Epilogue

In spight of dull insipid Rules, I'm come, To learn what Fate attends my Virgin Bloom. Strange things I've heard this Night, that makes me fear, Least I shou'd find such Entertainment here. You Men are grown so witty in Deceit, That We, poor Girls, are often ruin'd by't. 'Tis pitty—but I hope to cross this Play, And be reveng'd on you some other way. Well—but consider, We are tender Things, That Innocence, and sprightly Beauty brings. Soft Accents, broken Words, and yielding Air, Are all the Weapons, that attend the Fair. And can you long resist, the sweet Temptation, Give us at least a Bill of Reformation. That the succeeding Age may say of you, You dare be Civil, tho' you can't be true. But if at last no Charms have power to win-ye, You're past Repentance—or the Devil's in-ye.