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EPILOGUE

SPOKEN BY MR. LEE LEWES,

IN THE CHARACTER OF HARLEQUIN, AT HIS BENEFIT.

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;
That I found humour in a pyeball vest,
Or ever thought that jumping was a jest.

[Takes off his mask.

Whence, and what art thou, visionary birth?
Nature disowns, and reason scorns thy mirth,
In thy black aspect every passion sleeps,
The joy that dimples, and the woe that weeps.
How hast thou filled the scene with all thy brood,
Of fools pursuing, and of fools pursued !
Whose ins and outs no ray of sense discloses,
Whose 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 trapping a new passion reigns!
The maddening monarch revels in my veins.

Oh! for a Richard's voice to catch the theme:

Give me another horse! bind up my wounds!- soft— 'twas but a dream.

Ay, 'twas but a dream, for now there's no retreating :

If I cease Harlequin, I cease from eating.

'Twas thus that Æsop's stag, a creature blameless, Yet something vain, like one that shall be nameless, Once on the margin of a fountain stood,

And cavill'd at his image in the flood:

"The deuce confound," he cries, "these drumstick shanks,
They never have my gratitude nor thanks;
They're perfectly disgraceful! strike me dead!
But for a head, yes, yes, I have a head:

How piercing is that eye! how sleek that brow!
My horns !—I'm told horns are the fashion now."

Whilst thus he spoke, astonish'd, to his view,
Near, and more near, the hounds and huntsmen drew;
"Hoicks! hark forward!" came thund'ring from behind ·
He bounds aloft, outstrips the fleeting wind;
He quits the woods, and tries the beaten ways;
He starts, he pants, he takes the circling maze :
At length, his silly head, so prized before,
Is taught his former folly to deplore ;

Whilst his strong limbs conspire to set him free,
And at one bound he saves himself-like me.

[Taking a jump through the stage door.

EPILOGUE

TO THE

COMEDY OF "THE SISTERS."

WHAT? five long acts-and all to make us wiser!
Our authoress sure has wanted an adviser.

Had she consulted me, she should have made
Her moral play a speaking masquerade;
Warm'd up each bustling scene, and, in her rage,
Have emptied all the green-room on the stage.
My life on't, this had kept her play from sinking,
Have pleased our eyes, and saved the pain of thinking.
Well, since she thus has shewn her want of skill,
What if I give a masquerade?—I will.

But how? ay, there's the rub! [pausing] I've got my cue: The world's a masquerade! the masquers, you, you, you. [To Boxes, Pit, and Gallery

Lud! what a group the motley scene discloses !

False wits, false wifes, false virgins, and false spouses!
Statesmen with bridles on; and, close beside 'em,

Patriots in particoloured suits that ride 'em :
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:

Miss, not yet full fifteen, with fire uncommon,

Flings down her sampler, and takes up the woman!
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 everything—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, Damme! whose afraid?

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,

[Mimicking.

He bows, turns round, and whip-the man's 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 :

Do you spare her, and I'll for once spare you.

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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.

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