"OUR bard, to modern epilogue a foe,
Thinks such mean mirth but deadens generous woe,
Dispels in idle air the moral sigh,
And wipes the tender tear from Pity's eye;
No more with social warmth the bosom burns,
But all the' unfeeling, selfish man returns."
Thus he began ;* and you approved the strain,
Till the next couplet sunk to light and vain.
You check'd him there. To you, to reason just,
He owns he triumph'd in your kind disgust.
Charm'd by your frown, by your displeasure graced,
He hails the rising virtue of your taste.
Wide will its influence spread, as soon as known:
Truth, to be loved, needs only to be shown.
Confirm it once the fashion to be good,
(Since fashion leads the fool, and awes the rude,)
No petulance shall wound the public ear;
No hand applaud what Honour shuns to hear;
No painful blush the modest cheek shall stain;
The worthy breast shall heave with no disdain.
Chastised to decency, the British stage
Shall oft invite the fair, invite the sage :
Both shall attend well-pleased, well-pleased depart;
Or, if they doom the verse, absolve the heart.
* Another epilogue was spoken after the first representation of the play, which began with the first six lines of this: but the rest of that epilogue having been very justly disliked by the audience, this was substituted in its place.
ROYAL HIGHNESS THE PRINCESS OF WALES.
IF I take the liberty once more to crave the protection of Your Royal Highness, for another Tragedy of my writing, it is because I am led almost unavoidably to it by my subject. In the character of Eleonora I have endeavoured to represent, however faintly, a princess distinguished for all the virtues that render greatness amiable. I have aimed, particularly, to do justice to her inviolable affection and generous tenderness for a prince who was the darling of a great and free people.
Their descendants even now will own with pleasure how properly this address is made to Your Royal Highness. I am, with the profoundest respect,
Your Royal Highness's most humble
and most devoted servant,
IN former times, when fierce religious rage
And priestly sway deform'd each suffering age,
All manly wit, all useful learning lay
In darkness lost, nor hoped returning day.
Religion then was stain'd by cruel deeds;
And free-born Reason stoop'd to craft and creeds.
But happier we! And though to-night we show
What fatal ills from blind devotion flow,
"T is not that we such rage renew'd can fear,
Or dread the hand of Persecution here.
Our scene would wide humanity impart,
Would breathe extensive candour through the heart,
Show true religion even to error kind,
And claim the perfect freedom of the mind.
If, too, the poet paints a noble strife
"Twixt the fond husband and the generous wife;
If all the father in his voice complains,
And all the mother in her tender strains;
If these best passions prompt the pleasing woe,
Indulge it freely: Nature bids it flow.
Where parent Nature leads, you cannot stray;
And what she wills, 't is virtue to obey.
Fond of Britannia's fame, and just to you,
He bids old English honour live anew,
And calls your great First Edward up to view.
But if his line too weak, his stroke too faint,
The graceful figure in full light to paint,
In candid part his honest meaning take,
And spare the poet for the hero's sake.
THEALD, archdeacon of Liege... Mr. Roberts.
SELIM, sultan of Jaffa
ELEONORA, princess of England. Mrs. Horton.
DARAXA, an Arabian princess. Mrs. Hallam.
Scene, Edward's tent in the camp before Jaffa, a city on the coast of Palestine.
PRINCE EDWARD, THEALD ARCHDEACON OF LIEGE, EARL OF
Ed. I WILL no longer doubt.
T is plain, my friends,
That, with our little band of English troops,
By all allies, all western powers, deserted,—
All but the noble knights that guard this land,
The flower of Europe and of Christian valour,-
Nought can be done, nought worthy of our cause,
Worthy of England's heir, and of the name
Of Lion-hearted Richard; whose renown,
After almost a century elapsed,
Shakes through its wide extent this eastern world.
What else could bend the Saracen to peace,
Who might, with better policy, refuse
To grant it us? Yes, to the prince of Jaffa
I will accord the peace he has demanded :
And though my troops, impatient, wait the signal
To storm yon walls, yet will I not expose,
In vain attempts, valour that should be saved
For better days, and for the public welfare.
Rash, fruitless war, from wanton glory waged,
Is only splendid murder. What says Theald?
Approves my reverend father of my purpose?
The. Edward, illustrious heir of England's crown.
I must indeed be blinded with the zeal
Of this our holy cause, to think your arms,
Thus all-forsaken, thus betray'd, sufficient
To reach the grandeur of your first design,
And from the yoke of infidels to free
The sacred city, object of our vows.
Yet this, methinks, this Jaffa might be seized:
That still were something, an auspicious omen
Of future conquest. But, unskill'd in war,
To you, my lord, and Gloucester's wise experience,
I this submit.
Speak, Gloucester, your advice,
Before I fix my latest resolution.
Glo. You know, my lord, I never was a friend
To this Crusado. My unchanged advice
Is strenuous still for peace. Nor this I urge
From our deserted arms and cause betray'd,
But from the state of our unhappy country.
Behold her, Edward, with a filial eye;
And say, is this a time for these adventures?
Behold her, then, with deep commotion shook,
Beneath a false delusive face of quiet:
Behold her bleeding yet from civil war,
Exhausted, sunk; drain'd by ten thousand arts
Of lawless imposition, priestly fraud,
Italian leeches, and insatiate Rome,
That never raged before with such gross insult,
With such abandon'd avarice. Besides,
Who knows what evil counsellors again
Are gather'd round the throne? In times like these,
Disturb'd and louring with unsettled freedom,
One step to lawless power, one bold attempt
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