Zenobia A Tragedy |
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EPILOGUE: Written by DAVID GARRICK, Esq; And Spoken by Mrs. ABINGTON. |
 | Zenobia |  |
83
EPILOGUE: Written by DAVID GARRICK, Esq; And Spoken by Mrs. ABINGTON.
(She peeps thro' the Curtain)
How do you all, good folks?—In tears for certain,
I'll only take a Peep behind the Curtain;
You're all so full of tragedy, and sadness!
For me to come among ye, would be madness:
This is no time for giggling—when you've leisure,
Call out for me, and I'll attend your pleasure;
As soldiers hurry at the beat of drum,
Beat but your hands, that instant I will come.
[She enters upon their clapping.
This is so good, to call me out so soon—
The Comic Muse by me intreats a BOON;
She call'd for Pritchard, her first maid of honour,
And begg'd of her to take the task upon her;
But she,—I'm sure you'll all be sorry for't,
Resigns her place, and soon retires from court:
To bear this loss, we courtiers make a shift,
When good folks leave us, worse may have a lift.
I'll only take a Peep behind the Curtain;
You're all so full of tragedy, and sadness!
For me to come among ye, would be madness:
This is no time for giggling—when you've leisure,
Call out for me, and I'll attend your pleasure;
As soldiers hurry at the beat of drum,
Beat but your hands, that instant I will come.
[She enters upon their clapping.
This is so good, to call me out so soon—
The Comic Muse by me intreats a BOON;
She call'd for Pritchard, her first maid of honour,
And begg'd of her to take the task upon her;
But she,—I'm sure you'll all be sorry for't,
Resigns her place, and soon retires from court:
To bear this loss, we courtiers make a shift,
When good folks leave us, worse may have a lift.
The Comic Muse, whose ev'ry smile is grace,
And her Stage Sister, with her tragic face,
Have had a quarrel—each has writ a Case.
And on their friends assembled now I wait,
To give you of their difference A true State.
Melpomene, complains when she appears,—
For five good acts, in all her pomp of tears,
To raise your souls, and with her raptures wing 'em,
Nay wet your handkerchiefs, that you may wring 'em.
Some flippant hussey, like myself comes in;
Crack goes her fan, and with a giggling grin,
Hey! Presto pass!—all topsy turvy see,
For HO, HO, HO! is chang'd to HE, HE, HE!
We own the fault, but 'tis a fault in vogue,
'Tis theirs, who call and bawl for—Epilogue!
O! shame upon you—for the time to come,
Know better—and go miserable home.
What says our Comic Goddess?—with reproaches,
She vows her Sister Tragedy encroaches!
And spite of all her virtue, and ambition,
Is known to have an am'rous disposition:
For in False Delicacy—wond'rous sly,
Join'd with a certain Irishman—O fye!
She made you, when you ought to laugh, to cry.—
Her sister's smiles with tears she try'd to smother,
Rais'd such a tragi-comic kind of pother,
You laugh'd with one eye, while you cry'd with t'other.
What can be done?—sad work behind the scenes
There comic females scold with tragic queens.
Each party different ways the foe assails,
These shake their daggers, those prepare their nails.
'Tis YOU alone must calm these dire mishaps,
Or we shall still continue pulling caps.
What is your will?—I read it in your faces;
That all hereafter take their proper places,
Shake hands, and kiss and friends, and—BURN THEIR CASES.
And her Stage Sister, with her tragic face,
Have had a quarrel—each has writ a Case.
And on their friends assembled now I wait,
To give you of their difference A true State.
Melpomene, complains when she appears,—
For five good acts, in all her pomp of tears,
To raise your souls, and with her raptures wing 'em,
Nay wet your handkerchiefs, that you may wring 'em.
Some flippant hussey, like myself comes in;
Crack goes her fan, and with a giggling grin,
Hey! Presto pass!—all topsy turvy see,
For HO, HO, HO! is chang'd to HE, HE, HE!
We own the fault, but 'tis a fault in vogue,
'Tis theirs, who call and bawl for—Epilogue!
84
Know better—and go miserable home.
What says our Comic Goddess?—with reproaches,
She vows her Sister Tragedy encroaches!
And spite of all her virtue, and ambition,
Is known to have an am'rous disposition:
For in False Delicacy—wond'rous sly,
Join'd with a certain Irishman—O fye!
She made you, when you ought to laugh, to cry.—
Her sister's smiles with tears she try'd to smother,
Rais'd such a tragi-comic kind of pother,
You laugh'd with one eye, while you cry'd with t'other.
What can be done?—sad work behind the scenes
There comic females scold with tragic queens.
Each party different ways the foe assails,
These shake their daggers, those prepare their nails.
'Tis YOU alone must calm these dire mishaps,
Or we shall still continue pulling caps.
What is your will?—I read it in your faces;
That all hereafter take their proper places,
Shake hands, and kiss and friends, and—BURN THEIR CASES.
| Zenobia | |