The Dramatic Works of Wycherley, Congreve, Vanbrugh, and Farquhar

Sir Paul. Nay, only about poetry, I suppose,

my lord; making couplets.

Lord Froth. Couplets!

Lady Froth. Mr. Brisk, my coach shall set you down. [A great shriek from the corner of the stage. All. What's the matter?

Sir Paul. O, here they come.

SCENE XXI.

Lord FROTH, Sir PAUL, Lady FROTH, and BRISK.

Brisk. My lord, your humble servant:-sir Paul, yours. The finest night!

Lady Froth. My dear, Mr. Brisk and I have been star-gazing, I don't know how long.

Sir Paul. Does it not tire your ladyship; are not you weary with looking up?

Lady Froth. Oh, no, I love it violently.-My dear, you're melancholy.

Lord Froth. No, my dear; I'm but just awake. Lady Froth. Snuff some of my spirit of hartshorn.

Lord Froth. I've some of my own, thank you, my dear.

Lady Froth. Well, I swear, Mr. Brisk, you understood astronomy like an old Egyptian.

Brisk. Not comparably to your ladyship; you are the very Cynthia of the skies, and queen of

stars.

Lady Froth. That's because I have no light but what's by reflection from you, who are the

sun.

Brisk. Madam, you have eclipsed me quite, let me perish -I can't answer that.

Lady Froth. No matter. Harkee, shall you and I make an almanac together?

Brisk. With all my soul.-Your ladyship has made me the man in't already, I'm so full of the wounds which you have given.

Lady Froth. O finely taken! I swear now you are even with me. O Parnassus! you have an infinite deal of wit.

Sir Paul. So he has, gadsbud, and so has your ladyship.

SCENE XXIII.

Lord FROTH, Sir PAUL, Lady FROTH, BRISK, Lady PLYANT CARELESS, CYNTHIA; Lady TOUCHWOOD runs out affrighted, Lord TOUCHWOOD after her, disguised in a parson's habit.

Lady Touch. O, I'm betrayed!-Save me! help me!

Lord Touch. Now, what evasion, strumpet? Lady Touch. Stand off! let me go.

Lord Touch. Go, and thy own infamy pursue thee-[Exit Lady TOUCHWOOD.]-You stare as you were all amazed.-I don't wonder at it-but too soon you'll know mine, and that woman's shame.

SCENE XXIV.

Lord TOUCHWOOD, Lord FROTH, Lady FROTH, Sir PAUL Lady PLYANT, CYNTHIA, BRISK, CARELESS; MELLEFONT disguised in a parson's habit, and pulling in MASKWELL. Servants.

Mel. Nay, by heaven, you shall be seen!--Carehold less, your hand.-[To MASKWELL.] Do you down your head? Yes, I am your chaplain; look in the face of your injured friend, thou wonder of all falsehood!

Lord Touch. Are you silent, monster?

Mel. Good heavens! how I believed and loved this man!-Take him hence, for he's a disease to my sight.

Lord Touch. Secure that manifold villain. [Servants seize him, Care. Miracle of ingratitude! Brisk. This is all very surprising, let me perish! Lady Froth. You know I told you Saturn looked a little more angry than usual.

Lord Touch. We'll think of punishment at leisure, but let me hasten to do justice, in rewarding virtue and wronged innocence.-Nephew, I I hope I have your pardon, and Cynthia's. Mel. We are your lordship's creatures.

Lord Touch. And be each other's comfort.-Let me join your hands.-Unwearied nights and wishing days attend you both; mutual love, lasting health, and circling joys, tread round each happy year of your long lives.

Let secret villany from hence be warn'd;
Howe'er in private mischiefs are conceived,
Torture and shame attend their open birth;
Like vipers in the womb, base treachery lies,
Still gnawing that whence first it did arise;
No sooner born, but the vile parent dies.

[Exeunt omnes.

EPILOGUE

SPOKEN BY MRS. MOUNTFORD.

COULD poets but foresee how plays would take,
Then they could tell what epilogues to make;
Whether to thank or blame their audience most:
But that late knowledge does much hazard cost:
'Till dice are thrown, there's nothing won nor lost.
So, till the thief has stolen, he cannot know
Whether he shall escape the law or no.
But poets run much greater hazards far,
Than they who stand their trials at the bar,
The law provides a curb for its own fury,
And suffers judges to direct the jury:
But in this court, what difference does appear!
For every one's both judge and jury here;
Nay, and what's worse, an executioner.
All have a right and title to some part,
Each choosing that in which he has most art.
The dreadful men of learning all confound,
Unless the fable's good, and moral sound.
The vizor-masks that are in pit and gallery,
Approve or damn the repartee and raillery.
The lady critics, who are better read,
Inquire if characters are nicely bred ;

If the soft things are penn'd and spoke with grace:
They judge of action, too, and time, and place;
In which we do not doubt but they're discerning,
For that's a kind of assignation learning.

