 | Fatal Friendship |  |
PROLOGUE, Written by Mr Harman, and spoke by Mr Bowen.
Your Servants Sirs,
Conscious of many favours from the Town,And that he poorly pays who does but own,
I'm come to save each of you half a Crown.
(Our Author truly would invite your stay,
And if you will be all such Fools you may,
There's some are wiser, and will walk away.
To the side Boxes.
For I who have heard the tale within can tell yee
A worse disaster never yet befel yee;
A Critick yonder has been stating Rules,
To gain the Wise, and scorn the Herd of Fools;
To which 'twas said, one Friend wou'd raise ten Foes,
And that's too dear as common Friendship goes;
Success with both is found no human task;
Who please the Boxes will affront the Mask;
To Charm, and to instruct's too great a trouble,
'Tis hard for Pegasus to carry double.
I argu'd much to entertain the Fools,
They are the Poets and the Players Tools.
Are sown so thick o'er Gallery, Box, and Pit,
Can give success without the help of Wit;
For one Grimace more favour will dispence,
Than for whole Scenes that boast of stricter sence;
Ev'n I by help of Band and cropt disguise,
Can reach your hearts as Love does through your Eyes;
Well the Fools Coat, the Fools defect supplies.
But still Poetick Fate attends the Muse,
This thriving Councel did our Fool refuse,
She'd please no Crambo Critick, with dull Chime,
Preferring sense, ev'n to engaging Rhime;
Nor little Lord who still affects to be
Learn'd in the knacks of visiting Gallantry.
With scraps of Scandal, and Pert Repartee.
On ruin bent I left her to her Fate,
And stole to warn you for what treat you sat.
If to the Wits alone our Plays are Writ,
And Authors will allow so few have Wit,
Why should they grumble at an Empty Pit.
Since I have been thus frankly dealing now,
But one request for my dear sake allow.
With Crowded Benches we shall grace our Play,
If each who thinks himself a Wit will stay.
| Fatal Friendship | |