Epilogue -
Much time and trouble this poor play has cost,
And, faith, I doubted once the cause was lost.
Yet no one man was meant, nor great nor small:
Our poets, like frank gamesters, threw at all.
They took no single aim — —
But like bold boys, true to their Prince and hearty,
Huzza'd, and fired broadsides at the whole party.
Duels are crimes, but when the cause is right
In battle every man is bound to fight.
For what should hinder me to sell my skin
Dear as I could, if once my hand were in?
Se defendendo never was a sin.
'Tis a fine world, my masters, right or wrong,
The Whigs must talk and Tories hold their tongue.
They must do all they can — —
But we, forsooth, must bear a Christian mind,
And fight like boys with one hand tied behind;
Nay, and when one boy's down 'twere wondrous wise
To cry, " Box fair", and give him time to rise.
When Fortune favours, none but fools will dally:
Would any of you sparks, if Nan or Mally
Tipped you th' inviting wink, stand " shall I, shall I?"?
A Trimmer cried (that heard me tell this story)
" Fie, Mistress Cooke! faith, you're too rank a Tory!
Wish not Whigs hanged, but pity their hard cases;
You women love to see men make wry faces."
" Pray, sir," said I, " don't think me such a Jew:
I say no more, but give the devil his due."
" Lenitives", says he, " suit best with our condition."
" Jack Ketch", says I, " 's an excellent physician."
" I love no blood — " " Nor I, sir, as I breathe,
But hanging is a fine dry kind of death."
" We Trimmers are for holding all things even."
" Yes — just like him that hung 'twixt hell and heaven."
" Have we not had men's lives enow already?"
" Yes sure — but you're for holding all things steady:
Now since the weight hangs all on one side, brother,
You Trimmers should, to poise it, hang on t'other."
Damned neuters, in their middle way of steering,
Are neither fish, nor flesh, nor good red-herring:
Not Whigs nor Tories they, nor this nor that;
Not birds nor beasts, but just a kind of bat;
A twilight animal, true to neither cause,
With Tory wings, but Whiggish teeth and claws.
And, faith, I doubted once the cause was lost.
Yet no one man was meant, nor great nor small:
Our poets, like frank gamesters, threw at all.
They took no single aim — —
But like bold boys, true to their Prince and hearty,
Huzza'd, and fired broadsides at the whole party.
Duels are crimes, but when the cause is right
In battle every man is bound to fight.
For what should hinder me to sell my skin
Dear as I could, if once my hand were in?
Se defendendo never was a sin.
'Tis a fine world, my masters, right or wrong,
The Whigs must talk and Tories hold their tongue.
They must do all they can — —
But we, forsooth, must bear a Christian mind,
And fight like boys with one hand tied behind;
Nay, and when one boy's down 'twere wondrous wise
To cry, " Box fair", and give him time to rise.
When Fortune favours, none but fools will dally:
Would any of you sparks, if Nan or Mally
Tipped you th' inviting wink, stand " shall I, shall I?"?
A Trimmer cried (that heard me tell this story)
" Fie, Mistress Cooke! faith, you're too rank a Tory!
Wish not Whigs hanged, but pity their hard cases;
You women love to see men make wry faces."
" Pray, sir," said I, " don't think me such a Jew:
I say no more, but give the devil his due."
" Lenitives", says he, " suit best with our condition."
" Jack Ketch", says I, " 's an excellent physician."
" I love no blood — " " Nor I, sir, as I breathe,
But hanging is a fine dry kind of death."
" We Trimmers are for holding all things even."
" Yes — just like him that hung 'twixt hell and heaven."
" Have we not had men's lives enow already?"
" Yes sure — but you're for holding all things steady:
Now since the weight hangs all on one side, brother,
You Trimmers should, to poise it, hang on t'other."
Damned neuters, in their middle way of steering,
Are neither fish, nor flesh, nor good red-herring:
Not Whigs nor Tories they, nor this nor that;
Not birds nor beasts, but just a kind of bat;
A twilight animal, true to neither cause,
With Tory wings, but Whiggish teeth and claws.
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