TYRANNICK [TYRANNIC] LOVE: EPILOGUE by JOHN DRYDEN

TO THE BEARER. Hold! are you mad? you damn'd, confounded Dog!
I am to rise, and speak the Epilogue.
TO THE AUDIENCE. I come, kind Gentlemen, strange news to tell ye;
I am the Ghost of poor departed @3Nelly@1.
Sweet Ladies, be not frighted; I'le be civil;
I'm what I was, a little harmless Devil.
For, after death, we Sprights have just such Natures,
We had, for all the World, when humane Creatures;
And, therefore, I, that was an Actress here,
Play all my Tricks in Hell, a Goblin there.
Gallants, look to 't, you say there are no Sprights;
But I'll come dance about your Beds at nights;
And faith you'll be in a sweet kind of taking,
When I surprise you between sleep and waking.
To tell you true, I walk, because I dye
Out of my Calling, in a Tragedy.
O Poet, damn'd dull Poet, who could prove
So senseless, to make @3Nelly@1 dye for Love!
Nay, what's yet worse, to kill me in the prime
Of @3Easter@1-term, in Tart and Cheese-cake time!
I'le fit the Fopp; for I'le not one word say,
T' excuse his godly, out of fashion Play;
A Play, which, if you dare but twice sit out,
You'll all be slander'd, and be thought devout.
But, farewel, Gentlemen, make haste to me,
I'm sure e're long to have your company.
As for my Epitaph when I am gone,
I'le trust no Poet, but will write my own.

Here @3Nelly@1 lies, who, though she lived a Slater'n,
Yet dy'd a Princess, acting in @3S.Cathar'n@1.

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