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Honey. Heavens ! how can I have deserved all this? How express my happiness, my gratitude ! A moment, like this, overpays an age of apprehension. Croak. Well, now I fee content in every

but heaven fend we be all better this day three months.

Sir Will. Henceforth, nephew, learn to respect yourfelf. He who seeks only for applause from without, has all bis happiness in another's keeping.

Honey. Yes, fir, I now too plainly perceive my errors. My vanity, in attempting to please all, by fearing to offend any. My meanness in approving folly, left fools should disapprove. Henceforth, therefore, it shall be my study to reserve my pity for real distress ; my friendfhip for true merit ; and my love for her, who firft taught me what it is to be happy

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As puffing quacks some caitiff wretch procure
To swear the pill, or drop, has wrought a cure ;
Thus, on the stage, our play-wrights ftill depend
For Epilogues and Prologues on some friend,
Who knows each art of coaxing up the town,
And make full many a bitter pill go down.
Conscious of this, our bard has gone

And teaz'd each rhyming friend to help him out.
An Epilogue, things can't go on without it;
It cou'd not fail, wou'd you but set about it.
Young man, cries one, (a bard laid up in clover)
Alas, young man, my writing days are over ;
Let boys play tricks, and kick the fraw, not I:
Your brother Doctor there, perhaps, may try.
What I! dear fir, the Doctor interposes;
What plant my thistle, fir, among his roses !
No, no, I've other contests to maintain ;
To-night I head our troops at Warwick-lane.

* The author, in expectation of an Epilogue from a friend at Oxford, deferred writing one himself till the very last hour. What is here offered, owes all its success to the graceful mana ner of the actress who spoke it.

Go, ask your manager-Who, me! Your pardon,
Those things are not our fort at Covent-garden.
Our author's friends, thus plac'd at happy distance,
Give him good words indeed, but no assistance.
As some unhappy wight, at fome new play,
At the pit door stands elbowing away,
While oft, with many a finile and many a shrug,

eyes the centre, where his friends fit snug ; ? His fimpering friends with pleasure in their eyes,

Sinks as he finks, and as he rises rise :
He nods, they nod ; he cringes, they grimace ;
But not a soul will budge to give him place.
Since then, anhelp'd our bard must now conform
To 'bide the pelting of this pittiless storm,
Blame where you must, be candid where you can,
And be each critic the Good-natur's Man,

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