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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Prologue, to The Cure for Jealousy; spoken by a Woman, in Man's Cloaths.
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 | The Works of the Late Aaron Hill |  |
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Prologue, to The Cure for Jealousy; spoken by a Woman, in Man's Cloaths.
To cure man's jealously, that spleen, too common,
Our author chose me, a firm friend to Woman!
A willing doctor—But the downright fact is,
In this new way, I'm but ill turn'd for practice.
Our author chose me, a firm friend to Woman!
A willing doctor—But the downright fact is,
In this new way, I'm but ill turn'd for practice.
Yet, hang it—in an age unform'd for daring,
What is there in the breeches, but the wearing!
My outside's man, and I've seen many a true one
Look—full as little likely—to undo one!
What is there in the breeches, but the wearing!
My outside's man, and I've seen many a true one
Look—full as little likely—to undo one!
Mark, Ladies! and from this night's scene discover,
What art's I'll teach ye all, to hunt a lover;
Wind him, thro' fear to hope, thro' rage to smiling,
Till he distrusts his truth, by my beguiling:
Cruel, with kind intent, I'll first inflame him;
Then, when he's quite horn-mad, look kind, and tame him.
Gall him with pain, to make him worthy pleasure,
And teach him, by his Trips, my Truth measure.
This done—I'll wed—for, then should love's ambition
Start some dim cause, that might deserve suspicion,
Sense of past blunders strikes his recollection,
And fear, of new ones, shames him from inspection.
What art's I'll teach ye all, to hunt a lover;
Wind him, thro' fear to hope, thro' rage to smiling,
Till he distrusts his truth, by my beguiling:
Cruel, with kind intent, I'll first inflame him;
Then, when he's quite horn-mad, look kind, and tame him.
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And teach him, by his Trips, my Truth measure.
This done—I'll wed—for, then should love's ambition
Start some dim cause, that might deserve suspicion,
Sense of past blunders strikes his recollection,
And fear, of new ones, shames him from inspection.
Oh! 'tis a glorious thing, when poets write
Thus, usefully—that we can profit by't!
They talk of lessons, drawn from tragic scenes,
Where tyrant lovers stab suspected queens;
Where one imperious ranting, fierce, Othello
Roars Lordship, into every tiny fellow.
But, give me Comedy, the world's true picture;
There, when the jealous doubter thinks, he's nick'd her,
Up starts the sex's wit, to aid our nature,
And then, poor spouse, himself, is prov'd the traitor.
Thus, usefully—that we can profit by't!
They talk of lessons, drawn from tragic scenes,
Where tyrant lovers stab suspected queens;
Where one imperious ranting, fierce, Othello
Roars Lordship, into every tiny fellow.
But, give me Comedy, the world's true picture;
There, when the jealous doubter thinks, he's nick'd her,
Up starts the sex's wit, to aid our nature,
And then, poor spouse, himself, is prov'd the traitor.
Ah
Ladies!—If you dread the side-long eye,
The low-brow'd squint, of joyless jealousy;
If, in the pangs of innocence, oppress'd,
You e'er have sigh'd, untrusted and unbless'd:
Smile on this friendly hand, that serves your cause.
And crown his favour'd scenes, with just applause.
The low-brow'd squint, of joyless jealousy;
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You e'er have sigh'd, untrusted and unbless'd:
Smile on this friendly hand, that serves your cause.
And crown his favour'd scenes, with just applause.
| The Works of the Late Aaron Hill | |