Classic Poem

EPILOGUE spoken by Mr. W ILSON , at the Theatre Royal, in the Character of an Edinburgh Buck.

Y E who oft finish care in Lethe's cup,
Who love to swear, and roar, and keep it up ,
List to a brother's voice, whose sole delight
Is sleep all day, and riot all the night.
Last night, when potent draughts of mellow wine
Did sober reason into wit refine;
When lusty Bacchus had contriv'd to drain
The sullen vapours from our shallow brain,
We sallied forth (for Valour's dazzling sun
Up to his bright meridian had run;)
And like renowned Quixotte and his squire;
Spoils and adventures were our sole desire.
First we approach'd a seeming sober dame,
Preceded by a lanthorn's pallid flame,
Borne by a livry'd puppy's servile hand,
The slave obsequious of her stern command.
Curse on those cits, said I, who dare disgrace
Our streets at midnight with a sober face;
Let never tallow-chandler give them light,
To guide them thro' the dangers of the night.
The valet's cane we snatch'd, and dam'me! I
Made the frail lanthorn on the pavement lie.
The guard, still watchful of the lieges' harm,
With slow-pac'd motion stalk'd at the alarm.
Guard, seize the rogues! the angry madam cry'd,
And all the guard with sieze ta rogue reply'd.
As in a war, there's nothing judg'd so right
As a concerted and prudential flight;
So we, from guard and scandal to be freed,
Left them the field, and burial of the dead.
Next, we approach'd the bounds of George's square,
Blest place! no watch, no constable comes there.
Now had they borrow'd Argus eyes who saw us,
All was made dark and desolate as chaos:
Lamps tumbl'd after lamps, and lost their lustres,
Like doomsday, when the stars shall fall in clusters.
Let fancy paint what dazzling glory grew
From crystal gems, when Phaebus came in view;
Each shattered orb ten thousand fragments strews,
And a new sun in ev'ry fragment shews.
Hear then, my Bucks! how drunken fate decreed us
For a nocturnal visit to the Meadows,
And how we, val'rous champions! durst engage —
O deed unequall'd — both the Bridge and Cage;
The rage of per'lous winters which had stood,
This 'gainst the wind, and that against the flood;
But what nor wind, nor flood, nor heav'n could bend
We tumbled down, my Bucks, and made surrender.
What are your far-fam'd warriors to us,
'Bout whom historians make such mighty fuss;
Posterity may think it was uncommon
That Troy should be pillag'd for a woman;
But ours your ten years sieges will excel,
And justly be esteem'd the nonpareil.
Our cause is slighter than a dame's betrothing,
For all these mighty feats have sprung from — nothing .