_Urlan._ Oh how Heaven exerts in Nature! Great and noble Man, every Tongue shall speak of thee, their Words shall mingle with the Winds, to fly and sing through all and every part: those Sounds rebound from Sky to Sky, and Eccho’s ring in every Heart; and when that Cloud thy Body shall pass from the Sun, thy Soul, that Sun, shall shine throughout all Worlds: the diminutive Spirits will in Amazement stand, for thy exceeding Glory will eclipse their Sight: Fear and Trembling on their vital Hearts will seize, they’ll drop to the Earth as Leaves in Autumn fall; the mortal Stars will not presume to gaze, but in thy Presence veil their Faces all. [_Exeunt._ -------------------------------------------------- _FINIS._ -------------------------------------------------- ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [Illustration] EPILOGUE, BY Mr. _BYROM_. Enter _Hurlothrumbo_. _Ladies and Gentlemen, my Lord of_ Flame _Has sent me here to thank you in his Name; Proud of your Smiles, he’s mounted many a Story Above the tip-top Pinnacle of Glory: Thence he defies the Sons of Clay, the Criticks; Fellows, says he, that are meer Paralyticks, With Judgments lame, and Intellects that halt, Because a Man outruns them——they find fault. He is indeed, to speak my poor Opinion, Out of the reach of_ critical _Dominion._ [Enter _Critick_.] _Adso! her’s one of ’em._——Cr. _A strange odd Play, Sir_; [Enter _Author_, pushes _Hurlothrumbo_ aside. Au. _Let me come to him——Pray, what’s that you say, Sir?_ Cr. _I say, Sir, Rules are not observ’d here._——Au. _Rules, Like Clocks and Watches, were all made for Fools. Rules make a Play? that is_——Cr. _What, Mr. Singer?_ Au. _As if a Knife and Fork should make a Finger._ Cr. _Pray Sir, which is the_ Hero _of your Play?_ Au. _Hero! why they’re all Heroes in their way._ Cr. _Why here’s no_ Plot! _or none that’s understood._ Au. _There’s a Rebellion tho’; and that’s as good._ Cr. _No Spirit nor Genius in’t._ Au. _Why didn’t here A_ SPIRIT _and a_ GENIUS _both appear?_ Cr. _Poh, ’tis all Stuff and Nonsense_——Au. _Lack-a-day! Why that’s the very_ Essence _of a Play, Your Old-House, New-House, Opera and Ball; ’Tis_ NONSENSE, Critick, _that supports ’em all. As you yourselves ingeniously have shown, Whilst on their Nonsense you have built your own._