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EPILOGUE.

ARRY a Turk! a haughty, tyrant king!
Who thinks us women born to dress and fing

To please his fancy!-fee no other man!-
Let him perfuade me to it-if he can :
Befides, he has fifty wives; and who can bear
To have the fiftieth part her paltry share?

'Tis true, the fellow 's handsome, ftrait, and tall;
But how the devil fhould he please us all!
My fwain is little-true-but, be it known,
My pride's to have that little all my own.
Men will be ever to their errors blind,
Where woman's not allow'd to speak her mind;
I swear this Eaftern pageantry is nonsense,

And for one man-one wife's enough of confcience.

In vain proud man ufurps what 's woman's due ; For us alone, they honour's paths pursue: Infpir'd by us, they glory's heights afcend; Woman the fource, the object, and the end. Tho' wealth, and pow'r, and glory, they receive, These all are trifles to what we can give.

For us the statesman labours, hero fights,

Bears toilfome days, and wakes long tedious nights; And, when bleft peace has filenc'd war's alarms, Receives his full reward in beauty's arms.

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PROLOGU E,

SPOKEN by Mr. GARRICK, APRIL 5, 1750,

Before the MASQUE of COMUS.

Acted at DRURY-LANE THEATRE, for the Benefit of MILTON'S Grand-Daughter *.

Y

E patriot crowds, who burn for England's fame,

Ye nymphs, whose bosoms beat at Milton's name, Whose gen'rous zeal, unbought by flatt'ring rhymes, Shames the mean penfions of Auguftan times, Immortal patrons of fucceeding days, Attend this prelude of perpetual praise; Let wit, condemn'd the feeble war to wage With close malevolence, or publick rage, Let study, worn with virtue's fruitless lore, Behold this theatre, and grieve no more. This night, diftinguish'd by your finiles, fhall tell That never Britain can in vain excel; The flighted arts futurity fhall truft, And rifing ages haften to be juft.

At length our mighty bard's victorious lays
Fill the loud voice of universal praise;

And baffled fpite, with hopeless anguish dumb,
Yields to renown the centuries to come;
With ardent hafte each candidate of fame,
Ambitious, catches at his tow'ring name;
He fees, and pitying fees, vain wealth beftow
Those pageant honours which he fcorn'd below,
While crowds aloft the laureat buft behold,

Or trace his form on circulating gold.

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PROLOGUE,

SPOKEN by Mr. GARRICK, APRIL 5, 1750,

Before the MASQUE of COMUS.

131

Acted at DRURY-LANE THEATRE, for the Benefit of
MILTON'S Grand-Daughter *.

Y

E patriot crowds, who burn for England's fame,
Ye nymphs, whofe bofonis beat at Milton's name,
Whofe gen'rous zeal, unbought by flatt'ring rhymes,
name,
Shames the mean penfions of Auguftan times,
Immortal patrons of fucceeding days,
Attend this prelude of perpetual praise;
Let wit, condemn'd the feeble war to wage
With close malevolence, or publick rage,
Let ftudy, worn with virtue's fruitless lore,
Behold this theatre, and grieve no more.
This night, diftinguifh'd by your finiles, fhall tell
That never Britain can in vain excel;
The flighted arts futurity fhall truft,
And rifing ages haften to be juft.

At length our mighty bard's victorious lays
Fill the loud voice of univerfal praise ;
And baffled fpite, with hopeless anguish dumb,
Yields to renown the centuries to come;
With ardent hafte each candidate of fame,
Ambitious, catches at his tow'ring name;
He fees, and pitying fees, vain wealth befow
Those pageant honours which he scorn'd belox,
While crowds aloft the laureat buft behold,
Or trace his form on circulating gold.

* See Vol. IX. p. 150,
K 2

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