But it will here be hastily
answered, that the writers of these days are other things;
that not only their manners, but their natures, are inverted,
and nothing remaining with them of the dignity of poet, but
the abused name, which every scribe usurps; that now,
especially in dramatic, or, as they term it, stage-poetry,
nothing but ribaldry, profanation, blasphemy, all license of
offence to God and man is practised. I dare not deny a great
part of this, and am sorry I dare not, because in some men's
abortive features (and would they had never boasted the light)
it is over-true; but that all are embarked in this bold
adventure for hell, is a most uncharitable thought, and,
uttered, a more malicious slander. For my particular, I can,
and from a most clear conscience, affirm, that I have ever
trembled to think toward the least profaneness; have loathed
the use of such foul and unwashed bawdry, as is now made the
food of the scene: and, howsoever I cannot escape from some,
the imputation of sharpness, but that they will say, I have
taken a pride, or lust, to be bitter, and not my youngest
infant but hath come into the world with all his teeth; I
would ask of these supercilious politics, what nation, society,
or general order or state, I have provoked? What public person?
Whether I have not in all these preserved their dignity, as
mine own person, safe? My works are read, allowed, (I speak of
those that are intirely mine,) look into them, what broad
reproofs have I used? where have I been particular? where
personal? except to a mimic, cheater, bawd, or buffoon,
creatures, for their insolencies, worthy to be taxed? yet to
which of these so pointingly, as he might not either
ingenuously have confest, or wisely dissembled his disease?
But it is not rumour can make men guilty, much less entitle
me to other men's crimes.
Pages:
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71