PROLOGUE
,
SPOKEN
BY
THE
AUTHOR
,
ON
OPENING
THE
NEW
THEATRE
AT
BLENHEIM
,
OCTOBER
1787.
TO
THEIR
GRACES
THE
DUKE
AND
DUCHESS
OF
MARLBOROUGH
.
THOUGH
each
theatric
wight
,
in
prose
or
rhyme
,
Condemns
of
course
the
drama
of
his
time
;
'Tis
better
sure
than
when
,
in
tilted
cart
Each
tragic
hero
mouth'd
his
thund'ring
part
.
The
Muses
then
—
their
brains
a
little
crack'd
,
Were
fairly
subject
to
the
Vagrant
Act
.
But
,
mark
!
how
greatly
chang'd
their
present
state
!
Victims
no
more
of
law
,
caprice
,
or
fate
;
Thrice-welcome
now
to
Shakspeare's
native
isle
,
Where
Genius
hails
them
with
a
fost'ring
smile
:
Whilst
Spenser's
princely
race
erect
their
shrine
,
'Midst
scenes
for
ever
sacred
to
the
Nine
.
These
scenes
,
of
old
how
fam'd
for
beauteous
dames
!
And
Blenheim
now
the
palm
of
beauty
claims
.
Within
this
shade
,
as
say
the
tales
of
old
,
As
Hull
in
pensive
verse
hath
sweetly
told
,
HERE
Nature's
fairest
rose
was
seen
to
bloom
,
Till
jealous
rage
decreed
an
early
tomb
.
Where
her
cold
ashes
rest
,
let
no
stern
prude
,
In
all
the
pomp
of
vestal
pride
,
intrude
.
By
Pity's
tears
embalm'd
,
still
lives
her
name
,
By
mercy
screen'd
from
infamy
and
shame
.
His
lyre
to
strains
uncouth
HERE
Chaucer
strung
,
And
o'er
THESE
plains
his
Gothic
stanzas
sung
.
And
erst
within
this
dark
embowering
shade
,
The
stern
Eliza
dwelt
—
a
captive
maid
.
Then
free
from
murd'rous
deeds
and
crimes
of
state
,
And
guiltless
then
of
sainted
Mary's
fate
.
Here
Wilmot
too
,
the
witty
and
the
gay
,
Repentant
—
saw
the
close
of
mortal
day
.
Oft
o'er
his
urn
shall
British
Genius
weep
,
And
there
in
watchet
weeds
her
vigils
keep
.
Nor
Love's
soft
wreath
alone
shall
Woodstock
claim
,
Nor
rest
on
GENIUS
all
her
hopes
of
fame
.
HERE
,
ere
on
Cressy's
plain
the
victor
fought
,
Great
Edward's
soul
the
flame
of
glory
caught
.
And
HERE
,
when
peace
return'd
to
Britain's
shore
,
When
Marlb'rough
bade
his
thunders
cease
to
roar
,
And
Albion
triumph'd
o'er
unnumber'd
foes
,
'Twas
HERE
her
guardian
hero
sought
repose
.
To
crown
with
wealth
her
Marlb'rough's
glorious
toil
A
grateful
country
gave
THIS
classic
soil
.
She
bade
yon
dome
arise
,
and
by
its
name
Prolong'd
her
mighty
warrior's
lasting
fame
;
Then
round
her
godlike
Marlb'rough's
glory'd
shrine
Bade
all
her
brightest
,
greenest
,
laurels
twine
.
And
HERE
,
through
countless
ages
shall
they
bloom
,
And
shed
around
a
consecrated
gloom
:
For
still
to
Britain
shall
THESE
scenes
be
dear
,
Since
all
the
milder
virtues
flourish
HERE
.
Like
vernal
suns
,
with
genial
warmth
they
glow
,
And
soothe
the
pangs
of
poverty
and
woe
.
But
,
sick
of
worthies
and
their
fame
,
ye
fair
,
Perhaps
ye
wish
to
know
our
bill
of
fare
.
Spoken
before
Who
is
the
Dupe
?
Know
,
then
,
fair
Cowley's
Muse
will
paint
a
wight
,
Who
thinks
that
Learning's
always
in
the
right
.
But
,
sure
,
of
tonish
life
he
little
knows
Who
worships
scholars
,
and
who
laughs
at
beaux
!
Which
of
the
bucks
that
shine
in
Pleasure's
round
Was
e'er
a
scholar
or
a
critic
found
?
By
Fashion's
rule
the
sweets
of
life
they
cull
,
"
Gay
by
constraint
,
and
elegantly
dull
See
Hobhouse
.
.
"
They
ne'er
o'er
Homer's
thund'ring
verses
pore
;
And
Tully's
self
they
deem
an
arrant
bore
.
When
such
the
charming
youths
our
isle
can
boast
,
What
chance
has
Learning
with
a
reigning
toast
?
For
both
our
sakes
,
ye
Fair
,
I
hope
our
Bard
Has
on
the
softer
sex
been
somewhat
hard
:
For
,
if
the
picture
she
presents
be
just
,
Then
—
books
farewell
!
—
consign'd
to
mould'ring
dust
;
For
,
who
the
toils
of
Learning
will
pursue
,
If
unprotected
and
ungrac'd
by
you
?
Spoken
before
the
Lyar
.
This
night
our
laughing
Muse
will
paint
a
youth
At
constant
war
with
Heaven-descended
Truth
.
Yet
still
she
hopes
,
by
Candour's
rules
you
'll
try
her
,
Nor
kill
with
frown
severe
one
harmless
Lyar
.