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EPILOGUE TO PHAEDRA.

Spoken by Mrs. OLDFIELD, who acted ISMENA.

L

ADIES, to-night your pity I implore,
For one who never troubled you before:
An Oxford man extremely read in Greek,
Who from Euripides makes Phaedra speak;
And comes to town, to let us moderns know,
How women lov'd two thousand years ago.

If that be all, faid I, e'en burn your play:
Igad! we know all that, as well as they :.
Show us the youthful, handsome charioteer,
Firm in his feat, and running his career;
Our fouls would kindle with. as gen'rous flames,
As c'er infpir'd the antient Grecian dames:
Ev'ry Ifmena would refign her breast;
And ev'ry dear Hyppolytus be bleft.

But, as it is, fix flouncing Flanders mares,
Are e'en as good, as any two of theirs,
And if Hippolytus can but contrive
To buy the gilded chariot; John can drive.

Now of the buftle you have feen to-day,
And Phaedra's morals in this fcholar's play,
Something at least in justice should be said :
But this Hippolytus fo fills one's head—
Well! Phaedra liv'd as chaftely as the cou'd;
For fhe was father Jove's own flesh and blood.
Her aukward love indeed was oddly fated:
She and her Poly were too near related :
And yet that fcruple had been laid afide,
If honeft Thefeus had but fairly dy❜d:

But when he came, what needed he to know,
But that all matters ftood in ftatu quo?

There was no harm, you fee, or grant there were:
She might want conduct; but he wanted care.
'Twas in a hufband little lefs than rude,
Upon his wife's retirement to intrude-
He should have fent a night or two before,
That he would come exact at fuch an hour:
Then he had turn'd all tragedy to jeft;
Found ev'ry thing contribute to his reft;
The picquet friend dismiss'd, the coast all clear,
And spouse alone impatient for her dear.

But if these gay reflections come too late,
To keep the guilty Phaedra from her fate;
If your more serious judgment must condemn.
The dire effects of her unhappy flame :

Yet, ye chaste matrons, and ye tender fair, -
Let love and innocence engage your care:

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My fpotlefs flames to your protection take ; ;
And fpare poor Phaedra for Ifmena's fake.

EPILOGUE TO LUCIUS.

Spoken by Mr. HORTON..

HE female author who recites to-day,

TH

Trufts to her fex the merit of her play.
Like father Bayes fecurely fhe fits down:
Pit, box and gallery, Gad! all's our own.
In antient Greece, the fays, when Sappho writ,
By their applause the critics fhow'd their wit,

They tun'd their voices to her Lyric ftring;
Tho' they could all do fomething more than fing.
But one exception to this fact we find ;
That booby Phaon only was unkind,

An ill-bred boat-man rough as waves and wind.
From Sappho down thro' all fucceeding ages,
And now on French or on Italian ftages,
Rough fatires, fly remarks, ill-natur'd speeches,
Are always aim'd at poets that wear breeches.
Arm'd with Longinus, or with Rapin, no man
Drew a fharp pen upon a naked woman.
The bluft'ring bully in our neighb'ring streets
Scorns to attack the female that he meets :
Fearless the petticoat contemns his frowns:
The hoop fecures whatever it furrounds.
The many-colour'd gentry there above,
By turns are rul'd by tumult, and by love:
And while their fweet-hearts their attention fix,
Sufpend the din of their damn'd clattering fticks.
Now, Sirs

To you our author makes her foft request,
Who speak the kindeft, and who write the beft.
Your fympathetic hearts the hopes to move,
From tender friendship, and endearing love.
If Petrarch's mufe did Laura's wit rehearse;
And Cowley flatter'd dear Orinda's verse;
She hopes from you-pox fake her hopes and fears;
I plead her fex's claim: what matters her's?
By our full pow'r of beauty we think fit,
To damn this Salique law impos'd on wit:
We'll try the empire you fo long have boafted;
And if we are not prais'd, we'll not be toasted.

}

Approve what one of us prefents to night;
Or ev'ry mortal woman here (hall write:
Rural, pathetic, narrative, fublime,

We'll write to you, and make you write in rhime
Female remarks fhall take up all your time.

Your time, poor fouls! we'll take your very money.
Female third days fhall come fo thick upon ye.
As long as we have eyes, or hands, or breath,
We'll look, or write, or talk you all to death.
Unless ye yield for better and for worse:
Then the fhe-Pegafus fhall gain the course;
And the grey mare fhall prove the better horse.

The THIEF and the CORDELIER, a BALLAD.

To the tune of King JOHN and the ABBOT
of CANTERBURY.

}

"HO has e'er been at Paris, must needs know the Greve,

WHO

The fatal retreat of the unfortunate brave:

Where honour and justice moft odly contribute,
To eafe hero's pains by a halter and gibbet.
Derry down, down, bey derry down.

[on;

There death breaks the fhackles, which force had put And the hangman compleats what the judge but be

gun:

There the 'fquire of the pad and the knight of the post,
Find their pains no more balk'd, and their hopes no
Derry down, &c.
[more croft.

Great claims are there made, and great fecrets are

known;

And the king, and the law, and the thief has his own; But

my hearers cry out; what a duce doft thou ail; Cut off thy reflections; and give us thy tale..

Derry down, &c.

'Twas there then, in civil respect to harsh laws, And for want of false witness, to back a bad cause,. A Norman, tho' late, was oblig'd to appear: And who to affift, but a grave Cordelier ?. Derry dawn, &c.

The 'fquire whofe good grace was to open the fcene, Seem'd not in great hafte, that the show should begia: Now fitted the halter, now travers'd the cart; And often took leave; but was loth to depart. Derry down, &c.

What frightens you thus, my good fon? fays the priest:

You murder'd, are forry, and have been confest.
O father my forrow will fcarce fave my bacon:
For 'twas not that I murder'd, but that I was taken.
Derry down, &c.

Pugh! pr'ythee ne'er trouble thy head with fuch

fancies:

Rely on the aid you fhall have from Saint Francis ; If the money you promis'd be brought to the cheft; You have only to die : let the church do the reft. Derry down, &c.

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