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SIR HARRY WILDAIR;

BEING THE SEQUEL OF THE

TRIP TO THE JUBILEE.

A Comedy.

TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE

THE EARL OF ALBEMARLE, &c.

KNIGHT OF THE MOST NOBLE ORDER OF THE GARTER.

MY LORD,-My pen is both a novice in poetry, and a stranger at court, and can no more raise itself to the style panegyric, than it can stoop to the art of flattery; but if in the plain and simple habit of truth, it may presume to with that crowd of followers that daily attend upon your Lordship's favour, please to behold a stranger, with the difference, that he pays more homage to your worth, than adoration to your greatness.

This distinction, my Lord, will appear too nice and metaphysical to the world, who know your Lordship's merit sa place to be so inseparable, that they can only differ as the cause from the effect; and this, my Lord, is as much be dispute, as that your royal master, who has made the noble choice, is the most wise and most discerning prince in dir universe.

To present the world with a lively draught of your Lordship's perfections, I should enumerate the judgment, conduct, piety and courage of our great and gracious king, who can only place his favours on those shining qualifications it which his majesty is so eminently remarkable himself; but this, my Lord, will prove the business of volum A history, and your Lordship's character must attend the fame of your great master in the memoirs of futurity, as your faithful service has hitherto accompanied the noble actions of his life.

The greatest princes in all ages have had their friends and favourites, with them to communicate and debate the thoughts, so to exercise and ripen their judgments; or sometimes to ease their cares by imparting them. The ga Augustus, we read in his project of settling the unwieldy Roman conquests on a fixed basis of government, had the design laid, not in his council, but his closet; there we find him with his two friends Mæcenas and Agrippa, s favourite friends, persons of sound judgment and unquestionable fidelity, there the great question is freely and reas ably debated, without the noise of faction and constraint of formality; and there was laid that prodigious seben government, that soon recovered their bleeding country, healed the wounds of the civil war, blessed the empire wit lasting peace, and styled its monarch, Pater Patriæ.

The parallel, my Lord, is easily made; we have our Cæsar too, no less renowned than the forementioned Augustus; he first asserted our liberties at home against popery and thraldom, headed our armies abroad with bravery and success gave peace to Europe, and security to our religion. And you, my Lord, are his Mæcenas, the private counsellor to the great transactions which have made England so formidable to its enemies, that (which I blush to own) it is get jealous of its friends.

But here, my Lord, appears the particular wisdom and circumspection of your Lordship's conduct, that you so fr retain the favour of your master without the envy of the subject; your moderation and even deportment between both has secured to your Lordship the ear of the king, and the heart of the people; the nation has voted you their ga Angel in all suits and petitions to their prince, and their success fills the three kingdoms with daily praises of your Lordship's goodness, and his majesty's grace and clemency.

And now, my Lord, give me leave humbly to beg, that among all the good actions of your Lordship's high and happ station, the encouragement of arts and literature may not be solely excluded from the influence of your favour. 1 polite Macenas, whom I presumed to make a parallel to your Lordship in the favour of his prince, had his Virgil and his Horace, and his time was mostly divided between the emperor and the poet; he so managed his stake of r favour, that as Augustus made him great, so the Muses fixed him immortal; and Maro's excellency, my Lord, wa appear the less wonder, when we consider that his pen was so cherished with bounty, and inspired by gratitude. But I can lay no claim to the merits of so great a person for my access to your Lordship; I have only this to re mend me without art void of rhetoric, that I am a true lover of my king, and pay an unfeigned veneration to all th who are his trusty servants and faithful ministers; which infers that I am, my Lord, with all submission, your Lord ship's most devoted and most obedient humble servant,

G. FARQUHAR

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R authors have, in most their late essays, logued their own, by damning other plays; de great harangues to teach you what was fit pass for humour and go down for wit. enian rules must form an English piece, i Drury-lane comply with ancient Greece. ctness only, such as Terence writ, st please our mask'd Lucretias in the pit. r youthful author swears he cares not a pin Vossius, Scaliger, Hedelin, or Rapin: leaves to learned pens such labour'd lays, a are the rules by which he writes his plays. m musty books let others take their view, hates dull reading, but he studies you. st, from you beaux, his lesson is formality, d in your footmen there-most nice morality; pleasure them his Pegasus must fly,

ause they judge, and lodge, three stories high.

