EPILOGUE, SPOKEN BY Mrs. BULKLEY AND Mifs CATLEY. Enter Mrs. Bulkley, who curtfies very low as beginning to fpeak. Then enter Mifs. Catley, who stands full before her, and curtfies to the Audience. Mrs. BULKLEY. HOLD, Ma'am, your pardon. What's your bu̟ finess here? Mifs CATLEY. The Epilogue. Mrs. BULKLEY. The Epilogue? Mifs CATLEY. Yes, the Epilogue, my dear. Mrs. BULKLEY. Sure you mistake, Ma'am. The Epilogue I bring it. Mifs CATLEY. Excufe me, Ma'am. The Author bid me fing it. RECITATIVE, RECITATIVE. Ye beaux and belles, that form this splendid ring, Mrs. BULKLey. Why fure the Girl's befide herself: an Epilogue of finging, A hopeful end indeed to fuch a bleft beginning. Excuse me, Ma'am, I know the etiquette, Mifs CATLEY. What if we leave it to the House? Mrs. BULKLEY. The Houfe !-Agreed, Mifs CATLEY. Agreed. Mrs. BULKELEY, And fhe, who's party's largeft, fhall proceed. I've all the critics and the wits for me. They, I am fure, will anfwer my commands, Mifs CATLEY. I'm for a different fet.-Old men, whofe trade is RECITATIV E. Who mump their paffion, and who, grimly fmiling Still thus addrefs the fair with voice beguiling. AIR.-COTILLON. Turn, my fairest, turn, if ever Yes, I fhall die, hu, hu, hu, hu, Yes, I muft die, ho, ho, ho, ho. Mrs. BULKLley. Let all the old pay homage to your merit : Of French frifeurs, and nofegays, justly vain, To drefs, and look like awkward Frenchmen here Mifs CATLEY. Ay, take your travellers, travellers indeed! AIR. I'll fing to amufe you by night and by day, With Sandy, and Sawney, and Jockey, Mrs. Mrs. BULKLEY. Ye Gamefters, who fo eager in pursuit, Make but of all your fortune one va Toute: Ye Jockey tribe whose stock of words are few, "I hold the odds.-Done, done, with Ye Barristers, fo fluent with grimace, you, with you.' "My Lord,-your Lordship mifconceives the cafe." Doctors. Who cough and answer.every misfortuner, I wish I'd been call'd in a little fooner, Affift my cause with hands and voices hearty, AIR.-BALEINAMONY. Mifs CATLEY. Ye brave Irish lads, hark away to the crack, For fure I don't wrong you, you seldom are flack, Still to amufe us inventive, And death is your only preventive. Your hands and your voices for me. Mrs. BULKLEY. Well, Madam, what if, after all this sparring, And that our friendship may remain unbroken, |