An Epilogue, Spoke by Mrs Brooke, at Norwich

After the dangers of a long probation,
When Sybil like, she's skill'd in penetration,
When she has conquer'd each unruly passion,
And rides above the rocks that others dash on;
When deeply mellow'd in reserve and rigour;
When decent gravity adorns her figure,
Why an old maid—I wish the wise would tell us,
Should be the standing jest of flirts and fellows!

In maxims sage! in eloquence how clever!
Without a subject she can talk—for ever!
Rich in old saws, can bring a sentence pat in,
And quote upon occasion, lawyer's Latin.

Set up that toast, that culprit, nobus corum,
'Tis done—and she's demolish'd in turrorum.

If an old maid's a dragoness on duty,
To guard the golden fruit of rip'ning beauty;
'Tis right, for fear the giddy sex should wander,
To keep them in restraint by decent—slander:
When slips are made, 'tis easy sure to find 'em;
We can detect before the fair design'd 'em.

As for the men, whose satire oft hath stung us,
Many there are that may be rank'd among us.
LAW, with long suits and busy mischiefs laden,
In rancour far exceeds the ancient maiden.
'Tis undeny'd, and the assertions common,
That modern PHYSIC is a mere old woman.
The puny fop that simpers o'er his tea dish,
And cries—indeed—Miss Deb'rah's—quite old maidish!
Of doubtful sex, of undetermin'd nature,
In all respects is but a virgin cretur.

Jesting apart, and moral truths adjusting!
There's nothing in the state itself disgusting;
Old maids, as well as matrons, bound in marriage,
Are valu'd from propriety of carriage;
If gentle sense, if sweet discretion guide 'em,
It matters not tho' coxcombs may deride 'em;
And virtue's virtue, be she maid or wedded,
A certain truth! say—Deb'rah Woodcock said it.