 | The Confederates |  |
PROLOGUE.
Since
Prose has met such bad Success of late,
In Verse our Author tries this Night his Fate;
A Novice Bard; yet vain enough to hope
For no worse Luck, than T---r, and Pope.
No far-fetch'd Mummies on this Stage appear,
Nor Snake, nor Shark, nor Crocodile is here;
But, One Strange Monster we design to show,
(His Fellow you ne'er saw in Channel-Row)
On whom Dame Nature nothing good bestow'd,
In Form, a Monkey; but for Spite, a Toad.
Nor thought we fit, (since They might take it ill)
To leave out here his Brethren of the Quill;
The Northern Doctor with his Highland Face;
Nor t'other Wit that waited on her Grace.
In Verse our Author tries this Night his Fate;
A Novice Bard; yet vain enough to hope
For no worse Luck, than T---r, and Pope.
No far-fetch'd Mummies on this Stage appear,
Nor Snake, nor Shark, nor Crocodile is here;
But, One Strange Monster we design to show,
(His Fellow you ne'er saw in Channel-Row)
In Form, a Monkey; but for Spite, a Toad.
Nor thought we fit, (since They might take it ill)
To leave out here his Brethren of the Quill;
The Northern Doctor with his Highland Face;
Nor t'other Wit that waited on her Grace.
The Poet begs the Rhyme you will excuse,
Nor damn the Labour of your Champion Muse:
(A Muse that rises in the Town's Defence,
Plagu'd with dull Satire, and Impertinence.)
This he declares, The Scenes are all his Own,
If for his Faults that Frankness will attone.
Let Brother Wits impose on Johnny Gay;
But Joe's no Father for Another's Play.
Nor damn the Labour of your Champion Muse:
(A Muse that rises in the Town's Defence,
Plagu'd with dull Satire, and Impertinence.)
This he declares, The Scenes are all his Own,
If for his Faults that Frankness will attone.
Let Brother Wits impose on Johnny Gay;
But Joe's no Father for Another's Play.
| The Confederates | |