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INTENDED TO HAVE BEEN SUNG IN THE COMEDY OF
SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER.
Ah me! when shall I marry me?
But I will rally, and combat the ruiner :
* SIR,—I send you a small production of the late Dr Goldsmith, which has never been published, and which might perhaps have been totally lost, had I not secured it. He intended it as a song in the character of Miss Hardcastle, in his admirable comedy of “ She Stoops to Conquer," but it was left out, as Mrs Bulkley, who played the part, did not sing. He sung it himself in private companies very agreeably. The tune is a pretty Irish air, called “ The Humours of Balamagairy,” to which, he told me, he found it very difficult to adapt words; but he has succeeded very happily in these few lines. As I could sing the tune, and was fond of thenı, he was so good as to give me them, about a year ago, just as I was leaving London, and bidding him adieu for that season, little apprehending that it was a last farewell. I preserve this little relic, in his own hand-writing, with an affectionate care.
I am, Sir,
JOSEPH CRADDOCK, Esq.
ACTED AT THE THEATRE ROYAL, COVENT GARDEN,
SPOKEN BY MR QUICK.
In these bold times, when Learning's sons explore
[Upper Gallery. There mangroves spread, and larger than I've seen 'em
[Pit. Here trees of stately size-and billing turtles in 'em.
[Balconies. Here ill-condition'd oranges abound- [Stage. And apples, bitter apples strew the ground:
[Tasting them. The inhabitants are cannibals, I fear: I heard a hissing—there are serpents here! O, there the people are—best keep my
distance: Our Captain, gentle natives ! craves assistance; Our ship's well stor'd-in yonder creek we've laid
MR LEE LEWES,
IN THE CHARACTER OF HARLEQUIN,
AT HIS BENEFIT.
Hold! Prompter, hold! a word before your non-
[Takes off his mask.
Off! off! vile trappings! a new passion reigns !
soft-'twas but a dream. Ay, 'twas but a dream, for now there's no re
treating, If I cease Harlequin, I cease from eating. 'Twas thus that Æsop'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 drum
stick 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 be
[Taking a jump through the stage door.