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diff --git a/37546-h/37546-h.htm b/37546-h/37546-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..bbeefb9 --- /dev/null +++ b/37546-h/37546-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,4398 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Transitional//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-transitional.dtd"> +<!-- $Id: header.txt 236 2009-12-07 18:57:00Z vlsimpson $ --> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Female Wits, by Lucyle Hook. + </title> + <style type="text/css"> + +body { + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; +} + +p { + margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; +} + +hr { + width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; +} + +table { + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; +} + +.pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ + /* visibility: hidden; */ + position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: right; +} /* page numbers */ + +.spaced {letter-spacing: .3em; + text-align: center;} + +h2.spaced {letter-spacing: .3em;} + +h4.spaced {letter-spacing: .3em;} + +.right {text-align: right;} + +.center {text-align: center;} + +.smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + +.u {text-decoration: underline;} + +.caption {font-weight: bold;} + +/* Poetry */ +.poem { + margin-left:10%; + margin-right:10%; + text-align: left; +} + +.poem br {display: none;} + +.poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} + +.poem span.i0 { + display: block; + margin-left: 0em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em; +} + +.poem span.i2 { + display: block; + margin-left: 2em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em; +} + +.poem span.i4 { + display: block; + margin-left: 4em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em; +} + + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Female Wits, by Anonymous + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Female Wits + +Author: Anonymous + +Editor: Lucyle Hook + +Release Date: September 27, 2011 [EBook #37546] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE FEMALE WITS *** + + + + +Produced by Chris Curnow, Katie Hernandez, Joseph Cooper +and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at +http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + + + + +<h4><span class="smcap">The Augustan Reprint Society</span></h4> + + +<h1 class="spaced">THE<br /> +FEMALE<br /> +WITS</h1> + +<h2>(Anonymous)</h2> +` +<p class="center">(1704)</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Introduction by</i><br /> +LUCYLE HOOK</p> + +<p class="center">PUBLICATION NUMBER 124</p> +<p class="center">WILLIAM ANDREWS CLARK MEMORIAL LIBRARY</p> +<p class="center"><span class="smcap">University of California, Los Angeles</span></p> +<p class="center">1967</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h4>GENERAL EDITORS</h4> + +<p class="center">George Robert Guffey, <i>University of California, Los Angeles</i><br /> +Earl Miner, <i>University of California, Los Angeles</i><br /> +Maximillian E. Novak, <i>University of California, Los Angeles</i><br /> +Robert Vosper, <i>William Andrews Clark Memorial Library</i></p> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h4>ADVISORY EDITORS</h4> + +<p class="center">Richard C. Boys, <i>University of Michigan</i><br /> +James L. Clifford, <i>Columbia University</i><br /> +Ralph Cohen, <i>University of California, Los Angeles</i><br /> +Vinton A. Dearing, <i>University of California, Los Angeles</i><br /> +Arthur Friedman, <i>University of Chicago</i><br /> +Louis A. Landa, <i>Princeton University</i><br /> +Samuel H. Monk, <i>University of Minnesota</i><br /> +Everett T. Moore, <i>University of California, Los Angeles</i><br /> +Lawrence Clark Powell, <i>William Andrews Clark Memorial Library</i><br /> +James Sutherland, <i>University College, London</i><br /> +H. T. Swedenberg, Jr., <i>University of California, Los Angeles</i></p> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h4>CORRESPONDING SECRETARY</h4> + +<p class="center">Edna C. Davis, <i>William Andrews Clark Memorial Library</i></p> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_i" id="Page_i">[i]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h3>INTRODUCTION</h3> + + +<p><i>The Female Wits; Or, The Triumvirate of Poets at Rehearsal</i>, +published anonymously in 1704 with "written by Mr. W. M." +on the titlepage, was played at the Theatre Royal in Drury Lane +around October, 1696. <a name="FNanchor_1_1" id="FNanchor_1_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> A devastating satire in the manner of +Buckingham's <i>The Rehearsal</i>, it attacks all plays by women playwrights +but Mary de la Riviere Manley's blood and thunder female +tragedy, <i>The Royal Mischief</i> (1696), in particular. <i>The Female +Wits</i> resembles <i>The Rehearsal</i> in that the satire is directed +not only at the subject matter and style of a particular type of +drama but supplies searing portrayals of recognizable persons—in +this case, of Mrs. Manley herself, and to a lesser degree, of +Mary Pix and Catherine Trotter (later Cockburn). It also follows +Buckingham's satire in that the actors play double roles—that of +the characters assigned to them and their own—and in so doing, +reveal their own personalities with astonishing clarity.</p> + +<p>Colley Cibber tells the best stories of the chaos that ensued +after the secession of Betterton and most of the veteran actors in +1695 from the dominance of Christopher Rich at Drury Lane. <a name="FNanchor_2_2" id="FNanchor_2_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_2_2" class="fnanchor">[2]</a> +Since Betterton had been virtual dictator in London since 1682, +he was able to command the efforts, at least at first, of most of +the well-known playwrights who had written for the company before +the establishment of his theatre in Lincoln's Inn Fields. +Young playwrights scrambled to ingratiate themselves with one +or the other of the two London managements. Among them, there +had been three women with four plays in less than a year.</p> + +<p>When Mrs. Manley arrived upon the dramatic scene with her +first play, <i>The Lost Lover; Or, The Jealous Husband</i>, in March, +1696, she bore the brunt of a growing criticism against a surfeit +of female plays. But when she protested in the preface of the +printed version that "I think my Treatment much severer than I +deserv'd; I am satisfied the bare Name of being a Woman's Play +damn'd it beyond its own want of Merit," she took upon herself +the combined animus of the masculine critics. In the same preface, +she challenged them boldly with "Once more, my Offended +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_ii" id="Page_ii">[ii]</a></span>Judges, I am to appear before you, once more in possibility of +giving you the like Damning Satisfaction; there is a Tragedy of +mine Rehearsing, which 'tis too late to recall, I consent it meet +with the same Fortune." The other play was <i>The Royal Mischief</i>.</p> + +<p>One learns from <i>The Female Wits</i> that Mrs. Manley considered +herself privileged at Drury Lane, that <i>The Royal Mischief</i> had +gone into rehearsal, but that her imperious manner had alienated +the actors who laughed at her dramatic pretentions; and that she +had stormed out of the Theatre Royal vowing never again to honor +them with her works. After much bickering among patrons, patentees, +players, and playwright, <i>The Royal Mischief</i> was finally +presented by the newly formed Betterton company at Lincoln's +Inn Fields in May, 1696, instead of by the company of actors led +by George Powell at the rival Drury Lane Theatre. At least, this +is what is represented in <i>The Female Wits</i>, and although highly +exaggerated, it is essentially true. The time: March or April, +1696.</p> + +<p><i>The Female Wits</i> is correctly compared in its preface to the +satiric masterpiece which had been written as a corrective to the +bombastic tragedy supplied by Dryden, Howard, and others in the +early years of the Restoration. With <i>The Rehearsal</i>, Buckingham +and his fellow wits had supposedly succeeded in laughing heroic +tragedy into oblivion in the 1670's. By the 1690's, another type +of heroic drama, equally unrealistic but tinged with sentimentality, +was enjoying a certain success. The chief purveyors of this +new drama which pleased the Ladies were a group of women who +seemed impervious to masculine criticism. In the 1690's, therefore, +another set of self-appointed critics evidently dedicated itself +to laughing the female authors off the stage. <i>A Comparison +between the Two Stages</i>, an anonymous satirical summary of drama +from 1695 to 1702, echoes the attitude of the author of <i>The Female +Wits</i> toward women playwrights. When <i>The Lost Lover</i>, Mrs. Manley's +first play, is brought up for discussion, Critick demands</p> + +<blockquote> +What occasion had you to name a Lady in the confounded<br /> +Work you're about?</blockquote> +<p> +Sullen: Here's a Play of hers.<br /> +<br /> +Critick: The Devil there is: I wonder in my Heart we are so lost<br /> + to all Sense and Reason: What a Pox have the Women to<br /> + do with the Muses? I grant you the Poets call the Nine<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_iii" id="Page_iii">[iii]</a></span> + Muses by the Names of Women, but why so? not because<br /> + the Sex had any thing to do with Poetry, but because in<br /> + the Sex they're much fitter for prostitution.<br /> +<br /> +Rambler: Abusive, now you're abusive, Mr. Critick.<br /> +<br /> +Critick: Sir, I tell you we are abus'd: I hate these Petticoat-Authors;<br /> + 'tis false Grammar, there's no Feminine for the<br /> + Latin word, 'tis entirely of the Masculine Gender.... Let<br /> + 'em scribble on, till they can serve all the Pastry-cooks<br /> + in Town, the Tobacconists and Grocers with Waste-paper<a name="FNanchor_3_3" id="FNanchor_3_3"></a><a href="#Footnote_3_3" class="fnanchor">[3]</a>.<br /> +</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Although <i>The Royal Mischief</i> was the immediate pretext for +<i>The Female Wits</i>, the true cause of the attack was the surprising +success of the women playwrights with the Ladies in the boxes +who were beginning to enjoy the "Solace of Tears" and to dominate +theatrical taste in the middle 1690's. After Aphra Behn's death +in 1689, a shattering blow to rising feminism, women had not ventured +thus far to write for the stage. Mrs. Behn, however, was +still a powerful influence, and her name was invoked by every +woman who put pen to paper.