To Mr. HAYLEY'S TRAGEDY of LORD RUSSEL,
HE Bard, whofe Tragick ftrains we now re-
hearse,
Hath often charm'd you with his varied verse;
Beguiling o'er his lines the vacant hour,
Oft have you felt and own'd his Mufe's pow'r!
Now to this roof we bring his favour'd page,
And force him, half-reluctant, to the Stage;
The Stage, where those who fimple Nature paint,
Fear left their strokes, too faithful, feem too faint.
For here, the artist, with a defperate hand,
And broad pound-brush, not pencil, takes his stand;
Anxious to make his cloth at diftance ftrike,
Daubs, in diftemper-rather large than like.
Thron'd in high car, and usher'd by loud drums,
From Bedlam fome great Alexander comes!
Appals with noife, and labours to surprise
"The very faculties of ears and eyes!"
Yet Britons never have difdain'd to grace The natural heroes of a milder race! Cato's firm bofom, and expiring groan For virtuous liberty, they made their own. Yet Cato's fteel but fign'd his country's fate For with him died, the freedom of the state! Your own calm Ruffell, by his nobler end, Freedom's mild Martyr, prov'd her firmest friend: Rous'd by his fate, a band of heroes rofe, To fov'reign tyranny determin'd foes; Champions of Faith and Law, their aweful ftand Chac'd bigotry and flav'ry from the land. To vindicate an injur'd nation's clains,
Naffau and Brunswick join'd their glorious names! To Britain her dear liberty enfur'd,
Stamp'd her Great Charter, and her rights fecur'd!
To guard those rights, Old England's nobleft pride, To guard those rights, our gallant Ruffell died. Britons attentively his tale fhall hear,
Nor blush at Patriot Woe to drop a tear;
A tear they'd fanctify with ftreams of blood,
Dying, like Ruffell, for their Country's good!
PROLOGUE
To Mr. HAYLEY'S COMEDY in RHYME, called The TWO CONNOISSEURS,
Spoken by Mr. WILSON in the Character of BAYES, September, 1784.
UR Manager, long fince, a Connoiffeur,
To gain full houses throws out many a Lure.
By novelty all rivalship to fmother,
Play follows play-one just as good as t'other ;
And now, to lull the Dragons of the Pit,
Two Connoiffeurs take counsel, Wit with Wit.
As thieves catch thieves, fo Poet convicts Poet;
Their plan's all wrong-and I muft overthrow it.
I am an author too, my name is Bayes;
My trade is fcribbling; my chief fcribbling, Plays.
Many I've written, clapp'd by houses cramm'd-
Acted with vaft applause !—and some few damn'd:
But ne'er tryed aught fo Low, or fo Sublime,
As Tragedy in Profe, or Comedy in Rhyme.
A Comedy in Rhyme! the Thought's not new:
'Twas tried long fince-and then it would not do.
What happy point the dialogué can crown,
Set to the hackneyed tune of Derry-down?
What Pegasus in flight can reach the spheres,
With bells, like pack-horfe, gingling at his ears?
Smart Profe gives hit for hit, and dash for dash,
Joke after joke, like lightening, flash on flash;
Retort fo quick, and repartee fo nimble,
'Tis all Prince Prettyman, and sharp Tom Thimble!
As the Piece ftands, no Critick could endure it;
'Twould die, but Bayes has a receipt to cure it.
And little Bayes, egad, has long been known
To make the works of others, all his own.
Whate'er your piece-'tis mine if you rehearse it;
Verse I tranfprofe; and if Profe, I transverse it.
Say but the word, I'll pull this Drama down,
And build it up again, to please the town.
The Thing's unfashion'd-yet it has fome foul;
The Fable's neat, the Characters are droll;
The Scope and Moral has a right intention,
And afks no added labour of invention.
Rhyme's the mere Superftructure; down it goes;
The old foundation fhall fupport my Profe.
If here and there fome fparks of genius fhine,
I will not drop a Thought, nor lose a Line-
So damn this Play, that you may come to mine!
AN ADDRESS
Spoken at the HAY-MARKET THEATRE by MR. LACY, September 13, 1784.
HEN firft Pandora's box, beneath whose lid
All Evils lay in dreadful ambush hid,
Its treafur'd plagues let loose upon mankind,
Hope only, cordial Hope, remain'd behind;
Hope! the fole balm of pain, fole charm for grief,
That gives the mind in agony relief!
She, with her fifter Patience (Heavenly pair!)
Teaches weak man the load of life to bear.
As fome poor mariner by tempeft tost,
Shipwreck'd at laft, and in the fea near loft,
Cleaves to one plank, and braving shoal and fand,
Buoy'd up by Hope, attempts to gain the land;
Thus I, my treasures on the waters cast,
Guided by Hope, seek here a port at last.
Oh! might I caft fecure my Anchor here!
Should Kindness footh my Grief and ease my Fear! Warm Gratitude, all anxious to repay
The foft reftorers of my happier day,
Within my fwelling breast new Pow'rs may raise,
And guide my feeble Aims to gain your
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