The Insolvent : or Filial Piety A Tragedy |
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EPILOGUE. (By AARON HILL, Esq;) Spoke by AMELIA. |
 | The Insolvent : or Filial Piety |  |
EPILOGUE. (By AARON HILL, Esq;) Spoke by AMELIA.
I've
'scap'd, to-night, two terrible disasters;
My honour's indignation—and my master's:
And heaven best knows what hapless hole can hide me,
If (to crown all my woes) your help's deny'd me.
My honour's indignation—and my master's:
And heaven best knows what hapless hole can hide me,
If (to crown all my woes) your help's deny'd me.
Ladies, you see how much expos'd our sex is;
Sleeping, or waking, some sad chance perplexes.
Man's a more wily snake than mother Eve's was;
In his own shape—and others too—deceives us.
Hungry devourer! never tir'd with snapping;
Shun him with open eyes—he'll catch us napping:
And how to 'scape him, if I know—ne'er let me
Break thro' th'entangling nets, that thus beset me.
Sleeping, or waking, some sad chance perplexes.
Man's a more wily snake than mother Eve's was;
In his own shape—and others too—deceives us.
Hungry devourer! never tir'd with snapping;
Shun him with open eyes—he'll catch us napping:
And how to 'scape him, if I know—ne'er let me
Break thro' th'entangling nets, that thus beset me.
Now, Gentlemen, to your own thoughts appealing,
(Fitter, I doubt, for making wounds—than healing)
What wou'd you have poor women do with honour,
When danger heaps such monstrous loads upon her?
(Fitter, I doubt, for making wounds—than healing)
What wou'd you have poor women do with honour,
When danger heaps such monstrous loads upon her?
D'ye think in conscience now—half-wak'd, half-weary
With foregone frights, for one's departed deary—
'Thad been so strange a crime—or worth such pother,
In darkness to mistake one dear for t'other?
With foregone frights, for one's departed deary—
'Thad been so strange a crime—or worth such pother,
In darkness to mistake one dear for t'other?
Pray think on't—Put yourselves behind the curtain;
What can't be cur'd must be endur'd—that's certain.
What can't be cur'd must be endur'd—that's certain.
'Tis a fair question—and 'tis plainly ask'd ye:
Answer it—or confess, I've over-task'd ye.
Suppose me bound in sleep's soft, silken fetter,
And one of your dear selves the dark besetter:
Answer it—or confess, I've over-task'd ye.
Suppose me bound in sleep's soft, silken fetter,
And one of your dear selves the dark besetter:
Sight has no eyes, at midnight—and, for touches,
“Joan,” (says the proverb) “in the dark's a dutchess.”
For my part—I can't find we've any senses,
Can furnish such attacks with fit defences.
Let trusty spouse, when business sends him packing,
(“Safe bind safe find”) leave no due caution lacking.
I see some judge-like eyes, that look too sprightly
“Joan,” (says the proverb) “in the dark's a dutchess.”
For my part—I can't find we've any senses,
Can furnish such attacks with fit defences.
Let trusty spouse, when business sends him packing,
(“Safe bind safe find”) leave no due caution lacking.
To miss a she law-point, put to 'em rightly.
Is mine the court's decree?—I humbly move it;
That, if your hearts affirm—your hands approve it.
| The Insolvent : or Filial Piety | |