Читать книгу The Works of Henry Fielding, vol. 12 - Генри Филдинг, Fielding Harold - Страница 1

Too long the Tragick Muse hath aw'd the stage,

And frighten'd wives and children with her rage,

Too long Drawcansir roars, Parthenope weeps,

While ev'ry lady cries, and critick sleeps

With ghosts, rapes, murders, tender hearts they wound,

Or else, like thunder, terrify with sound

When the skill'd actress to her weeping eyes,

With artful sigh, the handkerchief applies,

How griev'd each sympathizing nymph appears!

And box and gallery both melt in tears

Or when, in armour of Corinthian brass,

Heroick actor stares you in the face,

And cries aloud, with emphasis that's fit, on

Liberty, freedom, liberty and Briton!

While frowning, gaping for applause he stands,

What generous Briton can refuse his hands?

Like the tame animals design'd for show,

You have your cues to clap, as they to bow,

Taught to commend, your judgments have no share,

By chance you guess aright, by chance you err.

But, handkerchiefs and Britain laid aside,

To-night we mean to laugh, and not to chide.

In days of yore, when fools were held in fashion,

Tho' now, alas! all banish'd from the nation,

A merry jester had reform'd his lord,

Who would have scorn'd the sterner Stoick's word

Bred in Democritus his laughing schools,

Our author flies sad Heraclitus rules,

No tears, no terror plead in his behalf,

The aim of Farce is but to make you laugh

Beneath the tragick or the comick name,

Farces and puppet shows ne'er miss of fame

Since then, in borrow'd dress, they've pleas'd the town,

Condemn them not, appearing in their own

Smiles we expect from the good-natur'd few,

As ye are done by, ye malicious, do,

And kindly laugh at him who laughs at you.