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Show Love and a Bottle „ 45 nbur at their Eyes, when the fame white Handkerchief that blows their Nofes, muft be a Winding-fheet to the deceafei Hero. Lov. Then there's fomething in the Handkerchief to ein-balm him, Mr. Lyrick; Ha, ha, ha. But what relifht have you of Comedy ? Lyr. N o fatisfadtory one. My Curiofity is forc-ftaft'ef by a Fore-knowledge of what fhall happen : For as the Hero' in Tragedy,' is either a whining cringing Fool, that's al ways' a ftabbing himfelf, or a ranting, heiforing Bully, that's for killing every-body elfe: So the Hero in Comedy is always the Poet's Charadfer. Lov. What's that? Lyr. A Compound of practical Rake, and fpccu'lalive Gentleman, w h o always bears off the great Fortune in the Play; and fhams the Beau and 'Squire with a Whore or Chambermaid ; and as the Cataftrophe of all Tragedies is Death, fo Hie end of Comedies is Marriage. Lov. And fome think that tbe moft Tragical Conclufion of the two. Lyr. A n d therefore m y Eyes are diverted by abetter Comedy in the Audience than that upon the Stage. -- I have often' wonder'd, w h y Men fhou'd be fond'of feeing Fools ill repre-fented, when at the fame time, and place, they may behold the mighty Originals adling their Parts to the Life in the Boxes. 1 Lov. O h be favourable to the Ladies, Mr. Lyrick, 'tis your Intereft. Beauty is the Deity of Poetry ;. and if you rebel,- you'll certainly run the Fate of your firft Parent, the Devil. ;j •Luc. You're out, Sir. Beauty is a merciful Deity, and allows us fometimesto be a little Atheiftical; and 'tis fo indulgent to Wit, that it is pleas'd with it, tho' in the worft habit; that of Satyr. Befidcs, there can appear no greater Argument of our Efteem, than Raillery, becaufe 'tis ftill founded upon Tealoufie; occafion d by their preferring fenfejfefs Fops and wealthy Fools to M e n of W i t and Merit, the great U p holders of the Empire. • _•.- *, ' Lov. N o w I think thefe Favourites of the Ladies are more gritty than you. ' Lyr. H o w fo, pray, Sir? -•'; , - • y Lov. Becaufe they play the Fool, confdous that it w 11 pleafe ; and you're a Wit, when fenlible that Coxjom^nnly areencourag'd. I wonder, Mi. Lyrick, that a M a n of your Senfe fhould turn Poet; you'll hardly ever find a M a n that is capable of the Impioyiiient, will undertake it |