Love for Love/Epilogue
Sure Providence at first, design'd this PlaceTo be the Player's Refuge in distress;For still in every Storm, they all run hither,As to a Shed, that shields 'em from the Weather.But thinking of this change which last befel us,It's like what I have heard our Poets tell us:For when behind our Scenes their Suits are pleading,To help their Love, sometimes they show their Reading;And wanting ready Cash to pay for Hearts,They top their Learning on us, and their Parts.Once of Philosophers they told us Stories,Whom, as I think they call'd———Py———Pythagories,I'm sure 'tis some such Latin Name they give 'em,And we, who know no bettter, must believe 'em.Now to these Men (say they) such Souls were given,That after Death, ne're went to Hell, nor Heaven,But liv'd, I know not how, in Beasts; and thenWhen many Years were past, in Men again.Methinks, we Players resemble such a Soul,That, does from Bodies, we from Houses strole.Thus Aristotle's Soul, of old that was,May now be damn'd to animate an Ass; Or in this very House, for ought we know,Is doing painful Penance in some Beau,And this our Audience, which did once resortTo shining Theatres to see our Sport,Now find us toss'd into a Tennis-Court.These Walls but t' other Day were fill'd with NoiseOf Roaring Gamesters, and your Damme Boys.Then bounding Balls and Rackets they encompass'd,And now they're fill'd with Jests, and Flights, and Bombast!I vow, I don't much like this Transmigration,Stroling from Place to Place, by Circulation.Grant Heaven, we don't return to our first Station.I know not what these think, but for my Part,I can't reflect without an aking Heart,How we shou'd end in our Original, a Cart.But we can't fear, since you're so good to save us,That you have only set us up, to leave us.Thus from the past, we hope for future Grace,I beg it———And some here know I have a begging Face.Then pray continue this your kind behaviour,For a clear Stage won't do, without your Favour.
