 | Edwin |  |
PROLOGUE. Written by Bevil Higgens, Esq;
The Muse discourag'd, is so idle grown,Scarce one new Play has entertain'd the Town:
Old Poets hash'd, recook'd and quite defac'd,
Support the Stage, and please a vicious Taste.
When your fair Mother's that bright Ring adorn'd,
[To the Ladies.
Good Sense and Poetry not thus were scorn'd;
Poor Belvidere drew Tears from every Eye;
And all with Pity saw Monimia die.
But now—
After a plenteous Meal of English Meat,
Deserts of foreign Farce the Feast compleat:
Tack'd to good Plays, the vile Buffoon prevails,
And draws an Audience where the Poet fails;
No foreign Scenes of Love distress'd we show,
But Native Breasts wou'd touch with Native Woe.
Let Art and Nature then your Tast restore,
While Faustus Harlequin attracts no more.
Without the Help of Conjurers to fright,
A British Bard with British Tale this Night,
Shall raise your Pity, Terror and Delight.
| Edwin | |