The Castle of Montval A Tragedy |
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EPILOGUE, BY THE AUTHOR OF THE TRAGEDY, AND
SPOKEN BY MRS. POWELL. |
 | The Castle of Montval |  |
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EPILOGUE, BY THE AUTHOR OF THE TRAGEDY, AND SPOKEN BY MRS. POWELL.
Ghost—or no ghost?—For both have stood the test—Ghost or no ghost?—Pray which has pleas'd you best?
But need I ask? Or can the Author wrestle,
With the enchanting ghost of Conway Castle?
Tho' kind applauses hail'd the fancied sprite,
Transform'd into a poor old man to-night,
He dares not hope applause so long, so clear,
As almost stunn'd the spectre of last year.
But—a propos—pray was it not provoking
To make the Countess—nay! 'tis past all joking,—
At midnight!—in a dungeon! quite alone!
Brave an hobgoblin, and his hollow groan!—
Dear ladies! I wou'd stake my life upon it,
That neither you,—nor you,—nor YOU had done it!
Nay!—had some beaux I see, been in her place,
Their hands had not been whiter than their face.
For me!—to all the audience be it known—
I hate, and fear all spectres—save my own.
But, hence! the jest profane!—'Twere impious here,
From the sad eye, to chase the graceful tear:
No studied woes have wak'd the Poet's art,
To touch the tender pulses of the heart:
No high-wrought fiction mov'd the pitying sigh,
For Kings who languish, or for Queens who cry;
But the real tale of deep domestic woe,
Has made your bosoms throb, your sorrows flow.
Too solemn, then, too homefelt is the scene,
For Epilogue to come with flippant mien,—
And turn to fashionable Farce a part,
Which thrills the finest fibres of the heart.
Let those who love just jesting, seek to shine;
But never may the odious task be mine.—
| The Castle of Montval | |