University of Virginia Library

EPILOGUE: Mr. Mills comes forward and makes an Apology for want of an Epilogue; then Mr. Penkethman enters dress'd like a Beaux, and says he has one by a Friend, Mr. Farquhar.

Something you may expect—I'm dash'd—I doubt
I ne'r, shall have the Face, to stand it out.
Something you may expect, to raise delight
Foolish enough at least, when Beaux do write.
Tho here we stand, and look Wit evermore,
We never ventur'd to talk Wit before
Our outward parts, each Night, we here expose,
But for our Inward, gad we nere shew those.
We dont pretend to write, with Wit, nor Care;
But only, as we Dance, we write, with Air;
With careless sliding Stile; just like our Gate;
But Gay, and Modish, Thoughtless, as our Pate;
A soft and flowing Number, fit for Song,
And that we write, just as we sing it, wrong.
Prologues and Epilogues, we often make 'um,
But then these Rogues, the Players, never speak 'um;
We, that support their House! alack a day!
We, make more Comedy, on the Stage, than they.
What draws the Ladies pray? but such as we
They bring not here, their lovely Eyes, to see
Poor Julio slain, but to kill Beaux, like me:
The Poets too, from us, draw all the Profit,
Tho' not their Wit, we make, the Subject of it;
But we, good-natur'd we, those things can smother,
As we put up Affronts, from one another.
I cou'd not for my Life, see this poor Rogue,
Have this Play lost, for want of Epilogue.
And therefore beg, you wou'd not damn it thus,
The Ladys, can't refuse, when ask'd by us;
You side-Box Beaux, I've orders, to engage
From all us, Brother Beaux, here on the Stage.
You, Sir, and I, and you, and he that writes,
Were all resolv'd, to meet, anon at Whites,
There, spight of Criticks Malice, save the Play;
And make a Party, for the Poets day.