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

THE RELAPSE; OR, VIRTUE IN DANGER.

A Comedy.

BEING THE SEQUEL OF "THE FOOL IN FASHION."

THE

PREFACE.

To go about to excuse half the defects this abortive brat is come into the world with, would be to provoke the town with a long useless preface, when 'tis, I doubt, sufficiently soured already by a tedious play.

I do therefore (with all the humility of a repenting sinner) confess, it wants everything-but length; and in that, I hope, the severest critic will be pleased to acknowledge I have not been wanting. But my modesty will sure atone for everything, when the world shall know it is so great, I am even to this day insensible of those two shining graces in the play (which some part of the town is pleased to compliment me with)-blasphemy and bawdy.

For my part, I cannot find them out. If there were any obscene expressions upon the stage, here they are in the print; for I have dealt fairly, I have not sunk a syllable that could (though by racking of mysteries) be ranged under that head; and yet I believe with a steady faith, there is not one woman of a real reputation in town, but when she has read it impartially over in her closet, will find it so innocent, she'll think it no affront to her prayer-book, to lay it upon the same shelf. So to them (with all manner of deference) I entirely refer my cause; and I'm confident they'll justify me against those pretenders to good manners, who, at the same time, have so little respect for the ladies, they would extract a bawdy jest from an ejaculation, to put 'em out of countenance. But I expect to have these well-bred persons aways my enemies, since I'm sure I shall never write anything lewd enough to make 'em my friends.

As for the saints (your thorough-paced ones, I mean, with screwed faces and wry mouths) I despair of them, for they are friends to nobody. They love nothing but their altars and themselves. They have too much zeal to have any charity; they make debauches in piety, as sinners do in wine; and are as quarrelsome in their religion, as other people are in their drink: so I hope nobody will mind what they say. But if any man (with flat plod shoes, a little band, greasy hair, and a dirty face, who is wiser than I, at the expense of being forty years older) happens to be offended at astery of a cock and a bull, and a priest and a bull-dog, I beg his pardon with all my heart; which, I hope, I shall btain, by eating my words, and making this public recantation. I do therefore, for his satisfaction, acknowledge I lied, when I said, they never quit their hold; for in that little time I have lived in the world, I thank God I have seen em forced to it more than once: but next time I'll speak with more caution and truth, and only say, they have very 2nd teeth.

If I have offended any honest gentlemen of the town, whose friendship or good word is worth the having, I am very sorry for it; I hope they'll correct me as gently as they can, when they consider I have had no other design, in running a very great risk, than to divert (if possible) some part of their spleen, in spite of their wives and their taxes.

One word more about the bawdy, and I have done. I own the first night this thing was acted, some indecencies had Eke to have happened, but 'twas not my fault.

The fine gentleman of the play, drinking his mistress's health in Nantes brandy, from six in the morning to the time he waddled on upon the stage in the evening, had toasted himself up to such a pitch of vigour, I confess I once gave Amanda for gone, and am since (with all due respect to Mrs. Rogers) very sorry she scaped; for I am confident a certain lady (let no one take it to herself that's handsome) who highly blames the play, for the barrenness of the conclusion, would then have allowed it a very natural close.

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.

SIR NOVELTY FASHION, newly created LORD FOPPINGTON.

TOM FASHION, his Brother.

LOVELESS, Husband to AMANDA.
WORTHY, a Gentleman of the Town.

SIR TUNBELLY CLUMSEY, a Country Gentleman.

SIR JOHN FRIENDLY, his Neighbour.

COUPLER, a Match-maker.

BULL, Chaplain to SIR TUNBELLY.

STRINGE, a Surgeon.

LOBY, Servant to TOM FASHION.

LA VEROLE, Valet to LORD FOPPINGTON.

MENDLEGS, a Hosier.

FORETOP, a Periwig-maker.
TUG, a Waterman.

AMANDA, Wife to LOVELESS.

BERINTHIA, her Cousin, a young Widow.

MISS HOYDEN, a great Fortune, Daughter to SIR TUN

BELLY.

Nurse, her Governante.

MRS. CALICO, a Sempstress.

