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MRS. BULKLEY AND MISS CATLEY. Enter Mrs. Bulkley, who courtesies very low as
beginning to speak. Then enter Miss Catley, who stands full before her, and courtesies to the Audience.
MRS. BULKLEY. HOLD, ma'am, your pardon. What's your bu
siness here? Miss. CATL. The Epilogue. MRS. Bulk. The Epilogue ? Miss. Catl. Yes, the Epilogue, my dear. Mrs. Bulk. Sure you mistake, ma'am. The
Epilogue? I bring it. Miss CATL. 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. Bulk. Why sure the girl's beside her
self: an Epilogue of singing, A hopeful end indeed to such a bless'd beginning. Besides, a singer in a comic set! Excuse me, ma'am;
I know the etiquette.
And first I hope, you'll readily agree
commands; Ye candid judging few, hold up your
hands: What, no return? I find too late, I fear, That modern judges seldom enter here. Miss CATL. I'm for a different set-Old men
whose trade is Still to gallant and dangle with the ladies.
RECITATIVE. Who mump their passion, and who, grimly smiling, Still thus address the fair, with voice beguiling.
Turn, my fairest, turn, if ever
Yes, I shall die, hu, hu, hu, hu.
MRS. Bulk. Let all the old pay homage to your
merit: Give me the young, the gay, the men of spirit. Ye travel'd tribe, ye macaroni train, Of French friseurs and nosegays justly vain, Who take a trip to Paris once a year To dress, and look like awkward Frenchmen here, Lend me your hands.-0, fatal news to tell, Their hands are only lent to the Heinelle. Miss Catl. Ay, take your travellers, travellers indeed!
[Tweed. Give me my bonny Scot, that travels from the
Where are the cheels! Ah, ah, I well discern The smiling looks of each bewitching bairn:
A bonny young lad is my Jockey.
I'll sing to amuse you by night and by day,
with your bagpipes are ready to play, My voice shall be ready to carol away
With Sandy, and Sawney, and Jockey,
With Sawney, and Jarvie, and Jockey. Mrs. Bulk. Ye gamesters, who, so 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 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.
away to the crack,
in this woful attack; For sure I don't wrong you, you seldom are slack, When the ladies are calling, to blush, and hang
Your hands and your voices for me,
MRS. BULK. Well, madam, what if, after all
this sparring, We both
like friends, to end our jarring! Miss Catl. And that our friendship may re
MRS. BULK. Agreed.
MRS. BULK. And now, with late repentance,
INTENDED FOR MRS. BULKLEY.
There is a place, so Ariosto sings,
find them. But where's this place, this storehouse of the age? The Moon, says he:—but I affirm, the Stage: At least in many things, I think, I see His lunar and our mimic world
prone to change, no settled limits fix,
The gay coquette, who ogles all the day,
angry phrases stored,
C. Whittingham, College House, Chiswick.