The Perfidious Brother a tragedy |
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The EPILOGUE. Written by Mr. Moloy, and Spoken by Mrs. Cross.
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 | The Perfidious Brother |  |
The EPILOGUE. Written by Mr. Moloy, and Spoken by Mrs. Cross.
We
find, the Tragedies of latter Days,
Like Physick from a Quack, work various ways:
Thus while the softer Sex is mov'd to weep,
You Beaus appear so charm'd—you fall asleep;
The Tale's so Dismal you can bear no more,
But use it like a Sermon,—nod it o'er;
And when 'tis done, and all are going away,
You start,—and rub your Eyes,—and damn the Play.
Like Physick from a Quack, work various ways:
Thus while the softer Sex is mov'd to weep,
You Beaus appear so charm'd—you fall asleep;
The Tale's so Dismal you can bear no more,
But use it like a Sermon,—nod it o'er;
And when 'tis done, and all are going away,
You start,—and rub your Eyes,—and damn the Play.
An Author, like a Criminal, does stand,
Who for some petty Theft holds up his Hand;
Like rev'rend Judges, you yourselves behave,
Sleep the whole Tryal—then wake, to hang the Knave.
T'arrest such hasty Judgments, I engage,
As tending to destroy our sickly Stage;
Perhaps you'll be malicious, think 'tis Love,
And say,—the Author and I are Hand and Glove:
But know, I've Grace enough that Fate to shun,
I'll be no Poet's Desk to write upon.
Who for some petty Theft holds up his Hand;
Like rev'rend Judges, you yourselves behave,
Sleep the whole Tryal—then wake, to hang the Knave.
T'arrest such hasty Judgments, I engage,
As tending to destroy our sickly Stage;
Perhaps you'll be malicious, think 'tis Love,
And say,—the Author and I are Hand and Glove:
But know, I've Grace enough that Fate to shun,
I'll be no Poet's Desk to write upon.
Can any Mortal shew a Precedent
That ever Poet made a Settlement?
A Thousand soft Expressions, finely said!
What are they to a Gown of rich Brocade?
Can Cupid's Fetters, which these Poets feign,
Bind a weak Woman like a Golden Chain?
'Tis not my Love to Him that makes me speak,
But for our own, and for our House's Sake;
Therefore I come, not with a begging Face
To sneak, and sue ye for a Coupe de Grace;
No, I'll proceed in a more gen'rous Way,
And he who dares presume to damn our Play,
Let him be Critick, Cuckold, Beau or Cit,
I'll prove the Creature's Courage, and his Wit:
Let me but know what he wou'd do, or say,
I'll give him Satisfaction,—any way.
That ever Poet made a Settlement?
A Thousand soft Expressions, finely said!
What are they to a Gown of rich Brocade?
Can Cupid's Fetters, which these Poets feign,
Bind a weak Woman like a Golden Chain?
'Tis not my Love to Him that makes me speak,
But for our own, and for our House's Sake;
Therefore I come, not with a begging Face
To sneak, and sue ye for a Coupe de Grace;
No, I'll proceed in a more gen'rous Way,
And he who dares presume to damn our Play,
Let him be Critick, Cuckold, Beau or Cit,
I'll prove the Creature's Courage, and his Wit:
Let me but know what he wou'd do, or say,
I'll give him Satisfaction,—any way.
| The Perfidious Brother | |