 | Beauty in Distress |  |
The EPILOGUE,Spoken by Mrs. Bracegirdle.
Poys'ning and stabbing you have seen me scape,And, what you think no mighty thing, a Rape:
But can poor Poet scape, like richer Drudges,
The dreadful Votes of his five hundred Judges?
He has no Epilogue. What shall he do?
H'as sent me a Petition here for you.
That's it—Cry' Mercy! That's a Billetdoux.
She pulls out a Paper, and puts it up in haste; then pulls out a Petition, and reads it.]
Reads.
To you great Wits, dread Critics, nicest Beaux!
Gay Sparks with borrow'd Wit, and Masks with borrow'd Clothes!
You, who to chat or ogle fill yond' Benches,
Or tempt with Love our modest Orange Wenches!
Rakes, Cuckolds, Cits, Squires, Cullies great and small!
I think, Sirs, this Petition's to you all.
Speaks this line of her self.
Reads.
The Trembling Author, by this short Petition,
Most humbly shows, he's in a sad condition:
Doom'd to be thought profane, or write dull Trash,
Venture Damnation, or some Zealot's Lash:
H'as chose to trust your Clemency to live,
For well he knows, that sometimes you forgive.
Then spare these Scenes, and let all People see
Plays may be lik'd, yet grave and moral be.
Seem pleas'd and edifi'd to go away,
And your Petitioner shall never pray—
Without remembering you and his third day.
[Here ends the Petition.]
Now, Sirs, I'd know what you would have him ask?
As for you Rakes, that's no uneasy Task,
Good Wine for you, full Pockets, and a Mask.
And for you, Masks, still in your Pray'rs—but stay,
Who ever knew a Vizard Mask to pray?
For Cits, he shou'd ask Trade; for Courtiers, Places;
For Squires, more Wit; and for you, Beaux, more Graces,
Kind trusting Taylors, full Wigs, and new Faces;
And for you, Jockeys, better luck at Races:
For Sharpers wealthy Bubbles, and much Play;
For Souldiers, no more fighting, and full Pay.
As for you Rakes, that's no uneasy Task,
Good Wine for you, full Pockets, and a Mask.
And for you, Masks, still in your Pray'rs—but stay,
Who ever knew a Vizard Mask to pray?
For Cits, he shou'd ask Trade; for Courtiers, Places;
For Squires, more Wit; and for you, Beaux, more Graces,
Kind trusting Taylors, full Wigs, and new Faces;
And for you, Jockeys, better luck at Races:
For Sharpers wealthy Bubbles, and much Play;
For Souldiers, no more fighting, and full Pay.
But 'twere in vain to mention ev'ry Head,
I guess a Poet's Pray'rs are quickly said;
He seldom prays but to avoid his Curse,
An empty Play-house, and an empty Purse.
I guess a Poet's Pray'rs are quickly said;
He seldom prays but to avoid his Curse,
An empty Play-house, and an empty Purse.
Yet, Ladies, for your Smiles Ours chiefly prays:
You make a Muse, and ev'ry Spirit raise.
Grace this first Offspring of his Tragic Vein
With one kind Smile, that's his most valu'd Gain.
You make a Muse, and ev'ry Spirit raise.
Grace this first Offspring of his Tragic Vein
With one kind Smile, that's his most valu'd Gain.
| Beauty in Distress | |