PROLOGUES AND EPILOGUES:-- Prologue and Envoi to Abbey's Edition of "She Stoops to Conquer" 257 Prologue and Epilogue to Abbey's "Quiet Life" 264 NOTES 271 AT THE SIGN OF THE LYRE. _"At the Sign of the Lyre,"_ _Good Folk, we present you_ _With the pick of our quire,_ _And we hope to content you!_ _Here be Ballad and Song,_ _The fruits of our leisure,_ _Some short and some long--_ _May they all give you pleasure!_ _But if, when you read,_ _They should fail to restore you,_ _Farewell, and God-speed--_ _The world is before you!_ THE LADIES OF ST. JAMES'S. A PROPER NEW BALLAD OF THE COUNTRY AND THE TOWN. "_Phyllida amo ante alias._" Virg. The ladies of St. James's Go swinging to the play; Their footmen run before them, With a "Stand by! Clear the way!" But Phyllida, my Phyllida! She takes her buckled shoon, When we go out a-courting Beneath the harvest moon. The ladies of St. James's Wear satin on their backs; They sit all night at _Ombre_, With candles all of wax: But Phyllida, my Phyllida! She dons her russet gown, And runs to gather May dew Before the world is down. The ladies of St. James's! They are so fine and fair, You'd think a box of essences Was broken in the air: But Phyllida, my Phyllida! The breath of heath and furze, When breezes blow at morning, Is not so fresh as hers. The ladies of St. James's! They're painted to the eyes; Their white it stays for ever, Their red it never dies: But Phyllida, my Phyllida! Her colour comes and goes; It trembles to a lily,-- It wavers to a rose. The ladies of St. James's! You scarce can understand The half of all their speeches, Their phrases are so grand: But Phyllida, my Phyllida! Her shy and simple words Are clear as after rain-drops The music of the birds. The ladies of St. James's! They have their fits and freaks; They smile on you--for seconds, They frown on you--for weeks: But Phyllida, my Phyllida! Come either storm or shine, From Shrove-tide unto Shrove-tide, Is always true--and mine. My Phyllida! my Phyllida! I care not though they heap The hearts of all St. James's, And give me all to keep; I care not whose the beauties Of all the world may be, For Phyllida--for Phyllida Is all the world to me! THE OLD SEDAN CHAIR. "_What's not destroyed by Time's devouring Hand?_ _Where's Troy, and where's the May-Pole in the Strand?_" Bramston's "Art of Politicks."