you sincerely for your epilogue, which, however, could not be used, but with your permission shall be printed. The story in short is this; Murphy sent me rather the outline of an epilogue than an epilogue, which was to be sung by Mrs. Catley, and which she approved. Mrs. Bulkley hearing this, insisted on throwing up her part, unless, according to the custom of the theatre, she were permitted to speak the epilogue. In this embarrassment I thought of making a quarrelling epilogue between Catley and her, debating who should speak the epilogue, but then Mrs. Catley refused after I had taken the trouble of drawing it out. I was then at a loss indeed; an epilogue was to be made, and for none but Mrs. Bulkley. I made one, and Colman thought it too bad to be spoken; I was obliged therefore to try a fourth time, and I made a very mawkish thing as you'll shortly see. Such is the history of my stage adventures, and which I have at last done with. I cannot help saying that I am very sick of the stage; and though I believe I shall get three tolerable benefits, yet I shall on the whole be a loser, even in a pecuniary light; my ease and comfort I certainly lost while it was in agitation" (Letters, v. i.). It seems clear, therefore, that this is the " quarrelling epilogue" rejected by Miss Catley, and that its heading should be "Epilogue intended to have been spoken by," &c.-ED.]

Enter Mrs. Bulkley, who curtsies very low, as beginning to speak; then enter Miss Catley, who stands full before her and curtsies to the audience.

Mrs. Bulkley. HOLD, Ma'am, your pardon. What's your business here?

Miss Catley. The Epilogue.

Mrs. B. The Epilogue?

Miss C. Yes, the Epilogue, my dear.

Mrs. B. Sure you mistake, Ma'am. The Epilogue? I bring it.

Miss C. 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. B. Why, sure the girl's beside herself! an Epilogue of singing?

A hopeful end, indeed, to such a blest beginning.
Besides, a singer in a comic set!-

Excuse me, Ma'am, I know the etiquette.

The epilogue actually spoken, which will be found at the end of She Stoops to Conquer.'-ED.

Miss C. What if we leave it to the house?

Mrs. B. The house !-Agreed.

Miss C. Agreed.

Mrs. B. And she whose party's largest shall proceed. And first, I hope you'll readily agree

I've all the critics and the wits for me.

They, I am sure, will answer my commands:
Ye candid judging few, hold up your hands.
What! no return? I find, too late, I fear,
That modern judges seldom enter here.

Miss C. 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
Strephon caught thy ravish'd eye,
Pity take on your swain so clever,
Who without your aid must die.

Yes, I shall die, hu, hu, hu, hu!
Yes, I must die, ho, ho, ho, ho!

[Da Capo.

Mrs. B. Let all the old pay homage to your merit; Give me the young, the gay, the men of spirit.

Ye travell'd tribe, ye macaroni train,

Of French friseurs and nosegays justly vain,
Who take a trip to Paris once a-year

To dress, and look like awkward Frenchmen here,—
Lend me your hands: O fatal news to tell,

Their hands are only lent to the Heinel.1

Miss C. Ay, take your travellers-travellers indeed!
Give me my bonny Scot, that travels from the Tweed.
Where are the chiels? Ah, ah! I well discern
The smiling looks of each bewitching bairn.

1 Mlle. Heinel, a French dancer at the Opera House, in great vogue in 1773.-ED.

AIR.-A bonny young lad is my Jockey.

I'll sing to amuse you by night and by day,
And be unco merry when you are but gay;
When you with your bagpipes are ready to play,
My voice shall be ready to carol away

With Sandy, and Sawney, and Jockey,

With Sawney, and Jarvie, and Jockey.

Mrs. B. Ye gamesters, who, so 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 you, with you!'
Ye barristers, so fluent with grimace,

"My Lord, your Lordship misconceives the case;"
Doctors, who cough, and answer every 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.-Ballinamony.

Miss C. 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 your voices for me.

Mrs. B. Well, Madam, what if, after all this sparring, We both agree, like friends, to end our jarring?

Miss C. And that our friendship may remain unbroken, What if we leave the Epilogue unspoken?

Mrs. B. Agreed.

Miss C. Agreed.

Mrs. B. 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.

[Exeunt.

AN EPILOGUE,

INTENDED FOR MRS. BULKLEY.

[This epilogue was first printed in Percy's edition, 1801. The editor added, in a note, that the MS. was given to him by Goldsmith, but that he, Percy, had forgotten to which comedy it belonged. Later editors, however, have viewed it as being one of the several unused epilogues written for She Stoops to Conquer,' of which Goldsmith has himself given the history in the letter quoted in the introduction to the preceding epilogue. Mr. Bolton Corney thought it was the one which Goldsmith says Colman judged as too bad to be spoken."-ED.]

THERE is a place-so Ariosto sings—

A treasury for lost and missing things;

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?
The Moon, says he; but I affirm, the Stage:
At least, in many things, I think I see
His lunar and our mimic world agree :

Both shine at night, for, but at Foote's1 alone,
We scarce exhibit till the sun goes down;
Both prone to change, no settled limits fix,
And sure the folks of both are lunatics.
But in this parallel my best pretence is,
That mortals visit both to find their senses:
To this strange spot, rakes, macaronies, cits,
Come thronging to collect their scatter'd wits.
The gay coquette, who ogles all the day,
Comes here at night, and goes a prude away.
Hither the affected city dame advancing,
Who sighs for operas, and doats on dancing,
Taught by our art, her ridicule to pause on,
Quits the ballet, and calls for Nancy Dawson.2
The gamester, too, whose wit's all high or low,
Oft risks his fortune on one desperate throw,

5

10

15

20

1 "Foote's" was "the little theatre in the Haymarket," where morning performances were sometimes given.-ED.

2 A popular air of the time; also the name of a famous hornpipe dancer.-ED.

Comes here to saunter, having made his bets,
Finds his lost senses out, and pays his debts.
The Mohawk,' too-with angry phrases stor❜d-
As, "Damme, Sir!" and, "Sir, I wear a sword!
Here lesson'd for awhile, and hence retreating,
Goes out, affronts his man, and takes a beating.
Here come the sons of scandal and of news,
But find no sense-for they had none to lose.
Of all the tribe here wanting an adviser,
Our Author's the least likely to grow
wiser;
Has he not seen how you your favour place
On sentimental queens' and lords in lace?
Without a star, a coronet, or garter,

How can the piece expect or hope for quarter?
No high-life scenes, no sentiment: the creature
Still stoops among the low to copy Nature.
Yes, he's far gone :—and yet some pity fix,
The English laws forbid to punish lunatics.

EPILOGUE,

SPOKEN BY MR. LEE LEWES, IN THE CHARACTER OF HARLEQUIN, AT HIS BENEFIT.

[The "benefit" took place at Covent Garden Theatre, May 7, 1773. Charles Lee Lewes, though famous as harlequin, was not a comedian of standing till, through the lucky refusal of the part by Smith, he became the original Young Marlow in She Stoops to Conquer.'-ED.]

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;

1 Or Mohock,

=

London bully.-ED.

2 In this allusion to sentimental queens, it is probable that Goldsmith glanced in particular at Mr. Murphy's tragedy of 'Zenobia,' though his splenetic attack is directed generally against the comedy which was brought into fashion about this time by the great popularity of Kelly's "False Delicacy,' and effectually exploded some years after by Foote's clever satire of Piety in Pattens.'-B.