By the honourable Richard Fitzpatrick
| The sister Muses, whom these realms obey, |
| Who o’er the drama hold divided sway, |
| Sometimes by evil counsellors, ’tis said, |
| Like earth-born potentates have been misled. |
| In those gay days of wickedness and wit, |
| When Villiers criticised what Dryden writ, |
| The tragic queen, to please a tasteless crowd, |
| Had learn’d to bellow, rant, and roar so loud, |
| That frighten’d Nature, her best friend before, |
| The blustering beldam’s company foreswore; |
| Her comic sister, who had wit ’tis true, |
| With all her merits, had her failings too: |
| And would sometimes in mirthful moments use |
| A style too flippant for a well-bred muse; |
| Then female modesty abash’d began |
| To seek the friendly refuge of the fan, |
| Awhile behind that slight intrenchment stood, |
| Till driven from thence, she left the stage for good, |
| In our more pious, and far chaster times, |
| These sure no longer are the Muse’s crimes! |
| But some complain that, former faults to shun, |
| The reformation to extremes has run. |
| The frantic hero’s wild delirium past, |
| Now insipidity succeeds bombast: |
| So slow Melpomene’s cold numbers creep, |
| Here dulness seems her drowsy court to keep, |
| And we are scarce awake, whilst you are fast asleep, |
| Thalia, once so ill-behaved and rude, |
| Reform’d, is now become an arrant prude; |
| Retailing nightly to the yawning pit |
| The purest morals, undefiled by wit! |
| Our author offers, in these motley scenes, |
| A slight remonstrance to the drama’s queens: |
| Nor let the goddesses be over nice; |
| Free-spoken subjects give the best advice. |
| Although not quite a novice in his trade, |
| His cause to-night requires no common aid. |
| To this, a friendly, just, and powerful court, |
| I come ambassador to beg support. |
| Can he undaunted brave the critic’s rage? |
| In civil broils with brother bards engage? |
| Hold forth their errors to the public eye, |
| Nay more, e’en newspapers themselves defy? |
| Say, must his single arm encounter all? |
| By number vanquish’d, e’en the brave may fall; |
| And though no leader should success distrust, |
| Whose troops are willing, and whose cause is just; |
| To bid such hosts of angry foes defiance, |
| His chief dependence must be, your alliance. |