1050 ANNUAL REGISTER, 1806. 
Para que no me den yoces, que suele 
Dar gritos la verdad en libros mudos ; 
Y escribo por el arte que inventaron, 
Los que el yulgar aplauso pretendieron, 
Porque como los paga el vulgo, es justo 
Hablarle en necio para darle gusto, 
Bright flow’rs of Spain, whose young academy 
Ere long shall that by Tully nam’d outvie, 
And match th’ Athenian porch where Plato taught, 
Whose sacred shades such throngs of sages sought,— 
You bid me tell the art of writing plays 
Such as the crowd would please, and you might praise. 
The work seems easy—easy it might be 
To you who write not much, but not tome : 
+or how can I the rules of art impart, 
Who for myself ne'er dreamt of rule or art ? 
Not but I studied all the ancient rules : 
Yes, God be praised ! long since, in grammar-schools, 
Scarce ten years old, with all the patience due, 
The books that subject treat J waded through : 
My case was simple.—In these latter days, 
The truant authors of our Spanish plays 
So wide had wander’d from the narrow road 
Which the strict fathers of the drama trod, 
I found the stage with barbarous pieces stor’ :— 
The critics censur’d; but the crowd ador’d. 5 
Nay more; these sad corrupters of the stage toe] 
So blinded taste, and so debauch’d the age, 
Who writes by rule must please himself alone, 
Be damn’d without remorse, and die unknown, 
Such force has habit—for the untaught fools, 
Trusting their own, despise the ancient rules. 
Yet, true it is, | too have written plays, 
The wiser few, who judge with skill, might praise ¢ 
But when I sec how show, and nonsense, draws 
The crowd’s, and, more than all, the fair’s applause, 
Whostill ave forward with indulgent rage 
To sanction every monster of the stage,. 
I, doom’d to write, the public taste to hit, 
Resume the barbarous dress ’twas vain to quit : 
Tlock up every, rule before I write, 
Plautus and Terence drive from out my sight, 
Lest rage should teach these injur’d wits to join, 
And their dumb books cry shame on works like mine. 
‘To vulgar standards then I square my play, 
Writing at ease ; for, since the public pay, 
’Tis just,amethinks, we by their compass steer, 
And write the nonsense that they love to hear. 
EXTRACT © 
