 | The Island Princess, or The Generous Portuguese |  |
46
THE EPILOGUE.
Enter Mr. Penkothman thrust forwards.Hold , pray don't thrust me on—hold! I'm asham'd.
Well, if I speak, the Op'ra will be damn'd.
D'you think by me to get an act of Grace,
And gain the Ladies with my Charming Face?
No, I'm too Modest, and dread coming on,
As a poor Poet dreads a hiss or dun.
I doubt, no Epilogue will please the Town,
Loose Jests and Smut are damnably cry'd down.
Had Joe Haines sung one, h'has a way so winning,
'T might pass perhaps, like fine Italian Singing.
Then my best way is humbly thus to fall.
Good People, pray, our Op'ra do not mawl!
With rueful Phiz I beg it of you all.
[Knock.
Dear Friends above, for me do your Endeavour,
Stand by me still: Now, now's the time, or never.
Sure I at least the gentle Masks shall please,
They can't deny a Man upon his Knees.
To please the Beaux, I'll study new Grimaces,
For they're bely'd, on they love ugly Faces.
Their own, I mean, in their dear Looking-Glasses.
To please you, Criticks, who sit bare uneasy,
I'll study—Nothing—for nothing e're cou'd please ye.
Mrs. Rogers advances.
Mrs. Ro.
Hold, Sir, methinks you better words might use.
We should beg Favour, and Defects excuse.
Pray let me try that less presuming Way,
And humbly beg Indulgence, for the Play.
Mr. Penk.
With all my heart, and so I'll sneak away.
Exit.
Mrs. Rog.
In altering Plays, there's an ungrateful Curse:
Some still will say they're alter'd for the worse.
If ours be so, sure 'tis a Plot on us;
For he that did it writes for t'other house:
Perhaps he does so now two several ways;
Those write for Them who bring us wretched Plays.
If with his Stuff he meant our house to break,
To disappoint him, kind Sirs, let it take.
Let this Play live; then we stand bravely fixt,
But let none come his third day, nor the sixth.
Some still will say they're alter'd for the worse.
47
For he that did it writes for t'other house:
Perhaps he does so now two several ways;
Those write for Them who bring us wretched Plays.
If with his Stuff he meant our house to break,
To disappoint him, kind Sirs, let it take.
Let this Play live; then we stand bravely fixt,
But let none come his third day, nor the sixth.
To you, bright Beauties, all our Joys we owe,
You're the kind Stars from whom our Blessings flow.
Cheer'd by your Beams we boast a second Life,
And Pleasure's doubled by a gen'rous Strife.
To prop us now, new Favours on us show'r.
And still be great in Mercy, as in Pow'r.
You're the kind Stars from whom our Blessings flow.
Cheer'd by your Beams we boast a second Life,
And Pleasure's doubled by a gen'rous Strife.
To prop us now, new Favours on us show'r.
And still be great in Mercy, as in Pow'r.
| The Island Princess, or The Generous Portuguese | |