EPITAPH ON EDWARD PURDON1

HERE lies poor Ned Purdon, from misery freed,
Who long was a bookseller's hack;

He led such a damnable life in this world,-
I don't think he'll wish to come back.

EPILOGUE FOR MR. LEE LEWES? HOLD! Prompter, hold ! a word before your nonsense ; I'd speak a word or two to ease my conscience. My pride forbids it ever should be said, My heels eclips'd the honours of my head; That I found humour in a piebald vest, Or ever thought that jumping was a jest.

(Takes off his mask.)

Whence, and what art thou, visionary birth?
Nature disowns, and reason scorns thy mirth,
In thy black aspect every passion sleeps,
The joy that dimples, and the woe that weeps.
How hast thou fill'd the scene with all thy brood,
Of fools pursuing, and of fools pursu'd!
Whose ins and outs no ray of sense discloses,
Whose only plot it is to break our noses;
Whilst from below the trap-door Demons rise,
And from above the dangling deities;
And shall I mix in this unhallow'd crew?
May rosin'd lightning blast me, if I do!

[ First printed as Goldsmith's in Poems and Plays, 1777, p. 79. Purdon had been at Trinity College, Dublin, with Goldsmith. Swift wrote a somewhat similar epigram; but Goldsmith's model was probably La Mort du Sieur Etienne. (Forster's Life, 1871, ii. 39.)]

[2 Charles Lee Lewes (1740-1803) was the original "Young Marlow" of She Stoops to Conquer. He had previously been Harlequin of the theatre, but he thoroughly succeeded in his new part, and the grateful author wrote him this Epilogue for his Benetit, May 7, 1773.]

No-I will act, I'll vindicate the stage:
Shakespeare himself shall feel my tragic rage.
Off! off! vile trappings! a new passion reigns!
The madd'ning monarch revels in my veins.
Oh! for a Richard's voice to catch the theme:

"Give me another horse! bind up my wounds !—soft— 'twas but a dream."

Ay, 'twas but a dream, for now there's no retreating :
If I cease Harlequin, I cease from eating.

'Twas thus that Aesop's stag, a creature blameless,
Yet something vain, like one that shall be nameless,
Once on the margin of a fountain stood,

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,
Near, and more near, the hounds and huntsmen drew.
"Hoicks! hark forward! came thund'ring from behind,
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.)

Enter MRS. BULKLEY, who curtsies very low as beginning 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 business here?

The Epilogue.

MISS CATLEY

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.

This Epilogue, given to Bishop Percy by Goldsmith, was first printed at p. 82, vol. ii. of the Miscellaneous Works of 1801. It was written with intent to conciliate the rival claims of Mrs. Bulkley and Miss Catley, the former of whom wished to speak, the latter to sing, the Epilogue. (See Cradock's Memoirs, 1826, i. 225.)]

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 ;-

Recitative

Who 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!

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 macaroni1 train,

(Da capo.)

A name derived from the Italian dish first patronized by the "Macaroni Club," and afterwards extended to the younger and gayer part of our nobility and gentry, who, at the same time they gave in to the luxuries of eating, went equally into the extravagancies of dress." (Macaroni and Theatrical Magazine, October, 1770.) See note to the Dullissimo Macaroni in She Stoops to Conquer.]

Of French friseurs, and nosegays, justly vain,
Who take a trip to Paris once a year

To dress, and look like awkward Frenchmen here,
Lend me your hands. -Oh! fatal news to tell :
Their hands are only lent to the Heinel.1

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 Jockey

I'll 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,

My Lord,-your Lordship misconceives the case." Doctors, who cough and answer every misfortuner, "I wish I'd been call'd 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 ;

[ Mlle. Anna-Frederica Heinel, a beautiful Prussian danseuse at this time in London, afterwards the wife of the elder Vestris. 1771. June 22nd. Mr. William Hanger bets Mr. Lee Twenty Guineas to 25 that Mlle. Heinel does not dance in England at the Opera House next Month."-(Extract from the Betting Book at Brooks's Club, printed by Mr. G. S. Street in the North American Review for July 15, 1901.)