 | The Goblins |  |
Prologue.
Wit in a Prologue, Poets justly mayStile a new imposition on a Play.
When Shakespeare, Beamont, Fletcher rul'd the Stage
There scarce were ten good pallats in the age,
More curious Cooks then guests; for men would eat
Most hartily of any kind of meat,
And then what strange variety each Play,
A Feast for Epicures, and that each day.
But marke how odly it is come about,
And how unluckily it now fals out:
The pallats are growne, higher number increas't,
And there wants that which should make up the Feast;
And yet y'are so unconscionable. You'd have
Forsooth of late, that which they never gave,
Banquets before; and after.—
Now pox on him that first good Prologue writ,
He left a kind of rent charge upon wit;
Which if succeeding Poets faile to pay,
They forfeit all their worth, and thats their play:
Y' have Ladies humors, and y'are growne to that,
You will not like the man lesse that his boots and hat
Be right; no play, unlesse the Prologue be,
And Epilogue writ to curiositie.
Well (Gentiles) 'tis the grievance of the place,
And pray consider't, for here's just the case;
The richnesse of the ground is gone and spent,
Mens braines grow barren, and you raise the Rent.—
| The Goblins | |