A PROLOGUE, Spoke by Mr DIGGS, at Edinburgh, to the MUSE of OSSIAN, a little Piece adapted to the Stage, from…

To form a little work of nervous merit, To give the sleepy stage a nobler spirit; To touch a sacred muse, and not defile her, This was the plan propos'd by our compiler.

Tho' caution told him—the presumption's glaring! Dauntless, he cry'd—"It is but nobly daring! "Can we peruse a pathos more than Attic, "Nor wish the golden treasure stamp'd dramatic! "Here are no lines—in measur'd pace, that trip it, "No modern scenes—so lifeless!—so insipid! "Wrought by a muse—(no sacred fire debarr'd her) "'Tis nervous!—noble!—'tis true northern ardour!

"Methinks I hear the Grecian bards exclaiming, "(The Grecian bards no longer worth the naming) "In song, the northern tribes so far surpass us, "One of their highland hills they'll call Parnassus; "And from the sacred mount, decrees shall follow, "That Ossian was himself—the true Apollo."

Spite of this flash—This high poetic fury, He trembles for the verdict of his jury: As from his text he ne'er presum'd to wander, But gives the native Ossian to your candour: To an impartial judgment we submit him, Condemn—or rather (if you can) acquit him.