Chapter XXXI: Epilogue: Spoken at

MITHRIDATES, KING OF PONTUS,

THE FIRST PLAY ACTED AT THE THEATRE ROYAL, 1681.

_This Epilogue, which occurs in Luttrell's collection with many
marginal corrections, seems to have been spoken by Goodman, who is
mentioned with great respect by Cibber in his "Apology." It is now
for the first time received into Dryden's poems._

Pox on this playhouse! 'tis an old tired jade,
'Twill do no longer, we must force a trade.
What if we all turn witnesses o' th' plot?--
That's overstockt, there's nothing to be got.
Shall we take orders?--That will parts require, }
And colleges give no degrees for hire; }
Would Salamanca were a little nigher! }
Will nothing do?--O, now 'tis found, I hope;
Have not you seen the dancing of the rope?
When André's[360] wit was clean run off the score,
And Jacob's capering tricks could do no more,
A damsel does to the ladder's top advance,
And with two heavy buckets drags a dance;
The yawning crowd perk up to see the sight,
And slaver'd at the mouth for vast delight.
Oh, friend, there's nothing, to enchant the mind,
Nothing like that sweet sex to draw mankind:
The foundered horse, that switching will not stir,
Trots to the mare afore, without a spur.
Faith, I'll go scour the scene-room, and engage
Some toy within to save the falling stage. [_Exit._

_Re-enters with Mrs_ Cox.

Who have we here again? what nymph's i' th' stocks?
Your most obedient slave, sweet madam Cox.
You'd best be coy, and blush for a pretence;
For shame! say something in your own defence!

_Mrs Cox._ What shall I say? I have been hence so long,
I've e'en almost forgot my mother-tongue;
If I can act, I wish I were ten fathom
Beneath----

_Goodman._ O Lord! pray, no swearing, madam!

_Mrs Cox._ If I had sworn, yet sure, to serve the nation,
I could find out some mental reservation.
Well, in plain terms, gallants, without a sham,
Will you be pleased to take me as I am?
Quite out of countenance, with a downcast look,
Just like a truant that returns to book:
Yet I'm not old; but, if I were, this place
Ne'er wanted art to piece a ruined face.
When greybeards governed, I forsook the stage;
You know 'tis piteous work to act with age.
Though there's no sense among these beardless boys,
There's what we women love, that's mirth and noise.
These young beginners may grow up in time,
And the devil's in't, if I am past my prime.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 360: Alluding to St André, the famous dancing master, and Jacob Hall, the performer on the slack rope.]