The New York Journal, And Weekly Register

For the NEW-YORK JOURNAL, &c.

PROLOGUE to THE CONTRAST:

Written by a young Gentleman in this City.

Spoken by Mr. Wignell, at the Theatre in this City.

Hail each patriot heart---this night is shown
A piece that we may fairly call our own;
Where the proud titles of "My Lord, Your Grace,"
To humble Mr. and plain Sir, give place.

Our author pictures not, from foreign climes,
The fashions or the follies of the times,
But has confined the subject of his work
To the gay scenes-the circles of New-York.

On native themes the muse displays her powers,
If ours the faults, the virtues too are ours--
Why should our thoughts to distant countries roam,
When each refinement may be found at home.

We need not travel now to learn what's great,
To deck an equipage and roll in state!
To court the graces or to dance with ease,
Or turn the hypocrite and strive to please.

Our freeborn ancestors such arts despised,
Unfeigned sincerity alone they prized;
Their minds, with honest emulation fired,
To solid good—not ornament—aspir'd;
Or if ambition rous'd a nobler flame,
Twas virtue throve where indolence was shame;
But modern youths, with more exalted sense,
Deem graceful dress, the proof of excellence,
And spurn the means of your home-spun cloths,
For home-spun habits, would degrade our beaux;
Whilst all your finery, where taste's display'd,
Must come from Europe, and be ready made.

Strange! we should thus our native arts disclaim
And check the progress of their rising fame;
Yet one, whilst imitation bears the sway,
Aspires to nobler heights and points the way.

Let native genius his bold example view,
And be yourselves the model to pursue;
Then may the humour of the comic muse,
Exalt your merits, or your faults accuse.

But think not 'tis her aim to be severe,
We all are mortal, and as mortals err.
Should rigid critics reprobate our play,
At least the patriotic heart will say,
Tis great e'en failing in a noble cause.
And that th' attempt alone demands applause.

If frankness meets applause we're truly blest,
For vice must tremble where he stands confest.
Let not light censure on your faults offend,
Let's, zealous to expose them, them amend.

Thus does our author to your candor trust:
Be GENEROUS then—I know you will be JUST.