Lend him but fifty Louis-d'or;
And you fhall never fee him more:
Take the advice; probatum eft.
Why do the Gods indulge our ftore,
But to fecure our reft?
EPILOGUE, to SMITH'S PHEDRA and HIPPOLYTUS, Spoken by Mrs. OLDFIELD, who acted Is MEN A ADIES, to-night your pity I implore
For one, who never troubled you before : An Oxford-man, extremely read in Greek, Who from Euripides makes Phædra speak ; And comes to town to let us Moderns know, How women lov'd two thousand years ago.
If that be all, faid I, e'en burn your play
Egad! we know all that as well as they :
Shew us the youthful, handfome charioteer,
Firm in his feat, and running his career;
Our fouls would kindle with as generous flames,
As e'er infpir'd the antient Grecian dames:
Every Ifmena would refign her breast;
And every dear Hippolytus be bleft.
But, as it is, fix flouncing Flanders mares
Are e'en as good as any two of theirs :
And, if Hippolytus can but contrive
To buy the gilded chariot, John can drive.
Now of the buftle you have feen to-day,
And Phædra's morals in this fcholar's play,
Something at least in justice should be said ;
But this Hippolytus fo fills one's head-
Well! Phædra liv'd as chastely as she cou'd;
For fhe was Father Jove's own flesh and blood.
Her aukward love indeed was oddly fated;
She and her Poly were too near related;
And yet that scruple had been laid afide,
If honest Thefeus had but fairly dy'd:
But when he came, what needed he to know,
But that all matters stood in ftatu quo?
There was no harm, you see; or, grant there were,
She might want conduct; but he wanted care.
'Twas in a husband little less than rude,
Upon his wife's retirement to intrude—
He should have fent a night or two before,
That he would come exact at fuch an hour;
Then he had turn'd all tragedy to jeft;
Found every thing contribute to his reft ;
The picquet friend difmifs'd, the coaft all clear,
And fpoufe alone impatient for her dear.
But, if these gay reflections come too late,
To keep the guilty Phædra from her fate;
If your more serious judgement must condemn
The dire effects of her unhappy flame :
chafte matrons, and ye tender fair, Let Love and Innocence engage your care: My spotless flames to your protection take; And fpare poor Phædra for Ifmena's fake.
HOW capricious were Nature and Art to poor
She was painting her cheeks at the time her nose fell.
EPILOGUE to Mrs. MANLEY'S LUCIUS,
THE Female Author who recites to-day,
Trufts to her fex the merit of her play.
Like Father Bayes fecurely fhe fits down:
Pit, box, and gallery, 'gad ! all's our own.
In ancient Greece, she says, when Sappho writ,
By their applause the critics fhew'd their wit,
They tun'd their voices to her Lyric string;
Though they could all do something more than fing.
But one exception to this fact we find;
That booby Phaon only was unkind,
An ill-bred boat-man, rough as waves and wind.
From Sappho down through all fucceeding ages,
And now on French or on Italian stages,
Rough fatyrs, fly remarks, ill-natur'd fpeeches,
Are always aim'd at Poets that wear breeches.
Arm'd with Longinus, or with Rapin, no man
Drew a fharp pen upon a naked woman.
The blustering bully in our neighbouring streets
Scorns to attack the female that he meets :
Fearless the petticoat contemns his frowns:
The hoop fecures whatever it surrounds.
The many-colour'd gentry there above,
By turns are rul❜d by tumult and by love:
And, while their sweethearts their attention fix,
Sufpend the din of their damn'd clattering flicks.
Now, Sirs-
To you our author makes her soft request,
Who speak the kindest, and who write the best,
Your fympathetic hearts fhe hopes to move,
From tender friendship, and endearing love.
If Petrarch's Muse did Laura's wit rehearse;
And Cowley flatter'd dear Orinda's verse ;
She hopes from you-Pox take her hopes and fears !
I plead her fex's claim; what matters hers ?
By our full power of beauty we think fit,
To damn the Salique law impos'd on wit :
We'll try the empire who so long have boasted;
And, if we are not prais'd, we'll not be toasted.
Approve what one of us prefents to-night;
Or every mortal woman here fhall write :
Rural, pathetic, narrative, fublime,
We'll write to you, and make you write in rhyme;
Female remarks fhall take
Your time, poor fouls! we 'll take your very money;
Female third-days shall come fo thick upon you,
As long as we have eyes, or hands, or breath,
We'll look, or write, or talk you all to death.
Unless you yield for better and for worse :
Then the She-Pegasus fhall gain the course;
And the grey mare will prove the better horse.
The THIEF and the CORDELIER, a BALLAD; to the Tune of,
King JOHN and the Abbot of CANTERBURY.
WHO has e'er been at Paris, must needs know the
The fatal retreat of th' unfortunate brave;
Where Honour and Juftice moft oddly contribute,
To eafe Hero's pains by a halter and gibbet.
Derry down, down, hey derry down.
There Death breaks the fhackles which Force had put on;
And the Hangman compleats what the Judge but begun;
There the Squire of the Pad, and the Knight of the Post,
Find their pains no more balk'd, and their hopes no
more croft.
Great claims are there made, and great fecrets are known; And the king, and the law, and the thief, has his own; But my hearers cry out, What a duce doft thou ail? Cut off thy reflections; and give us thy tale.
"Twas there then, in civil refpect to harsh laws, And for want of falfe witness to back a bad caufe, Norman, though late, was oblig'd to appear: ho to aflift, but a grave Cordelier?
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