Whose verdict speaks the fate of each new play,
Whose mandate gives the power to save or kill,
Lends Amoret her eyes and Ward his pill;
If Fashion, mighty arbiter of merit,
Allows it, right or wrong, some wit and spirit,
Then shall this farce like other farces too
Run eighteen nights or more and still be new;
Each different night, a different audience meet,
And Hawkers cry it up in evr'y Street.
NB. This will damn the piece![ [8]