INTENDED TO BE SPOKEN BY MRS. BULKLEY AND MISS CATLEY, IN SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER." Then enter Miss Catley, who stands full before her, ana curtsies 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. 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. Ye beaux and belles that form this splendid ring, MRS. BULKLEY. · Why, sure the girl's beside herself: an Epilogue of singing! A hopeful end indeed to such a blest 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. MISS CATLEY. MRS. BULKLEY. 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. Agreed. 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, MISS CATLEY. I'm for a different set-Old men, whose trade is Recitative. Who mump their passion, and who, grimly smiling, Still thus address the fair with voice beguiling. 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 : Ye travell❜d 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 Heinel. MISS CATLEY. Ay, take your travellers, travellers indeed! Give me the bonny Scot, that travels from the Tweed. Where are the chiels? Ah, ah! I well discern The smiling looks of each bewitching bairn. TUNE-A bonny young lad is my Jockey. AIR. I'll sing to amuse you by night and by day, When you with your bagpipes are ready to play, With Sandy, and Sawney, and Jockey ; MRS. BULKLEY. Ye gamesters, who, so eager in pursuit, "I hold the odds.-Done, done, with you, with you." "My Lord, your Lordship misconceives the case." Assist my cause with hands and voices hearty, MISS CATLEY. AIR-Ballinamony. Ye brave Irish lads, hark away to the crack, Assist me, I pray, in this woful attack; For sure I don't wrong you, you seldom are slack, 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, L |