'Twas thus that Æfop's ftag-a creature blameless, Yet fomething vain, like one that shall be namelessOnce on the margin of a fountain stood, And cavill'd at his image in the flood: 'The deuce confound,' he cries, 'these drumstick shanks, Near and more near, the hounds and huntsinen drew; (Taking a jump through the ftage-door.) EPILOGUE TO THE COMEDY OF THE SISTERS. WHAT! five long acts—and all to make us wiser! Our authorefs fure has wanted an adviser. Had the confulted me, the should have made Warm'd up each bustling scene, and in her rage Have emptied all the green-room on the stage. My life on't, this had kept her play from sinking— But how? ay, there's the rub! (paufing) I've got my cue: Lud! what a group the motley scene discloses! Miss, not yet full fifteen, with fire uncommon, Yon broad, bold, angry spark, I fix my eye on, Strip but this vizor off, and sure I am Yon patriot, too, who preffes on your fight, If with a bribe his candour you attack, He bows, turns round, and whip—the man in black! Yon critic, too-but whither do I run? If I proceed, our bard will be undone; Well then a truce, fince the requests it too- FINIS. |