Epilogue design'd for the same.
WIT once, like Beauty, without Art or Dress,
Naked and unadorn'd, cou'd find Success,
'Till by Fruition Novelty destroy'd,
The Nymph must find new Charms to be enjoy'd.
As by his Equipage the Man you prize,
And Ladies must have Gems, beside their Eyes;
So fares it too with Plays: in vain we write,
Unless the Musick or the Show invite;
Not Hamlet clears the Charges of the Night.
Wou'd you but fix some Standard how to move,
We wou'd transform to any thing you love:
Judge our Desire by our Cost and Pains,
Sure in Expence, uncertain in our Gains.
But tho' we fetch them from Italy and France
Our Fopperies of Tune, and Mode of Dance,
Our sturdy Britons scorn to borrow Sense:
Howe'er to Foreign Fashions we submit,
Still ev'ry Fop prefers his Mother Wit:
In only Wit this Constancy is shown,
For never was that arrant Changeling known
Who, for another's Sense, wou'd quit his own.
In all things else to love of Change enclin'd,
Scarce in two following Sessions can we find
That Politician—but has chang'd his Mind:
