 | Damon and Pythias |  |
69
EPILOGUE. SPOKEN BY MISS FOOTE.
Ladies!—to-night, a bard—an Irish poet—
(I mention this, as some few may not know it)
Comes forward, with an anxious heart, to claim
Your help to lift him up the hill of fame.
Don't be alarm'd;—no manual aid I ask;—
White hands were never made for such a task:
Yet they may, surely,—look!—light as a feather,
Surely, just press their pretty palms together;
'Twill make the gentlemen, who stand beside 'em,
Applaud with might and main—else woe betide 'em!
Woe to their collars! to their wigs disorder,
If they should fail, when ladies give the order!
(I mention this, as some few may not know it)
Comes forward, with an anxious heart, to claim
Your help to lift him up the hill of fame.
Don't be alarm'd;—no manual aid I ask;—
White hands were never made for such a task:
Yet they may, surely,—look!—light as a feather,
Surely, just press their pretty palms together;
'Twill make the gentlemen, who stand beside 'em,
Applaud with might and main—else woe betide 'em!
Woe to their collars! to their wigs disorder,
If they should fail, when ladies give the order!
But, soft! I see some gentlemen who 've come
Alone, and left their wives (for once) at home.—
I'll ask 'em—no, I cannot—yet I'll venture:—
Pray, sir, are you (I hope not) a dissenter?
I don't mean, are you clergyman or layman;
But do you like our play? my husband Damon?
The fair Calanthe? my lord's good friend Pythias?
Or the Sicilian tyrant Dionysius?
Pray don't be biass'd—speak out loud and free:
And, pray, sir, how d'ye like—what folly!—me?
The story which we 've shown to you, our jury,
Is taken from a fact, I do assure ye;
By the historians old, 'twas reckon'd good,
And we,—we did it ably as we could:
Considering that we also have our fears,
Like authors, and must shed a sea of tears,
And storm, and talk big words, and tear our hair,
And sink (in attitudes) to deep despair,
All this is really no such easy task;
Therefore,—'tis but what first I dar'd to ask,—
Will you, fair ladies—gentlemen, obey!—
Permit our bard to thrive his little day?
Alone, and left their wives (for once) at home.—
I'll ask 'em—no, I cannot—yet I'll venture:—
Pray, sir, are you (I hope not) a dissenter?
I don't mean, are you clergyman or layman;
But do you like our play? my husband Damon?
The fair Calanthe? my lord's good friend Pythias?
Or the Sicilian tyrant Dionysius?
Pray don't be biass'd—speak out loud and free:
And, pray, sir, how d'ye like—what folly!—me?
70
Is taken from a fact, I do assure ye;
By the historians old, 'twas reckon'd good,
And we,—we did it ably as we could:
Considering that we also have our fears,
Like authors, and must shed a sea of tears,
And storm, and talk big words, and tear our hair,
And sink (in attitudes) to deep despair,
All this is really no such easy task;
Therefore,—'tis but what first I dar'd to ask,—
Will you, fair ladies—gentlemen, obey!—
Permit our bard to thrive his little day?
| Damon and Pythias | |