MISS CATLEY.
Air.—Ballinamony.
Ye brave Irish lads, hark away to the crack,
Assist me, I pray, in this woful attack;
For sure I don’t wrong you, you seldom are slack,
When the ladies are calling, to blush and hang back;
For you ’re always polite and attentive,
Still to amuse us inventive,
And death is your only preventive:
Your hands and your voices for me.
MRS. BULKLEY.
Well, Madam, what if, after all this sparring,
We both agree, like friends, to end our jarring?
MISS CATLEY.
And, that our friendship may remain unbroken,
What if we leave the Epilogue unspoken?
MRS. BULKLEY.
Agreed.
MISS CATLEY.