University of Virginia Library

EPILOGUE.

By an Unknown Hand.
Spoken by Mrs. Cibber.
News ! News! good Folks, rare News, and you shall know it—
I've got Intelligence about our Poet!
Who do you think he is?—You'll never guess;
An Irish Bricklayer, neither more or less.
And now the Secret's out, you cannot wonder,
That in commencing Bard he made a Blunder.
Has he not left the Better for the Worse,
In quitting Solid Brick for empty Verse?
Can he believe th'Example of Old Ben,
Who chang'd (like him) the Trowel for the Pen,
Will in his Favour move your Critic Bowels?
You rather wish, most Poet's Pens were Trowels.
Our Man is honest, sensible, and plain,
Nor has the Poet made him pert, or vain:
No Beau, no Courtier, nor conceited Youth;
But then so rude, he always speaks the Truth:
I told him he must flatter, learn Address,
And gain the Heart of some rich Patroness:
'Tis she, said I, your Labours will reward,
If you but join the Bricklay'r with the Bard;
As thus—Should she be old and worse for Wear,
You must new-case her, front her and repair;
If crack'd in Fame, as scarce to bear a Touch,
You cannot use your Trowel then too much;
In short, whate'er her Morals, Age or Station,
Plaister and white-wash in your Dedication.
Thus I advis'd—but he detests the Plan:
What can be done with such a simple Man?
A Poet's nothing worth and nought availing,
Unless he'll furnish, where there is a Failing.
Authors in these good Times are made and us'd,
To grant those Favours Nature has refus'd.
If he won't fib, what Bounty can he crave?
We pay for what we want, not what we have.—
Nay tho' of every Blessing we have store,
Our Sex will always wish—a little more.—
If he'll not bend his Heart to this his Duty,
And sell (to who will buy) Wit, Honour, Beauty;
The Bricklay'r still for him the proper Trade is,
Too rough to deal with Gentlemen and Ladies.—
In short—they'll all avoid him and neglect him,
Unless that you his Patrons will protect him.