prologue
spoken by mr. woods on his be-night, monday, 16th april, 1787.
when, by a generous public's kind accim,
that dearest meed is granted—ho fame;
waen here your favour is the actor's lot,
nor even the man in private life fot;
what breast so dead to heavenly virtue's glow,
but heaves impassion'd with the grateful throe?
poor is the task to please a barb'rous throng,
it needs no siddons' powers in southern's song;
but here an a nation, fam'd afar,
fenius, learning high, as great in war.
hail, caledonia, name for ever dear!
before whose sons i'm honour'd to appear?
where every sce, every nobler art,
that inform the mind or mend the heart,
is known; as grateful nations oft have found,
far as the rude barbarian marks the bound.
philosophy, no idle pedant dream,
here holds her search by heaven-taught reason's beam;
here history paints with elegand force
the tide of empire's fluctuating course;
here dougs forms wild shakespeare into pn,
and harley rouses all the god in man.
when well-form'd taste and sparkling wit unite
with manly lore, or female beauty bright,
(beauty, where faultless symmetry and grace
only charm us in the sed pce),
witness my heart, how oft with panting fear,
as on this night, i've met these judges here!
but still the hope experieaught to live,
equal to judge—you're did tive.
no hundred—headed riot here we meet,
with ded w beh his feet;
nor insolence assumes fair freedom's name:
like caledonians, you appud or bme.
o thou, dread power! whose empire-giving hand
has oft been stretch'd to shield the honour'd nd!
strong may she glow with all her a fire;
may every son be worthy of his sire;
firm may she rise, with generous disdain
at tyranny's, or direr pleasure's ;
still self-depe in her native shore,
bold may she brave grim danger's loudest roar,
till fate the curtain drop on worlds to be no more.