 | The Royal Mischief |  |
EPILOGUE, Spoken by Miss Bradshaw.
Our Poet tells me I am very pretty,Have Youth and Innocence to move your pity:
A few Years hence perhaps you might be kind,
The Tallest Trees bend so the rustling Wind;
Then spare me for the good which I may do,
Early bespeak me, either Friend or Foe:
Nor think those Youthful Joys I have in store,
Far distant Promises, unripen'd Oar,
Meer Fairy Treasure, which you can't Explore:
The Play-House is a Hot-Bed to young Plants,
Early supples your Longings and your Wants.
Then let your Sun-shine send such lively Heat,
May stamp our Poet's work and Nature's too Compleat.
| The Royal Mischief | |