EPILOGUE,

SPOKEN BY THE SAME.

No poor Dutch peasant, wing'd with all his

fear,

Flies with more hafte, when the French arms

draw near,

Than we with our poetic train come down,
For refuge hither, from the infected town:
Heaven for our fins this fummer has thought

fit

To vifit us with all the plagues of wit.

*

5

way;

A French troop firft fwept all things in its
But thofe hot Monfieurs were too quick to

ftay:

Yet, to our coft, in that short time, we find They left their itch of novelty behind.

10

In a very old French mystery acted at Paris, 1490, in order to render the character of Judas more deteftable, the author affirms, that before he became acquainted with Chrift, he had affaffinated the son of his king, had afterwards murdered his father, and married his mother. Dr. J. WARTON.

The Italian merry-andrews took their place,

And quite debauch'd the stage with lewd gri

mace:

Instead of wit, and humours, your delight
Was there to fee two hobby-horfes fight;
Stout Scaramoucha with rufh lance rode in, 15
And ran a tilt at centaur Arlequin.

For love you heard how amorous affes bray'd,
And cats in gutters gave their ferenade.
Nature was out of countenance, and each day
Some new-born monfter fhewn you for a play.
But when all fail'd, to ftrike the stage quite
dumb,

21

Those wicked engines call'd machines are

come.

Thunder and lightning now for wit are play'd, And fhortly scenes in Lapland will be laid : Art magic is for poetry profeft;

25

And cats and dogs, and each obscener beaft, To which Ægyptian dotards once did bow, Upon our English stage are worshipp'd now. Witchcraft reigns there, and raifes to renown Macbeth and Simon Magus of the town,

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Ver. 11. The Italian] Apoftolo Zeno had made a collection of four thousand old Italian tragedies and comedies. I Simillimi of Triffino, wrote in his old age, is an imitation of the Menæchmi of Plautus. See Triffino's fine letter in blank verfe prefixed to Sophonisba addressed to Leo X.

Dr J. WARTON.

Fletcher's defpis'd, your Jonfon's out of fashion,

And wit the only drug in all the nation.
In this low ebb our wares to you are shown;

By you
those staple authors' worth is known;
For wit's a manufacture of your own.

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When you, who only can, their scenes have prais'd,

We'll boldly back, and say, their price is rais'd.

EPILOGUE,

SPOKEN AT OXFORD,

BY MRS. MARSHALL

OFT has our poet wish'd, this happy feat
Might prove his fading Mufe's laft retreat:
I wonder'd at his wifh, but now I find

He fought for quiet, and content of mind; Which noifeful towns, and courts can never know,

5

And only in the fhades like laurels grow.
Youth, ere it fees the world, here ftudies reft,
And age returning thence concludes it best.
What wonder if we court that happiness
Yearly to share, which hourly you poffefs.
Teaching e'en you, while the vext world we
show,

Your peace to value more, and better know?
'Tis all we can return for favours past,
Whofe holy memory fhall ever last,

10

For patronage from him whose care prefides 15

O'er every noble art, and every science guides:

Bathurst, a name the learn'd with reverence

know,

And scarcely more to his own Virgil owe;
Whofe age enjoys but what his youth deferv'd,
To rule thofe Mufes whom before he ferv'd. 20
His learning, and untainted manners too,
We find, Athenians, are deriv'd to you:
Such antient hofpitality there refts

In yours, as dwelt in the firft Grecian breafts,
Whose kindness was religion to their guests. 25
Such modefty did to our fex appear,

As, had there been no laws, we need not fear,
Since each of you was our protector here.
Converse fo chaste, and so strict virtue shown,
As might Apollo with the Mufes own.
Till our return, we must despair to find
Judges fo juft, fo knowing, and fo kind.

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