 | The Plot |  |
PROLOGUE.
Notorious Falshood, Avarice, and Rage,May well expect the Satyr of the Stage.
Satyr looks round, with keen impartial Eyes,
On Vice, and Folly seizes as its Prize;
But ever has rever'd the Just and Wise.
Let none at Random think we deal our Blows,
And, like Drawcansir, kill both Friends and Foes;
The Stage applauds the Wise, the Learn'd, the Good,
But Knaves and Fools are properly our Food.
The knowing Lawyer flies not into Rage,
But laughs at Ignoramus on the Stage:
Thus when Moliere an Emperick attacks,
He finds no Censure, but among the Quacks.
Our Poet says, He fits his Cap to none,
But if some Fool will wear it—'tis his own.
| The Plot | |