University of Virginia Library

EPILOGUE, By Mr. DRYDEN.

We Act by Fits and Starts, like drowning Men,
But just Peep up, and then Dop down again;
Let those who call us Wicked change their Sence,
For never Men liv'd more on Providence,
Not Lott'ry Cavaliers are half so poor,
Nor Broken Cits, nor a Vacation Whore,
Not Courts nor Courtiers living on the Rents,
Of the Three last ungiving Parliaments.
So wretched that if Pharoah could Divine,
He might have spar'd his Dream of Seven lean Kine,
And chang'd the Vision for the Muses Nine.
The Comet which they say Portends a Dearth,
Was but a Vapour drawn from Play-house Earth,
Pent here since our last Fire, and Lilly sayes,
Fore-shows our change of State and thin Third dayes.
'Tis not our want of Wit that keeps us Poor,
For then the Printers Press would suffer more:
Their Pamphleteers their Venom dayly spit,
They thrive by Treason and we starve by Wit.
Confess the truth, which of you has not laid
To the Upper Gallery.
Four Farthings out to buy the Hatfield Maid?
Or what is duller yet, and more to spight us,
Democritus his Wars with Heraclitus?
These are the Authors that have run us down,
And Exercise you Critticks of the Town;
Yet these are Pearls to your Lampooning Rhimes,
Y' abuse your selves more dully than the Times;
Scandal, the Glory of the English Nation,
Is worn to Rags and Scribled out of Fashion;
Such harmless thrasts, as if like Fencers Wise,
You had agreed your Play before the Prize.
Faith you may hang your Harps upon the Willows,
'Tis just like Children when they Box with Pillows.
Then put an end to Civil Wars for shame,
Let each Knight Errant who has wrong'd a Dame,
Throw down his Pen, and give her if he can,
The satisfaction of a Gentleman.