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face;

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Honey. Heavens! how can I have deserved all this? How exprefs my happiness, my gratitude! A moment, like this, overpays an age of apprehenfion. Croak. Well, now I fee content in every heaven fend we be all better this day three months. Sir Will. Henceforth, nephew, learn to refpect yourfelf. He who feeks only for applaufe from without, has all his 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 meannefs in approving folly, left fools fhould difapprove. Henceforth, therefore, it shall be my ftudy to referve my pity for real diftrefs; my friendfhip for true merit; and my love for her, who first taught me what it is to be happy.

J

EPILOGUE.*

SPOKEN BY

MRS. BULKELEY.

As puffing quacks fome caitiff wretch procure

S

To fwear the pill, or drop, has wrought a cure ;
Thus, on the stage, our play-wrights still depend
For Epilogues and Prologues on fome friend,
Who knows each art of coaxing up the town,
And make full many a bitter pill go down.
Confcious of this, our bard has gone about,
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 rofes!
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 fuccefs to the graceful man ner of the actress who spoke it.

Go, ask your manager-Who, me ! Your pardon,
Thofe 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 affistance.
As fome unhappy wight, at fome new play,
At the pit door ftands elbowing away,

While oft, with many a finile and many a fhrug,
He eyes the centre, where his friends fit fnug;
His fimpering friends with pleasure in their eyes,
Sinks as he finks, and as he rifes rife :

He nods, they nod; he cringes, they grimace;
But not a foul will budge to give him place.
Since then, anhelp'd our bard muft now conform
To 'bide the pelting of this pittilefs ftorm,
Blame where you muft, be candid where you can,
And be each critic the Good-natur'd Man,

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