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EPILOGUE TO PHAEDRA.

Spoken by Mrs. OLDFIELD, who acted ISMENA.

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, said I, een burn your play:
I'gad! we know all that, as well as they :
Show us the youthful, handsome charioteer,
Firm in his feat, and running his career ;
Our souls would kindle with as gen'rous flames,
As c'er inspir'd the antient Grecian dames:
Ev'ry Ismena would refign her breast;
And ev'ry dear Hyppolytus be blest.

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 bustle you have seen to-day,
And Phaedra's morals in this scholar's play,
Something at least in justice should be said':
But this Hippolytus so fills one's head
Well ! Phaedra liv'd as chastely as the cou'd ;
For she 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 scruple had been laid afide,
If honest Theseus had but fairly dy'd:

But when he came, what needed he to know,
But that all matters stood in statu quo

?
There was no harm; you fee, or grant there were :
She might want conduct; but he wanted care.
'Twas in a husband little lefs than rude,
Upon his wife's retirement to intrude
He should have sent a night or two before,
That he would come exact at such an hour :
Then he had turn'd all tragedy to jest ;
Found ev'ry thing contribute to his reft ;
The picquet friend dismiss'd, the coast all clears
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 :
My.fpotlefs flames to your protection take ; ;
And spare poor Phaedra for Ismena's fake.

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EPILOGUE TO LUCIU S..

Spoken by Mr. HORTON.

TH

THE female author who recites to.day,

Trusts to her sex che merit of her play.
Like father Bayes securely the fits down :
Pit, box and gallery, Gad! all's our own.
In antient Greece, she says, when Sappho writ,
By their applause the critics show'd their wit,

}

They tun'd their voices to her Lyric string; Tho' they could all do something more than ling. 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 succeeding 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 sharp 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 secures whatever it surrounds. The many colour'd gentry there above, By turns are ruld by tumult, and by love : And while their fweet-hearts their attention fix, Suspend the din of their damn'd clattering sticks. Now, SirsTo you our author makes her soft request, Who speak the kindeft, and who write the best. Your sympathetic hearts the hopes to move, From tender friendship, and endearing love. If Petrarch's muse 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 sex'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 so long have boasted; And if we are not prais'd, we'll not be toasted.

}

Approve what one of us presents to night ;
Or ev'ry mortal woman here shall write :
Rural, pathetic, narrative; sublime,
We'll write to you, and make you write in rhime ;
Female remarks thall take up all your time.
Your time, poor souls ! we'll take your very money.
Female third days shall come lo chick upon ye.
As long as we have cyes, or bands, or breath,
We'll look, or write, or talk you all to death.
Unless ye yield for better and for worse :
Then the she-Pegasus shall gain the course ;
And the grey mare ihall prove the better horse.

}

The THIEF and the CORDELIER, a BALLAD.

To the tune of King John and the ABBOT

of CANTERBURY.

WH

HO has e'er been at Paris, mult needs know

the Greve,
The fatal retreat of the unfortunate brave :
Where honour and justice most odly contribute,
To ease hero's pains by a halter and gibbet.
Derry down, down, bey derry down.

[on; There death breaks the shackles, which force had put And the hangman compleats what the judge but be

gun : There the 'squire 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 secrets are

known; And the king, and the law, and the thief has his own; But my hearers cry out; what a duce dost 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 aflist, but a grave Cordelier ?

Derry dawn, &c.

The 'squire whose good grace was to open the scene, Seem'd not in great haste, 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? says the

priest : You murder'd, are sorry, and have been confest. O father! my forrow will scarce-save 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 such

fancies : Rely on the aid you shall have from Saint Francis ; If the money you promis'd be brought to the chest ; You have only to die : let the church do the rest.

Derry down, &c.

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