168

A

EPILOGU E.

Spoken by Mrs CLIVE.

POET fhould, unless his fate be guest,
Write for each play two Epilogues at leaft;

For how to empty benches can we say,

"What means this mighty crowding here to day?" Or fhou d the pit with flattery be cram'd,

How can we fpeak it, when the play is damn'd?

Damn'd, did I say?

-he furely need not fear it ;

His play is fafe-when none will come to hear it.
English is now below this learned town ;

None but Italian warblers will go down.

Tho' courts were more polite, the English ditty
Cou'd heretofore at least content the city:

That, for Italian now has let us drop;

And Dimi Cara rings thro' ev'ry shop.

What glorious thoughts must all our neighbours nourish
Of us, where rival operas can flourish!

Let France win all our towns we need not fear:
But Italy will fend her fingers here;

We cannot buy 'em at a price too dear.
Let us receive them to our peaceful shore,
While in their own the angry canuous roar:
Here they may fing in fafety, we reward 'em ;
Here no Visconti threatens to bombard 'em.
Orpheus drew ftones with his enchanting fong;
Thefe can do more, they draw our gold along.
-But tho' our angry poets rail in fpite,
Ladies, I own, I think your judgment right:
Satire, perhaps, may wound fome pretty thing;
Thofe foft Italian warblers have no fting;

Tho' your foft hearts the tuneful charm may win,
You're still fecure to find no harm within.
Wifely from these rude places you abstain,
Where fatire gives the wounded hearer pain.
'Tis hard to pay them who our faults reveal,
As boys are forc'd to buy the rods they feel.
No, let 'em ftarve, who dare to lafh the age,
And, as you've left the pulpit, leave the tage,

}

2

THE

ITHER, in days of yore, from Spain or France

H Came a dread forceress, her name Romance.

O'er Britain's ifle her wayward fpells the caft,
And common fenfe in magic chain bound faft.
In mad fublime did each fond lover woo,
And in heroics ran each billet doux :
High deeds of chivalry their fole delight,
Each fair a maid diftreft, each fwain a knight.
Then might Statira Oroondates fee,

At tilts and tournaments, arm'd cap-a-pee,
She too, on milk-white palfrey, lance in hand,
A dwarf to guard her, pranc'd about the land.
This fiend to quell, his fword Cervantes drew,
A trusty Spanish blade, Toledo true:
Her talifmans and magic wand he broke
Knights, genii, caftles-vanish'd into smoke.
But now, the dear delight of later years,
The younger fifter of Romance, appears :

P

Les

Lefs folemn is her air, her drift the fame;
And Novel her enchanting, charming name.
Romance might ftrike our grave forefathers pomp,
But Novel for our buck and lively romp!
Caffandra's folios now no longer read;
See two neat pocket-volumes in their ftead!
And then fo fentimental is the ftyle,

So chafte, yet fo bewitching all the while!
Plot and elopement, paffion, rape, and rapture,
The total fum of ev'ry dear-dear-chapter.
"Tis not alone the finall-talk and the smart,
"Tis novel moft beguiles the female heart.

Mifs reads fhe melts-fhe fighs-love fteals upon her-
And then-alas, poor girl!-good night, poor honour!—

«* Thus of our Polly having lightly spoke, "Now for our author!-but without a joke.

Though wits and journals, who ne'er fibb'd before, "Have laid this bantling at a certain door,

"Where, lying ftore of faults, they'd fain heap more; "I now declare it as a ferious truth,

"Tis the firft folly of a fimple youth,

Caught and deluded by our harlot plays"Then crush not in the fhell this infant Bayes; "Exert your favour to a young beginner,

"Nor ufe the ftripling like a batter'd finner."

SCENE, An Apartment in HONEYCOMBE's House.
POLLY, with a Book in her Hand.

W But fo« With thefe words the enraptur'd

"baronet [reading] concluded his declaration of love." -So! But what heart can imagine, [reading],

what tongue defcribe, or what pen delineate, the "amiable confufion of Emilia ?"-Well, now for it.

"Reader, if thou art a courtly reader, thou haft feen, at polite tables, iced cream crimfoned with raf"berries; or, if thou art an uncourtly reader, thou hast "feen the rofy-finger'd morning dawning in the golden "east."-Dawning in the golden caft!-Very pretty.

