 | The Parricide : Or, Innocence in Distress |  |
EPILOGUE, Spoken by Mrs. HORTON.
Here
Custom with our Author can't prevail
To give his Moral Muse a Satyr Tail:
He says that such Performances, at best,
Are like our selling Virtue for a Jest!
He mounts the Stage in fair Religion's Cause,
And won't apostatise for false Applause.
To give his Moral Muse a Satyr Tail:
He says that such Performances, at best,
Are like our selling Virtue for a Jest!
He mounts the Stage in fair Religion's Cause,
And won't apostatise for false Applause.
The Heroine who here exhausts her Strength
To strain at Praise four hundred Lines in length,
And, with the force of Genius, well displays
Resplendent Virtue, dazzling with its Rays!
When once the Curtain's down, no Form regarding,
Comes out and tells you,—you're in Covent-Garden!
In Virgin-Robes you've seen a frail-one drest!
And that all Moral Virtue is a Jest!
Strait from your Minds evap'rate Zeal and Pity,
And Madam Porcia's clapt for being witty!
To strain at Praise four hundred Lines in length,
And, with the force of Genius, well displays
Resplendent Virtue, dazzling with its Rays!
When once the Curtain's down, no Form regarding,
Comes out and tells you,—you're in Covent-Garden!
In Virgin-Robes you've seen a frail-one drest!
And that all Moral Virtue is a Jest!
Strait from your Minds evap'rate Zeal and Pity,
And Madam Porcia's clapt for being witty!
Should any Doctor who, in pious Strain,
Had foam'd to prove how foolish Vice!—How vain:
That stubborn Virtue only human Bliss is,
Conclude with, Sirs,—now get you to your Misses!
I say, if so a Sermon should be ended,
By what bold Judges could it be defended?
Had foam'd to prove how foolish Vice!—How vain:
That stubborn Virtue only human Bliss is,
Conclude with, Sirs,—now get you to your Misses!
I say, if so a Sermon should be ended,
By what bold Judges could it be defended?
The Tragic-Scenes alike should sacred be,
From all lewd Mirth and luscious Gingle free:
With virtuous Precepts swelling, nervous Sense!
Each Line on chaste Applause should urge Pretence;
Nor Smut, nor Fustian frail Assistance lend,
But all alike the Lecture to the End:
Such as at Athens, in the noblest Age,
When Heroes on, were Heroes off the Stage.
From all lewd Mirth and luscious Gingle free:
With virtuous Precepts swelling, nervous Sense!
Each Line on chaste Applause should urge Pretence;
Nor Smut, nor Fustian frail Assistance lend,
But all alike the Lecture to the End:
Such as at Athens, in the noblest Age,
When Heroes on, were Heroes off the Stage.
Yes, proud to give the modest Ear Delight,
Yours, Ladies, is the Poet of to-night:
To your Protection for Support he flies,
And can he fail on Beauty who relies!
His Ariana claims your tender Care,
She who was drawn in honour of the Fair.
Yours, Ladies, is the Poet of to-night:
To your Protection for Support he flies,
And can he fail on Beauty who relies!
His Ariana claims your tender Care,
She who was drawn in honour of the Fair.
| The Parricide : Or, Innocence in Distress | |