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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=499033" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Epilogue</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">The stubborne author of the trifle crime,<br>That just now cheated you of two hours' time,<br>Presumptuous it lik't him, began to grow<br>Carelesse, whether it pleased you or no.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> But we who ground th' excellence of a play<br>On what the women at the dores wil say,<br>Who judge it by the benches, and afford<br>To take your money, ere his oath or word<br>His SCHOLLARS school'd, sayd if he had been wise<br>He should have wove in one two COMEDIES;<br>The first for th' gallery, in which the throne<br>To their amazement should descend alone,<br>The rosin-lightning flash, and monster spire<br>Squibs, and words hotter then his fire.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Th' other for the gentlemen oth' pit,<br>Like to themselves, all spirit, fancy, wit,<br>In which plots should be subtile as a flame,<br>Disguises would make PROTEUS stil the same:<br>Humours so rarely humour'd and exprest,<br>That ev'n they should thinke 'em so, not drest;<br>Vices acted and applauded too, times<br>Tickled, and th' actors acted, not their crimes,<br>So he might equally applause have gain'd<br>Of th' hardned, sooty, and the snowy hand.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Where now one SO SO spatters, t'other: no!<br>Tis his first play; twere solecisme 'tshould goe;<br>The next 't show'd pritily, but searcht within<br>It appeares bare and bald, as is his chin;<br>The towne-wit sentences: A SCHOLARS PLAY!<br>Pish! I know not why, but th'ave not the way.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> We, whose gaine is all our pleasure, ev'n these<br>Are bound by justice and religion to please;<br>Which he, whose pleasure's all his gaine, goes by<br>As slightly, as they doe his comaedy.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Culls out the few, the worthy, at whose feet<br>He sacrifices both himselfe and it,<br>His fancies first fruits: profit he knowes none,<br>Unles that of your approbation,<br>Which if your thoughts at going out will pay,<br>Hee'l not looke farther for a second day.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Richard+Lovelace">Richard Lovelace</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=499033" data-title="The Epilogue de Richard Lovelace" data-description="The stubborne author of the trifle crime,
That just now cheated you of two hours' time,
Presumptuous it lik't him, began to grow
Carelesse, whether it pleased you or no.

 But we who ground th' excellence of a play
On what the women at the dores w..."></div>
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