ABIGAIL, Maid to BERINTHIA.

Shoemaker, Tailor, Constable, Clerk, Porter, Page,
Musicians, Dancers, &c.

SCENE,-SOMETIMES IN LONDON, SOMETIMES IN THE COUNTRY.

LADIES, this Play in too much haste was writ, To be o'ercharged with either plot or wit; 'Twas got, conceived, and born in six weeks' space,

And wit, you know, 's as slow in growth asgrace.

Sure it can ne'er be ripen'd to your taste;

I doubt 'twill prove, our author bred too fast :
For mark 'em well, who with the Muses marry,
They rarely do conceive, but they miscarry.
'Tis the hard fate of those who are big with rhyme,
Still to be brought to bed before their time.
Of our late poets Nature few has made;
The greatest part are-only so by trade.
Still want of something brings the scribbling fit;
For want of money some of 'em have writ,
And others do't, you see, for-want of wit.
Honour, they fancy, summons 'em to write,

CROSS.

So out they lug in wresty Nature's spite,
As some of you spruce beaux do-when you fight.
Yet let the ebb of wit be ne'er so low,
Some glimpse of it a man may hope to show,
Upon a theme so ample as-a beau.
So, howsoe'er true courage may decay,
Perhaps there's not one smock-face here to-day,
But's bold as Cæsar-to attack a play.
Nay, what's yet more, with an undaunted face,'
To do the thing with more heroic grace,
'Tis six to four ye attack the strongest place.
You are such Hotspurs in this kind of venture,
Where there's no breach, just there you needs must

enter:

But be advised

E'en give the hero and the critic o'er,
For Nature sent you on another score ;-
She form'd her beau, for nothing but her whore.

PROLOGUE ON THE THIRD DAY. SPOKEN BY MRS. VERBRUGGEN.

APOLOGIES for Plays, experience shows,
Are things almost as useless as-the beaux.
Whate'er we say (like them) we neither move
Your friendship, pity, anger, nor your love.
'Tis interest turns the globe; let us but find
The way to please you, and you'll soon be kind:
But to expect, you'd for our sakes approve,
Is just as though you for their sakes should love;
And that, we do confess, we think a task
Which (though they may impose) we never ought
to ask.

This is an age, where all things we improve,
But, most of all, the art of making love.
In former days, women were only won
By merit, truth, and constant service done;
But lovers now are much more expert grown;
They seldom wait, to approach by tedious form;
They're for despatch, for taking you by storm:
Quick are their sieges, furious are their fires,
Fierce their attacks, and boundless their desires.
Before the Play's half ended, I'll engage
To show you beaux come crowding on the stage,
Who with so little pains have always sped,
They'll undertake to look a lady dead.

How have I shook, and trembling stood with

awe,

When here, behind the scenes, I've seen 'em draw

-A comb; that dead-doing weapon to the heart,
And turn each powder'd hair into a dart!
When I have seen 'em sally on the stage,
Dress'd to the war, and ready to engage,
I've mourn'd your destiny-yet more their fate,
To think, that after victories so great,
It should so often prove their hard mishap
To sneak into a lane, and get a clap.
But, hush they're here already; I'll retire,
And leave 'em to the ladies to admire.
They'll show you twenty thousand arts and graces.
They'll entertain you with their soft grimaces,
Their snuff box, awkward bows, and-ugly faces.
In short, they're after all so much your friends,
That lest the Play should fail, the author ends;
They have resolved to make you some amends.
Between each act (perform'd by nicest rules)
They'll treat you with-an Interlude of fools:
Of which that you may have the deeper sense,
The entertainment's-at their own expense.

ACT I.

SCENE I.-A Room in LOVELESS's CountryHouse.

Enter LOVELESs, reading.

Love. How true is that philosophy, which says Our heaven is seated in our minds ! Through all the roving pleasures of my youth, (Where nights and days seem all consumed in joy, Where the false face of luxury Display'd such charms,

As might have shaken the most holy hermit, And made him totter at his altar,)

I never knew one moment's peace like this. Here, in this little soft retreat,

My thoughts unbent from all the cares of life,
Content with fortune,

Eased from the grating duties of dependence,
From envy free, ambition under foot,
The raging flame of wild destructive lust
Reduced to a warm pleasing fire of lawful love,
My life glides on, and all is well within.

