Sir; now and then by chance, Maids fly to Scotland, and some wives to France. He still went nodding on—"Do all she can, Woman's a trifle—play-thing—like her fan." Right, Sir, and when a wife the rattle of a man. And shall such things as these become the test Of female worth? the fairest and the best Of all heaven's creatures? for so Milton sung us, And, with such champions, who shall dare to wrong us? Come forth, proud man, in all your pow'rs array'd; Shine out in all your splendour—Who's afraid? Who on French wit has made a glorious war, Defended Shakspeare, and subdu'd Voltaire?— Woman![A]—Who, rich in knowledge, knows no pride, Can boast ten tongues, and yet not satisfied? Woman![B]—Who lately sung the sweetest lay? A woman! woman! woman![C] still I say. Well, then, who dares deny our power and might? Will any married man dispute our right? Speak boldly, Sirs,—your wives are not in sight. What! are you silent? then you are content; Silence, the proverb tells us, gives consent. Critics, will you allow our honest claim? Are you dumb, too? This night has fix'd our fame.

Inflexible

Captive

London: Printed by A. & R. Spottiswoode, New-Street-Square.

London

 Hyphenation is inconsistent. In view of the Roman context, the word "virtus" was left in place in a speech by Manlius in Act III, although it may be a misprint for "virtue".

 Prev. P 54/54