 | The Spanish Rogue |  |
PROLOGUE Spoken by Mrs. BOUTELL.
Our
poor forsaken Stage does now appear,
Like some cast Mistriss that has once been fair:
In ev'ry part a sad decay we find,
Yet fondly look, that you should still be kind;
At least we hope, what our Defects deny,
Your eager want will at this time supply:
For, as fierce Captain that from Camp returns,
Flies at each Vizard-mask he sees,—and burns:
So, in this Dearth of Wit, methinks to Night
You should not stand to mind if all be right.
None sure will rail at faults we Women make,
When the kind failing's onely for your sake.
Like some cast Mistriss that has once been fair:
In ev'ry part a sad decay we find,
Yet fondly look, that you should still be kind;
At least we hope, what our Defects deny,
Your eager want will at this time supply:
For, as fierce Captain that from Camp returns,
Flies at each Vizard-mask he sees,—and burns:
So, in this Dearth of Wit, methinks to Night
You should not stand to mind if all be right.
None sure will rail at faults we Women make,
When the kind failing's onely for your sake.
And, tell me Gallants! which would you like best?
The tedious Fool that stayes 'till she is drest,
Or the kind Girl, who when the hour is come,
Slips on the Morning Gown, and steals from home?
After the good old English way we treat,
Though it be plain, we give you wholesom Meat.
Our Friends of th'other House, do often take ye
With such Ragousts as nasty French Cooks make ye.
With garnish'd Dishes they delight your Eyes,
And give you nought but Vermine in disguise.
The tedious Fool that stayes 'till she is drest,
Or the kind Girl, who when the hour is come,
Slips on the Morning Gown, and steals from home?
After the good old English way we treat,
Though it be plain, we give you wholesom Meat.
Our Friends of th'other House, do often take ye
With such Ragousts as nasty French Cooks make ye.
With garnish'd Dishes they delight your Eyes,
And give you nought but Vermine in disguise.
'Tis not a Ladies Paint, can gain her Hearts,
Nor silly Lords fine Cloaths, can mend his Parts:
Loaded with Liv'ries, the Gilt Coach may roul,
And yet the Spark within may be a Fool.
To your own Cost, most of you Gallants know,
That is not alwayes best that makes a Show.
Were the Truth known, here's many a Spark I fear,
That has been lewdly Chous'd in fine Semar.
Thus Fools are caught, but the old crafty Sinner,
Takes the sound Wench; though in Straw-Hat and Pinner.
Nor silly Lords fine Cloaths, can mend his Parts:
Loaded with Liv'ries, the Gilt Coach may roul,
And yet the Spark within may be a Fool.
To your own Cost, most of you Gallants know,
That is not alwayes best that makes a Show.
Were the Truth known, here's many a Spark I fear,
That has been lewdly Chous'd in fine Semar.
Thus Fools are caught, but the old crafty Sinner,
Takes the sound Wench; though in Straw-Hat and Pinner.
| The Spanish Rogue | |