Air-Cotillon. Turn, my fairest, turn, if ever Yes, I shall die, hu, hu, hu, hu, MRS. BULKLEY. Let all the old pay homage to your merit: Of French friseurs, and nosegays, justly vain, To dress, and look like awkward Frenchon here; 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, MRS. BULKLEY. Ye gamesters, who, so eager in pursuit, 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. 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: MRS. BULKLEY. Well, madam, what if, after all this sparring, MISS CATLEY. And that our friendship may remain unbroken, MRS. BULKLEY. Agreed. MISS CATLEY. Agreed. MRS. BULKLEY. And now with late repentance, Un-epilogued the poet waits his sentence: To thrive by flattery—though he starves by wit. AN EPILOGUE, INTENDED FOR MRS. BULKLEY. THERE is a place-so Ariosto sings- [Exeunt. Lost human wits have places there assigned them, Both shine at night, for-but at Foote's alone, F Both prone to change, no settled limits fix, How can the piece expect or hope for quarter? EPILOGUE TO THE COMEDY OF SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER." WELL, having Stooped to Conquer with success, As I have conquered him, to conquer you: 1 This epilogue was given in manuscript by Dr. Goldsmith to Dr. Percy, Bishop of Dromore; but for what comedy it was intended is not remembered. LINES ATTRIBUTED TO DR. GOLDSMITHI. 59 And let me say, for all your resolution, That pretty barmaids have done execution. Our life is all a play, composed to please, 'We have our exits and our entrances.' The first Act shows the simple country maid, Harmless and young, of every thing afraid; Blushes when hired, and with unmeaning action, 'I hopes as how to give you satisfaction.' Her second Act displays a livelier sceneThe unblushing barmaid of a country inn, Who whisks about the house, at market caters, Talks loud, coquets the guests, and scolds the waiters. Next the scene shifts to town, and there she soars, The chop-house toast of ogling connoisseurs. On 'squires and cits she there displays her arts, And on the gridiron broils her lovers' heartsAnd as she smiles, her triumphs to complete, Even common-councilmen forget to eat. The fourth Act shows her wedded to the 'squire, And madam now begins to hold it higher; Pretends to taste, at operas cries caro, And quits her Nancy Dawson for Che faro; Dotes upon dancing, and in all her pride, Swims round the room the Heinel of Cheapside; Ogles and leers with artificial skill, 'Till having lost in age the power to kill, She sits all night at cards, and ogles at spadille. Such, through our lives, the eventful history— The fifth and last Act still remains for me. The barmaid now for your protection prays; Turns female barrister, and pleads for Bayes. LINES ATTRIBUTED TO DR. GOLDSMITH, INSERTED IN THE MORNING CHRONICLE OF APRIL 3, 1800. E'EN have you seen, bathed in the morning dew, The budding rose its infant bloom display; When first its virgin tints unfold to view, It shrinks, and scarcely trusts the blaze of day: So soft, so delicate, so sweet she came, Youth's damask glow just dawning on her cheek; I gazed, I sighed, I caught the tender flame, Felt the fond pang, and drooped with passion weak. ON SEEING A LADY PERFORM A CERTAIN CHARACTER. FOR you, bright fair, the Nine address their lays, While soul-brought tears steal down each shining face. TO G. C. AND R. L. "Twas you, or I, or he, or all together, "Twas one, both, three of them, they know not whether; This, I believe, between us great and small, You, I, he, wrote it not-'twas Churchill's all. AN EPIGRAM ADDRESSED TO THE GENTLEMAN REFLECTED ON IN THE ROSCIAD, A POEM. Worried with debts, and past all hopes of bail, His pen he prostitutes t'avoid a gaol. ROSCOM. LET not the hungry Bavius' angry stroke |