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EPILOGUE

“There are ſome of ye here, who, like me, I conjecture
“Have been lull’d into ſleep by a good curtain lecture.
“But that’s a mere trifle; you’ll ne’er come to blows,
“It you’ll only avoid that dull enemy, proſe.
“Adopt, then, my plan, and the very next time,
“That in words you fall out, let them fall into rhime;
“Thus your ſharpeſt diſputes will conclude very ſoon,
“And from jangling to jingling you’ll chime into tune,
“If my wife were to call me a drunken old ſot
“I ſhou’d merely juſt aſk her, what Butler is not?
“And bid her take care that ſhe don’t go to pot.
“So our ſquabbles continue a very ſhort ſeaſon,
“If ſhe yields to my rhime—I allow ſhe has reaſon.”
Independent of this I conceive rhime has weight
In the higher employments of church and of ſtate,
And would in my mind ſuch advantages draw,
’Tis a pity that rhime is not ſanctioned by law;
“For ’twould really be ſerving us all to impoſe
“A capital fine on the man who ſpoke proſe.”
Mark the pleader who clacks, in his client’s behalf,
His technical ſtuff for three hours and a half;
Or the fellow who tells you a long ſtupid ſtory,
And over and over the ſame lays before ye;
Or the member who raves till the whole houſe are doſing
What d’ye ſay of ſuch men? Why, you ſey they are proſing.
So, of courſe, then, if proſe is ſo tedious a crime,
It of conſequence follows, there’s a virtue in rhime.
The beſt piece of proſe that I’ve heard a long while,
Is what gallant Nelſon has ſent from the Nile.
And had he but told us the story in rhime,
What a thing ’twou’d be; but, perhaps, he’d no time.
So, I’ll do it myſelf—Oh! ’tis glorious news!
Nine ſail of the line! Juſt a ſhip for each Muſe.
As I live, there’s an end of the French and their navy—
Sir John Warren has ſent the Breſt fleet to Old Davy.
’Tis in the Gazette, and that, every one knows,
Is ſure to be truth, tho’ ’tis written in proſe.