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THE

BROTHERS:

A Tragedy.

ACTED AT THE THEATRE-ROYAL IN DRURY-LANE.

BY HIS MAJESTY'S SERVANTS.

PROLOGUE.

WRITTEN BY MR. DODSLEY,

AND SPOKEN BY MR. HAVARD.

THE Tragic Muse, revolving many a page
Of time's long records drawn from every age,
Forms not her plans on low or trivial deeds,
But marks the striking!-When some Hero bleeds
To save his Country, then her powers inspire,
And souls congenial catch the patriot fire.-
When bold oppression grinds a suffering land;
When the keen dagger gleams in murder's hand ;
When black conspiracy infects the throng;
Or fell revenge sits brooding o'er his wrong;
Then walks she forth in terror; at her frown
Guilt shrinks appall'd though seated on a throne.
But the rack'd soul, when dark suspicions rend;
When Brothers hate, and Sons with Sires contend;
When clashing interests war eternal wage;
And Love, the tenderest passion, turns to Rage;
Then grief on every visage stands imprest,
And Pity throbs in every feeling breast;
Hope, Fear, and Indignation, rise by turns,
And the strong scene with various passion burns.
Such is our tale:-Nor blush, if tears should flow;
They're virtue's tribute paid to human woe :
Such drops new lustre to bright eyes impart ;
The silent witness of a tender heart:

Such drops adorn the noblest Hero's cheek,

And paint his worth, in strokes that more than speak :
Not he who cannot weep, but he who can,

Shews the great soul, and proves himself a Man.

Yet do not idly grieve at others pain,

Nor let the tears of nature fall in vain :

Watch the close crimes from whence their ills have grown, And from their frailties learn to mend your own.

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THERE's something of magnificence about us
I have not seen at Rome. But you can tell me.

POSTHUMIUS.

True: Hither sent on former embassies,
I know this splendid court of Macedon,
And haughty Philip, well.

CURTIUS.

[Gazes round.

His pride presumes

To treat us here like subjects, more than Romans,

More than ambassadors, who, in our bosoms,

Bear peace and war, and throw him which we please, As Jove his storm, or sunshine, on his creatures.

POSTHUMIUS.

This Philip only, since Rome's glory rose,
Preserves its grandeur to the name of king;

Like a bold star, that shews its fires by day.

The Greek, who won the world, was sent before him,
As the grey dawn before the blaze of noon :
Philip had ne'er been conquer'd, but by Rome;
And what can fame say more of mortal man?

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