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EPILOGUE TO MR. ROWE'S JANE SHORE. 149 He draws him gentle, tender, and forgiving ; And sure such kind good creatures may be living. In days of old, they pardon'd breach of vows, Stern Cato's self was no relentless spouse : Plu-- Plutarch, what's his name, that writes his life? Tells us, that Cato dearly lov’d his wife: Yet if a friend, a night or so, should need ber, He'd recommend her as a special breeder. To lend a wife, few here would scruple make; But, pray, which of you all would take her back? Though with the stoic chief our stage may ring, The stoic husband was the glorious thing. The man had courage, was a sage, 'tis true, And lov'd his country—but what's that to you? Those strange examples ne'er were made to fit ye, But the kind cuckold might instruct the city: There, many an honest man may copy Cato, Who ne'er saw paked sword, or look'd in Plato.
If, after all, you think it a disgrace, That Edward's miss thus perks it in your face ; To see a piece of failing flesh and blood, In all the rest so impudently good; Faith, let the modest matrons of the town Come here in crowds, and stare the strumpet down.
END OF VOL. I.
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