Classic Poem

Thus you the sad catastrophe have seen,
Occasion'd by a mistress and a queen.
Queen Eleanor the proud was French, they say;
But English manufacture got the day.
Jane Clifford was her name, as books aver;
Fair Rosamond was but her nom de guerre
Now tell me, gallants, would you lead your life
With such a mistress, or with such a wife?
If one must be your choice, which d'ye approve,
The curtain lecture, or the curtain love?
Would ye be godly with perpetual strife,
Still drudging on with homely Joan your wife,
Or take your pleasure in a wicked way,
Like honest whoring Harry in the play?
I guess your minds: the mistress would be taking,
And nauseous matrimony sent a packing.
The devil's in ye all; mankind's a rogue;
You love the bride, but you detest the clog;
After a year, poor spouse is left i' th' lurch,
And you, like Haynes, return to Mother Church.
Or, if the name of Church comes cross your mind,
Chapels of ease behind our scenes you find.
The playhouse is a kind of market place;
One chaffers for a voice, another for a face:
Nay, some of you, I dare not say how many,
Would buy of me a pen'worth for your penny.
Ev'n this poor face, which with my fan I hide,
Would make a shift my portion to provide,
With some small perquisites I have beside.
Tho' for your love, perhaps, I should not care,
I could not hate a man that bids me fair.
What might ensue, 't is hard for me to tell;
But I was drench'd to-day for loving well,
And fear the poison that would make me swell.