Of all Dramatique Writing, Comick Wit, As 'tis the best, so 'tis most hard to hit. For it lies all in level to the Eye, Where all may judge, and each Defect may spye. Humour is that which every Day we meet, And therefore known as every publick Street; In which, if e'r the Poet go astray, You all can point, 'twas there he lost his Way, But what's so common to make pleasant too, Is more than any Wit can always do. For 'tis, like @3Turkes@1 with Hen and Rice to treat, To make Regalio's out of common Meat. But, in your Diet, you grow Salvages: Nothing but humane Flesh your Taste can please; And as their Feasts with slaughter'd Slaves began, So you, at each new Play, must have a Man. Hither you come, as to see Prizes fought; If no Blood's drawn, you cry, the Prize is naught. But Fooles grow wary now; and, when they see A Poet eyeing round the Company, Straight each Man for himself begins to doubt; They shrink like Seamen when a Press comes out. Few of 'em will be found for publick Use, Except you charge an Oph upon each House, Like the Train-Bands, and every man ingage For a sufficient Fool to serve the Stage. And when with much adoe you get him there, Where he in all his Glory should appear, Your Poets make him such rare Things to say, That he's more Wit than any Man ith' Play: But of so ill a mingle with the rest, As when a Parrat's taught to break a Jest. Thus, aiming to be fine, they make a Show, As tawdry Squires in country Churches do. Things well consider'd, 'tis so hard to make A Comedy, which should the knowing take, That our dull Poet, in despair to please, Does humbly beg by me his writ of ease. 'Tis a Land-tax, which he's too poor to pay; You therefore must some other Impostlay. Would you but change for serious Plot and Verse This motley garniture of Fool and Farce, Nor scorn a Mode, because 'tis taught at home, Which does, like Vests, our Gravity become, Our Poet yields you should this Play refuse: As Tradesmen by the change of Fashions lose With some content their Fripperies of @3France,@1 In Hope it may their staple Trade advance. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE QUEEN FORGETS by GEORGE STERLING COME UP FROM THE FIELDS FATHER by WALT WHITMAN IN THE OLD SOUTH CHURCH; 1677 by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER LINES WRITTEN IN A CITY COMPOSING-ROOM by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS THE CASE OF ALBERT IRVING WILLIAMSON by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS SERENADE by JEAN FRANCOIS VICTOR AICARD LILIES: 8 by GEORGE BARLOW (1847-1913) |