But, gentlemen, you that as judges sit
In the Star chamber of the house—the pit,
Have modest thoughts of her: pray, do not run
To give her visits when the play is done,
With ‘damn me, your most humble servant, lady:’
She knows these things as well as you, it may be:
Not a bit there, dear gallants, she doth know
Her own deserts,—and your temptations too.
But to the point—in this reforming age
We have intents to civilize the stage.