"Thou

Thefe lines were added by Mr Garrick, on its being reported that he was author of this piece; and, however humorous and poetical, contain as frict atter of fact as the dulleft profe.

"Thou haft feen perhaps [reading] the artificial ver"milion on the cheeks of Cleora, or the vermilion of "nature on thofe of Sylvia; thou hast seen-in a word, "the lovely face of Emilia was overspread with blushes."

This is a moft beautiful paffage, I proteft! Well, a novel for my money! Lord, Lord, my ftupid papa has no tafte. He has no notion of humour and character, and the fenfibility of delicate feeling, [affectedly]. And then mama But where was I-Oh, here"Overfpread with blushes, [reading]. Sir George, "touched at her confufion, gently feized her hand, "and foftly preffing it to his bofom, [acting it as the "reads], where the pulfes of his heart beat quick, "throbbing with tumultuous paffion, in a plaintive tone "of voice breathed out, Will you not answer me, Emi"lia?”—Tender creature!" She, half-raifing [reading and acting] her downcaft eyes, and halfinclining her averted head, faid in faultering accents -Yes, Sir."-Well, now!" Then gradually reco"vering, with ineffable sweetness fhe prepared to ad"drefs him; when Mrs Jenkins bounced into the room, "threw down a fet of china in her hurry, and ftrewed "the floor with porcelain-fragments: then turning E"milia round and round, whirled her out of the apart"ment in an inftant, and ftruck Sir George dumb with "astonishment at her appearance. She raved; but the "baronet refuming his accuftomed effrontery

66

Enter Nurfe.

Oh, nurse, I am glad to fee you !-Well, and how--Nur. Well, chicken?

Pel. Tell me, tell me all this inftant. Did you fee him? Did you give him my letter? Did he write? Will he come? Shall I fee him? Have you got the answer in your pocket? Have you

Nur. Bleffings on her, how her tongue runs!

Pol. Nay, but come, dear nurfee, tell me, what did he fay ?

Nur. Say? why, he took the letter

Pol. Well!

Nur. And kiss'd it a thousand times, and read it a thousand times, and

Pol. Oh charming!

P 3

Nur

Nur. And ran about the room, and bleft himself, and, heav'n preferve us, curft himself, and

Pol. Very fine! very fine!

Nur. And vowed he was the most miferable creature upon earth, and the happiest man in the world, and— Pol. Prodigiously fine! excellent! My dear, dear murfee! [Killing her.] Come, give me the letter.

Nur. Letter, chicken! what letter?

Pol. The answer to mine. Come then! [Impatiently].

Nur. I have no letter. He had fuch a peramble to write, by my troth I could not stay for it.

Pol. Piha!

Nur. How foon you're affronted now! He faid he'd fend it fome time to-day.

Pol. Send it fome time to-day!-I wonder now [as if mufing] how he will convey it. Will he fqueeze it, as he did the laft, into the chicken-house in the garden? Or will he write it in lemon juice, and fend it in a book like blank paper? Or will he throw it into the houfe inclosed in an orange? Or will he

Nur. Heavens blefs her, what a fharp wit fhe has! Pol. I have not read fo many books for nothing. Novels, nurfee, novels! A novel is the only thing to teach a girl life, and the way of the world, and elegant fancies, and love to the end of the chapter.

Nur. Yes, yes; you are always reading your fimple ftory-books; the Ventures of Jack this, and the History of Betfy t'other, and Sir Humphrys, and women with hard Chriftian names. You had better read your prayerbook, chicken.

Pol. Why fo I do; but I'm reading this now[Looking into the book. She raved; but the baronet" I really think I love Mr Scribble as well as Emilia did Sir George. Do you think, nurfee, I fhould have had fuch a good notion of love fo early if I had not read novels?-Did not I make a conqueft of Mr Scribblein a single night at a dancing? But my crofs papa will hardly ever let me go out.--And then, I know life as well as if I had been in the beau monde all my days. I can tell the nature of a masquerade as well as if I had been at twenty. I long for a mobbing scheme with Mr Scribble