| Citation |
MJ.782.038
26 Mar 1782:41 (9/13 447)
AN OCCASIONAL PROLOGUE to the Tragedy of Venice Preserv'd.
Written and spoken by Mr. Heard.
Who but has read that celebrated fable,
Of the ill-natur'd mastiff in the stable;
He, when the hungry Ox came in to eat,
Grin'd, snarl'd, and snap'd, and bid the wretch retreat:
The Ox, (who was indeed an Ox of breeding)
Rep'y'd, "Why wou'dst thou hinder me from feeding?
"Thou canst not eat the hay; thou base intent,
"And envious spirit, be thy punishment."
I look around, with trembling, doubt, and fear;
Ah me! I hope there are no mastiffs here.
The playhouse mastiff is that silly elf,
Who will not let you hear, nor hear himself:
A buck and blood, who scorns a man of feeling;
A punch-inspir'd hero, ripe and reeling,
Who at a tumbler never struck in vain,
And boasts a num'rous list of bottles slain -
"Come Jack, your glass-oh damn this tragic stuff-
"Give us a song-of grief we've had enough-
"You Madam Belvidera, off I say-
"Waiter, another bottle-damn the play!"
I've known some puppies, like King Charles's breed,
Prick up their ears, and on soft nonsense feed:
The pretty dawdlers skip from fair to fair;
"Ah Polly, Fanny, Sukey-what! you're there!"
To shew you their dexterity, combine,
In tossing oranges, and drinking wine.
Aboard the gallery, ho! - My hearts what cheer?
Give chace, and catch the mastiff privateer;
No better than a refugee you'll think him--
Damme! I know you'll lend a hand to sink him.
If at our tragedy you cannot weep,
You're safe in harbour lads, and go to sleep.
To cry, and pay for't too, we know it grieves you -
Next watch, an honest Yorkshireman* relieves you.
To polish manners, and reform the age,
Shou'd be the only business of the stage,
To-night our company attempts to prove,
What fools deny-a matrimonial love.
Poor suff'ring Jaffier claims the pitying sigh;
What honest heart can such a boon deny!
If Otway's flowing language can express
The parent's pangs, the virtuous wife's distress
Each tender heart with pity shall o'erflow,
And share the lovely Belvidera's woe.
Hear noble Pierre his gen'rous voice extend,
And praise the virtures of his injur'd friend;
He rouses various sentiments; tho' all
Approve his sentence, yet they mourn his fall;
We wish him righted, yet detest the plan;
Condemn his rashness, but admire the man.
Ladies, you'll surely take us to your care,
For Otway is the favourite of the fair:
He prints you angel, gen'rous, tender, kind;
Say, all the graces are in you combin'd:
This night shall prove the poet's language true.
And your looks shew you're Belvidera's too,
Each man of sense shall own, with heart sincere,
"Your eyes, tho' bright, shine brighter thro' a tear."
In ancient Rome, their theatres have prov'd,
That he fought bravest, who the most was mov'd:
Shall we, who seem to think the age refin'd,
Laugh at the noblest passions of the mind?
No-'tis compassion must your souls reveal;
You've fought like Romans, now like Romans feel.
*Alluding to the farce of that name, performed the same
evening.
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