Epilogue Intended to have been Spoken for "She…

THERE is a place, so Ariosto sings, / A treasury for lost and missing things; / Lost human wits have places assign'd them, / And they, who lose their senses, there may find them. / But where's this place, this storehouse of the age? / The Moon, says he: -but _I_ affirm the Stage: / At least in many things, I think, I see / His lunar, and our mimic world agree. / Both shine at night, for, but at Foote's alone, / We scarce exhibit till the sun goes down. / Both prone to change, no settled limits fix, / And sure the folks of both are lunatics. / But in this parallel my best pretence is, / That mortals visit both to find their senses. / To this strange spot, Rakes, Macaronies, Cits / Come thronging to collect their scatter'd wits. / The gay coquette, who ogles all the day, / Comes here at night, and goes a prude away. / Hither the affected city dame advancing, / Who sighs for operas, and dotes on dancing, / Taught by our art her ridicule to pause on, / Quits the _Ballet_, and calls for _Nancy Dawson._

The Gamester too, whose wit's all high or low, / Oft risks his fortune on one desperate throw, / Comes here to saunter, having made his bets, / Finds his lost senses out, and pay his debts. / The Mohawk too-with angry phrases stored, / As ‘D- -, Sir,' and ‘Sir, I wear a sword'; / Here lesson'd for a while, and hence retreating, / Goes out, affronts his man, and takes a beating. / Here come the sons of scandal and of news, / But find no sense-for they had none to lose. / Of all the tribe here wanting an adviser / Our Author's the least likely to grow wiser; / Has he not seen how you your favour place, / On sentimental Queens and Lords in lace? / Without a star, a coronet or garter, / How can the piece expect or hope for quarter? / No high-life scenes, no sentiment: -the creature / Still stoops among the low to copy nature. / Yes, he's far gone: -and yet some pity fix, / The English laws forbid to punish lunatics.