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Manley openly aspired to be a second Astrea. Certainly +there are striking similarities. As in Aphra Behn's case, nothing +Mrs. Manley ever wrote as drama or fiction could equal the events +of her own life<a name="FNanchor_4_4" id="FNanchor_4_4"></a><a href="#Footnote_4_4" class="fnanchor">[4]</a>. Her father died when she was fourteen, leaving +her in the care of a cousin who took her inheritance, went through +a sham marriage with her, abandoned her before their child was +born, and left her to starve before she was sixteen. She was befriended +by Barbara Castlemaine, Duchess of Cleveland, the notorious +former mistress of Charles II, whose character Mrs. Manley +draws as Hillaria in <i>The Adventures of Rivella</i> (1714), and whose +lineaments are certainly to be seen in the character of Homais in +the warmer passages of <i>The Royal Mischief</i>. After Mrs. Manley's +cruel dismissal by the Duchess, by her own account she spent +two years wandering unknown from place to place in England, and +during this time, she wrote plays for her diversion.</p> + +<p>During the 1690's, despite the supposition of some modern +critics that heroic tragedy was out of style, the great classics +of the three preceding decades continued to be played by the +Betterton company in whose stock repertory they had been since +their inception: Lee's <i>The Rival Queens</i>, Banks' <i>The Unhappy</i><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_iv" id="Page_iv">[iv]</a></span> +<i>Favourite</i>, Otway's <i>Venice Preserv'd</i>, and many of Dryden's (<i>The +Indian Emperour</i>, <i>The Conquest of Granada</i>, <i>All for Love</i>). In +fact, Dryden was still writing and pleasing audiences with tragicomedies +that contained the ingredients of the old heroic tragedy. +Since the same company of actors was presenting the old plays +(indeed, most of the actors were still playing their original roles), +the histrionic magic of the early tragic hero could still lift an +audience to the empyrean heights reached in the heady first years +of the restoration of Charles II. If there is anything strange in +Mrs. Manley's <i>The Royal Mischief</i> in 1696, it is not that it was +an heroic play but that the leading character was a woman, Homais, +who out-hectors and out-loves all of the Restoration Alexanders, +Montezumas, and Drawcansirs written for and by men.</p> + +<p>If her own account of <i>The Royal Mischief</i> is true, Mrs. Manley +wrote it after she left the household of the Duchess of Cleveland, +some time between 1692 and 1694. Since there was only one +theatre in London from 1682 to 1695, she wrote for Thomas Betterton, +Elizabeth Barry, Anne Bracegirdle, Edward Kynaston, and +other veterans in the Betterton company, who were the prototypes +for the characters in the early heroic plays. She could have known +no others. When Betterton seceded from the Theatre Royal in +1695 and set up the independent theatre in Lincoln's Inn Fields, +Mrs. Manley, already committed to Drury Lane because of her first +play, gave Drury Lane <i>The Royal Mischief</i> even though it had been +written for the Betterton company. Circumstances, then, dictated +that <i>The Royal Mischief</i> was finally played by the actors for whom +it had been written originally.</p> + +<p>It is likely, however, that <i>The Female Wits</i> would never have +been written if Thomas Betterton had not aggravated the situation +by producing <i>The Royal Mischief</i> as quickly as possible after Mrs. +Manley had withdrawn it from Drury Lane under such provocative +circumstances. It was played immediately at Lincoln's Inn Fields +in April or May, 1696, seemingly at the insistence of the Duke of +Devonshire to whom Mrs. Manley dedicated it. When it was published +in June, the author was supported by her sister playwrights +in commendatory verses included with the play. Catherine Trotter +possibly earned her inclusion in <i>The Female Wits</i> when she wrote,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_v" id="Page_v">[v]</a></span></p> + +<blockquote><p> +You were our Champion, and the Glory ours.<br /> +Well you've maintain'd our equal right in Fame,<br /> +To which vain Man had quite engrost the claim:<br /> +</p></blockquote> + +<p>Mary Pix confirmed her place in the satire with her panegyric:</p> + +<blockquote><p> +You the unequal'd wonder of the Age,<br /> +Pride of our Sex, and Glory of the Age,<br /> +Like Sappho Charming, like Afra Eloquent,<br /> +Like Chast Orinda, sweetly Innocent.<br /> +</p></blockquote> + +<p>Mrs. Manley minced no words in the printed version in answer +to the flurry of criticism that had greeted <i>The Royal Mischief</i> +when it was played: "I should not have given my self and the +Town the trouble of a Preface if the aspersions of my Enemies +had not made it necessary." According to her, in spite of "ill +nature, Envy, and Detraction," <i>The Royal Mischief</i> was successful +(it had a run of six nights) even though some of the ladies +professed to be shocked at "the warmth of it, as they are pleas'd +to call it.... I do not doubt when the Ladies have given themselves +the trouble of reading, and comparing it with others, they'll find +the prejudice against our Sex, and not refuse me the satisfaction +of entertaining them...." Everything Mrs. Manley wrote, however, +simply added to the ridicule that had been mounting against women +playwrights, and <i>The Female Wits</i> is merely the distillation of the +general attitude of the self-appointed critics and wits at the Rose +and the Grecian, at Maynwaring's and at Will's.</p> + +<p>In defending <i>The Royal Mischief</i> and its reception, she said +of the actress who played the unbelievably wicked Homais: "... Mrs. +Barry, who by all that saw her, is concluded to have exceeded +that perfection which before she was justly thought to have arrived +at; my Obligations to her were the greater, since against her own +approbation, she excell'd and made the part of an ill Woman, not +only entertaining, but admirable." Years later in <i>The Adventures +of Rivella</i>, she was to say, "Mrs. Barry distinguish'd herself as +much as in any Part that ever she play'd. I have since heard Rivella +laugh and wonder that a Man of Mr. Betterton's grave Sense +and Judgment should think well enough of the Productions of a +Woman of Eighteen, to bring it upon the Stage in so handsome a +Manner as he did...." <a name="FNanchor_5_5" id="FNanchor_5_5"></a><a href="#Footnote_5_5" class="fnanchor">[5]</a><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_vi" id="Page_vi">[vi]</a></span></p> + +<p>It is easy to believe Mrs. Manley's high commendation of the +actress but difficult to credit Mrs. Barry's objection to playing a +part that was a natural sequel to all the heroic and sometimes +wicked women she had played throughout her career. Her audience +identified her with Lee's Roxana in <i>The Rival Queens</i>, Dryden's +Cleopatra in <i>All for Love</i>, and his recent Cassandra in <i>Cleomenes</i>. +Every playwright since 1680 had written expressly for her: Otway's +Monimia in <i>The Orphan</i> was her first great part in 1680, followed +two years later by Belvidera in <i>Venice Preserv'd</i>. Southerne had +given her Isabella in <i>The Fatal Marriage</i> in 1694, Congreve was +still to write for her his Zara in <i>The Mourning Bride</i> in 1697, and +Rowe his Calista in <i>The Fair Penitent</i> in 1703. Cibber, in 1740, +remembered her "Presence of elevated Dignity ... her Voice full, +clear, and strong, so that no Violence of Passion could be too +much for her." He emphasized that in "Scenes of Anger, Defiance, +or Resentment, while she was impetuous, and terrible, she pour'd +out the Sentiment with an enchanting Harmony." <a name="FNanchor_6_6" id="FNanchor_6_6"></a><a href="#Footnote_6_6" class="fnanchor">[6]</a></p> + +<p>Mrs. Barry's ability and her strength of voice in expressing +the passions led to the full development of the rant, which was the +test of the dramatic actress as the aria is the test of the opera +singer. Ordinarily in a tragedy, there were two: one, the melodious +expression of unattainable love in the first part of the play, +and the second in the death scene, usually of raving madness. In +<i>The Royal Mischief</i>, there are at least six major rants, each more +powerful and surprising than the one preceding it. If Mrs. Barry's +ability was ever tested, it was with Mrs. Manley's Homais.</p> + +<p>The story is that of another Messalina. Homais, married to +the unloved Prince of Libardian, had had many lovers in her progress +to the throne of Phasia: among them, Ismael, who had remained +her creature and is willing to kill the Prince for one more +night's favors. Even her eunuch Acmat is more than a mere pander +to her desire for her husband's nephew, Levan Dadian, whom she +has never seen but for whom she writhes nightly upon her bed in +erotic desire, stimulated only by his life size picture and secondhand +descriptions of him. She conspires with Acmat to inflame +Levan Dadian with desire for her (her portrait was enough) and to +bring about a meeting even though that prince was bringing home +with him his virtuous bride, Bassima, princess of Colchis. Her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_vii" id="Page_vii">[vii]</a></span> +proposal to enslave Levan Dadian might have been difficult if it +had not been for the fact that years before, during a war between +Phasia and Colchis, Osman, great general and now Chief Vizier +to the Prince of Libardian, had captured Bassima, fallen in love +with her (and she with him), but without a word on either side +before and after he had freed her, they had remained platonically +true to each other in spite of the passage of years, Osman's +marriage to Selima, sister of his Prince, the offer (and rejection) +of Homais' love, and of Bassima's recent marriage to Levan +Dadian. When Levan Dadian brings Bassima to court, the recognition +between Osman and Bassima is endured in silence, but the +trusting Osman bares his heart to Homais' creature Ismael, who +inflames the hitherto platonic Osman with unholy desire for the +pure Bassima. The wily Acmat insinuates distrust for Bassima +into Levan Dadian's heart at the same time that he inspires lust +for Homais and brings about the promised meeting. Homais immediately +sets about disposing of everyone who stands in her +way. The Prince of Libardian is to be dispatched by Ismael. +Osman is to be accused of infidelity with Bassima, who is to be +poisoned by Ismael. Word of this gets to Osman, who urges Bassima +to flee with or without him, but she refuses because her +virtue would be called into question in either case. But plans +go awry, the Prince is not dispatched, and while Levan Dadian +is absent, Homais is seized by her husband and given the choice +of drinking poison or submitting to death by the bow-string. She +charms him out of killing her, and he, overcome by her beauty, +weakly believes her promises and sets her free to pursue her +wickedness.