EPILOGUE on the fame Occafion.
EW minifters, when first they get in place,
Must have a care to please; and that's our cafe:
Some laws for public welfare we design,
If you, the power fupreme, will please to join :
There are a fort of prattlers in the pit,
Who either have, or who pretend to wit:
Thefe noify firs fo loud their parts rehearse,
That oft the play is filenc'd by the farce.
Let fuch be dumb, this penalty to fhun,
Each to be thought my lady's eldest fon.
But ftay methinks fome vizard mask I see,
Cast out her lure from the mid gallery :
About her all the fluttering fparks are rang'd;
The noise continues though the fcene is chang'd:
Now growling, fputtering, wauling, fuch a clutter,
'Tis juft like pufs defendant in a gutter:
Fine love, no doubt; but ere two days are o'er ye,
The furgeon will be told a woful story.
Let vizard mask her naked face expose,
On pain of being thought to want a nofe':
Then for your lacqueys, and your train befide,
By whate'er name or title dignify'd,
They roar fo loud, you'd think behind the ftairs
Tom Dove, and all the brotherhood of bears:
They 're grown a nufance, beyond all difafters;
We've none fo great but their unpaying mafters.
We beg you, firs, to beg your men, that they
Would please to give you leave to hear the play.
Next in the play-house spare your precious lives;
Think, like good chriftians, on your bearns and wives
Think on your fouls; but by your lugging forth,
It feems you know how little they are worth.
If none of thefe will move the warlike mind,
Think on the helplefs whore you leave behind.
We beg you, laft, our fcene-room to forbear,
And leave our goods and chattels to our care.
Alas! cur women are but washy toys,
And wholly taken up in ftage employs :
Poor willing tits they are: but yet I doubt
This double duty foon will wear them out.
Then you are watch'd befides with jealous care;
What if my lady's page should find you there?
My lady knows t' a tittle what there 's in ye;
No paffing your gilt fhilling for a guinea.
Thus, gentlemen, we have fumm'd up in fhort
Our grievances, from country, town, and court:
Which humbly we fubmit to your good pleasure ;
But firft vote money, then redrefs at leifure.
PROLOGUE to the PRINCESS of CLEVES. [By Mr. N. LE E, 1689.]
LADIES! (I hope there's none behind to hear) I long to whisper fomething in your ear :
A fecret, which does much my mind perplex:
There's treafon in the play against our fex.
A man that's falfe to love, that vows and cheats,
And kiffes every living thing he meets.
A rogue in mode, I dare not speak too broad,
One that does fomething to the very bawd.
Out on him, traitor, for a filthy beast;
Nay, and he's like the pack of all the rest.
None of them stick at mark; they all deceive.
Some Jew has chang'd the text, I half believe;
There Adam cozen'd our poor grandame Eve.
To hide their faults, they rap out oaths, and tear:
Now, though we lye, we 're too well-bred to fwear.
So we compound for half the fin we owe,
But men are dipt for foul and body too 3
And, when found out, excufe themfelves, pox cant them,
With Latin stuff, "Perjuria ridet Amantûm.”
I'm not book-learn'd, to know that word in vogue,
But I fufpect 'tis Latin for a rogue.
I'm fure, I never heard that fcritch-owl hollow'd
In my poor ears, but feparation follow'd.
How can fuch perjur'd villains e'er be saved?
Achitophel's not half fo falfe to David.
With vows and foft expreffions to allure,
They ftand, like foremen of a shop, demure
No fooner out of fight, but they are gadding,
And for the next new face ride out a-padding.
Yet, by their favour, when they have been kiffing,
We can perceive the ready money miffing.
Well! we may rail; but 'tis as good ev'n wink;
Something we find, and fomething they will fink.
But fince they're at renouncing, 'tis our parts,
To trump their diamonds, as they trump our hearts,
EPILOGUE to the fame.
A Qualm of confcience brings me back again,
To make amends to you befpatter'd men.
We women love like cats, that hide their joys,
By growling, fqualling, and a hideous noise.
I rail'd at wild young sparks; but, without lying,
Never was man worse thought on for high-flying.
The prodigal of love gives each her part,
And fquandering fhows, at leaft, a noble heart.
I've heard of men, who, in fome lewd lampoon,
Have hir'd a friend, to make their valour known.
That accufation ftraight this queftion brings;
What is the man that does fuch naughty things?
The fpaniel lover, like a fneaking fop,
Lies at our feet: he's fearce worth taking up.
'Tis true, fuch heroes in a play go far;
But chamber-practice is not like the bar.
When men fuch vile, fuch faint, petitions make,
We fear to give, because they fear to take;
Since modefty's the virtue of our kind,
Pray let it be to our own fex confin'd.
When men ufurp it from the female nation,
'Tis but a work of fupererogation-
We fhew'd a princefs in the play, 'tis true,
Who gave her Cæfar more than all his due;
Told her own faults: but I fhould much abhor
To choose a husband for my confeffor.
You fee what fate follow'd the faint-like fool,
For telling tales from out the nuptial school.
Our play a merry comedy had prov'd,
Had the confefs'd fo much to him fhe lov'd.
True Prefbyterian wives the means would try;
But damn'd confeffing is flat Popery.
PROLOGUE to the WIDOW RANTER.
[By Mrs. BEH N, 1690.]
Heaven fave you, gallants, and this hopeful age;
Y'are welcome to the downfall of the stage: The fools have labour'd long in their vocation; And vice, the manufacture of the nation,
O'erstocks the town fo much, and thrives fo well, That fops and knaves grow drugs, and will not fell. In vain our wares on theatres are fhown,
When each has a plantation of his own.
His cause ne'er fails; for whatfoe'er he spends,
There's still God's plenty for himself and friends.
Should men be rated by poetic rules,
Lord! what a poll would there be rais'd from fools!
Mean time poor wit prohibited muft lie,
As if 'twere made fome French commodity.
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