Bellamira ; Or, The Fall of Tunis A Tragedy, In Five Acts |
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EPILOGUE. (WRITTEN BY A LADY,) SPOKEN BY MISS BRUNTON. |
 | Bellamira ; Or, The Fall of Tunis |  |
EPILOGUE. (WRITTEN BY A LADY,) SPOKEN BY MISS BRUNTON.
'Tis on a thankless errand I appear
Before you, gentles!—Will you deign to hear?
My orders are to smooth yon Critic's brow,
To raise a smile here—there avert a row:
Besides, all those who've slept the play throughout,
Expect of me to hear what 'twas about.
Before you, gentles!—Will you deign to hear?
My orders are to smooth yon Critic's brow,
To raise a smile here—there avert a row:
Besides, all those who've slept the play throughout,
Expect of me to hear what 'twas about.
Yet lovelier looks, I see, rebuke th' intrusion,
That mars so suddenly each sad illusion,
And say, with eyes in which the tears still glisten,
“No Epilogue!—who to such stuff can listen?”—
While others stickle for their rights,—while some
Hold a gay Epilogue the sugar-plum,
The taste of five black doses to o'ercome!
That mars so suddenly each sad illusion,
And say, with eyes in which the tears still glisten,
“No Epilogue!—who to such stuff can listen?”—
While others stickle for their rights,—while some
Hold a gay Epilogue the sugar-plum,
The taste of five black doses to o'ercome!
To Tom, the groom, the stirrup-cup's more sweet
Than all he gorg'd before of ale and meat;
And yonder many a pretty Betty sits,
Who, more than wages, values perquisites.
You, ladies, know, how fond soe'er the letter,
The lover's postscript speaks his feelings better.
Than all he gorg'd before of ale and meat;
And yonder many a pretty Betty sits,
Who, more than wages, values perquisites.
You, ladies, know, how fond soe'er the letter,
The lover's postscript speaks his feelings better.
Nay, mark the well-taught Miss, whose matchless skill,
Fixes each wondering eye in the quadrille,
Or waltzing, in her vortex with her whirls
Dukes, dandies, heroes, citizens, and earls!
Alike to nature true,—she, towards the close,
Pokes her long-bridled head—turns in her toes,—
Cries, “Let me stay, Mamma, for Country Bumpkin,
And have, at last, one merry dance to jump in.”
Fixes each wondering eye in the quadrille,
Or waltzing, in her vortex with her whirls
Dukes, dandies, heroes, citizens, and earls!
Alike to nature true,—she, towards the close,
Pokes her long-bridled head—turns in her toes,—
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And have, at last, one merry dance to jump in.”
Already on my side, all those I name,
The question's carried, and my right I claim,
To plead the Poet's cause—But who shall sway,
This host of intellect, in dread array?—
Here taste and feeling ambush'd on our flanks,
There wit and critic lore, in serried ranks;
Yonder, in phalanx, native judgment jamm'd,
Compress'd like air, into the air-gun cramm'd!
Yet, 'gainst these hostile bands thus rang'd tremendous,
If we've but gain'd the passions, they'll befriend us.
Acting as oil upon the raging sea,
Or as you, ladies, vers'd in chemistry,
Find acids neutralized by alkali.
The question's carried, and my right I claim,
To plead the Poet's cause—But who shall sway,
This host of intellect, in dread array?—
Here taste and feeling ambush'd on our flanks,
There wit and critic lore, in serried ranks;
Yonder, in phalanx, native judgment jamm'd,
Compress'd like air, into the air-gun cramm'd!
Yet, 'gainst these hostile bands thus rang'd tremendous,
If we've but gain'd the passions, they'll befriend us.
Acting as oil upon the raging sea,
Or as you, ladies, vers'd in chemistry,
Find acids neutralized by alkali.
If here, for instance, purer taste should chide,
With softer feelings in your breast allied,
'Twill efferversce a moment—and subside.
With softer feelings in your breast allied,
'Twill efferversce a moment—and subside.
Yonder, if cat-calls wake their shriller tone,
'Tis half for fun!—nay, 'tis but fair we own,
If you can't hear our noise, you make your own.
And here, when wit has dipp'd his lash in gall,
A note,—a gesture on the heart will fall—
The scourge is dropp'd, and nature's tear has shone
Beneath the brow where lower'd the critic-frown.
'Tis half for fun!—nay, 'tis but fair we own,
If you can't hear our noise, you make your own.
And here, when wit has dipp'd his lash in gall,
A note,—a gesture on the heart will fall—
The scourge is dropp'd, and nature's tear has shone
Beneath the brow where lower'd the critic-frown.
While thus within your bosoms it appears,
That we may set two parties by the ears;
Why, let them fight it out, and, when they cool,
The kindlier feelings, here, are sure to rule.
That we may set two parties by the ears;
Why, let them fight it out, and, when they cool,
The kindlier feelings, here, are sure to rule.
| Bellamira ; Or, The Fall of Tunis | |