Epilogue (by a Woman) to the same Play, soon after the Royal Theatre was fir'd. 1678

'TIS very hard, whilst Fortune was our Foe,
You should dissert us for her being so.
We were your Favourites; and none before
Lost that Preferment by their being poor.
Small cause, that you should with that Whore conspire
To send us Famine, 'cause she sent us Fire.
The Scenes, compos'd of Oyl and porous Firr,
Added to th' Ruine of the Theatre.
And 'twas a Judgment, in the Poet's Phrase,
That Plays and Play-house perish'd by a Blaze
Caus'd by those gaudy Scenes that spoil good Plays.

But why for this should we forsaken be?
It was our House, alas! was burnt, not we.
And yet from hence might some suspicion come,
Since it first kindled in our lowest Room.
The Fire did seize on all, both Brick and Wood;
But we more lucky were in Flesh and Blood.

If we be poor, what then? we're honest tho;
And that's the thing, we fear, that loses you.
If you, Gallants and Ladies, sometimes range
Fro'th' other House, it will not seem so strange;
You know the brisk delightfulness of Change.
Sure you, and they are cloy'd e're this: One House
Must needs be dull and tiresom, as one Spouse.
By long Co-habiting, and Dowry too,
They'l claim a Title, and a Right in you.
Nay worse; with Age they heighten still their sense,
Exacting more than due Benevolence.
In extream need such usage to pursue,
Is damn'd Extortion, and ill Manners too.
For by this trick you may be half undone;
If now, when all the Misses are from Town,
Each Suburb-sinner should exact a Crown.