prologue

spoken by mr. woods on his benefit-night, monday, 16th april, 1787.

when, by a generous public's kind acclaim,

that dearest meed is granted—honest fame;

waen here your favour is the actor's lot,

nor even the man in private life forgot;

what breast so dead to heavenly virtue's glow,

but heaves impassion'd with the grateful throe?

poor is the task to please a barb'rous throng,

it needs no siddons' powers in southern's song;

but here an ancient nation, fam'd afar,

for genius, learning high, as great in war.

hail, caledonia, name for ever dear!

before whose sons i'm honour'd to appear?

where every science, every nobler art,

that can inform the mind or mend the heart,

is known; as grateful nations oft have found,

far as the rude barbarian marks the bound.

philosophy, no idle pedant dream,

here holds her search by heaven-taught reason's beam;

here history paints with elegance and force

the tide of empire's fluctuating course;

here douglas forms wild shakespeare into plan,