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, To the Lover
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 | The Works of the Late Aaron Hill |  |
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EPILOGUE, To the Lover
The
scene now clos'd, and Eustace eas'd, at heart,
Pardon six lines, in pity of poor Smart:
One play will bear two morals; and I'll show,
There's something for our sex, e'en in a beau.
Pardon six lines, in pity of poor Smart:
One play will bear two morals; and I'll show,
There's something for our sex, e'en in a beau.
I have, a spark, of captain Smart's fine airs;
His front white-border'd, with a fringe of hairs,
His new-print Hat, like Elziver in small
Tips a huge round O face, in Capital!
Short, and hid, harmless, hangs his sword declin'd,
While a long tail, misplac'd, struts out, behind.
His front white-border'd, with a fringe of hairs,
His new-print Hat, like Elziver in small
Tips a huge round O face, in Capital!
Short, and hid, harmless, hangs his sword declin'd,
While a long tail, misplac'd, struts out, behind.
Strange
contradictions his mixt dress implies:
A short, Dutch waiste, with skirts of blue-coat size,
Two harness-buckles his poor shoes must wear,
Yet be allow'd no heels, their weight to bear!
Narrow his ruffles—but in broad amends,
Up, to his shoulders, the flap'd sleeve extends!
And yet, while this pert dress, thus, two fold ran,
His short red waistcoat—look'd but half a man.
A short, Dutch waiste, with skirts of blue-coat size,
Two harness-buckles his poor shoes must wear,
Yet be allow'd no heels, their weight to bear!
Narrow his ruffles—but in broad amends,
Up, to his shoulders, the flap'd sleeve extends!
And yet, while this pert dress, thus, two fold ran,
His short red waistcoat—look'd but half a man.
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In my averted eyes, he read my thought,
And vow'd to charm me, the first glance he caught.
Then stoop'd—hung wriggling back—wav'd, smil'd, and scrap'd,
And clos'd his hands—and cock'd his chin and gap'd.
And vow'd to charm me, the first glance he caught.
Then stoop'd—hung wriggling back—wav'd, smil'd, and scrap'd,
And clos'd his hands—and cock'd his chin and gap'd.
Madam, said he, 'twill poze your wit to guess
The mysteries of this emblematic dress;
These Hats we wear, to prove us free from pride;
Light, humble measurers of the brains, they hide.
This round head-crop, a mystic sign appears,
In due detection of our meaning ears.
Our sword's old needless length away we threw,
As sworn, to shun all battles, but with you.
Inside and out, each mark your claim insures,
And every inch of every Smart is yours.
He bow'd and sneer'd;—and I a convert grew,
Nor 'till that moment, half his merits knew.
The mysteries of this emblematic dress;
These Hats we wear, to prove us free from pride;
Light, humble measurers of the brains, they hide.
This round head-crop, a mystic sign appears,
In due detection of our meaning ears.
Our sword's old needless length away we threw,
As sworn, to shun all battles, but with you.
Inside and out, each mark your claim insures,
And every inch of every Smart is yours.
He bow'd and sneer'd;—and I a convert grew,
Nor 'till that moment, half his merits knew.
Let
wives, who wish subjection, marry wits;
Women love power—A fool our fancy hits:
We can be heads ourselves—and want of brain,
Let him have no worse want, ne'er gives us pain.
Women love power—A fool our fancy hits:
We can be heads ourselves—and want of brain,
Let him have no worse want, ne'er gives us pain.
| The Works of the Late Aaron Hill | |