 | The Orphan of China |  |
EPILOGUE.
Spoken by Mrs. YATES.
Thro'
five long acts I've wore my sighing face,
Confin'd by critic laws to time and place;
Yet that once done, I ramble as I please,
Cry London Hoy! and whisk o'er land and seas—
—Ladies, excuse my dress—'tis true Chinese.
Thus, quit of husband, death, and tragic strain,
Let us enjoy our dear small talk again.
Confin'd by critic laws to time and place;
Yet that once done, I ramble as I please,
Cry London Hoy! and whisk o'er land and seas—
—Ladies, excuse my dress—'tis true Chinese.
Thus, quit of husband, death, and tragic strain,
Let us enjoy our dear small talk again.
How cou'd this bard successful hope to prove?
So many heroes,—and not one in love!
No suitor here to talk of flames that thrill;
To say the civil thing—“Your eyes so kill!”—
No ravisher, to force us—to our will!
You've seen their eastern virtues, patriot passions,
And now for something of their taste and fashions.
O Lord! that's charming—cries my Lady Fidget,
I long to know it—Do the creatures visit?
Dear Mrs. Yates, do, tell us—Well, how is it?
So many heroes,—and not one in love!
No suitor here to talk of flames that thrill;
To say the civil thing—“Your eyes so kill!”—
No ravisher, to force us—to our will!
You've seen their eastern virtues, patriot passions,
And now for something of their taste and fashions.
O Lord! that's charming—cries my Lady Fidget,
I long to know it—Do the creatures visit?
Dear Mrs. Yates, do, tell us—Well, how is it?
First, as to beauty—Set your hearts at rest—
They're all broad foreheads, and pigs eyes at best.
And then they lead such strange, such formal lives!—
—A little more at home than English wives:
Lest the poor things shou'd roam, and prove untrue,
They all are crippled in the tiney shoe.
A hopeful scheme to keep a wife from madding!
—We pinch our feet, and yet are ever gadding.
Then they've no cards, no routs, ne'er take their fling,
And pin-money is an unheard-of thing!
Then how d'ye think they write?—You'll ne'er divine—
From top to bottom down in one strait line.
[Mimicks.
We ladies, when our flames we cannot smother,
Write letters—from one corner to another.
[Mimicks.
They're all broad foreheads, and pigs eyes at best.
And then they lead such strange, such formal lives!—
—A little more at home than English wives:
Lest the poor things shou'd roam, and prove untrue,
They all are crippled in the tiney shoe.
A hopeful scheme to keep a wife from madding!
—We pinch our feet, and yet are ever gadding.
Then they've no cards, no routs, ne'er take their fling,
And pin-money is an unheard-of thing!
Then how d'ye think they write?—You'll ne'er divine—
From top to bottom down in one strait line.
[Mimicks.
We ladies, when our flames we cannot smother,
Write letters—from one corner to another.
One mode there is, in which both climes agree;
I scarce can tell—'Mongst friends then let it be—
—The creatures love to cheat as well as we.
I scarce can tell—'Mongst friends then let it be—
—The creatures love to cheat as well as we.
But bless my wits! I've quite forgot the bard—
A civil soul!—By me he sends this card—
“Presents respects—to ev'ry lady here—
“Hopes for the honor—of a single tear.”
The critics then will throw their dirt in vain,
One drop from you will wash out ev'ry stain.
Acquaints you—(now the man is past his fright)
He holds his rout,—and here he keeps his night.
Assures you all a welcome kind and hearty,
The ladies shall play crowns—and there's the shilling party.
[Points to the upper gallery.
A civil soul!—By me he sends this card—
“Presents respects—to ev'ry lady here—
“Hopes for the honor—of a single tear.”
The critics then will throw their dirt in vain,
One drop from you will wash out ev'ry stain.
Acquaints you—(now the man is past his fright)
He holds his rout,—and here he keeps his night.
Assures you all a welcome kind and hearty,
The ladies shall play crowns—and there's the shilling party.
| The Orphan of China | |