1.
How happy, Sir, was the last age
When learned Johnson rul'd the Stage
That strict observer of mankind.
Men were the Books he read, and he
Made the whole town his Librarie;
Theatres were then the Schools
Of good morality, where Knaves and Fools
Their follies saw, and vices acted so,
Shame, those made honester, these, wiser grow.
In every Scene he writ we find
With Pleasure Profit joyn'd,
And every Comedie
He did intend
An Errata Page should be,
To show men faults and teach 'em how to mend.

2.
But this age disesteems true Comedy
'Cause 'tis the mirrour of the times .... ...

3.
But you adventure to retrive
The fading glories of the Stage,
Whilst this Play you more than give
To the unthankful age.
Great Ben thought it enough to swear
That his were good
Believe me so they are,
Could we but find a man had as much wit
To read and judg of them as he that writ.
The same fate now
Do's your Play disallow,
'Tis lik'd by as few as understood.
Our age before
Ne'er had a Play like this, nor e'er again
Will such another see, less you once more
Imploy your pen,
Which you must do in scorn of them
That for your virtue do your wit condemn.
Their spight
Brings you more praise than all your friends can write,
And does assert
Your Fame:
For where there's envy, there's desert,
That still at excellence doth aim.
So mungrel Curs are known
To bark against the brightness of the Moon.... ...

(sig. a4; ll. 1-17, 31-56)