</p> + +<p>Bassima, however, has been poisoned and is dying when +Osman comes to her, urging the consumation of their passion +then and there, before it is too late. Her gentle refusal to stray +from virtue on her deathbed awakens him from his unplatonic +spell, and he begs forgiveness but is interrupted in the middle +of his contrite speech, led away, crammed alive into a cannon, +and shot off. The soldiers, led by Ismael, revolt in favor of +Homais and declare her queen. For a heady moment, she has +attained her every desire as she stands exulting over the dying +Bassima, whose husband is somewhat disturbed by the turn of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_viii" id="Page_viii">[viii]</a></span> +events but whose attention is diverted when Homais takes him in +her arms. But at the height of her triumph, the Prince burst in, +sword in hand, and runs Homais through before she can change +his mind. Unrepenting to the end, she goes to her death and into +her final rant with defiance on her lovely lusty lips as she ticks +off the men in her life one by one. In the last three minutes, +Osman's faithful but jealous wife gathers his smoking remains, +Levan Dadian falls on his sword, and the Prince of Libardian +ends the play with</p> + +<blockquote><p> + O horrour, horrour, horrour!<br /> +What Mischief two fair Guilty Eyes have wrought;<br /> +Let Lovers all look here, and shun the Dotage.<br /> +To Heaven my dismal Thoughts shall straight be turn'd,<br /> +And all these sad Dissasters truly mourn'd.<br /> +</p></blockquote> + +<p>There is no need to point out that <i>The Royal Mischief</i> invited +parody. Everything was in excess. No woman had ever +been so lustfully wicked as Homais (played by Elizabeth Barry), +no heroine so pure as Bassima (Anne Bracegirdle), no hero so +faithfully platonic (Thomas Betterton), no husband so duped as +the Prince of Libardian (Edward Kynaston), no wife so weakly +jealous as Selima (Elizabeth Bowman), no man so easily a prey +to lust as Levan Dadian (John Bowman), so much a creature as +Ismael (John Hodgson), so vile a tool as Acmat (John Freeman). +Each character was a stick figure for a single quality. Incidents +happened so rapidly that continual surprise is the predominant +emotion if one discounts the miasma of hot surging sex that +hovers over the entire production. But it must have been effective +when played by the greatest actors in London.</p> + +<p>After reading both plays, one can believe that immediately +after the presentation of <i>The Royal Mischief</i>, someone began +putting together the parodies of obviously over-written scenes +and high-flown language, burlesques of heroic acting by the acknowledged +past-masters of the art, Thomas Betterton and Elizabeth +Barry, as well as the mincing pasquinade of Anne Bracegirdle, +who was as virtuous as the pure role she played. Since +<i>The Royal Mischief</i> was played in May, near the end of the season, +there was ample time to gloat over its absurdities during<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_ix" id="Page_ix">[ix]</a></span> +the summer months and have <i>The Female Wits</i> ready for the delectation +of the Town early the following season. Like all satires, +it had its day while the original was still fresh in the minds of the +theatre-going public but was immediately forgotten because <i>The +Royal Mischief</i> did not become a stock play.</p> + +<p><i>The Female Wits</i> is a continuous hilarious romp of scenes +from <i>The Royal Mischief</i> and an entire gallery of burlesqued +portraits of the famous actors who were as much under fire as +Mrs. Manley herself. Elizabeth Barry's histrionic style of acting +is held up to derision when Frances Maria Knight, who was playing +the character satirizing Homais as well as a caricature of +Mrs. Barry, is told to "stamp like Queen Statira does ... that always +gets a Clap. No Stamp, and Hug yourself: Oh the strong Exstasie!" +When Homais is stabbed, Marsilia gives the order, "D'ye +hear, Property Man, be sure some red Ink is handsomely convey'd +to Mrs. Knight." Penkethman, a short, slap-stick comedian mimicking +six-foot Betterton as the faithful Osman is told to "Fetch +long Strides; walk thus; your Arms strutting, your voice big, and +your Eyes terrible"; and later, "Louder ... strain your Voice: I tell +you, Mr. Pinkethman, this speaking Loud gets the Clap." Mrs. +Bracegirdle's famous "pathetic" style of acting is parodied when +Marsilia instructs Miss Cross how to speak a line: "Give me +leave to instruct you in a moving Cry. Oh! there's a great deal of +Art in crying: Hold your Handkerchief thus; let it meet your Eyes, +thus; your Head declin'd, thus; now, in a perfect whine, crying out +these words,</p> + +<p class="center"> +By these Tears, which never cease to Flow."<br /> +</p> + +<p>Reverse situations are used as comic devices. Possibly the +climax of absurdity is reached when Miss Cross and Penkethman, +instead of dying horrible deaths, find themselves on the roof-top +(instead of in the dungeon) climbing into a celestial chariot that +the Prince had been building for fifty years. They escape their +pursuing enemies, thus making merry with the tragic conclusion +of <i>The Royal Mischief</i> and using the same theatrical machinery +that was being employed in <i>Brutus of Alba</i>. Marsilia caps this +scene by describing in detail the events which were played seriously +in <i>The Royal Mischief</i>:<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_x" id="Page_x">[x]</a></span></p> + +<blockquote><p>You must know, my Lord, at first I design'd this for a +Tragedy; and they were both taken; She was Poyson'd, +and dy'd, like an Innocent Lamb, as she was indeed: +I was studying a Death for him; once I thought Boys +shou'd shoot him to Death with Pot-Guns; ... and that +wou'd have been Disgrace enough, you know: But at +length I resolv'd to ram him into a great Gun, and +scatter him o're the sturdy Plain: This, I say, was +my first resolve. But I consider'd, 'twou'd break +the Lady's Heart; so there is nothing in their Parts +Tragical; but as your Lordship shall see miraculously +I turn'd it into an Opera.</p></blockquote> + +<p>The continual interruptions in the rehearsal by Marsilia +giving orders to the increasingly irritated actors, their hostile +asides as they come out of their roles to ask bewildered questions, +object to her directions, or attempt to resign their parts +keep the stage in an uproar. The asinine remarks of her sycophantic +followers, her own erratic behavior which culminates in +her rage and her stalking out, vowing to take her play to Lincoln's +Inn Fields, while George Powell, Mrs. Knight, and Miss Cross +double up with laughter—all make <i>The Female Wits</i> an hilarious +piece of dramatic satire as well as a valuable theatrical document.</p> + +<p>All but forgotten, as it was when it was published in 1704, +the played version of <i>The Female Wits</i> had its impact on women +playwrights in 1696. Mrs. Manley did not produce another play +until <i>Almyna</i> was acted in Lincoln's Inn Fields in 1706, ten years +later. As a result of the unjustified attack upon her, Mrs. Pix +thereafter wrote for Lincoln's Inn Fields, and at the beginning +of the 1697-98 season was engaged in a name-calling dispute +with Drury Lane over the flagrant plagiarism of one of her plays +by George Powell, the actor who figures prominently in <i>The +Female Wits</i>. Mrs. Trotter gave her plays to the Betterton group +until 1700 when a new management regulated affairs at Drury +Lane.</p> + +<p>Whether Mrs. Manley was driven from the stage for ten years +by the jeers of the Town is a matter of debate. She became one +of the leading Tory pamphleteers, political editors, and literary +hacks in London, employed for years and respected in an odd way +by such people as Richard Steele and Dean Swift. Her most<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xi" id="Page_xi">[xi]</a></span> +famous work, <i>The Secret Memoirs and Manners of Several Persons of +Quality ... by the New Atalanta</i> (1709) and her semi-autobiographical +<i>The Adventures of Rivella</i> (1714) caused government inquiries, and +she never ceased to be a controversial figure.</p> + +<p>Up to the present time, no one has ventured to say who wrote +<i>The Female Wits</i>. The titlepage gives "Mr. W. M." as the author, +but this information is immediately refuted by the preface signed +"W. M." which gives most of the facts of composition, performance, +and publication. According to the preface, the satire was written +by a friend (now dead), and the "Quality" had insisted it be played +at Drury Lane, where it had enjoyed a run of six nights and could +have continued longer "had the Company thought fit to oblige the +Taste of the Town in General rather than that of some particular +Persons." <i>The Female Wits</i> was published in 1704 even though +"the Town has almost lost the Remembrance of it," but unless the +taste of the critics today is different from what it was in 1696, +readers cannot fail to have as much satisfaction as the earlier +audience had in seeing it. W. M.'s identification of Mrs. Manley +as Marsilia, Mrs. Pix as Mrs. Wellfed, and Mrs. Trotter as Calista +as well as his commendation of the acting of Mr. and Mrs. Powell, +and his praise of Mrs. Verbruggen (now deceased also) are expressions +of nostalgia from a man whose duty to his dead friend is now +accomplished. He ends his laconic preface with a reference to the +reformers led by Jeremy Collier, "a Fig for their Censures, which +can neither affect him that Wrote this Play, nor him that Publishes +it." <a name="FNanchor_7_7" id="FNanchor_7_7"></a><a href="#Footnote_7_7" class="fnanchor">[7]</a></p> + +<p>It is evident that the anonymous author knew all of the actors +at Drury Lane intimately: "honest" George Powell, who "regards +neither Times nor Seasons in Drinking," Mrs. Lucas, the dancer, +and her coffee habit, hoydenish Letitia Cross with her sassy aside of +"now have I such a mind to kick him i'th'chops" about some show-off +fop who wished to kiss the strap of her shoe in homage, Frances +Marie Knight's haughty withdrawal from any complication with +Mrs. Manley or the other playwrights. His knowledge of Mrs. +Manley's colossal arrogance, of Mrs. Pix's easy-going acceptance +of her great bulk and lack of charm, of beautiful Mrs. Trotter's +considerable learning in the classics and her early tendency<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xii" id="Page_xii">[xii]</a></span> +toward critical writing—all are sharply etched from observation +and intimate knowledge.