 | Adelaide |  |
x
EPILOGUE. WRITTEN BY J. TAYLOR, Esq. And Spoken by MISS MELLON.
What an odd creature was this Gallic maid,
To seek a cloister's melancholy shade,
Whilst a young ardent lover, high in arms,
Submissive bow'd before her conqu'ring charms!
Grant thee the father would supplant the son,
The double vict'ry by her graces won,
Should but have fir'd the nymph to take the field,
In the proud hope a thousand more might yield:
Beauty should gain new laurels every day,
And nobly aim at universal sway.
Besides, to give some glory to the thing,
Her venerable victim was a King;
And then how vast the triumph, to ensnare
The fam'd gallant of Rosamond the fair!
Unhappy Rosamond, whose piteous fate,
Love, with a sigh, for ever shall relate!
To seek a cloister's melancholy shade,
Whilst a young ardent lover, high in arms,
Submissive bow'd before her conqu'ring charms!
Grant thee the father would supplant the son,
The double vict'ry by her graces won,
Should but have fir'd the nymph to take the field,
In the proud hope a thousand more might yield:
Beauty should gain new laurels every day,
And nobly aim at universal sway.
Besides, to give some glory to the thing,
Her venerable victim was a King;
And then how vast the triumph, to ensnare
The fam'd gallant of Rosamond the fair!
Unhappy Rosamond, whose piteous fate,
Love, with a sigh, for ever shall relate!
But to our play—The heroine's case was hard,
So oft to wedlock near, so oft debarr'd;
And then that meddling priest to intefere
When youthful passions urged their fond career,
Bid the poor swain to Palestine depart,
That he might lose his head as well as heart.
Why, if the man had known his place aright,
He would not sep'rate lovers, but unite;
His duty was to join love's gentle elves,
And as to parting—leave it to themselves:
Or if there needs another's help, at least,
'Tis bus'ness for the lawyer, not the priest.
Nay, had this legate paus'd a week, or so,
The spouse might then have been content to go,
And rather rush amid the martial strife,
Than wage close warfare with a wrangling wife.
Well! women must be strangely chang'd, I vow,
No girls from lovers fly to convents now;
None here will hide in dismal dens from man,
But range the world, and conquer all they can.
Now to our bard—The man pretends to say,
There's more of truth than fiction in his play;
If so, from him avert all hostile aim,
And e'en let gossip History bear the blame.
So oft to wedlock near, so oft debarr'd;
And then that meddling priest to intefere
When youthful passions urged their fond career,
Bid the poor swain to Palestine depart,
That he might lose his head as well as heart.
Why, if the man had known his place aright,
He would not sep'rate lovers, but unite;
His duty was to join love's gentle elves,
And as to parting—leave it to themselves:
xi
'Tis bus'ness for the lawyer, not the priest.
Nay, had this legate paus'd a week, or so,
The spouse might then have been content to go,
And rather rush amid the martial strife,
Than wage close warfare with a wrangling wife.
Well! women must be strangely chang'd, I vow,
No girls from lovers fly to convents now;
None here will hide in dismal dens from man,
But range the world, and conquer all they can.
Now to our bard—The man pretends to say,
There's more of truth than fiction in his play;
If so, from him avert all hostile aim,
And e'en let gossip History bear the blame.
| Adelaide | |