 | The citye match |  |
THE PROLOGVE AT BLACK-FRIERS.
Were it his trade, the Author bid me say,Perchance he'd beg you would be good to th'Play.
And I, to set him up in Reputation,
Should hold a Bason forth for Approbation.
But praise so gain'd, He thinks, were a Reliefe
Able to make his Comœdy a Briefe.
For where your pitty must your judgement be,
Tis not a Play, but you fir'd houses see.
Look not his quill, then, should petitions run;
No Gathering's heere into a Prologue spun.
Whither their sold Scenes be dislikt, or hit,
Are cares for them who eat by th'stage, and wit.
He's One, whose unbought Muse did never feare
An Empty second day, or a thinne share;
But can make th'Actors, though you come not twice,
No Loosers, since we act now at the Kings price.
Who hath made this Play publique, and the same
Power that makes Lawes, redeem'd this from the flame.
For th'Author builds no fame, nor doth aspire
To praise, from that which he condemn'd to th'fire.
He's thus secure, then, that he cannot winne
A Censure sharper then his own hath beene.
| The citye match | |