 | The Fate of Sparta ; or, The Rival Kings |  |
EPILOGUE WRITTEN BY MRS. COWLEY. SPOKEN BY MRS. SIDDONS.
Think
you our Author copied from the life
In drawing such a daughter—such a wife?
Judging from what we know—(archly)—I'm half afraid
The Piece is fancy—yet I ask your aid
To fix my judgment. Fairly try the cause,
Try it, by that sublimest of all laws
An English Jury!—I recall the word—
Ha, ha, was ever mortal so absurd?
'Twou'd half annihilate e'en me, with fears,
What!—try a Poet by his scribbling Peers?
Oh let the Court “take any other form,
“And my firm soul shall 'bide th'pitiless storm!”
Resolve yourselves to a Committee of the House
And prosecute—yet ah! no palpitating mouse
Would tremble more at stern Grimalkin's fury
Than I—should brother bards compose our Jury,
No Wit cou'd save us, and no hope wou'd cheer,
Our Crimes wou'd be so plain, the case so clear The words printed in capitals are spoken in a grave sonorous tone.
;
Mercy thrice blest! her power wou'd vainly try,
And guilty!—guilty!—death! wou'd be the cry.
In drawing such a daughter—such a wife?
Judging from what we know—(archly)—I'm half afraid
The Piece is fancy—yet I ask your aid
To fix my judgment. Fairly try the cause,
Try it, by that sublimest of all laws
An English Jury!—I recall the word—
Ha, ha, was ever mortal so absurd?
'Twou'd half annihilate e'en me, with fears,
What!—try a Poet by his scribbling Peers?
Oh let the Court “take any other form,
“And my firm soul shall 'bide th'pitiless storm!”
Resolve yourselves to a Committee of the House
And prosecute—yet ah! no palpitating mouse
Would tremble more at stern Grimalkin's fury
Than I—should brother bards compose our Jury,
No Wit cou'd save us, and no hope wou'd cheer,
Our Crimes wou'd be so plain, the case so clear The words printed in capitals are spoken in a grave sonorous tone.
;
Mercy thrice blest! her power wou'd vainly try,
And guilty!—guilty!—death! wou'd be the cry.
Ye dear Celestials! Gallery! Boxes! Pit!
I'm now a Pleader—Mark me pray—the same. Hum.
Counsellor Siddons—do you know the name!
I have no Brief (sighing and looking at her hands)
'tis true, but there my Case
By many a learned Brother's, kept in face.
How many a white clear band, and powder'd tye,
That with the blossoms of the hawthorn vie,
Parade the Hall, and nod, and smile in vain;
(nodding, smiling, &c.)
Attornies smile again—but don't retain.
Whilst the Leviathans of laws rough ocean,
Distend their jaws, and gobble every motion.
But all this while I have forgot to plead;—
If your sweet eyes speak truth, I've now no need.
Our trembling hopes in their bright beams shall bask,
You seem prepar'd to grant, all they can ask;—
Your hands they ask—such thunders do not fright;
Repeat the peal once more, and then good night.
If your sweet eyes speak truth, I've now no need.
Our trembling hopes in their bright beams shall bask,
You seem prepar'd to grant, all they can ask;—
Your hands they ask—such thunders do not fright;
Repeat the peal once more, and then good night.
| The Fate of Sparta ; or, The Rival Kings | |