A BALLAD. (Says a friend to a knight, shall…)

Says a friend to a knight, shall a friend by whose skill All the houses are taught all their parts ev'ry day, Let Lincolns-inn-fields house do just what it will? There's another Macheath, sir; prohibit the play. Cibber's your friend, A play he hath penn'd, In which there is nothing that can be apply'd; For he does not mention The word bribe or pension, Nor any one vice that can fit you beside.

So Macheath was forbid by authority good, To Cibber were sent many hands to applaud; But in this house it seems men judg'd as they wou'd, Not by promises sway'd nor by promises aw'd. Harsh catcalls sound, The hiss goes round, The courtiers join hisses and give up the wight: As in this house they show it, They dare damn the poet, Who knows but in t'other they'll give up the knight?

But Young at this omen is nothing dismay'd, He'd shew to the town, as 'twas certainly fit, If Broome, Floyd and Roome could come to his aid; That the friends of the ministry might have some wit; And so they took An old play book Writ in Ben Jonson's time by his man master Broome: Some speeches they mangled, Some songs intertangled; Sing the courtiers in praise of Broome, Floyd and Roome.

'Tis said, that this piece in good breeding so nice, Can ne'er any gentleman's pleasure molest; For they mention no modish, no politic vice, They censure no knaves, nor make coxcombs a jest. Thus Young and Broome, And Floyd and Roome, Have learnt to be mannerly, cautious, and sage: From Gay's Newgate satire, Whose vulgar ill-nature Treated rich rogues and poor rogues alike on the stage.

Then sure we must own it was prudent and fit To stop our Macheath in his second attack; And Cibber to set up against it for wit, Whom two pair of bards with a sequel should back. 'Twas Floyd and Broome And Young and Roome; Clap your hands, ye good courtiers, and grin at this play: In two days dy'd Cibber, But Young will go glibber, And all these court poets be damn'd the first day.