EPILOGUE, Written by the Author of the PROLOGUE, And Spoken by Mrs. CLIVE

I LONG to know, dread Sirs, with due submission, How you approve me, as a politician? The thought was mine.—I told the scrib'ling dame, This part of Winifred, is much too tame; Ask but the town, said I, they'll all agree, That a tame character, will not suit me: I hate such lifeless, water-gruel stuff; Quicken her well, with politicks, and snuff: Small quantities of both, will be but teizing; Give them enough, and set the town a sneezing. Her scribbling vanity at this was stung; Would have disputed—Hold, says I, you're wrong, Don't be so rash, to draw on me, your tongue; I have a weapon, should I take the field, A better, never did a woman wield; You'll find, when once my passion is afloat, The soul of Caesar, in a petticoat! "Aye, but," says she, "in politicks there's danger, "To courts, and state affairs, I'm quite a stranger." So much the better, thou most simple woman, Blunders, in politicks, are not uncommon. When you mistake, the town will think you clever, Think that you mean great folks, and clap, for ever; Old England, like a boy, loves wicked fun, Abuse your betters, and your work is done. Small game the English spirit will not follow, 'Tis at the nobler chace, you whoop, and hollow! O'er hedge, and ditch, you helter skelter fly. Start but a statesman—Yoax! the hounds full cry! To pick up lesser game, you will not stay, While the fox runs, the hare may steal away; Our auth'ress is the hare—who trembling sits, 'Till she escapes this dreadful pack of wits; She hopes you will not hunt her, she's so small, But hark to mercy, as the noblest call.