Pray ease me of my wonder, if you may;
Is all this crowd barely to see the play;
Or is't the poet's execution-day?
His breath is in your hands I will presume,
But I advise you to defer his doom,
Till you have got a better in his room;
And don't maliciously combine together,
As if in spite and spleen you were come hither;
For he has kept the pen, tho' lost the feather[2].
And, on my honour, ladies, I avow,