Since Athens first began to draw mankind, <br />To picture life, and show the impassion'd mind; <br />The truly wise have ever deem'd the stage <br />The moral school of each enlighten'd age. <br />There, in full pomp, the tragic Muse appears, <br />Queen of soft sorrows, and of useful fears. <br />Faint is the lesson reason's rules impart: <br />She pours it strong, and instant through the heart. <br />If virtue is her theme, we sudden glow <br />With generous flame; and what we feel, we grow. <br />If vice she paints, indignant passions rise; <br />The villain sees himself with loathing eyes. <br />His soul starts, conscious, at another's groan, <br />And the pale tyrant trembles on his throne. <br />To-night, our meaning scene attempts to show <br />What fell events from dark suspicion flow; <br />Chief when it taints a lawless monarch's mind, <br />To the false herd of flattering slaves confined. <br />The soul sinks gradual to so dire a state; <br />E'en excellence but serves to feed its hate: <br />To hate remorseless cruelty succeeds, <br />And every worth, and every virtue bleeds. <br />Behold, our author at your bar appears, <br />His modest hopes depress'd by conscious fears. <br />Faults he has many—but to balance those, <br />His verse with heart-felt love of virtue glows: <br />All slighter errors let indulgence spare, <br />And be his equal trial full and fair. <br />For this best British privilege we call, <br />Then—as he merits, let him stand or fall.<br /><br />James Thomson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/prologue-to-mallet-s-mustapha/
