Classic Poem

Spoken by Mr. W ILKS .

T O -Night, if you have brought your good old Taste,
We'll treat you with a downright English Feast ,
A Tale, which told long since in homely wise,
Hath never fail'd of melting gentle Eyes.
Let no nice Sir despise our hapless Dame ,
Because recording Ballads chaunt her Name;
Those venerable ancient Song-Inditers
Soar'd many a Pitch above our modern Writers:
They caterwaul'd in no romantic Ditty,
Sighing for Phillis' s or Cloe' s Pity .
Justly they drew the Fair, and spoke her plain,
And sung her by her Christ'an Name — — 'twas Jane.
Our Numbers may be more refin'd than those,
But what we've gain'd in Verse, we've lost in Prose.
Their Words, no shuffling, double Meaning knew,
Their Speech was homely, but their Hearts were true.
In such an Age, immortal Shakespear wrote ,
By no quaint Rules, nor hampering Critics taught;
With rough majestic Force he mov'd the Heart,
And Strength and Nature made amends for Art.
Our humble Author does his Steps pursue,
He owns he had the mighty Bard in view;
And in these Scenes has made it more his Care
To rouse the Passions, than to charm the Ear.
Yet for those gentle Beaux who love the Chime ,
The Ends of Acts still gingle into Rhime.
The Ladies too, he hopes will not complain ,
Here are some Subjects of a softer Strain,
A Nymph forsaken, and a purjur'd Swain.
What most he fears, is, lest the Dames should frown,
The Dames of Wit and Pleasure about Town,
To see our Picture drawn, unlike their own.
But left that Error should provoke to Fury
The hospitable Hundreds of Old Drury,
He bid me say, in our Jane Shore's Defence ,
She dol'd about the charitable Pence,
Built Hospitals, turn'd Saint, and dy'd long since.
For her Example, whatsoe'er we make it,
They have their Choice to let alone, or take it.
Tho' few, as I conceive, will think it meet,
To weep so sorely for a Sin so sweet:
Or mourn and mortify the pleasant Sense,
To rise in Tragedy two Ages hence.