EPILOGUES.
EPILOGUE
TO THE SHE-GALLANTS.
SPOKEN BY MRS. BRACEGIRDLE IN MEN’S CLOTHES.
I who have been the poet’s ſpark to-day,
Will now become the champion of his play.
Know all, who would pretend to my good grace,
I mortally diſlike a damning face.
Pleas’d or diſpleas’d, no matter, now ’t is paſt,5
The firſt who dares be angry breathes his laſt:
Who ſhall preſume to doubt my will and pleaſure,
Him I defy to ſend his weapon’s meaſure.
Is war you chuſe, and blood muſt needs be ſpilt here,
By Jove! let me alone to match your tilter;10
I ’ll give you ſatisfaction if I can:
’S death! ’t is not the firſt time I ’ve kill’d my man.
On pain of being poſted to your ſorrow,
Fail not, at four, to meet me here to-morrow.14
