 | Cleomenes, the Spartan Heroe |  |
EPILOGUE, Spoke by Mrs. Bracegirdle.
This Day, the Poet bloodily inclin'd,Has made me die, full sore against my Mind!
Some of you naughty Men, I fear, will cry,
Poor Rogue! would I might teach thee how to die!
Thanks for your Love; but I sincerely say,
I never mean to die, your wicked way.
Well, since it is Decreed all Flesh must go,
(And I am Flesh, at least for ought you know;)
In perfect Charity with all Mankind.
Next for my Will:—I have, in my dispose,
Some certain Moveables would please you Beaux;
As, first, my Youth; for as I have been told,
Some of you, modish Sparks, are dev'lish old.
My Chastity I need not leave among yee:
For to suspect old Fops, were much to wrong ye.
You swear y'are Sinners; but for all your haste,
Your Misses shake their Heads, and find you chaste.
I give my Courage to those bold Commanders
That stay with us, and dare not go for Flanders.
I leave my Truth, (to make his Plot more clear,)
To Mr. Fuller, when he next shall swear.
I give my Judgment, craving all your Mercyes,
To those that leave good Plays, for damn'd dull Farces.
My small Devotion let the Gallants share
That come to ogle us at Evening Pray'r.
I give my Person—let me well consider,
Faith e'en to him that is the fairest Bidder.
To some rich Hunks, if any be so bold
To say those dreadful Words, To have and hold.
But stay—to give, and be bequeathing still,
When I'm so poor, is just like Wickham's Will:
Like that notorious Cheat, vast Sums I give,
Only that you may keep me while I live.
Buy a good Bargain, Gallants, while you may,
I'll cost you but your Half-a Crown a day.
| Cleomenes, the Spartan Heroe | |