Poems upon Several Occasions/78
Prologue to the British Enchanters.
POETS by Observation find it true,
'Tis harder much to please themselves, than you:
To weave a Plot, to work and to refine
A labour'd Scene, to polish ev'ry Line,
Judgment must sweat, and feel a Mother's Pains:
Vain Fools! thus to disturb and rack their Brains,
When more indulgent to the Writer's Ease,
You are too good, to be so hard to please:
No such convulsive Pangs it will require
To write———the pretty Things that you admire.
Our Author then to please you in your Way,
Presents you now a Bawble of a Play,
In gingling Rhyme, well fortify'd and strong,
He fights entrench'd, o'er Head and Ears, in Song.
If here and there some evil-fated Line
Shou'd chance, thro' Inadvertency, to shine,
Forgive him, Beaus, he means you no Offence,
But begs you, for the Love of Song and Dance,
To pardon———All the Poetry and Sense.
