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قراءة كتاب The Lame Lover A Comedy in Three Acts
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اللغة: English
الصفحة رقم: 1
THE LAME LOVER,
A COMEDY
IN THREE ACTS.
As it is Performed at the
Theatre-Royal in the Hay-Market.
By SAMUEL FOOTE, Esq.
LONDON,
Printed for Paul Vaillant: and sold by P. Elmsly, in the Strand; and Robinson and Roberts, No. 25, Pater-noster-Row. MDCCLXX.
TO
THE RIGHT HONOURABLE
FRANCIS SEYMOUR CONWAY,
EARL OF HERTFORD,
LORD CHAMBERLAIN OF
HIS MAJESTY'S HOUSEHOLD,
TO WHOSE
POLITENESS AND CANDOUR
THE AUTHOR
OWES EVERY ACKNOWLEDGMENT,
THIS COMEDY IS
GRATEFULLY DEDICATED
BY
HIS LORDSHIP'S
MOST OBLIGED
AND
MOST OBEDIENT SERVANT,
North End.
SAM. FOOTE.
PROLOGUE.
Written and Spoken by Mr. Gentleman.
| Prologues, like cards of compliment, we find, Most as unmeaning as politely kind; To beg a favour, or to plead excuse, Of both appears to be the gen'ral use. Shall my words, tipt with flattery, prepare A kind exertion of your tend'rest care? Shall I present our Author to your sight, All pale and trembling for his fate this night? Shall I sollicit the most pow'rful arms To aid his cause—the force of beauty's charms? Or tell each critic, his approving taste Must give the sterling stamp, wherever plac'd? This might be done—but so to seek applause Argues a conscious weakness in the cause. No—let the Muse in simple truth appear, Reason and Nature are the judges here: If by their strict and self-describing laws, The sev'ral characters to-night she draws; If from the whole a pleasing piece is made, On the true principles of light and shade; Struck with the harmony of just design, Your eyes—your ears—your hearts, will all combine To grant applause:—but if an erring hand Gross disproportion marks in motley band, If the group'd figures false connexions show, And glaring colours without meaning glow, Your wounded feelings, turn'd a diff'rent way, Will justly damn—th' abortion of a play. As Farquhar has observ'd, our English law, Like a fair spreading oak, the Muse should draw, By Providence design'd, and wisdom made For honesty to thrive beneath its shade; Yet from its boughs some insects shelter find, Dead to each nobler feeling of the mind, Who thrive, alas! too well, and never cease To prey on justice, property, and peace. At such to-night, with other legal game, Our vent'rous author takes satiric aim; And brings, he hopes, originals to view, Nor pilfers from th' Old Magpie, nor the New1. But will |