From the front boxes he has pick'd his style,
And learns, without a blush, to make 'em smile;
A lesson only taught us by the fair,-
A waggish action, but a modest air.
Among his friends here in the pit he reads
Some rules that every modish writer needs.
He learns from every Covent-garden critic's face,
The modern forms of action, time, and place.
The action he's ashamed to name, d'ye see;
The time is seven, the place is number Three.
The masks he only reads by passant looks,
He dares not venture far into their books.
Thus, then, the pit and boxes are his schools,
Your air, your humour, his dramatic rules.
Let critics censure then, and hiss like snakes,
He gains his ends, if his light fancy takes
St. James's beaux, and Covent-garden rakes.

SCENE I.-The Park.

ACT I.

er Colonel STANDARD and Captain FIREBALL meeting. Stand. Ha, brother Fireball! welcome ashore. at, heart whole? limbs firm, and frigate safe? Tire. All, all, as my fortune and friends could b.

Stand. And what news from the Baltic ?

Pire. Why, yonder are three or four young boys 'North, that have got globes and sceptres to y with. They fell to loggerheads about their ythings; the English came in like Robin Goodow, cried Boh! and made 'em be quiet. Stand. In the next place, then, you're to contulate my success. You have heard, I suppose, t I've married a fine lady with a great fortune. Fire. Ay, ay; 'twas my first news upon my ding, that colonel Standard had married the fine y Lurewell-a fine lady indeed! a very fine ly! But faith, brother, I had rather turn skipr to an Indian canoe than manage the vessel a're master of.

Stand. Why so, sir?

Fire. Because she'll run adrift with every wind at blows: she's all sail and no ballast.-Shall I

tell you the character I have heard of a fine lady? A fine lady can laugh at the death of her husband, and cry for the loss of a lapdog: a fine lady is angry without a cause, and pleased without a reason: a fine lady has the vapours all the morning and the colic all the afternoon: the pride of a fine lady is above the merit of an understanding head; yet her vanity will stoop to the adoration of a peruke: and, in fine, a fine lady goes to church for fashion's sake, and to the basset-table with devotion; and her passion for gaming exceeds her vanity of being thought virtuous, or the desire of acting the contrary. We seamen speak plain, brother.

Stand. You seamen are like your element, always tempestuous, too ruffling to handle a fine lady.

Fire. Say you so? why then, give me thy hand, honest Frank; and let the world talk on, and be damned !

Stand. The world talk, say you? what does the world talk?

Fire. Nothing, nothing at all.-They only say what's usual upon such occasions: that your wife's the greatest coquette about the court, and your worship the greatest cuckold about the city; that's all.

Stand. How, how, sir!

Fire. That she's a coquette, and you a cuckold. Stand. She's an angel in herself, and a paradise

to me.

Fire. She's an Eve in herself and a devil to you. Stand. She's all truth and the world a liar.

Fire. Why then, egad, brother, it shall be so; I'll back again to White's, and whoever dares mutter scandal of my brother and sister, I'll dash his ratafia in's face, and call him a liar. [Going.

Stand. Hold, hold, sir! The world is too strong for us. Were scandal and detraction to be throughly revenged, we must murder all the beaux, and poison half the ladies. Those that have nothing else to say must tell stories: fools over burgundy, and ladies over tea, must have something that's sharp to relish their liquor; malice is the piquant sauce of such conversation, and without it their entertainment would prove mighty insipid.-Now, brother, why should we pretend to quarrel with all mankind?

Fire. Because that all mankind quarrel with us. Stand. The worst reason in the world.-Would you pretend to devour a lion because a lion would devour you?

Fire. Yes, if I could.

Stand. Ay, that's right; if you could! But since you have neither teeth nor paws for such an encounter, lie quietly down, and perhaps the furious beast may run over you.

Fire. 'Sdeath, sir! but, I say, that whoever abuses my brother's wife, though at the back of the king's chair, he's a villain.

Stand. No, no, brother, that's a contradiction; there's no such thing as villany at court. Indeed, if the practice of courts were found in a single person, he might be styled villain with a vengeance; but number and power authorises everything, and turns the villain upon their accusers. In short, sir, every man's morals, like his religion now-a-days, pleads liberty of conscience; every man's conscience is his convenience, and we know no convenience but preferment.-As for instance, who would be so complaisant as to thank an officer for his courage, when that's the condition of his pay? and who can be so ill-natured as to blame a courtier for espousing that which is the very tenure of his livelihood?

