 | Zingis |  |
85
EPILOGUE, By Mr. GARRICK, Spoken by Mrs. ABINGTON.
I'm sent, good folks, to speak the Epilogue,
But 'tis so dull—I'll cheat the scribling rogue;
Among ourselves, your loss will be but small,—
You're [to the Boxes.
too polite for Epilogue to call;
But as for You [to the Gallery.
,—it is your joy and pride,
Ever to call—but never satisfied.—
Will you, ye Criticks, give up Rome and Greece?
And turn Mahometans, and save this Piece?
What, shall our stage receive this Tartar race,
Each whisker'd hero with a copper face?
I hate the Tartars,—hate their vile religion,—
We have no souls forsooth—that's their decision!
These brutes, some horrid prejudice controuls;
Speak, English husbands—have your wives no souls?
Then for our persons—still more shameful work,
A hundred women wed a single Turk!
Again, ye English husbands, what say you?
A hundred wives! you wou'd not wish for Two.
Romans and Greeks for me!—O that dear Sparta!
Their women had a noble Magna Charta!
There a young hero, had he won fair fame,
Might from her husband, ask a lovely dame;
The happy husband of the honour vain,
Gave her with joy, took her with joy again;
The chosen dame, no struggles had within,
For to refuse had been a public sin.—
And to their honour, all historians say,
No Spartan lady, ever sinn'd that way.—
Ye Fair, who have not yet thrown out your bait,
But 'tis so dull—I'll cheat the scribling rogue;
Among ourselves, your loss will be but small,—
You're [to the Boxes.
too polite for Epilogue to call;
But as for You [to the Gallery.
,—it is your joy and pride,
Ever to call—but never satisfied.—
Will you, ye Criticks, give up Rome and Greece?
And turn Mahometans, and save this Piece?
What, shall our stage receive this Tartar race,
Each whisker'd hero with a copper face?
I hate the Tartars,—hate their vile religion,—
We have no souls forsooth—that's their decision!
These brutes, some horrid prejudice controuls;
Speak, English husbands—have your wives no souls?
Then for our persons—still more shameful work,
A hundred women wed a single Turk!
Again, ye English husbands, what say you?
A hundred wives! you wou'd not wish for Two.
Romans and Greeks for me!—O that dear Sparta!
Their women had a noble Magna Charta!
There a young hero, had he won fair fame,
Might from her husband, ask a lovely dame;
The happy husband of the honour vain,
Gave her with joy, took her with joy again;
The chosen dame, no struggles had within,
For to refuse had been a public sin.—
86
No Spartan lady, ever sinn'd that way.—
To tangle captives in the marriage state;
Take heed, I warn you, where your snares you set,
O let not Infidels, come near your net.
Let hand in hand with prudence go your wishes,
Men are in general, the strangest fishes!
Do not for misery your beauty barter,
And, O take heed,—you do not catch a Tartar.
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