WITH sickly Actors and an old House too, We're match'd with glorious Theatres and new, And with our Ale-house scenes and Cloaths bare worn Can neither raise old Plays nor new adorn. If all these Ills could not undo us quite, A brisk @3French@1 Troop is grown your dear delight; Who with broad bloudy Bills call you each day To laugh and break your Buttons at their Play; Or see some serious Piece, which we presume Is fall'n from some incomparable plume; And therefore, @3Messieurs@1, if you'll do us Grace, Send Lacquies early to preserve your Place. We dare not on your Priviledge intrench, Or ask you why you like 'em? They are @3French@1. Therefore some go with Courtesie exceeding, Neither to hear nor see, but show their Breeding: Each Lady striving to out-laugh the rest; To make it seem they understood the Jest. Their Countrymen come in, and nothing pay, To teach us @3English@1 where to clap the play: Civil, @3Igad@1; Our Hospitable Land Bears all the Charge, for them to understand: Mean time we languish, and neglected lye, Like Wives, while you keep better Company; And wish for our own sakes, without a Satyr, You'd less good Breeding or had more good Nature. |