And we with Ornament set off a Play,
Like her drest fine for Execution-day.
And faith, I think, with as small hopes to live;
Unless kind Gallants the same Grace you’d give
Our Comedy as Her; beg a Reprieve.
Well, what the other mist, let our Scribe get,
A Pardon, for she swears she’s the less Cheat.
She never gull’d you Gallants of the Town
Of Sum above [four Shillings, or half a Crown].
Nor does she, as some late great Authors do,