The Poetical Works of Henry Brooke ... In Four Volumes Octavo. Revised and corrected by the Original Manuscript With a Portrait of the Author, and His Life By Miss Brooke. The Third Edition |
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EPILOGUE TO THE PLAY OF WHAT WE MUST ALL COME TO. |
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 | The Poetical Works of Henry Brooke |  |
375
EPILOGUE TO THE PLAY OF WHAT WE MUST ALL COME TO.
What all must come to!—what?—debate and strife!
Must all wed plague and broils—who wed a wife?
If that's the sage conclusion of our poet,
The man's a fool—you happy Husbands know it!
Must all wed plague and broils—who wed a wife?
If that's the sage conclusion of our poet,
The man's a fool—you happy Husbands know it!
Your Dames are form'd upon a gentler plan—
To sooth and smooth the rough hewn mass of man;
To bid the tumult of your souls to cease,
And smile your warring passions into peace.
To sooth and smooth the rough hewn mass of man;
To bid the tumult of your souls to cease,
And smile your warring passions into peace.
Like Rome's famed matrons, scorning all excess
In masque or mummery, in dance or dress,
Your Wives are busied in the nobler cares
Of planting their own virtues in your heirs,
And scarce depart their house—except to prayers!
In masque or mummery, in dance or dress,
Your Wives are busied in the nobler cares
Of planting their own virtues in your heirs,
And scarce depart their house—except to prayers!
They neither take nor give the world a handle
For tittle-tattle, gossipping, or scandal;
And, as for that strange vice of gaming—lard!
I dare be sworn, they scarce can tell a card.
For tittle-tattle, gossipping, or scandal;
And, as for that strange vice of gaming—lard!
I dare be sworn, they scarce can tell a card.
In times of yore, indeed, when 'twas the fashion,
And drums, routs, rackets, cards, the favourite passion;
With ev'ry Husband, gambling was the flame,
And even their precious Spouses—play'd the game.
And drums, routs, rackets, cards, the favourite passion;
With ev'ry Husband, gambling was the flame,
And even their precious Spouses—play'd the game.
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Plumb, in the reigning vice, your Statesmen jump;
And Factions, in rotation, turn'd up trump:
Honours, on all hands, they agree to wave;
Some play'd the fool, who meant to play the Knave.
The Vizier, vers'd in all the gambling trade,
The Court against his simpler Country play'd;
But, dubious of the pow'rs that might withstand,
He wisely kept the impending King in hand—
The People thought the advantage somewhat hard;
But deem'd their Magna Charta a sure card!
And Factions, in rotation, turn'd up trump:
Honours, on all hands, they agree to wave;
Some play'd the fool, who meant to play the Knave.
The Vizier, vers'd in all the gambling trade,
The Court against his simpler Country play'd;
But, dubious of the pow'rs that might withstand,
He wisely kept the impending King in hand—
The People thought the advantage somewhat hard;
But deem'd their Magna Charta a sure card!
Now, heats, and betts, all terms of truce confound;
Craft, perjury, prostitution, wait around;
While, high o'er head, Astrea's beam, behold,
Weighing light conscience against pond'rous gold.
But how the game did end, or may end—why—
Time, if it chuse, may tell—in sooth, not I.
Craft, perjury, prostitution, wait around;
While, high o'er head, Astrea's beam, behold,
Weighing light conscience against pond'rous gold.
But how the game did end, or may end—why—
Time, if it chuse, may tell—in sooth, not I.
Ye Fair, intended, by the powers above,
With silken chains, to bind the world in Love;
On whose soft sway, to earth's extremest end,
The race, the brotherhood of man depend!
O, never, never answer rage with rage,
But shun the tempest which you can't assuage;
Your Tyrants, then, shall spend their wrath in vain,
Return, quite tame, and reassume their chain;
So shall Submission win despotic sway,
And the World's Lord shall willingly obey!
With silken chains, to bind the world in Love;
On whose soft sway, to earth's extremest end,
The race, the brotherhood of man depend!
O, never, never answer rage with rage,
But shun the tempest which you can't assuage;
Your Tyrants, then, shall spend their wrath in vain,
Return, quite tame, and reassume their chain;
So shall Submission win despotic sway,
And the World's Lord shall willingly obey!
| The Poetical Works of Henry Brooke | |