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EPILOGUE,
Written by Mr. GARRICK.Spoken by Mr. Woodward in the Character of a fine Gentleman.
Enter—speaking without.
Pshaw !—damn your Epilogue—and hold your Tongue—
Shall we of Rank be told what's right and wrong?
Had you ten Epilogues you shou'd not speak 'em,
Tho' he had writ 'em all in Linguum Grecum.
I'll do't by all the Gods!—(you must excuse me)
Tho' Author, Actors, Audience, all abuse me!
To the Audience.
Behold a Gentleman!—and that's enough!—
Laugh if you please—I'll take a Pinch of Snuff!
I come to tell you—(let it not surprise you)
That I'm a Wit—and worthy to advise you.—
How could you suffer that same Country Booby,
That Pro-logue speaking Savage,—that great Looby,
To talk his Nonsense?—give me Leave to say
'Twas low—damn'd low!—but save the Fellow's Play—
Let the poor Devil eat,—allow him that,
And give a Meal to Measter, Mon, and Cat,
But why attack the Fashions?—Senseless Rogue!—
We have no Joys but what result from Vogue:
The Mode shou'd all Controll—nay, ev'ry Passion,
Sense, Appetite, and all, give way to Fashion;
5
But 'till the present Turtle-Rage has ceas'd,
I'd ride a hundred Miles to make myself a Beast.
I have no Ears,—yet Op'ras I adore!—
Always prepar'd to die—to sleep—no more!
The Ladies too were carp'd at, and their Dress,
He wants 'em all ruff'd up like good Queen Bess!
They are, forsooth, too much expos'd, and free—
Were more expos'd, no ill Effects I see,
For more, or less, 'tis all the same to me.
Poor Gaming too, was mauld among the rest,
That precious Cordial to a high-life Breast!
When Thoughts arise I always game, or drink,
An English Gentleman shou'd never think—
The Reason's plain, which ev'ry Soul might hit on—
What trims a Frenchman, oversets a Briton;
In us Reflection breeds a sober Sadness,
Which always ends in Politicks or Madness:
I therefore now propose—by your Command,
That Tragedies no more shall cloud this Land;
Send o'er your Shakespears to the Sons of France,
Let them grow grave—Let us begin in to dance!
Banish your gloomy Scenes to foreign Climes,
Reserve alone to bless these golden Times,
A Farce or two—and Woodward's Pantomines!
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