There Hebes, turn'd of fifty, try once more Miss, not yet full fifteen, with fire uncommon, Yon broad, bold, angry spark, I fix my eye on, Strip but this vizor off, and sure I am 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, If with a bribe his candour you attack, He bows, turns round, and whip--the man in black! Yon critic, too-but whither do I run? If I proceed, our bard will be undone ! Well then a truce, since she requests it too : 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? Miss CATLEY. The Epilogue. Mrs. BULKLEY. The Epilogue? 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 blest beginning. Excuse me, Ma'am, I know the etiquette. Miss CATLEY. What if we leave it to the House? Mrs. BULKLEY. The House!-Agreed. Miss CATLEY. Agreed. Mrs. BULKLEY. And she whose party 's largest shall proceed. I've all the critics and the wits for me. They, I am sure, will answer my commands: Miss CATLEY. I'm for a different set.-Old men, whose trade is 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 must die, ho, ho, ho, ho. 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! 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: "My Lord,-your Lordship misconceives the case." Assist my cause with hands and voices hearty, AIR.-BALEINAMONY. Miss CATLEY. Ye brave Irish lads, hark away to the crack, For sure I don't wrong you, you seldom are slack, Still to amuse us inventive, And death is your only preventive. Your hands and your voices for me. Mrs. BULKLEY. Well, Madam, what if, after all this sparring, Miss CATLEY. And that our frendship may remain unbroken, |