Beaux judge of dress; the witlings judge of songs;
The cuckoldom, of ancient right, to cits belongs.
Poor poets thus the favour are denied

Even to make exceptions, when they're tried.
'Tis hard that they must every one admit;
Methinks I see some faces in the pit
Which must of consequence be foes to wit.
You who can judge, to sentence may proceed;
But though he cannot write, let him be freed
At least from their contempt who cannot read.

CHARLES, EARL OF DORSET AND MIDDLESEX,

LORD CHAMBERLAIN OF HIS MAJESTY'S HOUSEHOLD, AND Knight of THE MOST NOBLE ORDER OF THE GARTER, &c. MY LORD, A young poet is liable to the same vanity and indiscretion with a young lover; and the great man wi smiles upon one, and the fine woman who looks kindly upon t'other, are both of them in danger of having the fava published with the first opportunity.

But there may be a different motive, which will a little distinguish the offenders. For though one should have vanity in ruining another's reputation, yet the other may only have an ambition to advance his own. And I beg leav my Lord, that I may plead the latter, both as the cause and excuse of this dedication.

Whoever is king, is also the father of his country; and as nobody can dispute your Lordship's monarchy in poetry so all that are concerned ought to acknowledge your universal patronage; and it is only presuming on the privilege a loyal subject, that I have ventured to make this my address of thanks to your Lordship; which, at the same tim includes a prayer for your protection.

I am not ignorant of the common form of poetical dedications, which are generally made up of panegyrics, where th authors endeavour to distinguish their patrons by the shining characters they give them above other men. But tha my Lord, is not my business at this time, nor is your Lordship now to be distinguished. I am contented with th honour I do myself in this epistle, without the vanity of attempting to add to or explain your Lordship's character. I confess it is not without some struggling that I behave myself in this case as I ought; for it is very hard to b pleased with a subject, and yet forbear it. But I choose rather to follow Pliny's precept, than his example, when i his panegyric to the Emperor Trajan he says " Nec minus considerabo quid aures ejus pati possint, quam qui virtutibus debeatur."

I hope I may be excused the pedantry of a quotation, when it is so justly applied. Here are some lines in the prin (and which your Lordship read before this play was acted) that were omitted on the stage, and particularly one whol scene in the third Act, which not only helps the design forward with less precipitation, but also heightens the ridicul s character of Foresight, which indeed seems to be maimed without it. But I found myself in great danger of a les play, and was glad to help it where I could. Though notwithstanding my care, and the kind reception it had from the town, I could heartily wish it yet shorter; but the number of different characters represented in it would have been to much crowded in less room.

This reflection on prolixity (a fault for which scarce any one beauty will atone) warns me not to be tedious now, an detain your Lordship any longer with the trifles of, my Lord, your Lordship's most obedient, and most humble servant. WILL. CONGREVE

DRAMATIS PERSONE.

SIR SAMPSON LEGEND, Father to VALENTINE and BEN.
VALENTINE, fallen under his Father's displeasure by
his expensive way of living, in love with ANGelica.
SCANDAL, his Friend, a free speaker.
TATTLE, a half-witted Beau, vain of his amours, yet
valuing himself for secrecy.

BEN, SIR SAMPSON's younger Son, half home-bred, and
half sea-bred, designed to marry MISS PRUE.
FORESIGHT, an illiterate old fellow, peevish and posi-
tive, superstitious, and pretending to understand
Astrology, Palmistry, Physiognomy, Omens, Dreams,
&c. Uncle to ANGELICA.

JEREMY, Servant to VALENTINE.
TRAPLAND, a Scrivener.

BUCKRAM, a Lawyer.
SNAP, a Bailiff.

ANGELICA, Niece to FORESIGHT, of a considerable For-
tune in her own hands.

MRS. FORESIGHT, second Wife to FORESIGHT.
MRS. FRAIL, Sister to MRS. FORESIGHT, a Woman of
the Town.

MISS PRUE, Daughter to FORESIGHT by a former Wife,
a silly awkward country Girl.
Nurse to MISS PRUE.

JENNY, Maid to ANGELICA.

Steward, Sailors, and Servants.

SCENE,-LONDON.

PROLOGUE

SPOKEN, AT THE OPENING OF THE NEW HOUSE, BY MR. BETTERTON.

