Epilogue to Mithridates, King of Pontus

BY NATHAN LEE, 1678.

  You've seen a pair of faithful lovers die:
  And much you care; for most of you will cry,
  'Twas a just judgment on their constancy.
  For, heaven be thank'd, we live in such an age,
  When no man dies for love, but on the stage:
  And even those martyrs are but rare in plays;
  A cursed sign how much true faith decays.
  Love is no more a violent desire;
  'Tis a mere metaphor, a painted fire.
  In all our sex, the name examined well,                             10
  Tis pride to gain, and vanity to tell.
  In woman, 'tis of subtle interest made:
  Curse on the punk that made it first a trade!
  She first did wit's prerogative remove,
  And made a fool presume to prate of love.
  Let honour and preferment go for gold;
  But glorious beauty is not to be sold:
  Or, if it be, 'tis at a rate so high,
  That nothing but adoring it should buy.
  Yet the rich cullies may their boasting spare;                      20
  They purchase but sophisticated ware.
  'Tis prodigality that buys deceit,
  Where both the giver and the taker cheat.
  Men but refine on the old half-crown way;
  And women fight, like Swissers, for their pay.