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 Audience. MRS. BULKLEY. HOLD, ma'am, your pardon. What's your business here? The Epilogue. The Epilogue? MISS CATLEY. MRS. BULKLEY. MISS CATLEY. Yes, the Epilogue, my dear. 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 bless'd beginning. Besides, a singer in a comic set! And she, who's party's largest, shall proceed. I've all the critics and the wits for me. MISS CATLEY. 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. Yes, I must die, ho, ho, ho, ho. [Da capo. MRS. BULKLEY. Let all the old pay homage to your merit : Of French friseurs, and nosegays, justly vain, To dress, and look like awkward Frenchmen here, MISS CATLEY. Ay, take your travellers, travellers indeed! 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, MRS. BULKLEY. 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 Ye barristers so fluent with grimace, [you :" "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-BALEINAMONY. MISS CATLEY. Ye brave Irish lads, hark away to the crack, For sure I don't wrong you, you seldom are slack, And death is your only preventive: MRS. BULKLEY. Well, madam, what if, after all this sparring, We both agree, like friends, to end our jarring! MISS CATLEY. And that our friendship may remain unbroken, MRS. BULKLEY. Agreed. MISS CATLEY. Agreed. MRS. BULKLEY. And now, with late repentance, Un-epilogued the Poet waits his sentence: [Exeunt. |