SIR MARTIN MARR-ALL, OR THE FEIGNED INNOCENCE: PROLOGUE by JOHN DRYDEN

FOOLS, which each man meets in his Dish each Day,
Are yet the great Regalio's of a Play;
In which to Poets you but just appear,
To prize that highest which cost them so dear:
Fops in the Town more easily will pass;
One story makes a statutable Ass;
But such in Plays must be much thicker sown,
Like yolks of Eggs, a dozen beat to one.
Observing Poets all their walks invade,
As men watch Woodcocks gliding through a Glade:
And when they have enough for Comedy,
They stow their several Bodies in a Pye:
The Poet's but the Cook to fashion it,
For, Gallants, you yourselves have found the Wit.
To bid you welcome would your bounty wrong;
None welcome those who bring their Chear along.

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