 | Matilda |  |
EPILOGUE. By the AUTHOR of the TRAGEDY. Spoken by Miss YOUNGE.
Ha!
ha! poor Creature! how you trembling stand!
Come to the Bar, Sir, and hold up your Hand;
You won't—by Council then you'd have it done,
And I must plead your Cause—well, get you gone.
[Coming forward to the Audience.
Now for the great Tribunal of Old Drury;
Are you all sworn there—Gem'men of the Jury?
Good Men, and true, I hope—stay, let me see,
Amongst you all he challenges—but three.
Physicians, Lawyers, Parsons he admits,
Beaux, Ladies, Courtiers, Macaronies, Cits,
And only scratches—Critics, News-writers, and Wits.
Come to the Bar, Sir, and hold up your Hand;
You won't—by Council then you'd have it done,
And I must plead your Cause—well, get you gone.
[Coming forward to the Audience.
Now for the great Tribunal of Old Drury;
Are you all sworn there—Gem'men of the Jury?
Good Men, and true, I hope—stay, let me see,
Amongst you all he challenges—but three.
Physicians, Lawyers, Parsons he admits,
Beaux, Ladies, Courtiers, Macaronies, Cits,
And only scratches—Critics, News-writers, and Wits.
The Critic first we banish from our Session,
Death is his Trade, and Damning—his Profession;
Disqualify'd—because, to say no further,
Butchers are never heard in case of Murther.
Death is his Trade, and Damning—his Profession;
Disqualify'd—because, to say no further,
Butchers are never heard in case of Murther.
Next we disclaim th'Artificers of News,
Who live by Fibs, and flourish by Abuse;
They must condemn, or lose their daily Bread;
If they don't cut, and slash—they're never read;
Like fabled Giants here they roam for Food,
And Fe! Fa! Fum! snuff up an Author's Blood;
In the next Ledger hang him up to roast,
Or tear him Piece-meal in—the Morning Post.
Who live by Fibs, and flourish by Abuse;
They must condemn, or lose their daily Bread;
If they don't cut, and slash—they're never read;
Like fabled Giants here they roam for Food,
And Fe! Fa! Fum! snuff up an Author's Blood;
In the next Ledger hang him up to roast,
Or tear him Piece-meal in—the Morning Post.
To Wits we last except, and 'bove all other,
The Hero of our Tale—a Rival Brother!
As Rogues, just 'scap'd the Gallows, join the Shrieves,
Turn Hangmen, and tuck up their Fellow Thieves;
So Bards condemn'd, exert the Critic's Skill,
And execute their Brethren of the Quill!
If like their own, indeed, the Brat should die,
They'll gladly join to write—its Elegy;
But if the Child is strong, and like to live,
That is a Crime they never can forgive.
The Hero of our Tale—a Rival Brother!
Turn Hangmen, and tuck up their Fellow Thieves;
So Bards condemn'd, exert the Critic's Skill,
And execute their Brethren of the Quill!
If like their own, indeed, the Brat should die,
They'll gladly join to write—its Elegy;
But if the Child is strong, and like to live,
That is a Crime they never can forgive.
From such let English Juries still be free,
Our Author here appeals to your Decree,
The Public is—a Court of Equity.
If he has shock'd your Taste, your Sense, or Reason,
Or against Nature guilty been of Treason,
Off with his Head;—but if with honest Art
His well-meant Scenes have touch'd the feeling Heart;
If they have rais'd your Pity, wak'd your Fears,
Or sweetly have “beguil'd you of your Tears,”
Let venial Errors your Indulgence claim,
Your Voice his Triumph, your Applause his Fame.
Our Author here appeals to your Decree,
The Public is—a Court of Equity.
If he has shock'd your Taste, your Sense, or Reason,
Or against Nature guilty been of Treason,
Off with his Head;—but if with honest Art
His well-meant Scenes have touch'd the feeling Heart;
If they have rais'd your Pity, wak'd your Fears,
Or sweetly have “beguil'd you of your Tears,”
Let venial Errors your Indulgence claim,
Your Voice his Triumph, your Applause his Fame.
Speak by your Foreman—what says Goodman Pit?
Will you condemn the Prisoner, or acquit?
Your Verdict, Sirs, Not Guilty—if you please—
You smile—Acquitted—hope you'll pay his Fees.
Will you condemn the Prisoner, or acquit?
Your Verdict, Sirs, Not Guilty—if you please—
You smile—Acquitted—hope you'll pay his Fees.
| Matilda | |