University of Virginia Library

EPILOGUE. Written by Coll. Codrington, and spoken by Mrs. Barry.

Poets fine Titles for themselves may find:
I think 'em the Fool-mongers of Mankind.
The charitable Quacks indeed pretend,
They trade in Fools, only those Fools to mend.
Yet they wou'd scarce the nauseous Task endure,
But that, like Bedlam Doctors, they are sure
To get, by showing Fools they cannot cure.
Equal in this, all Plays must be confest;
Fool is the fav'rite Dish of the whole Feast.
In Farce, the Wit's a Fool, or Fool's a Wit.
In Comedy, the Beau pretends a right.
But Tragick Writers still agree to plot
The greatest Heroe, for the greatest Sot.
Our Bard t'indulge your Taste with vast delight,
Serv'd up a Senate full of Fools to Night:
Same bustled hard for Hannibal, and some
Wou'd venture all the Brains they had for Rome.
Thus fighting Fools support ambitious Knaves:
Whoe're prevail'd, the Capuans still were Slaves.
Our pair of Friends shine far above the rest,
With double share of Fool, and Heroe blest.
Our Lover wou'd not tempt the Lady's Honour;
Yet had he boldly pusht, and fairly won her,
You'll all allow, he wou'd less harm have done her.
Joys well contriv'd are had at easier price.
Thank Heav'n our British Friends are not so nice.
Our most important Fool is still behind:
The Man was marry'd, Sirs, and sick in mind.
'Twas a meer whim of Honour cost his Life.
The squeamish Capuan wou'd not share his Wife.
Why Wives are Wives: And he that will be billing,
Must not think Cuckoldom deserves a killing.
What if the gentle Creature had been kissing,
Nothing the good Man marry'd for, was missing.
Besides the Rights of Ladies sacred are:
He shou'd have been content with Neighbours Fare.
But she, by her coy Gallant's Crime, was good,
And was not won, because she was not woo'd.
Had he the secret of his Birth-right known,
'Tis odds the faithful Annals wou'd have shown,
The Wives of half this Race, more luckie than his own.