THE EPILOGUE AT WHITEHALL.
The author was deceiv'd; for, should the parts
And play which you have seen plead rules and arts,
Such as strict critics write by, who refuse
T' allow the buskin to the Comic Muse;
Whose region is the people, every strain
Of royalty being tragic, though none slain;
He'd now, Great Sir, hold all his rules untrue,
And think his best rules are the Queen and You.
He should have search'd the stories of each age,
And brought five acts of princes on the stage;
He should have taken measure, and rais'd sport
From persons bright and glorious as your court,
And should have made his argument to be
Fully as high and great as they that see.
Here, he confesseth, you did nothing meet,
But what was first a comedy i' th' street:
Cheapside brought into verse; no passage strange
To any here that hath been at th' Exchange.
Yet he hopes none doth value it so low,
As to compare it with my Lord Mayor's Show.
'Tis so unlike that some, he fears, did sit,
Who, missing pageants, did o'ersee the wit.
Since then his scene no pomp or highness boasts,
And low things grac'd show princes princes most,
Your royal smiles will raise't, and make him say,
He only wrote, your liking made, the play.
And play which you have seen plead rules and arts,
Such as strict critics write by, who refuse
T' allow the buskin to the Comic Muse;
Whose region is the people, every strain
Of royalty being tragic, though none slain;
He'd now, Great Sir, hold all his rules untrue,
And think his best rules are the Queen and You.
He should have search'd the stories of each age,
And brought five acts of princes on the stage;
He should have taken measure, and rais'd sport
From persons bright and glorious as your court,
And should have made his argument to be
Fully as high and great as they that see.
Here, he confesseth, you did nothing meet,
But what was first a comedy i' th' street:
Cheapside brought into verse; no passage strange
To any here that hath been at th' Exchange.
Yet he hopes none doth value it so low,
As to compare it with my Lord Mayor's Show.
'Tis so unlike that some, he fears, did sit,
Who, missing pageants, did o'ersee the wit.
Since then his scene no pomp or highness boasts,
And low things grac'd show princes princes most,
Your royal smiles will raise't, and make him say,
He only wrote, your liking made, the play.