Occasional Prologue to a Play Acted for the Benefit of the Infirmary in Leeds

Soon as Compassion—Glory of our Isle— With modest elegance had rais'd yon pile, Where kindly Science to each aching grief, Each sad mischance administers relief, Commerce beheld it—and her looks confest The sprightly joy that danc'd within her breast—

Thus Commerce sung—"To you, my children, peace!"— She sung—and smiling wav'd her GOLDEN FLEECE— "'Tis youre, my sons, with tend'rest care to heal "The varied mis'ries Poverty may feel; "'Tis yours the sinking srame of Age to rear, "'Tis yours to shed the sympathetic Tear, "'Tis yours Misfortune's keenest pangs to ease— "And yours shall be the meed of acts like these.

"While this bright sun illumes the face of day, "While yonder moon reflects one silver ray, "So long Abundance shall your guest remain "To deck the board, and whistle o'er the plain. "Quickly with her, of ev'ry good the Queen, "White Peace her gentle sister shall be seen. "I see her now descending from the sky "To banish War and bid Rebellion fly. "Industry now has all my sails unfurl'd, "Now sends my honest treasures o'er the world; "Now pleas'd the minds of either Inde I view "Resign, my sons, their many stores to you— "For you are bounteous as the Hand of Heav'n, "And feel why riches were to mortals giv'n."

Thus Commerce sung—and here in furtive verse Have I presum'd the carol to rehearse—. Where praise is merited, let praise be giv'n— To honour virtue is to act like Heav'n. And sure your gen'rous deeds may well demand That Angels sing them to the list'ning land; For mindful ever of wealth's first, best end, You bid the Poor in you behold a FRIEND.