The Works of the Late Aaron Hill ... In Four Volumes. Consisting of Letters on Various Subjects, And of Original Poems, Moral and Facetious. With An Essay on the Art of Acting |
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EPILOGUE, To Zara
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 | The Works of the Late Aaron Hill |  |
EPILOGUE, To Zara
Ladies, 'twill give but very little pain t'ye,
When such a tiny thing, as I, complain t'ye.
Were I grown big, and bold enough, to charm ye,
I'd do't—but, for the world, I wou'dn't harm ye.
When such a tiny thing, as I, complain t'ye.
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I'd do't—but, for the world, I wou'dn't harm ye.
Alas!—we've lost our stage;—whereon to strut,
Was the unlicenc'd claim of Lilliput.
Yet, here, where never patent monarch reign'd!
We see our ground, by strange usurpers, gain'd!
On our own soil condemn'd to over laying,
By these dramatic rats, in mouse-hole playing;
Ah! do us right—Since like with like engages,
Give little actors way, on little stages.
Was the unlicenc'd claim of Lilliput.
Yet, here, where never patent monarch reign'd!
We see our ground, by strange usurpers, gain'd!
On our own soil condemn'd to over laying,
By these dramatic rats, in mouse-hole playing;
Ah! do us right—Since like with like engages,
Give little actors way, on little stages.
One poor pretence they urge—but strain'd their wit for't,
That we'er too young, for business, and unfit for't.
Lord! how some folks will lie!—from truth, he flinches,
Who measures our ability, by inches.
You know—'tis young and lively—old and crazy—
Then, short, and sweet's the word—but—long, and lazy.
All things, that please, are short—no—short caressings,
I fear, you'd, all, give up;—and chuse—long, blessings.
Well!—such be yours, if after they've done playing,
You come, and make our troop amends, for staying.
That we'er too young, for business, and unfit for't.
Lord! how some folks will lie!—from truth, he flinches,
Who measures our ability, by inches.
You know—'tis young and lively—old and crazy—
Then, short, and sweet's the word—but—long, and lazy.
All things, that please, are short—no—short caressings,
I fear, you'd, all, give up;—and chuse—long, blessings.
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You come, and make our troop amends, for staying.
| The Works of the Late Aaron Hill | |