THE EPILOGUE TO THE Merry Midnight Mistake

I Tell you I will—Plague on't I'm so teaz'd— The Author thinks his Firstling has not pleas'd: I say he's quite mista'en; but all wont do; He'll not be easy 'till he hears from you. He wants poor me your Anger to amuse, By trumping up some frivolous Excuse. I fain wou'd lay it on the Acting now; But that is Modesty will not allow— I'd lay it on the Prompter—if I knew how. You plainly see I've no Excuse at all, The best way'll be to let the Curtain fall.— Yet hold—I've something yet to say—aye right; We'll do it better, Sirs, another Night; We'll be more perfect, act with better Spirit, For Application is the Way to Merit. Fear's the great Tyrant in a doubtful Breast, From thence our first Attempts are seldom best, Cou'd we have acted as we did intend, Not one Soul here but would have been our Friend. Thanks for that Smile—by Jove mehinks I hear You kindly say—"We need not be in Fear" "Because there's none but Friends and Neighbours here." Thanks for this good Confession, 'tis very kind, I long to carry this good News behind. They're all distress'd to know what I have done; And I'm as much impatient to be gone.