116. Prologue occafioned by the Death of Mr. Henderfon; 1785. MURPHY. RE fiction try this night he magic strain, 'And blend myfteriously delight with pain; e yet the wake her train of hopes and fears r Jaffier's wrongs and Belvidera's tears, ill you permit a true, a recent grief

vent its charge, and feek that kind relief? How fhall we feel the tale of feign'd diftrefs, hile on the heart our own afflictions prefs! -hen our own friend, when Henderson expires, d from the tomb one parting pang requires! yonder Abbey fhall he reft his head, d on this fpot no virtuous drop be thed; You will indulge our grief:-thofe crowded

rows

w you have hearts that feel domeftic woes; arts that with gen'rous emulation burn, raife the widow, drooping o'er his urn; d to his child, when reafon's op'ning ray ill tell her whom the loft, this truth convey: father's worth made each good man his friend;

our'd through life, regretted in his end! d for his relatives, to help his ftore, audience gave, when he could give no more. tim we all mourn, his friends still heave the figh,

1 ftill the tear ftands trembling in the eye. was each mild, each amiable art, gentleft manners, and the feeling heart; fimple truth; benevolence to all; en'rous warmth, that glow'd at friendship's call;

dgment fure, while learning toil'd behind; mirth was wit; his humour, fenfe refin'd; oul above all guile, all meaner views; e friend of fcience, friend of ev'ry mufe! have I known him in my vernal years no feign'd grief-no artificial tear! in this breaft he wak'd the Mufes' flame; d to advise, and point my way to fame. o moft fhall praise him, all are still at ftrife; iring virtue leaves a void in life. void our scene has felt-with Shakfpeare's page

o now, like him, fhall animate the ftage? alet, Macbeth, and Benedick, and Lear, hard, and Wolfey, pleas'd each learn'd ear. eigning well be our confuutmate art, v great his praife, who, in lago's part, ild utter thoughts fo foreign to his heart! ftaff, who thook this houfe with mirthful

roar,

How no counterfeit-he 'll rife no more! vas Henderson the drama to pervade, ch palliontouch, and give each nicer thade. en o'er thefe boards the Roman Father pais'd

t I forbear-that effort was his laft ! e Mufe there faw his zeal, tho`rack'd with pain,

hile the flow fever ambush'd in each vein. e fought the bedwhere, pale and wan, he lay, d vainly tried to chute difende away;

Watch'd ev'ry look, and number'd ev'ry figh And gently, as he liv'd, the faw him die. Wild with her griefs, the join'd the mournful throng,

With fullen found as the hearfe mov'd along : Through the dim vaulted ailes the led the way, And gave to genius past his kindred clay; Heard the laft requiem o'er his relics cold, And with her tears bedew'd the hallow' mould.

In faithful verfe, there, near the lonely cell, The fair recording epitaph may tell; That he, who now lies mould'ring into duft Was good, was upright, generous, and just; By talents form'd to grace the poet's lays; By virtue form'd to dignify his days.

When fatire's fting and moral precepts fail,
Then threats and rougher methods must pre-
vail.
[name,

Behold a fchoolmaster-Ticklebreech by
Who comes a headstrong people to reclaim ;
To lath thofe foibles now fo common grown,
And once more place fair Virtue on her throne.
This magic rod, tho' nought but fimple wood,
With wonders ftrange to mention is endued,
If to that part of man we all deride
'Tis rightly handled, and with skill applied,
'Twill make a lawyer honeft 'gainft his will,
The doctor fave the patient he would kill;
The ftatefman too, that Atlas of the state,
Who toils and fweats, and bends beneath the
weight

Of places, penfions, finecures and fees,
At the first stroke will find immediate eafe:
With joy he'll caft the pond'rous load afide,
And at the helm take honour for his guide;
Relieve the indigent without a bribe,
And fpurn at fycophants, that fawning tribe.
The modern Bobadil, who in taverns boasts
The feats he did when on proud Gallia's coafts
How twenty Frenchmen at a time he flew :
"Twenty more-kill 'em; twenty more-kill
'em too!"

