Epilogue

Well, here I'm come to let you know my thoughts; Nay ben't alarm'd, I'll not attack your faults; Alike be safe the cuckold and the wit, The cuckold-maker and the solemn cit, I'm in good humour, and am come to prattle, Ha'nt I a head well turn'd, d'ye think, to rattle? But to clear up the point and to be free, What think you is my subject? MASONRY! Tho' I'm afraid, as lawyers cases clear, My learn'd debate will keep you as you were; But I'm a woman—and when I say that, You know we'll talk altho' we know not what; What think you, ladies, an't very hard That we should from this secret be debarr'd? How comes it that the softer hour of love, To wheedle out this secret, fruitless prove? For we can wheedle when we hope to move. What can it mean, why all this mighty pother, These mystic signs, and solemn calling, BROTHER? That we are qualified in signs, are known, We can keep secrets too, but they're our own. When my good-man went first to be a Mason, Tho' I resolv'd to put the smoother face on: Yet to speak truly, I began to fear He must some dreadful operation bear; But he return'd to satisfy each doubt, And brought home ev'ry thing he carry'd out: Nay, came improv'd, for on his face appear'd A plealing smile that every scruple clear'd Such adding complaisance so much good nature, So much, so strangely alter'd for the petter! That to increase the mutual dear delight Wou'd be were a Mason ev'ry night.