and yet, to increase the inconsistency, in another part of your letter you call me a beau: now, on one side or other, you must be wrong. If I am a beau, I can never think of wearing a spring velvet in winter; and if I am not a beau-why-then-that explains itself. But let me go on to your two next strange lines: "And bring with you a wig that is modish and gay, To dance with the girls that are making of hay." The absurdity of making hay at Christmas you yourself seem sensible of; you say your sister will laugh, and so indeed she well may. The Latins have an expression for a contemptuous sort of laughter, Naso contemnere adunco: that is, to laugh with a crooked nose; she may laugh at you in the manner of the ancients if she thinks fit.-But now I am come to the most extraordinary of all ́extraordinary propositions, which is, to take your and your sister's advice in playing at loo. The presumption of the offer raises my indignation beyond the bounds of prose; it inspires me at once with verse and resentment. I take advice! And from whom? You shall hear. First let me suppose, what may shortly be true, At never once finding a visit from pam; I lay down my stake apparently cool, While the harpies about me all pocket the pool; I fret in my gizzard, get cautious and sly, I wish all my friends may be bolder than I; By losing their money to venture at fame, 'Tis in vain that at niggardly caution I scold, Pray what does Miss Horneck? Take courage, come, do! To see them so cowardly, lucky, and civil; Ah! the Doctor is loo'd. Come, Doctor, put down. May well be call'd picking of pockets in law; And picking of pockets, with which I now charge ye, Both cover their faces with mobs and all that, But the Judge bids them angrily take off their hat. Pray what are their crimes? They've been pilfering found. The same. Two handsomer culprits I never set eyes on! Then their friends all come round me with cringing and leering, To melt me to pity and soften my swearing. First Sir Charles advances with phrases well strung, There's the parish of Edmonton offers forty pound-There's the parish of St. Leonard, Shoreditch, offers forty pound-There's the parish of Tyburn, from the Hog in the Pound to St. Giles's Watch-house, offers forty pound-I shall have all that if I convict them. But consider their case, it may yet be your own, And see how they kneel; is your heart made of stone? This moves; so at last I agree to relent, For ten pounds in hand and ten pounds to be spent. I challenge you all to answer this. I tell you, you cannot. It cuts deep; but now for the rest of the letter; and next-but I want room.-So I believe I shall battle the rest out at Barton some day next week.-I don't value you all. EPILOGUE O. G. ΤΟ 66 SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER; OR, THE MISTAKES OF A NIGHT." Spoken by Mrs. Bulkley, in the Character of Miss Hardcastle.* Well, having stooped to conquer with success, *This comedy was first acted at Covent Garden Theatre, on the 15th of March 1773. In a letter to Mr. Craddock, written immediately after the representation of the piece, Goldsmith says:-"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 theatre, she were permitted to speak the epilogue. In this embarrassment I thought of making a Quarrelling 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 cannot help saying that I am very sick of the stage; and though I believe I shall get three tolerable benefits, yet I shall on the whole be a loser, even in a pecuniary light; my ease and comfort I certainly lost while it was in agitation."-See Life, ch. xxii.] Our life is all a play, compos'd to please, And quits her Nancy Dawson, for Che Faro: Doats upon dancing, and in all her pride Swims round the room, the Heinel 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. |