University of Virginia Library

THE EPILOGUE Spoken by Mrs. KNIGHT. Written by Mr. Montfort.

What ! Alamort at our dull whining Play!
Can no Love please you in an honest way?
Consider, 'tis but only here we Act it,
When we are our selves, we don't so much affect it.
Women admire Inconstancy like you,
Both in their Love, and their Religion too.
Variety is acceptable to all,
Dying for one, hang't, 'tis unnatural.
They value neither Principle nor Beauty.
He that pays most and best performs his Duty;
Ne're fear, so long your Ladies will be true to ye.
But this is nothing, Gallants, to our Poet,
He knows you've Malice, and he fears you'l show it.
In vain the hopes of pleasing you we cherish,
You hate the Author, and the Play must perish.
If so, my Masters, 'tis a little hard,
Has he so Sinn'd, that he's all Mercy barr'd?
He has chang'd Sides, 'tis true, but Sirs, I pray,
Is he the only Scribbler went Astray?
No sure, he has some changeable Cameleon Brother,
He's not the only pye-bald Son of English Mother.
Howe're the Boxes smiles, we hope to find:
Those fair unangry Stars will be more kind.
And sure in Justice this Chast Piece will spare,
For their own Sacred Image copy'd there.