 | The Injured Princess, or the Fatal Wager |  |
THE EPILOGUE.
Our next new Play, if this Mode hold in vogue,Shall be half Prologue, and half Epilogue.
The way to please you, is easie if we knew't,
A Jigg, a Song, a Rhyme or two will do't,
When you'r i'th' vein: and sometimes a good Play
Strangely miscarries, and is thrown away.
That this is such our Poet dares not think,
For what displeases you's a waste of Ink:
Besides this Play was writ nine years ago,
And how Times alter, Ladies you best know;
Many then, fair and courted, I dare say,
Act half as out of Fashion, as our Play.
Besides if you'd consider't well, you'd find,
Y' have altered since ten thousand times, your mind;
And if your humours do so often vary,
These in our Comedy must need miscarry;
For as you change, each Poet moves his Pen,
They take from you the Characters of Men.
The Wit they write, the Valour, and the Love,
Are all but Copies, of what you approve.
Our's follow'd the same Rule, but does confess,
The love and humour of that seasonless.
And every Artist knows that Copies fall,
For th'most part, short of their Original.
FINIS.
| The Injured Princess, or the Fatal Wager | |