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How fares Edmunda?

WORTIMERUS.

Her mind is somewhat better, yet she's feeble.

AURELIUS.

Well! of your father doth she e'er say ought?

WORTIMERUS.

Aye, truly, but she haply thinks him dead.

Enter UTER.

UTER

Of all, the King hath truly made confession,

To you he justly renders up the crown,

And bade me hail you rightful King of Britain.

(All Kneel.)

ALL.

Hail to Aurelius,

Lawful King of Britain.

PASCENTIUS enters.

PASCENTIUS to AURELIUS.

Vortigern on thee bestows our sister,

And bade me, in his name, present her hand--

AURELIUS.

Which I do kiss, and with the self same breath,

Do hail her wife, and Britain's lovely Queen.

ALL.

All hail to Flavia, Queen of Britain.

AURELIUS.

Much, we confess, we owe to all here present;

Each distinct service we shall well repay,

As best befits the dignity of our state;

To-morrow, Lords, we'll meet at Westminster,

For your ripe ages, and experience,

Must teach our young and giddy years the way,

To sow content after these dismal times.

[Curtain drops.

"FOOL comes forward."

"Methinks but now I heard some gentles say,

"Where's master Fool? I'troth he's run away.

"Right! for look you, when there be danger near,

"He then most courage hath who most doth fear;

"Besides, observe, I came not here to fight,

"Let him that dares, say nay, for I am right;

"I will not out and risk a knocking down,

"For though I like our King, I like my crown;

"Besides, there is a time for Fools to play,

"But then they must have nought, save good to say.

"Chance you will ask if this be tragedy,

"We kill indeed, yet still 'tis comedy;

"For none save bad do fall, which draws no tear,

"Nor lets compassion sway your tender ear;

"Play! we'll grant it--the story ye have read,

"For 'tis well chronicled in Hollinshed;

"Give then your plaudits, and when that be done,

"Your Fool shall bow, and thank ye ev'ry one."

FINIS.

EPILOGUE,

Written by the late ROBERT MERRY, Esq.

Spoken by Mrs. Jordan.

Ye solemn critics! wheresoe'er you're seated,

To grant a favour may you be entreated?

For which I'll pay you proper adoration,

And strive to please you--that is my vocation:

Then do not frown, but give due share of praise,

Nor rend from Shakespeare's tomb the sacred bays.

The scatter'd flow'rs! he left benignly save!

Posthumous flow'rs! the garland of the grave!

What tho' he lived two hundred years ago,

He knew you very well, as I will shew:

His pencil sketch'd you, and that seldom errs;

You're all, whate'er you think, his characters.

How!--do you doubt it?--cast your eyes around,

In ev'ry corner of his house they're found.

Observe the jolly grazier in the pit,

Why, he is Falstaff, fat, and full of wit;--

In fun and feasting places his delight,

And with his Dolly emulates the Knight.

Look at that youth, whose countenance of woe

Denotes a tender-hearted Romeo;

He only wishes, tho' he dare not speak,

To be a glove to touch his Juliet's cheek;

While she, from yonder terrace, smiles serene,

And longs with him to play the garden scene.

But O! I tremble now,--there sits a man,

Rugged and rough, a very Caliban!

He growls out his displeasure--'tis a shame!

Do, dear Miranda! make the monster tame.

And you, my pretty Beatrice, don't fret,

Your Benedick is fond of a coquette.

For tho' he vows he'll think no more about you,

He means to marry--he can't live without you.

Kind faithful Imogens are here, to charm us,

Mad Edgars, Ancient Pistols to alarm us,

And Hotspurs too, who seek the glorious boon,

"To pluck bright honour from the pale-fac'd moon."

Besides, we have our Touchstones, Shylocks dire,

Iagos false, and many a shallow Squire.

Nay, there are ladies, who in their own houses,

Are Desdemonas, plagu'd with jealous spouses.

'Tis true, there is some change, I must confess,

Since Shakespeare's time, at least in point of dress.

The ruffs are gone, and the long female waist

Yields to the Grecian more voluptuous taste;

While the circling braids the copious tresses bind,

And the bare neck spreads beautiful behind.

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