Spoken by Mrs. Bulkley, in the character of Miss
Hardcastle.

WELL, having stoop'd to conquer with success,
And gain'd a husband without aid from dress,
Still, as a bar-maid, I could wish it too,
As I have conquer'd him to conquer you :
And let me say, for all your resolution,
That pretty bar-maids 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 scene,-
The unblushing bar-maid 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' hearts;
And, as she smiles, her triumphs to complete,
E'en 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 :
Doats upon dancing, and, in all her pride,

Swims round the room, the Heinelle 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 bar-maid now for your protection prays,
Turns female barrister, and pleads for bays.

Intended to be spoken by Mrs. Bulkley and Miss Catley. Enters MRS. BULKLEY, who curtsies very low as beginning to speak. Then enters MISS CATLEY, who stands full before her, and 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,
Suspend your conversation while I sing.

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.

Agreed.

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.
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.

Who

Recitative.

mump their passion, and who, grimly smiling, Still thus address the fair with voice beguiling.

Air-Cotillon.

Turn, my fairest, turn, if ever
Strephon caught thy ravish'd eye.
Pity take on your swain so clever,
Who without your aid must die.

Yes, I shall die, hu, hu, hu, hu!
Yes, I must die, ho, ho, ho, ho!
Da Capo.

MRS. BULKLEY.

Let all the old pay homage to your merit ;
Give me the young, the gay, the men of spirit.

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 Frenchman here,— Lend me your hand: O fatal news to tell,

Their hands are only lent to the Heinelle.

MISS CATLEY.

Ay, take your travellers-travellers indeed!

Give me my bonny Scot, that travels from the Tweed. Where are the chiels ?-Ah! ah, I well discern

The smiling looks of each bewitching bairn.

Air.-A bonny young Lad is my Focky.

I sing to amuse you by night and by day,
And be unco merry when you are but gay;
When you with your bagpipes are ready to play,
My voice shall be ready to carol away

With Sandy, and Sawney, and Jockey,
With Sawney, and Jarvie, and Jockey.

MRS. BULKLEY.

Ye gamesters, who, so eager in pursuit,
Make but of all your fortune one va toute :
Ye jockey tribe, whose stock of words are few,

"I hold the odds.-Done, done, with you, with you." Ye barristers, so fluent with grimace,

66

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,
Assist me, I pray, in this woful attack;

For sure I don't wrong you-you seldom are slack,
When the ladies are calling, to blush and hang back.
For you're always polite and attentive,

Still to amuse us inventive,

And death is your only preventive :

Your hands and your voices for me.