None of them ftick at mark; they all deceive. And, when found out, excufe themselves, pox cant them, With Latin stuff, Perjuria ridet Amantûm. . I'm fure, I never heard that fcritch-owl hollow'd 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 fquandring shows, at least, a noble heart. I've heard of men, who, in fome lewd lampoon, Have hir'd a friend, to make their valor known. That accusation straight this question brings; What is the man that does fuch naughty things? The spaniel lover, like a fneaking fop, Lies at our feet: he's fcarce 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, We fhew'd a princess in the play, 'tis true, You see what fate follow'd the faint-like fool, W Spoken by Mr. HART. ITH fickly actors and an old house too, new, And with our alehoufe fcenes, and cloaths bare worn, Can neither raise old plays, nor new adorn. dear delight; you each day, If all these ills could not undo us quite, Or afk you why you like them? they are French. Bears all the charge, for them to understand: PROLOGUE to the PROPHETESS. By BEAUMONT and FLETCHER. Revived by Mr. DRYDEN. Spoken by Mr. BETTERTON. WH HAT Noftradame, with all his art can guess The fate of our approaching Prophetess? A play, which, like a perfpective fet right, Prefents our vaft expences close to fight; But turn the tube, and there we fadly view Our diftant gains; and thofe uncertain too: A fweeping tax, which on ourfelves we raise, And all, like you, in hopes of better days. When will our loffes warn us to be wife? Our wealth decreases, and our charges rise. Money, the sweet allurer of our hopes, Ebbs out in oceans, and comes in by drops. We raise new objects to provoke delight; But you grow fated, ere the fecond fight. False men, e'en fo you ferve your miftreffes: They rife three ftories in their tow'ring dress; And, after all, you love not long enough To pay the rigging, ere you leave them off. |