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The Revenge

A Tragedy
  
  
  
  
  
EPILOGUE. By a Friend.
  

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EPILOGUE. By a Friend.

Our Author sent me, in an humble Strain,
To beg you'd Bless the Offspring of his Brain:
And I your Proxy, promis'd in your Name,
The Child shou'd live, at least, six Days of Fame.
I like the Brat, but still his Faults can find,
And by the Parent's leave, will speak my Mind.
Gallants, pray tell me, do you think 'twas well,
To let a willing Maid, lead Apes in Hell?—
You, nicer Ladies, shou'd you think it Right,
To eat no Supper—on your Wedding Night?
Shou'd English Husbands dare to starve their Wives,
Be sure they'd lead most Comfortable Lives!
But he loves Mischief, and with Groundless Fears,
Wou'd fain set loving Couples by the Ears;
Wou'd spoil the tender Husbands of our Nation,
By teaching them his Vile, Outlandish Fashion:
But we've been taught in our good-natur'd Clime,
That Jealousy, tho' Just, is still a Crime,
And will be still (for not to blame the Plot,)
That same Alonzo was a stupid Sot!
To kill a Bride, a Mistress unenjoy'd;
'Twere some Excuse, had the poor Man been cloy'd:
To kill her on Suspicion, e'er he knew
Whether the heinous Crime were false, or true.—
The Priest said Grace, she met him in the Bower,
In hopes she might anticipate an Hour.—
Love was her Errand, but the hot-brain'd Spaniard,
Instead of Love—produc'd—a filthy Poniard.—
Had he been Wise, at this their private Meeting,
The Proof o'th' Pudding had been in the Eating.
Madam had then been pleas'd, and Don contented,
And all this Blood and Murder been prevented.
Britons, be Wise, and from this sad Example,
Ne'er break a Bargain, but first take a Sample.