An EPILOGUE, Spoke by a Child of nine Years old

As the wise ones, within, have assur'd me it's common, For chits of my age to be aping the woman, To prove that I've talents as well as another, Good folks—I ran forward—in spight of my mother; Don't tell me, says I—they shall know how the case is, I'm not to be check'd in my airs and my graces; I was born a coquet—and by goles I'm not idle, I can ogle already—look peevish and bridle, And I'll practise new gestures each night and each morning, 'Gainst I reach to my teens,—so I give ye fair warning. Tho' I move ye, at present, with nothing but laughter, Look well to your hearts, beaux!—I'll swinge ye hereafter; Have patience, then, pray, and by practice grown bolder, I'll promise to please, if I live to grow older.