_Others_ appear more conscious of defect;
To night, no _Veteran Roscii_ you behold,
In all the arts of scenic action old;
No COOKE, no KEMBLE, can salute you here,
No SIDDONS draw the sympathetic tear,
To night, you thong to witness the debut,
Of embryo actors to the drama new;
Here then, our almost unfledg'd wings we try,
Clip not our _pinions_, ere the _birds can fly_;
Failing in this our first attempt to soar,
Drooping, alas, we fall to rise no more.
Not one poor trembler only, fear betrays,
Who hopes, yet almost dreads to meet your praise;
But all our Dramatis Personæ wait,
In fond suspense, this crisis of their fate;
No venal views our progress can retard,
Your generous plaudits are our sole reward;
For them each _Hero_ all his power displays,
Each timid _Heroine_ shrinks before your gaze:
Surely these last will some protection find,
None to the softer sex can prove unkind;
Whilst youth and beauty form the female shield,
The sternest critic to the fair must yield.
But should our feeble efforts nought avail,
Should, _after all_, our best endeavours fail;
Still let some mercy in your bosoms live,
And if you can't applaud, at least _forgive_.

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