Bayes, thou wouldst have thy skill thought universal, Though thy dull ear be to music untrue; Then, whilst we strive to confute the Rehearsal, Prithee leave thrashing of Monsieur Grabu. With thy dull prefaces still thou wouldst treat us, Striving to make thy dull bauble look fair; So the horned herd of the city do cheat us, Still most commending the worst of their ware. Leave making operas and writing of lyricks, Till thou hast ears, and can alter thy strain; Stick to thy talent of bold panegyricks, And still remember--_breathing the vein_[b]. Yet, if thou thinkest the town will extoll them, Print thy dull notes; but be thrifty and wise: Instead of angels subscribed for the volume, Take a round shilling, and thank my advice. In imitating thee, this may be charming, Gleaning from laureats is no shame at all; And let this song be sung next performing, Else, ten to one that the prices will fall. Footnotes: a. Thomas Betterton. b. An expression in Dryden's poem on the death of Cromwell, which his libeller insisted on applying to the death of Charles I. 2. Langbaine has preserved another jest upon our author's preference of Grabut to the English musicians. Grabut, his yokemate, ne'er shall be forgot. Whom th' god of tunes upon a muse begot; Bayes on a double score to him belongs, As well for writing, as for setting songs; For some have sworn the intrigue so odd is laid, That Bayes and he mistook each other's trade, Grabut the lines, and he the music made. THE PREFACE.