Our life is all a play, compos'd to please, On 'squires and cits she there displays her arts, The fourth act shows her wedded to the 'squire, Swims round the room, the Heinel of Cheapside: Till, having lost in age the power to kill, She sits all night at cards, and ogles at spadille. EPILOGUE ΤΟ (6 SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER." Intended to be spoken by Mrs. Bulkley and Miss Catley.* Enters MRS. BULKLEY, who curtsies very low as beginning to speak. Then enters MISS CATLEY, who stands full before her, and curtsies to the Audience. MRS. BULKLEY. HOLD, Ma'am, your pardon. What's your business here? The Epilogue. MISS CATLEY. MRS. BULKLEY. The Epilogue? MISS CATLEY. Yes, the Epilogue, my dear. MRS. BULKLEY. Sure you mistake, Ma'am. The Epilogue, I bring it. MISS CATLEY. Excuse me, Ma'am, the author bid me sing it. [This is the " Quarrelling Epilogue" to which allusion is made by Goldsmith in the preceding note. A copy, in his own handwriting, given to the late Dr. Farr, who was a fellow student at Edinburgh, remains in the family of that gentleman.] RECITATIVE. Ye beaux and belles that form this splendid ring, MRS. BULKLEY. Why, sure the girl's beside herself! an Epilogue of singing, A hopeful end indeed to such a blest beginning. Besides, a sinner 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 al. 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, 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. Let all the old pay homage to your merit; Of French frisseurs and nosegays justly vain; To dress, and look like awkward Frenchmen here, Their hands are only lent to the Heinelle. MISS CATLEY. Ay, take your travellers-travellers indeed! Give me my bonny Scot, that travels from the Tweed. Where are the chiels?-Ah! ah, I well discern The smiling looks of each bewitching bairn. AIR.-A bonny young Lad is my Jockey. I 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, "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. MISS CATLEY. AIR.-Ballinamony. Ye brave Irish lads, hark away to the crack, Assist me, I pray, in this woful attack; For sure I don't wrong you, you seldom are slack, 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, Agreed. MRS. BULKLEY. |