 | The Surprisal
|  |
|
PROLOGUE.
Since
you expect a Prologue, we submit:
But let me tell you, this Excise on Wit,
Though undiscern'd, consumes the Stock so fast,
That no new Phancy will be left at last.
Wit's not like Money; Money though paid in
Passes about, and is receiv'd agen:
But Wit when it has once been paid before,
There it lies dead, 'tis currant then no more.
Nor must we plead for what we do present,
As in Law-Cases, by a President:
Poets and Mountebanks in this strange Age
Practise with equal hopes upon the Stage;
For 'tis expected they shou'd both apply
To every Humour some new Remedy:
And one's as likely every man to please,
As t'other to cure every mans Disease.
—But you are welcom all; and what men say
Before a Feast, will serve before a Play:
Here's nothing you can like: Thus he that writes
Or makes a Feast, more certainly invites
His Judges than his Friends; there's not a Guest
But will find somthing wanting or ill-drest.
The Proverb but thus varied serves I fear;
Fools make the Plays, and Wise-men come to hear.
| The Surprisal
| |
|
