As country Vicars, when the Sermon's done, Run hudling to the Benediction; Well knowing, though the better sort may stay, The Vulgar Rout will run unblesst away: So we, when once our Play is done, make haste With a short Epilogue to close your taste. In thus withdrawing, we seem mannerly; But, when the Curtain's down we peep and see A Jury of the Wits, who still stay late, And in their Club decree the poor Plays fate; Their Verdict back is to the Boxes brought, Thence all the Town pronounces it their thought. Thus, Gallants, we like @3Lilly@1 can foresee; But if you ask us what our doom will be, We by to morrow will our Fortune cast, As he tells all things when the Year is past. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...EXTRACTS FROM AN OPERA: 2. DAISY'S SONG by JOHN KEATS LAYS OF FRANCE: SONG (2) by MARIE DE FRANCE THE FAMILY MAN by JOHN GODFREY SAXE THE FAIRY FORT by ABBIE FARWELL BROWN THE LAND by MAXWELL STRUTHERS BURT |