Hester Lynch SALUSBURY

M^r Fector of the Dover Theatre sent to beg an Epilogue for Youngs Tragedy called the Brothers two or three Days ago, I sent him these verses.

While gathring Storms succeed to cloudless Skies,
And Winters Call bids misty Vapours rise;
White Doubts distract, and Fogs surround our Isle,
How can pert Epilogue provoke a Smile?
No; rather let your sadden’d Souls retain
Awhile th’ Impression of Drasatic Pain;
Run o’er in Solitude these Scenes of Woe,
Till your Night Thoughts approve our Evenings Show.
Well knew the Bard whose melancholy Lay
Wept the short Summons of the young and Gay
How ill a Monarch’s heart endures the Probe,
Wile its strong Pulse pants thro’ the purple Robe:
Parental Anguish shakes both Crown and Ball
And unextinguised Instinct breathes thro’ all.
You then, whose hopeful Sons too early sent
Like Prince Demetrius to the Continent:
Should they some foreign Prejudice imbibe,
Judge not with a angry haste the travelling Tribe.
Think what Temptations giddy Youths surround,
Smiles that seduce and Doctrines that confound:
While Dove-like swift in circling Flights they run,
And shew their changeful Colours to the Sun.
Yet when return’d from Paris Spa and Rome
This Bird of Passage late revisits home,
Accept with Pleasure his Improvements made,
O’erlook the Fopperies, and they soon will fade;
Then; hen the Touch of Parent Earth inspires,
And his warm heart beats high with Patriot Fires,
Point out the Joy that Land alone can yield,
Which to all Ranks spreads forth Ambition’s Field.
Let Frisk and Frolick from that Hour be over,
And Travel’s Epilogue be spoken at Dover.