Recitative. Who mump their passion, and who, grimly smiling, AIR.-Cotillon. Turn, my fairest, turn, if ever Yes, I shall die, hu, hu, hu, hu! Mrs B. Let all the old pay homage to your merit; Of French friseurs and nosegays justly vain, To dress, and look like awkward Frenchmen here,— Their hands are only lent to the Heinelle. Miss C. 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 Jockey. I'll sing to amuse you by night and by day, With Sandy, and Sawney, and Jockey, With Sawney, and Jarvie, and Jockey. Mrs B. 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 answer every misfortuner, "I wish I'd been call'd in a little sooner Assist my cause with hands and voices hearty, AIR.- Ballinamony. Miss C. Ye brave Irish lads, hark away to the crack, For sure I don't wrong you-you seldom are slack, And death is your only preventive: Your hands and your voices for me. Mrs B. Well, Madam, what if, after all this sparring, We both agree, like friends, to end our jarring ? Miss C. And that our friendship may remain unbroken, What if we leave the Epilogue unspoken ? Mrs B. Agreed. Miss C. Agreed. Mrs B. And now with late repentance, To thrive by flattery, though he starves by wit. AN EPILOGUE, INTENDED FOR MRS BULKLEY. THERE is a place-so Ariosto sings- [Exeunt. Lost human wits have places there assign'd them, K The gay coquette, who ogles all the day, How can the piece expect or hope for quarter? EPILOGUE, SPOKEN BY MR LEE LEWES, IN THE CHARACTER OF HARLEQUIN HOLD! Prompter, hold! a word before your nonsense: My heels eclipsed the honours of my head; * In this allusion to sentimental queens, it is probable that Goldsmith glanced in particular at Mr Murphy's tragedy of Zenobia, though his splenetic attack is directed generally against the comedy which was brought into fashion about this time by the great popularity of Kelly's False Delicacy, and effectually exploded some years after by Foote's clever satire of Piety in Pattens.-B. This Epilogue was given in MS. by Dr Goldsmith to Dr Percy, (afterwards Bishop of Dromore ;) for what comedy it was intended is not remembered. That I found humour in a pieball vest, Or ever thought that jumping was a jest. [Takes off his mask Ay, 'twas but a dream, for now there is no retreating, 'Twas thus that Esop's stag, a creature blameless, And cavill'd at his image in the flood: "The deuce confound," he cries, "these drumstick shanks They never 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, He quits the woods, and tries the beaten ways; Whilst his strong limbs conspire to set him free, [Taking a jump through the stage door THRENODIA AUGUSTALIS.* SACRED TO THE MEMORY OF HER LATE ROYAL HIGHNESS THE PRINCESS DOWAGER OF WALES. SPOKEN AND SUNG IN THE GREAT ROOM IN SOHO-SQUARE, Thursday, the 20th of February, 1772. ADVERTISEMENT. The following may more properly be termed a compilation than a poem. It was prepared for the composer in little more than two days and may therefore rather be considered as an industrious effort of gratitude than of genius. : In justice to the composer, it may likewise be right to inform the public, that the music was adapted in a period of time equally short. SPEAKERS-Mr Lee and Mrs Bellamy. SINGERS-Mr Champnes, Mr Dine, and Miss Jameson. THE MUSIC PREPARED AND ADAPTED BY SIGNOR VENTO. THRENODIA AUGUSTALIS. OVERTURE-A SOLEMN DIRGE. AIR TRIO. ARISE, ye sons of worth, arise, And waken every note of wo! When truth and virtue reach the skies, 'Tis ours to weep the want below. This poem was first printed in Chalmers's edition of the English Poets, from a copy given by Goldsmith to his friend, Joseph Cradock, Esq. author of Zobeide, a tragedy.-B. |