University of Virginia Library

EPILOGUE.

To be spoken in a Crier's Gown, and with a Bell.
OYEZ! Oyez! Oyez!
Whereas on demand it doth plainly appear,
That some wicked wag.—Odso! how came I here?
What a blund'ring is this! One would think I were blind.
Here I'm got on before, when I should be behind.
—Rare work, there, my friends! rare storming and fury.
No Epilogue's coming to-night, I assure you!—
Sure never poor author like ours has been crost:
When meant to be spoken, she found it was lost.
Lost, Ma'am, says the prompter, all pale at the sound!
Lost, Ma'am, do you say? was re-echoed around.—
Lost—stol'n, she replied; 'tis in vain to deny it;
So dear Mr. King, be so good as to cry it.
The thought was an odd one, you'll say—so did I:
But when ladies intreat, we are bound to comply.
Oyez! Oyez! Oyez!
[Rings the bell again.
Be it known,
To all it concerns, Wit, Critick, or Town,
That whoe'er brings it back shall receive, besides praise,
A handsome reward of a crown too of bays;
Whereas, if detain'd, heavy law-suits will follow,
And damage be sued for, in court of Apollo.
Rare menaces these! you see how it stands—
She'll indite you all round; so up with your hands,
I'll examine each face, too—In truth, a fine show.—
Whom first shall I try? Oh! my friends here below.
The Box claim precedence: but there I've my fears;
Perhaps they'll demand to be tried by their peers.
Yet methinks, when I view the fair circle around,
I'm in hopes they'll not ask for what cannot be found.
An Epilogue stol'n, cries Old Crusty, out yonder!
[Pointing to the Pit.
A fine prize, indeed! who should steal it I wonder?
He, surely, must be a strange dolt, who contested
A bill on Parnassus, so often protested.—
Nay, Sirs, 'tis a loss; so pray ye, don't flout it.—
Good or bad, custom's all, and we can't do without it.
Yet, in search of our stray, I'll e'en now look elsewhere.
There's no wit in't, I'm sure, so it cannot be there.
—Higher up, then—Hey—what—Nay, come, I'll not wrong ye.
[To the Galleries.
Not one roguish face can I spy out among ye;
But sound hearts and sound heads, with too great a store
Of mirth in yourselves, to steal from the poor.
All good men and true. So I give up the cause.
And since, then, our Bard can't bring you to the laws,
Ev'n let her be the Culprit, and steal—your applause.
God save the King!
[Rings the Bell, and exit.