Hard is his lot, that here by Fortune plac'd,
Must watch the wild vicissitudes of taste;
With every meteor of caprice must play,
And chace the new-blown bubbles of the day.
Ah! let not censure term our fate our choice;
The stage but echoes back the publick voice,
The drama's laws the drama's patrons give,
For we that live to please, must please, to live.