The Sermon ended, 'tis the Preacher's way For Blessings on the Auditors to pray, And Supplicate what Doctrines have been said, May thro' their Ears into their Hearts be laid. So does our Poet in this sinful Age, (Not that the Pulpit's likened to the Stage) Fall to Petition after Application, And beg that he may work a Reformation; May turn the side of Follies now in Course, And touch the guilty Scribe with due Remorse: That every Fool his Errors may reclaim, And take the Road of Pen and Ink to Fame. What here he writes to quash the Womens Pride, May to the Men with Justice be apply'd. Each Sex is now so self-conceited grown, None can digest a Treat that's not their own. So AEsop' s Monkey that his Off-spring brought, It's own the fairest of the Rivals thought; As it preferr'd deformity of Face To all the Beauties of the Bestial Race. But Manners might have hinder'd him, you'll say, From Ridiculing Women in his Play, When his own Sex so very open lay. Troth so he might, but as I said before, Wits do themselves, as Beaux, themselves adore; Your Man of Dress, your Dressing Female Apes, And doats upon their several Aires and Shapes: Fearful that what upon the Sex is cast, May on themselves stick scandalously fast. Not that the Good he'd with the Bad abuse, Or lessen the true value of a Muse; Since every Soul with Rapture must admire The tuneful Motions of the skilful Lyre. But as the Shade adds Beauty to the Light, And helps to make it strike upon the Sight: So those whom he has made his Present Theme, Assist to make us Poetry esteem, As we from what they are, distinctly see, And learn, what other Poets ought to be.

The Epilogue Monologue from The Female Wits

Rehearse The Epilogue's monologue