Poetical Works of Johnson, Parnell, Gray, and Smollett Part 3

[Footnote 2: 'Hunt:' a famous stage-boxer.]

[Footnote 3: 'Mahomet:' a rope-dancer.]

PROLOGUE

SPOKEN BY MR GARRICK BEFORE THE 'MASQUE OF COMUS,'

ACTED FOR THE BENEFIT OF MILTON'S GRANDDAUGHTER.

Ye patriot crowds, who burn for England's fame!

Ye nymphs, whose bosoms beat at Milton's name, Whose generous zeal, unbought by flattering rhymes, Shames the mean pensions of Augustan times!

Immortal patrons of succeeding days, Attend this prelude of perpetual praise; Let Wit, condemn'd the feeble war to wage With close Malevolence, or Public Rage; Let Study, worn with virtue's fruitless lore, Behold this theatre, and grieve no more. 10 This night, distinguish'd by your smiles, shall tell That never Briton can in vain excel: The slightest arts futurity shall trust, And rising ages hasten to be just.

At length our mighty bard's victorious lays Fill the loud voice of universal praise; And baffled Spite, with hopeless anguish dumb, Yields to Renown the centuries to come; With ardent haste each candidate of fame, Ambitious, catches at his towering name; 20 He sees, and pitying sees, vain wealth bestow Those pageant honours which he scorn'd below.

While crowds aloft the laureate bust behold, Or trace his form on circulating gold, Unknown--unheeded, long his offspring lay, And Want hung threatening o'er her slow decay.

What though she shine with no Miltonian fire, No favouring Muse her morning dreams inspire?

Yet softer claims the melting heart engage, Her youth laborious, and her blameless age; 30 Hers the mild merits of domestic life, The patient sufferer, and the faithful wife.

Thus graced with humble Virtue's native charms, Her grandsire leaves her in Britannia's arms; Secure with peace, with competence to dwell, While tutelary nations guard her cell.

Yours is the charge, ye fair! ye wise! ye brave!

'Tis yours to crown desert--beyond the grave.

PROLOGUE

TO GOLDSMITH'S COMEDY OF 'THE GOOD-NATURED MAN,' 1769.

Press'd by the load of life, the weary mind Surveys the general toil of human kind; With cool submission joins the labouring train, And social sorrow loses half its pain.

Our anxious bard without complaint may share This bustling season's epidemic care; Like Caesar's pilot, dignified by Fate, Toss'd in one common storm with all the great; Distress'd alike the statesman and the wit, When one the borough courts, and one the pit. 10 The busy candidates for power and fame Have hopes, and fears, and wishes just the same; Disabled both to combat, or to fly, Must hear all taunts, and hear without reply.

Unchecked, on both loud rabbles vent their rage, As mongrels bay the lion in a cage.

The offended burgess h.o.a.rds his angry tale, For that blest year when all that vote may rail.

Their schemes of spite the poet's foes dismiss, Till that glad night when all that hate may hiss. 20

'This day the powder'd curls and golden coat,'

Says swelling Crispin, 'begg'd a cobbler's vote;'

'This night our wit,' the pert apprentice cries, 'Lies at my feet; I hiss him, and he dies.'

The great, 'tis true, can charm the electing tribe, The bard may supplicate, but cannot bribe.

Yet, judged by those whose voices ne'er were sold, He feels no want of ill-persuading gold; But confident of praise, if praise be due, Trusts without fear to merit and to you. 30

PROLOGUE

TO THE COMEDY OF 'A WORD TO THE WISE,' SPOKEN BY MR HULL.

This night presents a play which public rage, Or right, or wrong, once hooted from the stage; From zeal or malice now no more we dread, For English vengeance wars not with the dead.

A generous foe regards with pitying eye The man whom Fate has laid--where all must lie.

To Wit, reviving from its author's dust, Be kind, ye judges! or at least be just.

For no renew'd hostilities invade The oblivious grave's inviolable shade. 10 Let one great payment every claim appease, And him who cannot hurt, allow to please; To please by scenes unconscious of offence, By harmless merriment, or useful sense.

Where aught of bright or fair the piece displays, Approve it only--'tis too late to praise.

If want of skill, or want of care appear, Forbear to hiss--the poet cannot hear.

By all like him must praise and blame be found, At best a fleeting dream, or empty sound. 20 Yet then shall calm Reflection bless the night When liberal Pity dignified delight; When Pleasure fired her torch at Virtue's flame, And Mirth was Bounty with an humbler name.

SPRING.

1 Stern Winter now, by Spring repress'd, Forbears the long-continued strife; And Nature, on her naked breast, Delights to catch the gales of life.

2 Now o'er the rural kingdom roves Soft Pleasure with her laughing train; Love warbles in the vocal groves, And Vegetation paints the plain.

3 Unhappy! whom to beds of pain Arthritic tyranny consigns; Whom smiling Nature courts in vain, Though Rapture sings, and Beauty shines.

4 Yet though my limbs disease invades, Her wings Imagination tries, And bears me to the peaceful shades Where ----'s humble turrets rise.

5 Here stop, my soul, thy rapid flight, Nor from the pleasing groves depart, Where first great Nature charm'd my sight, Where Wisdom first inform'd my heart.

6 Here let me through the vales pursue A guide--a father--and a friend; Once more great Nature's works renew, Once more on Wisdom's voice attend.

7 From false caresses, causeless strife, Wild hope, vain fear, alike removed, Here let me learn the use of life, When best enjoy'd--when most improved.

8 Teach me, thou venerable bower!

Cool Meditation's quiet seat, The generous scorn of venal power, The silent grandeur of retreat.

9 When pride by guilt to greatness climbs, Or raging factions rush to war, Here let me learn to shun the crimes I can't prevent, and will not share.

10 But lest I fall by subtler foes, Bright Wisdom, teach me Curio's art, The swelling pa.s.sions to compose, And quell the rebels of the heart!

MIDSUMMER.

1 O Phoebus! down the western sky, Far hence diffuse thy burning ray; Thy light to distant worlds supply, And wake them to the cares of day.

2 Come, gentle Eve! the friend of Care, Come, Cynthia, lovely queen of night!

Refresh me with a cooling breeze, And cheer me with a lambent light.

3 Lay me where, o'er the verdant ground, Her living carpet Nature spreads; Where the green bower, with roses crown'd, In showers its fragrant foliage sheds.

4 Improve the peaceful hour with wine; Let music die along the grove; Around the bowl let myrtles twine, And every strain be tuned to love.

5 Come, Stella, queen of all my heart!