When first was rear’d the British Stage,
Rude was the scene and weak the lay;
The Bard explored the sacred Page,
And holy Mystery form’d his Play.
Th’ affections of the mortal breast
In simple Moral next he sung,
Each Vice in human shape he drest,
And to each Virtue gave a tongue.
Then ’gan the Comic Muse unfold
In coarser jests her homely art:
Of Gammer Gurton’s loss she told,
And laugh’d at Hodge’s awkward smart.
Come from thy wildly-winding stream,
First-born of Genius, SHAKSPEARE, come!
The listening World attends thy theme,
And bids each elder Bard be dumb:
For thou, within the human Mind
Fix’d, as on thy peculiar throne,
Sitt’st like a Deity inshrined;
And either Muse is all thine own!
Yet shall not Time’s rough hand destroy
The scenes by learned Jonson writ;
Nor shall Oblivion e’er enjoy
The charms of Fletcher’s courtly wit:
And still in matchless beauty live
The numbers of that Lyric Strain
Sung gayly to the Star of Eve
By Comus and his jovial Train.
Here sunk the Stage:—and dire alarms
The Muse’s voice did overwhelm;
For wounded Freedom call’d to arms,
And Discord shook the embattled Realm.
But Peace return’d; and with her came
(Alas! how changed!) the tuneful Pair:
Thalia’s eye should blench with shame,
And her sad Sister weep to hear
How the mask’d Fair, in Charles’s reign,
Her lewd and riotous Fancy fed
At Killigrew’s debauchful scene,
While hapless Otway pined for Bread.
Thus the sweet Lark shall sing unheard,
And Philomel sit silent by;
While every vile and chattering bird
Torments the grove with ribald cry.
And see what witless Bards presume
With buskin’d fools to rhyme and rage;
While Mason’s idle Muse is dumb,
And weary Garrick quits the Stage.