The Lancashire-witches and Tegue O Divelly, the Irish-priest a comedy acted at the Duke's Theater
Shadwell, Thomas, 1642?-1692.
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EPILOGUE, By Mrs. BARRY and TEGUE.

Mrs. Barry.
A Skilful Mistriss uses wondrous Art,
To keep a pevish crazy Lovers Heart,
His awkard Limbs forgetful of Delights,
Must be urg'd on by Tricks and Painful Nights:
Which the poor Creature is content to bear,
Fine Manteau's and new Petticoats to wear.
And Sirs, your sickly Appetites to raise,
Yhe starving Players try a thousand ways.
Tou had a Spanish Fryer of Intrigue,
And now we have presented you a Tegue;
Which with much cost from Ireland we have got,
If he be dull, e'en hang him for the Plot.
Tegue.
Now have a care, for by my Shoul shalwaation.
Dish vill offend a Party in de Naation.
Mrs. Barry.
They that are angry must be very Beasts,
For all Religions laugh at foolish Priests.
Tegue.
By Creesh, I swear, de Poet has undone me,
Some simple Tory vill maake beat upon me.
Mrs. Barry.
Good Protestants, I hope you will not see,
A Martyr made of our poor Tony Leigh.
Our Popes and Fryers on one side offend,
And yet alas the City's not our Friend:
The City neither like us nor our Wit.
They say their Wives learn ogling in the Pit.*
They'r from the Boxes taught to make advances,
To answer stolen Sighs and naughty Glances.
We Vertuous Ladies some new way must seek,
For all conspire our playing Trade to break.
If the bold Poet freely shows his Vein,
In every place the snarling ops complain,
Of your gross follies if you will not hear,
With inoffensive Nonsense you must bear.
You, like the Husband, never shall receive,
Half the delight the sportful Wife can give.
A Poet dares not whip this foolish Age,
You cannot bear the Physick of the Stage.
The End.
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