A

PROLOGUE,

WRITTEN AND SPOKEN BY

THE POET LABERIUS,

.A ROMAN KNIGHT,

WHOM CESAR FORCED UPON THE STAGE.

PRESERVED BY MACROBIUS 1.

WHAT! no way left to shun th' inglorious stage,
And save from infamy my sinking age!
Scarce half alive, oppress'd with many a year,
What in the name of dotage drives me here?
A time there was, when glory was my guide,
Nor force nor fraud could turn my steps aside;

1 This translation was first printed in one of our author's earliest works, "The present State of Learning in Europe,"

12mo. 1759.

Unaw'd by pow'r, and unappal'd by fear,
With honest thrift I held my honour dear:
But this vile hour disperses all my store,
And all my hoard of honour is no more;
For, ah! too partial to my life's decline,
Cæsar persuades, submission must be mine;
Him I obey, whom heav'n himself obeys,
Hopeless of pleasing, yet inclin'd to please.
Here then at once I welcome ev'ry shame,
And cancel at threescore a life of fame;
No more my titles shall my children tell,
The old buffoon will fit my name as well;
This day beyond its term my fate extends,
For life is ended when our honour ends.

PROLOGUE

TO THE

TRAGEDY OF ZOBEIDE.

In these bold times, when learning's sons explore
The distant climates, and the savage shore;
When wise astronomers to India steer,

And quit for Venus many a brighter here;
While botanists, all cold to smiles and dimpling,
Forsake the fair, and patiently-go simpling;
Our bard into the general spirit enters,
And fits his little frigate for adventures.

With Scythian stores and trinkets deeply laden,

He this way steers his course, in hopes of trading

Yet ere he lands has order'd me before,

To make an observation on the shore.

Where are we driven? our reck'ning sure is lost!

This seems a rocky and a dangerous coast.

Lord! what a sultry climate am I under!

Yon ill-foreboding cloud seems big with thunder: [Upper gallery.

There mangroves spread, and larger than I've seen

'em

[Pit.

Here trees of stately size-and billing turtles in

'em

Here ill-condition'd oranges abound—

[Balconies.

[Stage.

[Tasting them.

And apples, bitter apples, strew the ground:

Th' inhabitants are cannibals I fear:

I heard a hissing-there are serpents here!

O, there the people are-best keep my distance;

Our captain (gentle natives) craves assistance;

Our ship's well stor'd-in yonder creek we've laid

her,

His honour is no mercenary trader.

This is his first adventure; lend him aid,

And we may chance to drive a thriving trade.

His goods, he hopes, are prime, and brought from far,

Equally fit for gallantry and war.

What, no reply to promises so ample?

-I'd best step back-and order up a sample.

EPILOGUE,

SPOKEN BY

MR. LEE LEWES,

IN THE CHARACTER OF HARLEQUIN, AT HIS BENEFIT.

HOLD! prompter, hold! a word before your non

sense;

I'd speak a word or two to ease my conscience.
My pride forbids it ever should be said,

My heels eclips'd the honours of my head;
That I found humour in a pyeball vest,
Or ever thought that jumping was a jest.

[Takes off his mask. Whence, and what art thou, visionary birth? Nature disowns, and reason scorns thy mirth;