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Here ill condition'd oranges abound— [Stage.
And apples, [takes up one and tastes it] bitter apples,
strew the ground.
The place is uninhabited I fear;
I heard a hissing—there are serpents here !
Oh! there the natives are — a dreadful race'
The men have tails, the women paint the face.
No doubt they’re all barbarians—yes, ’tis so,
I'll try to make palaver with them though;
[Making signs.
'Tis best however keeping at a distance.
Good savages, our captain craves assistance;
Our ship's well stor'd; in yonder creek we’ve laid her;
His honor is no mercenary trader:
This is his first adventure; lend him aid,
Or you may chance to spoil a thriving trade.
His goods, he hopes, are prime, and brought from far —
Equally fit for gallantry and war.
What! no reply to promises so ample 1

I'd best step back—and order up a sample. 38

EPILOGUE

whitten for

SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER."

Enter Mrs. Bulkley, who courtesies very low as beginning to speak; then enter Miss Catley, who stands

full before her, and courtesies to the audience.

Mrs. BULKLEY.

Hold, ma'am, your pardon. What's your business here? I

* From The Miscellaneous Works, 1801. —This epilogue, which had been given by its author to the Rev. Thomas Percy, was first published

[graphic]

MISS CATLeY.

The epilogue.

Mrs. BULKLEY.

The epilogue 1

MISS CATLEY.

Yes, the epilogue, my dear.

MRS. bulk LeY.

Sure you mistake, ma'am. The epilogue ! I bring it.

Miss CATLEY.

Excuse me, ma'am. The author bid me sing it.

in the above collection. It is there imperfectly described as an Epi. logue spoken by Mrs. Bulkley and Miss Catley. The history of it, and of the other epilogues written for the same comedy, is preserved in the subjoined letter from our poet to Mr. Cradock: “My DEAR siR, [1773.]

“The play [She Stoops to Conquer] has met with a success much beyond your expectations or mine. I thank you sincerely for your epilogue, which, however could not be used, but with your permission shall be printed. The story in short is this: Murphy sent me rather the outline of an epilogue than an epilogue, which was to be sung by Miss Catley, and which she approved. Mrs. Bulkley hearing this, insisted on throwing up her part, unless according to the custom of the theater she were permitted to speak the epilogue. In this embarrassment I thought of making a quarreling epilogue between Catley and her, debating who should speak the epilogue; but then Miss Catley refused, after I had taken the trouble of drawing it out. I was then at a loss indeed; an epilogue was to be made, and for none but Mrs. Bulkley. I made one, and Colman thought it too bad to be spoken; I was obliged therefore to try a fourth time, and I made a very mawkish thing, as you'll shortly see. Such is the history of my stage adventures, and which I have at last done with. I can not help saying, that I am very sick of the stage; and though I believe I shall get three tolerable benefits, yet I shall upon the whole be a loser, even in a pecuniary light: my ease and comfort I certainly lost while it was in agitation. “I am, My DEAR CRADock, your obliged, and obedient servant, “P.S. Present my most Oliver Golds Mith.” humble respects to Mrs. Cradock.”

Recitative.
Ye beaux and belles, that form this splendid ring,

Suspend your conversation while I sing.

Mrs. BUI, KLEY. Why, sure the girl's beside herself! an epilogue of singing 7 A hopeful end indeed to such a bless'd beginning. Beside, a singer in a comic set !

Excuse me, ma'am, I know the etiquet. 10

Line 36. Their hands are only lent to the Heinel. Madle Heinel, a principal artiste at the Opera-house, gave peculiar brilliancy to the season of 1773. She is reported to have been — “brib'd from France By macaronies, dying for a dance.”

Miss CATLEY.

What if we leave it to the house?

MRS. BULKLEY.

The house ! Agreed.

Miss CATLEY.
Agreed.

MRS. bulk LEY.
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.

MISS CATLEY.
I’m for a different set; old men, whose trade is

Still to gallant and dangle with the ladies—

Recitative. Who mump their passion, and who, grimly smiling,

Still thus address the fair, with voice beguiling:

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