305:01,000[' ]| 305:01,001[A ]| Since glorious Dryden has withdrawn his light, 305:01,002[A ]| Some glimmering stars relieve our gloomy night; 305:01,003[A ]| Poets of different magnitudes advance, 305:01,004[A ]| In humble confidence of song and dance; 305:01,005[A ]| Ballon and tumblers please, though poets fail; 305:01,006[A ]| At a strong back she-critics never rail. 305:01,007[A ]| When a good place is void, we all pretend, 305:01,008[A ]| Some on their merit, some their purse depend: 305:01,009[A ]| Our friend can boast of neither, yet his play 305:01,010[A ]| He hopes at least may live out his third day; 305:01,011[A ]| Adorn him with one sprig, like Christmas-brawn, 305:01,012[A ]| His farther plea to bays shall be withdrawn. 305:01,013[A ]| In courts of law, under delays we groan, 305:01,014[A ]| But here our poets are too soon undone; 305:01,015[A ]| Plays are half seen, half heard, less understood, 305:01,016[A ]| When the dead warrant issues from the crowd; 305:01,017[A ]| Some are so void of wit they'll relish none: 305:01,018[A ]| Others again like nothing but their own; 305:01,019[A ]| Though outwardly they seem to carry it fair, 305:01,020[A ]| The wits are always in a state of war. 305:01,021[A ]| This play's so chaste, so void of pagan wit, 305:01,022[A ]| It might have been by a reformer writ; 305:01,023[A ]| Fops, beaux and parsons, shall this night be safe, 305:01,024[A ]| We bring the other sex to make you laugh. 305:01,000[' ]| 305:01,001[B ]| Poets and thieves can scarce be rooted out, 305:01,002[B ]| 'Scape ne'er so hardly, they'll have th'other bout; 305:01,003[B ]| Burned in the hand the thieves fall to 't again, 305:01,004[B ]| And poets hissed, cry they did so to Ben ~~ 305:01,005[B ]| Like boys, who have at school too oft been stripped, 305:01,006[B ]| They have no feeling in the part that's whipped. 305:01,007[B ]| They're for your pity, not your anger, fit, 305:01,008[B ]| They're e'en such fools, they would be thought t'have wit. 305:01,009[B ]| Elsewhere you all can flatter, why not here; 305:01,010[B ]| You'll say you pay, and so can be severe: 305:01,011[B ]| Judge for yourselves then gallants as you pay, 305:01,012[B ]| And lead not each of you his bench astray: 305:01,013[B ]| Let easy cits be pleased with all they hear, 305:01,014[B ]| Go home and to their neighbours praise our ware. 305:01,015[B ]| They with good stomachs come, and fain would eat 305:01,016[B ]| You nothing like, and make them loathe their meat; 305:01,017[B ]| Though some men are with wine, wit, beauty cloyed; 305:01,018[B ]| The creatures are by others still enjoyed. 305:01,019[B ]| 'Tis not fair play, that one for his half crown 305:01,020[B ]| Should judge, and rail, and damn for half the town. 305:01,021[B ]| But do your worst; if once the pit grows thin, 305:01,022[B ]| Your dear loved masks will hardly venture in. 305:01,023[B ]| Then w'are revenged on you, who needs must come 305:01,024[B ]| Hither, to shun your own dull selves at home: 305:01,025[B ]| But you kind burgers who had never yet, 305:01,026[B ]| Either your heads or bellies full of wit: 305:01,027[B ]| Our poet hopes to please; but not too well; 305:01,028[B ]| Nor would he have the angry critics swell. 305:01,029[B ]| A moderate fate best fits his humble mind, 305:01,030[B ]| Be neither they too sharp, nor you too kind. 305:01,000[' ]| 305:01,001[C ]| Beauty and wit so barely you requite 305:01,002[C ]| That had not Nature joined a dear delight, 305:01,003[C ]| No maid would ever yield, or poet write. 