Prologue to the Distressed Mother, Acted in the Country to Raise Money, in Order to Discharge a Debtor from…

Wide o'er the world Misfortune bears her sway, Nor holds a feeble empire of a day: Bound by no limits, or of place or time, In every age she reigns, and every clime. Kings at her will must quit their antient throne, To roam in exile, or in chains to groan; The widow'd princess, and her captive boy, In foreign lands lament their native Troy.

Think not she claims alone the regal feat, And none can be unhappy but the great; With fatal bow, still bent and aim'd at all, She sees promiscuous victims round her fall; Plants in each heart the rankling shaft of woe, Bids from each eye the gush of sorrow flow: Yet fair Compassion, heaven-instructed maid, For ever waits to lend her soothing aid; With lenient hand propitious balm bestows, Calms the vex'd mind, and breathes divine repose.

Such in your breasts now glow the generous fires, Which pity kindles, or desert inspires: Warm with like zeal your efforts now agree, Not without law, to set the prisoner free. Long time, immur'd within yon dreary room, His days were sadden'd with perpetual gloom; Estrang'd to him, howe'er the seasons ran, The face of nature, as the face of man: By you restor'd, forgot his former pain, He mingles in the cheerful world again.

Poor as he is, your bounty to repay, His prayers may thank you in the noblest way. To you, the circle of the kind and good, Sincere he vows unceasing gratitude; His failings and his griefs alike unknown, Love, freedom, health, and peace be all your own; Eternal blessings on your steps attend, Who prove, this night, the poor man's, prisoner's friend.