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 busi 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. And she, whose party's largest, shall proceed. And first I hope, you'll readily agree 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 shall die, hu, hu, hu, hu, Yes, I must die, ho, ho, ho, ho. MRS. BULKLEY. Da capo. Let all the old pay homage to your merit: Give me the young, the gay, the men of spirit. Ye travell❜d tribe, ye macaroni train,^*^ To dress, and look like awkward Frenchmen here, MISS CATLEY: Ay, take your travellers, travellers indeed! Give me my bonny Scot, that travels from the Where are the cheels? Ah, ah, I well discern A bonny young lad is my Jockey. AIR. I'll sing to amuse you by night and by day, With Sandy, and Sawney, and Jockey, With Sawney, and Jarvie, and Jockey. MRS. BULKLEY." Ye gamesters, who, so eager in pursuit, Ye jockey tribe, whose stock of words are few, "I hold the odds-Done, done, with you, with you:" Ye barristers so fluent with grimace, "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, back: For you're always polite and attentive, 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, L |