The Italian Husband A Tragedy |
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EPILOGUE, Writ by Jo. Haynes.
Spoke by Mr. Bowman, mimicking a Beau.
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 | The Italian Husband |  |
EPILOGUE, Writ by Jo. Haynes. Spoke by Mr. Bowman, mimicking a Beau.
Loaded with Muffe, and Nose adorn'd with Snush,
Eclips'd in Wig, like Owl in Ivey-Bush.
With dangling Shoulder-knot o're Arm a kimbo,
In fine embroyder'd Coat Just out of Limbo.
With all the Rhethorick of DOUX YEUX, I come
To mitigate our trembling Author's doom;
Who bid me beg your Smiles, (the Poets Alms,)
In words as moving as the Singing Psalms.
Not doubting my success, because he knows,
The Fair Sex must be obliging to the Beaux,
For while those Gallants, who had Brains to spare,
For Honor ran Campaigning every year,
Love! Love! The nobler Province of the two,
Kept peaceful Beau at home to dye for you:
Not that he fear'd the Wars, but some chance blow
Might beat out his Fine Teeth, and then you know,
Tho he, (the Man) were sav'd, that kills the Beau.
Whose Courage might, no doubt, successful prove,
In Bed of Honor, as in Bed of Love.
But whether think you has the greater Charms,
Don Mars the Bully's, or Don Cupid's Arms?
Who in this glorious Field Cupid makes his Campaign,
So fam'd for killing Eyes, and Lovers slain.
Like Cæsar here the Beaux may Conquest boast,
They come, they ogle, and the Heart is lost.
For wonder then they're in such Veneration,
But I remember Monkeys once in Fashion.
Till these new Favorites obtain'd their Station.
But Monkey, Squirrel, and lov'd Parakeeto,
(The prettier Creatures much, methinks, to see to)
Lap-dog, nay Darling Black, must all vail now,
To the prevailing Charms of Rival Beau.
Eclips'd in Wig, like Owl in Ivey-Bush.
With dangling Shoulder-knot o're Arm a kimbo,
In fine embroyder'd Coat Just out of Limbo.
With all the Rhethorick of DOUX YEUX, I come
To mitigate our trembling Author's doom;
Who bid me beg your Smiles, (the Poets Alms,)
In words as moving as the Singing Psalms.
Not doubting my success, because he knows,
The Fair Sex must be obliging to the Beaux,
For while those Gallants, who had Brains to spare,
For Honor ran Campaigning every year,
Love! Love! The nobler Province of the two,
Kept peaceful Beau at home to dye for you:
Not that he fear'd the Wars, but some chance blow
Might beat out his Fine Teeth, and then you know,
Tho he, (the Man) were sav'd, that kills the Beau.
Whose Courage might, no doubt, successful prove,
In Bed of Honor, as in Bed of Love.
But whether think you has the greater Charms,
Don Mars the Bully's, or Don Cupid's Arms?
Who in this glorious Field Cupid makes his Campaign,
So fam'd for killing Eyes, and Lovers slain.
Like Cæsar here the Beaux may Conquest boast,
They come, they ogle, and the Heart is lost.
For wonder then they're in such Veneration,
But I remember Monkeys once in Fashion.
Till these new Favorites obtain'd their Station.
(The prettier Creatures much, methinks, to see to)
Lap-dog, nay Darling Black, must all vail now,
To the prevailing Charms of Rival Beau.
But tell me pray how wou'd this Peacock show,
If he were but treated like old Æsops Crow?
If those who clubb'd to's Beauship flock'd together,
And every Bird laid hold of his own Feather,
Unrigg'd of Cloaths, of Wig, and unpay'd Linnen,
Sword, Feather, Muffe, and no Charms left to sin in.
What a Figu—re he'd make you easily guess,
Strippd of his borrow'd plumes in that undress.
The naked truth I fear wou'd oft discover,
The Giant Beau to be a Pigmye Lover.
Sure nought but the Green Sickness of the mind,
Can rellish this sad Trash of Human-kind.
However—
Since Beauteous Plenty here begins to dress,
With her Bright Ornaments the face of Peace;
Tis fit that our Drammatick Wars shou'd cease:
Therefore, to you Sweet Beaus, in meer Compassion,
These Terms we offer of Capitulation.
First then—
When you shall leave off to adore new Faces,
And paying only Broken Heads for places,
As now you're Foibles, then we'll shew your Graces.
And next—
Let not our Womens Tyring-Rooms be Haunted,
Boast not of favours which they never granted:
Tick not with Orange Wench; nor Side-box Misses,
(Alas they live by Love, and feed on Kisses,)
Grant this, and if they make not just requitals,
You've our Consents Gratis, to STOP THEIR VITALS.
(Demme)
[Exit like a Beau.If he were but treated like old Æsops Crow?
If those who clubb'd to's Beauship flock'd together,
And every Bird laid hold of his own Feather,
Unrigg'd of Cloaths, of Wig, and unpay'd Linnen,
Sword, Feather, Muffe, and no Charms left to sin in.
What a Figu—re he'd make you easily guess,
Strippd of his borrow'd plumes in that undress.
The naked truth I fear wou'd oft discover,
The Giant Beau to be a Pigmye Lover.
Sure nought but the Green Sickness of the mind,
Can rellish this sad Trash of Human-kind.
However—
Since Beauteous Plenty here begins to dress,
With her Bright Ornaments the face of Peace;
Tis fit that our Drammatick Wars shou'd cease:
Therefore, to you Sweet Beaus, in meer Compassion,
These Terms we offer of Capitulation.
First then—
When you shall leave off to adore new Faces,
And paying only Broken Heads for places,
As now you're Foibles, then we'll shew your Graces.
And next—
Let not our Womens Tyring-Rooms be Haunted,
Boast not of favours which they never granted:
Tick not with Orange Wench; nor Side-box Misses,
(Alas they live by Love, and feed on Kisses,)
Grant this, and if they make not just requitals,
You've our Consents Gratis, to STOP THEIR VITALS.
(Demme)
FINIS.
| The Italian Husband | |