The Tragedy of Sertorius | ||
60
EPILOGUE. By Mr. Ravenscroft.
Our Poet to the learned Criticks does submit,But scorns those little Vermine in the Pit,
Who noise and nonsense vent instead of Wit:
Those Aierie empty Sparks that know no more
Than how to dress and railly with a Whore;
Nay all they say to 'em is perfect cant,
And Vizord still runs down the weak Gallant:
Vext at her Repartee, he stroaks his Wig,
And cries, Dam me, you Whore you, I'll unrig:
Then cursing her, he leaves her to the rest
O'th' Fops—
Or tears a Hood and Scarf to make a jeast.
Whence have these silly Monsters their pretence,
That they should Judges be of Wit and Sence?
These Gnats about a Poets Ears may swarm,
But want a Sting to do him any harm.
FINIS
The Tragedy of Sertorius | ||