305:01,004[C ]| Yet sometimes beauty's lottery sounds a prize, 305:01,005[C ]| And in alcove the happy harlot lies, 305:01,006[C ]| While but one wit can to a laureate rise; 305:01,007[C ]| And then a butt of sack, and a small pension, 305:01,008[C ]| Is the full sum of his whole life's pretension. 305:01,009[C ]| If not stark mad, they'll leave us in the lurch, 305:01,010[C ]| We have but one poor living in our church. 305:01,011[C ]| Hither you come resolving not to like, 305:01,012[C ]| And bold-blind cocks at every feather strike: 305:01,013[C ]| The language one, another damns the plot, 305:01,014[C ]| And briskly hits the poet, ere he blot. 305:01,015[C ]| And pray be civil my young empty beaux, 305:01,016[C ]| Mere show yourselves, and only judge of shows! 305:01,017[C ]| Unbend your critic brows, for a young wench 305:01,018[C ]| As soon may like a judge upon the bench, 305:01,019[C ]| As one of your censorious grimaces, 305:01,020[C ]| Let wit alone and trust to your sweet faces. 305:01,021[C ]| No man or woman here expects that you 305:01,022[C ]| Should judge or write, beyond a billet doux; 305:01,023[C ]| But if you can, pass by each small offence, 305:01,024[C ]| And strain your wits to find one excellence, 305:01,025[C ]| 'Tis much the truest, and best sign of sense. 305:01,000[' ]| 305:01,001[D ]| Envy and faction rule this grumbling age, 305:01,002[D ]| The state they cannot, but they shake the stage, 305:01,003[D ]| This barren trade some would engross, still hoping 305:01,004[D ]| From our poor port to banish interloping: 305:01,005[D ]| And like the plodding lawyers take great care 305:01,006[D ]| To elbow blooming merit, from the bar: 305:01,007[D ]| In every age there were a sort of men, 305:01,008[D ]| As you do now, damned all was written then. 305:01,009[D ]| Thousands before 'em less provoked their pride 305:01,010[D ]| Than one poor rival straining by their side, 305:01,011[D ]| Such vermin critics we expect to find, 305:01,012[D ]| For Nature knows not how to loose a kind, 305:01,013[D ]| The stinking poll cat, nor the mole that's blind. 305:01,014[D ]| But against old as well as new to rage, 305:01,015[D ]| Is the peculiar frenzy of this age. 305:01,016[D ]| Shakespeare must down, and you must praise no more 305:01,017[D ]| Soft Desdemona, nor the jealous Moor: 305:01,018[D ]| Shakespeare whose fruitful genius, happy wit 305:01,019[D ]| Was framed and finished at a lucky hit, 305:01,020[D ]| The pride of Nature, and the shame of schools, 305:01,021[D ]| Born to create, and not to learn from rules; 305:01,022[D ]| Must please no more, his bastards now deride 305:01,023[D ]| Their father's nakedness they ought to hide, 305:01,024[D ]| But when on spurs their Pegasus they force, 305:01,025[D ]| Their faded Muse is distanced in the course: 305:01,026[D ]| All that is now has been before 'tis true, 305:01,027[D ]| And yet the art, the fashion may be new: 305:01,028[D ]| Though old materials the large palace raise, 305:01,029[D ]| The skilful architect deserves his praise. 305:01,030[D ]| If nothing please, you are not nice, but sick, 305:01,031[D ]| 'Tis want of stomach, ever to dislike. 305:01,032[D ]| On our past poets, petty juries sit, 305:01,033[D ]| The living sink beneath your present spite, 305:01,034[D ]| As if this were the doomsday of all wit. 305:01,035[D ]| But beaux and ladies for your selves be wise 305:01,036[D ]| You'll break our lottery if none draw a prize. 305:01,037[D ]| For this one night, do as kind lovers use, 305:01,038[D ]| Tie up strict judgement and let fancy loose.