University of Virginia Library

EPILOGUE.

The Persian Laws now cease to seem severe;
You have more cruel Laws that govern here:
Your undisputed pow'r, who Judges sit,
To Sentence all the trespasses of wit.
How can our Author then his doom recall?
He knows he must under your Justice fall;
Being guilty of so capital a Crime,
As shedding so much Humane blood in Rhime.
Amongst'you Wits such monstrous factions rage,
Such various censures, that 'tis thought the Stage
Breeds more Opinions, and produces far
More Heresies than the late Civil War.
Nay, Poets too themselves, of late, they say,
The greatest Hectors are that e're huff'd Play.
Like the Issue of the Dragons teeth, one brother
In a poetick fury falls on t'other.
'Tis thought you'll grow to that excess of Rage,
That Ben had need come guarded on the Stage.
Nay, you have found a most compendious way
Of Damning, now, before you see the Play.
But maugre all your spight, Poets of late
Stand stoutly unconcern'd at their Play's Fate;
Provided, 'tis their destiny to gain,
Like the fam'd Royal Slave, a third dayes Reign.
Then sacrifice 'em as you please—
But if you'll be so prodigal to give
Our sawcy Scribler a three dayes reprieve;
He impudently swears he'll boldly sue,
When your hand's in, to beg your pardon too.
If this, his first, but prosperously hit,
And scape those Rocks where he sees others split:
He vows he'll write once more, only to show
What your kind favour's influence can do.
Faith, for once grant it, that the World may say
Your smiles have been the Authors of a Play.