OCCASIONAL EPILOGUE.

Ladies and Gentlemen, on Monday night,

For the ninth time — oh accents of delight

To the poor author's ear, when three times three

With a full bumper crowns, his Comedy!

When, long by money, and the muse, forsaken,

He finds at length his jokes and boxes taken,

And sees his play-bill circulate — alas,

The only bill on which his name will pass!

Thus, Vapid, thus shall Thespian scrolls of fame

Thro’ box and gallery waft your well-known name,

While critic eyes the happy cast shall con,

And learned ladies spell your Dram. Person.

‘ Tis said our worthy Managerintends

To help my night, and he, ye know, has friends.

Friends, did I say? for fixing friends, or parts,

Engaging actors, or engaging hearts,

There's nothing like him! wits, at his request.

Are turned to fools, and dull dogs learn to jest;

Soldiers, for him, good “trembling cowards” make,

And beaus, turned clowns, look ugly for his sake;

For him even lawyers talk without a fee,

For him ( oh friendship ) I act tragedy!

In short, like Orpheus, his persuasive tricks

Make boars amusing, and put life in sticks.

With such a manager we can n't but please,

Tho’ London sent us all her loud O. P.' s,

Let them come on, like snakes, all hiss and rattle,

Armed with a thousand fans, we'd give them battle;

You, on our side, R. P.upon our banners,

Soon should we teach the saucy O. P.' s manners:

And show that, here — howe'er John Bull may doubt —

In all our plays, the Riot-Act's cut out;

And, while we skim the cream of many a jest,

Your well-timed thunder never sours its zest.

Oh gently thus, when three short weeks are past,

At Shakespeare's altar,shall we breathe our last;

And, ere this long-loved dome to ruin nods,

Die all, die nobly, die like demigods!