All Hearts fall a leaping wherever she comes, IV. I dare not permit her to come to Whitehall, For fhe'd out-fhine the Ladies, Paint, Jewels, and all ; If a Lord should but whifper his Love in the Croud, She'd fell him a Bargain, and laugh out aloud; Then the Queen over-hearing what Berty did fay, Would fend Mr. Roper to take her away. V. But to thefe that have had my dear Befs in their Arms She's gentle, and knows how to foften her Charms; And to every Beauty can add a new Grace, Having learn'd how to lifp, and to trip in her Pace; And with Head on one fide, and a languishing Eye, To kill Us by Looking, as if she wou'd die. PHYL SONG. Hyllis, the Faireft of Love's Foes, Phyllis, that fcorn'd the powder'd Beaus, So long she kept her Legs fo close, Compell'd through Want, this wretched Maid It was both Shame and Sin, To pity fuch a lazy Jade, As will neither Play nor Spin. On TY BURN. H Tyburn! coud'st thou Reason and Dispute; How often woud'st thou change the Felon's Doom, And trufs fome ftern Chief-Justice in his room? Then fhould thy fturdy Pofts support the Laws, No Promife, Frown, nor popular Applause, Shou'd fway the Bench to favour a bad Cause. Nor Scarlet Gown, fwell'd with Poetick Fury, Scare a falfe Verdi& from a trembling Jury. Juftice, with fteady Hand and even Scales, Should ftand upright, as if fuftain'd by Hales. Yet ftill, in Matters doubtful to decide, A little bearing tow'rds the milder fide. 1 EPILOGUE. O UR-Poet, fomething doubtful of his Fate, All Wit would elfe grow up to Knavery. M Wit is a Bird of Mufick, or of Prey; His Death muft needs confirm the Party more, ERE lyes little He that beer lay filent or quiet before. a Yard deep and more, Her Head always working, her Tongue always prating, And the Pulfe of her Heart continually beating, For the Government chang'd some ten times a day. To a vaft Genius, and a noble Mind, w Her Body was built of that fuperfine Clay, That is apt to grow brittle for want of Allay: And, when, without fhew, it was apt to decay, It began by degrees to moulder away. Her Soul, then, too bufie on fome Foreign Affair, Of its own pretty Dwelling took fo little Care, That the Tenement fell for want of Repair. Far be from hence the Fool, or the Knave, But let all that pretend to be Witty or Brave, Whether generous Friend, or amorous Slave, Contribute fome Tears to water her Grave. TH To PHYLLIS: A SONG. Hough, Phyllis, your prevailing Charms; In vain, Fair Nymph, in vain you strive, By the fame Force that conquer'd me. A A PROLOGUE, Spoken at the Opening of the Duke's New Play-House in DORSET-GARDEN. 'T IS not in this as in the former Age, When Wit alone fuffic'd t' adorn the Stage; When things well faid an Audience could invite, Without the Hope of fuch a gaudy Sight: What with your Fathers took, would take with you, If Wit had ftill the Charm of being New: Had not Enjoyment dull'd your Appetite, She in her homely Drefs would yet delight; Such ftately Theatres we need not raife, Our Old Houfe would put off our dulleft Plays. You, Gallants, know a fresh Wench of Sixteen, May drive the Trade in honest Bombarine; And never want good Custom, fhould the lye In a Back-room, two or three Stories high: But fuch a Beauty as has long been known, Though not decay'd, but to Perfection grown, Muft, if the think to thrive in this lewd Town, Wear Points, lac'd Petticoats, and a rich Gown; Her Lodgings too muft with her Dress agree, Be hung with Damask, or with Tapestry; Have China, Cabinets, and a great Glafs, To ftrike Refpect into an am'rous Afs. Without the help of Stratagems and Arts, An old Acquaintance cannot touch your Hearts. Methinks 'tis hard our Authors fhould fubmit So tamely to their Predecessors Wit, Since, I am fure, among you there are few Would grant your Grand-fathers had more than you. And then what would the wife Adventurers fay, } |