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EPILOGUE. Spoken by Mr. Montfort.

Stay Gentlemen, and give your Suffrages;
For on your Votes depends Ricardo's peace:
Doom'd to be exil'd, as I past along
The Poet singl'd me from out the throng;
Frowning, he charg'd me er'e I went away,
To come and beg excuse for his dull Play:
Which if—I gain'd he promis'd to repeal
The hasty doom of his Poetick zeal.
But by my hast my message I've forgot;
I must say something, yet I know not what:
But only this, 'tis to both Sexes sent,
And to the one but a rough complement.
The Men he fears not, for he says he writ
So dull to please, and he is sure t'will hit,
Where ten dull Fops are for one Man of Wit;
Who, if the Writer stumbles on a thought,
Dam it they cry, the Bottle brought that out:
But if insipid, they cry One and All,
Oh 'tis unaffected, strange and naturall:
Like Mahomet, who Whoredome does allow,
Because a Crime which Nature prompts us to.
But from the Ladies on a double Score,
I wou'd a favourable glance implore;
You like an Adamant the Men attract;
What e're gains your assent, they make an Act:
See how the Criticall Committee wait,
From your fair brows the Poets doubtfull fate:
Do not for once then blast the infant bud,
Which by your Sunshine may in time grow ripe and good.
But if no favour you design t'impart,
But rather with his numerous foes take part;
He Swears he cares not for your cruelty,
But says, he'l go on Pilgrimage with me,
And the whole Train of Fops and Beaux defy.