University of Virginia Library

EPILOGUE.

(Enter Mrs. Epilogue, an old flirt, with a large fan, &c.)
Gentles good even, Mrs. Epilogue,
I introduce myself; my brother Prologue
Refused his countenance to me, the brute!
And left me thus to hazard a debut:
He is my elder brother,—or I'm sure
He'd have no reason to be so demure.
This is the way with antiquated folks;
They're past the relish of our modern jokes,
Preaching in dull blank verse!—if there's a poet
Within the pit I call on him to shew it
How much our speeches are improved by time,
Since lucky fortune cast them into rhyme.
For were't not for the jingle at the end
Some works might be thought prose—which Heav'n forefend!
Then such a fuss about instruction too,
As though his canting stead of shew would do.
For Heav'ns sake do not countenance the fellow,
Or where we rant some Methodist may bellow.
A play's a play, say I, and but give me
A quantum suff: of roaring,—grief, or glee.
Who is not mov'd when Alexander's mad?
If not the scene—a head-ache makes him sad.
In Comedy what difference in the case is,
Whether we laugh at wit or Munden's faces?
A play's a vehicle for striking action;
And to bring folks together: though a faction
May hold that they should have a moral with 'em,
Some authors have no morals left to give 'em.
Plays, to gain approbation in these times,
Should be no more than speaking pantomimes:
Or if there needs a theme to talk upon,
The surest hit's to palliate crim. con.
A lady in men's clothes has great effect;
Plays that want noise you'll certainly reject;
And then when all is done, and you have wonder'd
Enough how actors fell, and jump'd, and flounder'd,
And ran against the door posts, while you thought
Soon to decide if in their heads were aught
That so in princely parts they play'd the dog;
Then let there come a sprightly Epilogue,
No matter how 'tis written,—so 'tis said,
That she who spoke 't was pretty and well-made,
'Twill catch some sure applause herself to praise,
In half a hundred pretty, clap-trap ways.
And so I told our moody author here;
But he refused such practices to bear:
“For me,” said he,—I've not forgot his speech,
“If I can wisdom, truth, and virtue teach,
“And gain my own applause as well as theirs,
“The stage may claim my most exalted cares:
“But if men come but with their sensual eyes,
“I've shewn a mirror tells them how I prize
“Their vain acclaims, if so—soul, and tongue and pen
“May lie oblivious—and ne'er wake again.”