Fire. A very good argument in a very damnable cause!-But, sir, my business is not with the court, but with you: I desire you, sir, to open your eyes; at least, be pleased to lend an ear to what I heard just now at the Chocolate-house.

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Stand. Then why should you think it should please me? Be not more uncharitable to your friends than to yourself, sweet sir: if it made you uneasy, there's no question but it will torment me, who am so much nearer concerned.

Fire. But would you not be glad to know your enemies?

Stand. Psha! if they abused me they are my friends, my intimate friends, my table company, and pot companions.

Fire. Why then, brother, the devil take all your acquaintance! You were so rallied, so torn! there

were a hundred ranks of sneering white teeth draw upon your misfortunes at once; which so mangled your wife's reputation, that she can never patch up her honour while she lives.

Stand. And their teeth were very white, you say? Fire. Very white! blood, sir, I say, they man gled your wife's reputation.

Stand. And I say, that if they touch my wife reputation with nothing but their teeth, her honou will be safe enough.

Fire. Then you won't hear it?

Stand. Not a syllable. Listening after slander is laying nets for serpents, which, when you have caught, will sting you to death: let 'em spit the venom among themselves, and it hurts nobody.

Fire. Lord! Lord! how cuckoldom and con tentment go together!-Fy, fy, sir! consider have been a soldier, dignified by a noble post: tinguished_by_brave actions, an honour to nation, and a terror to your enemies.-Hell' a man who has stormed Namur, should become t jest of a coffee-table !-The whole house clearly taken up with the two important questions whether the colonel was a cuckold or Kid a pirate Stand. This I cannot bear.

Fire. Ay, (says a sneering coxcomb,) the colo has made his fortune with a witness; he has cured himself a good estate in this life, and a m version in the world to come. Then (replies other) I presume he's obliged to your lordship bounty for the latter part of the settlement. The are others (says a third) that have played with lady Lurewell at picquet, besides my lord; I capotted her myself two or three times in evening.

Stand. O matrimonial patience assist me! Fire. Matrimonial patience! matrimonial tilence!-Shake off these drowsy chains that fe your resentments. If your wife has wrongedy pack her off, and let her person be as public as he character if she be honest, revenge her quarre -I can stay no longer: this is my hour of atten ance at the Navy Office; I'll come and dine you; in the meantime, revenge; think on't. [Ex

Stand. How easy is it to give advice, and bou difficult to observe it! If your wife has wronged ye, pack her off. Ay, but how! The Gospel drive the matrimonial nail, and the law clinches its very hard, that to draw it again would tear the work to pieces. That her intentions have wrong me, here's a young bawd can witness.

Enter PARLY, running across the stage. Here, here, Mrs. Parly; whither so fast?

Par. Oh lord! my master-Sir, I was running to mademoiselle Furbelo, the French milliner, for a new burgundy for my lady's head.

Stand. No, child, you're employed about an old fashioned garniture for your master's head, if I mis take not your errand.

Par. Oh, sir! there's the prettiest fash lately come over! so airy, so French, and all that The pinners are double ruffled with twelve plat of a side, and open all from the face; the hair s frizzled all up round the head, and stands as sif as a bodkin. Then the favourites hang loose up the temples, with a languishing lock in the middle Then the caul is extremely wide, and over all is coronet raised very high, and all the lappets behind -I must fetch it presently.

Stand. Hold a little, child; I must talk with

you.

Par. Another time, sir, my lady stays for it. Stand. One question first-what wages does my wife give you!

Par. Ten pound a year, sir; which Gad knows is little enough, considering how I slave from place o place upon her occasions. But, then, sir, my perquisites are considerable; I make above two undred pound a year of her old clothes.

Stand. [Aside.] Two hundred pound a year by her old clothes! what then must her new ones cost? -[Aloud.] But what do you get by visiting galants and picquet?

Par. About a hundred pound more.

Stand. [Aside.] A hundred pound more! Now who can expect to find a lady's woman honest, when she gets so much by being a jade?—[Aloud.] What religion are you of, Mrs. Parly?

Par. I can't tell.

Stand. What was your father?

Par. A mountebank.

Stand. Where were you born?
Par. In Holland.

Stand. Were you ever christened?
Par. No.

Stand. How came that?

