 | The Vnfortvnate Lovers |  |
Epilogue.
Ovr Poet in his furie hath profest,Yet gravely too, with's hand upon his breast,
That he will never wish to see us thrive,
If by an unhumble Epilogue we strive
To court from you that priviledge to day
Which you so long have had to damne a Play:
'Las, Gentlemen, he knowes, to cry Playes downe
Is halfe the businesse Termers have in towne;
And still the reputation of their wit growes strong,
As they can first contemne, bee't right or wrong,
Your wives and Countrey friends may power exact
To finde a fault or two in every Act:
But you by his consent most kindly shall
Enjoy the priviledge to raile at all:
A happy freedome, which y'esteeme no lesse
Then money, health, good wine, or Mistresses;
And he, he hopes, when age declines his wit
From this our stage; to sit and rule i'th pit;
Heaven willingly, shall assume a Charter firme,
As yours, to kill a Poet every Terme.
And though he never had the confidence,
To tax your judgement in his owne defence,
Yet the next night when we your money share,
Hee'll shrewdly guesse what your opinions are.
FINIS.
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