PROLOGUE To Mr. HAYLEY's COMEDY in RHYME, called The TWO CONNOISSEURS, Spoken by Mr. WILSON in the Character…

Our Manager, long since, a Connoisseur, To gain full houses throws out many a Lure. By novelty all rivalship to smother, Play follows play—one just as good as t'other; And now, to lull the Dragons of the Pit, Two Connoisseurs take counsel, Wit with Wit. As thieves catch thieves, so Poet convicts Poet; Their plan's all wrong—and I must overthrow it.

I am an author too, my name is Bayes; My trade is scribbling; my chief scribbling, Plays. Many I've written, clapp'd by houses cramm'd— Acted with vast applause!—and some few damn'd: But ne'er tryed aught so Low, or so Sublime, As Tragedy in Prose, or Comedy in Rhyme.

A Comedy in Rhyme! the Thought's not new: 'Twas tried long since—and then it would not do. What happy point the dialogue can crown, Set to the hackneyed tune of Derry-down? What Pegasus in flight can reach the spheres, With bells, like pack-horse, gingling at his ears? Smart Prose gives hit for hit, and dash for dash, Joke after joke, like lightening, flash on flash; Retort so quick, and repartee so nimble, 'Tis all Prince Prettyman, and sharp Tom Thimble! As the Piece stands, no Critick could endure it; 'Twould die, but Bayes has a receipt to cure it. And little Bayes, egad, has long been known To make the works of others, all his own. Whate'er your piece—'tis mine if you rehearse it; Verse I transprose; and if Prose, I transverse it. Say but the word, I'll pull this Drama down, And build it up again, to please the town. The Thing's unfashion'd—yet it has some soul; The Fable's neat,—the Characters are droll; The Scope and Moral has a right intention, And asks no added labour of invention. Rhyme's the mere Superstructure; down it goes; The old foundation shall support my Prose. If here and there some sparks of genius shine, I will not drop a Thought, nor lose a Line— So damn this Play, that you may come to mine!