This, this was he, that blest by sacred Power, }
To England its Religion did Restore, }
So firm, that Rome could never hurt it more. }
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An EPILOGUE. For Crab and Gillian: In one of my Comedies.
Crab. Come Spouse, to talk in Mode now like the Great,
We'll pack up Stuff, and home to our Estate:
But First, before we come to Taunton Steeple,
Prithee let's have one word, with these good People;
Thou know'st we've promis'd to befriend the Play,
Gill. Well, what of that, what would you have me say?
Crab. Why? set thy Face, and thy best Curchy make, }
And then desire the Wits here for thy sake, }
To spare the Poet, that his Whim may take. }
Gill. Who I, Lord, Lord, d'ye think they'll do't for me,
No, no, dan't think zo Man,
Crab. Why not for thee? thou art a Woman;
Thou'rt of a Kind, that ne'er can fail to Please,
Gill. No zure, I am not vine enough for these:
My Vace is tann'd, and I've no White nor Red,
Nor e'er a ruffled Cap upon my Head;
I'm a loyn of Mutton plainly dress'd,
And these nice volk, love all their Mutton lac'd.
Besides yon Gentlewomen[1] that sit by, }
That gave their twanking Cuffs on to, to vly, }
Can do the Business better much than I. }
Let them speak first,
Crab. Odrabit it, they Pay,
And all are Benefactors to the Play:
- ↑ Pointing to some at the Play.