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Stand. Well, Mrs. Parly, now you have been so ee with me, I tell you what you must trust to in turn: never to come near my house again. Beone, monster! fly-Hell and furies! aristened her father a mountebank !Par. Lord, sir, you need not be so furious. lever christened! what then? I may be a very ood Christian for all that I suppose.-Turn me ff! sir, you shan't. Meddle with your fellows; is my lady's business to order her women. Stand. [Aside.] Here's a young whore for you ow! A sweet companion for my wife! Where here's such a hellish confidante, there must be amnable secrets.-[Aloud.] Begone, I say! My ife shall turn you away.

Par. Sir, she won't turn me away, she shan't arn me away, nor she can't turn me away.

ay, she dare not turn me away.

Stand. Why, you jade? why?

Par. Because I'm the mistress, not she. Stand. You the mistress!

Sir, I

Par. Yes, I know all her secrets; and let her ffer to turn me off if she dares.

Stand. What secrets do you know?

Par. Humph-Tell a wife's secrets to her husand very pretty, 'faith-sure, sir, you don't hink me such a Jew? Though I was never chrisened, I have more religion than that comes to. Stand. Are you faithful to your lady for affection

r interest?

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Par. Honest to you! marry for what? You gave me indeed two pitiful pieces the day you were married, but not a stiver since. One gallant gives me ten guineas, another a watch, another a pair of pendants, a fourth a diamond ring; and my noble master gives me-his linen to mend.-Faugh!— I'll tell you a secret, sir: stinginess to servants makes more cuckolds, than ill-nature to wives. Stand. And am I a cuckold, Parly?

Par. No, faith, not yet; though in a very fair way of having the dignity conferred upon you very suddenly.

Stand. Come, girl, you shall be my pensioner; you shall have a glorious revenue; for every guinea that you get for keeping of a secret, I'll give you two for revealing it. You shall find a husband once in your life outdo all your gallants in generosity. Take their money, child, take all their bribes give 'em hopes, make 'em assignations; serve your lady faithfully, but tell all to me. By which means, she will be kept chaste, you will grow rich, and I shall preserve my honour.

Par. But what security shall I have for performance of articles?

Stand. Ready payment, child.
Par. Then give me earnest.
Stand. Five guineas.

[Gives her money.

Par. Are they right? No Gray's-Inn pieces amongst 'em.-All right as my leg.-Now, sir, I'll give you an earnest of my service. Who d'ye think is come to town?

Stand. Who?

Par. Your old friend, sir Harry Wildair.
Stand. Impossible!

Par. Yes, faith, and as gay as ever.

Stand. And has he forgot his wife so soon?

Par. Why, she has been dead now above a year. -He appeared in the Ring last night with such splendour and equipage, that he eclipsed the beaux, dazzled the ladies, and made your wife dream all night of six Flanders mares, seven French liveries, a wig like a cloak, and a hat like a shittlecock. Stand. What are a woman's promises and oaths?

Par. Wind, wind, sir.

Stand. When I married her, how heartily did she condemn her light preceding conduct; and for the future vowed herself a perfect pattern of conjugal fidelity!

Par. She might as safely swear, sir, that this day se'nnight, at four o'clock, the wind will blow fair for Flanders. "Tis presuming for any of us all to promise for our inclinations a whole week. Besides, sir, my lady has got the knack of coquetting it; and once a woman has got that in her head, she will have a touch on't everywhere else.

Stand. An oracle, child! But now I must make the best of a bad bargain; and since I have got you on my side, I have some hopes, that by constant disappointment and crosses in her designs, I may at last tire her into good behaviour.

Par. Well, sir, the condition of the articles being duly performed, I stand to the obligation; and will tell you farther, that by-and-by sir Harrry Wildair is to come to our house to cards, and that there is a design laid to cheat him of his money. Stand. What company will there be besides? Par. Why, the old set at the basset-table; my lady Lovecards and the usual company. They have made up a bank of fifteen hundred louis-d'ors among 'em; the whole design lies upon sir Harry's purse, and the French marquis, you know, constantly taillés.

Stand. Ay, the French marquis; that's one of your benefactors, Parly ;-the persecution of basset in Paris furnished us with that refugee; but the character of such a fellow ought not to reflect on those who have been real sufferers for their religion. -But take no notice. Be sure only to inform me of all that passes.-There's more earnest for you: be rich and faithful. [Exit.

