Epilogue

Nay cease, and hear me—I am come to scold— Whence this night's plaudits, to a thought so old? To gain a Lover, hid behind a Mask! What's new in that? or where's the mighty task? For instance, now—What Lady Bab, or Grace, E'er won a Lover—in her natural Face? Mistake me not—French red, or blanching creams, I stoop not to—for those are hackney'd themes; The arts I mean, are harder to detect, Easier put on, and worn to more effect;— As thus — Do Pride and Envy, with their horrid lines, Destroy th' effect of Nature's sweet designs? The Mask of Softness is at once applied, And gentlest manners ornament the Bride. Do thoughts too free inform the Vestal's eye, Or point the glance, or warm the struggling sigh? Not Dian's brows more rigid looks disclose; And Virtue's blush appears, where Passion glows. And you, my gentle Sirs, wear Vizors too; But here I'll strip you, and expose to view Your hidden features—First I point at you. That well-stuff'd waistcoat, and that rudily check; That ample forehead, and that skin so sleek, Point out good-nature, and a gen'rous heart— Tyrant! stand forth, and, conscious, own thy part: Thy Wife, thy Children, tremble in thy eye; And Peace is banish'd —when the Father's nigh. Sure 'tis enchantment! See, from ev'ry side The Masks fall off!—In charity I hide The monstrous features rushing to my view— Fear not, there, Grand-Papa—nor you—nor you: For should I shew your features to each other, Not one amongst ye'd know his Friend, or Brother. 'Tis plain, then, all the world, from Youth to Age, Appear in Masks—Here, only, on the Stage, You see us as we are: Here trust your eyes; Our wish to please, admits of no disguise.