The Clandestine Marriage/Epilogue
EPILOGUE.
Written by Mr. GARRICK.
CHARACTERS of the EPILOGUE.
| Lord Minum | Mr. Dodd. | |
| Colonel Trill | Mr. Vernon. | |
| Sir Patrick Mahony | Mr. Moody. | |
| Miſs Crotchet | Mrs. | |
| Mrs. Quaver | Mrs. Lee. | |
| Firſt Lady | Mrs. Bradshaw. | |
| Second Lady | Miſs Mills. | |
| Third Lady | Mrs. Dorman. |
SCENE an Aſſembly.
Several Perſons at Cards, at different Tables; among the reſt Col. Trill, Lord Minum, Mrs. Quaver, Sir Patrick Mahony.
At the Quadrille Table.
Col. T.LADIES, with Leave—
2d Lady. Paſs!
3d Lady. Paſs!
Mrs. Qu. You muſt do more.
Col. T.Indeed I can't.
Mrs. Qu. I play in Hearts.
Col. T. Encore!
2d Lady.What Luck!
Col. T. To-night at Drury-Lane is play'd
A Comedy, and toute nouvelle—a Spade!
Is not Miſs Crotchet at the Play?
Mrs. Qu. My Niece
Has made a Party, Sir, to damn the Piece.
At the Whiſt Table.
Ld. Min.I hate a Play-houſe—Trump!—It makes me ſick.
1ſt Lady.We're two by Honours, Ma'am.
Ld. Min. And we the odd Trick.
Pray do you know the Author, Colonel Trill?
Col. T.I know no Poets, Heaven be prais'd!—Spadille!
1ſt Lady.I'll tell you who, my Lord! (whiſpers my Lord.)
Ld. Min. What, he again?
"And dwell ſuch daring Souls in little Men?"
Be whoſe it will, they down our Throats will cram it!
Col. T.O, no.—I have a Club—the beſt.—We'll damn it.
Mrs. Qu.O Bravo, Colonel! Muſick is my Flame.
Ld. Min.And mine, by Jupiter!—We've won the Game.
Col. T.What, do you love all Muſick?
Mrs. Qu. No, not Handel's.
And naſty Plays—
Ld. Min. Are fit for Goths and Vandals.
(Riſe from the Table and pay.)
From the Piquette Table.
Sir Pat.Well, faith and troth! that Shakeſpeare was no Fool!
Col. T.I'm glad you like him, Sir!—So ends the P ol!
(Pay and riſe from Table.)
SONG by the Colonel.
I hate all their Nonſenſe,
Their Shakeſpears and Johnſons,
Their Plays, and their Play-houſe, and Bards:
'Tis ſinging, not ſaying;
A Fig for all playing,
But playing, as we do, at Cards!
I love to ſee Jonas,
Am pleas'd too with Comus;
Each well the Spectator rewards.
So clever, ſo neat in
Their Tricks, and their Cheating!
Like them we would fain deal our Cards.
Sir Pat.King Lare is touching!—And how fine to ſee
Ould Hamlet's Ghoſt!—"To be, or not to be."—
What are your Op'ras to Othello's roar?
Oh, he's an Angel of a Blackamoor!
Ld. Min.What, when he choaks his Wife?—
Col. T. And calls her Whore?
Sir Pat.King Richard calls his Horſe—and then Macbeth,
When e'er he murders—takes away the Breath.
My Blood runs cold at ev'ry Syllable,
To ſee the Dagger—that's inviſible. (All laugh.)
Sir Pat.Laugh if you pleaſe, a pretty Play—
Ld. Min. Is pretty.
Sir Pat.And when there's Wit in't—
Col T. To be ſure 'tis witty.
Sir Pat.I love the Play-houſe now—ſo light and gay,
With all thoſe Candles, they have ta'en away!
(All laugh.)
For all your Game, what makes it ſo much brighter?
Col. T.Put out the Light, and then—
Ld. Min. 'Tis ſo much lighter.
Sir Pat.Pray do you mane, Sirs, more than you expreſs?
Col. T.Juſt as it happens—
Ld. Min. Either more, or leſs.
Mrs. Qu.An't you aſham'd, Sir? [to Sir Pat.]