</p> + +<p><i>The Female Wits</i> has all the remarks of having been put +together by group effort, and the evidence points to the actors +at Drury Lane, a number of whom had already shown writing ability: +Joseph Haynes, Colley Cibber, Hildebrand Horden, and +George Powell. Especially George Powell had been active with +four plays and two operas already to his credit, one of which, +<i>Brutus of Alba</i>, must have been running concurrently with <i>The +Female Wits</i> in October, 1696. Because <i>The Female Wits</i> is +episodic in character, loosely strung together with songs and +dances, it may well have come from various sources recognizable +to the audience. For example, Letitia Cross is asked to +sing "her dialogue," readily consents, and Mr. Leveridge, a +frequent partner, is called to sing the second part. It may or may +not be a coincidence that <i>Brutus of Alba</i> contains a dialogue +between a flirtatious young girl and an impotent old man featuring +Miss Cross <a name="FNanchor_8_8" id="FNanchor_8_8"></a><a href="#Footnote_8_8" class="fnanchor">[8]</a>. The song achieved a certain notoriety because of +its frankness, was re-issued as a separate piece, and is the type +of entertainment that would have been repeated in a burlesque +like <i>The Female Wits</i>. Other members of the company contribute +their specialities: Miss Cross also performs "her dance," Mr. +Pate sings an Italian Song. The only song that can be identified +positively is "A Scotch Song Sung by Mrs. Lucas at the Theatre," +the chorus of which one of the characters sings when he asks her to +favor them with her "Last Dance." <a name="FNanchor_9_9" id="FNanchor_9_9"></a><a href="#Footnote_9_9" class="fnanchor">[9]</a></p> + +<p>Perhaps Joe Haynes, the famous comedian, best fills the +role of chief author, as Buckingham was credited with the authorship +of <i>The Rehearsal</i>, although it was known that every wit in +Town had a hand in it. For over twenty years, Haynes had played +the part of Bayes, which satirized Dryden, and was recognized as +the zany of the London theatrical world with special licence to +burlesque any person or institution that came under his critical +eye. The same sort of mad inventiveness peculiar to his elaborate +hoaxes upon the public, the incisive satire in his written or +ad-libbed prologues and epilogues, and the special touches added +to the character parts written for him are present in <i>The Female</i><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xiii" id="Page_xiii">[xiii]</a></span> +<i>Wits</i>. He had published a mock heroic tragedy (no record of performance) +in 1692 which significantly enjoyed a second printing +in 1696. Because of his scatological language and outrageous +pranks, he was in and out of trouble with the authorities, both +public and theatrical, throughout his career. He was one of the +principal comedians through the period under consideration, had +been in Mrs. Manley's first play (as indeed had all of the principal +players in <i>The Female Wits</i>), and would have been one of +the first to resent Mrs. Manley's haughty manner; since he had +nothing to lose, he would have been the logical ring-leader in +satirizing both the playwright and the veteran actors at Lincoln's +Inn Fields.</p> + +<p>With so much writing and acting talent among the hungry, +ambitious player-authors at Drury Lane, there is little need to +look far afield, but Haynes does qualify in another special way +for authorship. W. M. states that the author was dead before +1704. Haynes died in June, 1701, and Tobyas Thomas,<a name="FNanchor_10_10" id="FNanchor_10_10"></a><a href="#Footnote_10_10" class="fnanchor">[10]</a> the +author of <i>The Life of the Late Famous Comedian, Jo. Hayns</i>, a +picaresque, jest-book type of biography published the same year, +reveals the interesting information in the dedicatory epistle to +William Mann that Haynes had been a friend and visitor in Mann's +home at Charnham in Kent, and that Mann had encouraged Thomas +to write the biography. Whether William Mann is Mr. W. M. and +the comedian is the friend in the preface to <i>The Female Wits</i> may +never be known, but Joe Haynes, aided and abetted by fellow +actors, patrons, friends, and self-appointed critics, all of them +with a reason to satirize the female writers and the too-successful +actors at Lincoln's Inn Fields, could easily have headed up +the group effort that resulted in the <i>commedia del arte</i> concoction +that finally saw print in 1704.</p> + +<p>The prologue and epilogue were added at the time of publication. +Topical allusions range from the Collier Controversy, +which began in 1698 and continued actively for more than a +decade, to John Tutchin, controversial editor of <i>The Observator</i> +(which began in 1702), to a mention of the great storm of November +26, 1703, which Collier and his followers believed to be a +punishment for England's wickedness, to the proclamation early +in 1704 by Queen Anne prohibiting the wearing of masks at the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xiv" id="Page_xiv">[xiv]</a></span> +playhouses. More important, however, is the fact that the tone +of the prologue and epilogue is entirely different from that found +in the play. The tempered language of a decade later than the +play is not in keeping with the raucous satire directed at the +three women playwrights and the rival actors at Lincoln's Inn +Fields that must have kept the audience in a roar of laughter.</p> + +<p><i>The Female Wits</i> is an important document to historians of +the theatre, coming as it did at the very end of the Restoration +period and just preceding the changes brought about by Collier's +attacks upon the theatre which accelerated the establishment of +sentimental comedy and tragedy. The play illuminates at least +four areas about which we know very little: the personalities of +the three women playwrights at the beginning of their careers, the +excellent portraits of some of the little known players, the acting +techniques that are parodied so broadly that it is possible to recognize +the original practice, and the rehearsal customs and stage +directions employed which give new light or confirm what is already +known. Granted, all are outrageously exaggerated, but a +discerning eye can detect the truth that lurks behind any satire, +parody, or lampoon. That kernel of truth must be there, or there +is nothing to laugh about.</p> +<br /> +<br /> +<p>Columbia University<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xv" id="Page_xv">[xv]</a></span></p> + +<h4>NOTES TO THE INTRODUCTION</h4> + + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_1_1" id="Footnote_1_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_1"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> See the entry under Unknown Authors, Allardyce Nicoll, <i>A History of +English Drama, 1660-1900</i> (Cambridge, 1955), I, 441. Also see +William van Lennep, <i>The London Stage, 1660-1800</i> (Carbondale, 1965), +Part I, 1660-1700, pp. 467-468. +</p><p> +Wing notes a 1697 edition, but an examination of the severely +cropped copy of the 1704 edition at the Huntington Library gives the +first clue for the creation of a ghost: the imprint was sacrificed to +the Kemble-Devonshire insistence on uniformity in size, and a later +hand supplied the conjectured date of presentation, not the date of +publication. Noted as a questioned publication date in Woodward-McManaway, +<i>Check List</i> (no. 374), the date of 1697 was next cautiously +recorded in Nicoll (<i>Ibidem</i>) as a possible date for a first edition. +It then entered the Wing Catalogue as the first edition, mistakenly +making the 1704 the second edition.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_2_2" id="Footnote_2_2"></a><a href="#FNanchor_2_2"><span class="label">[2]</span></a> Colley Cibber, <i>An Apology for the Life</i> (London, 1740), chaps. IV-VII.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_3_3" id="Footnote_3_3"></a><a href="#FNanchor_3_3"><span class="label">[3]</span></a> <i>A Comparison between the Two Stages</i>, ed. Staring B. Wells (Princeton, +1942), p. 17.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_4_4" id="Footnote_4_4"></a><a href="#FNanchor_4_4"><span class="label">[4]</span></a> See <i>DNB</i>; Paul Bunyan Anderson, "Mistress Manley's Biography," +<i>Modern Philology</i>, XXXIII (1936), 261-278; Gwendolyn B. Needham, +"Mary de la Riviere, Tory Defender," <i>HLQ</i>, XII (1948-49), 253-288; +Needham, "Mrs. Manley, an Eighteenth-Century Wife of Bath," <i>HLQ</i>, +XIV (1950-51), 259-284.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_5_5" id="Footnote_5_5"></a><a href="#FNanchor_5_5"><span class="label">[5]</span></a> Mary de la Riviere Manley, <i>The Adventures of Rivella</i> (London, 1714), +p. 41.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_6_6" id="Footnote_6_6"></a><a href="#FNanchor_6_6"><span class="label">[6]</span></a> Cibber, p. 95.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_7_7" id="Footnote_7_7"></a><a href="#FNanchor_7_7"><span class="label">[7]</span></a> There was at least one avid reader of <i>The Female Wits</i>. The Reverend +Arthur Bedford of Bristol, one of Collier's followers who spent +his entire career attacking the theatres, mentions it forty times in +<i>The Evil and Danger of Stage-Plays</i> (1706). He used it as an example +in all the categories of wickedness that Collier had set up in <i>A Short +View of the Prophaneness and Immorality of the English Stage</i>, the +original attack in 1698.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xvi" id="Page_xvi">[xvi]</a></span></p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_8_8" id="Footnote_8_8"></a><a href="#FNanchor_8_8"><span class="label">[8]</span></a> "Why dost thou fly me, pretty Maid," from <i>The Single Songs, with +the Dialogue, Sung in ... Brutus of Alba</i>. Composed by Daniel Purcell +(London, 1696). Henry E. Huntington Library <i>Devonshire Plays</i>, +vol. 8 (131929-35).</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_9_9" id="Footnote_9_9"></a><a href="#FNanchor_9_9"><span class="label">[9]</span></a> "By Moonlight on the Green," Henry E. Huntington Library <i>Collection +of Broadsides</i>, vol. 5 (Huth 81013).</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_10_10" id="Footnote_10_10"></a><a href="#FNanchor_10_10"><span class="label">[10]</span></a> Tobyas Thomas has been thought to be a pen-name for Tom Brown, +but there is no reason to question that he was one of Haynes' fellow-actors +who never rose higher than secondary roles. He played a part +in <i>The Female Wits</i>.</p></div> + + + +<h4>BIBLIOGRAPHICAL NOTE</h4> + +<p class="center">The text of this edition of <i>The Female +Wits</i> is reproduced from a copy in the +William Andrews Clark Memorial Library.