A collection of poems on various subjects including the theatre, a didactic essay; in the course of which are pointed out, the rocks and shoals to which deluded adventurers are inevitably exposed. Ornamented with cuts and illustrated with notes, original letters and curious incidental anecdotes [by Samuel Whyte] |
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EPILOGUE TO THE TRAGEDY OF EDWINA,
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 | A collection of poems on various subjects |  |
103
EPILOGUE TO THE TRAGEDY OF EDWINA,
SPOKEN BY MRS. KENNEDY.
Deuce take these authors! what a set they are!
My part scarce over, I must straight prepare
To speak an Epilogue—and what's the end on't?
To stop your clamours;—no, not it, depend on't.—
Is it mere custom, or a point of right,
That men the prologues, we must these recite?
Or is it wise, and covertly intended,
That all is buzz, unless we come to mend it?
Confess you then, however you may flout us,
You can't effect your purposes without us.
You have all, who doubts it? budgets full of learning;
We boast our powers to please, and quick discerning:
Then, if to science you dispute our claim,
Ours, 'tis confess'd, the loss—be yours the shame,—
And yet those towering heads there in the pit,
Seem to proclaim our judgment, taste, and wit;
Or else I am sure 'twere mightily to wrong ye,
By crowding so unseasonably among ye.
My part scarce over, I must straight prepare
To speak an Epilogue—and what's the end on't?
To stop your clamours;—no, not it, depend on't.—
Is it mere custom, or a point of right,
That men the prologues, we must these recite?
Or is it wise, and covertly intended,
That all is buzz, unless we come to mend it?
Confess you then, however you may flout us,
You can't effect your purposes without us.
You have all, who doubts it? budgets full of learning;
We boast our powers to please, and quick discerning:
Then, if to science you dispute our claim,
Ours, 'tis confess'd, the loss—be yours the shame,—
And yet those towering heads there in the pit,
Seem to proclaim our judgment, taste, and wit;
Or else I am sure 'twere mightily to wrong ye,
By crowding so unseasonably among ye.
But, Ma'am! exclaims the Poet, to the question,
The town is nice, and queasy of digestion;
And if you must your rhetoric display,
Exert your talents now to save the play,
Three Court-days more at least; for, Ma'am! d'y'see?
Bards are all partial to the number three.
Move an arrest of judgment, now's the time,
Pray a rehearing, and demur in rhyme.
The town is nice, and queasy of digestion;
104
Exert your talents now to save the play,
Three Court-days more at least; for, Ma'am! d'y'see?
Bards are all partial to the number three.
Move an arrest of judgment, now's the time,
Pray a rehearing, and demur in rhyme.
Psha! stale device!—who can anticipate
What chance may govern, or avert his fate?
Unless, as wits oft proudly make relation,
They were indeed endued with inspiration.
For instance now, suppose the piece go down,
And full applause our sanguine hopes should crown;
To build on such a frail, foregone conclusion,
Might, ten to one, redound to our confusion:
For tho' by friends and flatterers promise cramm'd,
If by ill luck the bantling should be damn'd—
Weak and dispirited, on what pretence
Could I confront the visage of offence?
'Twas never yet our sex's part believ'd,
To boast of favours which they ne'er receiv'd;
And, tho' French fashions sometimes may betray 'em,
They, when they're vanquish'd, never sing Te Deum.
What chance may govern, or avert his fate?
Unless, as wits oft proudly make relation,
They were indeed endued with inspiration.
For instance now, suppose the piece go down,
And full applause our sanguine hopes should crown;
To build on such a frail, foregone conclusion,
Might, ten to one, redound to our confusion:
For tho' by friends and flatterers promise cramm'd,
If by ill luck the bantling should be damn'd—
Weak and dispirited, on what pretence
Could I confront the visage of offence?
'Twas never yet our sex's part believ'd,
To boast of favours which they ne'er receiv'd;
And, tho' French fashions sometimes may betray 'em,
They, when they're vanquish'd, never sing Te Deum.
These things premised, I to our Author said,
Who Author-like, look'd wise, and shook his head,
If after all you disapprove my plan,
Point out the path, I'll serve you if I can;
And if the bucks o'th' pit still make resistance,
I'll supplicate the Gods for their assistance;
Tied to no rules, impartial they bestow
Their hands or oranges on all below;
And, tho' sometimes intemperate in their zeal,
They still are just, and act—because they feel.—
Who Author-like, look'd wise, and shook his head,
If after all you disapprove my plan,
Point out the path, I'll serve you if I can;
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I'll supplicate the Gods for their assistance;
Tied to no rules, impartial they bestow
Their hands or oranges on all below;
And, tho' sometimes intemperate in their zeal,
They still are just, and act—because they feel.—
Ye all decisive Powers! ye happy Crew!
The merits of our case now rests with you—
No haughty 'Squire, proud of superior parts,
Comes to o'erbear you with scholastic arts;
A simple sempstress to your worships bends,
And hopes, as most folks do, to gain her ends.
Were Ladies train'd to exercise the Pen,
They'd study day and night—to please the Men:
And should sour Critics female worth oppress,
You would, I'm sure, protect them and redress;
For 'tis the prime of nature's glorious laws
When beauty pleads to vindicate her cause—
I am a Woman, Sirs! my tremors show it,
Then for my sake deal kindly with the Poet;
We from your judgment to your hearts appeal,
Generous as brave, you are not hearts of steel:
Is there a Hector of your blustering tribe
A look won't soften, and a smile won't bribe?
Confirm my hopes then, lay your catcals by,
And bid me wish the anxious culprit joy.
The merits of our case now rests with you—
No haughty 'Squire, proud of superior parts,
Comes to o'erbear you with scholastic arts;
A simple sempstress to your worships bends,
And hopes, as most folks do, to gain her ends.
Were Ladies train'd to exercise the Pen,
They'd study day and night—to please the Men:
And should sour Critics female worth oppress,
You would, I'm sure, protect them and redress;
For 'tis the prime of nature's glorious laws
When beauty pleads to vindicate her cause—
I am a Woman, Sirs! my tremors show it,
Then for my sake deal kindly with the Poet;
We from your judgment to your hearts appeal,
Generous as brave, you are not hearts of steel:
Is there a Hector of your blustering tribe
A look won't soften, and a smile won't bribe?
Confirm my hopes then, lay your catcals by,
And bid me wish the anxious culprit joy.
| A collection of poems on various subjects | |