Lud! what a group the motley scene discloses! False wit, false wives, false virgins, and false spouses! Statesmen with bridles on; and, close beside them, Miss, not yet full fifteen, with fire uncommon, Yon broad, bold, angry spark, I fix my eye on, Who seems to have robb'd his vizor from the lion; Who frowns and talks and swears with round parade, Looking, as who should say, damme! who's [Mimicking. afraid? Strip but this vizor off, and sure I am Perhaps, to vulgar eyes, bestrides the state! EPILOGUE, SPOKEN BY MRS. BULKLEY AND MISS CATLEY. Enter Mrs. Bulkley, who courtesies very low as beginning to speak. Then enter Miss Catley, who stands full before her, and courtesies to the Audience. MRS. BULKley. HOLD, ma'am, your pardon. What's your business here? MISS. CATL. The Epilogue. MRS. BULK. The Epilogue? MISS. CATL. Yes, the Epilogue, my dear. MRS. BULK. Sure you mistake, ma'am. The Epilogue? I bring it. MISS CATL. 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. BULK. Why sure the girl's beside herself: an Epilogue of singing, A hopeful end indeed to such a bless'd beginning. Besides, a singer in a comic set! Excuse me, ma'am; I know the etiquette. MISS CATL. What if we leave it to the House? MRS. BULK. The House!-Agreed. MISS CATL. Agreed. MRS. BULK. And she, whose party's largest, shall proceed. And first I hope, you'll readily agree They, I am sure, Ye candid judging few, hold up your hands: MISS CATL. 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 [Da capo. MRS. BULK. Let all the old pay homage to your merit: Give me the young, the gay, the men of spirit. Ye travel'd tribe, ye macaroni train, Of French friseurs and nosegays justly vain, To dress, and look like awkward Frenchmen here, vellers indeed! MISS CATL. Ay, take your travellers, tra[Tweed. Give me my bonny Scot, that travels from the A A Where are the cheels! Ah, ah, I well discern The smiling looks of each bewitching bairn: A bonny young lad is my Jockey. AIR. I'll sing to amuse you by night and by day, With Sandy, and Sawney, and Jockey, MRS. BULK. Ye gamesters, who, so eager in pursuit, Make but of all your fortune one va toute: 'My lord-your lordship misconceives the case:' AIR. BALEIN AMONY. MISS CATL. Ye brave Irish lads, hark away to the crack, Assist me, I pray, in this woful attack; 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 MRS. BULK. Well, madam, what if, after all this sparring, We both agree, like friends, to end our jarring! MISS CATL. And that our friendship may remain unbroken, What if we leave the Epilogue unspoken? MISS CATL. Agreed. MRS. BULK. And now, with late repentance, Unepilogued the Poet waits his sentence: Condemn the stubborn fool who can't submit To thrive by flattery, though he starves by wit. [Exeunt. EPILOGUE, INTENDED FOR MRS. BULKLEY. THERE is a place, so Ariosto sings, Lost human wits have places there assign'd them, them. But where's this place, this storehouse of the age? |