University of Virginia Library

Epilogue.

Success , which can no more than beauty last,
Makes our sad Poet mourn your favours past:
For, since without desert he got a name,
He fears to loose it now with greater shame.
Fame, like a little Mistriss of the town,
Is gaind with ease; but then she's lost as soon.
For, as those taudry Misses, soon or late
Jilt such as keep 'em at the highest rate:
(And oft the Lacquey, or the Brawny Clown,
Gets what is hid in the loose body'd gown;)
So, Fame is false to all that keep her long;
And turns up to the Fop that's brisk and young.
Some wiser Poet now would leave Fame first:
But elder wits are like old Lovers curst;
Who, when the vigor of their youth is spent,
Still grow more fond as they grow impotent.
This, some years hence, our Poets case may prove;
But, yet, he hopes, he's young enough to love.
When forty comes, if'ere he live to see
That wretched, fumbling age of poetry;
T'will be high time to bid his Muse adieu:
Well he may please him self, but never you,
Till then he'l do as well as he began;
And hopes you will not finde him less a man.
Think him not duller for this years delay;
He was prepar'd, the women were away;
And men, without their parts, can hardly play.
If they, through sickness, seldome did appear,
Pity the virgins of each Theatre!
For, at both houses, 'twas a sickly year!
And pity us, your servants, to whose cost,
In one such sickness, nine whole Mon'ths are lost.
Their stay, he fears, has ruin'd what he writ:
Long waiting both disables love and wit.
They thought they gave him leisure to do well:
But when they forc'd him to attend he fell!
Yet though he much has faild, he begs to day.
You will excuse his unperforming Play
Weakness sometimes great passion does express;
He had pleas'd better, had he lov'd you less.