EPILOGUE.
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.
