In vain our Wares on Theaters are shown,
When each has a Plantation of his own.
His [Cruse] ne’er fails; for whatsoe’er he spends,
There’s still God’s plenty for himself and Friends.
Shou’d Men be rated by Poetick Rules,
Lord, what a [Poll] would there be rais’d from Fools!
Mean time poor Wit prohibited must lie,
As if ’twere made some French Commodity.
Fools you will have, and rais’d at vast expence;
And yet as soon as seen, they give offence.