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Round and round go the cards, while I inwardly damn,
At never once finding a visit from Pam.
I lay down my stake, apparently cool,
While the harpies about me all pocket the pool;
I fret in my gizzard, yet, cautious and sly,
I wish all my friends may be bolder than I:
Yet still they sit snug; not a creature will aim,
By losing their money, to venture at fame.
'Tis in vain that at niggardly caution I scold,
'Tis in vain that I flatter the brave and the bold;
All play their own way, and they think me an ass,
“ What does Mrs. Bunbury?” “I, Sir ? I pass."
“Pray what does Miss Horneck?' take courage,come,do!” —
“ Who, I? Let me see, Sir; why I must pass too."
Mr. Bunbury frets, and I fret like the devil,
To see them so cowardly, lucky, and civil;
Yet still I sit snug, and continue to sigh on,
'Till made by my losses as bold as a lion,
I venture at all; while my avarice regards
The whole pool as my own. “Come, give me five cards."
Well done !” cry the ladies; “ah! Doctor, that's good!
The pool's very rich. Ah! the Doctor is loo'd !”
Thus foil'd in my courage, on all sides perplext,
I ask for advice from the lady that's next.
Pray, Ma'am, be so good as to give your advice;
Don't you think the best way is to venture for 't twice?"
“ I advise,” cries the lady, “ to try it, I own.-
Ah! the Doctor is loo’d. Come, Doctor, put down.”
Thus playing and playing, I still grow more eager,
And so bold, and so bold, I'm at last a bold beggar.
Now ladies, I ask, if law matters you're skilled in,
Whether crimes such as yours should not come before

Fielding ? ?
For giving advice that is not worth a straw,
May well be called picking of pockets in law;

? Miss Mary Horneck, “the Jessamy Bride." See ante, p. 94 ; also Life,' v. j., pp. 32, 41; and, for some charming speculation as to the Jessamy Bride and Goldsmith, see Washington Irving's · Life' of the poet.-ED.

? Sir John Fielding, the half-brother of Henry Fielding, the novelist. He was a famous magistrate at Bow Street Police Court.-ED.

And picking of pockets, with which I now charge ye,
Is by quinto Elizabeth, death without clergy.
What justice, when both to the Old Bailey brought !
By the gods I'll enjoy it, though 'tis but in thought !
Both are plac'd at the bar, with all proper decorum,
With bunches of fennel and nosegays before 'em ;
Both cover their faces with mobs and all that,
But the judge bids them angrily take off their hat.
When uncover'd, a buzz of enquiry goes round, -
“Pray what are their crimes ? “ They've been pilfering

found.

“But, pray whom have they pilfer'd ?” “A Doctor, I

hear;” “ What, yon solemn-faced, odd-looking man that stands

near?“ The same.” “What a pity! How does it surprise

one! Two handsomer culprits I never set eyes on!" Then their friends all come round me with cringing and

leering, To melt me to pity and soften my swearing. First Sir Charles advances with phrases well strung : “Consider, dear Doctor, the girls are but young.” “ The younger the worse,” I return him again, “ It shows that their habits are all dyed in grain.” “ But then they're so handsome; one's bosom it grieves.” " What signifies handsome when people are thieves ?” “ But where is your justice? Their cases are hard. “ What signifies justice? I want the reward.”—

“There's the parish of Edmonton offers forty pounds; there's the parish of St. Leonard's, Shoreditch, offers forty pounds; there's the parish of Tyburn, from the Hog-in-the-Pound to St. Giles's watchhouse, offers forty pounds,-I shall have all that if I convict them.”— “ But consider their case, it may yet be your own! And see how they kneel! is your heart made of stone ?" This moves :-so at last I agree to relent, For ten pounds in hand and ten pounds to be spent.

I challenge you all to answer this : I tell you, you can

not. It cuts deep ;-but now for the rest of the letter; and next—but I want room. So I believe I shall battle the rest out at Barton some day next week. I don't value you all!

0. G.

SONG.1

[Intended to have been sung in the comedy of 'She Stoops to Conquer' [1773]; but omitted, because Mrs. Bulkley, who acted the part of Miss Hardcastle, could not sing.-BOSWELL : vide note below.]

