I'll give--but not the full-blown rose,

Or rose-bud more in fashion :
Such short-liv'd off'rings but disclose

A transitory passion.

l'll give thee something yet unpaid,

Not less sincere, than civil :
I'll give thee-ah! too charming maid,

I'll give thee-to the devil.

EPITAPR

EPITAPH

ON

DR. PARNELL.

THIS tomb inscrib'd to gentle PARNELL's name;
May speak our gratitude, but not his fame.
What art but feels his sweetly moral lay,
That leads to truth through pleasure's flowery way!
Celestial themes confess'd his tuneful aid;
And heaven, that lent him genius, was repaid.
Needless to him the tribute we bestow,
The transitory breath of fame below:
More lasting rapture from his works shall rise,
While converts thank their poet in the skies,

EPILOGUE TO THE COMEDY OF THE

SIST ER S.

WHAT? five long acts and all to make us wiser ?
Dar authoress sure has wanted an adviser.
Had she consulted me, she should have made
Her moral play a speaking masquerade ;
Warm'd 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 pleas'd our eyes, and sav'd the pain of thinking:
Well, since she thus has shewn her want of skill,
What if I give a masquerade ?-I will.
But how ? ay, there's the rub! [pausing]-I've got

my cue; The world's a masquerade! the masquers, you, you, you.

[To Boxes, Pit, and Gallery. Lud! what a groupe the motley scene diseloses ! False wits, false wives, false virgins, and false

spouses ! Statesmen with bridles on; and close beside 'em, Patriots in party-colour'd suits that ride 'em.

There

a

There Hebes, turn'd 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
Isto seem every thing—but what they are.
Yon broad, bold, angry spark, I fix my eye on,
Who seems t'have robb'd his vizor from the lion ;
Who frowns, and talks, and swears, with round

parade,
Looking, as who should

say,
dam'me! who's afraid ?

[Mimicking.
Strip but this vizor off, and sure I am
You'll find his lionship a very lamb.
Yon politician, famous in 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 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. VOL, IL.

EPILOGUE.

a

G

EPILOGUE,

SPOKEN BY

Mrs. BULKLEY AND Miss CATLEY.

Enter Mrs. Bulkley, who curtsies very low as begin.

ing to speak. Then enter Miss Catley, who skinds full before her, and curtsies to the Audience!

Mrs. BULKLEY. HOLD, Ma'am, your pardon. What's your bu

siness here?

Miss CATLEY.

The Epilogue.

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. ,

RECITATIVE