University of Virginia Library

EPILOGUE.

In Duetta:
CALPHURNIA.
What think ye Sirs, of our Quack-stage Physician,
Who gives Folks Pills, in Verse—to cure Ambition?

PORTIA.
(entering Opposite)
Fifty to One, he breaks:—for, to my Knowledge,
That Cure's too hard, even for our Female College!
And, (don't look silly, Sirs, when plainly told it)
Where we give out, You've poor Pretence, to hold it.

CALPHURNIA.
Well—but, pray, Madam!—was not this Intrusion?
Two—to One Epilogue?

PORTIA.
Bar—false Conclusion.
Cupid, that yokes you Smarts, nere dragg'd 'em hither,
Till broke to Female Tongues, Twice Two, together

CALPHURNIA.
Nay—if They're pleas'd, I am—your Plot? pray tell us.

PORTIA.
The Plot, of Petticoats—to charm the Fellows.

CALPHURNIA.
Hang Petticoats.—I came, to roast Sedition.

PORTIA.
Well. and I'll souse it's Cause,—Stand clear, Ambition.
Begin.—

CALPHURNIA.
Do you

PORTIA.
I dare not.

CALPHRNIA.
Why?

PORTIA.
Depend on't
My Tongue, once well beginning, makes no end on't

CALPHURNIA.
No matter.—Woman's Woman's Match, nere fear it.

PORTIA.
Is She?—come. plead the Cause—The Bench shall hear it.

CALPHURNIA.
(turns to the Audience)
Tho', born, a Maid,—and, therefore, no Man-hater.
There's One He Thing I loathe—and That's, a Traitor.
Factious. Contentless Monster!—form'd to grumble.
No King can please him—and no Wife can humble.
What'ere hard Durance binds him,—(make no doubt on't)
He'll find some strange new Hole. and creep safe ou't on't.
Horrid, the Traitor's Wife's abhorr'd Condition!

PORTIA.
Worse, ten times worse, the Maid's, that weds Ambition!
Oh. Ladies!—too, too apt, to over rate it,
Catch a few, private Hints: and learn to hate it.
The Traitor, once for all's, but hang'd and quiet:
Th' ambitious Fribbler's Life's one, long-stretch'd, Riot.
Like a Nun's Flannel Shift, worn close, to teaze ye.
Ais Cow-itch Clasp sticks fast, and fondly ye Fleas

CALPHURNIA.
Now, tis my Turn to speak—Avant, Sedition!

PORTIA.
Not yet, this half hour.—Ladies, fly Ambition
Husbands, who that hard horny Taste, inherit,
Dry, like 'still Rose-Cakes, and turn, all, to Spirit.
Wrapt in Thought's Cloud, they're like (no doubt) to chear ye,

CALPHURNIA.
Who see, hear, touch,—and, yet, scarce know, there near ye.
Good Friend, and dear Ally!—henceforth, uniting,
Spite of bad Patterns, let's join Hands, for Fighting.

PORTIA.
A Match, —so join'd, each Star must Conquest, mean us.
Lord help the poor French Prig. that falls, between us!

CALPHURNIA.
Say, what Ambition is.

PORTIA.
Tis Treason's Mother:
Nurse, of Debate—

CALPHURNIA.
Sly Devils! Both one, and To'ther!
What is Sedition?

PORTIA.
Virtue's false Pretence:
Religions Cloak,—the two-edg'd Sword, of Sense.
Tis Freedom's resty Start: Pride's patriot Plea:
Sound, that ca'nt hear: and Sight, that will not see.
Sedition! Thou art Discord never ending.

CALPHURNIA.
Ambition! Thou art (pointing to the Head)
crack'd, past Power of mending
Past even St. Edward's Cure, thou dire King's Evil!
Thou first Plague Mark,—on Angel, Man, and Devil!
Snubborn as Woman's Will, thou hat'st Restriction:
And grow'st but ten Times worse, for Contradiction.

PORTIA.
Shun plotting Heads, dear Ladies—All miscarries.
When one, that hums and haws at Midnight,—Marries,
Better, plain downright Dunce. no Dreams pursuing.

CALPHURNIA.
One, that means bluntly and knows, what he's doing.

PORTIA.
Not him, whose towr'ing Mind, estrang'd from Pleasure,
Holds him, still busiest,—when his Wife's at Leizure.

CALPHURNIA.
Better, a Sportsman, sound of Wind, and hearty.

PORTIA.
Better a Sot—than Spouse dry drunk with Party.

CALPHURNIA.
A hunting Husband hallows, and we bear him.

PORTIA.
A drunken Deary Staggers, and we steer him.

CALPHURNIA.
Each, conscious of his Wife, take Care to make her,
One Way, or other—an indulged Partaker.
But, yours sage, Secret, Politician Lover,
Has nothing, fit for Woman to discover,

PORTIA.
No. He's a deep, dark, pensive, Comfort-hater-Bodied for Solitude.

CALPHURNIA.
And sould—for Satire.

PORTIA.
Stranger, at home, he looks abroad for Blessing!
And finds whatere he has, not worth Possessing.

CALPHURNIA.
Freedom, and Mirth, and Health, and Joy—despises.

PORTIA.
And Shuns all Rest.—He so Profoundly, wise, is!

CALPHURNIA.
At length, (Thank Heaven) he dies: kind Vapours strike him.
And leaves behind—

PORTIA.
Ten Thousand Madmen, like him.