OCR Text |
Show P R O L O G U Spoken by Mrs. Bracegirdle PHE Ladies have a lonely Summer paft, In hopes kind Winter would return at laft. The Seafens change; but Heroes are the fame, A Twelve month running in purfuit of Fame, Theirs may be good, but they have fpoilt our Game. Some weak Amends this thin Town might afford, If honeft Gentlemen would keep their Word. But your lewd Tunbridge-Scandal that was moving, Foretold how fad a Time would come for Loving. Sad Time indeed, when you begin to write: *!>"; a fhrewdfign of wanting Appetite, When you forget your [elves, to think of Wit* Whilft thus your Itch is only to befpatter, Tour Cupid is transformed into a Satyr .* Nothing of Man about you; all o'er Beaft; Submitting your chief Pleafure to your J eft. The time will come (for Ireland falls of Courfe, And muft fend back her Conquerors, and ours) When each of us, our Loffes to recover, Will mend her Fortune m * Soldier-Lover: They'll ufe us better much than you have dene, Take us in, paffing, like an open Town, And plunder, do their Bufinefs, and be gone. Or if, at leifure, they lye down to woe, They'll rather make m Whores, than call usfii P R O L O G U E. ^ t fend a whifp'ring LibeHhro' tho Town, To blab the Favour out, before 'tis done-, And maul the Ladies only in Lampoon. But if they write in a Sententious Strain, Thoo Lines conclude tho Travels of their Pen', One, oply to know where, and t'other, when. And we can give a Lover leave to write, When all his Bills are to be paid at fight. 0/ would our peaceful Days were come again i Then I might ab~b it, on and off, a Queen. When once the Child was turn'd into her Teem, XOH could not find a Maid behind the Scenes. But now your keeping Humour's out a-door, „ We muft die Maids, or marry to be poor. |