Classic Poem

But is it true, the Court mislik't the Play,
That Christchurch and the Arts have lost the day?
That Ignoramus should so farr excell
Their Hobby-horse from ours hath borne the bell?
Troth you are justly serv'd, that would present
Ought unto them, but shallow merriment;
Or to your Marriage-table did admitt
Guests, that are stronger farr in smell, then Witt.
Had some quaint bawdry larded ev'ry Scaene,
Some fawning Sychophant, or courted Queane;
Had there appear'd some sharp, crosse-garter'd man,
Whome their loud laugh might nickname Puritan,
Cas'd up in factious breeches, and small ruff,
That hates the Surplis, and defyes the Cuff,
Then sure they would have giv'n applause to crowne
That which their ignorance did now cry downe.
Let mee advise, when next you doe bestowe
Your paines on men that doe but little know,
You doe no Chorus, nor a Comment lack
Which may expound and conster ev'ry Act;
That it be short and slight: for if't be good
Tis long, and neither lik't, nor understood.
Know, 'tis Court fashion still to discommend
All that which they want braine to comprehend.