 | The Chances |  |
PROLOGUE.
Of all men those have reason least to careFor being laugh'd at, who can laugh their share:
And that's a thing our Author's Apt to use
Upon occasion, when no man can chuse.
Suppose now at this instant one of you
Were tickled by a Fool, what would you do?
'Tis ten to one you'd laugh, here's just the case,
For there are Fools that tickle with their Face.
Your gay Fool tickles with his Dress, and Motions,
But your grave Fool of Fools, with silly Notions.
Is it not then unjust that Fops should still
Force one to laugh, and then take laughing ill?
Yet since perhaps to some it gives offence,
That men are tickled at the want of Sence;
Our Author thinks he takes the readiest way
To shew all he has laugh'd at here fair play.
For if ill writing be a folly thought,
Correcting ill is sure a greater fault.
Then Gallants laugh, but chuse the right place first,
For judging ill is of all faults the worst.
| The Chances | |