University of Virginia Library

EPILOGUE.

Ladies and Gentlemen—'Tis so ill bred—
We have no Epilogue, because I'm dead;
For he, our Bard, with frenzy-rolling eye,
Swears you shan't laugh, when he has made you cry.
At which I gave his sleeve a gentle pull,
Suppose they should not cry, and should be dull:
In such a case, 'twould surely do no harm,
A little lively nonsense taken warm:
On critick stomacks delicate and queasy,
'Twill ev'n make a heavy meal sit easy.
The town hates Epilogues—it is not true,
I answer'd that for you—and you—and you—
(To pit, boxes, and 1st gallery.)
They call for Epilogues, and Hornpipes too—
(To the upper gallery.)
Madam, the Criticks say—To you they're civil,
Here if they have'em not; they'll play the devil;
Out of this house, Sir, and to you alone,
They'll smile, cry Bravo! Charming!—Here they groan:
A single critick will not frown, look big,
Harmless and pliant as a single twig,
But crouded here they change, and 'tis not odd,
For twigs, when bundled up, become a rod.
Criticks to bards, like beauties to each other,
When tète à tète their enmity they smother;
Kiss me, my dear—how do you?—Charming creature!
What shape! what bloom! what spirit in each feature!
You flatter me,—'pon honor, No.—You do—
My friend—my dear—sincerely yours—adieu!
But when at Routs, the dear friends change their tone—
I speak of foreign ladies, not our own.
Will you permit, good Sirs, these gloomy folk,
To give all tragedy, without one joke?
They gravely tell us—tragedy's design'd,
To purge the passions, purify the mind;
To which I say, to strike those blockheads dumb,
With physick, always give a sugar plumb;
I love these sugar plumbs in prose or rhimes;
No one is merrier than myself some times;
Yet I, poor I, with tears and constant moan,
Am melted down almost to skin and bone:
This night, in sighs and sobs I drew my breath;
Love, marriage, treason, prison, poison, death,
Were scarce sufficient to compleat my fate;
Two children were thrown in to make up weight.
With all these suff'rings, is it not provoking,
To be deny'd at last a little joking?
If they will make new laws, for mirth's sake—break 'em,
Roar out for Epilogues, and let me speak 'em.