Classic Poem

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 which you admire.

Our author then, to please you in your way,
Presents you now a bauble of a play;
In gingling rhyme, well fortify'd and strong,
He sights entrench'd o'er head and ears in song.
If here and there some evil-fated line
Should 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.