Epilogue
What part can speak—oh, tell me, while I greet you—
What character express my joy to meet you?
But feeling says, no character assume;
Let impulse dictate and the soul have room.
Tame glides the smoothest poem ever sung
To the heart's language, gushing o'er the tongue;
Cold the address the ablest scholar drew
To the warm glow of crying, Welcome, you!
Welcome! thrice welcome! to our new-reared stage,
To this new era of our drama's age!
Genius of Shakspeare! as in air you roam,
Spread your broad wings exulting o'er our dome!
Shade of our Roscius, view us with delight,
And hover smiling round your favourite site!
But to my purpose here—for I am sent
On deeds of import and of deep intent.
Passion has had its scope, the burst is past,
And I may sink to character at last.
When some rich noble, vain of his virtù,
Permits the curious crowd his house to view;
When pictures, busts, and bronzes to display,
He treats the public with a public day,
That all the world may in their minds retain them,
He bids his dawdling housekeeper explain them;
Herself, when each original's inspected,
The greatest that his lordship has collected.
A house now opens which, we trust, insures
The approbation of the amateurs;
Each part, each quality—'tis fit you know it—
And I'm the housekeeper employed to show it.
Our pile is rock more durable than brass,
Our decorations gossamer and gas.
Weighty yet airy in effect our plan,
Solid though light—like a thin alderman.
“Blow wind, come wreck,” in ages yet unborn,
“Our castle's strength shall laugh a siege to scorn.”
The very ravages of fire we scout,
For we have wherewithal to put it out.
In ample reservoirs our firm reliance,
Whose streams set conflagration at defiance.
Panic alone avoid; let none begin it;
Should the flame spread, sit still, there's nothing in it.
We'll undertake to drown you all in half a minute!
Behold, obedient to the prompter's bell,
Our tide shall flow and real waters swell.
No river of meandering pasteboard made,
No gentle tinkling of a tin cascade,
No brook of broadcloth shall be set in motion,
No ships be wrecked upon a wooden ocean;
But the pure element its course shall hold,
Rush on the scene, and o'er our stage be rolled.
How like you our aquatics? Need we fear
Some critic with a hydrophobia here,
Whose timid caution caution's self might tire,
And doubts if water can extinguish fire?
If such there be, still let him rest secure;
For we have made “assurance doubly sure.”
Consume the scenes, your safety yet is certain—
Presto! for proof let down the iron curtain.
Ab, ye who live in this our brazen age,
Think on the comforts of an iron stage.
Fenced by that mass, no perils do environ
The man who calmly sits before cold iron;
For those who in the green-room sit behind it,
They e'en must quench the danger as they find it;
A little fire would do no harm, we know it,
To modern actor nor to modern poet.
Here ends, as housekeeper, my explanation,
And may the house receive your approbation!
For you in air the vaulted roof we raise;
Though firm its base, its best support your praise.
Stamp then your mighty seal upon our cause!
Give us, ye gods, a thunder of applause!
The high decree is past. May future age,
When pondering o'er the annals of our stage,
Rest on this time, when labour reared the pile
In tribute to the genius of our isle;
This school of art, with British sanction graced,
And worthy of a manly nation's taste!
And now the image of our Shakspeare view,
And give the drama's god the honour due.
What character express my joy to meet you?
But feeling says, no character assume;
Let impulse dictate and the soul have room.
Tame glides the smoothest poem ever sung
To the heart's language, gushing o'er the tongue;
Cold the address the ablest scholar drew
To the warm glow of crying, Welcome, you!
Welcome! thrice welcome! to our new-reared stage,
To this new era of our drama's age!
Genius of Shakspeare! as in air you roam,
Spread your broad wings exulting o'er our dome!
Shade of our Roscius, view us with delight,
And hover smiling round your favourite site!
But to my purpose here—for I am sent
On deeds of import and of deep intent.
Passion has had its scope, the burst is past,
And I may sink to character at last.
When some rich noble, vain of his virtù,
Permits the curious crowd his house to view;
When pictures, busts, and bronzes to display,
He treats the public with a public day,
That all the world may in their minds retain them,
He bids his dawdling housekeeper explain them;
Herself, when each original's inspected,
The greatest that his lordship has collected.
A house now opens which, we trust, insures
The approbation of the amateurs;
Each part, each quality—'tis fit you know it—
And I'm the housekeeper employed to show it.
Our pile is rock more durable than brass,
Our decorations gossamer and gas.
Weighty yet airy in effect our plan,
Solid though light—like a thin alderman.
“Blow wind, come wreck,” in ages yet unborn,
“Our castle's strength shall laugh a siege to scorn.”
The very ravages of fire we scout,
For we have wherewithal to put it out.
In ample reservoirs our firm reliance,
Whose streams set conflagration at defiance.
Panic alone avoid; let none begin it;
Should the flame spread, sit still, there's nothing in it.
We'll undertake to drown you all in half a minute!
Behold, obedient to the prompter's bell,
Our tide shall flow and real waters swell.
No river of meandering pasteboard made,
No gentle tinkling of a tin cascade,
No brook of broadcloth shall be set in motion,
No ships be wrecked upon a wooden ocean;
But the pure element its course shall hold,
Rush on the scene, and o'er our stage be rolled.
How like you our aquatics? Need we fear
Some critic with a hydrophobia here,
Whose timid caution caution's self might tire,
And doubts if water can extinguish fire?
If such there be, still let him rest secure;
For we have made “assurance doubly sure.”
Consume the scenes, your safety yet is certain—
Presto! for proof let down the iron curtain.
Ab, ye who live in this our brazen age,
Think on the comforts of an iron stage.
Fenced by that mass, no perils do environ
The man who calmly sits before cold iron;
For those who in the green-room sit behind it,
They e'en must quench the danger as they find it;
A little fire would do no harm, we know it,
To modern actor nor to modern poet.
Here ends, as housekeeper, my explanation,
And may the house receive your approbation!
For you in air the vaulted roof we raise;
Though firm its base, its best support your praise.
Stamp then your mighty seal upon our cause!
Give us, ye gods, a thunder of applause!
The high decree is past. May future age,
When pondering o'er the annals of our stage,
Rest on this time, when labour reared the pile
In tribute to the genius of our isle;
This school of art, with British sanction graced,
And worthy of a manly nation's taste!
And now the image of our Shakspeare view,
And give the drama's god the honour due.
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