THE husbandman in vain renews his toil,

To cultivate each year a hungry soil;

And fondly hopes for rich and generous fruit,

When what should feed the tree devours the root;
The unladen boughs, he sees, bode certain dearth,
Unless transplanted to more kindly earth.
So, the poor husbands of the stage, who found
Their labours lost upon ungrateful ground,
This last and only remedy have proved;
And hope new fruit from ancient stocks removed.
Well may they hope, when you so kindly aid,
Well plant a soil which you so rich have made.
As Nature gave the world to man's first age,
So from your bounty we receive this stage;
The freedom man was born to you've restored,
And to our world such plenty you afford,
It seems like Eden, fruitful of its own accord.
But since in Paradise frail flesh gave way,
And when but two were made, both went astray;
Forbear your wonder and the fault forgive,
If in our larger family we grieve

One falling Adam, and one tempted Eve.
We who remain would gratefully repay

What our endeavours can, and bring, this day,

The first-fruit offering of a virgin play.

We hope there's something that may please each taste,

And though of homely fare we make the feast,
Yet you will find variety at least.

There's humour, which for cheerful friends we got,
And for the thinking party there's a plot.
We've something too, to gratify ill-nature,
(If there be any here,) and that is satire;
Though satire scarce dares grin, 'tis grown so mild,
Or only shows its teeth as if it smiled.
As asses thistles, poets mumble wit,
And dare not bite, for fear of being bit.
They hold their pens, as swords are held by fools,
And are afraid to use their own edge-tools.
Since the Plain Dealer's scenes of manly rage,
Not one has dared to lash this crying age.
This time the poet owns the bold essay,
Yet hopes there's no ill-manners in his play :
And he declares by me, he has design'd
Affront to none, but frankly speaks his mind.
And should the ensuing scenes not chance to hit,
He offers but this one excuse, 'twas writ
Before your late encouragement of wit.

ACT I.

SCENE I.-VALENTINE'S Lodging. VALENTINE discovered reading, JEREMY waiting: several books upon the table.

Val. Jeremy! Jer. Sir?

Val. Here, take away; I'll walk a turn, and gest what I have read.

Jer. [Aside.] You'll grow devilish fat upon this per diet. [Takes away the books. Val. And d'ye hear, go you to breakfast.There's a page doubled down in Epictetus that is feast for an emperor.

Jer. Was Epictetus a real cook, or did he only write receipts?

Val. Read, read, sirrah! and refine your appete; learn to live upon instruction; feast your mind, and mortify your flesh; read, and take your ourishment in at your eyes; shut up your mouth, nd chew the cud of understanding; so Epictetus

vises.

Jer. O Lord! I have heard much of him, when waited upon a gentleman at Cambridge. Pray hat was that Epictetus ?

Val. A very rich man-not worth a groat.
Jer. Humph, and so he has made a very fine
ast where there is nothing to be eaten?
Val. Yes.

Jer. Sir, you're a gentleman, and probably understand this fine feeding; but if you please, I Bad rather be at board-wages. Does your Epictetus, or your Seneca here, or any of these poor rich

rogues, teach you how to pay your debts without money? Will they shut up the mouths of your creditors? Will Plato be bail for you? or Diogenes, because he understands confinement, and lived in a tub, go to prison for you? 'Slife, sir, what do you mean? to mew yourself up here with three or four musty books, in commendation of starving and poverty?

Val. Why, sirrah, I have no money, you know it; and therefore resolve to rail at all that have; and in that I but follow the examples of the wisest and wittiest men in all ages; these poets and philosophers whom you naturally hate, for just such another reason, because they abound in sense, and you are a fool.

Jer. Ay, sir, I am a fool, I know it; and yet, heaven help me, I'm poor enough to be a wit;but I was always a fool when I told you what your expenses would bring you to; your coaches and your liveries, your treats and your balls; your being in love with a lady that did not care a farthing for you in your prosperity; and keeping company with wits that cared for nothing but your prosperity, and now, when you are poor, hate you as much as they do one another.

Val. Well, and now I am poor I have an opportunity to be revenged on 'em all; I'll pursue Angelica with more love than ever, and appear more notoriously her admirer in this restraint, than when I openly rivalled the rich fops that made court to her; so shall my poverty be a mortification to her pride, and perhaps make her compassionate

the love, which has principally reduced me to this lowness of fortune. And for the wits, I'm sure I am in a condition to be even with them.

Jer. Nay, your condition is pretty even with theirs, that's the truth on't.

Ial. I'll take some of their trade out of their hands.

Jer. Now heaven, of mercy, continue the tax upon paper! you don't mean to write !

Val. Yes, I do; I'll write a play.

Jer. Hem-Sir, if you please to give me a small certificate of three lines;-only to certify those whom it may concern, that the bearer hereof, Jeremy Fetch by name, has for the space of seven years, truly and faithfully served Valentine Legend, Esq.; and that he is not now turned away for any misdemeanour, but does voluntarily dismiss his master from any future authority over him.

