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,
