University of Virginia Library

THE EPILOGUE, Spoken by Mr. Haines, who Acted La Marre.

Finding sad Plays so good success have had;
To make this Tragedy exceeding sad,
The Author doom'd me to be hang'd to Night;
But now I hop'd I shou'd be hang'd out right.
For I've three plagues no flesh and blood can bear,
I am a Poet, Married, and a Player.
A Wife ha's e're since Eve been thought an evil,
The first that danc'd at Weddings was the Devil.
At the first Wedding all Mankind miscarried,
Old Adam ne're was wicked 'till he married.
And Poetry of curses never fail'd:
Homer his Rags on all his race entail'd.
He was an old blind Beggar and so poor,
He starv'd the Dog that led him, and the Curre
To have revenge on Poets, got in spite
Criticks, who worry all that dare to write.
But 'till of late a Player was a toy
That either sex lik'd well enough, t'enjoy;
Happy the Spark that cou'd a Night carouse
With a whole Sharer once of either House.
Nay Women once in our acquaintance crept;
You hardly will believe me,—I was kept.
But I, and all of us, are fallen so low;
Nothing will keep us but Bum Bailiffs now.
Now no divertisement do'es pleasure bring,
The Pope ha's set his foot in ev'ry thing.
His Priests and Poets have conspir'd our fall,
Priests by bad Plots, Poets by none at all.
And Poets like the Jesuits of the times,
Will hang and damn e're they will own their Crimes.
Like Fryar Bacon's Brazen Head, they'l speak
Just what they please and then in peices break.
'Tis strange fond Nature often takes great pains,
To build Brass Fore-heads to defend no brains.
Well, Sirs, damn Plays and Poets as you please;
But pray support a Play-house for your ease.
Ladies some Journeys to Hide, Park may spare,
Our empty Play-House ha's enough fresh Air.
And Gallants pray support us not for Plays,
But to find Ladies here in rainy days.