Enter AMANDA.

How does the happy cause of my content, [Meeting her kindly.

My dear Amanda ?

You find me musing on my happy state,
And full of grateful thoughts to Heaven, and you.
Aman. Those grateful offerings Heaven can't
receive

With more delight than I do :

Would I could share with it as well
The dispensations of its bliss!

That I might search its choicest favours out,
And shower 'em on your head for ever.

Love. The largest boons that Heaven thinks fit to grant,

To things it has decreed shall crawl on earth,
Are in the gift of woman form'd like you.
Perhaps when time shall be no more,
When the aspiring soul shall take its flight,
And drop this ponderous lump of clay behind it,
It may have appetites we know not of,
And pleasures as refined as its desires-
But till that day of knowledge shall instruct me,
The utmost blessing that my thought can reach,
[Taking her in his arms.
Is folded in my arms, and rooted in my heart.
Aman. There let it grow for ever!
Lore. Well said, Amanda-let it be for ever-
Would Heaven grant that—

Aman.

'Twere all the heaven I'd ask. But we are clad in black mortality, And the dark curtain of eternal night At last must drop between us.

Love.

It must.

Forgive the weakness of a woman,

am uneasy at your going to stay so long in town; know its false insinuating pleasures; know the force of its delusions; know the strength of its attacks; know the weak defence of nature;

I know you are a man—and I—a wife.

Love. You know then all that needs to give you rest,

For wife's the strongest claim that you can urge. When you would plead your title to my heart, In this you may depend. Therefore be calm,

Banish your fears, for they

A traitors to your peace: beware of them,
They are insinuating busy things

That gossip to and fro,

And do a world of mischief where they come. But you shall soon be mistress of 'em all; I'll aid you with such arms for their destruction, They never shall erect their heads again. You know the business is indispensable, that obliges me to go for London; and you have no reason, that I know of, to believe that I'm glad of the occasion. For my honest conscience is my witness, I have found a due succession of such charms In my retirement here with you,

I have never thrown one roving thought that way.
But since, against my will, I'm dragg'd once more
To that uneasy theatre of noise,

I am resolved to make such use on't,
As shall convince you 'tis an old cast mistress,
Who has been so lavish of her favours,
She's now grown bankrupt of her charms,
And has not one allurement left to move me.

Aman. Her bow, I do believe, is grown so weak
Her arrows (at this distance) cannot hurt you;
But in approaching 'em, you give 'em strength.
The dart that has not far to fly, will put
The best of armour to a dangerous trial.

Love. That trial past, and you're at ease for ever;
When you have seen the helmet proved,
You'll apprehend no more for him that wears it.
Therefore, to put a lasting period to your fears,
I am resolved, this once, to launch into temptation:
I'll give you an essay of all my virtues,

My former boon companions of the bottle
Shall fairly try what charms are left in wine :
I'll take my place amongst them,

They shall hem me in,

Lore. Your love then is not founded as it ought; For if you can believe 'tis possible

I should again relapse to my past follies,

I must appear to you a thing

Of such an undigested composition,
That but to think of me with inclination,
Would be a weakness in your taste
Your virtue scarce could answer.

Aman. 'Twould be a weakness in my tongue; My prudence could not answer,

If I should press you farther with my fears;
I'll therefore trouble you no longer with 'em.
Love. Nor shall they trouble you much longer,
A little time shall show you they were groundless:
This winter shall be the fiery trial of my virtue;

Enter TOM FASHION, LORY, and TUG.

Fash. Come, pay the waterman, and take the portmantle.

Lory. Faith, sir, I think the waterman had as good take the portmantle, and pay himself.

Fash. Why, sure there's something left in't! Lory. But a solitary old waistcoat, upon my honour, sir.

Fash. Why, what's become of the blue coat, sirrah?

Lory. Sir, 'twas eaten at Gravesend; the reckoning came to thirty shillings, and your privy purse was worth but two half-crowns.

