| |
| SO 1 shipwrackt Passengers escape to Land, | |
| So look they, when on the bare Beach they stand, | |
| Dropping and cold, and their first fear scarce o’er, | |
| Expecting Famine on 2 a Desart Shore. | |
| From that hard Climate we must wait for Bread, | 5 |
| Whence ev’n the Natives, forc’d by hunger, fled. | |
| Our Stage does humane Chance present to view. | |
| But ne’er before was seen so sadly true: | |
| You are chang’d too, and your Pretence to see | |
| Is but a Nobler Name for 3 Charity. | 10 |
| Your own Provisions furnish out our Feasts, | |
| While you, the Founders, make your selves the guests. | |
| Of all Mankind beside Fate had some Care, | |
| But for poor Wit no portion did prepare; | |
| ’Tis left a Rent Charge to the Brave and Fair. | 15 |
| You cherish’d it, and now its Fall you mourn, | |
| Which blind unmanner’d Zelots make their scorn, | |
| Who think that Fire a Judgment on the Stage, | |
| Which spar’d not Temples in its furious Rage. | |
| But as our new-built City rises higher, | 20 |
| So from old Theatres may new aspire, | |
| Since Fate contrives Magnificence by Fire. | |
| Our great Metropolis does far surpass | |
| Whate’er is now, and equals all that was: | |
| Our Wit as far does Foreign Wit excel, | 25 |
| And, like a King, shou’d in a Palace dwell. | |
| But we with Golden Hopes are vainly fed, | |
| Talk high, and entertain you in a shed: | |
| Your Presence here (for which we humbly sue) | |
| Will grace Old Theatres, and build up New. | 30 |