When in the field his looks, his fears betray,
And his own fhadow makes him run away;
But if the force of this fame twig he feels,
His courage ftraight will leave his friendly
heels,

Mount to his heart, his martial bofem warm, And, like brave Pruffia, the wholeworld alarm. Next, to the male coquet 1 mean to speak, Whole head, and heart, and nerves alike are weak ; [teigns Who, like that curious mask which Alop The fox admir'd, yet mourn'd the wast of brains;

ལས

Whe

Peter,

Who plies his glass and grinning cries, "Sir fcreature! "There's a fine girl! Gad's curfe!acharming "What eyes, what lips! and then her fhape and "She must be mine,egad,at any rate," [gait! This wand, if once it touch the coxcomb's tail, I do affure him ne'er was known to fail ;: He'll own its charms furpaís his falts and drops,

For into men it changes fools and fops;
Makes 'em look wife, fay little, and do more;
All which, I'm fure, they never did before.
In good queen Befs's happy goldenreign,
The British fair their virtues did maintain;
But, fhame to tell, how dreadful the reflection!
The fex is now fo bad to want correction—
But hold, methinks from yonder box I hear
My Lady Dainty thus exprefs her fear:
"Lord; fure the filthy fellow does not mean
"To turn us up; he won't be fo obscene:
"I'll go this inftant, and afk Mr. Rich,
"How he dares fuffer this rude Tickle-
breech-"

Ladies, be calm, this needlefs rage fufpend,
And take good counfel as from friend to
friend:
[birch,
If you would fhun acquaintance with the
Shun cards on fabbath-day, and go to church;
This vicious appetite no longer feed,
Be virtuous all, be British dames indeed.

And now, my pupils, what you have learnt this night

Goteach to others, and you'll then do right; Be you to them the fame indulgent tutor, And come next year to fee your friend Ned Shuter.

118. Prologue to Mahomet.

To point what lengths credulity has run, What counfels shaken, and what ftates undone;

Hooded and train'd like hawks th' ef fiafts fly,

And the priest's victims in their pen ncesde Like whelps born blind, by motherdu they're bred,

Nor wake to fight, to know themselvent Murder's the game-and to the fpert preft,

Proud of the fin, and in the duty blef, › The layman's but the blood-hoender priest.

Whoe'er thou art, that dar'st fuch time

vance,

To prieft-rid Spain repair, or flavible For Judas' hire there do the devil. And trick up flavery in religion's m England, ftill free, no furer meas To fink their fottifh fouls, and dey fmartial fires.

Britons, thefe numbers to yores Voltaire hath ftrength to shoot in Shlyer bow:

Fame led him at his Hippocrene to And taught to write with nature, an With English freedom, Englia witho And from the unexhausted stream part: drew.

Cherish the noble bard yourfelves latest Nor let the frauds of France ftealabour Now of each prize the winner has the ver E'en fend our English Rage a-private With your cominiflion we'll all in fold,

And from their loads of drofs im

$119. Prologue to the Jeal THE Jealous Wife! a comedy!

A charming fubject! but awr His skittish wit, o'erleaping the de Commits flat trefpafs upon tragic Quarrels, upbraidings, jealoudes, and Grow too familiar in the comic free Tinge but the language with herok

paffion, pathos, character, fubli What round big words had fwell'de pous scene,

A king the hufband, and the wife a Then might diffraction rend her gra See fightless forms, and feream, and,

ftare.

Drawcanfir Death had rag'd with Here the drawn dagger, there the po What eyes had ftream'd at all the wh What hands had thunder'd at exhi

Oh!

But peace! The gentle prolog Like drum and ferjeant, to beat up fr At vice and folly, each a lawful gas“, Our author flies but with no partid a He read the manners, open as they le In nature's volume to the gen'raleye Books too he read, nor blath'd to the

ftore

He does but what his betters did before

Confirm the name an anxious parent gave her, And prove her Heiress of the public favour!

