EPILOGUE TO THE STAGE, AT THE COCK-PIT.
| In graving with Pygmalion to contend, |
| Or painting with Apelles, doubtless the end |
| Must be disgrace: our actor did not so,— |
| He only aim'd to go, but not out-go. |
| Nor think that this day any prize was play'd; |
| Here were no bets at all, no wagers laid: |
| All the ambition that his mind doth swell, |
| Is but to hear from you (by me) 'twas well. |
