EPILOGUE, SPOKEN BY MRS. BULKLEY AND MISS CATLEY. Enter Mrs. Bulkley, who curtsies very low, as beginning to speak. Then enter Miss Catley, who stands full before her, and curtsies to the Audi ence. Mrs. Bulkley. HOLD, Ma'am, your pardon. What's your bu siness here? Mrs. Bulkley Sure you mistake, Ma'am. The epilogue I bring it. Miss Catley. Excuse me, Ma'am. The author bid me sing it. RECITATIVE. Ye beaux and belles, that form this splendid ring, Suspend your conversation while I sing. Mrs. Bulkley. Why sure the girl's beside herself: an epilogue of singing; A hopeful end indeed to such a blest beginning.. Excuse me, Ma'am, I know the etiquette. Miss Catley. What if we leave it to the house? Mrs. Bulkley. The house!-Agreed. Miss Catley. Agreed. Mrs. Bulkley. And she, who's party's largest, shall proceed. I've all the critics and the wits for me. I'm for a different set.—Old men, whose trade is Still to gallant and dangle with the ladies. RECITATIVE. Who mump their passion, and who, grimly smiling, Still thus address the fair with voice beguiling. AIR. COTILLON. Turn, my fairest, turn, if ever Yes, I shall die, hu, hu, hu, hu, Mrs. Bulkley. Let all the old pay homage to your merit : Give me the young, the gay, the men of spirit. Of French friseurs and nosegays justly vain, To dress, and look like awkward Frenchmen here. Ay, take your travellers, travellers indeed! Tweed. Where are the Cheels? Ah! ah! I well discern AIR. I'll sing to amuse you by night and by day, With Sandy, and Sawney, and Jockey, Ye gamesters, who, so eager in pursuit, Ye barristers, so fluent with grimace, "My lord,-your lordship misconceives the case." Doctors, who cough, and answer ev'ry misfortuner; "I wish I'd been call'd in a little sooner." Assist my cause with hands and voices hearty, Come end the contest here, and aid my party. AIR.BALEINAMONY. Miss Catley. Ye brave Irish lads, hark away to the crack, For sure I don't wrong you; you seldom are slack, When the ladies are calling, to blush, and hang back. For you're always polite and attentive, Still to amuse 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, And now, with late repentance, Un-epilogued the poet waits his sentence. Condemn the stubborn fool who can't submit To thrive by flattery, though he starves by wit. AN EPILOGUE, INTENDED FOR MRS. BULKLEY. THERE is a place, so Ariosto sings, [Exeunt. Lost human wits have places there assign'd them, And they who lose their senses, there may find them. But where's this place, this storehouse of the age? His lunar and our mimic world agree. To this strange spot, rakes, macaronies, cits, Dam'me, Sir," and "Sir, I wear a sword;" How can the piece expect or hope for quarter ? *This epilogue was given in MS. by Dr. Goldsmith to Dr. Percy, (now bishop of Dromore;) but for what comedy it was intended, is not remembered. |