University of Virginia Library

THE EPILOGUE.

Written by Mr. Motteux.
Spoken by Mr. Norris.
The Deuce take Poet, Epilogue, and Play!
The Devil a Word know I what I've to say,
Who'll mind his Cant? An Audience, like a Lover,
Longs to be gone soon as the Play is over,
As for Example—.
Yond' mobb'd-up, civil, modest Velvet Faces
Long to be Coach'd to more diverting Places.
Not one would stay, tho' they but now sneak'd in;
When our Play ends, theirs always does begin.
Kind Cull, and Miss steal out from th'Epilogue,
And merrier Scenes are acted at the Dog.
You rakish Sparks in quest of Game run out,
And give or take the Covent-garden Gout.
Your Student who but came to see the Play,
With some Pit-Muse his Talent would essay.
Some at Basset long to encrease their Guineas,
And leave 'em there, and then sneak home like Ninnies.
You Topers long to drink in ample Glasses
Confusion to dull Poets and pale Faces.
But above all yond' City Fry would go,
Who came by Three to sit on that First Row.
Poor Things!
They thought e're this that they might home have scutled,
Their Time's all spent, and all their Apples guttled.
The Poet (if he's not quite Dead for Fear)
Wou'd go to Wills Incog. t'observe his Criticks there.
Scarce one wou'd stay but that obliging Fry,
Who about this time in our dark Passage ply,
Stale Wenches, Sharpers, Catterwawling Sparks,
Old dirty Beaux, and young Attornies Clerks.
Since then your Business lyes another way,
I hope you have not Time to damn the Play;
But if you must, do't on the Poets Day.