Par. I am now not only woman to the lady Lurewell, but steward to her husband, in my double capacity of knowing her secrets, and commanding his purse. A very pretty office in a family! For every guinea that I get for keeping a secret, he'll give me two for revealing it.-My comings-in, at this rate, will be worth a master in chancery's place, and many a poor Templar will be glad to marry me with half my fortune. [Going.

Enter DICKY, meeting her.

Dicky. Here's a man much fitter for your purposes.

Par. Bless me! Mr. Dicky!

Dicky. The very same in longitude and latitude; not a bit diminished, not a hair's breadth increased. -Dear Mrs. Parly give me a buss, for I'm almost starved.

Par. Why so hungry, Mr. Dicky?

Dicky. Why, I han't tasted a bit this year and half, woman; I have been wandering about all over the world, following my master, and come home to dear London but two days ago. Now the devil take me, if I had not rather kiss an English pair of pattens, than the finest lady in France.

Par. Then you're overjoyed to see London again? Dicky. Oh! I was just dead of a consumption, till the sweet smoke of Cheapside, and the dear perfume of Fleet-ditch, made me a man again.

Par. But how came you to live with sir Harry Wildair?

Dicky. Why, seeing me a handsome personable fellow, and well qualified for a livery, he took a fancy to my figure, that was all.

Par. And what's become of your old master? Dicky. Oh! hang me, he was a blockhead, and I turned him off, I turned him away.

Par. And were not you very sorry for the loss of your mistress, sir Harry's lady? They say, she was a very good woman.

Dicky. Oh! the sweetest woman that ever the sun shined upon. I could almost weep when I think of her. [Wiping his eyes.

Par. How did she die, pray? I could never hear how 'twas.

Dicky. Give me a buss then, and I'll tell ye. Par. You shall have your wages when your work's done.

Dicky. Well then-courage!--Now for a doleful tale. You know that my master took a freak to go

see that foolish Jubilee that made such a noise among us here; and no sooner said than done; away he went, he took his fine French servants to wait on him; and left me, the poor English puppy, to wait upon his lady at home here. Well, so far, so good. But scarce was my master's back turned, when my lady turned to sighing, and pouting, and whining, and crying; and in short fell sick upon't.

Par. Well, well; I know all this already; and that she plucked up her spirits at last, and went to follow him.

Dicky. Very well. Follow him we did, far and far, and farther than I can tell, till we came to a place called Montpelier, in France; a goodly place truly. But Sir Harry was gone to Rome; there was our labour lost.-But, to be short, my poor lady, with the tiresomeness of travelling, fell sick -and died.

Par. Poor woman!

[Crick

Dicky. Ay, but that was not all: here comes the worst of the story. Those cursed barbarous devis, the French, would not let us bury her.

Par. Not bury her!

Dicky. No, she was a heretic woman, and they would not let her corpse be put in their holy ground.-Oh, damn their holy ground, for me!

Par. [Aside.] Now had not I better be honest pagan, as I am, than such a christian as one of these?-[Aloud.] But how did you dispose the body?

Dicky. Why, there was one charitable gentle woman that used to visit my lady in her sickness: she contrived the matter so, that she had berl buried in her own private chapel. This lady and myself carried her out upon our own shoulders through a back-door, at the hour of midnight, and laid her in a grave that I dug for her with my own hands; and if we had been catched by the priests, we had gone to the gallows without the benefit clergy.

Par. Oh, the devil take 'em!-But what did they mean by a heretic woman?

Dicky. I don't know; some sort of a cannibal I believe. I know there are some cannibal women, here in England, that come to the playhouses: masks; but let them have a care how they go France for they are all heretics, I believe. Bat I'm sure my good lady was none of these.

Par. But how did sir Harry bear the news? Dicky. Why, you must know, that my lady after she was buried sent me

Par. How! after she was buried!

Dicky. Psha! why Lord, mistress, you know what I mean! I went to sir Harry all the way to Rome; and where d'ye think I found him? Par. Where?

Dicky. Why, in the middle of a monastery among a hundred and fifty nuns, playing at bet cockles. He was surprised to see honest Dicky, you may be sure. But when I told him the sad story, he roared out a whole volley of English catas upon the spot, and swore that he would set fire on the pope's palace for the injury done to his wife He then flew away to his chamber, locked himself up for three days; we thought to have found h dead; but instead of that, he called for his best linen, fine wig, gilt coach; and laughing very heartily, swore again he would be revenged, anxi bid them drive to the nunnery; and he was re venged to some purpose.

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