Here ill conditioned oranges abound

(Stage.)

EPILOGUE SPOKEN BY

And apples, bitter apples strew the ground:

(Tasting them.)

The inhabitants are cannibals I fear:
I heard a hissing-there are serpents here!
O, there the people are best keep my distance;
Our captain (gentle natives) craves assistance;
Our ship's well stor❜d-in yonder creek we've laid

her,

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?

-I'd best step back, and order up a sample.

IN THE CHARACTER

AT HIS BE

FOLD! prompter, hold!

sense;

id speak a word or two,
My pride forbids it ever
My heels eclips'd the ho
That I found humour in
Or ever thought that ju

Whence, and what art
Nature disowns, and r
In thy black aspect e
The joy that dimples,
How hast thou fill'd 1
Of fools pursuing, a
Whose ins and outs
Whose only plot it
Whilst from below
And from above th
And shall I mix in
May rosin'd lightn
No-I will act, I'
Shakespeare hims
Off! off! vile tra
The maddening

EPILOGUE SPOKEN BY MR. LEE LEWES,

IN THE CHARACTER OF HARLEQUIN,

AT HIS BENEFIT.

LD! prompter, hold! a word before your non

sense;

speak a word or two, to ease my conscience. y pride forbids it ever should be said,

y heels eclips'd the honours of my head; at I found humour in a pyeball vest, ever thought that jumping was a jest. [Takes off his mask.

hence, and what art thou, visionary birth?
ature disowns, and reason scorns thy mirth,
thy black aspect every passion sleeps,

he joy that dimples, and the woe that weeps.
How hast thou fill'd the scene with all thy brood,
of fools pursuing, and of fools pursu’d!
Vhose ins and outs no ray of sense discloses,
Vhose only plot it is to break our noses;
Whilst from below the trapdoor demons rise,
And from above the dangling deities;
And shall I mix in this unhallow'd crew?
May rosin'd lightning blast me, if I do!
No-I will act, I'll vindicate the stage:
Shakespeare himself shall feel my tragic rage.
Off! off! vile trappings! a new passion reigns!
The maddening monarch revels in my veins.

EPILOGUE TO THE COMEDY OF THE
SISTERS.'

AT? five long acts—and all to make us wiser! authoress sure has wanted an adviser.

1 she consulted me, she should have made moral play a speaking masquerade;

rm'd up each bustling scene, and in her rage ve emptied all the green room on the stage. - life on't, this had kept her play from sinking; _ve pleas'd our eyes, and sav'd the pain of

thinking.

ell, since she thus has shown her want of skill, hat if I give a masquerade?—I will.

at how? ay, there's the rub! [pausing]—I've got my cue:

he world's a masquerade! the masquers, you, you, you. [To Boxes, Pit, and Gallery. ud! what a group the motley scene discloses ! alse wits, false wives, false virgins, and false spouses!

tatesmen with bridles on; and, close beside'em, Patriots in party-colour'd suits that ride 'em.

2 The Sisters] A comedy by Mrs. Charlotte Lennox, 1769, aken from the authoress's own novel, Henrietta.' It was performed only one night. The author of the Biographia Dramatica says that this epilogue is the best that has appeared the last thirty years.'

There Hebes, turn'd of fifty, try once more
To raise a flame in Cupids of threescore.
These in their turn, with appetites as keen,
Deserting fifty, fasten on fifteen.

woman:

Miss, not yet full fifteen, with fire uncommon,
Flings down her sampler, and takes
up the
The little urchin smiles, and spreads her lure,
And tries to kill, ere she's got power to cure.
Thus 'tis with all—their chief and constant care
Is to seem every thing—but what they are.
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, dam'me! who's afraid?

[Mimicking.

Strip but this vizor off, and sure I am
You'll find his lionship a very lamb.
Yon politician, famous in debate,
Perhaps, to vulgar eyes, bestrides the state;
Yet, when he deigns his real shape t' assume,
He turns old woman, and bestrides a broom.
Yon patriot, too, who presses on your sight,
And seems to every gazer all in white,
If with a bribe his candour you attack,
He bows, turns round, and whip-the man's in
Yon critic, too-but whither do I run?
If I proceed, our bard will be undone!

[black!

Well then a truce, since she requests it too :
Do you spare her, and I'll for once spare you.