Classic Poem

Ladies and Gentlemen , since all transgression
Is promis'd pardon , when it makes confession :
Know, that our Play — a sheaf of foreign gleaning ,
Dreads, to be damn'd , for its excess of meaning.
What tho', to court kind judges , our translator
Has let loose Scandal , and unbridled Satire!
Vain are his arts — that play was built for sinking ,
Where none can laugh — but at th' expence of thinking .
In a free nation, 'tis too like subjection ,
To pay , for mirth , both money , and reflection .
Wise poets are content with present laughter,
And leave the reason for't — to rise hereafter .

Our author's muse, importing wit , to charm ye,
Would, with a Frenchman's boasted wildfire warm ye;
Gives ye a Play , which, e'er it wander'd hither,
Brought Paris seventy crowded nights, together.
What it may do, in London — you'll inform us:
French batt'ries guard in vain — if Britons storm us.

'Tis no gay Opera — but there's much, that's smart in't,
'The God of wit vouchsafes to act a part in't.
I play the ass , in't — that, you'll say's no wonder ,
'Tis a disguise , most men are actors under.
I grant it — asses in men's shape, are common ;
But reasoning asses have been heard by no man .
Yet, since he needs must change me — would he had run it
Up to the fashion's height, not under done it!
Had my long ears , and hoofs scap'd transformation ,
And one gay dance been learnt — I'd charm'd the nation.
These empty Frenchmen of their wit may vapour,
But, what's a nimble tongue , without a caper!

That's one defect — another ten times greater ,
Is, that his Ladies taste is out of nature ;
She doats on ruin'd merit , — loving honey!
And weds her Timon , 'cause he 'd lost his money:
Did men want wives , and for that cause would take 'em,
What choice of blessings kind Quadrille would make 'em!

The rest I'll not anticipate — sit quiet ,
And, if your taste delights in change of diet ,
You'll meet it, in the plenteous feast , you came for,
Dress'd in a foreign form , we have no name for.