Too much the applause of fashion I despise;
    For mark to what ’tis given and then declare,
    Mean though I am, if it be worth my care. 
    Is it not given to Este’s unmeaning dash,
    To Topham’s fustian, Colman’s flippant trash,
    To Andrews’ doggerel, when three wits combine,
    To Morton’s catchword, Greathead’s idiot line,
    And Holcroft’s Shug Lane cant, and Merry’s Moorfields whine, &c.

Criticism was not mealy-mouthed in Gifford’s day.

The “tag” appears to be following the epilogue to oblivion; for though it is difficult to differentiate them, the tag must not be confused with the epilogue, or viewed as merely an abbreviated form of it.  As a rule, the epilogue was divided from the play by the fall of the curtain, although this could hardly have been the case in regard to the epilogue mentioned above, delivered by “Mrs. Ellen,” as Dryden calls her, after the tragedy of “Tyrannic Love.”  But the tag is usually the few parting words addressed by the leading character in a play, before the curtain descends upon it, to “our kind friends in front,” entreating their applause.  The final couplets of a French vaudeville, it may be noted, usually contained an appeal of this kind; otherwise, tags, and epilogues are alike eschewed upon the French stage.  But this “coming forward” of the player, to deliver his tag, is a practice of old date.  The concluding speech in Massinger’s “New Way to Pay Old Debts,” addressed to the audience, and commencing—­

                  Nothing wants then
    But your allowance—­and in that our all
    Is comprehended—­

is, according to the old stage direction, to be spoken by Wellborn “coming forward.”  So also Cozimo is directed to “come forward,” to address to the audience the last lines of “The Great Duke of Florence.”

Epilogues have rarely been employed as supplementary acts, continuing and completing the action of a play, as prologues in modern times have been converted into introductory chapters, explanatory of events to be presently exhibited upon the scene.  Yet the interminable drama of “Marie Antoinette,” by Signor Paolo Giacometti, in which Madame Ristori was wont to perform, presents an instance of this kind.  “Marie Antoinette” is in five acts, with a prologue exhibiting the queen’s life at Versailles, in 1786, and an epilogue showing her imprisonment in the Conciergerie, and her march to the guillotine in the custody of Samson the executioner.

* * * * *

The epilogue spoken, the entertainments are indeed terminated.  The audience move from their seats towards the portals of the playhouse.  The lights are being extinguished; the boxes are about to be covered over with brown-holland draperies; the prompter has closed his book and is thinking of moving homewards.

It remains for us only to interchange “Good-byes”—­and to separate.