</p> + +<h1>THE</h1> +<h1>FEMALE WITS:</h1> +<h4>OR, THE</h4> +<h1>Triumvirate of Poets</h1> +<h4 class="spaced">At<i>REHEARSAL</i>.</h4> +<h4>A</h4> +<h2 class="spaced">COMEDY.</h2> +<p class="center">As it was Acted several Days successively with great Applause</p> +<h4>AT THE</h4> +<h2>Theatre-Royal</h2> +<h4 class="spaced">In <i>DRURY-LANE</i>.</h4> +<h4 class="spaced">By Her MAJESTY'S Servants.</h4> +<p class="center">Written by Mr. <i>W. M.</i></p> +<p class="center"><i>Ita Astutim sibi Arrogat Hominem Ingenia +Ut Homines credas.</i> Cic.</p> +<br /> +<p class="center"><i>LONDON</i>, Printed for <i>William Turner</i>, at the <i>Angel</i> at <i>Lincolns-Inn</i> Back-Gate, +<i>William Davis</i>, at the <i>Black Bull</i> in <i>Cornhil</i>, <i>Bernard Lintott</i>, at the <i>Middle-Temple-Gate</i>, +and <i>Tho. Brown</i>, at the <i>Blackamoors Head</i> near the <i>Savoy</i>. 1704.<br /> +<br /> +<i>Price</i> 1 <i>s.</i> 6 <i>d.</i></p> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2 class="spaced">THE PREFACE.</h2> + + +<p>Though the Success of this Play has been such, +as to need no Apology for the Publication +of it; it having been Acted six Days running without +intermission; and being likely to have continued +much longer, had the Company thought fit +to oblige the Taste of the Town in General, +rather than that of some particular Persons; yet the +lateness of its appearance abroad, after its being +Acted some Years since with great Applause, seems +to require that the Reader should be satisfied why +it should fall under his Censure at a time when the +Town has almost lost the Remembrance of it. In +order to this, I take it for necessary to Premise, that +the Author of it, a Man of more Modesty than the +Generality of our present Writers, tho' not of less +Merit than the best of 'em, was neither fond of his +own Performances, nor desirous others should fall in +love with them. What he writ was for his own Diversion; +and he could hardly be persuaded by the +Quality to make it theirs, till his good Temper got +the better of his Aversion to write himself among +the List of the Poets; and he was prevail'd upon +to put it into the Hands of the Gentlemen belonging +to the Theatre in <i>Drury-Lane</i>, who did him +the same Justice, as was done by him to Dramatick +Poetry and the Stage. Among the rest, Mr. +<i>Powel</i> and his Wife excell'd in the Characters they +represented, as did Mrs. <i>Verbruggen</i>, who play'd the +Chief Character, and whose Loss we must ever regret, +as the Chief Actress in her Kind, who never had +any one that exceeded her, or ever will have one +that can come up to her, unless a Miracle intervenes +for the support of the <i>English</i> Stage. It is written +in imitation of the Rehearsal; and though we +must not presume to say it comes up to the Character +of the Duke of <i>Buckingham</i>'s Works, yet it does +not fall short of it, so much as many of our Modern +Performances, that please more for the sake of their +Patrons than the real Worth of those that Writ +'em. And to let those that shall give it their Perusal, +into the Knowledge of the Female Wits, who are here +hinted at, they are to understand; the Lady +whose Play is rehears'd, personates one Mrs. <i>M—ly</i>, +a Gentlewoman sufficiently known for a Correspondence +with the Muses some time since, though she +has of late discontinu'd it, (I presume for some more +profitable Employ) and those that go under the +Names of Mrs. <i>Welfed</i>, and <i>Calista</i>, are Mrs. <i>P—x</i> +and Mrs. <i>T——r</i>, two Gentlewomen that have made +no small struggle in the World to get into Print; +and who are now in such a State of Wedlock to +Pen and Ink, that it will be very difficult for 'em +to get out of it. Whether the Characters are just +or no, that is left to the Reader's determination: +But the Auditors thought the Pictures were true, or +they would have condemn'd the Person that drew +'em, in less than six Days. What remains is, to +justifie the Publication of it, and to acquaint the +World, that the Author being deceas'd, I got a +Copy of it; and out of my desire to divert the +Publick, I thought it might not be unacceptable +if it saw the Light. In short, if it pleases as much +in the Reading, as it did in the Acting, the Reader +cannot fail of his Satisfaction; if not, the Taste of +the Criticks is different from what it was some +Years since: And so, a Fig for their Censures, +which can neither affect him that Wrote this Play, +nor him that Publishes it.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2 class="spaced">THE PROLOGUE.</h2> + + +<table> +<tr><td> +<i>While Sinners took upon 'em to reform,<br /> +And on the Stage laid the late dreadful Storm,<br /> +<font>Occasionally</font> coming from the Crimes<br /> +Of us, whose <font>Drama</font>'s would instruct the Times.<br /> +We wonder'd Rebels who against the Crown,<br /> +Justly draw all these heavy Judgments down,<br /> +Should pass uncensur'd, unmolested stand,<br /> +And be a heavy Judgment to the Land.<br /> +But they, Heav'ns bless 'em for their daily care,<br /> +Have reconcil'd us now to Ale and Air:<br /> +For Wine we know not, while the luckless Hit,<br /> +Has taught us want of Laugh, and want of Wit.<br /> +But when the <font>Observator</font>'s Wrath withdraws,<br /> +And wanting Law instructs us in the Laws;<br /> +How happy are we made, who well agree,<br /> +To be laugh'd at by such a Fool as he.<br /> +Thanks to the Strumpets that would mask'd appear,<br /> +We now in their True Colours see 'em here:<br /> +False, I should say, for who e're saw before,<br /> +A Woman in True Colours and a Whore?</i><br /> +</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td> +<i>But it is not our Business to be rude<br /> +With Woman for the sake of Muffled Hood;<br /> +We lik'd 'em not with Masks or with their Paints,<br /> +Nor ever thought to baulk informing Saints.<br /> +They're welcome to us, when we're <font>Peccant found</font>,<br /> +Their Understanding's safe as well as <font>sound</font>.<br /> +All that we strive to please are Good and Just;<br /> +For Goodness ever we have ta'ne on Trust:<br /> +But when we to true Virtue would appear,<br /> +The Real Saints and not the False are here.<br /> +We're Regulary true to Royal Laws,<br /> +We admire th' Effect and we adore the Cause.<br /> +All that we're proud of is, that we have seen,</i><br /> +<i>Our</i> Reformation <i>center in the Queen.</i><br /> +</td></tr> +</table> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2 class="spaced">THE EPILOGUE</h2> + + +<table> +<tr><td> +<i>The Sermon ended, 'tis the Preacher's way<br /> +For Blessings on the Auditors to pray,<br /> +And Supplicate what Doctrines have been said,<br /> +May thro' their Ears into their Hearts be laid.<br /> +So does our Poet in this sinful Age,<br /> +(Not that the Pulpit's likened to the Stage)<br /> +Fall to Petition after Application,<br /> +And beg that he may work a Reformation;<br /> +May turn the side of Follies now in Course,<br /> +And touch the guilty Scribe with due Remorse:<br /> +That every Fool his Errors may reclaim,<br /> +And take the Road of Pen and Ink to Fame.</i><br /> +</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td> +<i>What here he writes to quash the Womens Pride,<br /> +May to the Men with Justice be apply'd.<br /> +Each Sex is now so self-conceited grown,<br /> +None can digest a Treat that's not their own.<br /> +So</i> Ęsop'<i>s Monkey that his Off-spring brought,<br /> +It's own the fairest of the Rivals thought;<br /> +As it preferr'd deformity of Face<br /> +To all the Beauties of the <font>Bestial</font> Race.</i><br /> +</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td> +<i>But Manners might have hinder'd him, you'll say,<br /> +From Ridiculing Women in his Play,<br /> +When his own Sex so very open lay.<br /> +Troth so he might, but as I said before,<br /> +Wits do themselves, as Beaux, themselves adore;<br /> +Your Man of Dress, your Dressing Female Apes,<br /> +And doats upon their several Aires and Shapes:<br /> +Fearful that what upon the Sex is cast,<br /> +May on themselves stick scandalously fast.</i><br /> +</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td> +<i>Not that the Good he'd with the Bad abuse,<br /> +Or lessen the true value of a Muse;<br /> +Since every Soul with Rapture must admire<br /> +The tuneful Motions of the skilful Lyre.<br /> +But as the Shade adds Beauty to the Light,<br /> +And helps to make it strike upon the Sight:<br /> +So those whom he has made his Present Theme,<br /> +Assist to make us Poetry esteem,<br /> +As we from what they are, distinctly see,<br /> +And learn, what other Poets ought to be.</i><br /> +</td></tr> +</table> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2 class="spaced">DRAMATIS PERSONĘ.</h2> +<table> +<tr><td align="right">Mr. <i>Awdwell</i>, A Gentleman of Sense}<br /> +and Education, in Love with <i>Marsilia</i>,}</td><td> Mr. Mills.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">Mr. <i>Praiseall</i>, A conceited, cowardly Coxcomb;}<br /> +a Pretender likewise to <i>Marsilia</i>'s}<br /> +Affections,}</td><td>Mr. Cibber.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right"><i>Fastin</i>, Son to Lord <i>Whimsical</i>, Husband}<br /> +to <i>Isabella</i>, and in Love with his Father's}<br /> +Wife,}</td><td>Mr. Powell.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right"><i>Amorous</i>, Steward to Lord <i>Whimsical</i>, and}<br /> +in Love with <i>Isabella</i>,}</td><td>Mr. Pinkethman.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">Lord <i>Whiffle</i>, An empty Piece of Noise,}<br /> +that always shews himself at Rehearsals}<br /> +and in publick Places,</td><td>Mr. Thomas.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">Lord <i>Whimsicall</i>, Husband to Lady <i>Loveall}</i>,</td> +<td>Mr. Verbruggen.</td></tr> +</table> + +<h2 class="spaced">WOMEN</h2> +<table> +<tr><td align="right"><i>Marsilia</i>, A Poetess, that admires her own}<br /> +Works, and a great Lover of Flattery,}</td><td>Mrs. Verbruggen.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right"><i>Patience</i>, her Maid,}</td><td>Mrs. Essex.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">Mrs. <i>Wellfed</i>, One that represents a fat Female}<br /> +Author, a good sociable well-natur'd}<br /> +Companion, that will not suffer}<br /> +Martyrdom rather than take off three}<br /> +Bumpers in a Hand,}</td><td>Mrs. Powell.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right"><i>Calista</i>, A Lady that pretends to the learned}<br /> +Languages, and assumes to her self}<br /> +the Name of a Critick,}</td><td>Mrs. Temple.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right"><i>Isabella</i>, Wife to Fastin, and in Love with}<br /> +<i>Amorous</i>,}</td><td>Mrs. Cross.