EPITAPH O N THIS DR. PARNE L. HIS tomb infcribed to gentle PARNEL's name. May speak our gratitude, but not his fame. What heart but feels his fweetly-moral lay, That leads to truth through pleafure's flowery way! Celestial themes confefs'd his tuneful aid; And heaven, that lent him genius, was repaid. Needless to him the tribute we bestow, The transitory breath of fame below: More lafting rapture from his works shall rise, EP I EPILOGUE TO THE COMEDY OF THE SISTER S. WHAT? five long acts-and all to make us wifer! Our authorefs fure has wanted an adviser. But how? ay, there's the rub! [pausing ]—I've got my cue: The world's a mafquerade! the mafquers, you, you, [To Boxes, Pit, and Gallery. you. Lud! what a group the motley scene discloses! False wits, false wives, false virgins, and false spouses! Statesmen with bridles on; and, close befide 'em, Patriots in party-colour'd fuits that ride 'em. There There Hebes, turn'd of fifty, try once more Mifs, not yet full fifteen, with fire uncommon, Strip but this vizor off, and fure I am If with a bribe his candour you attack, He bows, turns round, and whip-the man in black! Yon critic, too-but whither do I run? If I proceed, our bard will be undone ! Well then a truce, fince fhe requests it too: THE |