MISS CATLEY

What if we leave it to the House?

MRS. BULKLEY

The House!-Agreed.

MISS CATLEY

Agreed.

MRS. BULKLEY

And she, whose party's largest, shall proceed.
And first, I hope you'll readily agree
I've all the critics and the wits for me.

They, I am sure, will answer my commands ;
Ye candid judging few, hold up your hands.
What! no return? I find too late, I fear,
That modern judges seldom enter here.

MISS CATLEY

I'm for a different set. -Old men, whose trade is
Still to gallant and dangle with the ladies ;

Recitative

Who mump their passion, and who, grimly smiling,
Still thus address the fair with voice beguiling :-

Air-Cotillon

Turn, my fairest, turn, if ever

Strephon caught thy ravish'd eye;

Pity take on your swain so clever,
Who without your aid must die.

Yes, I shall die, hu, hu, hu, hu!

Yes, I must die, ho, ho, ho, ho!

MRS. BULKLEY

Let all the old pay homage to your merit;
Give me the young, the gay, the men of spirit.
Ye travell'd tribe, ye macaroni1 train,

(Da capo.)

[1 A name derived from the Italian dish first patronized by the "Macaroni Club," and afterwards extended to "the younger and gayer part of our nobility and gentry, who, at the same time they gave in to the luxuries of eating, went equally into the extravagancies of dress." (Macaroni and Theatrical Magazine, October, 1770.) See note to the Dullissimo Macaroni in She Stoops to Conquer.]

Of French friseurs, and nosegays, justly vain,
Who take a trip to Paris once a year
To dress, and look like awkward Frenchmen here,
Lend me your hands. -Oh! fatal news to tell :

Their hands are only lent to the Heinel.1

MISS CATLEY

Ay, take your travellers, travellers indeed !
Give me my bonny Scot, that travels from the Tweed,
Where are the chiels? Ah! Ah, I well discern
The smiling looks of each bewitching bairn.

Air-A bonny young lad is my Jockey

I'll sing to amuse you by night and by day,
And be unco merry when you are but gay;
When you with your bagpipes are ready to play,
My voice shall be ready to carol away

With Sandy, and Sawney, and Jockey.
With Sawney, and Jarvie, and Jockey.

MRS. BULKLEY

Ye gamesters, who, so eager in pursuit, Make but of all your fortune one va toute: Ye jockey tribe, whose stock of words are few, "I hold the odds. -Done, done, with you, with you." Ye barristers, so fluent with grimace, "My Lord,-your Lordship misconceives the case." Doctors, who cough and answer every misfortuner, " I wish I'd been call'd in a little sooner," Assist my cause with hands and voices hearty, Come end the contest here, and aid my party.

MISS CATLEY

Air-Ballinamony

Ye brave Irish lads, hark away to the crack,
Assist me, I pray, in this woful attack;

[1 Mlle. Anna-Frederica Heinel, a beautiful Prussian danseuse at this time in London, afterwards the wife of the elder Vestris. "1771. June 22nd. Mr. William Hanger bets Mr. Lee Twenty Guineas to 25 that Mlle. Heinel does not dance in England at the Opera House next Month." (Extract from the Betting Book at Brooks's Club, printed by Mr. G. S. Street in the North American Review for July 15, 1901.)

For sure I don't wrong you, you seldom are slack, When the ladies are calling, to blush, and hang back.

For you're always polite and attentive,

Still to amuse us inventive,

And death is your only preventive :

Your hands and your voices for me.

MRS. BULKLEY

Well, Madam, what if, after all this sparring,
We both agree, like friends, to end our jarring ?

MISS CATLEY

And that our friendship may remain unbroken,
What if we leave the Epilogue unspoken ?

MRS. BULKLEY

Agreed.

MISS CATLEY

Agreed.

MRS. BULKLEY

And now with late repentance,

Un-epilogued the Poet waits his sentence.

Condemn the stubborn fool who can't submit

To thrive by flattery, though he starves by wit.

EPILOGUE

(Exeunt.)

INTENDED TO HAVE BEEN SPOKEN BY MRS. BULKLEY FOR "SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER " 1

THERE is a place, so Ariosto sings,2

A treasury for lost and missing things;

Lost human wits have places there assign'd them,
And they, who lose their senses, there may find them.
But where's this place, this storehouse of the age?
The Moon, says he :- but I affirm the Stage :

[1 This Epilogue, also given to Bishop Percy by Goldsmith in MS., was first printed in the Miscellaneous Works of 1801, ii. 87. Colman, the Manager, thought it "too bad to be spoken," and the author accordingly wrote that printed with She Stoops to Conquer. (See Cradock's Memoirs, 1826, i. 22

225.)]

[ Orlando Furioso, Canto xxxiv.]

At least in many things, I think, I see
His lunar, and our mimic world agree.
Both shine at night, for, but at Foote's alone,1
We scarce exhibit till the sun goes down.
Both prone to change, no settled limits fix,
And sure the folks of both are lunatics.
But in this parallel my best pretence is,
That mortals visit both to find their senses.
To this strange spot, Rakes, Macaronies, Cits,
Come thronging to collect their scatter'd wits.
The gay coquette, who ogles all the day,
Comes here at night, and goes a prude away.
Hither the affected city dame advancing,
Who sighs for operas, and dotes on dancing,
Taught by our art her ridicule to pause on,
Quits the Ballet, and calls for Nancy Dawson.
The Gamester too, whose wit's all high or low,
Oft risks his fortune on one desperate throw,
Comes here to saunter, having made his bets,
Finds his lost senses out, and pay his debts.
The Mohawk too, with angry phrases stored,
As "Darm'me, Sir," and "Sir, I wear a sword;"
Here lesson'd for a while, and hence retreating,
Goes out, affronts his man, and takes a beating.
Here comes the son of scandal and of news,
But finds no sense-for they had none to lose.
Of all the tribe here wanting an adviser
Our Author's the least likely to grow wiser;
Has he not seen how you your favour place,
On sentimental Queens and Lords in lace?
Without a star, a coronet or garter,
How can the piece expect or hope for quarter ?
No high-life scenes, no sentiment :-the creature
Still stoops among the low to copy nature.3
Yes, he's far gone :-and yet some pity fix,
The English laws forbid to punish lunatics.

[ Foote gave matinées at the Haymarket.]

SCENE-The banks of the River Euphrates, near Babylon.]

ACT I

SCENE-Israelites sitting on the banks of the Euphrates

FIRST PROPHET

RECITATIVE

YE captive tribes, that hourly work and weep
Where flows Euphrates murmuring to the deep,
Suspend awhile the task, the tear suspend,
And turn to God, your Father and your Friend.
Insulted, chain'd, and all the world a foe,
Our God alone is all we boast below.

CHORUS OF ISRAELITES

Our God is all we boast below,
To Him we turn our eyes;
And every added weight of woe
Shall make our homage rise.

And though no temple richly drest,
Nor sacrifice is here;

We'll make His temple in our breast,
And offer up a tear.

[The Captivity was set to music, but never performed. It was first printed in the Miscellaneous Works (Trade edition), 1820. In 1837, Prior printed it again from another MS. (Miscellaneous Works, 1837). It is here given mainly as reproduced by Mr. Bolton Corney from the second version, Author's MS. Two of the songs, with variations, were published with The Haunch of Venison, 1776.]