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">Lady <i>Loveall</i>, Wife to Lord <i>Whimsical</i>,}<br /> +and in Love with <i>Fastin</i>,}</td><td>Mrs. Knight.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right"><i>Betty Useful</i>, A necessary Convenience of}<br /> +a Maid to Lady <i>Loveall</i>,}</td><td>Mrs. Kent.</td></tr> +</table> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[1]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2 class="spaced">ACT I.</h2> + + +<p class="center">SCENE a Dressing-Room, Table and +Toylet Furnish'd, &c.</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Enter</i> Marsilia <i>in a Night-Gown, followed by</i> +Patience.</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> Why, thou thoughtless inconsiderable +Animal! Thou driv'ling dreaming +Lump! Is it not past Nine o'Clock? +Must not I be at the Rehearsal by +Ten, Brainless? And here's a Toylet +scarce half furnish'd!</p> + +<p><i>Pat.</i> I am about it, Madam.</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> Yes, like a Snail!—--. +Mount, my aspiring Spirit! Mount! Hit yon azure Roof, and +justle Gods! [<i>Repeats.</i></p> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[2]</a></span></p> +<p><i>Pat.</i> Madam, your things are ready.</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> Abominable! Intollerable! past enduring! [<i>Stamps.</i> +Speak to me whilst I'm Repeating! +Interrupting Wretch! What, a Thought more worth +Than worlds of thee!—--what a Thought have I lost!— +Ay, ay, 'tis gone, 'tis gone beyond the Clouds. [<i>Cries.</i> +Whither now, Mischievous? Do I use to Dress without Attendance? +So, finely prepar'd, Mrs. Negligence! +I never wear any Patches!</p> + +<p><i>Pat.</i> Madam.</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> I ask you if ever you saw me wear any Patches? +Whose Cook maid wert thou prithee? The Barbarous Noise of +thy Heels is enough to put the Melody of the Muses out of +ones Head.——Almond Milk for my Hands.——Sower! +By Heav'n this Monster designs to Poyson me.</p> + +<p><i>Pat.</i> Indeed, Madam; 'tis but just made; I wou'd not offer +such an affront to those charming Hands for the World.</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> Commended by thee! I shall grow sick of 'em.—— +Well, but <i>Patty</i>, are not you vain enough to hope from the +fragments of my Discourse you may pick up a Play? +Come, be diligent, it might pass amongst a Crowd, +And do as well as some of its Predecessors.</p> + +<p><i>Pat.</i> Nothing but flattery brings my Lady into a good humour. [<i>Aside.</i> +With your Ladyship's directions I might aim at something.</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> My Necklace.</p> + +<p><i>Pat.</i> Here's a Neck! such a Shape! such a Skin!—-- [<i>Tying it on.</i> +Oh! if I were a Man, I shoud run Mad!</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> Humph! The Girl has more Sense than I imagin'd, +She finds out those Perfections all the Beau-mond have admired.— +Well, <i>Patty</i>, after my Third day I'll give you this Gown and +Pettycoat.</p> + +<p><i>Pat.</i> Your Ladyship will make one of Velvet, I suppose. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[3]</a></span></p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> I guess I may; see who knocks. [<i>Goes out, and returns.</i></p> + +<p><i>Pat.</i> Madam, 'tis Mrs. <i>Wellfed</i>.</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> That ill-bred, ill shap'd Creature! Let her come +up, she's foolish and open-hearted, I shall pick something +out of her that may do her Mischief, or serve me to Laugh at.</p> + +<p><i>Pat.</i> Madam, you invited her to the Rehearsal this Morning.</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> What if I did? she might have attended me at the +Play-house.——Go, fetch her up.</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Enter Mrs.</i> Wellfed <i>and</i> Patty.</p> + +<p>Mrs. <i>Wellfed</i>. Good morrow, Madam.</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> Your Servant, dear Mrs. <i>Wellfed</i>, I have been longing +for you this Half-hour.</p> + +<p>Mrs. <i>Wellf.</i> 'Tis near Ten.</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> Ay, my Impertinence is such a Trifle—But, Madam, +are we not to expect some more of your Works?</p> + +<p>Mrs. <i>Wellf.</i> Yes; I am playing the Fool again.—— +The story is——</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> Nay, for a Story, Madam, you must give me leave +to say, there's none like mine; The turns are so surprizing, +the Love so passionate, the Lines so strong. 'Gad I'm afraid +there's not a Female Actress in <i>England</i> can reach 'em.</p> + +<p>Mrs. <i>Wellf.</i> My Language!</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> Now you talk of Language, what do you think a +Lord said to me t'other day? That he had heard I was a +Traveller, and he believ'd my Voyage had been to the Poets +Elyzium, for mortal Fires cou'd never inspire such words! +Was not this fine?</p> + +<p>Mrs. <i>Wellf.</i> Extravagantly fine! But, as I was saying——</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> Mark but these two Lines.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[4]</a></span></p> + +<p>Mrs. <i>Wellf.</i> Madam, I have heard 'em already; you know +you repeated every word of your Play last Night.</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> I hope, Mrs. <i>Wellfed</i>, the Lines will bear the being +heard twice and twice, else 'twou'd be bad for the Sparks +who are never absent from the Play-house, and must hear +'em Seventeen or Eighteen Nights together.</p> + +<p>Mrs. <i>Wellf.</i> How Madam<i>!</i> that's Three or Four more +than the <i>Old Batchelour</i> held out.</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> Madam, I dare affirm there's not two such Lines in +the Play you nam'd: Madam, I'm sorry I am forc'd to tell +you, Interruption is the rudest thing in the World.</p> + +<p>Mrs. <i>Wellf.</i> I am dumb. Pray proceed.</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> Pray observe.——</p> + +<p class="center"> +<i>My Scorching Raptures make a Boy of <font>Jove</font>,<br /> +That Ramping God shall learn of me to Love.</i><br /> +</p> + +<p><i>My Scorching</i>——</p> + +<p>Mrs. <i>Wellf.</i> Won't the Ladies think some of those Expressions +indecent?</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> Interrupting again, by Heav'n!—--Sure, Madam, +I understand the Ladies better than you. To my knowledge +they love words that have warmth, and fire, <i>&c.</i> in 'em.—Here, +<i>Patty</i>, give me a Glass of <i>Sherry</i>; my Spirits are +gone.——No Manchet Sot! Ah! the Glass [<i>Brings a Glass.</i> +not clean! She takes this opportunity, because +she knows I never fret before Company, I! do I use to Drink +a Thimble full at a time?— +Take that to wash your Face. [<i>Throws it in her Face.</i></p> + +<p><i>Pat.</i> These are Poetical Ladies with a Pox to 'em. (<i>Aside.</i></p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> My Service to you Madam, I think you drink in a +Morning.</p> + +<p>Mrs. <i>Wellf.</i> Yes, else I had never come to this bigness, +Madam, to the encreasing that inexhausted spring of Poetry:<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[5]</a></span> +that it may swell, o'erflow, and bless the barren Land.</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> Incomparable, I protest<i>!</i></p> + +<p><i>Pat.</i> Madam <i>Calista</i> to wait upon your Ladyship.</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> Do you know her Child?</p> + +<p>Mrs. <i>Wellf.</i> No.</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> Oh! 'Tis the vainest; proudest, senseless Thing, she +pretends to Grammar, writes in Mood and Figure; does every +thing methodically.——Poor Creature! She shews me her +Works first; I always commend 'em, with a Design she shou'd +expose 'em, and the Town be so kind to laugh her out of her +Follies.</p> + +<p>Mr. <i>Wellf.</i> That's hard in a Friend.</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> But 'tis very usual.——Dunce! Why do you let +her stay so long? [<i>Exit Pat. Re-enter with</i> Calista. +My best <i>Calista</i>! The charming'st Nymph of all <i>Apollo</i>'s +Train, let me Embrace thee!</p> + +<p>Mr. <i>Wellf.</i> So, I suppose my Reception was preceeded like +this. [<i>Aside.</i>]</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> Pray know this Lady, she is a Sister of ours.</p> + +<p><i>Calista.</i> She's big enough to be the Mother of the Muses. [<i>Aside.</i> +Madam, your Servant.</p> + +<p>Mrs. <i>Wellf</i>. Madam, yours. [<i>Salute.</i></p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> Now here's the Female Triumvirate; methinks +'twou'd be but civil of the Men to lay down their Pens for +one Year, and let us divert the Town, but if we shou'd, +they'd certainly be asham'd ever to take 'em up again.</p> + +<p><i>Calis.</i> From yours we expect Wonders.</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> Has any Celebrated Poet of the Age been lately to +look over any of your Scenes, Madam?</p> + +<p><i>Calis.</i> Yes, yes, one that you know, and who makes that +his pretence for daily Visits.</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> But I had rather see one dear Player than all the +Poets in the Kingdom.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[6]</a></span></p> + +<p><i>Calis.</i> Good Gad! That you shou'd be in Love with an +Old Man!</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> He is so with me; and you'll grant 'tis a harder +Task to Re-kindle dying Coals, than set Tinder on a Blaze.</p> + +<p>Mr. <i>Wellf.</i> I guess the Spark. But why then is your Play at +this House?</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> I thought you had known 't had been an <i>Opera</i>; and +such an <i>Opera</i>! But I wont talk on't, 'till you see it. Mrs. +<i>Wellfed</i>, is not your Lodgings often fill'd with the Cabals of +Poets and Judges?</p> + +<p>Mr. <i>Wellf.</i> Faith, Madam, I'll not tell a Lye for the matter; +they never do me the Honour.</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> I thought so, when I ask'd her. [<i>Aside to</i> Calista.</p> + +<p>Mr. <i>Wellf.</i> My Brats are forc'd to appear of my own raising.</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> Nay, Mrs. <i>Wellfed</i>, they don't come to others to +assist, but admire.</p> + +<p><i>Pat.</i> Madam, Mr. <i>Aw'dwell</i> and Mr. <i>Praiseall</i> are below.</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> Dear Ladies, step in with me, whilst I put on my +Mantua: Bring 'em up, and then come to me.——What +does that <i>Aw'dwell</i> here again to Day? Did not I do him the +Honour to go abroad with him yesterday? Sure that's enough +for his Trifle of a Scarf. Come Ladies. +<i>That Ramping God shall learn of me to Love.