 | Neglected Virtue : or, the Vnhappy Conquerour |  |
THE EPILOGUE.
Written by Mr. Morteux. Spoken by Mr. Haynes, Acting the Mad-Man.
Our
Poet made me mad, and I dare say,
You're all as mad, if you don't like his Play.
Some are Horn-mad, and some are Bible mad;
Some mad to write damn'd Plays, and that's damn'd bad.
In short, 'tis a mad World; for now I spy
A Hundred here, at least, as mad as I.
Thick Plot, thin House, I can't forbear to cry.
This Fasting time is like to mortifie us;
Three times a Week, at least, you'll not come nigh us:
Pray do by t'other House, as you do by us.
'Twas Pride hot as Hell
Taught 'em first to rebell.
[Sings.You're all as mad, if you don't like his Play.
Some are Horn-mad, and some are Bible mad;
Some mad to write damn'd Plays, and that's damn'd bad.
In short, 'tis a mad World; for now I spy
A Hundred here, at least, as mad as I.
Thick Plot, thin House, I can't forbear to cry.
This Fasting time is like to mortifie us;
Three times a Week, at least, you'll not come nigh us:
Pray do by t'other House, as you do by us.
'Twas Pride hot as Hell
Taught 'em first to rebell.
I'll sing no more; I caught this Hoarseness, I'm afraid,
Dancing at Drapers-Hall last Maquerade.
Silence in the Court there. Here, Plaintiff, give me Fee,
I have a Quirk—Defendant, don't agree.
Each take a Shell, the Oyster is for me.
VVhat makes that Judge there sleep upon the Bench?
See that Spark yonder Ogle th'Orange-Wench.
What think you of the Invasion by the French?
What's here? on ev'ry Woman's Head I spy
[Starts.
Dancing at Drapers-Hall last Maquerade.
Silence in the Court there. Here, Plaintiff, give me Fee,
I have a Quirk—Defendant, don't agree.
Each take a Shell, the Oyster is for me.
VVhat makes that Judge there sleep upon the Bench?
See that Spark yonder Ogle th'Orange-Wench.
What think you of the Invasion by the French?
What's here? on ev'ry Woman's Head I spy
The Whore of Babylon's Mitred-dress three Stories high.
See, see, she's here! see 'tis the very same,
Her Face a Picture, her Commode the Frame.
VVhat long-curl'd Main that pouder'd Thing annoys!
All you patch'd Maidens, and old bearded Boys,
Off, off, off, with these vain fantastick Toys.
[Sings, throws
off his Perriwig,
&c.
See, see, she's here! see 'tis the very same,
Her Face a Picture, her Commode the Frame.
All you patch'd Maidens, and old bearded Boys,
Off, off, off, with these vain fantastick Toys.
Abstain from Vanities, and vicious VVays,
Among the Congregation spend your Days.
Young VVomen, shun all Sports, but our Religious Plays.
[Cants.
Among the Congregation spend your Days.
Young VVomen, shun all Sports, but our Religious Plays.
I say, abstain from Flesh—if e're you can;
And ogle none—except the precious Man.
Don't pelt wild Fellows with fond Billets-Doux:
Leave chatting at York-Building Interviews,
Nor stoop to peep into the Choc'late House.
Talk not of Beaux upon your visiting Day,
Nor borrow of 'em when you lose at Play,
Then never pay 'em, but the wicked VVay.
Have no Intrigues: Shun Taverns, and Debauches;
Drink your Tea hot, and leave off Hackney-Coaches.
Fast, not in Lent: I say Affliction's good.
Affliction's a Horse-Leach, a Flail, a Flageolet, a Flood:
And ogle none—except the precious Man.
Don't pelt wild Fellows with fond Billets-Doux:
Leave chatting at York-Building Interviews,
Nor stoop to peep into the Choc'late House.
Talk not of Beaux upon your visiting Day,
Nor borrow of 'em when you lose at Play,
Then never pay 'em, but the wicked VVay.
Have no Intrigues: Shun Taverns, and Debauches;
Drink your Tea hot, and leave off Hackney-Coaches.
Fast, not in Lent: I say Affliction's good.
Affliction's a Horse-Leach, a Flail, a Flageolet, a Flood:
Hark you Kid Horden, the first He that hisses,
(For the She's are our Friends, at least the Misses)
Challenge him, fight him, kill him, thus, sah, hah!
But that's the way to be truss'd up you'll say.
Pshaw, are Physicians hang'd that kill Folks ev'ry Day?
Let all be kind then. But stay, I'd forgot,
I think this Horden's guilty of a Plot.
This Play's a Plot on you—But yet I'm thinking,
'Tis but to get Recruits for honest Drinking.
If that Plot takes, I ha'n't been mad in vain;
Your Smiles can bring me to my Sence again.
(For the She's are our Friends, at least the Misses)
Challenge him, fight him, kill him, thus, sah, hah!
But that's the way to be truss'd up you'll say.
Pshaw, are Physicians hang'd that kill Folks ev'ry Day?
Let all be kind then. But stay, I'd forgot,
I think this Horden's guilty of a Plot.
This Play's a Plot on you—But yet I'm thinking,
'Tis but to get Recruits for honest Drinking.
If that Plot takes, I ha'n't been mad in vain;
Your Smiles can bring me to my Sence again.
| Neglected Virtue : or, the Vnhappy Conquerour | |