Classic Poem

A Comaedy presented at the White Fryers .

A Gentleman to give us somewhat new,
Hath brought up Oxford with him to show you;
Pray be not frighted — Tho the Scaene and Gown's
The Universities , the Wit's the Town's;
The Lines, each honest Englishman may speake;
Yet not mistake his Mother-tongue for Greeke ,
For stil 'twas part of his vow'd Liturgie,
From learned Comedies deliver me !
Wishing all those that lov'd 'em here asleepe,
Promising Scholars , but no Scholarship .

You'd smile to see, how he do's vex and shake,
Speakes naught, but if the Prologue do's but take,
Or the first Act were past the Pikes once, then —
Then hopes and Joys, then frowns and fears agen,
Then blushes like a Virgin now to be
Rob'd of his Comicall Virginity
In presence of you all; in short you'd say
More hopes of Mirth are in his looks then play.

These feares are for the Noble and the Wise;
But if 'mongst you there are such fowle dead eyes
As can Damne unaraign'd, cal Law their Pow'rs,
Judging it sin enough that it is Ours ,
And with the House shift their decreed Desires,
Faire still to th' Blacke , Blacke still to the White-Fryers ;
He dos protest he wil sit down and weep
Castles and Pyramids — — — — — — — — —
— — — — — — — — — — — — No, he wil on,
Proud to be rais'd by such Destruction ,
So far from quarr'lling with himselfe and Wit,
That he wil thank them for the Benefit ,
Since finding nothing worthy of their Hate ,
They reach him that themselves must Envy at.