PREFACE TO THE READER.

The inimitable, and immortal, Shakespeare, about a hundred and thirty Years since, wrote a Play, on this Subject, and call'd it, The Life of King Henry, the Fifth:— Mine is a New Fabrick, yet I built

on His Foundation; and the Reader, I am afraid, will, too easily, discover, without the Help of a Comparison, in what Places I am indebted to him.

The Success, which this Tragedy will meet with, on the Stage, is a Matter, of no Consequence: If it were otherwise, I shou'd be sorry, to have mistaken, so unseasonably, the Taste of the Fashionable! There is a Kind of Dumb Drama! a new, and wonderful, Discovery! that places the Wit in the Heels! and the Experience of Both our Theatres might have taught any Writer, but so dull a one as I am, that the Harlequins

are Gentlemen, of better Interest than the Harrys.

The Masters of the Stage act, like very discreet Judges: in falling in with a Humour, which they cou'd not have oppos'd but to their Disadvantage. What have They to do with Reason, to whom Folly is most profitable?—To sail, with Wind, and Tide, is safest, and most easy: Nor is it any Part of their Business, to stem the Current of the Times; and be Wise, with Empty Boxes.

No French Tricks, however, in the Days of my Hero, were able to

stand before him: Fortune favour'd him, then, against incredible Odds! and who knows, (if the Ladies will forgive me the Presumption of comparing small Things with Great,) but he may, now, become a Match, even for Eunuchs, and Merry-Andrews!

Yet, the Victory, at Agencourt, was an Action, not more wonderful! And it is, I fear, become impossible, since I have, imprudently, neglected to list those Squadrons of light-arm'd Forces, which have, so often, won the Day, for Our Leaders, in modern Poetry.

How poor a Thing is Fame, when so wretchedly caball'd for! It is hard to distinguish, which is strangest, and most ridiculous: the Noise, and Violence, of such Applause, in its first breaking out: or the Suddenness, with which it flattens, and leaves the Monsters aground! like that straggling Shoal of Whales, which the Sea has, lately, lifted into the Meadows of Hamborough.

After all, I am sanguine enough to hope, that a Taste for Tragedy may be restor'd:—Yet, who wou'd

not despair of it, when It is deserted by those Great Spirits, whose past Actions must adorn it!—When a Name may be read, in the List of Opera Directors, which will furnish the Poets, of Ages, yet to come, with as wonderful a Character! and with Conquests gain'd as nobly, over the French, and Spanish, Arms, as any of the Edwards, or the Henrys, have left us, by the most glorious of their antient Victories!

But, in all Events, I will be Easy, who have no better Reason to wish well to Poetry, than my Love for

a Mistress, I shall never be married to: For, whenever I grow ambitious, I shall wish to build higher; and owe my Memory to some Occasion, of more Importance, than my Writings.

December 5,
1723.

PROLOGUE: Spoke by Mr. WILKS.

From Wit's old Ruins, shadow'd o'er with Bays,
We draw some rich Remains of Shakespear's Praise.
Shakespear!—the Sound bids charm'd Attention wake:
And our aw'd Scenes, with conscious Reve'rence, Shake!
Arduous the Task, to mix with Shakespear's Muse!
Rash Game! where All, who play, are sure to lose.
Yet—what our Author cou'd, he dar'd to try:
And kept the fiery Pillar in his Eye.
Led by such Light, as wou'd not let him stray,
He pick'd out Stars, from Shakespear's milky Way.

Hid, in the Cloud of Battle, Shakespear's Care,
Blind, with the Dust of War, o'erlook'd the Fair:
Fond of their Fame, we shew their Influence, here,
And place 'em, twinkling through War's smokey Sphere.
Without their Aid, we lose Love's quick'ning Charms;
And sullen Virtue mopes, in steril Arms.
Now, rightly mix'd, th' enliven'd Passions move:
Love softens War,—and War invigo'rates Love:

Oh!—cry'd that tow'ring Genius of the Stage,
When, first, His Henry charm'd a former Age:
“Oh! for a Muse of Fire, our Cause to friend,
“That might Invention's brightest Heav'n ascend!

