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Ou'd Poets but foresee how Plays would take, Then they cou'd tell what Epilogues to make; Whether to thank or blame their Audience most: で But that late Knowledge does much Hazard cost, 'Till Dice are thrown, there's nothing won, nor loft. So 'till the Thief has ftoll'n, he cannot know Whether he fhall e/cape the Law, or no. But Poets run much greater Hazards far, Than they who stand their Trials at the Barr; The Law provides a Curb for its own Fury, And fuffers fudges to direct the fury. But in this Court, what Diff'rence does appear! For every one's both Judge and Jury here; Nay, and what's worse, an Executioner. All have a Right and Title to fome Part, Each chufing that in which he has most Art. The dreadful Men of Learning all Confound, Unless the Fable's good, and Moral found. The Vizor-Masks, that are in Pit and Gallery, Approve, or Damn, the Repartee and Raillery. The Lady Criticks who are better read, Enquire if Characters are nicely bred?
If the foft things are penn'd and (poke with Grace?