EPILOGUE,

INTENDED FOR THE SAME PLAY,

To be spoken in the Character of
EMILIE DE ST. AMAND*.

DEAR Ladies, I'm asham'd, upon my life.
-What childish conduct in a modern wife!
Just like a novel-reading thing, at school,
To whine, and weep, and play the love.sick fool!
-When wives to part agree, 'tis not their plan,
To please and humour an ungrateful man.-
O wild Romance! to please my dearest dear,
Resign my spouse, to prove my love sincere!
Believe me, no.-When British couples part:
Far other motives sway the matron's heart.
Why should our sex resign the dear delight
Of teazing, fretting, morning, noon, and night,
Source of contempt, or subject of their fear,
The shallow Coxcomb, or the Don severe ?
-A separate maintenance, and darling freedom,
These, these alone to separation lead 'em.

Most sure, the Poet who composed this Play,
Has never yet been in a married way,
Else he the language of a wife had known
Too well to bid me use this puling tone.

What patient meekness, and what soft compliance,
In place of proper pride, and bold defiance !
In place of all, that custom to our race,
From eldest time prescribes in such a case:

*The Heroine of the Piece.

Of storms of anger bursting down in rain, The high-wrought eloquence of fierce Disdain. "Strange Fate! at once forsaken and suspected; My person and my play-purse both neglected!-"Nay, Madam-Nay, Sir-Sir, I will be heard."I say you are a Craven to your beard. "You seek variety!-You wish to range!

"Who roams the market, should have ready change. "What! You an Epicure, with taste so various! "You rank among the gallant gay Lotharios! "When wilt thou learn, O poor deficient elf, "The philosophic lesson-Know thyself.

"Sir, you may yet be taught your want of taste, "No glass informs me that my bloom is past. "Think, will your loss a weeping wife disgrace? "The court-the camp may well supply your place. "You wish me hang'd-but vain the pious pray'r; "Should benefit of clergy be my care,

"Soon might I meet, in this dear wicked town, "Some smooth Adonis of the sacred gown."

Thus, striking fire with mutual sarcasm sore,
Agreed to part, who ne'er agreed before,
Away we turn, each eager wish to fill,

And copious draughts of poison'd pleasure swill.
Thro' Passion's maze bewilder'd as we roam,
The labyrinth, at last, may lead us home!
The meteor gleam, that lured our steps abroad,
On airy steeps, and thro' the miry road,
May fade in air, and leave the sober wife,
To walk the foot-path of domestic life.
The man may find his wand'rings have been vain,
That Pleasure's rage betray'd him still to pain,
Become an houshold thing, and take his dear again.

VIRGIL'S FIRST ECLOGUE.

MELIBUS AND TITYRUS.

Mel.-You, Tityrus, beneath the shadowy beech
Your sylvan Muse's tender warblings teach;
We leave our countries' bounds; our pleasant trees,
Our country leave: You, Tityrus, at ease
Make the woods ring with Amaryllis' praise.

Tit. O Melibus, 'twas a Deity,
(For he shall e'er be deemed a God by me,)
These leisures gave: his altar oft shall feed
The tenderest lamb my guarded flock can breed:
He gave my herds, as you behold, to stray;
And me upon my rural pipe to play.

Mel-I envy not, but wonder: while around
All else are driven from their native gronnd!
E'n now these loitring goats I drive away;
And scarce yon sick one drag along the way,
Who here two twins upon the hazel nook,

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Born, (ah! the shepherd's hopes!) upon the flint, forsook!

This evil 1, had I been wise, of old

Remember that th' inspired trees foretold;
And oft the gloomy-omen'd raven's croak,
Presag'd misfortune from the hollow oak!

But tell me who the God, that turn'd from thee the stroke?

Tit.-Great Rome, I thought, ah! foolish I, my friend,

Like that our town we shepherds oft attend

With tender offerings of our fleecy care:

Thus whelps and kids we with their sires compare!
Thus was I wont to judge of high by low!
But Rome, 'mid other cities, lifts her brow,
'Mid weeping shrubs as cypress branches show.

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Mel.-But tell me why from hence to Rome you pass'd?

Tit.-Freedom, who late to come, yet came at last, Not 'till my beard upon my chin was grey, Yet came; nor till I Galatea's sway Resign'd, would Amaryllis hear my lay. While she had power, I had, (to own to thee) Nor care of flock, nor hope of liberty: Tho' many a victim usher'd from the fold, And the rich cheese was to the city sold, Yet never felt my hand the weight of gold.

Mel. I wonder'd, Amaryllis, oft to see

Thy mournful looks; what meant the bended knee;
Why hung the fruit ungather'd on the tree?
But Tityrus was absent! Thee the stream;

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The pines and lowly shrubs invok'd thy much-lov'd name!

Tit. What could I do? A slave I could not go;
Nor could I elsewhere Gods so present know.
Here to that godlike youth, my friend, I spoke,
To whom our monthly altars ever smoke.
Here did he kindly answer to my prayer;

And gave my flocks to feed, again beneath my care.

Mel.-O fortunate old man! And shall thy plain, Thy fields, for thee sufficient, safe remain?

While the hard flint o'er-runs our once-till'd ground,
And rushes overspread the meadows round.
No unknown food shall try thy teaming ewes;
Nor neighbouring flocks their taint to thee diffuse.
Happy old man! Here 'mid accustom'd trees
And sacred fountains, thou shalt catch the breeze!
Here shall the hedge, that parts from neighbours' fields,
While busy bees are sucking all it yields,
With gentle murmurs oft entice to sleep,
While by the rock, the pruner's voice, more deep,
Fills the wide air, and bounds from steep to steep!
Meanwhile the doves, thy care, with hoarser tone,
And turtles, from the lofty elm shall moan.

Tit. The nimble stag shall feed upon the breeze,
And for the shore shall fish desert the seas,
Parthian and German leave their bounds and rest
Of Arar's floods, and Tigris' waves possest
Sooner than his remembrance leave my breast.

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Mel.-But we must some dry Afric's deserts brave, Some Scythia, and Oaxis' rapid wave,

Or o'er rough seas to distant Britain ride,
Divided far from all the world beside.
And will it ever, will it ever be,

My country's bounds that I again shall see?
After long years shall view my springing grain,
My little turfy hut, and all my rural reign?
My fallow shall th' impious soldier seize?
These corn-clad fields barbarian hands appease ?
O civil discord! Whither wilt thou lead
Thy wretched victims? Whose will be the mead
For which thy helpless sufferers sow the seed?

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