Lory. [Aside.] Good!

Fash. My annuity ! 'Sdeath, he's such a dog, he would not give his powder-puff to redeem my soul.

Lory. Look you, sir, you must wheedle him, or you must starve.

Fash. Look you, sir, I will neither wheedle him, nor starve.

Lory. Why, what will you do then?

Fash. I'll go into the army.

Lory. You can't take the oaths; you are s Jacobite.

Fash. Thou mayst as well say I can't take orders because I'm an atheist.

Lory. Sir, I ask your pardon; I find I did not know the strength of your conscience so well as I did the weakness of your purse.

Fash. Methinks, sir, a person of your experi. ence should have known that the strength of the conscience proceeds from the weakness of the

purse.

Lory. Sir, I am very glad to find you have conscience able to take care of us, let it proceed from what it will; but I desire you'll please to consider, that the army alone will be but a scanty maintenance for a person of your generosity at least as rents now are paid). I shall see you stand in damnable need of some auxiliary guineas far your menus plaisirs; I will therefore turn fool once more for your service, and advise you to go

Tug. Change a guinea, master! Ha! ha! your directly to your brother. honour's pleased to compliment.

Fash. Egad, I don't know how I shall pay thee then, for I have nothing but gold about me. Lory. [Aside.] Hum, hum!

Fash. What dost thou expect, friend? Tug. Why, master, so far against wind and tide is richly worth half a piece..

Fash. Why, faith, I think thou art a good conscionable fellow. Egad, I begin to have so good an opinion of thy honesty, I care not if I leave my portmantle with thee, till I send thee thy money.

Tug. Ha! God bless your honour; I should be as willing to trust you, master, but that you are, as a man may say, a stranger to me, and these are nimble times; there are a great many sharpers stirring.-[Taking up the portmantle.] Well, master, when your worship sends the money, your portmantle shall be forthcoming; my name's Tug, my wife keeps a brandy-shop in Drab-Alley, at Wapping. Fash. Very well; I'll send for't to-morrow.

[Exit Too. Lory. So.-Now, sir, I hope you'll own yourself a happy man, you have outlived all your cares. Fash. How so, sir?

Lory. Why you have nothing left to take care of. Fash. Yes, sirrah, I have myself and you to take care of still.

Lory. Sir, if you could but prevail with somebody else to do that for you, I fancy we might both fare the better for't.

Fash. Why, if thou canst tell me where to apply myself, I have at present so little money, and so much humility about me, I don't know but I may follow a fool's advice.

Lory. Why then, sir, your fool advises you to lay aside all animosity, and apply to sir Novelty, your elder brother.

Fash, Damn my elder brother !

Lory. With all my heart; but get him to redeem your annuity however.

Fash. Art thou then so impregnable a blockhead, to believe he'll help me with a farthing? Lory. Not if you treat him de haut en bas, as you use to do.

Fash. Why, how wouldst have me treat him?
Lory. Like a trout-tickle him.

Fash. I can't flatter.

Lory. Can you starve?
Fash. Yes.

Lory. I can't.-Good-by t'ye, sir—
Fash. Stay; thou wilt distract me!
wouldst thou have me say to him?

What

Lory. Say nothing to him, apply yourself to his favourites, speak to his periwig, his cravat, his feather, his snuff box, and when you are well with them, desire him to lend you a thousand pounds. I'll engage you prosper.

Fash. Sdeath and furies! why was that cor comb thrust into the world before me? O Fortune! Fortune !-thou art a bitch by Gad! [Exeunt

SCENE III.-A Room in Lord FOPPINGTON'

House.

Enter Lord ForPINGTON in his nightgown, Lord Fop. Page!

Page. Sir !

Enter Page.

Lord Fop. Sir!-Pray, sir, do me the favour t teach your tongue the title the king has though:: to honour me with.

Page. I ask your lordship's pardon, my lord. Lord Fop. O, you can pronounce the word then I thought it would have choked you.-D'ye hear Page. My lord!

Lord Fop. Call La Verole; I would dress. [Exit Page.]-Well, 'tis an unspeakable pleasur to be a man of quality, strike me dumb!-My lo

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