ul of a tragedy, which, with the ancients, is all ways
to be found a reasonable soul, but with us, for the most part, a
brutish, and often worse than brutish.

"And certainly there is not required much learning, or that a man
must be some Aristotle and doctor of subtilties, to form a right
judgement in this particular; common sense suffices; and rarely
have I known women-judges mistaken in these points, where they have
patience to think; and left to their own heads, they decide with
their own sense. But if people are prepossessed, if they will judge
of Rollo by Othello, and one crooked line by another, we can never
have a certainty."

The tragedies of the last age considered, in a letter to Fleetwood
Shepherd, by Thomas Rymer, Edit. 1678, p. 4.

PROLOGUE.

What flocks of critics hover here to-day,
As vultures wait on armies for their prey,
All gaping for the carcase of a play!
With croaking notes they bode some dire event,
And follow dying poets by the scent.
Ours gives himself for gone; you've watched your time:
He fights this day unarmed,--without his rhyme;--
And brings a tale which often has been told;
As sad as Dido's; and almost as old.
His hero, whom you wits his bully call,
Bates of his mettle, and scarce rants at all:
He's somewhat lewd; but a well-meaning mind;
Weeps much; fights little; but is wond'rous kind.
In short, a pattern, and companion fit,
For all the keeping tonies of the pit.
I could name more: a wife, and mistress too;
Both (to be plain) too good for most of you:
The wife well-natured, and the mistress true.
Now, poets, if your fame has been his care,
Allow him all the candour you can spare.
A brave man scorns to quarrel once a-day;
Like Hectors, in at every petty fray.
Let those find fault whose wit's so very small,
They've need to show that they can think at all;
Errors, like straws, upon the surface flow;
He who would search for pearls, must dive below.
Fops may have leave to level all they can;
As pigmies would be glad to lop a man.
Half-wits are fleas; so little and so light,
We scarce could know they live, but that they bite.
But, as the rich, when tired with daily feasts,
For change, become their next poor tenant's guests;
Drink hearty draughts of ale from plain brown bowls,
And snatch the homely rasher from the coals:
So you, retir