University of Virginia Library

Epilogue. Spoken by Mr. Barrey.

No cringing Sirs, the Poets Champion I,
Have sworn to stand, and ev'ry Judge defie;
But why each Bullying critick shou'd I name
A Jugde, whose only business is to damne.
While you your Arbitrary fist advance
At Wit, and dust it like a boor of France
Who without show of reason or pretence
Condemn a man to dye for speaking sence.
How ere we term'd you once the wise the strong
Know we have born your impotence too long.
You that above your Sires presume to soare,
And are but copies dawb'd in Minuture.
You that have nothing right in heart nor tongue
But only to be resolute in wrong.
Who sence affect with such an Aukward Ayre
As if a Frenchman should become severe.
Or an Italian make his Wife a jest
Like Spaniards pleasant, or like Dutchmen drest.
That rank the noblest Poets with the vile
And look your selves in a Plebeian stile.
But with an Oath.—
False as your Wit and Judgment now I swear
By the known Maiden heads of each Theater
Nay by my own; The Poets shall not stand,
Like Shrove-tide Cocks, the Palt of every hand.
Let not the purblind Critick's sentence pass
That shoots the Poet through an optick glass,
No peals of ill plac'd praise from galleries come
Nor punk below to clap or hiss presume
Let her not cackle at the fops that flout her
Nor clukk the Squires that use to pipp about her,
No full blown block head bloated like an Ox
Traverse the pit with-dam me what a pox.
Know then for Ev'ry misdemeanor here
I'll be more stabbing, sharp, and more severe,
Then the Fell-she that on her Keeper comes
Who in his drink, last night laid wast her Roomes,
Thundred her China, damn'd her quality,
Her glasses broke, and tore her Point Venie;
That drag'd her by the hair, and broke her head,
A Chamber Lion, but a lamb in bed.
Like her I'le teez you for your midnight storming
For your all talking, and your noe performing.
You that with monstrous Judgment force the Stage
You fribling, fumbling Keepers of the Age.