Prologue to the Comedy of The Good-Natur'd Man, 1769

Prest by the load of life, the weary mindSurveys the gen'ral toil of human kind;With cool submission joins the lab'ring train,And social sorrow loses half its pain:Our anxious bard, without complaint, may shareThis bustling season's epidemick care;Like Caesar's pilot, dignify'd by fate,Tost in one common storm with all the great;Distrest alike the statesman and the wit,When one a borough courts, and one the pit.The busy candidates for pow'r and fameHave hopes, and fears, and wishes, just the same;Disabled both to combat or to fly,Must hear all taunts, and hear without reply.Uncheck'd on both loud rabbles vent their rage,As mongrels bay the lion in a cage.Th' offended burgess hoards his angry tale,For that blest year, when all that vote may rail;Their schemes of spite the poet's foes dismiss,Till that glad night, when all that hate may hiss."This day the powder'd curls and golden coat,"Says swelling Crispin, "begg'd a cobbler's vote.""This night our wit," the pert apprentice cries,"Lies at my feet; I hiss him, and he dies."The great, 'tis true, can charm th' electing tribe;The bard may supplicate, but cannot bribe.Yet, judg'd by those whose voices ne'er were sold,He feels no want of ill persuading gold;But, confident of praise, if praise be due,Trusts, without fear, to merit and to you.