100 THE POEMS OF ANNE �Whose well bred Muse found something to allow �And tho' they fail'd wou'd to the Woman bow �Happy You three! happy the Race of Men! �Born to inform or to correct the Pen �To proffitts pleasures freedom and command �Whilst we beside you but as Cyphers stand �T' increase your Numbers and to swell th' account �Of your delights which from our charms amount 70 �And sadly are by this distinction taught �That since the Fall (by our seducement wrought) �Ours is the greater losse as ours the greater fault �AN EPILOGUE TO THE TRAGEDY OF JANE SHORE To bespoken by Mrs. Oldfield the night before the Poet's Day �The audience seems tonight so very kind, �I fancy I may freely speak my mind, �And tell you, when the author nam'd Jane Shore, �I all her glorious history run o'er, �And thought he would have shewn her on the stage, �In the first triumphs of her blooming age ; �Edward in public at her feet a slave, �The jealous Queen in private left to rave; �Yet Jane superior still in all the strife, �For sure that mistress leads a wretched life, 10 �Who can't insult the Keeper and the wife. �This I concluded was his right design, �To make her lavish, careless, gay and fine ; �Not bring her here to mortify and whine. �I hate such parts as we have plaid today, �Before I promis'd, had I read the play, �I wou'd have staid at home, and drank my Tea. �Then why the husband shou'd at last be brought �To hear her own and aggravate her fault, ��� �
