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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=472286" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Eiplogue</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">INTENDED TO HAVE BEEN SPOKEN FOR 'SHE STOOPS<br>TO CONQUER'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">THERE is a place, so Ariosto sings,<br>A treasury for lost and missing things;<br>Lost human wits have places assign'd them,<br>And they, who lose their senses, there may find them.<br>But where's this place, this storehouse of the age? <br>The Moon, says he:-- but 'I' affirm the Stage:<br>At least in many things, I think, I see<br>His lunar, and our mimic world agree.<br>Both shine at night, for, but at Foote's alone,<br>We scarce exhibit till the sun goes down. <br>Both prone to change, no settled limits fix,<br>And sure the folks of both are lunatics.<br>But in this parallel my best pretence is,<br>That mortals visit both to find their senses.<br>To this strange spot, Rakes, Macaronies, Cits <br>Come thronging to collect their scatter'd wits.<br>The gay coquette, who ogles all the day,<br>Comes here at night, and goes a prude away.<br>Hither the affected city dame advancing,<br>Who sighs for operas, and dotes on dancing, <br>Taught by our art her ridicule to pause on,<br>Quits the 'Ballet', and calls for 'Nancy Dawson'.<br>The Gamester too, whose wit's all high or low,<br>Oft risks his fortune on one desperate throw,<br>Comes here to saunter, having made his bets, <br>Finds his lost senses out, and pay his debts.<br>The Mohawk too -- with angry phrases stored,<br>As 'D-- --, Sir,' and 'Sir, I wear a sword';<br>Here lesson'd for a while, and hence retreating,<br>Goes out, affronts his man, and takes a beating. <br>Here come the sons of scandal and of news,<br>But find no sense -- for they had none to lose.<br>Of all the tribe here wanting an adviser<br>Our Author's the least likely to grow wiser;<br>Has he not seen how you your favour place, <br>On sentimental Queens and Lords in lace?<br>Without a star, a coronet or garter,<br>How can the piece expect or hope for quarter?<br>No high-life scenes, no sentiment:-- the creature<br>Still stoops among the low to copy nature. <br>Yes, he's far gone:-- and yet some pity fix,<br>The English laws forbid to punish lunatics.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Oliver+Goldsmith">Oliver Goldsmith</a><div class=q>
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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..."></div>
</div>
</div>