 | The Roman Father |  |
EPILOGUE, spoken by Mrs. Pritchard.
Ladies
, by me our courteous Author sends
His Compliments to all his Female Friends:
And thanks them from his Soul for every bright
Indulgent Tear, which they have shed To-night.
Sorrow in Virtue's Cause proclaims a Mind,
And gives to Beauty Graces more refin'd.
O who could bear the loveliest Form of Art,
A Cherub's Face, without a feeling Heart!
'Tis there alone, whatever Charms we boast,
Tho' Men may flatter, and tho' Men will toast,
'Tis there alone they find the Joy sincere,
The Wife, the Parent, and the Friend are there.
All else, the veriest Rakes themselves must own,
Are but the paltry Play-things of the Town;
The painted Clouds, which glittering tempt the Chace,
Then melt in Air, and mock the vain Embrace.
His Compliments to all his Female Friends:
And thanks them from his Soul for every bright
Indulgent Tear, which they have shed To-night.
Sorrow in Virtue's Cause proclaims a Mind,
And gives to Beauty Graces more refin'd.
O who could bear the loveliest Form of Art,
A Cherub's Face, without a feeling Heart!
'Tis there alone, whatever Charms we boast,
Tho' Men may flatter, and tho' Men will toast,
'Tis there alone they find the Joy sincere,
The Wife, the Parent, and the Friend are there.
All else, the veriest Rakes themselves must own,
Are but the paltry Play-things of the Town;
84
Then melt in Air, and mock the vain Embrace.
Well then; the private Virtues, 'tis confest,
Are the soft Inmates of the Female Breast.
But then, they fill so full that crouded Space,
That the poor Public seldom finds a Place.
And I suspect there's many a Fair-one here,
Who pour'd her Sorrows on Horatia's Bier,
That still retains so much of Flesh and Blood,
She'd fairly hang the Brother, if she could.
Are the soft Inmates of the Female Breast.
But then, they fill so full that crouded Space,
That the poor Public seldom finds a Place.
And I suspect there's many a Fair-one here,
Who pour'd her Sorrows on Horatia's Bier,
That still retains so much of Flesh and Blood,
She'd fairly hang the Brother, if she could.
Why, Ladies, to be sure, if that be all,
At your Tribunal he must stand or fall.
Whate'er his Country, or his Sire decreed,
You are his Judges now, and he must plead.
At your Tribunal he must stand or fall.
Whate'er his Country, or his Sire decreed,
You are his Judges now, and he must plead.
Like other Culprit Youths, he wanted Grace;
But could have no Self-interest in the Case.
Had she been Wife, or Mistress, or a Friend,
It might have answered some convenient End:
But a mere Sister, whom he lov'd—to take
Her Life away,—and for his Country's Sake!
Faith, Ladies, you may pardon him; indeed
There's very little Fear the Crime should spread.
True Patriots are but rare among the Men,
And really might be useful, now and then.
Then do not check, by your Disapprobation,
A Spirit which once rul'd the British Nation,
And still might rule—would you but set the Fashion.
But could have no Self-interest in the Case.
Had she been Wife, or Mistress, or a Friend,
It might have answered some convenient End:
But a mere Sister, whom he lov'd—to take
Her Life away,—and for his Country's Sake!
Faith, Ladies, you may pardon him; indeed
There's very little Fear the Crime should spread.
True Patriots are but rare among the Men,
And really might be useful, now and then.
Then do not check, by your Disapprobation,
A Spirit which once rul'd the British Nation,
And still might rule—would you but set the Fashion.
The END.
| The Roman Father | |