PROLOGUE,

SPOKEN BY MR. GARRICK,

At the Opening of the Theatre Royal, DRURY LANE, 1747.

WHEN Learning's triumph o'er her barb'rous foes
Firft rear'd the ftage, immortal Shakspeare rofe;
Each change of many-colour'd life he drew,
Exhaufted worlds, and then imagin'd new :
Exiftence faw him fpurn her bounded reign,
And panting Time toil'd after him in vain.
His pow'rful ftrokes prefiding Truth imprefs'd,
And unrefifted Paffion ftorm'd the breaft.

Then Jonfon came, inftructed from the school,
To please in method, and invent by rule;
His ftudious patience and laborious art,
By regular approach affail'd the heart:
Cold Approbation gave the ling'ring bays,
For thofe, who durft not cenfure, fcarce could praise.
A mortal born, he met the gen'ral doom,
But left, like Egypt's kings, a lafting tomb.

The wits of Charles found eafier ways to fame, Nor wifh'd for Jonfon's art, or Shakspeare's flame, Themfelves they ftudied, as they felt they writ; Intrigue was plot, obfcenity was wit. Vice always found a fympathetic friend; They pleas'd their age, and did not aim to mend, Yet bards like thefe afpir'd to lafting praise, And proudly hop'd to pimp in future days. Their caufe was gen'ral, their fupports were ftrong, Their flaves were willing, and their reign was long:

Till Shame regain'd the poft that Senfe betray'd
And Virtue call'd Oblivion to her aid. ́

Then, crush'd by rules, and weaken'd as refin'd,
For years the pow'r of Tragedy declin'd;
From bard to bard the frigid caution crept,
Till Declamation roar'd whilft Paffion flept;
Yet ftill did Virtue deign the ftage to tread,
Philofophy remain'd, though Nature fled.
But forc'd, at length, her antient reign to quit,
She saw great Fauftus lay the ghost of Wit;
Exulting Folly hail'd the joyful day,
And Pantomime and Song confirm'd her fway.
But who the coming changes can prefage,
And mark the future periods of the Stage?
Perhaps, if skill could diftant times explore,
New Behns, new Durfeys, yet remain in store;
Perhaps where Lear has rav'd, and Hamlet dy'd,
On flying cars new forcerers may ride:

Perhaps (for who can guefs th' effects of chance?)
Here Hunt may box, or Mahomet * may dance.
Hard is his lot that, here by Fortune plac'd,
Muft watch the wild viciffitudes of taste;
With ev'ry meteor of caprice must play,
And chafe the new-blown bubbles of the day.
Ah! let not Cenfure term our fate our choice,
The stage but echoes back the publick voice;
The drama's laws, the drama's patrons give,
For we that live to please, muft please to live.
Then prompt no more the follies you decry,
As tyrants doom their tools of guilt to die;

* Hunt, a famous boxer on the stage; Mahomet, a ropedancer, who had exhibited at Covent-Garden Theatre the winter before, faid to be a Turk.

"Tis

'Tis Yours, this night, to bid the reign commence Of rescued Nature and reviving Sense;

To chafe the charms of Sound, the pomp of Show,
For useful Mirth and falutary Woe;

Bid fcenic Virtue form the rifing age,
And Truth diffufe her radiance from the stage.

IRENE;

A

TRAGEDY.