The Ambitious Step-mother/Epilogue
THE
EPILOGUE.
Spoke by Mrs. BRACEGIRDLE.
The Spleen and Vapours, and this doleful Play,
Have mortify'd me to that height to day,
That I am almost in the mortal Mind,
To die indeed, and leave you all behind.
Know then, since I resolve in Peace to part,
I mean to leave to one alone my Heart.
(Last Favours will admit of no Partage,
I bar all sharing; but upon the Stage.)
To one who can with one alone be blest
The peaceful Monarch of a single Breast.
To Onebut Oh! how hard 'twill be to find
That Phœnix in your Fickle changing Kind!
New Loves, new Interests, and Religious new,
Still your Fantastick Appetites pursue.
Your sickly Fancies loath what you possess;
And every restless Fool would change his Place;
Some weary of their Peace, and quiet grown,
Want to be hoisted up aloft, and shown;
Whilst from the envied height, the wise get safely down.
We find your wavering Temper to our Cost,
Since all our Pains and Care to please is lost.
Musick in vain, supports with Friendly aid
Her Sister Poetry's declining head.
Show but a Mimick Ape, or French Buffoon,
You to the other House in Shoals are gone,
And leave us here to Tune our Crowds alone.
Must Shakespear, Fletcher, and laborious Ben,
Be left for Scaramouch and Harlaquin?
Allow you are unconstant; yet 'tis strange,
For Sense is still the same, and ne're can change;
Yet even in that you vary as the rest;
And every day New Notions are profest;
Nay there's a Wit has found, as I am told,
New ways to Heaven, dispairing of the Old.
He swears he'll spoil the Clerks and Sexton's Trade,
Bells shall no more be rung, nor Graves be made.
The Hearse and Six no longer be in Fashion,
Since all the Faithful may expect Translation.
What think you of the Project? I'm for trying,
I'll lay aside these foolish Thoughts of Dying;
Preserve my Yonth and Vigour for the Stage,
And be translated in a good Old Age.
Have mortify'd me to that height to day,
That I am almost in the mortal Mind,
To die indeed, and leave you all behind.
Know then, since I resolve in Peace to part,
I mean to leave to one alone my Heart.
(Last Favours will admit of no Partage,
I bar all sharing; but upon the Stage.)
To one who can with one alone be blest
The peaceful Monarch of a single Breast.
To Onebut Oh! how hard 'twill be to find
That Phœnix in your Fickle changing Kind!
New Loves, new Interests, and Religious new,
Still your Fantastick Appetites pursue.
Your sickly Fancies loath what you possess;
And every restless Fool would change his Place;
Some weary of their Peace, and quiet grown,
Want to be hoisted up aloft, and shown;
Whilst from the envied height, the wise get safely down.
We find your wavering Temper to our Cost,
Since all our Pains and Care to please is lost.
Musick in vain, supports with Friendly aid
Her Sister Poetry's declining head.
Show but a Mimick Ape, or French Buffoon,
You to the other House in Shoals are gone,
And leave us here to Tune our Crowds alone.
Must Shakespear, Fletcher, and laborious Ben,
Be left for Scaramouch and Harlaquin?
Allow you are unconstant; yet 'tis strange,
For Sense is still the same, and ne're can change;
Yet even in that you vary as the rest;
And every day New Notions are profest;
Nay there's a Wit has found, as I am told,
New ways to Heaven, dispairing of the Old.
He swears he'll spoil the Clerks and Sexton's Trade,
Bells shall no more be rung, nor Graves be made.
The Hearse and Six no longer be in Fashion,
Since all the Faithful may expect Translation.
What think you of the Project? I'm for trying,
I'll lay aside these foolish Thoughts of Dying;
Preserve my Yonth and Vigour for the Stage,
And be translated in a good Old Age.
FINIS.