A Prologue, Spoke by Mr Wallace, on Opening the New Theatre at Newcastle

If to correct the follies of mankind,
To mend the morals—to enlarge the mind,
To strip the self-deceiving passions bare,
With honest mirth, to kill an evening's care;
If these kind motives can command applause,
For these, the motly stage her curtain draws.

Does not the poet, that exists by praise,
Like to be told that he has reach'd the bays?
Is not the wretch (still trembling for his store)
Pleas'd when he grasps a glitt'ring thousand more?
Cheers not the mariner, propitious seas?
Likes not the lawyer to be handling fees?
Lives not the lover, but in hopes of bliss?
To ev'ry question we'll reply with—yes.

Suppose them gratified—their full delight,
Falls short of ours on this auspicious night;
When rich in happiness—in hopes elate,
Taste has receiv'd us to her fav'rite seat.

O that the soul of Action were but ours,
And the vast energy of vocal powers!
That we might make a grateful off'ring, fit
For these kind judges that in candour sit.

Before such judges, we confess, with dread,
These new dominions we presume to tread;
Yet if you smile, we'll boldly do our best,
And leave your favour to supply the rest.