Classic Poem

H ERE'S a young Fellow here, an Actor, Powel
Whose virtuous face, perhaps, you all may know well
And he has writ a Play ... this very Play
Which you are all come here to see to Day:
And so it being an usual thing to speak
Something or other, for the Author's sake,
Before the Play, in hopes to make it sake,
I'm come, being his Friend and Fellow Play'r,
To jay what (if you please) you're like to hear.
First, know, that Favour which I'd fain have shown.
I ask not for in his Name, but my own,
For, without Vanity, I'm better known.
Mean time then, let me beg that you'd forbear
Your Cat-Calls, and the instruments of War.
For Mercy, Mercy, at your Feet we fall,
Before your roaring Gods destroy us all.
I'l speak with Words sweet as distilling Honey,
With Words ... as if I meant to borrow Money.
Fair, gentle Sirs, most soft, alluring Beaus,
Think tis a Lady that for Pitty sues,
Bright Ladies — — But to gain the Ladies Grace,
I think I need no more than show my Face.
Next then you Authors, be not you severe;
Why what a swarm of Scriblers have we here!
One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten,
All in one row, and Brothers of the Pen.
All would be Poets, well, your Favour's due
To this Day's Author, for he's one of you.
Among the few, which are of noted Fame,
I'm safe, for I my self am one of them:
You've seen me smoak at Will 's among the Wits ,
I'm witty too, as they are, that's by Fits.
Now ye, our City Friends, who hither come
By three a Clock to make sure Elbow-room,
While Spouse, tuckt up, does in her pattens trudg it,
With Handkerchief of prog, like Trull with Budget.
And here by turns ye eat Plumb-cake and judge it.
Pray be ye kind, let me your Grace importune,
Or else, I gad, I'll tell ye all your Fortune,
Well, now, I have but one thing more to say,
And that's in reference to our third Day;
An odd request, may be you'll think it so,
Pray come whether you like the Play or no;
And if ye'll stay, we shall be glad to see ye,
If not, leave your Half crowns, and peace be wi' ye.