Aria. With all my Heart. Will. You have a hankering after Marriage
still, but I am for Love and Gallantry. So tho by several ways we gain
our End, Love still, like Death, does to one Center tend, EPILOGUE.
Spoken by Mrs. BARRY. POETS are Kings of Wit, and you appear A
Parliament, by Play-Bill, summon'd here; When e'er in want, to you for
aid they fly, And a new Play's the Speech that begs supply: But now-
The scanted Tribute is so slowly paid, Our Poets must find out another
Trade; They've tried all ways th' insatiate Clan to please, Have
parted with their old Prerogatives, Their Birth-right Satiring, and
their just pretence Of judging even their own Wit and Sense; And write
against their Consciences, to show How dull they can he to comply with
you. They've flatter'd all the Mutineers i'th' Nation, Grosser than
e'er was done in Dedication; Pleas'd your sick Palates with Fantastick
Wit, Such as was ne'er a treat before to th' Pit; Giants, fat
Cardinals, Pope Joans and Fryers, To entertain Right Worshipfuls and
Squires: Who laugh and cry Ads Nigs, 'tis woundy good, When the
fuger's all the Jest that's understood. And yet you'll come but once,
unless by stealth, Except the Author be for Commonwealth; Then half
Crown more you nobly throw away, And tho my Lady seldom see a Play,
She, with her eldest Daughter, shall be boxt that day.
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