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Turn, my fairest, turn, if ever
Yes, I shall die, hu, hu, hu, hu!
Let all the old pay homage to your merit;
Of French friseurs, and nosegays, justly vain,
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
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.
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; 1 [A favorite dancer.]
When you with your bagpipes are ready to play,
With Sandy, and Sawney, and Jockey,
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.
Ye brave Irish lads, hark away to the crack,
For sure I don't wrong you, you seldom are slack, When the ladies are calling, to blush, and hang back.
For you're always polite and attentive,
And death is your only preventive:
Well, Madam, what if, after all this sparring, We both agree, like friends, to end our jarring?
And that our friendship may remain unbroken, What if we leave the Epilogue unspoken?
And now, with late repentance,
Condemn the stubborn fool who can't submit
ANOTHER INTENDED EPILOGUE TO "SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER."
TO BE SPOKEN BY MRS. BULKLEY.
THERE is a place so Ariosto sings —
But where's this place, this storehouse of the age?
Both shine at night; for, but at Foote's alone,
Come here to saunter, having made his bets,
1 Presented in MS., among other papers, to Dr. Percy, by the Poet, and first printed in Miscellaneous Works, 1801.-P. C.