THE NURSE AND THE NEWSPAPER; AN OCCASIONAL EPILOGUE by ELIZABETH COBBOLD

@3The Scene draws, and discovers an old Nurse rocking a Cradle; a Table near
her, with Bottles, Baskets, and a Newspaper upon it.@1

Hush! pretty darling, hush!—Bye, bye, bye, bye,
There's a good child. So now it does not cry.
What, shall I sing a song, or story try at,
To keep this little helpless bantling quiet?
It will not, on an honest Nurse's conscience,
Be the first baby that was lull'd with nonsense.

Young Master sleeps; his caps are neatly laid,
His victuals ready, and the caudle made.
What shall I do the minutes to amuse?
Why, though no @3Scholard,@1 I can read the News:—
But can I understand it?—No; I fear
There's nothing in @3my way@1 to study there.

Well, let me see:
@3(Putting on her Spectacles, and taking up the Paper.)@1
Dear! dear! who could have thought it?
What's here?—All News, as pat as if I'd bought it.
"Labour!" "Deliv'rance!" now, by my discretion,
In ev'ry line a touch at my profession!
@3(Reads.)@1
"We hear, from Boulogne, that the num'rous fry
"Of rafts, sloops, brigs, and gun-boats, are @3laid by:@1
"The troops, that late were @3groaning@1 for invasion,
"Are @3crying out@1 upon a new occasion:
"And they who Britain's valour dar'd disparage,
"Find all their boastings end in—@3a miscarriage.@1"
Why aye, that's right! but England, free and hearty,
Laugh'd always at their threats, and Bonaparte.
@3(Reads.)@1
"Now, @3big@1 with just revenge, the @3teeming@1 North
"Collects her forces, @3brings@1 her myriads @3forth;@1
"She finds that France in lawless sway @3increases;@1
"That Italy is @3falling all to pieces:@1
"Such @3times give birth@1 to more than common zeal,
"And Austria @3labours@1 for the public weal,
"To fix a lasting peace on balanc'd pow'r,
And bless all Europe with a @3happy hour.@1"

My stars! how joyous folks will drink and sing!
I'll take a thimble-full to—"Bless the King!"
@3(Reads.)@1
"Vain are the plots the foe to Freedom @3bred;@1
"His projects @3prettily are brought to bed:@1
"Soon may the hour be @3pregnant@1 with his doom,
"And the Usurper find @3his time is come.@1"
Lord! Lord! I think the World is @3lying-in!@1
What's next?—O! here advertisements begin;
So, to proceed with decent regularity—
@3(Reads.)@1
"The annual Meeting of the Ipswich Charity
"Maintain'd by mod'rate weekly contribution"—

Aye, this I know: a glorious Institution!
That soothes the hour with pain and grief opprest,
And makes, by timely aid, the cottage blest.
What honest heart but would rejoice to say,
This charity is @3in a thriving way?@1
Still rich in kind protectors, may it flourish,
And Britain's hardier sons and daughters nourish.
I'm sure I wish it well, and so for certain,
Do all our worthy friends behind the curtain.
@3(To the Audience.)@1
Then, since 'tis your applause our @3pangs@1 beguiles,
Since our delights are @3cradled@1 in your smiles,
Assist our @3labours, hush to rest@1 our errors,
And give us @3safe deliv'ry@1 from our terrors.

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