 | Almida |  |
67
EPILOGUE, By Mr. GARRICK. Spoken by Mrs. BARRY.
A female bard, far from her native land,A female should protect—lo! here I stand,
To claim of chivalry the ancient rites,
And throw my gauntlet at all critic knights;
Nor only for our auth'ress am I come,
I rise a champion for the sex at home!
Will shield you, ladies, from the sland'ring crew,
And prove Greeks, Romans, all must yield to you:
I've read how women, many of condition,
Did, ere some conqu'ror storm'd a town, petition,
That each might take a load upon her back—
Out march'd the dames, but carry'd no stuft sack,
They bore their loving husbands pick-a-pack!
The same domestic zeal has each fair she,
In full perfection at the coterie;
For don't they bargain, when they quit their houses
At pleasure's call, to carry too their spouses?
The care of children was no Spartan passion,
And may not we in time import this fashion?
Lycurgus, nimble finger'd youths rewarding,
Taught 'em the arts of dicing, and of carding;
And are these arts beyond our reach of thought?
Let parents learn; children will soon be taught.
Where, as with you, ye fair ones, shall we see,
That Roman virtue—hospitality!
The foreign artist can your smiles secure,
If he be singer, fidler, or friseur:
From our dull yawning scenes fatigu'd you go,
And croud to Fantocini's puppet-shew;
Each on the foreign things with rapture stares!
Sweet dears!-they're more like flesh and blood than play'rs.
As what we do, you modishly condemn,
So now, turn'd wood and wire, we'll act like them,
68
Eh bien monsieur! comment vous portez-vous?
Once more I challenge all the critic knights,
From City jokers, to the wits at White's;
From daily scriblers, volunteers, or hacks;
Up to those more than mortals at Almack's!
Should any fribble criticks dare to dem,
Gads—cuss—I'll throw a chicken glove at them:
And if to shew their teeth, they still will grin—
Let 'em come on—I draw my corking pin!
But should our soldiers, sailors, raise our fears,
They only can be conquer'd by your tears.
Your smiles may soften, but your tears can melt 'em;
The bravest, boldest, mightiest men have felt 'em.
Ay, you may sneer, ye wits, your hearts are steel;
I speak of mortals, who can fight, and feel!
In peace or war, ye fair, trust only those,
Who love the sex, and always beat their foes:
Will none accept my challenge?—what disgrace,
To all the nibling, scribling, stand'ring race,
Who dare not meet a woman face to face!
The auth'ress and our sex have gain'd their cause!
Complete their triumph, give 'em your applause.
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