Enter Beggar and Player

Beggar. If poverty be a title to poetry I am sure nobody can dispute mine. I own myself of the company of beggars, and I make one at their weekly festivals at St. Giles’s. I have a small yearly salary for my catches and am welcome to a dinner there whenever I please, which is more than most poets can say.

Player. As we live by the Muses it is but gratitude in us to encourage poetical merit wherever we find it. The Muses, contrary to all other ladies, pay no distinction to dress and never partially mistake the pertness of embroidery for wit nor the modesty of want for dullness. Be the author who he will, we push his play as far as it will go. So, though you are in want, I wish you success heartily.

Beggar. This piece I own was originally writ for the celebrating the marriage of James Chanter and Moll Lay, two most excellent ballad-singers. I have introduced the similes that are in all your celebrated operas—the swallow, the moth, the bee, the ship, the flower, etc. Besides, I have a prison scene, which the ladies always reckon charmingly pathetic. As to the parts, I have observed such a nice impartiality to our two ladies that it is impossible for either of them to take offence. I hope I may be forgiven that I have not made my opera throughout unnatural like those in vogue; for I have no recitative. Excepting this, as I have consented to have neither prologue nor epilogue, it must be allowed an opera in all its forms. The piece indeed hath been heretofore frequently represented by ourselves in our great room at St. Giles’s, so that I cannot too often acknowledge your charity in bringing it now on the stage.

Player. But I see ’tis time for us to withdraw. The actors are preparing to begin. Play away the overture.


  By PanEris using Melati.

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