 | Papal tyranny In the reign of King John |  |
71
EPILOGUE.
Spoke by Mrs. CLIVE.
Of
all the Helps for Wit so much in Vogue,
This Play has scarce one Hint for Epilogue?
Now, after Tragedy, you know, the Way
Is to come forward, with an Air so gay,
Not to support,—no, no,—to ridicule the Play.
With flirting Fan, and pointed Wit, so jolly,
Crack Jokes on Virtue, as an unbred Folly.
How often has the Grecian Dame, distress'd,
Been dismal Company—till made a Jest?
And when her prudish Pride warm Love has slighted,
How lusciously her Epilogue delighted!
O! what Enjoyment to a modern Sinner,
To have it prov'd at last—she'd nothing in her!
Then is the Proof of Wit's commanding Pow'r,
When double Entendres make an Aud'ence roar!
When chuckling Rakes, and Witlings void of Grace,
Stare all the blushing Boxes in the Face!
And when the luscious Stroke has kept them under,
Crack! goes the joyous Laugh, in Claps of Thunder!
This Play has scarce one Hint for Epilogue?
Now, after Tragedy, you know, the Way
Is to come forward, with an Air so gay,
Not to support,—no, no,—to ridicule the Play.
With flirting Fan, and pointed Wit, so jolly,
Crack Jokes on Virtue, as an unbred Folly.
How often has the Grecian Dame, distress'd,
Been dismal Company—till made a Jest?
And when her prudish Pride warm Love has slighted,
How lusciously her Epilogue delighted!
O! what Enjoyment to a modern Sinner,
To have it prov'd at last—she'd nothing in her!
Then is the Proof of Wit's commanding Pow'r,
When double Entendres make an Aud'ence roar!
When chuckling Rakes, and Witlings void of Grace,
Stare all the blushing Boxes in the Face!
And when the luscious Stroke has kept them under,
Crack! goes the joyous Laugh, in Claps of Thunder!
Since Arts, like these, have charm'd a merry Nation,
Why could not Colley play the Wag in fashion?
Shall he pretend to give the Stage new Modes?
Would he have Plays at chaste as annual Odes?
Shall he suppose there can be any Sin in
Th' warmest Meaning—wrapp'd in decent Linen?
Something—he ought to have for ev'ry Taste;
John Trott's an honest, though a vulgar Ghost:
His strong Digest'on thinks fat Food the best.
And when his full Meal's made, cries—“After all
“That Epilogue was dev'lish comical!
“Better, by half, than all their hum-drum Sorrow!
“I'cod I'll come and hear't again to-morrow!”
What could, in Nature, our Fool's Reason be,
To strike away this Prop from Tragedy?
Odso! I've found it now—'twas—Modesty!
Yes modest as the Jay—when he presumes,
To deck his dowdy Muse—with Peacock Plumes!
Yet hold!—that Fleer too hard a Censure flings;
He's but the Wren, that mounts on Shakespear's Wings;
Where, while the Eagle soars—he safely sings,
Let then the modern Scenes on Shakespear live,
And what you cannot praise, like Friends, forgive.
Why could not Colley play the Wag in fashion?
Shall he pretend to give the Stage new Modes?
Would he have Plays at chaste as annual Odes?
72
Th' warmest Meaning—wrapp'd in decent Linen?
Something—he ought to have for ev'ry Taste;
John Trott's an honest, though a vulgar Ghost:
His strong Digest'on thinks fat Food the best.
And when his full Meal's made, cries—“After all
“That Epilogue was dev'lish comical!
“Better, by half, than all their hum-drum Sorrow!
“I'cod I'll come and hear't again to-morrow!”
What could, in Nature, our Fool's Reason be,
To strike away this Prop from Tragedy?
Odso! I've found it now—'twas—Modesty!
Yes modest as the Jay—when he presumes,
To deck his dowdy Muse—with Peacock Plumes!
Yet hold!—that Fleer too hard a Censure flings;
He's but the Wren, that mounts on Shakespear's Wings;
Where, while the Eagle soars—he safely sings,
Let then the modern Scenes on Shakespear live,
And what you cannot praise, like Friends, forgive.
FINIS.
| Papal tyranny In the reign of King John | |