THE COUNT OF NARBONNE Was the last dramatic production of Mr. Jephson, and is pronounced by able critics to be his best. Its first appearance was at Covent Garden Theatre in 1780; when its success was much heightened by the fine acting of Henderson, and the introduction of the present Mrs. S. Kemble, then Miss Satchell, whose youth, beauty, and talent, gave an irresistible interest to the character of Adelaide.

It will easily be discovered that this play is a close imitation of Lord Orford's celebrated ronance, the CASTLE OF OTRANTO.

PROLOGUE.

Of all who strive to please the public ear,
Most bold is he who dares attempt it here:
Where four tribunals, a tremendous show,
Plain folk above, and finer folk below,
All sit to try an anxious author's cause,
Each by its own, and all by diff'rent laws.
This beauteous circle, friends to polish'd verse,
Admires soft sentiments in language terse;
While the stern pit all ornament disdains,
And loves deep pathos, and sublimer strains.
The middle order, free from critic pride,
Take genuine nature for their faithful guide;
At ears and eyes they drink the full delight,
And judge but as they feel of wrong and right:
While those above them, honest souls! delight in
Processions, bustle, trumpets, drums, and fighting.
Hard as it is, we think our play to-night
Has something fit for ev'ry appetite.
For tender souls are tender griefs prepar'd,

[To the Boxes. And scenes of direr woe for breasts more hard;

By interesting your passions, we must try

[To the Pit.

[To the middle Gallery. To bribe the heart while we defraud the eye;

And though no trumpets sound, nor drums will rattle,
You, friends, shall hear of a most desp'rate battle.
[To the upper Gallery.
Thus provident for all, we trust you'll own,

Our poet's zeal may for some faults atone.
In this, at least, he hopes you'll all agree,
To shield him from the critic's treachery;

Who, with sly rules upon your judgment stealing,
Would set your pride against your honest feeling;
Would shame the gen'rous drops that swell your eyes,
And teach you your own virtues to despise.

Permit me, ere I go, one short relation,
And just three words by way of application.
A home-spun country squire, who took his stand
To see a dextrous juggler's sleight of hand,
Was thus accosted by an envious wight,

Who sought to hurt the artist from pure spite:
"Sir, for these tricks I'll presently expose them;
"There's nothing in't, I'll show you how he does them."
How think you the proposal was receiv'd?
"No," says the squire, "I pay to be deceiv'd."
Thus wit, which favour'd authors would condemn,
Mean nothing kind to you, but spleen to them;
Then still mistrust, whate'er he may profess,
The friend who strives to make your pleasure less,

DRAMATIS PERSONE.

As originally acted. Covent Garden, 1807

Count of Narbonne Mr. Wroughton. Mr. Kemble.

Mr. Henderson. Mr. Pope.

Austin

SCENE NARBONNE Castle, and the Monastery of St. Nicholas, adjoining to the Castle.

Enter the COUNT of NARBONNE, speaking to un
Officer; followed by FABIAN.

Count. Nor to be found! Is this your faithful ser

vice?

How could she pass unseen? By hell, 'tis false!

Thou hast betray'd me.

Offi. Noble sir, my duty

Count. Your fraud, your negligence-away, reply

not.

Find her within this hour; else, by my life,

The gates of Narbonne shall be clos'd against thee.
Then make the world thy country.

Fabian, stay!

Misfortunes fall so thick upon my head,

[Exit Officer.

They will not give me time to think-to breathe.

Fab. Heav'n knows, I wish your peace; but am to

learn

What grief more fresh than my young lord's decease, A sorrow but of three days past, can move you.