Poems upon several Occasions.
105
At vast Expence, we labour to our Ruin,
And court your Favour, with our own Undoing;
A War of Profit mitigates the Evil,
But to be tax'd———and beaten———is the Devil.
How was the Scene forlorn, and how despis'd,
When Timon without Musick, moraliz'd;
Shakespear's Sublime in vain entic'd the Throng,
Without the Aid of Purcell's Siren Song.
In the same antique Loom these Scenes were wrought,
Embellish'd with good Morals and just Thought,
True Nature in her nobles Light you see,
Ere yet debauch'd by modern Gallantry
To trifling Jests, and fulsome Ribaldry:
What Rust remains upon the shining Mass,
Antiquity must privilege to pass.
'Tis Shakespear's Play, and if these Scenes miscarry,
Let [1]Gorman take the Stage———or [2]Lady Mary.
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