Val. No, sirrah, you shall live with me still. Jer. Sir, it's impossible :-I may die with you, starve with you, or be damned with your works; but to live, even three days, the life of a play, I no more expect it, than to be canonised for a Muse after my decease.

Val. You are witty, you rogue! I shall want your help; I'll have you learn to make couplets, to tag the ends of acts; d'ye hear, get the maids to crambo in an evening, and learn the knack of rhyming you may arrive at the height of a song sent by an unknown hand, or a chocolate-house lampoon.

Jer. But, sir, is this the way to recover your father's favour? why, sir Sampson will be irreconcilable. If your younger brother should come from sea, he'd never look upon you again. You're undone, sir, you're ruined, you won't have a friend left in the world if you turn poet.-Ah, pox confound that Will's Coffee-house! it has ruined more young men than the Royal Oak lottery;-nothing thrives that belongs to't. The man of the house would have been an alderman by this time with half the trade, if he had set up in the city. For my part, I never sit at the door that I don't get double the stomach that I do at a horse-race :-the air upon Banstead downs is nothing to it for a whetter. Yet I never see it, but the spirit of famine appears to me, sometimes like a decayed porter, worn out with pimping, and carrying billets-doux and songs; not like other porters for hire, but for the jest's sake: -now like a thin chairman, melted down to half his proportion with carrying a poet upon tick, to visit some great fortune, and his fare to be paid him, like the wages of sin, either at the day of marriage, or the day of death.

Val. Very well, sir; can you proceed? Jer. Sometimes like a bilked bookseller, with a meagre terrified countenance, that looks as if he had written for himself, or were resolved to turn author, and bring the rest of his brethren into the same condition :-and lastly, in the form of a wornout punk, with verses in her hand, which her vanity had preferred to settlements, without a whole tatter to her tail, but as ragged as one of the Muses; or as if she were carrying her linen to the paper-mill, to be converted into folio books, of warning to all young maids, not to prefer poetry to good sense, or lying in the arms of a needy wit, before the embraces of a wealthy fool.

SCENE II.

VALENTINE, SCANDAL, and JEREMY, Scan. What, Jeremy holding forth? Val. The rogue has (with all the wit he could muster up) been declaiming against wit.

Scan. Ay? why then I'm afraid Jeremy has wit: for wherever it is, it's always contriving its own rui

Jer. Why, so I have been telling my master, sir Mr. Scandal, for heaven's sake, sir, try if you can dissuade him from turning poet.

Scan. Poet! he shall turn soldier first, and rather depend upon the outside of his head, tha the lining. Why, what the devil! has not you poverty made you enemies enough? must you need show your wit to get more?

Jer. Ay, more indeed; for who cares for any body that has more wit than himself?

Scan. Jeremy speaks like an oracle. Don't yo see how worthless great men, and dull rich rogues avoid a witty man of small fortune? Why, h looks like a writ of inquiry into their titles an estates; and seems commissioned by heaven t seize the better half.

Val. Therefore I would rail in my writings, an be revenged.

Scan. Rail? at whom? the whole world? In potent and vain! who would die a martyr to sens in a country where the religion is folly? you ma stand at bay for a while; but when the full cry against you, you shan't have fair play for your h If you can't be fairly run down by the hounds, yo will be treacherously shot by the huntsmen. No turn pimp, flatterer, quack, lawyer, parson, chaplain to an atheist, or stallion to an old woman anything but poet; a modern poet is worse, mor servile, timorous and fawning, than any I hav named without you could retrieve the ancien honours of the name, recal the stage of Athea and be allowed the force of open, honest satire.

Val. You are as inveterate against our poets if your character had been lately exposed upon th stage.-Nay, I am not violently bent upon t trade.-[Knocking at the door.] Jeremy, see who there.-[Exit JEREMY.] But tell me what yo would have me do? What does the world say me, and my forced confinement ?

Scan. The world behaves itself as it uses to d on such occasions; some pity you and conden your father; others excuse him and blame yo. only the ladies are merciful, and wish you wel since love and pleasurable expense have been you greatest faults.

Re-enter JEREMY.

Val. How now?

Jer. Nothing, new, sir; I have despatche some half-a-dozen duns with as much dexterity a a hungry judge does causes at dinner time. Val. What answer have you given 'em? Scan. Patience, I suppose? the old receipt. Jer. No, faith, sir; I have put 'em off so lon with patience and forbearance, and other fair words that I was forced now to tell 'em in plain down right English

Val. What?

Jer. That they should be paid. Val. When?

Jer. To-morrow.

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The Dramatic Works of Wycherley, Congreve, Vanbrugh, and Farquhar, Том 2