OCCASIONAL EPILOGUE.

Ladies and Gentlemen, on Monday night, For the ninth time — oh accents of delight To the poor author's ear, when three times three With a full bumper crowns, his Comedy! When, long by money, and the muse, forsaken, He finds at length his jokes and boxes taken, And sees his play-bill circulate — alas, The only bill on which his name will pass! Thus, Vapid, thus shall Thespian scrolls of fame Thro’ box and gallery waft your well-known name, While critic eyes the happy cast shall con, And learned ladies spell your Dram. Person.

‘ Tis said our worthy Managerintends To help my night, and he, ye know, has friends. Friends, did I say? for fixing friends, or parts, Engaging actors, or engaging hearts, There's nothing like him! wits, at his request. Are turned to fools, and dull dogs learn to jest; Soldiers, for him, good “trembling cowards” make, And beaus, turned clowns, look ugly for his sake; For him even lawyers talk without a fee, For him ( oh friendship ) I act tragedy! In short, like Orpheus, his persuasive tricks Make boars amusing, and put life in sticks.

With such a manager we can n't but please, Tho’ London sent us all her loud O. P.' s, Let them come on, like snakes, all hiss and rattle, Armed with a thousand fans, we'd give them battle; You, on our side, R. P.upon our banners, Soon should we teach the saucy O. P.' s manners: And show that, here — howe'er John Bull may doubt — In all our plays, the Riot-Act's cut out; And, while we skim the cream of many a jest, Your well-timed thunder never sours its zest.

Oh gently thus, when three short weeks are past, At Shakespeare's altar,shall we breathe our last; And, ere this long-loved dome to ruin nods, Die all, die nobly, die like demigods!