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72

EPILOGUE.

Spoken by Mr. Milward.
You , who supreme o'er ev'ry work of Wit,
In Judgment here unaw'd, unbiast sit,
The Palatines and Guardians of the Pit;
If to your minds this meerly-modern Play,
No useful sense, no gen'rous warmth convey;
If Fustian here, thro' each unnat'ral Scene,
In strain'd conceits sound high, and nothing mean;
If Lofty Dulness for your Vengeance call;
Like Elmerick Judge, and let the Guilty Fall.
But if Simplicity with Force and Fire,
Unlabour'd thoughts and artless words inspire;
If, like the Action which these Scenes relate,
The whole appear irregularly Great;
If master-strokes the nobler Passions move,
Then, like the King, acquit us, and approve.
The END.