 | Hecuba |  |
70
EPILOGUE. Written by Mr. Garrick. And Spoken by Miss Bride.
Strip'd
of my tragic weeds, and rais'd from death;
In freedom's land, again I draw my breath:
Tho' late a Trojan ghost, in Charon's ferry;
I'm now an English girl, alive, and merry!
Hey!—Presto!—I'm in Greece a maiden slain—
Now!—stranger still!—a maid, in Drury-lane!
No more by barb'rous men, and laws confin'd,
In freedom's land, again I draw my breath:
Tho' late a Trojan ghost, in Charon's ferry;
I'm now an English girl, alive, and merry!
Hey!—Presto!—I'm in Greece a maiden slain—
Now!—stranger still!—a maid, in Drury-lane!
I claim my native rights—to speak my mind.
Tho' poring pedants should applaud this piece,
Behold a champion,—foe profest of Greece!
I throw my gauntlet to the critic race:
[Throws down her glove.
Come forth, bold Grecians!—Meet me face to face!
Come forth, ye men of learning, at my call!
Learning! a little feeling's worth it all!
And you of taste, and fashion, I defy!
[Throws down another glove.
But hold—You hate the Greek as much as I;
Then, let us join our force, and boldly speak—
That English ev'ry thing surpasses Greek.
Kill a young virgin, to resist unable!—
Kill her, like house-lamb, for a dead man's table!
Well may you tremble, ladies, and look pale!
Do you not shudder, parents, at this tale?
You sacrifice a daughter now and then,
To rich, old, wither'd, half-departed men;
71
Make a live girl, to wed a quite dead man;
Had I been wedded to some ancient king!
I mean a Grecian—Ancient's not the thing:
Then had our Bard made ample reparation!
Then had you seen a Grecian Coronation!
Sneer not, ye critics, at this rage for shew,
That honest hearts at coronations glow!
Nor snarl that our faint copies glad their eyes,
When from the thing itself, such blessings rise.
The END.
| Hecuba | |