</i> [Exeunt.</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Enter Mr.</i> Aw'dwell <i>and Mr.</i> Praiseall.</p> + +<p>Mr. <i>Aw'dw.</i> So, Mr. <i>Praiseall</i>, you are come, I suppose, to +pay your Tribute of Encomiums to the Fair Lady and her +Works.</p> + +<p>Mr. <i>Prais.</i> The Lady sometimes does me the Honour to +Communicate; my poor Abilities are at her Service, tho' I +own my self weak.</p> + +<p><i>Aw'dw.</i> Then you are not fit for the Ladies Service, to my +Knowledge.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[7]</a></span></p> + +<p><i>Prais.</i> Why, Sir? I was long an <i>Oxonion</i>, 'till a good Estate +and the Practice of the Law, tempted me from my studies.</p> + +<p><i>Aw'dw.</i> Sir, I'll tell you my Opinion of the University +Students: They are commonly as dull as they are dirty, and +their Conversation is as wretched as their Feeding; yet every +Man thinks his Parts unquestionable, if he has been at +<i>Oxford</i>.——Now all the Observation I have made of <i>Oxford</i>, +is, it's a good Place to improve Beggars, and to spoil +Gentlemen, to make young Master vain, and think no Body +has Wit but himself.</p> + +<p><i>Prais.</i> While the Lady has more complaisant Sentiments, +yours shan't disturb me, Sir, I assure you.</p> + +<p><i>Aw'dw.</i> What is't bewitches me to <i>Marsilia</i>! I know her +a Coquet; I know her vain and ungrateful; yet, wise as +<i>Almanzor</i>, knowing all this, I still love on! [<i>Aside.</i></p> + +<p><i>Prais.</i> I wish <i>Marsilia</i> wou'd come! That fellow +looks as if he had a Mind to quarrel. I hate the sight of a +bent Brow in a Morning; I am always unlucky the whole +Day after.</p> + +<p><i>Aw'dw.</i> Oh, one thing more of your Darling <i>Oxford</i>. You +know, if you get Learning, it robs Man of his noblest Part, +Courage. This your mighty Bard, by Experience owns, +the Learned are Cowards by Profession. Do you feel any +of your Martial Heat returns?</p> + +<p><i>Prais.</i> Ay, he will quarrel, I find.—— [<i>Aside.</i> +Sir, I was never taught to practice Feats of Arms in a Lady's +Anti-Chamber.</p> + +<p><i>Aw'dw.</i> The Fool's afraid: Yet shall I have the Pleasure to +see <i>Marsilia</i> prefer this Fop to me before my Face. [<i>Exit.</i><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[8]</a></span></p> + +<p class="center"><i>Enter</i> Marsilia, Calista, <i>and Mrs.</i> Wellfed.</p> + +<p><i>Mars.</i> I must beg your Learned Ladyship's Pardon. +<i>Aristotle</i> never said such a Word, upon my Credit.——<i>Patty</i>, +What an Air these Pinners have<i>?</i> Pull 'em more behind.——Oh +my Stars, she has pull'd my Head-cloaths +off!</p> + +<p><i>Calist.</i> I cannot but re-mind you, Madam, you are mistaken; +for I read <i>Aristotle</i> in his own Language: The Translation +may alter the Expression.</p> + +<p><i>Aw'dw.</i> Oh that I cou'd but Conjure up the Old Philosopher, +to hear these Women pull him in pieces!</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> Nay, Madam, if you are resolv'd to have the last +Word, I ha' done; for I am no lover of Words, upon my +Credit.</p> + +<p><i>Prais.</i> I am glad to hear her say sh'as done, for I dare not +interrupt her.—Madam, your Ladyship's most humble.——</p> + +<p><i>Mars.</i> Mr. <i>Praiseall</i>, Yours.</p> + +<p><i>Prais.</i> Charming <i>Calista</i>, I kiss those enchanting Fingers.</p> + +<p><i>Mars.</i> Humph! That might ha' been said to me more properly. [<i>Aside.</i></p> + +<p><i>Prais.</i> Mrs. <i>Wellfed</i>, tho' last, not least.</p> + +<p>Mrs. <i>Wellf.</i> That's right, Mr. <i>Praiseall</i>.</p> + +<p><i>Prais.</i> In Love, I meant, Mrs. <i>Wellfed</i>.</p> + +<p>Mr. <i>Wellf.</i> Prethee, add <i>Good Tribonus</i>, don't steal by halves, +Mr. <i>Praiseall</i>.</p> + +<p><i>Prais.</i> Lord, you are so quick!</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> Well, you are come to go with us to the Rehearsal.</p> + +<p><i>Prais.</i> 'Tis a pleasing Duty, Madam, to wait on your Ladyship: +But then to hear the wondrous Product of your +Brain, is such a Happiness, I only want some of <i>Marsilia</i>'s +Eloquence to express it.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[9]</a></span></p> + +<p><i>Aw'dw.</i> How this Flattery transports her! Swells her +Pride almost to bursting. [<i>Aside.</i></p> + +<p><i>Mars.</i> I do avow, Mr. <i>Praiseall</i>, you are the most complaisant +Man of the Age.</p> + +<p><i>Aw'dw.</i> Are you yet at Leisure, Madam, to tell me how +you do?</p> + +<p><i>Mars.</i> You see my Engagements, and have chosen a very +busie Time to ask such an insignificant Question.</p> + +<p><i>Aw'dw.</i> What, it wants a Courtly Phrase?</p> + +<p><i>Mars.</i> Must I meet with nothing but interruption? Mr. +<i>Praiseall</i>!</p> + +<p><i>Prais.</i> Madam?</p> + +<p><i>Mars.</i> I think I have not seen you these two Days.</p> + +<p><i>Prais.</i> So long I've liv'd in <i>Greenland</i>, seen no Sun, not +felt no warmth.</p> + +<p><i>Mars.</i> Heav'ns! Mr. <i>Praiseall</i>, why don't you write? +Words like those ought to be preserv'd in Characters indelible, +not lost in Air.</p> + +<p><i>Aw'dw.</i> 'Tis pity your Ladyship does not carry a Commonplace +Book.</p> + +<p><i>Mars.</i> For your self 'twou'd be more useful.—— +But, as I was going to tell you, Mr. <i>Praiseall</i>, since I saw +you, I have laid a Design to alter <i>Cateline's Conspiracy</i>.</p> + +<p><i>Prais.</i> An Undertaking fit for so great a Hand.</p> + +<p><i>Mars.</i> Nay, I intend to make use only of the first Speech.</p> + +<p><i>Aw'dw.</i> That will be an Alteration indeed!</p> + +<p><i>Mars.</i> Your Opinion was not ask'd. +Nor wou'd I meddle with that, but to let the World, that is so +partial to those old Fellows, see the difference of a modern +Genius.——You know that Speech, Mr. <i>Praiseall</i>, and +the Ladies too, I presume.</p> + +<p><i>Calista.</i> I know it so well, as to have turn'd it into <i>Latin</i>.</p> + +<p><i>Prais.</i> That was extraordinary. But let me tell you, Madam +<i>Calista</i>, 'tis a harder Task to mend it in <i>English</i>.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[10]</a></span></p> + +<p><i>Mars.</i> True, true, Mr. <i>Praiseall</i>; That all the Universe +must own.——Patty. Give me another Glass of +Sherry, that I may speak loud and clear.——Mr. <i>Praiseall</i>, +my Service to you.</p> + +<p><i>Prais.</i> I kiss your unequall'd Hand.</p> + +<p>Mrs. <i>Wellfed.</i> This drinking is the best part of the Entertainment +in my Opinion. [<i>Aside.</i></p> + +<p><i>Mars.</i> Now, Mr. <i>Praiseall</i>.</p> + +<p><i>Prais.</i> I am all Ear.</p> + +<p><i>Mars.</i> I wou'd you were——I was just beginning to +speak.</p> + +<p><i>Prais.</i> Mum, I ha' done a Fault.</p> + +<p><i>Aw'dw.</i> Sure this Scene will chace her from my Soul. [<i>Aside.</i></p> + +<p><i>Mars.</i> Thy Head! Thy Head! Proud City!— +I'll say no more of his; I don't love to repeat other Peoples +Works;—now my own.— +Thy solid Stones, and thy cemented Walls, this Arm shall +scatter into Atoms; then on thy Ruins will I mount! +Mount my aspiring Spirit mount! Hit yon Azure Roof, and +justle Gods;— [<i>Ex.</i> Patty. +My Fan, my Fan, <i>Patty</i>.— [<i>All clap.</i></p> + +<p><i>Prais.</i> Ah! Poor <i>Ben</i>! Poor <i>Ben</i>! You know, Madam, +there was a famous Poet pick'd many a Hole in his Coat in +several Prefaces.—He found fault, but never mended the +Matter—Your Ladyship has lay'd his Honour in the Dust.—Poor +<i>Ben</i>! 'Tis well thou art dead; this News had broke +thy Heart.</p> + +<p><i>Mars.</i> Then in the <i>Conspiracy</i>, I make <i>Fulvia</i> a Woman +of the nicest Honour; and such Scenes!</p> + +<p>Mrs. <i>Wellf.</i> Madam, you forget the Rehearsal.</p> + +<p><i>Mars.</i> Oh Gods! That I could live in a Cave! Ecchoes +wou'd repeat, but not interrupt me; Madam, if you are beholden +to those Creatures, I am not; let 'em wait, let 'em +wait, or live without me if they can.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[11]</a></span></p> + +<p class="center"><i>Enter</i> Patty.</p> + +<p><i>Pat.</i> Madam, your Chair Men are come.</p> + +<p><i>Mars.</i> Let them wait, they are paid for't.</p> + +<p><i>Pat.</i> Not yet to my Knowledge, what ever they be after +the third Day; there's a long Bill I'm sure.— [<i>Aside.</i></p> + +<p><i>Mars.</i> How do you think to go Mrs. <i>Wellfed</i>? Shall <i>Pat.</i> +call you another Chair?</p> + +<p>Mrs. <i>Wellf.</i> I have no Inclination to break poor Mens +Backs; I thank you, Madam, I'll go a Foot.</p> + +<p><i>Calist.</i> A Foot!</p> + +<p>Mrs. <i>Wellf.</i> Ay, a Foot, 'tis not far, 'twill make me leaner. +Your Servant Ladies. [<i>Exit.</i></p> + +<p><i>Mars.</i> Your Servant.</p> + +<p><i>Prais.</i> A bouncing Dame! But she has done some things +well enough.</p> + +<p><i>Mars.</i> Fye, Mr. <i>Praiseall</i>! That you shou'd wrong your +Judgment thus! Don't do it, because you think her my +Friend: I profess, I can't forbear saying, her Heroicks want +Beautiful Uniformity as much as her Person; and her Comedies +are as void of Jests as her Conversation.</p> + +<p><i>Prais.</i> I submit to your Ladyship.</p> + +<p><i>Aw'dw.</i> Madam, shall I crave leave to speak a few Words +with you before you go?</p> + +<p><i>Mars.</i> I must gratify you, tho' 'tis to my Prejudice.—My +Dear <i>Calista</i>, be pleas'd to take my Chair to the Play-House, +and I'll follow you presently.</p> + +<p><i>Calist.</i> I will; but make haste.</p> + +<p><i>Mars.</i> Fear not, yours waits below, I suppose, Sir.</p> + +<p><i>Prais.</i> Yes Madam.</p> + +<p><i>Mars.</i> Pray take Care of the Lady 'till I come.</p> + +<p><i>Prais.</i> Most willingly. [<i>Exit.</i><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[12]</a></span></p> + +<p><i>Mars.</i> What a ridiculous conceited thing it is!— +A witty Woman conceited, looks like a handsome Woman +set out with Frippery:</p> + +<p><i>Aw'dw.</i> Railing shou'd be my part: But, <i>Marsilia</i>, I'll give +it a genteeler Name, and call it complaining.</p> + +<p><i>Mars.</i> Pshaw! You are always a complaining I think. +Don't put me out of Humour, now I am just going to the Rehearsal.</p> + +<p><i>Aw'dw.</i> Why are you so ungrateful? Is it from your Lands +water'd by <i>Helicon</i>, or my honest dirty Acres, your maintenance +proceeds? Yet I must stand like a Foot-boy, unregarded, +whilst a noisy Fool takes up your Eyes, your Ears, your +every Sense.</p> + +<p><i>Mars.</i> Now, Mr. <i>Aw'dwell</i>, I'll tell you a strange thing: The +difference between you and I, shall create a Peace.—As thus: +You have a mind to quarrel, I have not; so that there must +be a Peace, or only War on your side. Then again, you have +a mind to stay here, I have a mind to go, which will be a +Truce at least.— [<i>Is going.</i></p> + +<p><i>Aw'dw.