Love Triumphant : or, The Rival Goddesses A Pastoral Opera |
EPILOGUE. Spoken (the Last Time of its Performance) in Publick.
|
| 1. |
| 2. |
| 3. |
 | 4. |
| 5. |
| 6. |
| 7. |
| 8. |
| 9. |
| 10. |
 | Love Triumphant : or, The Rival Goddesses |  |
11
EPILOGUE. Spoken (the Last Time of its Performance) in Publick.
Gentlemen and Ladies,
Our
Master fears We've tyr'd You All to Night,
With his Dull Farce shewn in so feint a Light;
But as He seeks not for a Poet's Fame,
And Our Improvement is His Only Aim;
As He proposes Nothing on His Part,
But Teaching us to Move, and Speak with Art;
He hopes Your Goodness will a Smile bestow,
And None go Home with a Contracted Brow;
Hopes You'll excuse Whate're You've seen amiss,
Approve a Task so Innocent as This,
And with Applause Our Nymphs and Swains dismiss.
With his Dull Farce shewn in so feint a Light;
But as He seeks not for a Poet's Fame,
And Our Improvement is His Only Aim;
As He proposes Nothing on His Part,
But Teaching us to Move, and Speak with Art;
He hopes Your Goodness will a Smile bestow,
And None go Home with a Contracted Brow;
Hopes You'll excuse Whate're You've seen amiss,
Approve a Task so Innocent as This,
And with Applause Our Nymphs and Swains dismiss.
—His Hopes are crown'd.—I see Good Nature rise,
And Pleasure sparkling in Your Generous Eyes.
Methinks, I hear Some praise Our Artless Song,
And own 'tis Pretty, as We're All so Young.
And Pleasure sparkling in Your Generous Eyes.
Methinks, I hear Some praise Our Artless Song,
And own 'tis Pretty, as We're All so Young.
Ladies; We're overjoy'd You look so Easy,
And very Proud, that This Night's Labours please Ye.
In Length of Time, We hope, We shall Improve,
And by Degrees, Encrease Your Mirth and Love.
This First Essay Let Your Indulgence spare,
We'll Speak more Artfully Another Year:
'Twasn't a Day did Rome's Bright Fabrick rear.
In short,—Be to Our Little Merit wond'rous Kind,
But to Our Faults, Be (like our Cupid)—Blind.
And very Proud, that This Night's Labours please Ye.
In Length of Time, We hope, We shall Improve,
And by Degrees, Encrease Your Mirth and Love.
This First Essay Let Your Indulgence spare,
We'll Speak more Artfully Another Year:
'Twasn't a Day did Rome's Bright Fabrick rear.
In short,—Be to Our Little Merit wond'rous Kind,
But to Our Faults, Be (like our Cupid)—Blind.
| Love Triumphant : or, The Rival Goddesses | |