Enter Scholar, riding on an Ass The scenes are new, and everything compact, And all our younkers ready just to act. But why this racket? Why this hurly-burly? Some laugh, some sneer, and some look very surly. You're mighty judges in your own conceit: Am I the only ass that rides in state? Our play's th' @3Adelphi@1 -- I'm to be a brother, And my supporter ass to be another -- But, gentlemen, forbear; for, as it passes, The greater part among us are but asses. If you came hither to imbibe instruction, And to receive some wonderful production, Expect half-wit from th' officers of schools; Asses produce no prodigies but mules. Don't think that I intend to be uncivil; I shall not ride, like beggars, to the devil. Too oft, alas, am I accoutered thus, And forced to mount the standing Pegasus. Our Master still, which you will think a wonder, Exalts the dull and keeps the witty under. But ah! the tyrant then without remorse The rider lashes, who should lash the horse; And in promotion takes away command, For still the under has the upper hand. But hold -- how's this! -- who's that that yonder scuffles With beaver, powdered wig and cambric ruffles? I value not his pageantry a louse! Sir Fopling, know this is no coffee-house; Since you're so prudent as to come to school, You must observe the true scholastic rule; Our Master hates a self-conceited elf, And bears no noise but what he makes himself. He writes -- but I shall not reveal the myst'ry; We must beware of @3scandalum magistri@1. He that tells tales is worse than he that mitches; That man may come to school without his breeches. Who'd purchase vain applause with real sorrow? Your bays tonight would turn to birch tomorrow. |