PROLOGUE On opening the THEATRE ROYAL, at LIVERPOOL, for the Winter Season. Spoken by Mr. YOUNGER. October…

The troops, who lately shone in bright array, Proud on these plains their banners to display, Call'd to their posts in town by beat of drum, Aided with fresh recruits I hither come. I, your old Serjeant, once again appear, Happy to fix my Winter-quarters here; Here, where Good-humour shews her smiling mien, And Judgment with fair Candour ever seen. Oh for a soul of flame, that might inspire, Thro' all our ranks, a truely-martial fire! But, oh! my breath is weak, my words are vain, My efforts poor, the mighty point to gain. What tho' in ev'ry breast strong ardours glow, On you alone their longing eyes they throw. Your frowns at once their noblest spirit damp, And strike a terror thro' our little camp; Yet, if you smile, again their hopes return, Again their souls with love of glory burn; Eager to fight, to conquer, or to fall, From first to hindmost—Pioneers and all. Nerveless and sinewless their arms, 'tis true; But yet 'tis glory to contend for you.

As some low hind, whose poverty's confess'd, Receives beneath his roof some mighty guest, Dried winter fruits, alas! his only cheer, His only liquor some October beer, Makes up in welcome what he wants in store, Wishing his morsel better, riches more, Spreads with a willing heart his humble board, And freely empties all his little hoard; So we too, conscious of our homely fare, Trust to your smiles to snatch us from despair. Fall on with hearty stomachs to regale, Let not nice taste, but appetite, prevail; While we, plain landlords, a kind welcome give, Bless'd if we please you, whom to please we live!