 | Love In A Riddle |  |
EPILOGUE.
Sung by Ægon.
Since
Songs, to Plays, are now-a-days,
Like, to your Meals, a Sallad;
Permit us then, kind Gentlemen,
To try our Skill, by Ballad:
While You, to grace our Native Lays,
As France has done before us,
Belle, Beau, and Cit, from Box and Pit,
All join the Jolly Chorus.
Like, to your Meals, a Sallad;
Permit us then, kind Gentlemen,
To try our Skill, by Ballad:
While You, to grace our Native Lays,
As France has done before us,
Belle, Beau, and Cit, from Box and Pit,
All join the Jolly Chorus.
Chorus.
While You, to grace, &c.
While You, to grace, &c.
Poor English Mouths, for Twenty Years,
Have been shut up from Musick;
But, thank our Stars, Outlandish Airs
At last have made all You—sick.
When warbling Dames were all in Flames,
And for Precedence wrangled,
One English Play cut short the Fray,
And home again they dangled.
Have been shut up from Musick;
But, thank our Stars, Outlandish Airs
At last have made all You—sick.
And for Precedence wrangled,
One English Play cut short the Fray,
And home again they dangled.
Chorus.
Then, Free-born Boys, all make a Noise,
As France has done before us;
With English Hearts, all bear your Parts,
And join the Jolly Chorus.
Then, Free-born Boys, all make a Noise,
As France has done before us;
With English Hearts, all bear your Parts,
And join the Jolly Chorus.
Sweet Sound on languid Sense bestow'd,
Is like a Beauty married
To empty Fop, who talks aloud,
While all her Charms are Buried.
But late Experience plainly shews,
That common Sense, and Ditty,
Have ravish'd all the Belles, and Beaux,
And charm'd the chaunting City.
Is like a Beauty married
To empty Fop, who talks aloud,
While all her Charms are Buried.
But late Experience plainly shews,
That common Sense, and Ditty,
Have ravish'd all the Belles, and Beaux,
And charm'd the chaunting City.
Chorus.
Then, Free-born Boys, &c.
Then, Free-born Boys, &c.
With New Delight, we've try'd To-night
Our utmost Skill to win ye;
Our only Pray'r, is that you'd spare
Poor Signior Cibberini.
If what h'has done can warm the Town
To set up English Ditty,
You'll all confess, h'has not done less,
Than had his Muse been Witty.
Our utmost Skill to win ye;
Our only Pray'r, is that you'd spare
Poor Signior Cibberini.
If what h'has done can warm the Town
To set up English Ditty,
You'll all confess, h'has not done less,
Than had his Muse been Witty.
Chorus.
Then, Free-born Boys, &c.
Then, Free-born Boys, &c.
| Love In A Riddle | |