Ye rightful sovereigns of a fertile soil,
Where copious plenty pays the laborer's toil;
Where growing commerce freights each flowing tide.
With Ceres' bounty , and with Neptune's pride
Since your brave fires their savage inmates crush'd,
The tocsin silenc'd, and the war-whoop hush'd;
The hostile canvass less'ning from your shore,
The last remains of curst invasion bore;
Dead be the mem'ry of a noble foe;
Where bled the hero, let the olive grow.
Let dove-eyed peace succeed to war's alarms,
Bid savage rancor rust on useless arms;
Her amplest boon to modest merit give,
And guard those arts by which your glories live.
Your approbation's smiles let genius share;
From chilling frosts its budding blossoms spare.
Let not the panders of your taste oppose
The foreign bramble, to the native rose.
With nothing higher than a noble aim,
Your CANDOR's all the author dares to claim.
Untaught by rules, he makes his guide the heart,
And modest nature deems the pride of art.
No tragic tale from hist'ry forms his plan;
His facts are passions, and their hist'ry, man.
While in the court the supple pander shines,
And cheerless virtue in the dungeon pines;
The elder world's disasters rise to view,
To foil the stubborn virtues of the new:
While these in contrast on the stage appear;
There the proud despot — the firm patriot here;
That rob'd in power — this, arm'd with nature's law
From scenes like these, the bard his moral draws. —
O, learn, Columbia's sons, to prize your land,
Where no bold tyrant dares to list his hand;
Where rules a chief, whose power is all your own,
Virtue, his sceptre — and the laws, his throne;
Where, to obey — is every freeman's pride,
And, to rebel — were worse than suicide!
To captious critics, vers'd in scenic laws,
He dares not trust the merits of his cause.
View then, ye lib'ral, with a candid eye,
Kill not the bird, that first attempts to fly,
But aid his efforts with parental care,
'Till his weak pinions learn to ply the air,
'Till the young pupil dare aloft to rise,
And soar, with bolder flights, his native skies.
Now haughty prisoner, hear thy destiny!
Since mercy thou hast spurn'd, I give thee justice !
Shut from the light of heaven 'till death release thee,
In shameful durance shalt thou wear those chains,
So often bound by thee on better hands;
And hear, what well may make the tyrant's life
A curse — the songs of liberty and peace,
Sung by the people whom thou hast enslav'd!
I told the teazing author of the play,
I knew not what in his behalf to say;
But, fearful of his fate, he begged to hard,
That I could not refuse the piteous bard.
I speak extempore, and should I wander,
Far from the road of sense; I trust vour candor.
What shall I say? — why do not swear and scoff,
And, by your leaves, I'll try to take you off.
If Pope is right, that prince of rhyming elves,
That all our knowledge is to know ourselves,
How can we better, pray, employ our time?
I'll speak the truth, — so help me king of rhyme!
A playhouse is an ample field for satire;
Let's use it freely, tho' without ill nature.
But stop — to look around me, will be right; —
Upon my word, a very pretty sight!
Where young, and old, in motley mixture sit,
And grave, and gay, in Gallery, Box, and Pit;
Where well dressed lads display the frizeur's power,
And wigs, far whiter than the cauliflower!
What youth is that, so talkative and loud,
That thrusts his pretty face from out the crowd?
From Julien's are you, Sir? — I know your forte;
Eat soup — play high — cry "that's your sort !"
To prove your courage, swear away, like thunder,
While friends admire and strangers stare with wonder!
Ride out to Bird's, and play at bowls o' Sunday,
And swear it is not worse than on a Monday.
Most freely I acknowledge, Sir, your merit,
And when you've drank your grog, I grant you don't want spirit !
Say, who are you, far graver than physician?
I know you, now, Sir; — you're a — politician! —
"Great news" — O, what? — The French have not received
"Our Envoys; is the story, Sir, believed. —
O, sir, 'tis true; as friends, they'll never great ye,
Unless you break that cursed British Treaty!
Allowed to arm, too! sir, th' administration,
Unless resisted, will undo the nation! — "
I see, sir, you're a Jacobin — "No, in reality
I'm a true friend to Liberty and Equality!
And tho' of French Directors, 'tis the creed;
That we, poor Yankees are of spaniel breed;
Yet, will our masters kindly loose our collars,
If paid the "dog tax" of twelve million dollars!"
Take my advise, Sirs, and this nonsense drop;
Resume your yard-stick, and attend your shop! —
In yonder box, I see a charming maid; —
Not you, Miss Pert, who toss so high your head:
Whilst manners, taste, and sense, and sweetness vie,
To aid the keen destruction of her eye,
What pity she should unstring Cupid's fell-bow,
By showing the bare bones of either elbow.
Hide then, O, hide the far too naked arm,
For modest beauty gives a double charm!
Such are the trivial faults, absorbed and lost,
Amid the blaze of virtues, that you boast;
If then you will receive this slight essay,
By way of Epilogue, to this our Play;
If what I've said will pass instead of wit;
Your hands applaud me, and your hearts acquit!