OCCASIONAL EPILOGUE,

TO TANCRED AND SIGISMUNDA,

FRIDAY, JUNE 1IND, MDCCXCI.

SPOKEN BY THE YOUNG HEROINE OF THE NIGHT, FOR HER OWN BENEFIT.

CUSTOM, the tyrant of each fervile fool,

Seems to have made it an establish'd rule,
That fomething flippant, jocular, and gay,
By way of Epilogue fhould grace the play.
Authors and actors, in or out of feafon,
Step forth in rhyme-no matter for the reason,
And oft, a practice which defies excufe,
With pertnefs treat you, fometimes with abuse:
Conceit for fenfe, fcurrility for wit,

I

Pleas'd or not, pleas'd, to hear you must submit,

And, what's yet worse, a woman must rehearse,
At decency's expence, the fulfome verfe.

Not with coarse jefts to wound the modeft ear
Your little Protegé prefumes to appear;
She has been taught, and thinks it is a fin,
To facrifice decorum for a grin,

IO

Your

Your prefent favours and your past review'd,
She fain would show, excite her gratitude,
Confcious the generous plaudits you beftow,
More to your kindness than myself I owe.
Hard is the task, and oft essay'd in vain,
The approbation of the town to gain;
But by experience I may truly tell,
In candour and good-nature you excel.
You took me up, I glory in the hour,
Juft budding into life, a tender flower;
And in the bofom of this warm parterre,

My place affign'd, you bade me flourish there.
Whatever clouds alarm my penfive breast,
What doubts foe'er perplex or cares moleft,
The evening's gladfome eye my spirit cheers,
And hope prompts rapture in a night of tears.-
Why should I fear my feelings to exprefs,
When you protect me, and award fuccefs;
If in the end I anfwer not the toil,

All must condemn the culture, not the foil:
'Tis yours to call the fparks of genius forth,
To filence cavil, and conciliate worth;

My ardent hope is, if to fame I rife,

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To blow beneath the funfhine of your eyes.

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THEATRE

PROLOGUE

TO THE TRAGEDY OF EDWINA,*

THURSDAY, MARCH XXIX, MDCCXCII.

SPOKEN BY M R.

MIDDLETON.

AT feafons meet, deck'd in obfequious rhyme,
Prologues have been, from immemorial time,
Brought out by all retainers to the Stage,

To palliate faults and ftem the critic's rage;

An arduous task!--and to complete the bore

We are doom'd to glean where others reap'd before :

Yet to comply with custom, as all should,

With customs well establish'd, wife and good,

I for my client in this cause appearing,
Solicit now a favourable hearing.

To night-with deference to begin my ftory-
By me a fuppliant Author comes before ye.
Shall I, low bending, in a bondman's key,

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Thus, forma pauperis, put in my plea?

Or, vi et armis, in Theatric fury,

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Brow-beat, as oft, the scheme is, judge and jury?

No

No-this were arrogant, and that were mean,
And, tho' well meant, more ferious blots to screen,
Inftead of foothing, might provoke your spleen.

A first attempt, our author bade me say,
To candid breasts may find a fitter way;
Little confiding in Dramatic power,

He but requests the indulgence of an hour;
So, with the funfhine of your favour grac'd,

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Fresh fruits may grow and ripen to your taste.

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His is a tale of woe, tho' well he knows

All are not touch'd alike with other's woes;

The laughing Muse you with applause pursue,

On nobler grounds her elder fifter's due.
There lives a charm in sympathetic grief,

To foften care and give the mind relief.

When from compaffion's eye the dew-drops ftart,
Mild grows the temper and humane the heart;
The ftrong, the weak, the lowly and the high
Are born to suffer, as they're born to die;
And not the happiest individual here

But owes to martyr'd innocence a tear.

From
poor EDWINA's fate the unpractifed maid,
May learn, whate'er her good intents perfuade,
Virtue itself's an infufficient fhield,

When paffion fways, and prudence quits the field.

As to the merits of our venturous Bard, Sufpend your judgment 'till the cause you've heard:

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A lover,

A lover, husband, mistress and a wife,

In error's maze involved, he draws from life;
The dire delufions that their peace deftroy'd,
Trac'd to their fource, he wills you to avoid,
And trufts, from rigid rule fhou'd he depart
To follow nature, you'll dispense with art.

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Better perhaps in other climates shown;

A prophet meets leaft honour in his own.
But all in all fo little we prefume,

Man but a rush you strike the trembler dumb ;

O'erwhelm'd in dread fufpenfe, the worst of states,

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He patiently your high decifion waits ;

There, in fome nook belike, fequefter'd stands ;
Difpel his fears and cheer him with your hands.

EPILOGUE