Sir Pat. Me!—I ſeldom bluſh.—
For little Shakeſpeare, faith! I'd take a Puſh!
Ld. Min.News, News!—here comes Miſs Crotchet from the Play.
Enter Miſs Crotchet.
Mrs. Qu.Well, Crotchet, what's the News?
Miſs Cro. We've loſt the Day.
Col. T.Tell us, dear Miſs, all you have heard and ſeen.
Miſs Cro.I'm tir'd—a Chair—here, take my Capuchin!
Ld. Min.And isn't it damn'd, Miſs?
Miſs Cro. No, my Lord, not quite:
But we ſhall damn it.
Col. T. When?
Miſs Cro. To-morrow Night.
There is a Party of us, all of Faſhion,
Reſolv'd to exterminate this vulgar Paſſion:
A Play-houſe, what a Place!—I muſt forſwear it.
A little Miſchief only makes one bear it.
Such Crowds of City Folks!—ſo rude and preſſing!
And their Horſe-Laughs, ſo hideouſly diſtreſſing!
When e'er we hiſs'd, they frown'd and fell a ſwearing,
Like their own Guildhall Giants—fierce and ſtaring!
Col. T.What ſaid the Folks of Faſhion? were they croſs?
Ld. Min.The reſt have no more Judgement than my Horſe.
Miſs Cro.Lord Grimly ſwore 'twas execrable Stuff.
Says one, Why ſo, my Lord?—My Lord took Snuff.
In the firſt Aft Lord George began to doze,
And criticis'd the Author—through his Noſe;
So loud indeed, that as his Lordſhip ſnor'd,
The Pit turn'd round, and all the Brutes encor'd.
Some Lords, indeed, approv'd the Author's Jokes.
Ld. Min.We have among us, Miſs, ſome fooliſh Folks.
Miſs Cro.Says poor Lord Simper—Well, now to my Mind
The Piece is good;—but he's both deaf and blind.
Sir Pat.Upon my Soul a very pretty Story!
And Quality appears in all its Glory!—
There was ſome Merit in the Piece, no Doubt;
Miſs Cro.O, to be ſure!—if one could find it out.
Col. T.But tell us, Miſs, the Subject of the Play.
Miſs Cro.Why, 'twas a Marriage—yes, a Marriage—Stay!
A Lord, an Aunt, two Siſters, and a Merchant—
A Baronet—ten Lawyers—a fat Serjeant—
Are all produc'd—to talk with one another;
And about ſomething make a mighty Pother;
They all go in, and out; and to, and fro;
And talk, and quarrel—as they come and go—
Then go to Bed, and then get up—and then—
Scream, faint, ſcold, kiſs,—and go to Bed again.
[all laugh.
Such is the Play—Your Judgment! never ſham it.
Col. T.Oh damn it!
Mrs. Qu. Damn it!
1ſt Lady. Damn it!
Miſs Cro. Damn it!
Ld. Min. Damn it!
Sir Pat.Well, faith, you ſpeak your Minds, and I'll be free—
Good Night! this Company's too good for me. [going.]
Col. T.Your Judgment, dear Sir Patrick, makes us proud.
[all laugh.]
Sir Pat.Laugh if you pleaſe, but pray don't laugh too loud.
[Exit.]
RECITATIVE.
Col. T.Now the Barbarian's gone, Miſs, tune your Tongue,
And let us raiſe our Spirits high with Song!
RECITATIVE.
Miſs Cro.Colonel, de tout mon Cœur—I've one in petto,
Which you ſhall join, and make it a Duetto.
RECITATIVE.
Ld Min.Bella Signora, et Amico mio!
I too will join, and then we'll make a Trio.—
Col. T.Come all and join the full-mouth'd Chorus,
And drive all Tragedy and Comedy before us!
All the Company riſe, and advance to the Front of the Stage.
AIR.
Col. T.Would you ever go to ſee a Tragedy?
Miſs Cro. Never, never.
Col. T. A Comedy?
Ld. M. Never, never,
Live for ever!
Tweedle-dum and Tweedle-dee!
Col. T.Ld. M.and Miſs Cro.
Live for ever!
Tweedle-dum and Tweedle-dee!
CHORUS.
Would you ever go to ſee, &c.