Since the refinement of this polish'd age <br />Has swept irnmortal raillery from the stage; <br />Since taste has now expunged licentious wit, <br />Which stamp'd disgrace on all an author writ; <br />Since now to please with purer scenes we seek, <br />Nor dare to call the blush from Beauty's cheek; <br />Oh! let the modest Muse some pity claim, <br />And meet indulgence, though she find not fame. <br />Still, not for her alone we wish respect, <br />Others appear more conscious of defect; <br />To-night no veteran Roscii you behold, <br />In all the arts of scenic action old; <br />No Cooke, no Kemble, can salute you here, <br />No Siddons draw the sympathetic tear; <br />To-night you throng to witness the début <br />Of embryo actors, to the Drama new: <br />Here, then, our almost unfledged wings we try; <br />Clip not our pinions ere the birds can fly: <br />Failing in this our first attempt to soar, <br />Drooping, alas! we fall to rise no more. <br />Not one poor trembler only fear betrays <br />Who hopes, yet almost dreads, to meet your praise, <br />But all our dramatis personæ wait <br />In fond suspense this crisis of their fate. <br />No venal views our prosress can retard, <br />Your generous plaudits are our sole reward. <br />For these, each Hero all his power displays, <br />Each timid Heroine shrinks before your gaze. <br />Surely the last will some protection find; <br />None to the softer sex can prove unkind <br />While Youth and Beauty form the female shield, <br />The sternest censor to the fair must yield. <br />Yet, should our feeble efforts nought avail, <br />Should, after all, our best endeavours fail, <br />Still let some mercy in your bosoms live, <br />And, if you can't applaud, at le'st forgive.<br /><br />George Gordon Byron<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/an-occasional-prologue-delivered-previous-to-the-performance-of-the-wheel-of-fortune-at-a-private-theatre/
