With age, with cares, with maladies oppress'd, He seeks the refuge of monastic rest.

Grief aids disease, remember'd folly stings, And his last sighs reproach the faith of kings. 120

Speak thou, whose thoughts at humble peace repine, Shall Wolsey's wealth, with Wolsey's end, be thine?

Or liv'st thou now, with safer pride content, The wisest justice on the banks of Trent?

For why did Wolsey, near the steeps of Fate, On weak foundations raise the enormous weight?

Why but to sink beneath Misfortune's blow, With louder ruin, to the gulphs below!

What gave great Villiers to the a.s.sa.s.sin's knife, And fix'd disease on Harley's closing life? 130 What murder'd Wentworth, and what exiled Hyde, By kings protected, and to kings allied?

What but their wish indulged, in courts to shine, And power too great to keep, or to resign!

When first the college rolls receive his name, The young enthusiast quits his ease for fame; Resistless burns the fever of renown, Caught from the strong contagion of the gown: O'er Bodley's dome his future labours spread, And Bacon's[1] mansion trembles o'er his head. 140 Are these thy views? Proceed, ill.u.s.trious youth, And Virtue guard thee to the throne of Truth!

Yet, should thy soul indulge the generous heat, Till captive Science yields her last retreat; Should Reason guide thee with her brightest ray, And pour on misty Doubt resistless day; Should no false kindness lure to loose delight, Nor praise relax, nor difficulty fright; Should tempting Novelty thy cell refrain, And Sloth effuse her opiate fumes in vain; 150 Should Beauty blunt on fops her fatal dart, Nor claim the triumph of a letter'd heart; Should no disease thy torpid veins invade, Nor Melancholy's phantoms haunt thy shade; Yet hope not life from grief or danger free, Nor think the doom of man reversed for thee: Deign on the pa.s.sing world to turn thine eyes, And pause a while from learning, to be wise; There mark what ills the scholar's life a.s.sail, Toil, envy, want, the patron, and the jail. 160 See nations, slowly wise, and meanly just, To buried merit raise the tardy bust.

If dreams yet flatter, once again attend, Hear Lydiat's[2] life, and Galileo's end.

Nor deem, when Learning her last prize bestows, The glittering eminence exempt from foes; See, when the vulgar 'scapes, despised or awed, Rebellion's vengeful talons seize on Laud.

From meaner minds though smaller fines content, The plunder'd palace, or sequester'd rent, 170 Mark'd out by dangerous parts he meets the shock, And fatal Learning leads him to the block: Around his tomb let Art and Genius weep, But hear his death, ye blockheads! hear and sleep.

The festal blazes, the triumphal show, The ravish'd standard, and the captive foe, The senate's thanks, the Gazette's pompous tale, With force resistless o'er the brave prevail.

Such bribes the rapid Greek o'er Asia whirl'd; For such the steady Romans shook the world; 180 For such in distant lands the Britons shine, And stain with blood the Danube or the Rhine; This power has praise, that virtue scarce can warm, Till Fame supplies the universal charm.

Yet Reason frowns on War's unequal game, Where wasted nations raise a single name, And mortgaged 'states their grandsires' wreaths regret, From age to age in everlasting debt; Wreaths which at last the dear-bought right convey To rust on medals, or on stones decay. 190

On what foundation stands the warrior's pride, How just his hopes, let Swedish Charles decide; A frame of adamant, a soul of fire, No dangers fright him, and no labours tire; O'er love, o'er fear, extends his wide domain, Unconquer'd lord of pleasure and of pain; No joys to him pacific sceptres yield, War sounds the trump, he rushes to the field; Behold surrounding kings their powers combine, And one capitulate, and one resign; 200 Peace courts his hand, but spreads her charms in vain: 'Think nothing gain'd,' he cries, 'till nought remain, On Moscow's walls till Gothic standards fly, And all be mine beneath the polar sky.'

The march begins in military state, And nations on his eye suspended wait; Stern Famine guards the solitary coast, And Winter barricades the realms of Frost; He comes, nor want nor cold his course delay; Hide, blushing Glory! hide Pultowa's day: 210 The vanquish'd hero leaves his broken bands, And shows his miseries in distant lands; Condemn'd a needy supplicant to wait, While ladies interpose, and slaves debate.

But did not Chance at length her error mend?

Did no subverted empire mark his end?

Did rival monarchs give the fatal wound, Or hostile millions press him to the ground?

His fall was destined to a barren strand, A petty fortress, and a dubious hand; 220 He left the name at which the world grew pale, To point a moral, or adorn a tale.

All times their scenes of pompous woe afford, From Persia's tyrant to Bavaria's lord.

