Epilogue. the Printers to the Publick

We told our author that to be in vogue, He ought t' have given us an Epilogue— He sent us here (O help us out good Lord!) Thus to harangue you of our own accord:— Perhaps you'd have us tell you, if we're able, Whether there's any Moral to our Fable.— —A father contradicted by a daughter— This, in our mind, is no such mighty matter. —Morals we hate—we love to deal in fiction— And what so charming as sweet contradiction?

—LADIES, to you we make our first appeal, Whose sympathetick hearts well know and feel The whole extent of contradiction's power— When did you know it gain so much before? To you this Comick Opera belongs— We'd have you read the Play and sing the Songs. Accept then ladies—what is but your due—

And now dear GENTLEMEN, a word with you. And now, ye well bred, party colour'd crews, Who deign this spotless pamphlet to peruse— Ye husbands—ye who never yet were jealous! Ye beaux, bucks, bloods and sops and pretty fellows. Who complaisance and gallantry inherit, We dare you all to toast—"The Girl of Spirit."

Dear, rev'rend CRITICKS, must we then conclude Without a word to you? we're not so rude— We sought the bard—"a Farce, a Farce," we said— "Ah, scandal," quoth the man, and shook his head— "Who dares a page of sland'rous lies to tell, "My soul detests him as the gates of hell." Then he talk'd something of a certain sage Who wrote much po'try in th' Augustan age, Who like Mahomet's pigeon, in his ears, Did whisper, "Rhimer! Keep your farce nine years." To which we said—"since WE are here at home, Tis very odd that you should go to Rome To gain some typographical advice— We'll put you in a method—in a trice— Will let you know how Farces may be made, Tis very odd if we dont know our trade. If you're afraid of Satire, why indite it, And as you say the matter, so we'll write it: Or, give us sheet by sheet, and we will print, Just as YOU write—if that won't do—the devil's in't."

Perhaps there's some will say, "I'd give a guinea To know who's Yorick, Flash, Sententious, Jenny. Let's see the mangled characters that bleed— Farce, and no Scandal, is a FARCE indeed." Know, slander-loving readers, great and small, We scorn on private characters to fall— "They're Knights of the Shire, and represent you all.