 | Sicily and Naples, or, the Fatall Vnion |  |
Epilogue.
After these ruines, thus your Poët stands,Expecting his owne destiny from your hands,
By them he lives or dies; if it should hap
That stead of a mild doome, applause or clap.
(Your triviall allowance) his listening eares
Meete with harsh whispers, or halfe stifled jeeres,
Such unkinde censure kils him; his sad Muse
Unlesse you give her bay, has vow'd to use
The Cypresse wreathes, her pietie did allow
Those onely to incircle her owne brow:
Your candid acceptation will be
New life and soule to his lost Poesie;
His flame's but sicklie yet, your breath no doubt
Will either blow't up higher, or quite out.
FINIS.
| Sicily and Naples, or, the Fatall Vnion | |