In gay hostility, and barbarous pride, With half mankind embattled at his side, Great Xerxes comes to seize the certain prey, And starves exhausted regions in his way; Attendant Flattery counts his myriads o'er, Till counted myriads soothe his pride no more; 230 Fresh praise is tried, till madness fires his mind, The waves he lashes, and enchains the wind; New powers are claim'd, new powers are still bestow'd, Till rude resistance lops the spreading G.o.d; The daring Greeks deride the martial show, And heap their valleys with the gaudy foe; The insulted sea with humbler thoughts he gains, A single skiff to speed his flight remains; The enc.u.mber'd oar scarce leaves the dreaded coast Through purple billows and a floating host. 240 The bold Bavarian,[3] in a luckless hour, Tries the dread summits of Caesarean power, With unexpected legions bursts away, And sees defenceless realms receive his sway: Short sway! fair Austria spreads her mournful charms, The Queen, the Beauty, sets the world in arms; From hill to hill the beacon's rousing blaze Spreads wide the hope of plunder and of praise; The fierce Croatian, and the wild Hussar, With all the sons of ravage, crowd the war; 250 The baffled prince, in Honour's flattering bloom, Of hasty greatness finds the fatal doom, His foes' derision, and his subjects' blame, And steals to death from anguish and from shame.

Enlarge my life with mult.i.tude of days,-- In health, in sickness, thus the suppliant prays, Hides from himself his state, and shuns to know That life protracted is protracted woe.

Time hovers o'er, impatient to destroy, And shuts up all the pa.s.sages of joy: 260 In vain their gifts the bounteous seasons pour, The fruit autumnal, and the vernal flower; With listless eyes the dotard views the store-- He views, and wonders that they please no more.

Now pall the tasteless meats and joyless wines, And Luxury with sighs her slave resigns.

Approach, ye minstrels! try the soothing strain, Diffuse the tuneful lenitives of pain: No sounds, alas! would touch the impervious ear, Though dancing mountains witness'd Orpheus near: 270 Nor lute nor lyre his feeble powers attend, Nor sweeter music of a virtuous friend; But everlasting dictates crowd his tongue, Perversely grave, or positively wrong; The still returning tale, and lingering jest, Perplex the fawning niece and pamper'd guest; While growing hopes scarce awe the gathering sneer, And scarce a legacy can bribe to hear; The watchful guests still hint the last offence, The daughter's petulance, the son's expense, 280 Improve his heady rage with treacherous skill, And mould his pa.s.sions till they make his will.

Unnumber'd maladies his joints invade, Lay siege to life, and press the dire blockade; But unextinguish'd Avarice still remains, And dreaded losses aggravate his pains; He turns, with anxious heart and crippled hands, His bonds of debt, and mortgages of lands; Or views his coffers with suspicious eyes, Unlocks his gold, and counts it till he dies. 290

But grant, the virtues of a temperate prime Bless with an age exempt from scorn or crime-- An age that melts with unperceived decay, And glides in modest innocence away, Whose peaceful day Benevolence endears, Whose night congratulating Conscience cheers; The general favourite as the general friend: Such age there is, and who shall wish its end?

Yet e'en on this her load Misfortune flings, To press the weary minutes' flagging wings; 300 New sorrow rises as the day returns, A sister sickens, or a daughter mourns.

Now kindred Merit fills the sable bier, Now lacerated Friendship claims a tear; Year chases year, decay pursues decay, Still drops some joy from withering life away; New forms arise, and different views engage, Superfluous lags the veteran on the stage, Till pitying Nature signs the last release, And bids afflicted worth retire to peace. 310

But few there are whom hours like these await, Who set unclouded in the gulphs of Fate.

From Lydia's monarch[4] should the search descend, By Solon caution'd to regard his end, In life's last scene what prodigies surprise, Fears of the brave, and follies of the wise!

From Marlborough's eyes the streams of dotage flow, And Swift expires a driveller and a show.

The teeming mother, anxious for her race, Begs for each birth the fortune of a face: 320 Yet Vane[5] could tell what ills from beauty spring; And Sedley[6] cursed the form that pleased a king.

Ye nymphs of rosy lips and radiant eyes, Whom pleasure keeps too busy to be wise, Whom joys with soft varieties invite, By day the frolic, and the dance by night, Who frown with vanity, who smile with art, And ask the latest fashion of the heart; What care, what rules your heedless charms shall save, Each nymph your rival, and each youth your slave?

The rival batters, and the lover mines.

With distant voice neglected Virtue calls, Less heard and less, the faint remonstrance falls; Tired with contempt, she quits the slippery reign, And Pride and Prudence take her seat in vain; In crowd at once, where none the pa.s.s defend, The harmless freedom and the private friend.

The guardians yield, by force superior plied-- To Interest, Prudence; and to Flattery, Pride. 340 Here Beauty falls betray'd, despised, distress'd, And hissing Infamy proclaims the rest.

