We might well call this short mock-play of ours, A posy made of weeds instead of flowers; Yet such have been presented to your noses, And there are such, I fear, who thought 'em roses. Would some of 'em were here, to see, this night, What stuff it is in which they took delight. Here brisk insipid rogues, for wit, let fall Sometimes dull sense; but oft'ner none at all. There, strutting heroes, with a grim-fac'd train, Shall brave the gods, in King Cambyses' vein. For (changing rules, of late, as if man writ In spite of reason, nature, art and wit) Our poets make us laugh at tragedy, And with their comedies they make us cry. Now critics, do your worst, that here are met; For, like a rook, I have hedg'd in my bet. If you approve, I shall assume the state Of those high-flyers whom I imitate: And justly too, for I will teach you more Than ever they would let you know before. I will not only show the feats they do, But give you all their reasons for 'em too. Some honour may to me from hence arise; But if, by my endeavours you grow wise, And what you once so prais'd, shall now despise; Then I'll cry out, swell'd with poetic rage, 'Tis I, John Lacy, have reform'd your stage. * * * * * ACT I.--SCENE I. JOHNSON _and_ SMITH. _Johns._ Honest Frank! I am glad to see thee with all my heart: how long hast thou been in town? _Smith._ Faith, not above an hour: and, if I had not met you here, I had gone to look you out; for I long to talk with you freely of all the strange new things we have heard in the country. _Johns._ And, by my troth, I have long'd as much to laugh with you at all the impertinent, dull, fantastical things, we are tired out with here. _Smith._ Dull and fantastical! that's an excellent composition. Pray, what are our men of business doing? _Johns._ I ne'er inquire after 'em. Thou knowest my humour lies another way. I love to please myself as much, and to trouble others as little as I can; and therefore do naturally avoid the company of those solemn fops, who, being incapable of reason, and insensible of wit and pleasure, are always looking grave, and troubling one another, in hopes to be thought men of business. _Smith._ Indeed, I have ever observed, that your grave lookers are the dullest of men. _Johns._ Ay, and of birds and beasts too: your gravest bird is an owl, and your gravest beast is an ass. _Smith._ Well: but how dost thou pass thy time? _Johns._ Why, as I used to do; eat, drink as well as I can, have a friend to chat with in the afternoon, and sometimes see a play; where there are such things, Frank, such hideous, monstrous things, that it has almost made me forswear the stage, and resolve to apply myself to the solid nonsense of your men of business, as the more ingenious pastime.