Design'd for an Epilogue to a
Tragedy call'd the
Revenge.
'Tis well a Southern Clime our Scene supplies,
Where Passions with superiour Ardour rise,
Where the fond Spouse dares venture to inquire,
And the chast Wife, to prove her Truth, expire!
A British Husband, and suspect! nay, dye,
A willing Martyr to his Jealousy!
That were a Farce indeed! and an Offence
Against our Country's Breeding, and good Sense!
And what kind, squeamish Dame of this frank Nation
E'er gave up Life, to clear her Reputation?
No! here th' experienc'd Pair, like Sharpers, meet,
Both arm'd alike, and both resolv'd to cheat,
While the fair Nymph consents, but to be free,
And wears the Yoke for greater Liberty.
But if, amidst the Herd, some Churl we find;
Not absolutely to her Faults resign'd,
To her first Error he may yet be kind.
But if th' imprudent Sot his Shame will spread;
What's the dire Vengeance for his sprouting Head?
Why, what she most desires—a sep'rate Bed.
Let none then here of Hymen's Bonds complain,
Howe'er he treats his Votaries in Spain,
In ev'ry Point our Freedom we maintain.