A fecret, which does much my mind perplex:
There's treafon in the play against our sex.
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 soul and body too,
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 faved?
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 mifling.
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 fparks; 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 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,
'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 should 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 fchool.
Our play a merry comedy had prov'd,
Had the confefs'd fo much to him fhe lov'd.
True Presbyterian wives the means would try;
But damn'd confeffing is flat Popery.
PROLOGUE to the WIDOW RANTER
[By Mrs. BEH N, 1690.]
Eaven fave you, gallants, and this hopeful age 5 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'erftocks the town fo much, and thrives fo well, That fops and knaves grow drugs, and will not sell. In vain our wares on theatres are shown,
When each has a plantation of his own.
His caufe ne'er fails; for whatfoe'er he spends,
There's ftill 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 must lie,
As if 'twere made fome French commodity.
Fools you will have, and rais'd at vaft expence ;
And yet, as foon as feen, they give offence.
Time was,
when none would cry, That oaf was me;
But now you strive about your pedigree.
Bauble and cap no fooner are thrown down,
But there's a mufs of more than half the town.
Each one will challenge a child's part at least ;
A fign the family is well increas'd.
Of foreign cattle there's no longer need,
When we're fupply'd so fast with English breed.
Well! flourish, countrymen, drink, fwear, and roars
Let every free-born fubje&t keep his whore,
And wandering in the wilderness about,
At end of forty years not wear her out.
But when you see these pictures, let none dare
To own beyond a limb or single share :
For where the punk is common, he's a fot,
Who needs will father what the parish got.
PROLOGUE to ARVIRAGUS and PHILICIA Revived:
[By LODOWICK CARLELL, Efq.1
Spoken by Mr. HAR T.
WITH fickly actors and an old houfe too,
We're match'd with glorious theatres and new, And with our alehoufe fcenes, and cloaths bare worn, Can neither raife old plays, nor new adorn.
If all thefe ills could not undo us quite,
A brisk French troop is grown your dear delight;
Who with broad bloody bills call you each day,
To laugh and break your buttons at their play;
Or fee fome serious piece, which we presume
Is fallen from fome incomparable plume;
And therefore, Meffieurs, if you 'll do us grace,
Send lacquies early to preserve your place.
We dare not on your privilege intrench,
Or ask you why ye like them? they are French.
Therefore fome go with courtefy exceeding,
Neither to hear nor fee, but fhew their breeding:
Each lady ftriving to out-laugh the reft;
To make it seem they understood the jeft.
Their countrymen come in, and nothing pay,
To teach us English where to clap the play :
Civil, egad! our hofpitable land
Bears all the charge, for them to understand:
Mean time we languish, and neglected lie,
Like wives, while you keep better company;
And wish for your own fakes, without a fatire,
You'd lefs good breeding, or had more good-nature.
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