University of Virginia Library

Prologve.

'Tis worth my smiles, to thinke what inforc'd waies
And shifts, each Poet hath to helpe his Plaies.
Ours now believe, the Title needs must cause
From the indulgent Court, a kind applause,
Since there hee learn't it first, and had command
T'interpret what hee scarce doth understand.
And then (forsooth) he saies, because 'tis now
'Twill take; and be admir'd too, by a few:
But all these easie hopes, I'de like t'have marr'd,
With witnessing his Title was so hard,
'Bove halfe our Citty audience would be lost,
That knew not how to spell it on the Post.
Nay, hee was told, some Criticks lately spent
Their Learning to find out, it nothing meant:
They will expect but little (hee replies)
From that which nought or little signifies.
Well, I (your Servant) who have labour'd heere
In Buskins, and in Socks, this thirty years,
I'th truth of my experience, could not chuse
But say, these shifts would not secure his Muse:
Then straight presented to his willing feare,
How you are growne of late, harsh, and severe.
(Excuse mee that I'm bold to peake my mind
I'th darke, of what so publickly I find.)
But this hath made him mourne: I've left him now
With's limber Hat, o'reshadowing his brow,
His Cloke cast this—to hinder from his care,
The scornes and censures hee may shortly heare:
Such as shall teach, dispaire, lead him the way,
Vnto a Grove of Cypresse, not of Bay.