now, from gallery to pit.
"Can relish nought but fterling Attic wit.
"Here, take my play, I meant it for inftruc-
❝tion &

"If rhymes are wanting for its introduction,
E'en let that nonfenic be your own pro-

"duction."

Off went the poet-it is now expedient,
I fpeak as manager, and your obedient
1, as your cat'rer, would provide you dishes,
Drefs'd to your palates, feafon'd to your withes.
Say but you're tir'd with boil'd and roaft at
home,

We too can fend for niceties from Rome;
To pleafe your taftes will fpare nor pains nor

money,

Difcard firloins, and get you maccaroni.
Whate'er new gufto for a time may reign,
Shakspeare and beef muft have their turn again.
If novelties can pleafe, to-night we've two-
Tho' English both, yet fpare 'em, as they're new.

ceiling,

The folks below can't boast a better feeling.
No high-bred prud'ry in your region lurks.
You boldly laugh and cry, as nature works.

Says John to Tom (aye-there they fit together,
As honeft Britons as e'er tred on leather):
"Tween you and I, my friend, 'tis very vild,
"That old Vergeenus fhould have ftruck his child
"I would have hang'd him for't had I been ruler;
"And duck'd that Apus too, by way of cooler."
Some maiden-dames, who hold the middle floor,
[To the middle galley.

And fly from naughty man, at forty-four,
With turn'd-up eyes applaud Virginia's 'scape,
And vow they'd do the fame to fhun a rape;
So very chafte, they live in conftant fears,
And apprehenfion ftrengthens with their years.

Ye bucks, who from the pit your terrors fense,
Yet love diftreffed damfels to befriend;
You think this tragic joke too far was carried,
And with, to fet all right, the maid had married
You'd rather fee (if fo the fates had will'd)
Ten wives be kind, than one peor virgin kind.

May I approach unto the boxes, pray-
And there fearch out a judgment on the play
In vain, alas! I fhould attempt to find it;
Fine ladies fee a play, but never mind it.
'Tis vulgar to be mov'd by acted pallion.
Or form opinions till they're fix'd by fashion.

Our author hopes this fickle goddefs Mode,
With us will make, at least, nine days abode;
To prefent pleasure he contracts his view,
And leaves his future fame to time and you.

$50. Prologue to Barbaroffa; 1755.
and spoken by Mr. Garrick, in the Charact
of a Country Boy.

MEASTER! meafter!

Is not my micafter here among you, pray? Nay fpeak-my meafter wro: this fine new play

Mrs. Graham, afterwards Mrs. Yates, then a new actress.

The