The Old Bard finding it impossible To draw our Poet from the love of verse, And bury him in indolence, attempts By calumny to scare him from the stage; Pretending that in all his former plays The characters are low, and mean the style; Because he ne'er describ'd a mad-brain'd youth, Who in his fits of frenzy thought he saw A hind, the dogs in full cry after her; Her too imploring and beseeching him To give her aid.--But did he understand That, when the piece was first produc'd, it ow'd More to the actor than himself its safety, He would not be thus bold to give offense. --But if there's any one who says, or thinks, "That had not the Old Bard assail'd him first, Our Poet could not have devis'd a Prologue, Having no matter for abuse;"--let such Receive for answer, "that although the prize To all advent'rers is held out in common, The Veteran Poet meant to drive our Bard From study into want: _He_ therefore chose To answer, though he would not first offend. And had his adversary but have prov'd A generous rival, he had had due praise; Let him then bear these censures, and reflect Of his own slanders 'tis the due return. But henceforth I shall cease to speak of him, Although he ceases not himself to rail." But now what I'd request of you, attend: To-day I bring a new play, which the Greeks Call Epidicazomenos; the Latins, From the chief character, name Phormio: Phormio, whom you will find a parasite, And the chief engine of the plot.--And now, If to our Poet you are well inclin'd, Give ear; be favorable; and be silent! Let us not meet the same ill fortune now That we before encounter'd, when our troop Was by a tumult driven from their place; To which the actor's merit, seconded By your good-will and candor, has restor'd us. ACT THE FIRST. SCENE I. _DAVUS alone._ Geta, my worthy friend and countryman, Came to me yesterday: for some time past I've ow'd him some small balance of account: This he desir'd I would make up: I have; And brought it with me: for his master's son, I am inform'd, has lately got a wife: So I suppose this sum is scrap'd together For a bride-gift. Alack, how hard it is That he, who is already poor, should still Throw in his mite to swell the rich man's heap! What he scarce, ounce by ounce, from short allowance, Sorely defrauding his own appetite, Has spar'd, poor wretch! shall she sweep all at once, Unheeding with what labor it was got? Geta, moreover, shall be struck for more; Another gift, when madam's brought to bed; Another too, when master's birthday's kept, And they initiate him.----All this mamma Shall carry off, the bantling her excuse. But is that Geta? SCENE II. _Enter GETA._ GETA (_at entering._) If a red-hair'd man Inquire for me---- DAVUS. No more! he's here. GETA. Oh, Davus! The very man that I was going after. DAVUS. Here, take this! (_Gives a purse._) 'Tis all told: you'll find it right; The sum I ow'd you. GETA. Honest, worthy Davus! I thank you for your punctuality.