Classic Poem

When this decisive night at length appears,
The night of every author's hopes and fears,
What shifts to bribe applause poor poets try!
In all the forms of wit they court and lie;
These meanly beg it as an alms; and those
By boastful bluster dazzle and impose.
Nor poorly fearful nor securely vain,
Ours would by honest ways that grace obtain;
Would, as a free-born wit, be fairly tried,
And then — let candour fairly too, decide.
He courts no friend who blindly comes to praise;
He dreads no foe — but whom his faults may raise.
Indulge a generous pride, that bids him own
He aims to please by noble means alone;
By what may win the judgment, wake the heart,
Inspiring nature, and directing art;
By scenes so wrought as may applause command
More from the judging head than thundering hand.
Important is the moral we would teach —
Oh! may this island practise what we preach —
Vice in its first approach with care to shun;
The wretch who once engages is undone.
Crimes lead to greater crimes, and link so straight,
What first was accident at last is fate:
Guilt's hapless servant sinks into a slave,
And Virtue's last sad strugglings cannot save.
" As such our fair attempt, we hope to see
Our judges — here at least — from influence free:
One place — unblass'd yet by party rage —
Where only honour votes — the British stage.
We ask for justice, for indulgence sue;
Our last best licence must proceed from you."