They, who write ill, and they, who ne'er durst write, Turn critics, out of mere revenge and spite: A playhouse gives them fame; and up there starts, From a mean fifth-rate wit, a man of parts. (So common faces on the stage appear; We take them in, and they turn beauties here.) Our author fears those critics as his fate; And those he fears, by consequence must hate, For they the traffic of all wit invade, As scriveners draw away the bankers' trade. Howe'er, the poet's safe enough to day, They cannot censure an unfinished play. But, as when vizard-mask appears in pit, Straight every man, who thinks himself a wit, Perks up, and, managing his comb with grace, With his white wig sets off his nut-brown face; That done, bears up to th' prize, and views each limb, To know her by her rigging and her trim; Then, the whole noise of fops to wagers go,-- "Pox on her, 'tmust be she;" and--"damme, no!"-- Just, so, I prophesy, these wits to-day Will blindly guess at our imperfect play; With what new plots our Second Part is filled, Who must be kept alive, and who be killed. And as those vizard-masks maintain that fashion, To soothe and tickle sweet imagination; So our dull poet keeps you on with masking, To make you think there's something worth your asking. But, when 'tis shown, that, which does now delight you, Will prove a dowdy, with a face to fright you. ALMANZOR AND ALMAHIDE, OR, THE CONQUEST OF GRANADA. THE SECOND PART. ACT I SCENE I.--_A Camp._ _Enter_ KING FERDINAND, QUEEN ISABELLA, ALONZO D'AGUILAR; _Attendants, Men and Women._ _K. Ferd._ At length the time is come, when Spain shall be From the long yoke of Moorish tyrants free. All causes seem to second our design, And heaven and earth in their destruction join. When empire in its childhood first appears, A watchful fate o'ersees its tender years; Till, grown more strong, it thrusts and stretches out, And elbows all the kingdoms round about: The place thus made for its first breathing free, It moves again for ease and luxury; Till, swelling by degrees, it has possessed The greater space, and now crowds up the rest; When, from behind, there starts some petty state, And pushes on its now unwieldy fate; Then down the precipice of time it goes, And sinks in minutes, which in ages rose. _Q. Isabel._ Should bold Columbus in his search succeed, And find those beds in which bright metals breed; Tracing the sun, who seems to steal away, That, miser-like, he might alone survey The wealth which he in western mines did lay,-- Not all that shining ore could give my heart The joy, this conquered kingdom will impart; Which; rescued from these misbelievers' hands, Shall now, at once, shake off its double bands: At once to freedom and true faith restored, Its old religion and its ancient lord.