Samuel Johnson(1709–1784)

Prologue Spoken by Mr. Garrick

At the Opening of the Theater Royal, Drury Lane,1747

W h e n Learning's triumph o'er her barbarous foes

First reared the stage, immortal Shakespeare rose;

E a c h change of many-colored life he drew,

Exhausted worlds, and then imagined new:

Existence saw him spurn her bounded reign,

And panting Time toiled after him in vain.

His powerful strokes presiding Truth impressed,

And unresisted Passion stormed the breast.

T h e n Jonson2 came, instructed from the school

To please in method and invent by rule;

His studious patience and laborious art

By regular approach essayed the heart;

Cold Approbation gave the lingering bays,3

For those w h o durst not censure, scarce could praise.

A mortal born, he met the general doom,

But left, like Egypt's kings, a lasting tomb.

The wits of Charles4 found easier ways to fame,

Nor wished for Jonson's art, or Shakespeare's flame;

Themselves they studied; as they felt, they writ;

Intrigue was plot, obscenity was wit.

Vice always found a sympathetic friend;

They pleased their age, and did not aim to mend.amend it

Yet bards like these aspired to lasting praise,

And proudly hoped to pimp 0 in future days.bid for reward

Their cause was general, their supports were strong,

Their slaves were willing, and their reign was long:

Till S h a m e regained the post that Sense betrayed,

And Virtue called Oblivion to her aid.

Then, crushed by rules, and weakened as refined,

For years the power of Tragedy declined;

From bard to bard the frigid caution crept,

Till Declamation roared while Passion slept;

Yet still did Virtue deign the stage to tread;

Philosophy remained though Nature fled;

But forced at length her ancient reign to quit,

She saw great Faustus5 lay the ghost of Wit;

Exulting Folly hailed the joyous day,

And P a n t o m i m e and S o n g confirmed her sway.

But w h o the c o m i n g changes can presage,

And mark the future periods of the stage

Perhaps if skill could distant times explore,

N e w Behns, n e w Durfeys,6 yet remain in store;

Perhaps where Lear has raved, and Hamlet died,

On flying cars n e w sorcerers may ride;

Perhaps (for w h o can guess the effects of chance)

Here H u n t may box, or M a h o m e t may dance.7

Hard is his lot that, here by fortune placed,

Must watch the wild vicissitudes of taste;

W i t h every meteor of caprice must play,

And chase the new-blown bubbles of the day.

Ah! let not censure term our fate our choice,

The stage but e c h o e s back the public voice;

The drama's laws, the drama's patrons give,

For we that live to please, must please to live.

T h e n prompt no more the follies you decry,

As tyrants doom their tools of guilt to die;

T i s yours this night to bid the reign c o m m e n c e

Of rescued Nature and reviving Sense;

To chase the charms of Sound, the p o m p of Show,

For useful Mirth and salutary W o e ;

Bid scenic Virtue form the rising age,

And Truth diffuse her radiance from the stage.