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Show EPILOGUE* Spoken by Mr. WiLKS, N O W all depart, each his refpeciive way, To fpend an Evenings Chat upon the Play; Some to Hipprdito'-f, one homeward goes, And one with loving She retires to tn Rofe. The amorous Pair in all things frank and free, Perhaps mayfave the Play, in number Three. The tearing Spark, if Phillis ought gaynfays, Breaks tin Drawer's Head, kicks her, and murders Bays. To Coffee fome retreat tofave their Pockets, Others, more generous, damn the Play at Lockets. But therey I hope, the Author s Fears are vain, Malice ne'er fpoke in generous Champain. That Poet merits an ignoble Death, Who fears to fall over a brave Monteth. The Privilege of Wine we only ask, Tou'll tafie again, before you damn the Flask. Our Author fears not you ; but thofe he may, Who in cold Blood, murder a Man in Tea. Thofe Men of Spleen, who fond the World fhould know it, Sit down, and for their Two-pence damn a Poet. Their Criticifms good, that we can fay fort, They underftand a Play too well to pay fort. From Box to St age, from Stage to Box they run, Firft fteal the Play, then damn it when they've done. But now, to know what Fate may us betide, Among our Friends, wCornhil and Cheapfide: But thofe, I think, have but one Rule for Plays; They'll J ay they're good, if fo the World fays. If it fhould pieafe them, and their Spoufcs know it, J key fir ait enquire what kind of Mans the Poet, I | But |
