An EPILOGUE, Spoke by Mrs BELLAMY, at Edinburgh, in Character of Lady FANCIFUL

Fancy, we're told, of parentage Italic, And Folly, whose original is Gallic, Set up to sale their vain misshapen daughter, And Britain, by a large subscription, bought her.

The fertile soil grew fond of this exotic, And nurs'd her, till her pow'r became despotic; Till ev'ry wou'd-be beauty in the nation, Did homage at the shrine of AFFECTATION. But Common Sense will certainly dethrone her, And (like the fair ones of this place) disown her. If she attempts the dimpled smile, delightful! The dimpled smile of Affectation's frightful: Mark but her bagatelles—her whine—her whimper— Her loll—her lisp—her saunter—stare—her simper; All, outres all—no native charm about her, And Ridicule wou'd soon expire without her.

Look for a grace, and Affectation hides it; If beauty aims an arrow, she misguides it: So awkwardly she mends unmeaning faces, To insipidity she gives—grimaces.

Without her dear coquetish arts to aid 'em, Fine ladies might be just as—nature made 'em, Such sensible—sincere—domestic creatures, The jest of modern belles, and petit maitres!

Safe with good sense, this circle's not in danger, But as the foreign phantom's—here a stranger; I gave her portrait, that the fair may know her, And if they meet, be ready to forego her; For trust me, ladies, she'd deform your faces, And with a single glance destroy the graces.