The works of John Dryden, now first collected in eighteen volumes. Volume 04

Some have expected, from our bills to-day,

To find a satire in our poet's play.

The zealous route from Coleman-street did run,

To see the story of the Friar and Nun;

Or tales, yet more ridiculous to hear,

Vouched by their vicar of ten pounds a-year,—

Of Nuns, who did against temptation pray,

And discipline laid on the pleasant way:

Or that, to please the malice of the town,

Our poet should in some close cell have shown

Some sister, playing at content alone:

This they did hope; the other side did fear;

And both, you see, alike are cozened here.

Some thought the title of our play to blame;

They liked the thing, but yet abhorred the name:

Like modest punks, who all you ask afford,

But, for the world, they would not name that word.

Yet, if you'll credit what I heard him say,

Our poet meant no scandal in his play;

His Nuns are good, which on the stage are shown,

And, sure, behind our scenes you'll look for none.