P S A Th Th O D（1 / 1）

prologue spoken at the theatre of dufries

on new year&039;s day eveng, 1790

no ng nor dance i brg fro yon great city,

that eens it o&039;er our taste—the ore&039;s the pity:

tho&039; by the bye, abroad why will you roa?

good sense and taste are natives here at ho:

but not for panegyric i appear,

i e to wish you all a good new year!

old father ti deputes here before ye,

not for to preach, but tell his siple story:

the sa, grave ancient ugh&039;d, and bade say,

“you&039;re one year older this iportant day,”

if wiser too—he hted sugstion,

but &039;ould be rude, you know, to ask the estion;

and with a would-be roguish leer and k,

said—“suthernd, one word, bid the thk!”

ye sprightly youths, ite fsh with hope and spirit,

who thk to stor the world by dt of rit,

to you the dotard has a deal to say,

his sly, dry, sententio, proverb way!

he bids you d, aid your thoughtless rattle,

that the first blow is ever half the battle;

that tho&039; by the skirt ay try to snatch hi,

yet by the foreclock is the hold to catch hi;

that whether dog, sufferg, or forbearg,

you ay do iracles by perseverg

st, tho&039; not least love, ye youthful fair,

anlic fors, high heaven&039;s peculiar care!

to you old bald-pate soothes his wrkled brow,

and hubly begs you&039;ll d the iportant—now!

to crown your happess he asks your leave,

and offers, bliss to give and to receive

for our scere, tho&039; haply weak endeavours,

with grateful pride we own your any favours;

and howe&039;er our tongues ay ill reveal it,

believe our glog bos truly feel it