“That, for a Stage, a Kingdom might be seen!
“Princes, to act, grace'd with their native Mien:
“And Monarchs, to behold, the swelling Scene!
“Then, like Himself, shou'd warlike Harry rise:
“And, fir'd with all his Fame, blaze, in your Eyes!
“Crouch'd, at his Heels, and, like fierce Hounds, leash'd in,
“Sword, Fire, and Famine, with impatient Grin!
“Shou'd, fawning dreadful! but for Orders, stay:
“And, at his Nod,—start, horrible! away.

No barren Tale t' amuse, our Scene imparts:
But points Example at your kindling Hearts.
Mark, in their Dauphin, to our King oppos'd,
The diffe'rent Genius of the Realms disclos'd:
There, the French Levity—vain,—boastful,—loud:
Dancing, in Death,—gay, wanton, fierce, and proud.
Here, with a silent Fire, a temper'd Heat!
Calmly resolv'd, our English Bosoms beat.

Art is too poor, to raise the Dead, 'tis true:
But Nature does it, by their Worth, in You!
Your Blood, that warm'd their Veins, still flows, the same:
Still feeds your Valour, and supports their Fame.

Oh! let it waste no more, in Civil Jarr:
But flow, for glorious Fame, in foreign War.

EPILOGUE: Spoke by Mrs. OLDFIELD.

We've shown, Ye, Sirs! how France, of Old, was got:
And, now, I'll tell ye, why we kept it not.—
This Hero's Son and Heir,—no warring Ranger!
Lov'd Grace, obey'd his Wife, and hated Danger.
Our Harry fought, all Day, and slept, all Night:
Nor dreamt of gentler Joys, than those of Fight.
Tho' bold, in War, His Feats, in Love, were faint!
And this fam'd Champion gave the World a—Saint!
There was a Bliss!—Oh! how was Kate mistaken!
Such thund'ring Fame must mighty Hopes awaken:
But, tir'd with Action, Her Heroick Lover
Was found, in Peace, and Wedlock, no great Mover.

There lay the Guilt:—nor went unpunish'd, long,
Weak tho' the Son was, his Ill Fate was strong.
Urg'd by slack Reins, and, quite broke loose, at last,
The Horse of Power th' unequal Rider, cast.
Then rose Division, Faction, and Debate:
And That rank Weed, Rebellion, choak'd the State.
Plunder was Law; and Force, on both Sides, Right;
And Rogues in Red ravish'd, with all their Might!
Widows, and Wives, were task'd, to their full Skill:
And stubborn Maids were—pleas'd, against their Will.

No Plots, to hoodwink Horns, were, then, of Use:
For the whole Sex made One allow'd Excuse:
Why, Dear, what Help for't?—I was vex'd, I swear,
But—had not been so serv'd, had You been there.

Now, for some grave Instruction, from the Play,
To send you, warn'd, as well as pleas'd, away!
Who,—by the Woes of a weak Prince's Rule,
Learns not, to bless the steddy, brave, and cool?
All, that a Kingdom feels, of good, or ill,
She owes, to her King's Weakness, or his Skill:
Still, what the Monarch is, still, such the State,
For a King's Conduct is his People's Fate.

Dramatis Personæ.

Guards, Attendants, &c.

King Henry [King Henry the Fifth]	Mr. Booth.
Dauphin [Lewis],	Mr. Wilks.
King of France [Charles the Sixth],	Mr. Thurmond.
Princess Catherine [Katharine],	Mrs. Oldfield.
Harriet,	Mrs. Thurmond.
Charlot,	Mrs. Campbell.
Duke of Exeter,	Mr. Mills.
Duke of York,	Mr. Cory.
Lord Scroop,	Mr. Williams.
Duke of Bourbon,	Mr. Bridgwater.
Duke of Orleans,	Mr. Watson.
Earl of Cambridge,	Mr. Mills jun.
Sir Thomas Grey,	Mr. Oates.
French Officer,	Mr. Roberts.

King Henry the Fifth: OR, The Conquest of France, by the English.

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