The Mourning Bride/Epilogue
EPILOGUE,
Spoken by Mrs Bracegirdle.
The Tragedy thus done, I am, you know,No more a Princess, but in statu quo:And now as unconcern'd this Mourning wear,As if indeed a Widow, or an Heir.I've leisure, now, to mark your sev'ral Faces,And know each Critick by his sowre Grimaces.To poison Plays, I see some where they sit,Scatter'd, like Rats-bane, up and down the Pit;While others watch like Parish-Searchers, hir'dTo tell of what Disease the Play expir'd.O with what Joy they run, to spread the NewsOf a damn'd Poet, and departed Muse!But if he 'scape, with what Regret they're seiz'd!And how they're disappointed if they're pleas'd!Criticks to Plays for the same end resort,That Surgeons wait on Tryals in a Court;For Innocence condemn'd they've no Respect,Provided they've a Body to dissect.As Sussex Men, that dwell upon the Shoar,Look out when Storms arise, and Billows roar, Devoutly praying, with up lifted Hands,That some well-laden Ship may strike the Sands;To whose Rich Cargo, they may make Pretence,And fatten on the Spoils of Providence:So Criticks throng to see a New Play split,And thrive and prosper on the Wrecks of Wit.Small Hope our Poet from these Prospects draws;And therefore to the Fair commends his Cause.Your tender Hearts to Mercy are inclin'd,With whom, he hopes, this Play will Favour find,Which was an Off'ring to the Sex design'd.
FINIS.