EPILOGUE.'

SPOKEN BY MRS BULKLEY.

As puffing quacks some caitiff wretch procure
To swear the pill, or drop, has wrought a cure;
Thus, on the stage, our play-wrights still depend
For epilogues and prologues on some friend,
Who knows each art of coaxing up the town,
And make full many a bitter pill go down.
Conscious of this, our bard has gone about,
And teased each rhyming friend to help him out.
An epilogue, things can't go on without it;
It could not fail, would you but set about it.
Young man, cries one (a bard laid up in clover),
Alas! young man, my writing days are over ;
Let boys play tricks, and kick the straw, not I;
Your brother doctor there, perhaps, may try.
What, I! dear sir, the doctor interposes:
What, plant my thistle, sir, among his roses!
No, no, I've other contests to maintain ;
To-night I head our troops at Warwick-lane.

'The author, in expectation of an Epilogue from a friend at Oxford, deferred writing one himself till the very last hour. What is here offered, owes all its success to the graceful manner of the actress who spoke it.

Go ask your manager-Who, me! Your pardon;
Those things are not our forte at Covent-Garden.
Our author's friends, thus placed at happy distance,
Give him good words indeed, but no assistance.
As some unhappy wight at some new play,
At the pit door stands elbowing away,
While oft, with many a smile, and many a a shrug,
He eyes the centre, where his friends sit snug;
His simpering friends, with pleasure in their
Sink as he sinks, and as he rises rise :
He nods, they nod; he cringes, they grimace;
But not a soul will budge to give him place.
Since then, unhelp'd our bard must now conform
<< To 'bide the pelting of this pit'less storm,»
Blame where you must, be candid where you can,
And be each critic the Good-Natured Man.

eyes,

SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER;

OR,

THE MISTAKES OF A NIGHT.

A

COMEDY:

AS ACTED

AT THE THEATRE-ROYAL, COVENT-GARDEN.

FIRST PRINTED IN THE YEAR MDCCLXXII.

DEDICATION.

ΤΟ

SAMUEL JOHNSON, LL. D.

DEAR SIR,

By inscribing this slight performance to you, I do not mean so much to compliment you as myself. It may do me some honour to inform the public, that I have lived many years in intimacy with you. It may serve the interests of mankind also to inform them, that the greatest wit may be found in a character without impairing the most unaffected piety.

I have, particularly, reason to thank you for your partiality to this performance. The undertaking a Comedy, not merely sentimental, was very dangerous; and Mr Colman, who saw this piece in its various stages, always thought it so. However, I ventured to trust it to the public; and, though it was necessarily delayed till late in the season, I have every reason to be grateful.

I am,

DEAR SIR,

Your most sincere Friend and Admirer,

OLIVER GOLDSMITH.