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James Thomson - Epilogue to Agamemnon
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Our bard, to modern epilogue a foe, 
Thinks such mean mirth but deadens generous woe; 
Dispels in idle air the moral sigh, 
And wipes the tender tear from Pity`s eye: 
No more with social warmth the bosom burns; 
But all the unfeeling selfish man returns. 
Thus he began:—And you approved the strain; 
Till the next couplet sunk to light and vain. 
You check`d him there.—To you, to reason just, 
He owns he triumph`d in your kind disgust. 
Charm`d by your frown, by your displeasure graced, 
He hails the rising virtue of your taste. 
Wide will its influence spread as soon as known: 
Truth, to be loved, needs only to be shown. 
Confirm it, once, the fashion to be good: 
(Since fashion leads the fool, and awes the rude) 
No petulance shall wound the public ear; 
No hand applaud what honour shuns to hear: 
No painful blush the modest cheek shall stain; 
The worthy breast shall heave with no disdain. 
Chastised to decency, the British stage 
Shall oft invite the fair, invite the sage: 
Both shall attend well pleased, well pleased depart; 
Or if they doom the verse, absolve the heart.
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