The Works of the Late Aaron Hill ... In Four Volumes. Consisting of Letters on Various Subjects, And of Original Poems, Moral and Facetious. With An Essay on the Art of Acting |
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EPILOGUE, to Euridice
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 | The Works of the Late Aaron Hill |  |
EPILOGUE, to Euridice
Oh, Gentlemen! I'm come—but was not sent ye;
A voluntier—pray, does my size content ye?
Man, I am yours: sex! blest, as heav'n can make you,
And, from this time, weak woman, I forsake you.
A voluntier—pray, does my size content ye?
Man, I am yours: sex! blest, as heav'n can make you,
And, from this time, weak woman, I forsake you.
Who'd be a wise? when each new play can teach us,
To what fine ends, these lords of ours beseech us.
At first, whate'er they do—they do so charming!
But mark what follows—frightful, and alarming!
They feed, too fast, on love—then, sick'ning, tell us,
They can't, forsooth, be kind, because they're jealous.
To what fine ends, these lords of ours beseech us.
At first, whate'er they do—they do so charming!
But mark what follows—frightful, and alarming!
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They can't, forsooth, be kind, because they're jealous.
Who wou'd be woman, then? to sigh, and suffer?
And wish, and wait, for the slow-coming proffer?
Not I—farewel to petticoats, and stitching,
And welcome dear, dear breeches, more bewitching!
Henceforth, new-moulded, I'll rove, love, and wander,
And fight, and storm, and charm, like Periander.
Born, for this dapper age, pert, short, and clever,
If e'er I grow a man, 'tis now, or never.
And wish, and wait, for the slow-coming proffer?
Not I—farewel to petticoats, and stitching,
And welcome dear, dear breeches, more bewitching!
Henceforth, new-moulded, I'll rove, love, and wander,
And fight, and storm, and charm, like Periander.
Born, for this dapper age, pert, short, and clever,
If e'er I grow a man, 'tis now, or never.
Well, but what conduct suits this transformation?
I'll copy some smart soul of conversation:
Shou'd there be war, I'd talk of fields, and trenches;
Shou'd there be peace, I'd toast ten fav'rite wenches.
Shou'd I be lov'd—'gadso—how then—no matter,
I'll bow, as you do—and look foolish, at her.
And so, who knows, that never meant to prove ye,
But I'm as good a man, as any of ye.
I'll copy some smart soul of conversation:
Shou'd there be war, I'd talk of fields, and trenches;
Shou'd there be peace, I'd toast ten fav'rite wenches.
Shou'd I be lov'd—'gadso—how then—no matter,
I'll bow, as you do—and look foolish, at her.
And so, who knows, that never meant to prove ye,
But I'm as good a man, as any of ye.
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Well, 'tis a charming frolick! and I'll do't!
Sirs, have I your consent? what say ye to't?
Yet, hold—perhaps, they'll dread a rival beaux;
I may be what I seem, for ought they know.
Ladies, farewel!—I shou'd be loth to leave ye,
Cou'd an increase of pretty fellows grieve ye:
Each, like myself, devoted ne'er to harm ye,
And full as fit, no doubt, to serve, and charm ye.
Sirs, have I your consent? what say ye to't?
Yet, hold—perhaps, they'll dread a rival beaux;
I may be what I seem, for ought they know.
Ladies, farewel!—I shou'd be loth to leave ye,
Cou'd an increase of pretty fellows grieve ye:
Each, like myself, devoted ne'er to harm ye,
And full as fit, no doubt, to serve, and charm ye.
| The Works of the Late Aaron Hill | |