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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=416285" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Epilogue To Tancred And Sigismunda</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Cramm'd to the throat with wholesome moral stuff, <br>Alas! poor audience! you have had enough. <br>Was ever hapless heroine of a play <br>In such a piteous plight as ours to-day? <br>Was ever woman so by love betray'd? <br>Match'd with two husbands, and yet—die a maid. <br>But bless me!—hold—What sounds are these I hear!— <br>I see the Tragic Muse herself appear. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">[The back scene opens, and discovers a romantic sylvan landscape; from which Mrs. Cibber, in the character of the Tragic Muse, advances slowly to music, and speaks the following lines]:</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Hence with your flippant epilogue, that tries <br>To wipe the virtuous tear from British eyes; <br>That dares my moral, tragic scene profane, <br>With strains—at best, unsuiting, light and vain. <br>Hence from the pure unsullied beams that play <br>In yon fair eyes where virtue shines—Away! <br>Britons, to you from chaste Castalian groves, <br>Where dwell the tender, oft unhappy loves! <br>Where shades of heroes roam, each mighty name, <br>And court my aid to rise again to fame; <br>To you I come, to Freedom's noblest seat, <br>And in Britannia fix my last retreat. <br>In Greece and Rome, I watch'd the public weal, <br>The purple tyrant trembled at my steel: <br>Nor did I less o'er private sorrows reign, <br>And mend the melting heart with softer pain. <br>On France and you then rose my brightening star, <br>With social ray—The arts are ne'er at war. <br>O, as your fire and genius stronger blaze, <br>As yours are generous Freedom's bolder lays, <br>Let not the Gallic taste leave yours behind, <br>In decent manners and in life refined; <br>Banish the motley mode to tag low verse, <br>The laughing ballad to the mournful hearse. <br>When through five acts your hearts have learnt to glow, <br>Touch'd with the sacred force of honest woe; <br>O keep the dear impression on your breast, <br>Nor idly loose it for a wretched jest.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=James+Thomson">James Thomson</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=416285" data-title="Epilogue To Tancred And Sigismunda de James Thomson" data-description="Cramm'd to the throat with wholesome moral stuff, 
Alas! poor audience! you have had enough. 
Was ever hapless heroine of a play 
In such a piteous plight as ours to-day? 
Was ever woman so by love betray'd? 
Match'd with two husbands, and yet—d..."></div>
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