Gazette Of The United States

FOR THE GAZETTE OF THE UNITED STATES.

PROLOGUE,

Spoken by Mr. WIGNELL, on Mrs. MORRIS's Night, before a Comick Sketch, called The World as it goes; or The Picture Exhibition—delivered by Mr. WIGNELL, soon after the burning of Mr. D's balloon.

T HAT all the world's a stage, sweet SHAKESPEARE sung,
And by that thought, full many a sweet tale hung,
Of war, and death, and love: The simple maid,
By man's false lures, to ruin's gulph betray'd;
Of kings and queens, and crowns, and witty fools
All nature's book display'd, uncheck'd by rules,
Those genius-damping shackles, forg'd in Grecian schools.
With mind unbounded, and with eagle eye,
Ev'n hidden things the favor'd Bard could spy;
Trace the nice windings of the human heart,
And search the seal'd-up secrets, of each part,
Then fly beyond the bourne of mortal ken,
And study sprites, when he'd exhausted men.
This simile I trust, will change full soon,
And worldly acts, be each-like a balloon;
Some fill, some fail, some rise, and others fall,
Some, soaring high, forget this dirty ball,
Till bursting in a blaze, they lose life, schemes and all.
Others again will bustle, stir, and puff,
To scrape together aerostatic stuff,
Perhaps in luck, they fill the great machine,
Should some curst chance or other intervene,
While panting thousands, gape, and gaze, and choak,
The bubble bursts, and all is lost in smoke.
Once, this blest land, not many years ago,
Rais'd a Balloon, a grand and gallant show,
Which nations gaz'd at, as all nations know;
'Twas form'd of privileges, rights and law,
And fill'd with patriotism instead of gas;
The wond'rous fabric rose, majestic! high!
And spite of british ballast, reach'd the sky;
There proudly hangs aloft—a shining frame,
From which e'en Europe takes the gen'rous flame,
Shakes off her shackles, greatly dares be free,
Raise a Balloon, like us beyond the sea,
Fill it with all that's good, and call it Liberty.
This night a small Balloon invites your eyes;
I can't pretend to say that it will rise;
I'll do the best I can to make it go;
But then it's charg'd with wit, and that's oft false you know:
Howe'er the wits which we shall use to night,
Are rarified, and fit for merry flight,
Stevens, Pilon, and Foote that waggish wight.
I go for ballast, and I freely own,
I fear I'm weight enough to keep it down;
Howe'er I go, cheer'd by this pleasing thought,
(All other aids I value not a groat)
'Tis your applause keeps my Balloon afloat.

[Going—Returns.]

But stop.—Egad a mighty pretty joke,
I had forgot the main I was t'have spoke.
From her I come, whose humble wish to please,
Has oft been here repaid: While now she sees
This brilliant show collected here again,
Her grateful feelings render language vain;
Her thanks she promises by acts to show,
And -[bell rings]-Coming Mr. Prompter—I must go,
For our Balloon is full, and I go up you know.