'Twas thus that Aesop'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. 30 How piercing is that eye! how sleek that brow! 35 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; Is taught his former folly to deplore; 40 Whilst his strong limbs conspire to set him free, 45 And at one bound he saves himself,-like me. (Taking a jump through the stage door.) EPILOGUE INTENDED TO HAVE BEEN SPOKEN FOR 'SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER' 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 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, 5 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. Besides, a singer in a comic set! 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. MISS CATLEY. I'm for a different set.-Old men, whose trade is Recitative. Who mump their passion, and who, grimly smiling, Air-Cotillon. Turn, my fairest, turn, if ever Strephon caught thy ravish'd eye; 15 20 25 Yes, I shall die, hu, hu, hu, hu! Yes, I must die, ho, ho, ho, ho! (Da capo.) MRS. BULKLEY. Let all the old pay homage to your merit; Give me the young, the gay, the men of spirit. Of French friseurs, and nosegays, justly vain, Who take a trip to Paris once a year 30 To dress, and look like awkward Frenchmen here, Lend me your hands.-Oh! fatal news to tell : 35 Their hands are only lent to the Heinel. MISS CATLEY. Ay, take your travellers, travellers indeed! Air-A bonny young lad is my Jockey. I'll sing to amuse you by night and by day, With Sandy, and Sawney, and Jockey, 40 45 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;' 50 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 called in a little sooner:' Assist my cause with hands and voices hearty; Come, end the contest here, and aid my party. 55 MISS CATLEY. Air-Ballinamony. 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 friendship may remain unbroken, MRS. BULKLEY. Agreed. 65 |