EPILOGUE,

SPOKEN BY

Mrs. BULKLEY AND Mifs CATLEY.

Enter Mrs. Bulkley, who curtfies very low as beginning to fpeak. Then enter Mifs. Catley, who stands full before her, and curtfies to the Audience.

Mrs. BULKLEY.

HOLD, Ma'am, your pardon. What's your bu̟

finess here?

Mifs CATLEY.

The Epilogue.

Mrs. BULKLEY.

The Epilogue?

Mifs CATLEY.

Yes, the Epilogue, my dear.

Mrs. BULKLEY.

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

Mifs CATLEY.

Excufe me, Ma'am. The Author bid me fing it.

RECITATIVE,

RECITATIVE.

Ye beaux and belles, that form this splendid ring,
Suspend your converfation while I fing.

Mrs. BULKLey.

Why fure the Girl's befide herself: an Epilogue of finging,

A hopeful end indeed to fuch a bleft beginning.
Besides, a finger in a comic fet!

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

Mifs CATLEY.

What if we leave it to the House?

Mrs. BULKLEY.

The Houfe !-Agreed,

Mifs CATLEY.

Agreed.

Mrs. BULKELEY,

And fhe, who's party's largeft, fhall proceed.
And first I hope, you'll readily agree

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

They, I am fure, will anfwer my commands,
Ye candid judging few, hold up your hands;
What, no return? I find too late, I fear,
That modern judges feldom enter here.

Mifs CATLEY.

I'm for a different fet.-Old men, whofe trade is
Still to gallant and dangle with the ladies.

RECITATIV E.

Who mump their paffion, and who, grimly fmiling Still thus addrefs the fair with voice beguiling.

AIR.-COTILLON.

Turn, my fairest, turn, if ever
Strephon caught thy ravish'd eye.
Pity take on your fwain fo clever,
Who without your aid muft die.

Yes, I fhall die, hu, hu, hu, hu,

Yes, I muft die, ho, ho, ho, ho.
Da Capo.

Mrs. BULKLley.

Let all the old pay homage to your merit :
Give me the young, the gay, the men of spirit.
Ye travelled tribe, ye macaroni train

Of French frifeurs, and nofegays, justly vain,
Who take a trip to Paris once a year

To drefs, and look like awkward Frenchmen here
Lend me your hands.-O fatal news to tell,
Their hands are only lent to the Heinelle.

Mifs CATLEY.

Ay, take your travellers, travellers indeed!
Give me my bonny Scot, that travels from the Tweed.
Where are the Cheels? Ah! Ah, I well difcern
The smiling looks of each bewitching bairne.
A bonny young lad is my Jockey.

AIR.

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

With Sandy, and Sawney, and Jockey,
With Sawney, and Jarvie, and Jockey.

Mrs.

Mrs. BULKLEY.

Ye Gamefters, who fo 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

Ye Barristers, fo fluent with grimace,

you,

with you.'

"My Lord,-your Lordship mifconceives the cafe." Doctors. Who cough and answer.every misfortuner, I wish I'd been call'd in a little fooner,

Affift my cause with hands and voices hearty,
Come end the conteft here, and aid my party.

AIR.-BALEINAMONY.

Mifs CATLEY.

Ye brave Irish lads, hark away to the crack,
Affift me, I pray, in this woful attack;

For fure I don't wrong you, you seldom are flack,
When the ladies are calling, to blush, and hang back.
For you're always polite and attentive,

Still to amufe 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,
We both agree, like friends, to end our jarring?
Mifs CATLEY.

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

Mrs. BULKLEY.

Agreed.

Mifs CATLEY.

Agreed.

Mrs. BULKLEY.

And now with late repentance,

Un-epilogued the Poet waits his fentence.
Condemn the ftubborn fool who can't fubmit

To thrive by flattery, though he starves by wit.

[Exeunt.

AN