Classic Poem

EPILOGUE

A POET once the Spartans led to fight,
And made 'em conquer in the Muses' right:
So would our poet lead you on this day,
Showing your tortur'd fathers in his play.
To one well born th' affront is worse, and more,
When he's abus'd and baffled by a boor:
With an ill grace the Dutch their mischiefs do,
They 've both ill nature and ill manners too.
Well may they boast themselves an ancient nation,
For they were bred ere manners were in fashion;
And their new commonwealth has set 'em free
Only from honor and civility.
Venetians do not more uncouthly ride,
Than did their lubber state mankind bestride;
Their sway became 'em with as ill a mien,
As their own paunches swell above their chin:
Yet is their empire no true growth, but humor.
And only two kings' touch can cure the tumor.
As Cato did his Afric fruits display,
So we before your eyes their Indies lay:
All loyal English will, like him, conclude,
Let Caesar live, and Carthage be subdued!