University of Virginia Library

EPILOGUE. Spoken by Mrs. Porter.

I laugh to think now, How those Wags are bit,
Who gape agog, for wanton Turns of Wit.
Our Maiden Muse abhors a double Jest,
That puts the blooming Virgin to the Test,
She makes no Sport for those ill-manner'd Spies,
That watch to see the conscious Blushes rise,
And soon as they perceive the modest Flame,
Against her Will, adorn the Virtuous Dame,
Pursue her bashful Eyes with brutal Stare,
And with a guiltless Shame o'erspread the tortur'd Fair.
Their Savage Hearts ne'er feel the soft Desires,
Of Love refin'd, which the chaste Nymph inspires.
But to the Point—I cou'd not in one Place
Of the whole Play bewail Emilia's Case;
For who cou'd bear, that she whom Rome did boast,
Was of her Conquer'd World, the reigning Toast,
Shou'd, for a Parent slain full twenty Years,
Resign her Soul to Grief, her Eyes to Tears,
To gratifie her Vengeance, and her Hate,
Expose her Lover to her Father's Fate,
Her Charms to form such dreadful Plots imploy,
And in her Prime refrain chaste Hymen's Joy.
Among the Men of Pleasure sure there's none,
Who did not Cinna's wretched Fate bemoan;
For he poor Man, if his Attempt miscarry'd,
Was to be hang'd; if it succeeded—marry'd.
The Fate of Maximus, 'tis true, might move
The Heart that knows the Pangs of jealous Love,
When, plotting Cinna's Death, he strove, in vain
To soften bright Emilia's fierce Disdain.
Besides, tho' Cæsar granted him his Life,
He lost a Mistress;—but he scap'd a Wife.
Livia well knew her Husband's Cause was evil,
And told him that a Tyrant, like the Devil,
To make Mankind his Vassals, must be civil.
'Tis a strange Tragedy I must confess,
In which, we pity No Body's Distress.
Strict Virtue all these Characters will blame;
Yet have they crown'd Corneille's immortal Fame;
For tho' irregular, much Praise they merit,
So well they seem to shew Rome's ancient Spirit;
If, raising here old Romans from the dead,
He makes 'em now repeat what once they said,
While He their lofty Sentiments pursues,
Refin'd attentive Hearers will excuse,
The long Harangues of his transported Muse,
And when they seem most criminal, reflect,
Strong Passions are the haughty Souls defect.