With city-gazettes, or some factious speech,[357]
Or whate'er libel, for the public good,
Stirs up the shrove-tide crew to fire and blood.
Remove your benches, you apostate pit,
And take, above, twelve pennyworth of wit;
Go back to your dear dancing on the rope,
Or see what's worse, the devil and the pope.[358]
The plays, that take on our corrupted stage,
Methinks, resemble the distracted age;
Noise, madness, all unreasonable things,