this Case, Modesty is a little gravell’d, but then she may thank him for it, for he has dignify’d the Poets with so many Hell-defying, deep-mouth’d Swearing, Relapsing, Witch-riding Titles, that the worthy Ministry cannot reasonably be angry, especially when the Word is only meant to him, whom I shall prove has lessen’d the true Title, by his Immorality and Hypocrisie, more than ever the Poets did the Reputation of the Stage, by their Time-serving Loosenesses and Licentious Diversions.

It is, no doubt, a considerable Maim to us, in some Peoples opinions, who never digested the benefits arising from the Stage in its Moral Representations, that this smarting Lash is given us by a Clergy-man of the Church of England, that is, good friends, if he be so, for some Judicious Heads are not resolv’d in that Affirmative—­but let that be discuss’d in another place, I’m sure, if he is, Obedience to Government, in the first place, should be his principal Tenet; and whether that is a part of the Absolver’s Character, I think has sufficiently appear’d.  But let him be what he will, I shall now take the pleasure to inform those People, that but few years since, we had a Man of Wit and Learning, that wore the Gown, and as true a Son of the Church as she could possibly breed; that was intirely devoted a Champion in our Cause, and Asserted the Rights of the Stage with Success and Applause; and whoever will but look back a little, and incline his Eyes towards the delectable River Cam, may Encounter the fam’d Wit of that University, the Ingenious Mr. Thomas Randolph, who in one of his great many admirable Pieces, call’d the Muses Looking-glass, makes his whole Moral to be the Vindication of the Stage, and its usefulness, and by shewing the passions in their Kinds, contrives to confute some canting prejudic’d Zealots, whose ignorance and frenzy had conspir’d before to run it down; I will treat the Reader here with some of it.

  A Country Lass, for such she was, tho here
  In th’ City may be Sluts as well as there;
  Kept her hands clean, for those being always seen,
  Had told her else how sluttish she had been;
  Yet was her Face, as dirty as the Stall
  Of a Fish-monger, or a Usurer’s Hall
  Begrim’d with filth, that you might boldly say,
  She was a true piece of Prometheus’s Clay. 
  At last, within a Pail, for Country Lasses
  Have oft you know, no other Looking-glasses,
  She view’d her dirty Face, and doubtless would
  Have blush’d, if through so much dirt she could. 
  At last, within that Water, that I say,
  That shew’d the Dirt, she wash’d the Dirt away.
    So, Comedies, as Poets still intend ’em,
    Serve first to shew your faults, and then to mend ’em.

  [Footnote:  Muses Looking-Glass.]