Classic Poem

Prologues were look'd upon, in former days,
But as the porches , not the props , of plays!
At first, confin'd, in humble tone, to pray,
They beg'd their hearers smile, upon the play:
Favour'd, in that, they climb'd, still higher, and higher,
As rising fortune much inflames desire:
'Till now, our poets teach their judges sense,
And damn the audience , in the play's defence.
Our author, less presumptuous, bids me say,
He courts your favour, in a gentler way:
The untam'd genius of the British nation,
Disdains constraint, but smiles on resignation:
And when, in love, or wit, we take the field,
The surest way to conquer , is to yield .
Not but, our brainless , has good int'rest, too,
And might, perhaps, claim kin , with some of you,
But he believes, he says, that, when we've shown him,
The nearest to his blood , will, first, disown him.