MARRIAGE-A-LA-MODE: EPILOGUE by JOHN DRYDEN

Thus have my Spouse and I inform'd the Nation,
And led you all the way to Reformation;
Not with dull Morals, gravely writ, like those
Which men of easy Phlegme with care compose,
Your Poets, of stiff Words and limber sense,
Born on the confines of indifference:
But by Examples drawn, I dare to say,
From most of you who hear, and see the Play
There are more @3Rhodophils@1 in this Theatre,
More @3Palamedes@1, and some few Wives, I fear:
But yet too far our Poet would not run;
Though 'twas well offer'd, there was nothing done.
He would not quite the Woman's frailty bare,
But stript 'em to the waste, and left 'em there:
And the men's faults are less severely shown,
For he considers that himself is one.
Some stabbing Wits, to bloudy Satyr bent,
Would treat both Sexes with less complement:
Would lay the Scene at home; of Husbands tell,
For Wenches taking up their Wives i' th' Mell;
And a brisk bout, which each of them did want,
Made by mistake of Mistris and Gallant.
Our modest Authour thought it was enough
To cut you off a Sample of the stuff:
He spared my shame, which you, I'm sure, would not,
For you were all for driving on the Plot:
You sigh'd when I came in to break the sport,
And set your teeth when each design fell short.
To Wives, and Servants all good wishes lend,
But the poor Cuckold seldom finds a friend.
Since therefore, Court and Town will take no pity,
I humbly cast myself upon the City.

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