Py Ores oF: cK ¥- 13g 
«© High Life’s the-word!”” The rage of imitation 
Burns high in, every breaft throughout the nation, . 
The phrenzy rages wide each pafling hour; 
Exhibits growing Yon’s encreafing pow’r: 
On ey’ry brain the changeful Daemon flies, 
Now bids toupees to fall—now capes to rife 5 
Now, at his word, th’ obedient muflin fwells, , 
And beaux, with “* Monftrous Craws,”’ peep out at pouting belless 
No longer now confin’d to courtly: air; _ 
Tajte {weeps refiftlefs on thro’ Temple Bar 5 
Above, below, the wild contagion fpreads, 
And dreams of fafhion float round city heads. 
Sir Balaam’s toils have realiz’d a plum! 
My lady’s fpirit kindles at the fum. 
« Lard, Jovey, who can live in Lombard-ftreet ? 
« Hafte, let us quit the mercantile retreat. 
«< Here we grub on—while wealth no fame beitows— 
«¢ We’re bh that any-body knows. 
«« How vain the cumb’rous pride of opulence! 
«« Let fafhion rule, and tafte direé&t expence.”” 
Thus {peaks the glory of my Lerd Mayor’s éall, 
The pond’rous Aillig erg of Gracers-hall, 
Thus {peaks the fair, and gives her wifhes ven 
The paflive hufband nods a gruff affent. , 
Now civic joys, and Lombard-—/treet fa.ewel, 
My lady quits you all, for dear Pa//-Mall. 
By brilliant equipage and depth of play, 
At length to certain fets fhe makes her way; 
And gains the point her heart defir’d fo long, 
To flounce.and flounder in exce{s of zon. 
Yet fome there are, and thofe high life can boaft, 
With nobler claims than thofe of wit or toaft; . 
Whofe rank and fafhion are their Virtue’s foils [ Bowing to the 
Their approbation may o’er-pay our toils. - Augience.} 
EPILOGUE w@ th CONSTANT COUPLE. Written by Mr. 
Brackstone. Spoken by Mrs..Goon i, in the Charaer of Sir HARRY 
Wirvair, at Lord Barry MoRe’s private Theatre at Wargrave. 
“ FAREWE L th’ impaffion’d vow, -the tender war, 
« + The well-feign’d trown, the nail-indented fear, 
« The fong of triumph, and the melting tone, 
« Farewel—poor Wildair’s occupation’s gone !” 
Each Fopling’s rival, and each fair one’s flames 
Toa mere 4ufband dwindled, dujl and tame! 
No more the charmers lifp, “ Dear, {weet fir Harry /”* 
*Sdeath! what could tempt a Beau Gargon to marry? 
Tis true that I no mighty hagard ran, 
The con/ftant colonel was the bolder man ; 
K 4 My 
