Classic Poem

PROLOGUE,

Nature 's Deserted and Dramatick Art,
To Dazle now the Eye, has left the Heart;
Gay Lights, and Dresses, long extended Scenes,
Daemons and Angels moving in Machines,
All that can now or please or fright the Fair
May be perform'd without a writer's Care,
And is the Skill of Carpenter, not Player:
Old Shakespear's Days could not thus far Advance,
But what's his Buskin to our Ladder Dance?
In the mid Region a silk Youth to stand,
With that unweildy Engine at Command!
Gorg'd with intemp'rate Meals while here you sit,
Well may you take Activity for Wit:
Fie, Let confusion on such Dulness seize.
Blush you're so Pleas'd, as we that so we Please;
But we still kind to your inverted Sence,
Do most unnatural Things once more dispense;
For since You're still prepost'rous in Delight,
Our Author made, a full House to invite,
A Funeral a Comedy to night.
Nor does he fear that you will take the Hint,
And let the Funeral his own be meant;
No, in Old England nothing can be won
Without a Faction Good or Ill be done;
To own this our Frank Author does not fear,
But Hopes for a prevailing Party here,
He knows h' has num'rous Friends, nay knows they'll show it,
And for the Fellow-Soldier save the Poet.