EPILOGUE.WRITTEN BY THOMAS PALMER, ESQ.OF THE TEMPLE.SPOKEN BY MR. MUNDEN.Our drama now ended, I’ll take up your timeJust a moment or two in defence of myrhime—* “Tho’ I hope that among you aresomewhoadmir’d“What I’ve hitherto said, dare I hope none are tir’d?“But whether ye have, or have not heard enough,“Or whether nice critics will think it all stuff;“To myselfrhimehas ever appear’d, I must own,“In its nature a sort ofphilosopher’s stone;“And if Chymists wou’d use it, they’d not make a pother,“And puzzle their brains to find out any other.”Indeed ’tis most strange and surprising to meThat all folks inrhimingtheir int’rest can’t see;For I’m sure if its use were quite common with men,The world would roll on just as pleasant again.“’Tis said, that while ORPHEUSwas striking his lyre,“Trees and brutes danc’d along to the sound of the wire;“That AMPHIONto walls soon converted the glebes,“And they rose, as he sung, to a city call’d Thebes;“I supposetheywereButlers(like me) of that time,“And the tale shows our sires knew the wonders ofrhime.”From time immemorial, your lovers, we find,When their mistresses’ hearts have been proud and unkind,Have resorted torhime; and indeed it appearsThat arhimewould do more than a bucket of tears.Of love, from experience, I speak—odds my life!I shall never forget how I courted my wife:She had offers in plenty; but always stood neuter,Till I, with my pen, started forth as a suitor;Yet I made no mean present ofribbandorbonnet,Mypresent was caught from the stars—’twas asonnet.“And now you know this, sure ’tis needless to say,“That prose was neglected, andrhimewon the day—“But its potent effects you as well may discover“In thehusbandandwife, as inmistressandlover;“There are some of ye here, who, like me, I conjecture.“Have been lull’d into sleep by a goodcurtain lecture.“But that’s a mere trifle; you’ll ne’er come to blows,“If you’ll only avoid that dull enemy,prose.“Adopt, then, my plan, and the very next time,“That in words you fall out, let them fall intorhime;“Thus your sharpest disputes will conclude very soon,“And from jangling to jingling you’ll chime intotune.“If my wife were to call me adrunken old sot,“I shou’d merely just ask her, what Butler is not?“And bid her take care that she don’t go to pot.“So our squabbles continue a very short season,“If she yields to myrhime—I allow she has reason.”Independent of this I conceiverhimehas weightIn the higher employments of church and of state,And would in my mind such advantages draw,’Tis a pity thatrhimeis not sanctioned by law;“For ’twouldreallybe serving us all, to impose“A capital fine on a man who spoke prose.”Mark the pleader who clacks, in his client’s behalf,His technical stuff for three hours and a half;Or the fellow who tells you a long stupid story,And over and over the same lays before ye;Or the member who raves till the whole house are dosingWhat d’ye say of such men? Why you say they are prosing.So, of course, then, ifproseis so tedious acrime,It of consequence follows, there’svirtueinrhime.The best piece of prose that I’ve heard a long while,Is what gallant Nelson has sent fromTHENILE.And had he but told us the story inrhime,What a thing ’twou’d be; but, perhaps, he’d no time.So, I’ll do it myself—Oh! ’tis glorious news!Ninesailof the line! Just a ship for each Muse.As I live, there’s an end of the French and their navy—Sir John Warren has sent the Brest fleet to Old Davy.’Tis in the Gazette, and that, every one knows,Is sure to be truth, tho’ ’tis written in prose.* The lines between inverted commas are not spoken.
WRITTEN BY THOMAS PALMER, ESQ.OF THE TEMPLE.
SPOKEN BY MR. MUNDEN.
Our drama now ended, I’ll take up your timeJust a moment or two in defence of myrhime—* “Tho’ I hope that among you aresomewhoadmir’d“What I’ve hitherto said, dare I hope none are tir’d?“But whether ye have, or have not heard enough,“Or whether nice critics will think it all stuff;“To myselfrhimehas ever appear’d, I must own,“In its nature a sort ofphilosopher’s stone;“And if Chymists wou’d use it, they’d not make a pother,“And puzzle their brains to find out any other.”Indeed ’tis most strange and surprising to meThat all folks inrhimingtheir int’rest can’t see;For I’m sure if its use were quite common with men,The world would roll on just as pleasant again.“’Tis said, that while ORPHEUSwas striking his lyre,“Trees and brutes danc’d along to the sound of the wire;“That AMPHIONto walls soon converted the glebes,“And they rose, as he sung, to a city call’d Thebes;“I supposetheywereButlers(like me) of that time,“And the tale shows our sires knew the wonders ofrhime.”From time immemorial, your lovers, we find,When their mistresses’ hearts have been proud and unkind,Have resorted torhime; and indeed it appearsThat arhimewould do more than a bucket of tears.Of love, from experience, I speak—odds my life!I shall never forget how I courted my wife:She had offers in plenty; but always stood neuter,Till I, with my pen, started forth as a suitor;Yet I made no mean present ofribbandorbonnet,Mypresent was caught from the stars—’twas asonnet.“And now you know this, sure ’tis needless to say,“That prose was neglected, andrhimewon the day—“But its potent effects you as well may discover“In thehusbandandwife, as inmistressandlover;“There are some of ye here, who, like me, I conjecture.“Have been lull’d into sleep by a goodcurtain lecture.“But that’s a mere trifle; you’ll ne’er come to blows,“If you’ll only avoid that dull enemy,prose.“Adopt, then, my plan, and the very next time,“That in words you fall out, let them fall intorhime;“Thus your sharpest disputes will conclude very soon,“And from jangling to jingling you’ll chime intotune.“If my wife were to call me adrunken old sot,“I shou’d merely just ask her, what Butler is not?“And bid her take care that she don’t go to pot.“So our squabbles continue a very short season,“If she yields to myrhime—I allow she has reason.”Independent of this I conceiverhimehas weightIn the higher employments of church and of state,And would in my mind such advantages draw,’Tis a pity thatrhimeis not sanctioned by law;“For ’twouldreallybe serving us all, to impose“A capital fine on a man who spoke prose.”Mark the pleader who clacks, in his client’s behalf,His technical stuff for three hours and a half;Or the fellow who tells you a long stupid story,And over and over the same lays before ye;Or the member who raves till the whole house are dosingWhat d’ye say of such men? Why you say they are prosing.So, of course, then, ifproseis so tedious acrime,It of consequence follows, there’svirtueinrhime.The best piece of prose that I’ve heard a long while,Is what gallant Nelson has sent fromTHENILE.And had he but told us the story inrhime,What a thing ’twou’d be; but, perhaps, he’d no time.So, I’ll do it myself—Oh! ’tis glorious news!Ninesailof the line! Just a ship for each Muse.As I live, there’s an end of the French and their navy—Sir John Warren has sent the Brest fleet to Old Davy.’Tis in the Gazette, and that, every one knows,Is sure to be truth, tho’ ’tis written in prose.
* The lines between inverted commas are not spoken.