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In vain she tries her paste and creams,
To smooth her skin, or hide its seams;
Her country beaux and city cousins,
Lovers no more, flew off by dozens :
The 'squire himself was seen to yield,
And e’en the captain quit the field.
Poor inadam now, condemned to hack
The rest of life with anxious Jack,
Perceiving others fairly flown,
Attempted pleasing him alone.
Jack soon was dazzled to behold
Her present face surpass the old ;
With modesty her checks are died,
Humility displaces pride ;
For tawdry finery, is seen
A person ever neatly clean:
No more presuming on her sway,
She learns good-nature every day :
Serenely gay, and strict in duty,
Jack finds his wife a perfect beauty.
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;
Warmed 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 think-
Well, since she thus has shown her want of skill, [ing.
What if I give a masquerade ?-I will. [my cue :
But how? ay, there's the rub! [pausing]—I've got
The world's a masquerade! the masquers, you, you,
[To Boxes, Pit, and Gallery. Lud! what a group the motley scene discloses ! False wits, false wives, false virgins, and false
spouses ! Statesmen with bridles on; and, close beside 'em, Patriots in party-coloured suits that ride 'em. There Hebes, turned 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 every thing—but what they are. Yon broad, bold, angry spark, 1 fix my eye on, Who seems t' to have robbed his vizor from the lion ; Who frowns, and talks, and swears, with round parade,
[Mimicing Looking, as who should say, dam'me! who's afraid ! Strip but this vizor off, and sure I am You'll find his lionsbip a very lamb.
Yon politician, famous iu 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,
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.
SPOKEN BY MRS. BULKLEY AND MISS CATLEY.
Enters Mrs.Bulkley, who courtsies very low as begin
ning to speak. Then enter Miss Catley, who stands full before her, and courtsies to the Audience.
Mrs. Bulkley. HOLD, Ma'am, your pardon. What's your business here?
Miss Catley. The Epilogue.
Mrs. Bulkley. The Epilogue ?
Miss Catley. Yes, the Epilogue, my dear.
Sure you mistake, Ma'am. The Epilogue I bring it,
Excuse me Ma'am. The Author bid me sing it.
Ye beaux and belles, that form this splendid ring,
Suspend your conversation while I sing.
Why sure the girl's beside herself: an epilogue of sing,
A hopeful end indeed to such a blessed 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.
And she, whose party's largest, shall proceed.
And first I hope, you'll readily agree
I've all the critics and the wits for me.
They, I am sure, will answer my commands :
Ye candid judging few, hold up your hands ;
What, no return? I find too late, I fear,
That modern judges seldom enter here.
I'm for a different set.-Old men, whose trade is
Still to gallant and dangle with the ladies.
Who mump their passion, and who, grimly smiling,
Still thus address the fair with voice beguiling.
Turn my fairest, turn, if ever
Strephon caught thy ravished eye,
Take pity on your swain so clever,
Who without your aid inust die.
Yes, I shall die, hu, hu, hu, hu,
Yes, I must die, ho, ho, ho, ho.
Let all the old pay homage to your merit :
Give me the young, the gay, the men of spirit.
Ye travelled 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. O fatal news to tell,
Their hands are only lent to the Heinelle.
Ay, take your travellers, travellers indeed !
Give me my bonny Scot, that travels from the Tweed,
Where are the Cheels ? Ah! Ah, I will discern
The smiling looks of each bewitching bairne.
A bonny young lad is my Jockey.
I'll sing to amuse you by night and by day,
And be unco merry when you are but gay ;
When you 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