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THE AUTHOR'S DEDICATION.

TO HIS ROYAL HIGHNESS

GEORGE, PRINCE OF WALES.*

Sir,

In Dedications, especially those which Poets write, Mankind expect to find little Sentiment, and less truth. A grateful imagination adorns its Benefactor with every virtue, and even flatters with Sincerity. Hence the Portrait of cach Patron of the Muses is drawn with the same Outline, and finished as a Model of Perfection. Instructed by the Errors of others, I presume not to make the Panegyrick of the Prince of WALES, nor to extol the Patronage of Literature as the most shining quality of a Prince. Your Royal Highness will permit me to mention one sort of Patronage which can never be praised too much; that, I mean, which extending its influence to the whole Society, forms and excites the Genius of Individuals by eralting the Spirit of the State.

Institutions, that revive, in a great and highly civilized People, those Virtues of Courage, Manhood, and Love of their Country, which are most apt, in the Progress of Refinement, to decay, produce at the same time that pleasing and ornamental Genius, which cannot subsist in a Mind that does not partake of those Qualities which it describes. This is an observation which has escaped the Notice of the greater part of Writers, who have inquired into the Causes of the Growth and Decay of Poetry and Eloquence; but it has not escaped the penetration of Longinus, who writing in the Decline of the ROMAN Empire, and lamenting that the true Sublime was not to be found in the Works of his Time, boldly imputes that defect to the change of policy; and enumerates with indignation the Vices of Avarice, Effeminacy, and Pusillanimity, which, arising from the Loss of Liberty, had so enthralled and debased the Minds of Men, that they could not look up, as he calls it, to any thing elevated and sublime: And here, as in other Questions, the great Critic quotes the authority of his Master HOMER. The Day of Slavery bereaves a Man of half his Virtue. The Experience of succeeding Times has shewn that Genius is affected by Changes less violent than the Loss of Liberty; that it ever flourishes in Times of Vigour and Enterprize, and languishes umidst the sure Corruption of an inactive Age.

* See The Editor's Preface, p. 248, aod 253.

Your Royal Highness, as Heir Apparent of the British Empire, hah in view the noblest Field that ever a laudable Ambition entered. The envied state of this Nation cannot remain precisely as it is; the Tide must flow, or ebb faster than it has ever flowed. A Prince destined in such a period to reign, begins a memorable Era of Perfection or Degeneracy. The serious Cares and princely Studies of your Youth, the

visible Tenor of your generous and constant Mind, have filled the Breasts of all good Men with hopes of you equal to their Wishes. That these Hopes may be fulfilled in their utmost Extent, is the sincere und ardent Prayer of

Your Royal Highness's

Most humble,

Most obedient,

And most devoted Servant,

JOHN HOME,

PROLOGUE

SPOKEN AT EDINBURGI.

In days of classic fame, when Persia's Lord
Oppos'd his millions to the Grecian sword,
Flourish'd the state of Athens; small her store,
Rugged her soil, and rocky was her shore,
Like Caledonia's: yet she gain'd a name
That stands unrival'd in the rolls of fame.

Such proud pre-eminence not valour gave,
(For who than Sparta's dauntless sons more brave?)
But learning, and the love of every art
That Science and that Poetry impart.

Above the rest the Tragic Bard admir'd Each Attic breast with noblest passions fir'd.

peace their poets with their heroes shar'd
Glory, the hero's, and the bard's reward.
The Tragic Bard each glorious record kept,
And, o'er the kings she conquer'd, Athens wept.*

Here let me cease, impatient for the scene,
To you I need not praise the Tragic Queen:
Oft has this audience soft compassion shewn
To woes of heroes, heroes not their own.
This night our scenes no common tear demand,
He

comes, the hero of your native land! DOUGLAS,

ma name thro' all the world renown'd A name that rouses like the trumpet's sound !

In

* See the Persians of Æschylus.

Oft have your fathers, prodigal of life,
A Douglas follow'd thro' the bloody strife;
Hosts have been known at that dread name to yield,
And, Douglas dead, his name hath won the field.

Listen attentive to the various tale,
Mark if the author's kindred feelings fail;
Sway'd by alternate hopes, alternate fears,
He waits the test of your congenial tears.
If they shall flow, back to his lyre he flies,
And bids your heroes in succession rise;
Collects the wandering warriors as they roam;
DOCGLAS assures them of a welcome home.

N

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