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So (but too weak for such a weighty thing)
The Muse inspires a sharper Note to sing;
And why should Truth offend when only told
To guide the Ignorant, and warn the Bold;
On then my Muse, adventrously engage,
To give Instructions that concern the Stage.
The Unities of Action, Time, and Place,Plays
Which if observed, give Plays so great a Grace,
Are, tho but little practis'd, too well known
To be taught here, where we pretend alone
From nicer Faults to purge the present Age,
Less obvious Errors of the English Stage.
First then, Soliloques had we be few,
Extremely short, and spoke in passion too;
Our Lovers talking to themselves for want,
Of others, make the Pit their Confidant;
Nor is the matter mended yet, if thus
They trust a Friend, only to tell it us;
Th' occasion should as naturally fall,
As when [1]Bellario confesses all.
Figures of Speech, which Poets think so fine,
Art's needless Varnish to make Nature shine,
Are all but Paint upon a beauteous Face,
And in Description only claim a place.
But to make Rage declaim, and Grief Discourse,
From Lovers in despair fine things to force,
