THE
                   EPILOGUE
                          TO
Mr. Lacy's New Play, Sir HERCULES
   BUFFOON, or the Poetical Eſquire.

           Wrote and Spoke by J. H. Com.

MEthinks (Right Worthy Friends) you ſeem to ſit,
As if you had all ta'ne Pbyſick in the Pit ;
When the Play's done, your jaded Fancies pall ;
After Enjoyment, thus 'tis with us all.

You are                                                                  
Meer Epicures in thinking, and, in fine,
As difficult to pleaſe in Playes, as Wine :
You've no true taſte of either, judge at randome,
And Cry—De Guſtibus non diſputandum.
One's for Vin d' Hermitage, Loves Loſty inditing ;
Another Old Hoc, he a ſtyle that's biting ;
Both hate Champaign, and Damn ſoft natural Writing.
And ſome forſooth                           
Love Rheniſh Wine and Sugar ; Playes in meeter,
Like Dead Wine, ſwallowing Nonſence, Rhimes make ſweeter :
There's one's for a Cup of Nants, and he, 'tis odds
Like Old Buffoon, loves Plays that ſwinge the Gods.
True Engliſh Topers Racy Sack ne're fail,
With ſuch Ben Johnſons Humming Plays prevail ;
Whil'ſt ſome at Tricks, and Grimace, only fleer;
To ſuch, muſt Noiſy, Frothy, Farce appear ;             
Theſe new Wits Reliſh, ſmall, ſmart, Bottle Beer.
French Gouts, that mingle Water with their Wine,
Cry— Ah de French Song Goſoun Dat is ver' fine.

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