University of Virginia Library

EPILOGUE.

The Author, who the Foregoing Scenes has Writ
Design'd to shew you Nature more than Wit;
Tho', one wou'd think no wonder cou'd be greater,
Than to see any Forsake our Leader, Nature.
For She shou'd hold the Lamp, when we Indite,
And Dictate every Thought and Line we Write
Nay, all think they have her Presence and her Light.
When as the Coy Daphne fled from our Apollo,
Nature flyes Poets, and in Vain they Follow.
This Offspring still is Jilted worse than he,
Who for a kind soft Nimph, Embrac'd a Tree;
Yet why this Vain pursuit of her at last,
If she flyes Poets, you fly her as fast;
Nay, yo are grown so very Ripe for Satyre,
As much as ye each other Love, ye hate her.
For when did she e're please this Barborous Age,
When all things else have taken on the Stage.
New Bullies, Blustering in Heroick Fustian,
In your Fermenting Masses, rais'd Combustion.
Anon, we hush'd your forward Mood with Battles,
And made our Trumpets, and our Drums your Rattles.
But Gallants, since you are weary grown of these,
Let Humane Nature, Humane Creatures please.
All loose Expressions now are Banish'd hence,
Our Senses are only Fraught with Innocence.
Virtue Arises.
Her Snowy Garment bears a Dazeling white,
Protect ye Beauties, the grace in which ye all delight,
And save the Hapless Lovers you have seen to Night.