University of Virginia Library

EPILOGUE. Written by a Person of Honour.

Our Poet something doubtful of his Fate
Made choice of me to be his Advocate,
Relying on my Knowledg in the Laws,
And I as boldly undertook the Cause.
I left my Client yonder in a rant
Against the envious, and the ignorant,
Who are, he sayes, his onely Enemies:
But he contemns their malice, and defies
The sharpest of his Censurers to say
Where there is one gross fault in all his Play.
The language is so fitted for each part,
The Plot according to the Rules of Art;
And twenty other things he bid me tell you,
But I cry'd, e'en go do't your self for Nelly.
Reason, with Judges, urg'd in the defence
Of those they would condemn, is insolence;
I therefore wave the merits of his Play,
And think it fit to plead this safer way.
If, when too many in the purchase share
Robbing's not worth the danger nor the care;
The men of business must, in Policy,
Cherish a little harmless Poetry;
All wit wou'd else grow up to Knavery.
Wit is a Bird of Musick, or of Prey.
Mounting she strikes at all things in her way;
But if this Birdlime once but touch her wings,
On the next bush she sits her down, and sings.
I have but one word more; tell me I pray
What you will get by damning of our Play?
A whipt Fanatick who does not recant
Is by his Brethren call'd a suffring Saint;
And by your hands shou'd this poor Poet die
Before he does renounce his Poetry,
His death must needs confirm the Party more
Then all his scribling life could do before.
Where so much zeal does in a Sect appear,
'Tis to no purpose, 'faith, to be severe.
But 'tother day I heard this rhyming Fop
Say Criticks were the Whips, and he the Top;
For, as a Top spins best the more you baste her,
So every lash you give, he writes the faster.