Obrázky na stránke
PDF
ePub

PROLOGUE,

Written by HENRY JAMES PYE, Esq.

Spoken by MR. EYRE.

WHIL

HILE SHAKESPEARE's plastic pencil to your eyes

Bids the majestic tow'rs of VENICE rife,
Scenes to the British Mufe appropriate long
The favorite objects of dramatic fong:-
For here in dreadful pathos, wildly great,
He thrill'd the foul with DESDEMONA's fate,
Here gentler OTWAY taught the tear to flow
At the fad tale of BELVIDERA'S WOe:-
Surely a British audience must deplore
The wreck of ancient glories now no more!
Where now the daring prows, that plow'd the deep
From ACRE's trophied walls to CALPE's steep?
To the light breeze the fail of commerce gave,
Or fwept the faded crefcent from the wave?
Sunk, funk, alas! in dire oppreffion's hour,
The abject vaffals of a foreign power!

Omens of better hope, and happier fate,
ALBION, on thy commercial empire wait.
Thy royal merchants, not intent alone
Treasures to bring from earth's remotest zone,
Bright feience waft with ev'ry fav'ring wind,
Spread Virtue's love, and meliorate mankind.
Their barks in peace the hardy feamen form
A living bulwark 'gainst the battle's storm
Induc'd by them, ftrong Agriculture's arm
Clothes all our vales with verdure's livelier charm;
Our forefts wave with more luxuriant pride;

Our fertile uplands richer harvests hide.

?

'Stout

Stout Labor digs the metal from the mine,
While skill and induftry the mafs refine,
Defence and plenty to our fields afford,
And forge alike the coulter and the fword;
The real arts of Alchymy unfold,

And ev'ry baser fubftance turn to gold.

In the just choice by wife BASSANIO made,
This folemn truth our Poet's pen convey'd :
Silver and gold, of fultry climes the birth, -
By general use stamp'd with ideal worth,
Are but the figns of wealth.-IBERIA pines
In poverty, amid Porosi's mines;

While the rude ores our northern mountains yield
Open to manly toil an ample field,

Give us the means our plenteous marts to store
With ev'ry produce drawn from ev'ry fhore;
Bid bold exertion animate the soul,

And prudence point, and vigor reach the goal:
The glorious prize where faith and honor guard,
And wealth is ftrict integrity's reward.
Hence learns commercial credit to command,
By one flight touch of her etherial wand,
More treasures than in Ocean's caverns lie,
Or Earth's exhausted entrails can supply.

1

[merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][ocr errors][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small]

MERCHANT OF VENICE.

ACT I.

SCENE I.

A Street in Venice.

ANTONIO, SALARINO, and SOLANIO, Discovered.

Antonio.

IN footh, I know not why I am so fad;

It wearies me; you fay, it wearies you.
But how I caught it, found it, or came by it,
What stuff 'tis made of, whereof it is born,
I am to learn.

And fuch a want-wit sadness makes of me,
That I have much ado to know myself.

Sala. Your mind is toffing on the ocean:
There, where your argofies with portly fail,
Like figniors and rich burghers of the flood,
Or as it were the pageants of the fea,
traffickers,

Do over-peer the petty

That curt'ly to them, do them reverence,

As they fly by them with their woven wings.

Sol. Believe me, fir, had I fuch venture forth, The better part of my affections would

[blocks in formation]

Be with my hopes abroad. I fhould be still
Plucking the grafs, to know where fits the wind;
Peering in maps for ports, and piers, and roads;
And every object, that might make me fear
Misfortune to my ventures, out of doubt,
Would make me fad.

Sala. My wind, cooling my broth,
Would blow me to an ague, when I thought
What harm a wind too great might do at fea.
I should not fee the fandy hour-glafs run,
But I fhould think of shallows, and of flats;
And fee my wealthy Andrew dock'd in fand,
Vailing her high top lower than her ribs,
To kifs her burial. Should I go to church,
And fee the holy edifice of ftone,

And not bethink me ftraight of dangerous rocks?
Which, touching but my gentle veffel's fide,
Would fcatter all her fpices on the stream;
Enrobe the roaring waters with my filks;
And, in a word, but even now worth this,
And now worth nothing? Shall I have the thought
To think on this: and fhall I lack the thought,
That fuch a thing, bechanc'd, would make me
fad?

But, tell not me; I know, Antonio

Is fad to think upon his merchandize.

Ant. Believe me, no: I thank my fortune for it, My ventures are not in one bottom trusted,

Nor

« PredošláPokračovať »