In these grave scenes, and unembellish'd strains,
Where neither sly intrigue nor passion reigns;
How dare we hope an audience will approve
A drama void of wit, and free from love?
Where no soft Juliet sighs, and weeps, and starts,
No fierce Hoxman takes by storm your hearts;
No comic ridicule; no tragic swagger,
Not one elopement, not one bowl or dagger!
No husband wrong'd, who trusted and believ'd,
No father cheated, and no friend deceiv'd;
No libertine in glowing strains described,
No lying chambermaid that rake had bribed;
Nor give we, to reward the rover's life,
The ample portion and the beauteous wife —
Behold, to raise the manners of the age,
The frequent moral of the scenic page!
And shall we then transplant these anxious scenes
To private life? to misses in their teens?
The pompous tones, the masculine attire,
The stills, the buskin, the dramatic fire,
Corrupt the softness of the gentler kind,
And taint the sweetness of the youthful mind.
Ungovern'd passions, jealousy and rage,
But ill become our sex, still less our age;
Whether we learn too well what we describe,
Or fail the poet's meaning to imbibe;
In either case, your blame we justly raise,
In either lose, or ought to lose, your praise
How dull, if tamely flows th' impassion'd strain!
If well — how bad to be the thing we feign!
To fix the mimic scene upon the heart,
And keep the passion when we quit the part!
Such are the perils the dramatic muse,
In youthful bosoms, threatens to infuse!
Our timid author labours to impart
A less pernicious lesson to the heart;
What, though no charm of melody divine
Smooth her round period, or adorn her line;
Though her unpolish'd page in vain aspires
To emulate the graces she admires;
Though destitute of skill, her sole pretence
But aims at simple truth and common sense;
Yet shall her honest unassuming page
Tell that its author, in a modish age,
Preferr'd plain virtue to the boast of art,
Nor fix'd one dang'rous maxim on the heart.
Oh! if, to crown her efforts, she could find,
They rooted but one error from one mind;
If in the bosom of ingenuous youth
They stamp'd one useful thought, one lasting truth,
'Twould be a fairer tribute to her name,
Than loud applauses, or an empty fame.