University of Virginia Library

THE EPILOGUE. Intended to be spoken by a Woman.

'Tis very hard, whilst Fortune was our Foe,
You should dissert us for her being so.
We were your Fav'rites; and none before
Lost that preferment, by their being poor.
Small cause, that you should with that Whore conspire,
To send us Famine, 'cause she sent us Fire.
The Scenes, compos'd of Oyl and porous Firr,
Added to th' ruine of the Theater.
And 'twas a judgement in the Poets Phrase,
That Plays and Play-house perisht by a blaze
Caus'd by those gaudy Scenes, that spoil good Plays.
But why for this should we forsaken be?
It was our House, alas, was burnt; not we.
And yet from hence might some suspition come,
Since it first kindled in our lowest Room;
The Fire did seize on all both Brick and Wood;
But we more lucky were in Flesh and Blood.
If we be poor, what then! We're honest tho;
And that's the thing, we fear, that loses you.
'Tis not our faults, if our Estates be low,
But 'twill be yours, if we continue so.
—Faith, let us both amend—
If you Gallants and Ladies sometimes range
Fro'th' other House, it will not seem so strange;
You know the brisk delightfulness of Change.
Sure you and they are cloy'd e'r this. One House
Must needs be dull and the same, as one Spouse,
By long cohabiting and Dowry too,
They'l claim a Title and a right in you.
Nay worse, with Age they hieghten still their sense,
Exacting more then due benevolence.
In extream need, such usage to pursue,
Is damn'd extortion and ill Manners too;
For by this trick you may be half undone,
If now, when all the Misses are from Town,
Each Subburb Sinner should exact a Crown.