EPILOGUE. WRITTEN BY MR. BUDGELL, Of the Inner Temple. Spoken by Andromache. I Hope you'll own, that with becoming art, I've play'd my game, and topp'd the widow's part. You, ladies, who protract a lover's pain, And hear your servants sigh whole years in vain; 'Twas a strange scape! Had Pyrrhus liv'd till now, I had been finely hamper'd in my vow. To die by one's own hand, and fly the charms But why, you'll say, was all this grief exprest Why so much coldness to my kind protector ? -Ah, ladies! had you known the good man Hector! That, when enrag'd, the Grecian camp he storm'd; At length, howe'er, I laid my weeds aside, And sunk the widow in the well-dress'd bride. In you it still remains to grace the play, And bless with joy my coronation day; |