 | The poetical works of George Keate |  |
153
EPILOGUE TO THE Play of MACBETH.
Acted at Mr. Newcomb's at Hackney, 1770.
Spoken by Lady Macbeth.
As I was rising from the Arms of Death
Before my Epilogue to get some Breath,
I could not but reflect, what Shame, what Woe
Ambition's Votaries are doom'd to know!
And thought the World, that is, the Town, in me
A Picture of its own sweet self might see;
We beg t'except the present Company.
You all have heard my poor dead Husband say
The Weird Sisters marshall'd him his Way;
And that he follow'd them he sore repented;
Men are bewitch'd who will not be contented!
Yet by the Sorceries of Fame,—Pow'r,—Riches,
We are all Hag-rid—They are to us The Witches.
Our Brain's the Cauldron, where they pour in Notions
That make us quite boil over with Commotions.
Now Titles, Jewels in the Charm they dab,
And a rich Nabob makes it thick and slab:
Next, Jointures, Pin-money, and Rule delight us,
And nothing that's of Woman born can fright us;
We mount their Broom-sticks, post o'er Sea and Land,
Foul must be fair—the World at our Command;
Nay, what's impossible we would attain,
And Birnam Wood must come to Dunsinane.—
Before my Epilogue to get some Breath,
I could not but reflect, what Shame, what Woe
Ambition's Votaries are doom'd to know!
And thought the World, that is, the Town, in me
A Picture of its own sweet self might see;
We beg t'except the present Company.
154
The Weird Sisters marshall'd him his Way;
And that he follow'd them he sore repented;
Men are bewitch'd who will not be contented!
Yet by the Sorceries of Fame,—Pow'r,—Riches,
We are all Hag-rid—They are to us The Witches.
Our Brain's the Cauldron, where they pour in Notions
That make us quite boil over with Commotions.
Now Titles, Jewels in the Charm they dab,
And a rich Nabob makes it thick and slab:
Next, Jointures, Pin-money, and Rule delight us,
And nothing that's of Woman born can fright us;
We mount their Broom-sticks, post o'er Sea and Land,
Foul must be fair—the World at our Command;
Nay, what's impossible we would attain,
And Birnam Wood must come to Dunsinane.—
155
But should these Witches who my Spouse misled
Deceive us too, and knock our Hopes on the Head,
'Tis dismal Work!—Of Phantoms we're made Fools,
Ghosts spoil our Meals, and push us from our Stools;
At ev'ry knocking we affrighted stare,
And our dup'd Sense sees Daggers in the Air;
To wound us more, Reflection only tells
We've fallen Victims to our own poor Spells!—
Deceive us too, and knock our Hopes on the Head,
'Tis dismal Work!—Of Phantoms we're made Fools,
Ghosts spoil our Meals, and push us from our Stools;
At ev'ry knocking we affrighted stare,
And our dup'd Sense sees Daggers in the Air;
To wound us more, Reflection only tells
We've fallen Victims to our own poor Spells!—
What think you, Ladies?—Is the Picture striking?
Say, have I pencil'd it to all your Liking?
No Answer!—Then I must conclude 'twill do;
It suits our Sex, tho', Ladies, none of you.
May you whom no such dangerous Phrenzy fires,
Keep within lawful Bounds all vain Desires.
'Tis in the Calm of Life true Joys abound;
There Truth, there heart-felt Peace, there Virtue's found!—
Trust not the Tempest, it may fatal prove,
And root up Conscience, Happiness, and Love!—
Be sure resist when wild Ambition twitches,
And warn'd by my Example, dread—The Witches.
Say, have I pencil'd it to all your Liking?
No Answer!—Then I must conclude 'twill do;
It suits our Sex, tho', Ladies, none of you.
May you whom no such dangerous Phrenzy fires,
Keep within lawful Bounds all vain Desires.
'Tis in the Calm of Life true Joys abound;
There Truth, there heart-felt Peace, there Virtue's found!—
156
And root up Conscience, Happiness, and Love!—
Be sure resist when wild Ambition twitches,
And warn'd by my Example, dread—The Witches.
| The poetical works of George Keate | |