Classic Poem

Spoken by Mr. WILKS .

I Wish some author, careless of renown,
Would without format prologue risque the town.
For what is told you by this useless ditty?
Only that tragedy should move your pity:
That when you see theatric heroes shown,
Their virtues you should strive to make your own.
What gain we by this solemn way of teaching?
Our precepts mend your lives no more than preaching.
Since then our Bard declines this beaten path;
What if we lash'd the criticks into wrath?
Poets should ne'er be drones; mean, harmless things;
But guard, like bees, their labours by their stings.
That mortal sure must all ambition smother,
Who dares not hurt one man to please another.
What, sink a joke! That's but a meer pretence:
He shows most wit who gives the most offence.
But still our squeamish author satyr loaths,
As children, physick; or as women, oaths.
He knows he's at the bar, and must submit;
For ev'ry man is born a judge of wit.
How can you err? Plays are like paintings try'd,
You first enquire the hand, and then decide:
Yet judge him not before the curtain draws,
Lest a fair-hearing should reverse the cause.