EPILOGUE.

BY DR. GOLDSMITH.

SPOKEN BY MRS. BULKLEY IN THE CHARACTER OF MISS
HARDCASTLE.

WELL, having stoop'd to conquer with success,
And gain'd a husband without aid from dress,
Still, as a bar-maid, I could wish it too,
As I have conquer'd him to conquer you:
And let me say, for all your resolution,
That pretty bar-maids have done execution.
Our life is all a play, composed to please;
"We have our exits and our entrances.'
The first act shows the simple country maid,
Harmless and young, of everything afraid;
Blushes when hired, and, with unmeaning action,
'I hopes as how to give you satisfaction.'
Her second act displays a livelier scene,-
Th' unblushing bar-maid of a country inn,
Who whisks about the house, at market caters,
Talks loud, coquets the guests, and scolds the waiters.
Next the scene shifts to town, and there she soars,
The chop-house toast of ogling connoisseurs:
On squires and cits she there displays her arts,
And on the gridiron broils her lovers' hearts;
And, as she smiles, her triumphs to complete.
E'en common-councilmen forget to eat.

The fourth act shews her wedded to the squire, And madam now begins to hold it higher; Pretends to taste, at opera cries caró,

And quits her Nancy Dawson for Che Faro:
Doats upon dancing, and, in all her pride,
Swims round the room, the Heinel of Cheapside;
Ogles and leers, with artificial skill,

Till, having lost in age the power to kill,
She sits all night at cards, and ogles at spadille.
Such, through our lives, th' eventful history!
The fifth and last act still remains for me:
The bar-maid now for your protection prays,
Turns female Barrister, and pleads for Bays.

31*

EPILOGUE, *

TO BE SPOKEN IN THE CHARACTER OF TONY LUMPKIN,

BY J. CRADOCK, ESQ.

WELL, now all's ended, and my comrades gone,
Pray what becomes of mother's nonly son?
A hopeful blade! — in town I'll fix my station,
And try to make a bluster in the nation:
As for my cousin Neville, I renounce her —
Off, in a crack, I'll carry big Bet Bouncer.
Why should not I in the great world appear?
I soon shall have a thousand pounds a year!
No matter what a man may here inherit,
In London gad, they've some regard to spirit:
I see the horses prancing up the streets,
And big Bet Bouncer bobs to all she meets;
Then hoiks to jigs and pastimes every night-
Not to the plays—they say it an't polite :
To Sadler's Wells, perhaps, or operas go,
And once, by chance, to the roratorio.
Thus, here and there, forever up and down;
We'll set the fashions, too, to half the town;
And then at auctions money ne'er regard―
Buy pictures, like the great, ten pounds a-yard:
Zounds! we shall make these London gentry say,
We know what's damn'd genteel as well as they!

*This came too late to be spoken.

ESSAYS.

INTRODUCTION.

THERE is not, perhaps, a more whimsical figure in nature, than a man of real modesty who assumes an air of impudence; who, while his heart beats with anxiety, studies ease and affects good-humor. In this situation, however, every unexperienced writer, as I am, finds himself. Impressed with terrors of the tribunal before which he is going to appear, his natural humor turns to pertness, and for real wit he is obliged to substitute vivacity.

For my part, as I was never distinguished for address, and have often even blundered in making my bow. I am at a loss whether to be merry or sad on this solemn occasion. Should I modestly decline all merit, it is too probable the hasty reader may take me at my word. If, on the other hand, like laborers in the magazine trade, I humbly presume to promise an epitome of all the good things that were ever said or written, those readers I most desire to please may forsake me.

My bookseller, in this dilemma, perceiving my embarrassment, instantly offered his assistance and advice. "You must know, sir," says he, "that the republic of letters is at present divided into several classes. One writer excels at a plan or a title-page; another works away at the body of the book; and a third is a dab at an index.

Thus a magazine is not the result of any single

man's industry, but goes through as many hands as a new pin, before it is fit for the public. I fancy, sir," continues he, "I can provide an eminent hand, and upon moderate terms, to draw up a promising plan to smooth up our readers a little; and pay them, as Colonel Chartres paid his seraglio, at the rate of three-halfpence in hand, and three shillings more in promises."

He was proceeding in his advice, which, however, I thought proper to decline, by assuring him, that as I intended to pursue no fixed method, so it was impossible to form any regular plan; determined never to be tedious in order to be logical; wherever pleasure presented, I was resolved to follow.

It will be improper, therefore, to pall the reader's curiosity by lessening his surprise, or anticipate any pleasure I am to procure him, by saying what shall come next. Happy, could any effort of mine but repress one criminal pleasure, or but for a moment fill up an interval of anxiety? How gladly would I lead mankind from the vain prospects of life, to prospects of innocence and ease, where every breeze breathes health, and every sound is but the echo of tranquillity!

But whatever may be the merit of his intentions, every writer is now convinced that he must be chiefly indebted to good fortune for finding readers willing to allow him any degree of reputation. It has been remarked, that almost every character which has excited either attention or pity, has owed part of its success to merit, and part to a happy concurrence of circumstances in its favor. Had Caesar or Cromwell exchanged countries, the one might have been a serjeant, and the other