Once on the margin of a fountain stood, And cavilld at his image in the flood. “ The deuce confound,” he cries, « these drum

stick shanks, They neither have my gratitude nor thanks : They're perfectly disgraceful! strike me dead! But for a head-yes, yes, I have a head. How piercing is that eye! how sleek that brow! My horns !—I'm told horns are the fashion now." Whilst thus he spoke, astonish'd! to his view, Near, and more near, the hounds and huntsmen

drew. Hoicks! hark forward ! came thund'ring from be

hind, He bounds aloft, outstrips the fleeting wind : He quits the woods, and tries the beaten ways; He starts, he pants, he takes the circling maze. At length his silly head, so priz'd before, Is taught his former folly to deplore; Whilst his strong limbs conspire to set him free, And at one bound he saves himself, like me.

[Taking a jump through the stage door.

EPILOGUE

TO THE

COMEDY OF THE SISTER.

What! five long acts-and all to make us wiser!
Our 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 think

ing Well, since she thus has shewn her want of skill, What if I give a masquerade?-I will. But how? aye, 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 group the motley scene discloses !
False wit, 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 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 pow'r to cure.
Thus 'tis with all their chief and constant care
Is to seem ev'ry 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, damme! 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 ev'ry gazer all in white,
If with a bribe his candour you attack,
He bows, turns round, and whip—the man's 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 onde spare you.

EPILOGUE,

SPOKEN BY

MRS. BULKLEY AND MISS CATLEY.

Enter Mrs. Bulkley, who curtsies very low as begin

ning to speak. Then enter Miss Catley, who stands full before her, and curtsies to the audience.

MRS. BULKLEY.

Hold, Ma'am, your pardon. What's your busi

ness here?

MISS CATLCY.

The Epilogue.

MRS. BULKLEY.

The Epilogue ?

MISS CATLEY.

Yes, the Epilogue, my dear.