Spoke by young Mr. G IFFARD .

The authors Prologue having claim'd your care,
Hear , next th' address of an unfriended player ,
Forc'd , as in war , his abler leaders gone ,
To fill their ranks , by stepping boldly on:
There , thrown too forward , into points of sight ,
He trembles , conscious of th' excess of light .

YOUNG , and untaught as yet, myself to trust,
I plead their pity , who have tastes , too just.
In Plays , which practis'd actors, long, have fill'd ,
How great his danger , who succeeds, unskill'd !
The self-known diff'rence must, with terror , strike;
The part , less painful , than your due dislike .

I N scenes, untry'd , he moves, with easier heart,
There, uncompar'd , he shrinks not , from his part ,
Unprejudic'd — you aid his first essays,
And push his panting hope , with generous praise .

B UT , task us not, too hard , who wait our day,
Be partial , if at all, the noblest way:
Indulge some notice , where we chance to touch ,
Nor think, who longs to please, presumes , too much.