Here ill-condition'd oranges abound- [Stage. And apples, bitter apples, strew the ground: [Tasting them. The inhabitants are cannibals, I fear: I heard a hissing—there are serpents here! His honour is no mercenary trader. This is his first adventure, lend him aid: And we may chance to drive a thriving trade. His goods, he hopes, are prime, and brought from far, Equally fit for gallantry and war. What, no reply to promises so ample? EPILOGUE; Spoken by MR. LEE LEWES, IN THE CHARACTER OF HARLEQUIN, AT HIS BENEFIT. HOLD! prompter, hold! a word before your nonsense; I'd speak a word or two, to ease my conscience. My pride forbids it ever should be said, My heels eclips'd the honours of my head; That I found humour in a piebald vest, [Takes off his mask. The joy that dimples, and the woe that weeps. Whose ins and outs no ray of sense discloses ; Aye, 'twas but a dream, for now there's no retreating : If I cease Harlequin, I cease from eating. 'Twas thus that Esop's stag, a creature blameless, Yet something vain, like one that shall be nameless, Once on the margin of a fountain stood, And cavil'd at his image in the flood. 'The deuce confound,' he cries, these drum-stick shanks, They neither have my gratitude nor thanks: How piercing is that eye! how sleek that brow! Whilst thus he spoke, astonish'd to his view, drew, Hoicks! hark forward! came thund'ring from be hind; He bounds aloft, outstrips the fleeting wind: [Taking a jump through the stage door. EPILOGUE TO THE COMEDY OF THE SISTERS. WHAT! five long acts—and all to make us wiser ! But howay, there's the rub! [pausing]-I've got my cue: The world's a masquerade; the masquers, you, you. [To Boxes, Pit, and Gallery, you. Lud! what a groupe the motley scene discloses! False wit, false wives, false virgins, and false spouses! Statesmen with bridles on; and, close beside 'em, Miss, not yet full fifteen, with fire uncommon, Yon broad, bold, angry spark I fix my eye on, parade, Looking, as who should say, Dam'me! who's afraid? [Mimicking. Strip but this vizor off, and sure I am Perhaps, to vulgar eyes, bestrides the state; If with a bribe his candour you attack, He bows, turns round, and, whip-the man's in black! Yon critic too-but whither do I run? AN ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF A MAD DOG. GOOD people all, of every sort, Give ear unto my song; And if you find it wondrous short, In Islington there was a man, Of whom the world might say, A kind and gentle heart he had, And in that town a dog was found, Both mongrel, puppy, whelp, and hound, And curs of low degree. This dog and man at first were friends; But when a piqne began, The dog, to gain his private ends, Went mad, and bit the man. |