 | The Step-Mother |  |
THE EPILOGUE TO THE KING.
Happy were those who English Playes first writ,They flourish'd in the golden times of Wit;
Ripe Harvests then from Old and Modern Scenes
Th'Industrious Poet reap'd, but now he gleans:
In that kind Age every one prais'd all Playes,
No mercy's in the Criticks of our dayes.
The Authour knew these Disadvantages,
Yet ventur'd, hoping his desire to please;
May Royall Pitty move: You represent
That Pow'r, which for the act accepts th'intent.
FINIS.
| The Step-Mother | |