Occasional Prologue, Spoken by Mr. Garrick the Last Time of His Performing, An
The last time of his performing, towards increasing a fund for the relief of those who, from their infirmities, shall be obliged to retire from the stage (1776)
A veteran see, whose last act on the stage
Entreats vour smiles for sickness and for age?
Their cause I plead — plead it in heart and mind;
A fellow-feeling makes one wondrous kind.
Might we but hope vour zeal would not be less,
When I am gone, to patronise distress;
That hope obtained the wished-for end secures,
To soothe their cares who oft have lightened yours.
Shall the great heroes of celestial line.
Who drank full bowls of Greek and Roman wine,
Caesar and Brutus, Agamemnon, Hector,
Nay, Jove himself, who here has quaffed his nectar —
Shall they, who governed Fortune, cringe and court her,
Thirst in their age and call in vain for porter;
Like Belisarius, tax the pitying street,
With Date obolum to all they meet?
Shan't I, who oft have drenched my hands in gore,
Stabbed many, poisoned some, beheaded more,
Who numbers slew in battle on this plain —
Shan't I, the slayer, try to feed the slain?
Brother to all, with equal love I view
The men who slew me and the men I slew.
I must, I will this happy project seize,
That those too old to die may live with ease.
Suppose the babes I smothered in the Tower
By chance or sickness lose their acting power —
Shall they, once princes, worse than all be served,
In childhood murdered and, when murdered, starved?
Matrons half-ravished for your recreation,
In age should never want some consolation.
Can I, young Hamlet once, to Nature lost,
Behold — O horrible! — my father's ghost,
With grisly beard, pale cheek, stalk up and down,
And he, the Royal Dane, want half-a-crown?
Forbid it, ladies; gentlemen, forbid it.
Give joy to age and let 'em say: " You did it. "
To you, ye gods, I make my last appeal — ( To the upper gallery )
You have a right to judge as well as feel.
Will your high wisdoms to our scheme incline,
That kings, queens, heroes, gods and ghosts may dine?
Olympus shakes — that omen all secures;
May every joy you give be ten-fold yours.
A veteran see, whose last act on the stage
Entreats vour smiles for sickness and for age?
Their cause I plead — plead it in heart and mind;
A fellow-feeling makes one wondrous kind.
Might we but hope vour zeal would not be less,
When I am gone, to patronise distress;
That hope obtained the wished-for end secures,
To soothe their cares who oft have lightened yours.
Shall the great heroes of celestial line.
Who drank full bowls of Greek and Roman wine,
Caesar and Brutus, Agamemnon, Hector,
Nay, Jove himself, who here has quaffed his nectar —
Shall they, who governed Fortune, cringe and court her,
Thirst in their age and call in vain for porter;
Like Belisarius, tax the pitying street,
With Date obolum to all they meet?
Shan't I, who oft have drenched my hands in gore,
Stabbed many, poisoned some, beheaded more,
Who numbers slew in battle on this plain —
Shan't I, the slayer, try to feed the slain?
Brother to all, with equal love I view
The men who slew me and the men I slew.
I must, I will this happy project seize,
That those too old to die may live with ease.
Suppose the babes I smothered in the Tower
By chance or sickness lose their acting power —
Shall they, once princes, worse than all be served,
In childhood murdered and, when murdered, starved?
Matrons half-ravished for your recreation,
In age should never want some consolation.
Can I, young Hamlet once, to Nature lost,
Behold — O horrible! — my father's ghost,
With grisly beard, pale cheek, stalk up and down,
And he, the Royal Dane, want half-a-crown?
Forbid it, ladies; gentlemen, forbid it.
Give joy to age and let 'em say: " You did it. "
To you, ye gods, I make my last appeal — ( To the upper gallery )
You have a right to judge as well as feel.
Will your high wisdoms to our scheme incline,
That kings, queens, heroes, gods and ghosts may dine?
Olympus shakes — that omen all secures;
May every joy you give be ten-fold yours.
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