Literature & Theatre > Epilogue to Mr Lacy's new play, Sir Hercules Buffoon, or, The poetical esquire

Who never Drink without a Reliſhing Bit ;
Scapin methinks ſuch Sickly taſts might hit ;
Where we entertain each Squeamiſh, nicer Palat,
With Sawce of Dances, and with Songs, for Salat :
Since then 'tis ſo hard to pleaſe, (with choiceſt Dyet)
Our Gueſts, wh' in wit and ſence do daily Ryot ;
Since Wit is Damn'd by thoſe, whom Wits we call,
As Love that ſtands by Love, by Love does fall,
When Fools, both good and bad, like Whores, ſwallow all.
' I wiſh, for your ſakes, the Sham Wits o'th' Nation
' Would taket ſome honeſt, thriving Vocation.
' The Wit of our Feet you fee every Night,
' Says more to our purpoſe then all you can Write.
' Since things are thus carried, a Wit's ſuch a Tool,
' He that makes the beſt Plays, do's but beſt play the Fool.
             A Dreaded Fool's your Bully,
                  A Wealthy Fool's your Cit,
             A. Contented Fool's your Cully,
                  But your Fool of Fool's your Wit:
             They all Fool Cit of's Wife,
                  He Fools them of their Pelſe ;
             But your Wit's ſo damn'd a Fool,
                  He only Fools himſelf.
Oh ! Wits, then face about to ſence, Alas!
I know it by my ſelf, a Wit's an Aſs ;
             For(like you)in my time,
             I've been Fooliſh in Rhyme,
But how, ſo repent the Nonſenſical Crime ;
I ſpeak it in tears, which from me may ſeem odly,
Henceforth I'le grow wiſer, ( Dam Wit) I'le be Godly ;
That when by New Grace I have wip'd off old ſtaines,
In time I may Paſs, not for Count, but Sir Haynes.

               LONDON,

Printed for Joſeph Hindmarſb, Bookſeller to
   His ROYAL HIGHNESS, living
      at the Black bull in Cornbill. 1684.