Volume Iv Part 94 (1/2)
_Well._ I know ye well--you're all rank Cowards; but once more we forgive ye; your Places in the Council shall be supplied by these Gentlemen of Sense and Honour. The Governor when he comes, shall find the Country in better hands than he expects to find it.
_Whim._ A very fair Discharge.
_Whiff._ I'm glad 'tis no worse, I'll home to my _Nancy_.
_Dull._ Have we expos'd our Lives and Fortunes for this?
_Tim._ Gad zoors, I never thriv'd since I was a Statesman, left Planting, and fell to promising and lying; I'll to my old Trade again, bask under the shade of my own Tobacco, and drink my Punch in Peace.
_Well._ _Come, my brave Youths, let all our Forces meet, To make this Country happy, rich and great; Let scanted _Europe_ see that we enjoy Safer Repose, and larger Worlds, than they._
EPILOGUE.
Gallants, you have so long been absent hence, That you have almost cool'd your Diligence: For while we study or revive a Play, You like good Husbands in the Country stay, There frugally wear out your Summer-Suit, } And in Frize Jerkin after Beagles toot, } Or in Mountero Caps at Fel-fares shoot: } Nay, some are so obdurate in their Sin, That they swear never to come up again; But all their charge of Clothes and Treat retrench.
To Gloves and Stockings for some Country-Wench.
Even they who in the Summer had Mishaps, Send up to Town for Physick, for their Claps.
The Ladies too, are as resolv'd as they, } And having Debts unknown to them, they stay, } And with the gain of Cheese and Poultry pay. } Even in their Visits, they from Banquets fall, To entertain with Nuts and Bottle-Ale; And in Discourse with secrecy report Stale News that past a Twelve-month since at Court.
Those of them who are most refin'd and gay, Now learn the Songs of the last Summer's Play: While the young Daughter does in private mourn Her Love's in Town, and hopes not to return.
These Country-Grievances too great appear; But, cruel Ladies, we have greater here; You come not sharp, as you were wont, to Plays; But only on the first and second Days: This made our Poet in his Visits look What new strange Courses for your Time you took; And to his great regret he found too soon, _Ba.s.set_ and _Ombre_ spent the Afternoon: So that we cannot hope to see you here Before the little Net-work Purse be clear.
Suppose you should have luck:-- Yet sitting up so late as I am told, You'll lose in Beauty what you win in Gold; And what each Lady of another says, Will make you new Lampoons, and us new Plays.
NOTES: The Widow Ranter
[Transcriber's Note:
The Notes in the printed text give only page and line numbers.
Act-and-scene designations shown between +marks+ have been added by the transcriber. Labels such as ”Scene IIa” refer to points where the scene description changes without a new scene number.]
NOTES ON THE TEXT.
+Dedication+
p. 221, l. 1 _To the much Honoured._ This Dedicatory Epistle is only found in the 4to 1690.
+Prologue+
p. 223, l. 13 _Cruse._ Misprinted 'Cause' in 4to 1690 and in 1724.
_The True Widow_ (4to 1679), and the edition of 1720 (Shadwell's collected works) give 'Cruse.' All editions of Dryden until Christie misread 'Cause'.
p. 223, l. 16 _Poll._ 4to 1690 _Pole_. 1724 _Pool_. _The True Widow_ (4to 1679) and edition of 1720 both give 'Poll'.
+Dramatis Personae+