Where, then, shall Hope and Fear their objects find?

Must dull suspense corrupt the stagnant mind?

Must helpless man, in ignorance sedate, Roll darkling down the torrent of his fate?

Must no dislike alarm, no wishes rise, No cries invoke the mercies of the skies?

Inquirer, cease! pet.i.tions yet remain, Which Heaven may hear, nor deem Religion vain. 350 Still raise for good the supplicating voice, But leave to Heaven the measure and the choice; Safe in His power, whose eyes discern afar The secret ambush of a specious prayer, Implore His aid, in His decisions rest, Secure whate'er He gives, He gives the best.

Yet when the sense of sacred presence fires, And strong devotion to the skies aspires, Pour forth thy fervours for a healthful mind, Obedient pa.s.sions, and a will resign'd; 360 For love, which scarce collective man can fill; For patience, sovereign o'er trans.m.u.ted ill; For faith, that, panting for a happier seat, Counts death kind Nature's signal of retreat: These goods for man the laws of Heaven ordain, These goods He grants, who grants the power to gain; With these celestial Wisdom calms the mind, And makes the happiness she does not find.

[Footnote 1: 'Bacon:' Friar, whose study was to fall when a wiser man than he entered it]

[Footnote 2: 'Lydiat:' a learned divine, who spent many of his days in prison for debt; he lived in Charles the First's time.]

[Footnote 3: 'Bavarian:' Charles Albert, who aspired to the empire of Austria against Maria Theresa--but was baffled.]

[Footnote 4: 'Lydia's monarch:' Croesus.]

[Footnote 5: Vane: 'Lady Vane, a celebrated courtezan; her memoirs are in 'Peregrine Pickle.']

[Footnote 6: 'Sedley:' mistress of James II.]

PROLOGUE

SPOKEN BY MR GARRICK, AT THE OPENING OF THE THEATRE-ROYAL DRURY-LANE, 1747.

When Learning's triumph o'er her barbarous foes First rear'd the stage, immortal Shakspeare rose; Each change of many-colour'd life he drew, Exhausted worlds, and then imagined new: Existence saw him spurn her bounded reign, And panting Time toil'd after him in vain; His powerful strokes presiding Truth impress'd, And unresisted Pa.s.sion storm'd the breast.

Then Jonson came, instructed from the school, To please in method, and invent by rule; 10 His studious patience and laborious art, By regular approach essay'd the heart: Cold Approbation gave the lingering bays, For those who durst not censure, scarce could praise; A mortal born, he met the general doom, But left, like Egypt's kings, a lasting tomb.

The wits of Charles found easier ways to fame, Nor wish'd for Jonson's art, or Shakspeare's flame.

Themselves they studied; as they felt, they writ: Intrigue was plot, obscenity was wit. 20 Vice always found a sympathetic friend; They pleased their age, and did not aim to mend.

Yet bards like these aspired to lasting praise, And proudly hoped to pimp in future days.

Their cause was general, their supports were strong; Their slaves were willing, and their reign was long: Till Shame regain'd the post that Sense betray'd, And Virtue call'd Oblivion to her aid.

Then crush'd by rules, and weaken'd as refined, For years the power of Tragedy declined; 30 From bard to bard the frigid caution crept, Till Declamation roar'd, whilst Pa.s.sion slept; Yet still did Virtue deign the stage to tread, Philosophy remain'd though Nature fled.

But forced, at length, her ancient reign to quit, She saw great Faustus lay the ghost of Wit; Exulting Folly hail'd the joyous day, And Pantomime and Song confirm'd her sway.

But who the coming changes can presage, And mark the future periods of the Stage? 40 Perhaps if skill could distant times explore, New Behns,[1] new Durfeys, yet remain in store; Perhaps where Lear has raved, and Hamlet died, On flying cars new sorcerers may ride; Perhaps (for who can guess the effects of chance?) Here Hunt[2] may box, or Mahomet[3] may dance.

Hard is his lot that, here by Fortune placed, Must watch the wild vicissitudes of Taste; With every meteor of Caprice must play, And chase the new-blown bubbles of the day. 50 Ah! let not Censure term our fate our choice, The Stage but echoes back the public voice; The drama's laws, the drama's patrons give, For we that live to please, must please to live.

Then prompt no more the follies you decry, As tyrants doom their tools of guilt to die; 'Tis yours, this night, to bid the reign commence Of rescued Nature, and reviving Sense; To chase the charms of Sound, the pomp of Show, For useful Mirth and salutary Woe; 60 Bid scenic Virtue form the rising age, And Truth diffuse her radiance from Stage.

[Footnote 1: 'Behn:' Afra, a popular but obscure novelist and play-wright.]