The Fatal Extravagance A Tragedy |
THE EPILOGUE. Written by Aaron Hill, Esq; Spoken by Mrs. Seymour.
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 | The Fatal Extravagance |  |
THE EPILOGUE. Written by Aaron Hill, Esq; Spoken by Mrs. Seymour.
You've
seen the Play—and I'll unfold the Poet,
To whom, (stray'd Sheep, of a Pure Flock!) we owe it,
He's a Chance-Blessing— somewhat strangely flung us!
Dropt from the Clouds of Innocence, among us!
Slipt, thro' the Kirk's loose Pale, We gave him Quarter—
Poor Soul! He had like to've been the Muse's Martyr.
When Stage-Plays! and Abominations! took him:
Grace, and the Shepherds of the Saints forsook him.
'Twas given, thenceforth, to Satan's Power, to win him:
—The Root of the Sound Matter was not in him!
Yet, Tho' rebuk'd, full sore, he's no huge Sinner—
You'll scarce see One of his pure Brethren—thinner.
Most sanctify'd of Face! Troth—I'm afraid,
If his Looks lie not—the poor Man's a Maid!
To whom, (stray'd Sheep, of a Pure Flock!) we owe it,
He's a Chance-Blessing— somewhat strangely flung us!
Dropt from the Clouds of Innocence, among us!
Slipt, thro' the Kirk's loose Pale, We gave him Quarter—
Poor Soul! He had like to've been the Muse's Martyr.
When Stage-Plays! and Abominations! took him:
Grace, and the Shepherds of the Saints forsook him.
'Twas given, thenceforth, to Satan's Power, to win him:
—The Root of the Sound Matter was not in him!
Yet, Tho' rebuk'd, full sore, he's no huge Sinner—
You'll scarce see One of his pure Brethren—thinner.
Most sanctify'd of Face! Troth—I'm afraid,
If his Looks lie not—the poor Man's a Maid!
The Bard, not carnal-minded, (say the Curious,)
How come th'unfleshly Folks, to be so furious?
Judge you the Quarrel, right.—we'll, briefly, show it.
—Good plays give good Instruction, said the Poet.
Vanity! cry'd the Brethren.—Gross Defilement!
And, so, the War broke out, past Reconcilement.
How come th'unfleshly Folks, to be so furious?
Judge you the Quarrel, right.—we'll, briefly, show it.
—Good plays give good Instruction, said the Poet.
Vanity! cry'd the Brethren.—Gross Defilement!
And, so, the War broke out, past Reconcilement.
Young Bays, provok'd, here, drew his wrathful Pen—
Shine forth, said he, my Muse, on those dark Men;
And prove, by Dint of fair Example, whether
Much Goodness is not learnt, by coming hither?
Shine forth, said he, my Muse, on those dark Men;
And prove, by Dint of fair Example, whether
Much Goodness is not learnt, by coming hither?
But, what He teaches, be to Him alone,—
I'll teach a Secret Lesson, of my own.
—Say they of Plays, that Men learn Nothing by 'em
I stand the Stage's Champion, and defy 'em?
Who, that has seen, to Night, how I, a Wife,
Gave Counsel, fit to've sav'd my Spouse's Life,
Learns not this Moral, past all Contradiction,
That Disobedient Husbands—meet Affliction,
That He's Most happy, who his Fetters eases,
And lets his wiser Wife—do—what she pleases?
I'll teach a Secret Lesson, of my own.
—Say they of Plays, that Men learn Nothing by 'em
I stand the Stage's Champion, and defy 'em?
Who, that has seen, to Night, how I, a Wife,
Gave Counsel, fit to've sav'd my Spouse's Life,
Learns not this Moral, past all Contradiction,
That Disobedient Husbands—meet Affliction,
That He's Most happy, who his Fetters eases,
And lets his wiser Wife—do—what she pleases?
This for our Sex's Fame, his Play produces—
You see all Doctrines have their hidden Uses.
To This—if the bluff Brethren preach Resistance,
Let 'em, as they love Safety, keep their Distance
For, should we catch 'em, in our wrong'd Dominion,
Stiff as they are, we'll make 'em change Opinion.
You see all Doctrines have their hidden Uses.
To This—if the bluff Brethren preach Resistance,
Let 'em, as they love Safety, keep their Distance
For, should we catch 'em, in our wrong'd Dominion,
Stiff as they are, we'll make 'em change Opinion.
| The Fatal Extravagance | |