 | The Elder Brother |  |
Epilogue.
'Tis not the hands, or smiles, or common wayOf approbation to a well lik'd Play,
We only hope; but that you freely would
To th'Author's memory so far unfold,
And shew your loves and liking to his Wit,
Not in your praise, but often seeing it;
That being the grand assurance that can give
The Poet and the Player means to live.
| The Elder Brother | |