While botanists, all cold to smiles and dimpling, With Scythian stores, and trinkets, deeply laden, To make an observation on the shore. Where are we driven? our reckoning sure is lost! Yon ill-foreboding cloud seems big with thunder, [Upper gallery. There mangroves spread, and larger than I've seen them- Here trees of stately size—and turtles in them Here ill-conditioned oranges abound [Pit. [Balconies. [Stage. And apples, [takes up one and tastes it] bitter apples strew the ground. The place is uninhabited, I fear; I heard a hissing-there are serpents here! [Making signs. 'T is best, however, keeping at a distance. Good savages, our Captain craves assistance : Our ship's well stored-in yonder creek we've laid her; This is his first adventure; lend him aid, Or you may chance to spoil a thriving trade. His goods, he hopes, are prime and brought from far — What! no reply to promises so ample? INTENDED EPILOGUE TO SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER. Enter Mrs. BULKLEY, who curtseys very low as beginning to speak. Then enter Miss CATLEY, who stands full before her, and curtseys to the audience. MRS. BULKLEY. HOLD, Ma'am, your pardon. What's your business here ? Sure you mistake, Ma'am. The Epilogue? I bring it. MISS CATLEY. Excuse me, Ma'am. The author bid me sing it. Recitative. Ye beaux and belles, that form this splendid ring, MRS. BULKLEY. Why, sure the girl's beside herself! an Epilogue of singing? A hopeful end indeed to such a blessed beginning. Besides, a singer in a comic set! Excuse me, Ma'am, I know the etiquette. And she, whose party 's largest, shall proceed. I've all the critics and the wits for me. MISS CATLEY. I'm for a different set. Old men, whose trade is Still to gallant and dangle with the ladies. Recitative. Who mump their passion, and who, grimly smiling, Still thus address the fair with voice beguiling: Air-Cotillon. Turn, my fairest, turn, if ever Strephon caught thy ravished eye; Pity take on your swain so clever, Who without your aid must die. Yes, I shall die, hu, hu, hu, hu, Yes, I must die, ho, ho, ho, ho, Da Capo. MRS. BULKLEY. Let all the old pay homage to your merit : Of French friseurs, and nosegays justly vain, To dress and look like awkward Frenchmen here; Give me my bonny Scot, that travels from the Tweed. Air - A bonny young lad is my Jockey. I'll sing to amuse you by night and by day, With Sandy, and Sawney, and Jockey, MRS. BULKLEY. Ye gamesters, who, so eager in pursuit, “My Lord, — your Lordship misconceives the case.” MISS CATLEY. Air-Ballinamony. Ye brave Irish lads, hark away to the crack, For sure I don't wrong you, you seldom are slack, For you 're always polite and attentive, Still to amuse us inventive, And death is your only preventive : Your hands and your voices for me. MRS. BULKLEY. Well, Madam, what if, after all this sparring, MISS CATLEY. And, that our friendship may remain unbroken, Un-epilogued the poet waits his sentence: Condemn the stubborn fool who can't submit To thrive by flattery — though he starves by wit. ANOTHER INTENDED EPILOGUE TO SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER. To be spoken by Mrs. Bulkley. THERE is a place—so Ariosto sings [Exeunt. |