Sir Antony Love, or, The rambling lady a comedy as it is acted at the Theatre-Royal by Their Majesties servants / written by Tho. Southerne.

EPILOGUE. Spoken by Mrs. Botelar.

IF Novelty has any Charms to move, We hope, to Night, we've rais'd your drooping Love: Not to the Youngsters of a noisy Pit, Whose Tongues and Mistresses out-run their Wit: But to the graver Sinners of the Bench. Who, from your Mothers Maids, have lov'd a Wench: Who, cheek by joul with Time, have handled down The Vices of all Ages to your own: Here's a Variety, that may delight The Palate of each Ages Appetite. To you I'm sent, you who have dearly known The several Rates of Pleasure in this Town; And find at last, 'tis worth but your Half-Crown. You'l hear with Patience a dull Scene, to see, In a contented lazy waggery, The Female Montford bare above the knee. She makes a mighty noise, like some of you, Who often talk of what you never do: She's for all Womankind, and aws the Town, As if her Husband's Breeches were her own. She's been to Night our Hero, tho' a Female, Show me but such a Whoremaster, tho' a Male Who thro' so many shifts, is still the same, Pursues all Petticoats, preserves her Fame, And tho' she can do nothing, keeps the Name. Some of your Names are up too we suppose, Who turn'd of fifty, still wou'd pass for Beau's: You dance, you dress, you sing, you keep a noise, And think you're young, because you herd with Boys. To such as you, there is no Mercy owing; Your talking must not serve for your not doing. And since your feeble failings within doors Are known to us, be wise, and even Scores; Supply our Wants, and we'll conceal all yours. No matter what you can, or cannot do, You shall cheat others still, if we cheat you: Keep us but rich, and fine, and we shall find Young Lovers, always able to be kind.