 | The Faithful Bride of Granada |  |
EPILOGUE.
In such a strange Licentious Age we Write,That Tragedy is Bumbast, and Satyr Spite.
Plays should reform, and Satyr should correct,
But modern Wits the Ancient Rules neglect.
A loose Extravagant oft obtains your Praise,
And the bold huffing Heroes share the Bays,
Tho' little to the Purpose either says.
Sure we've 'scap'd the Informers Inquisition;
The Disease is bad, and he a damn'd Physician:
Him no Motive does to Reformation lead,
But want; he swears because it gets him Bread;
He culls the Ill, and earns from thence his Food;
He, with mending, he's ruin'd if the World is good.
No, great Examples shall reform the Stage:
Must we learn Manners, from the vilest of the Age?
A vertuous Queen with her bright glorious Court,
Shall give the Muse her Theme, and shall the Muse support.
A Queen will every Heart and Tongue inspire,
And vertuous Lays Tune every generous Lyre.
The Pride of Nature is the British Fair;
We aim at Angels when we Copy her.
| The Faithful Bride of Granada | |