 | Antony and Cleopatra |  |
63
EPILOGUE.
'Twere Popish folly for the Dead to pray:By this time you have damn'd or sav'd our Play:
But Gentlemen, the Poet bad me say,
He claimes his Merit on a surer score:
H' has brought you here together, and what more
Could Waters, Court, or Conventicles do?
'Tis not his fault, if things no further go.
The Gravest Cit that hopes to be Lord Mayor
Must come to a New Play with his None Dear;
And the kind Girl engag'd another way,
Tells all her Friends sh' has been at the New Play.
They ask the Tale which she does for 'em get
Between the Acts, from her dear Friend she met.
The Peacock-Beauty here may spread her Train,
And by our gazing Fops be made more vain.
And all kind Lovers that are here to night,
May thank the Poet for each others sight.
Thô all be bad, men blame with an ill grace
The Entertainment of a Meeting Place.
| Antony and Cleopatra | |