Classic Poem

AT THE THEATRE-ROYAL IN DRURY-LANE .

To-night a patient ear, ye Britons! lend,
And to your great forefathers' deeds attend.
Here, cheaply warn'd, ye bless'd descendents! view
What ills on England civil discord drew.
To wound the heart the martial Muse prepares,
While the red scene with raging slaughter glares.
Here, while a monarch's suff'rings we relate,
Let gen'rous grief his ruin'd grandeur wait,
While Second Richard's blood for vengeance calls
Doom'd for his grandsire's guilt poor Henry falls:
In civil jars avenging judgment blows,
And royal wrongs entail a people's woes:
Henry, unvers'd in wiles, more good than great!
Drew on by meekness his disastrous fate.
Thus when you see this land by faction tost,
Her nobles slain, her laws, her freedom, lost,
Let this reflection from the action flow,
We ne'er from foreign foes could ruin know.
Oh! let us then intestine discord shun;
We ne'er can be but by ourselves undone.