EPILOGUE TO CLEMENTINA, Spoken by Mrs. YATES

From Otway's and immortal Shakespear's page, Venice is grown familiar to our Stage. Here the Rialto often has display'd At once a Bridge, a Street, and Mart of Trade; Here, Treason threat'ning to lay Venice flat, Grave Candle-Snuffers oft in senate sat.

To night in Venice we have plac'd our scene, Where I have been,—liv'd—died—as you have seen. Yet that my travels I may not disgrace, Let me, since now reviv'd—describe the place! Nor would the Tour of Europe prove our shame, Could every Macaroni do the same.

The City's self—a wonder, all agree— Appears to spring, like Venus, from the sea. Founded on Piles it rises from the strand, Like Trifle plac'd upon a silver stand: While many a lesser isle the prospect crowns, Looking like sugar-plums, or floating towns.

Horses and mules ne'er pace the narrow street, Where crowded walkers elbow all they meet: No carts and coaches o'er the pavement clatter; Ladies, priests, lawyers, nobles, go by water: Light boats and Gondolas transport them all, Like one eternal party to Vauxhall.

Now hey for merriment!—hence grief and fear! The jolly Carnival leads in the year; Calls the young loves and pleasures to its aid; A three-months Jubilee and Masquerade!

With gaiety the throng'd piazza glows, Mountebanks, Jugglers, Boxers, Puppet-Shows: Mask'd and disguis'd the ladies meet their sparks, While Venus hails the mummers of St. Mark's. There holy friars turn gallants, and there too, Nuns yield to all the frailties—"Flesh is heir to." There dear Ridottos constantly delight, And sweet Harmonic Meetings ev'ry night!

Once in each year the Doge ascends his barge, Fine as a London Mayor's, and thrice as large; Throws a huge ring of gold into the sea, And cries, "Thus we, thy sovereign, marry thee; " Oh may'st thou ne'er, like many a mortal spouse, " Prove full of storms, and faithless to thy vows!"

One word of Politicks—and then I've done— The state of Venice Nobles rule alone. Thrice happy Britain, where, with equal hand, Three well-pois'd States unite to rule the land! Thus in the Theatre, as well as State, Three ranks must join to make us bless'd and great. Kings, Lords, and Commons, o'er the nation sit; Pit, Box, and Gallery, rule the realms of wit.