Literature & Theatre > Prologue and epilogue, to the last new play; Constantine the Great

              EPILOGUE.

            Spoken by Mrs. COOK,

OUR Hero's Happy m the Plays Conclusion,
The Holy Rogue at laſt has met Confuſion;
Tho' Arrius all along appear'd a Saint,
The laſt Ad ſhew'd him a True Proteitant:
Enſebius (for you know I Read Greek Authors )
Reports, That after all theſe Plots and Slaughters,
The Court of CONSTANTINE was full of Glory,
And eyery TRIMMER turn'd Addreſſing TORT:
They Followed Him in Herds as they were Mad,
When CAUSE was King then all the World was Glad:
WHIGGS kept the Places they Poſſeſs'd before,
And moſt were in a Way of Getting more;
Which was as much as to ſay——-----Gentlemen,
Here's Power and Money to be ROGUES open.
Indeed there were a fort of peaking Tools,
( Some call 'em Modeſt, but I call 'em- Fools, .
Men much more Loyal, though not half ſo Loud,)
But theſe Poor Devils were Caſt Behind the Crowd.
For Bold Knaves Thrive wittout Grain'of Senſe,
But Good Men Starve for want of Impudence.
Beſides all theſe there were a ſort of Wights,
I think my Authour calls 'em Teckelites:
Such hearty Rogues againſt the King and Laws,
They favour'd even a Forreign Rebell's Cauſe.
When their own Damn'd Deſign was quaſht and aw'd,
At laſt they gave it their Good Word abroad;
' As many a Man, who for a quiet life,
Sends out his Baſtard, not to Noſe his Wife:
Thus o're their Darling Treaſon Trimmers Cry,
And though they dare not Her, it wants Supply,
They Bind it Prentice to Count TECKELEY.
They believe not the laſt P LOT, may I be Curſt,
If I believe, they e're believ'd the firſt.
No Wonder their own P LOT, NO PLOT they think,
The Man that makes it never Smells the STINK.
And now it comes into my Mind, fie tell,
Why thoſe Damn'd Trimmers love the TURK ſo well;
Th' Original Trimmer, tho' a Friend to no Man,
Yet in his heart Ador'd a pretty Woman:
He. knew that MAHOMET laid up for Ever
Kind Black-Ey'd Rogues for ev'ry True Believer.
And which was more then Mortal Man e're Taſted,
One Pleaſure that for Threeſcore Twelve-Months lasted.
To Turn for this may ſurely be Forgiven,
Who'd not be Circumcis'd for ſuch a HEAVEN?

                        Printed for E. Tebrot, 1683.