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EPILOGUE

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Mr. RowE'S JANE SHORE.

Defign'd for Mrs. OLDFIELD.

P

RODIGIOUS this! the Frail-one of our Play
From her own Sex fhould mercy find to day!
You might have held the pretty head afide,
Peep'd in your fans, been ferious, thus, and cry'd,
The Play may pass-but that strange creature, Shore,
I can't-indeed now-I fo hate a whore-
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Just as a blockhead rubs his thoughtless skull,
And thanks his ftars he was not born a fool;
So from a fifter finner you fhall hear,

"How ftrangely you expofe yourself, my dear?"
But let me die, all raillery apart,
Our fex are still forgiving at their heart;
And, did not wicked custom so contrive,
We'd be the beft, good-natur'd things alive.

There are, 'tis true, who tell another tale,
That virtuous ladies envy while they rail;

II

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Such rage without betrays the fire within;
In fome close corner of the foul, they fin;
Still hoarding up most scandalously nice,
Amidft their virtues a reserve of vice.
The godly dame, who fleshly failings damns,
Scolds with her maid, or with her chaplain crams.
Would you enjoy foft nights and folid dinners ?
Faith, gallants, board with faints, and bed with
finners.

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Well, if our Author in the Wife offends, He has a Hufband that will make amends: He draws him gentle, tender, and forgiving, And fure fuch kind good creatures may be living. In days of old, they pardon'd breach of vows, Stern Cato's felf was no relentless spouse : 30 Plu--Plutarch, what's his name, that writes his life ? Tells us, that Cato dearly lov'd his Wife: Yet if a friend, a night or so, should need her, He'd recommend her as a special breeder. To lend a wife, few here would scruple make, 35 But, pray, which of you all would take her back? 'Tho' with the Stoic Chief our stage may ring, 'The Stoic Hufband was the glorious thing. The man had courage, was a fage, 'tis true, And lov'd his country-but what's that to you? 40 Those strange examples ne'er were made to fit ye, But the kind cuckold might inftruct the City: There, many an honest man may copy Cato, Who ne'er faw naked fword, or look'd in Plato.

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If, after all, you think it a disgrace, That Edward's Mifs thus perks it in your To fee a piece of failing flesh and blood, In all the reft fo impudently good;

face:

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Faith, let the modeft Matrons of the town
Come here in crouds and ftare the ftrumpet down.

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