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, for a Friend.
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 | The Works of the Late Aaron Hill |  |
EPILOGUE, for a Friend.
Well! the Play's over,—and the author's waiting,
To hear his cause supported, by my prating;
But, he mistakes the favour I intend him;—
Have at him—I shall courtier like, defend him.
Oh! 'tis provoking, how these poets wrong us,
When, with imaginary loves, they throng us,
Like girls, they give us trinkets, to look gay with,
Which, when night comes, we have no right, to play with,
Strange doctors, these! our appetites they quicken,
And, then, remove the feast, for fear we sicken.
To think of only one, when twenty love us!
Can flesh and blood bear that?—no—that's above us.
We'd make a shift, with one—did but one proffer:
If we try ten—the fault is theirs, who offer.
Weak woman, push'd, and press'd, now here, now there,
Falls, not, by choice—but want of strength, to bear.
To hear his cause supported, by my prating;
But, he mistakes the favour I intend him;—
Have at him—I shall courtier like, defend him.
110
When, with imaginary loves, they throng us,
Like girls, they give us trinkets, to look gay with,
Which, when night comes, we have no right, to play with,
Strange doctors, these! our appetites they quicken,
And, then, remove the feast, for fear we sicken.
To think of only one, when twenty love us!
Can flesh and blood bear that?—no—that's above us.
We'd make a shift, with one—did but one proffer:
If we try ten—the fault is theirs, who offer.
Weak woman, push'd, and press'd, now here, now there,
Falls, not, by choice—but want of strength, to bear.
Surrounded, as I was, by slaves, to night,
Troth, I e'en thought, to take all five—was right!
Since I'd enough for all—what harm, to barter,
And deal with each, for his own, separate quarter?
Worthy possess'd my will—my Lord my eye,
Grinly my spleen—my scorn Sir Lubberly.
Chip had my laughter;—every Man his part,
And room for forty more, in woman's heart,
Troth, I e'en thought, to take all five—was right!
Since I'd enough for all—what harm, to barter,
And deal with each, for his own, separate quarter?
Worthy possess'd my will—my Lord my eye,
Grinly my spleen—my scorn Sir Lubberly.
Chip had my laughter;—every Man his part,
And room for forty more, in woman's heart,
111
As, when some City-Worthy mounts Lord-Mayor,
Mere dignity requires, that folks shou'd stare,
Rob'd, he looks big—and rides the streets, in state,
While, in long order, his puff'd nothings wait:
So, when a toast assumes her envied reign,
A length of coxcombs ought to grace her train:
Dear Nizies! never heed, what's said, about ye,
Woman, is woman—and can't live without ye.
Fools are the froth of life—they give no merit,
Yet brisk it, like champaign, with sparkling spirit.
Mere dignity requires, that folks shou'd stare,
Rob'd, he looks big—and rides the streets, in state,
While, in long order, his puff'd nothings wait:
So, when a toast assumes her envied reign,
A length of coxcombs ought to grace her train:
Dear Nizies! never heed, what's said, about ye,
Woman, is woman—and can't live without ye.
Fools are the froth of life—they give no merit,
Yet brisk it, like champaign, with sparkling spirit.
BRITAIN, the Queen of nations! let us see,
What the world's offerings should to beauty, be:
Bright, and unrivall'd, 'midst the sea, she stands,
Attracting tribute, from remotest lands.
From Afric, Gold—from India, gems she draws,
Yet, mix'd with these, come—Parrots,—Apes,—Maccaws,
Civet and assa fætida, unite,
And all, that shocks or charms—taste, touch, and sight,
From these, she chuses all, she wants—the rest
She leaves, for poorer states, who like 'em, best.
What the world's offerings should to beauty, be:
Bright, and unrivall'd, 'midst the sea, she stands,
Attracting tribute, from remotest lands.
From Afric, Gold—from India, gems she draws,
Yet, mix'd with these, come—Parrots,—Apes,—Maccaws,
Civet and assa fætida, unite,
And all, that shocks or charms—taste, touch, and sight,
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She leaves, for poorer states, who like 'em, best.
So, gay coquets shou'd man's whole homage claim;
Wits, fools, beaux, slovens—every rank, and name;
All, should adore, divert,—attempt—and please,
Encrease her business—and adorn her ease.
Yet, among all, she keeps but what's most taking,
And spares the rest, for prudes—whose hearts are breaking.
Wits, fools, beaux, slovens—every rank, and name;
All, should adore, divert,—attempt—and please,
Encrease her business—and adorn her ease.
Yet, among all, she keeps but what's most taking,
And spares the rest, for prudes—whose hearts are breaking.
| The Works of the Late Aaron Hill | |