Ah me! when shall I marry me?

Lovers are plenty ; but fail to relieve me. He, fond youth, that could carry me,

Offers to love, but means to deceive me. But I will rally, and combat the ruiner:

Not a look, not a smile shall my passion discover. She that gives all to the false one pursuing her,

Makes but a penitent-loses a lover.

EPILOGUE

SPOKEN BY

MRS. BULKLEY AND MISS CATLEY.

[This Epilogue, headed as above, first appeared in Percy's edition of the 'Works,' 1801. It seems pretty certain, however, from the following letter by Goldsmith, that the heading should have been different, and that the epilogue was intended for She Stoops to Conquer,' but never delivered. Writing without date, but evidently just after the production of his comedy, Goldsmith says to his friend Cradock, “ The play has met with a success much beyond your expectations or mine. I thank

1 This song was communicated, after Goldsmith's death, to the editor of the London Magazine' (June, 1774), by Boswell, the biographer of Dr. Johnson. Goldsmith himself, says Boswell, used to sing it to a pretty Irish air called the ‘Humours of Ballamagairy,' to which he confessed that he found it very difficult to adapt words.-ED.

? So in London Magazine. The usual version is—“nor a smile.” -ED.

3 So in London Magazine.' The usual reading is" and loses a lover.”—ED.

you sincerely for your epilogue, which, however, could not be used, but with your permission shall be printed. The story in short is this; Murphy sent me rather the outline of an epilogue than an epilogue, which was to be sung by Mrs. Catley, and which she approved. Mrs. Bulkley hearing this, insisted on tbrowing up her part, unless, according to the custom of the theatre, she were permitted to speak the epilogue. In this embarrassment I thought of making a quarrelling epilogue between Catley and her, debating who should speak the epilogue, but then Mrs. Catley refused after I had taken the trouble of drawing it out. I was then at a loss indeed ; an epilogue was to be made, and for none but Mrs. Bulkley. I made one, and Colman thought it too bad to be spoken; I was obliged therefore to try a fourth time, and I made a very mawkish thing as you'll shortly see,' Such is the history of my stage adventures, and which I have at last done with. I cannot help saying that I am very sick of the stage ; and though I believe I shall get three tolerable benefits, yet I shall on the whole be a loser, even in a pecuniary light; my ease and comfort I certainly lost while it was in agitation" (Letters, v. i.). It seems clear, therefore, that this is the “quarrelling epilogue” rejected by Miss Catley, and that its heading should be “ Epilogue intended to have been spoken by," &c. -Ed.]

Enter Mrs. Bulkley, who curtsies very low, as beginning to

speak; then enter Miss Catley, who stands full before her and curtsies to the audience. Mrs. Bulkley. HOLD, Ma'am, your pardon. What's your

business here? Miss Catley. The Epilogue. Mrs. B. The Epilogue ? Miss C. Yes, the Epilogue, my dear. Mrs. B. Sure you mistake, Ma'am. The Epilogue ? I

bring it. Miss C. Excuse me, Ma'am. The author bid me sing it.

Recitative.
Ye beaux and belles, that form this splendid ring,
Suspend your conversation while I sing.
Mrs. B. Why, sure the girl's beside herself ! an Epilogue

of singing ?
A hopeful end, indeed, to such a blest beginning.
Besides, a singer in a comic set !-
Excuse me, Ma'am, I know the etiquette.

The epilogue actually spoken, which will be found at the end of She Stoops to Conquer.'—ED.

Miss C. What if we leave it to the house?
Mrs. B. The house !-Agreed.
Miss C. Agreed.

Mrs. B. 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 C. 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 !

[Da Capo.
Mrs. B. Let all the old pay homage to your merit;
Give me the young, the gay, the men of spirit.
Ye travell’d tribe, ye macaroni train,
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: O fatal news to tell,
Their hands are only lent to the Heinel.1

Miss C. 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.

1 Mlle. Heinel, a French dancer at the Opera House, in great vogue in 1773.-ED.

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