The Works of Henry Fielding/J-n W-ts At A Play.

by Henry Fielding

WHILE hisses, groans, cat-calls thro' the pit,
Deplore the hapless poet's want of wit:
J—n W—ts, from silence bursing in a rage,
Cried, 'Men are mad who write in such an age.'
'Not so,' replied his friend, a sneering blade,
'The poet's only dull, the printer's mad.'