“The City of London and the trade thereof,” and other standing toasts, having been drunk with the accustomed honours, Uncle Timothy addressed Mr. Bosky,
“Thy Epilogue, Benjamin. Drop we the curtain on this mountebank drama, and cry quittance to conjurors.”
Mr. Bosky. But what is an Epilogue without a dress coat, a chapeau bras, black velvets and paste buckles? Nous verrons!
And the Lauréat rose, put on a stage face, stood tea-pot fashion, and poured out his soul.
Mr. Bosky. Knights of the Table Round! in verse
sublime,
I fain would tell how once upon a time,
When George the Second, royally interr'd,
Resign'd his sceptre to King George the
Third-