Epilogue to Belisarius

They're busy yonder—so I've slip'd away To give you my opinion of the Play. 'Tis very, very low—and on my life Bayes makes sad blunders with his injur'd Wife: There's not a spark of breeding in her nature, A doting, doleful, humdrum, pretty creature!— He and our ill-bred Manager 'tis clear Want to invade the charters of the fair; Wou'd have us silent—bid us keep our houses— Instruct our families—and love our spouses— But we know better—thanks to education, Example, foreign manners, and the fashion. Stay—I'll recount my suff'rings one by one, Then be you judges what I should have done.

Three years from bed and board did Marcus stay— I'd serv'd him rightly had I gone astray. A fool!—To foreign climes for battles roam?— Faith, the best battles may be fought at home. Well—he returns—gives credit to a lie, Becomes a bubble—and his wife must die. Thank Fate, our Lords ask gentler expiation, They wou'd n't wish to murder half the nation— Madam's divorc'd, lives with her country friends, He finds a Mistress, and the squabble ends.— Next Belisarius in a frantic mood Resolves to wash my guilt out with my blood— A pretty life between them both I lead And the plague is, I never did the deed. "Think of my same"—"My fondness,"—says the other, And adds, "Ah! how unlike thy virtuous Mother!" Unlike indeed!—What Belle can bear the road In which her prim Progenetrix has trod?— Next—But I'll not repeat such odious stuff— I'm sure you've heard absurdity enough.

These my objections to the Bard I made Before his Be—li—sa—ri—us was play'd— Wou'd you believe it?—Says the tasteless creature, "Madam, I always strive to copy Nature."