Epilogue to Henry II, King of England, with the Death of Rosamond

THUS you the sad Catastrophe have seen,

Occasion’d by a Mistress and a Queen.

Queen Eleanor the proud was French, they say;

But English Manufacture got the Day.

Jane Clifford was her Name, as Books aver:

Fair Rosamond was but her Nom de Guerre.

Now tell me, Gallants, wou’d you lead your Life

With such a Mistress, or with such a Wife?

If one must be your Choice, which d’ye approve,

The Curtain-Lecture or the Curtain-Love?

Wou’d ye be godly with perpetual Strife,

Still drudging on with homely Joan your Wife,

Or take your Pleasure in a wicked way,

Like honest Whoring Harry in the Play?

I guess your Minds; The Mistress wou’d be taking,

And nauseous Matrimony sent a packing.

The Devil’s in ye all; Mankind’s a Rogue,

You love the Bride, but you detest the Clog:

After a Year, poor Spouse is left i’ th’ lurch;

And you, like Haynes, return to Mother-Church.

Or, if the Name of Church comes cross your mind,

Chapels of Ease behind our Scenes you find.

The Play-house is a kind of Market-place;

One chaffers for a Voice, another for a Face;

Nay, some of you, I dare not say how many,

Would buy of me a Pen’ worth for your Peny.

Even this poor Face (which with my Fan I hide)

Would make a shift my Portion to provide,

With some small Perquisites I have beside.

Though for your Love, perhaps, I should not care,

I could not hate a Man that bids me fair.

What might ensue, ’tis hard for me to tell;

But I was drench’d to day for loving well,

And fear the Poyson that would make me swell.