A PROLOGUE By Mr. POPE, To a Play for Mr. DENNIS'S Benefit, in 1733, when he was old, blind, and in great Distress, a little before his Death. As S when that Hero, who in each Campaign, Had brav'd the Goth, and many a Vandal flain, Lay Fortune-ftruck, a spectacle of Woe! Wept by each Friend, forgiv'n by ev'ry Foe: Was there a gen'rous, a reflecting mind, But pitied BELISARIUS old and blind? Was there a Chief but melted at the Sight? A common Soldier, who but clubb'd his Mite? NOTES. 5 VER. 6. But pitied Belifarius, etc.] Nothing was ever more happily imagined than this allufion, or finelier conducted. And the continued pleafantry fo delicately touched, that it took nothing from the self fatisfaction the Critic had in his merit, or the Audience in their charity. With fo much maftery has the Poet executed, in this benevolent irony, that which he fuppofed Dennis himself, had he the wit to fee, would have the ingenuity to own: This dreaded Sat'rift, Dennis will confefs, Foe to his pride, but Friend to his Difirefs. VER. 7. Was there a Chief, etc.] The fine figure of the Commander in that capital Picture of Belifarius at Chifwick, fupplied the Poet with this beautiful idea. Such, fuch emotions fhould in Britons rife, 9 When prefs'd by want and weakness DENNIS lies; 14 How chang'd from him who made the boxes groan, And be the Critic's, Briton's, Old Man's Friend, NOTES. VER. 12. Their Quibbles routed and defy'd their Puns ;} See Dunciad, Note on v. 63. B. I. VER. 13. A defp'rate Bulwark, etc.] See Dunc. Note on v. 268. B. II. VER. 16. And hook the Stage with Thunders all hiş own!] See Dunc. Note on v. 226. B. II. VER. 17. Stood up to dash, etc.] See Dunc. Note on V. 173. B. III. VER. 18. Maul the French Tyrant-] See Dunc. Note on v. 413. B. II. Ibid. or pull down the POPE !] See Dunc. Note on v. 63. B. I. VER. 21. If there's a critic of diftinguish'd rage,] See Dunc. Notes on v. 106. B. I, MACER MACE R: A CHARACTER. HEN fimple Macer, now of high renown, WH 'Twas all th' Ambition his high foul could feel, 5 10 Now he begs Verfe, and what he gets commends, In a tranflated Suit, then tries the Town, 4 20 24. Το (58) To Mr. JOHN MOORE, AUTHOR of the celebrated W OR MPOWDER. OW much, egregious Moore, are we Whate'er we think, whate'er we fee, All Humankind are Worms. Man is a very Worm by birth, That Woman is a Worm, we find The Learn'd themfelves we Book-worms name, Is aptly term'd a Glow-worm: The Fops are painted Butterflies, That flutter for a day; Firft from a Worm they take their rise, And in a Worm decay. The The Flatterer an Earwig grows; Mifers are Muck-worms, Silk-worms Beaus, And Death-watches Physicians. That Statesmen have the Worm, is feen, By all their winding-play; Their Confcience is a Worm within, Ah Moore! thy skill were well employ'd, If thou could'ft make the Courtier void O learned Friend of Abchurch-Lane, Vain is thy Art, thy Powder vain, Our Fate thou only can'ft adjourn SONG |