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EPILOGUE, by a Woman.
We charg'd you boldly in our first Advance,
And gave the Onset A la mode de France,
As each had been a 〈◊〉〈◊〉 of Orleance.
Like them our Heat as soon abated too;
Alas, we could not vanquish with a show,
Much more then that goes to the conquering you.
The trial though, will recompence the pain,
It having wsely taught us how to reign:
'Tis Beauty only can our Power maintain.
But yet as tributary Kings we own,
It is by you that we possess that Throne,
Where had we Victors been, w'••d reign'd alone.
And we have promis'd what we could not ••o,
A fault, methinks, might be forgiven too,
Since 'tis but what we learne of some of you.
But we are upon equal treatment y••,
For neither Conquer, since we both submit;
You, to our Beauty, bow; We to your Wit.