 | Penelope |  |
EPILOGUE.
Well , I suppose, good Folks, you're all agogue,To hear a Goddess speak an Epilogue.
My Bus'ness now is to defend the Poet;
But I can scarce persuade myself to do it:
Defend him? Why? Because he brought me here,
To rant, to swagger, and to call for Beer.
It is a Trick the Puppy learn'd at School,
To make Us shew our Shapes, and play the Fool;
But, as I scorn, I can forgive the Chit;
Poor Thing, he did it but to shew his Wit;
On such like Errands oft' we've been before,
From Homer, Lucan, and a Dozen more;
For when the Muse, forsooth, begins to jade,
Whip, snap, a Goddess is her waiting Maid;
And, when we've done the Bus'ness of the Day,
We take a Cloud for Heav'n, and post away.
The END.
| Penelope | |