122. Prologue to the Ambitious Step-mother.

IF dying lovers yet deferve a tear;

RowE.

If a fad ftory of a maid's defpair Yet move compaffion in the pitying fair; This day the poet does his arts employ, The foft acceffes of your fouls to try. Nor let the ftoic boat his mind unmov'd The brute philofopher, who ne'er has prov'd The joy of loving and of being lov'd; Who fcorns his human nature to confefs, And, friving to be more than man, is lefs. Nor let the men the weeping fair accufe, Thofe kind protectors of the tragic mufe, Whofe tears did moving Otway's labours crown,

And made the poor Monimia's grief their own:
Those tears their art, not weakness, has con-
feft,
[taste,
Their grief approv'd the nicenefs of their
And they wept moft, because they judg'd
the best.

O could this age's writers hope to find
An audience to compaflion thus inclin'd,
The stage would need no farce, nor fong, nor
dance,

Nor cap'ring Monfieur brought from active
France;

Clinch,and his organ-pipe,his dogs and bear,
To native Barnet might again repair,
Or breathe, with Captain Otter, Bankfide air:
Majeftic tragedy thould once again

In purple pomp adorn the fwelling fcene;
Her fearch thould ranfack all the ancient

store,

The fortunes of their loves and arms explore, Such as might grieve you, but should pleate the more,

What Shakspeare durft not, this bold age fhould do,

And famous Greek and Latin beauties fhew: Shakspeare, whofe genius, to itself a law, Could men in ev'ry height of nature draw, And copied all but woman that he saw, Thofe ancient heroines your concern should

move,

6123. Epilogue to the fame. Row!. THE fpleen and vapours, and this dekiu. play,

Have mortified me to that height to-day,
That I am almoft in the mortal mid
To die indeed and leave you all behind.
Know then, fince I refolve in peace to part,
I mean to leave to one alone my heart:
(Laft favours will admit of no partage,
Ì bar all fharing, but upon the ttage)
To one who can with one alone be be?,
The peaceful monarch of a single brez
Toone-But, oh! how hard 'twill be
That Phoenix in your fickle, changia
New loves, new interefts, and religion=
Still your fantastic appetites purfue.
Your fickly fancies loath what you po”-
And ev'ry reftlefs fool would change bepe
Some, weary of their peace and quiet
Want to be hoisted up aloft, and f
Whilft from the envied height the w
fafely down.

We find your wav'ring temper to our cat.
Since all our pains and care to please n
Mufic in vain fupports with friendly and
Her fifter Poetry's declining head:
Shew but a mimic ape, or French bufact,
You to the other house in shoals are ge
And leave us here to tune our crowds zo
Muft Shakspeare, Fletcher, and laborious
Be left for Scaramouch and Harlequi
Allow you are inconftant, yet 'tis frag
For fenfe is fill the fame, and ne'er c
Yet even in that you vary as the ref
And ev'ry day new notions are prom
Nay, there's a wit has found, as
New ways to heaven, defpairing oft-à-
He fwears he 'll fpoil the clerk

trade,

Bells fhall no more be rung, nor gras The hearfe and fix no longer be in t Since all the faithful may expect int What think you of the project? I'm form. I'll lay afide thefe foolith thoughtscie Preferve my youth and vigour fort And be tranflated in a good old age.

124. Prologue to the Tinder Haft Accomplished Fools.

-love:

When fools were many, and whe

were scarce,,

The raw unpractis'd author could****
A young and inexperienc'd audience på--
No fingle character had e'er been thond,
But the whole herd of fops were all theire
Rich in originals, they fet to view,
In ev'ry piece, a coxcomb that was

But now our British theatre can b Drolls of all kinds, a vaft unthinkinghol Fruitful of folly and of vice, it the Cuckolds, and cits, and bawds, and pimps, # beaux ;