 | The Spanish Rogue |  |
71
EPILOGUE Spoken by Mrs. KNEPPE.
When
Wit, and Native Beauty found Success,
Without a daz'ling Scene, or gaudy Dress,
Then Playes were good, and wholesom your Amour;
But when these downright Blessings pleas'd no more,
Poets, from France, fetch'd new Intrigue, and Plot,
Kind Women, new French Words, and Fashions got:
And finding all French Tricks so much did please,
'T oblige ye more, They got—ev'n their Disease.
That too did take—and as much Honour gets
As breaking Windows, or not paying Debts.
O 'tis so gente! So modish! and so fine!
To shrug and cry, Faith Jack! I drink no Wine:
For I've a swinging Clap this very time—
Without a daz'ling Scene, or gaudy Dress,
Then Playes were good, and wholesom your Amour;
But when these downright Blessings pleas'd no more,
Poets, from France, fetch'd new Intrigue, and Plot,
Kind Women, new French Words, and Fashions got:
And finding all French Tricks so much did please,
'T oblige ye more, They got—ev'n their Disease.
That too did take—and as much Honour gets
As breaking Windows, or not paying Debts.
O 'tis so gente! So modish! and so fine!
To shrug and cry, Faith Jack! I drink no Wine:
For I've a swinging Clap this very time—
Poets saw this, and brought their Stages Crimes,
Chang'd Comedy to Farce, and Sense to Rimes.
That took your very Souls—
But now, you are so strangely hum'rous grown,
That even these, your dear Regalio's will not down:
The newest Miss, with all her little Arts,
Sometimes can't soften your obdurate hearts:
At other times, you are so far from Pride,
A swarthy Gipsie would be deify'd.
Chang'd Comedy to Farce, and Sense to Rimes.
That took your very Souls—
But now, you are so strangely hum'rous grown,
That even these, your dear Regalio's will not down:
The newest Miss, with all her little Arts,
Sometimes can't soften your obdurate hearts:
At other times, you are so far from Pride,
A swarthy Gipsie would be deify'd.
Then, to your Friends, you tell such horrid Lyes,
You had a Pers'n of Honour in disguise!
Dam'ee the pretty'st Creature! O such Eyes—
No Play without a new Machine will do,
You had a Pers'n of Honour in disguise!
Dam'ee the pretty'st Creature! O such Eyes—
Shortly, Your Miss must act with Engine to:
For brisk, and pretty, you will cry at last,
Can she Curvet? and is she Thorough-pac't?
Y'have Fiddle, and Motion now, and all That—
'Zbud! I wonder what a Devil you'd be at.
If you persist in these lewd damning wayes,
You'll have no more new Misses; nor new Playes.
| The Spanish Rogue | |