</i> Hold, Madam, do not teaze me thus; tho' you +know my Follies and your Power, yet the ill-us'd Slave may +break his Chain.</p> + +<p><i>Mars.</i> What wou'd the Man have? If you'll be good humour'd, +and go to the Play-house, do; if not, stay here. +Ask my Maid Questions, increase your Jealousie, be dogged +and be damn'd.</p> + +<p><i>Aw'dw.</i> Obliging? If I shou'd go, I know my Fate; +'twou'd be like standing on the Rack.</p> + +<p><i>Mars.</i> While my Play's Rehearsing! That's an Affront I +shall never forgive whilst I breath.</p> + +<p><i>Aw'dw.</i> Tho' I thought not of your Play?</p> + +<p><i>Mars.</i> That's worse.</p> + +<p><i>Aw'dw.</i> Your Carriage, your cruel Carriage, was the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[13]</a></span> +thing I meant. If there shou'd be a Man of Quality, as you +call 'em, I must not dare to own I know you.</p> + +<p><i>Mars.</i> And well remembred. My Lord Duke promis'd +he'd be there.—Oh Heav'ns! I wou'd not stay another moment, +No, not to finish a Speech in <i>Catiline</i>. What a Monster +was I to forget it! Oh Jehu! My Lord Duke, and Sir +<i>Thomas</i>! <i>Pat.</i> another Chair, Sir <i>Thomas</i> and my Lord Duke +both stay.— [<i>Exit running.</i></p> + +<p><i>Aw'dw.</i> Follow, follow. Fool, be gorg'd and glutted with +Abuses, then throw up them and Love together.— [<i>Exit.</i></p> + + +<h4 class="spaced">SCENE</h4><p class="center">the Play-House.</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Enter Mr.</i> Johnson, <i>Mr.</i> Pinkethman, <i>Mrs.</i> Lucas, +<i>and Miss</i> Cross.</p> + +<p>Mrs. <i>Cross</i>. Good morrow Mrs. <i>Lucas</i>; why what's the +Whim, that we must be all dress'd at +Rehearsal, as if we play'd?</p> + +<p>Mrs. <i>Lucas</i>, 'Tis by the Desire of Madam <i>Maggot</i> the +Poetess, I suppose.</p> + +<p>Mrs. <i>Cross</i>. She is a little whimsical, I think, indeed; +for this is the most incomprehensible Part I ever had in my +Life; and when I complain, all the Answer I get is, 'tis +New, and 'tis odd; and nothing but new things and odd +things will do—Where's Mr. <i>Powell</i>, that we may try a little +before she comes.</p> + +<p>Mr. <i>Johnson</i>. At the Tavern, Madam.</p> + +<p>Mrs. <i>Cross</i>. At the Tavern in a Morning?</p> + +<p>Mr. <i>Johns.</i> Why, how long have you been a Member of +this Congregation, pretty <i>Miss</i>, and not know honest <i>George</i> +regards neither Times nor Seasons in Drinking?<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[14]</a></span></p> + +<p class="center"><i>Enter Mrs.</i> Wellfed.</p> + +<p>Mrs. <i>Cross</i>. O! Here comes Mrs. <i>Wellfed</i>. Your Servant +Madam.</p> + +<p>Mrs. <i>Wellf.</i> Your Servant Gentlemen and Ladies.</p> + +<p>Mrs. <i>Lucas</i>. Sit down, Mrs. <i>Wellfed</i>, you are out of Breath.</p> + +<p>Mrs. <i>Wellf.</i> Walking a Pace, and this ugly Cough—[<i>Coughs.</i> +Well the Lady's a coming, and a couple of Beaus, but I +perceive you need not care who comes, you are all dress'd.</p> + +<p>Mrs. <i>Cross</i>. So it seems. I think they talk she expects a +Duke.</p> + +<p>Mrs. <i>Wellf.</i> Here's two of the Company.</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Enter Mr.</i> Praiseall <i>and</i> Calista.</p> + +<p><i>Prais.</i> Dear Mrs. <i>Cross</i>, your Beauties Slave.</p> + +<p>Mrs. <i>Cross</i>. Upon Condition, 'tis then, if I have no Beauty, +you are no Slave; and the matter is just as 'twas.</p> + +<p><i>Prais.</i> Sharp, Sharp.—Charming <i>Isabella</i>, let me kiss the +Strap of your Shoe, or the Tongue of your Buckle.</p> + +<p>Mrs. <i>Cross</i>. Now have I such a mind to kick him i'th' +Chops.— [<i>Aside.</i> +Oh fye, Sir, What d'ye mean?</p> + +<p><i>Calista.</i> So, now he's got among the Players, I may hang +my self for a Spark.</p> + +<p>Mr. <i>Pink.</i> Prithee <i>Johnson</i>, who is that?</p> + +<p>Mr. <i>Johns.</i> He belongs to one of the Inns of Chancery.</p> + +<p>Mr. <i>Pink.</i> A Lawyer?</p> + +<p>Mr. <i>Johns.</i> I can't say that of the Man neither, tho' he +sweats hard in Term-time, and always is as much at <i>Westminster</i>, +as he that has most to do.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[15]</a></span></p> + +<p>Mr. <i>Pink.</i> Does he practice?</p> + +<p>Mr. <i>Johns.</i> Walking there, much.</p> + +<p>Mr. <i>Pink.</i> But I mean, the Laws?</p> + +<p>Mr. <i>Johns.</i> How to avoid its Penalty only. The Men are +quite tir'd with him, for you shall generally see him oagling +after the Women. He makes a shift to saunter away his Hours +till the Play begins; after you shall be sure to behold his +ill-favour'd Phyz, peeping out behind the Scenes, at both +Houses.</p> + +<p>Mr. <i>Pink.</i> What, at one time?</p> + +<p>Mr. <i>Johns.</i> No, Faith, 'tis his moving from one House to +'tother takes up his time, which is the Commodity sticks of +his Hands, for he has neither Sense nor Patience to hear a +Play out.</p> + +<p>Mr. <i>Pink.</i> I have enough of him, I thank you Sir.</p> + +<p><i>Calista.</i> How d'ye Madam? [<i>To Mrs.</i> Wellfed.</p> + +<p>Mrs. <i>Wellf.</i> At your Service, Madam.</p> + +<p><i>Calista.</i> <i>Marsilia</i> committed me to the Care of Mr. <i>Praiseall</i>; +but more powerful Charms have robb'd me of my Gallant.</p> + +<p>Mrs. <i>Wellf.</i> I thank Heav'n, I'm big enough to take care of +myself. Indeed to neglect a young pretty Lady, expose her +unmask'd amongst a Company of wild Players, is very dangerous.</p> + +<p><i>Calist.</i> Unmask'd! Humph! I'll be ev'n with you for +that. [<i>Aside.</i> +Madam, I have read all your excellent Works, and I dare say, +by the regular Correction, you are a Latinist, tho' <i>Marsilia</i> +laught at it.</p> + +<p>Mrs. <i>Wellf.</i> <i>Marsilia</i> shews her Folly, in laughing at what +she don't understand. Faith, Madam, I must own my ignorance, +I can go no further than the eight Parts of Speech.</p> + +<p><i>Calist.</i> Then I cannot but take the Freedom to say, you, +or whoever writes, imposes upon the Town.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[16]</a></span></p> + +<p>Mrs. <i>Wellf.</i> 'Tis no imposition, Madam, when ev'ry Body's +inclination's free to like, or dislike a thing.</p> + +<p><i>Calist.</i> Your Pardon, Madam.</p> + +<p><i>Prais.</i> How's this? Whilst I am making Love, I shall have +my two Heroines wage War. Ladies, what's your Dispute?</p> + +<p>Mrs. <i>Wellf.</i> Not worth appealing to a Judge, in my Opinion.</p> + +<p><i>Calista.</i> I'll maintain it with my Life. Learning is absolutely +necessary to all who pretend to Poetry.</p> + +<p>Mrs. <i>Wellf.</i> We'll adjourn the Argument, <i>Marsilia</i> shall +hear the Cause.</p> + +<p><i>Prais.</i> Ay, if you can perswade her to hold her Tongue so +long.</p> + +<p>Mrs. <i>Wellf.</i> I wish I cou'd engage you two in a <i>Latin</i> Dispute, +Mr. <i>Praiseall</i>, and you shou'd tell how often the Lady +breaks <i>Pris</i>—<i>Pris</i>—What's his Name? His Head, you know.</p> + +<p><i>Prais.</i> <i>Priscian</i>, you mean; Hush! Hush!</p> + +<p>Mrs. <i>Wellf.</i> He cares not for entring the Lists neither. +Come, Mr. <i>Praiseall</i>, I'll put you upon a more pleasing Task. +Try to prevail with that Fair Lady, to give us her New Dialogue.</p> + +<p><i>Prais.</i> What, my Angel?</p> + +<p>Mrs. <i>Wellf.</i> Mrs. <i>Cross</i>, I mean.</p> + +<p><i>Prais.</i> There is no other She, Madam.</p> + +<p>Mrs. <i>Cross</i>. Sir!</p> + +<p><i>Prais.</i> Will you be so good, to charm our Ears, and feast +our Eyes; let us see and hear you in Perfection.</p> + +<p>Mrs. <i>Cross</i>. This Complement is a Note above <i>Ela</i>. If <i>Marsilia</i> +shou'd catch me anticipating her Song, she'd chide sadly.</p> + +<p>Mrs. <i>Wellf.</i> Oh, we'll watch. I'll call Mr. <i>Leveridge</i>.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[17]</a></span></p> + +<p><i>Song by Mrs.</i> Cross.——<i>A Dialogue.</i></p> + +<p><i>Prais.</i> Thank you Ten thousand times, my Dear.</p> + +<p><i>Calista.</i> I'm almost weary of this illiterate Company.</p> + +<p>Mrs. <i>Wellf.</i> Now, Mr. <i>Praiseall</i>, get but Mrs. <i>Lucas</i>'s New +Dance, by that time sure the Lady will come.</p> + +<p><i>Prais.</i> I'll warrant ye my little <i>Lucas</i>.</p> + +<p class="spaced">SINGS.</p> + +<p class="center"> +With a Trip and a Gim,<br /> +And a Whey and a Jerk at Parting.<br /> +</p> + +<p>Where art thou, my little Girl?</p> + +<p><i>Little Boy.</i> She is but drinking a Dish of Coffee, and will +come presently.</p> + +<p><i>Prais.</i> Pshaw! Coffee! What does she drink Coffee for? +She's lean enough without drinking Coffee.</p> + +<p>Mr. <i>Pink.</i> Ay, but 'tis good to dry up Humours.</p> + +<p><i>Prais.</i> That's well, I Faith! Players dry up their Humours<i>!</i> +Why what are they good for then? Let her exert +her Humours in Dancing, that will do her most good, and +become her best.——Oh, here she comes!—--You little +Rogue, what do you drink Coffee for?</p> + +<p>Mrs. <i>Lucas</i>. For the same Reason you drink Claret; because +I love it.</p> + +<p><i>Prais.</i> Ha, Pert<i>!</i> Come, your last Dance, I will not be +deny'd.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[18]</a></span></p> + +<p><i>Lucas.</i> I don't intend you shall; I love to Dance, as well +as you do to see me.</p> + +<p><i>Prais.</i> Say'st thou so? Come on then; and when thou +hast done, I'll treat you all in the Green Room with Chocolate; +Chocolate, Huzzy; that's better by half than Coffee. +<i>All</i> agreed.</p> + +<p class="center"><i>A Dance by Mrs.</i> Lucas.</p> + +<p><i>Prais.</i> Titely done, I Faith, little Girl.</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Enter Mrs.</i> Knight.</p> + +<p>Mrs. <i>Cross</i>. Good morrow Mrs. <i>Knight</i>. Pray, dear Mrs. +<i>Knight</i>, tell me your Opinion of this Play; you read much, +and are a Judge.</p> + +<p>Mrs. <i>Knight</i>. Oh your Servant, Madam! Why truly, +my Understanding is so very small, I can't find the Ladies +meaning out.</p> + +<p>Mrs. <i>Cross</i>. Why, the Masters admire it.</p> + +<p>Mrs. <i>Knight</i>. So much the worse. What they censure, +most times prospers; and commonly, what they admire, +miscarries: Pshaw! They know nothing. They have Power, +and are positive; but have no more a right Notion of things, +Mrs. <i>Cross</i>, than you can have of the Pleasures of Wedlock, +that are unmarry'd.</p> + +<p>Mrs. <i>Cross</i>. I submit to better Judgment in that, Madam. +I am sure the Authoress is very proud and impertinent, as indeed +most Authors are.——She's a Favourite, and has +put 'em to a world of Expence in Cloaths. A Play well-dress'd, +you know, is half in half, as a great Writer says; +The <i>Morocco</i> Dresses, when new formerly for <i>Sebastian</i>, they<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[19]</a></span> +say enliven'd the Play as much as the Pudding and Dumpling +Song did <i>Merlin</i>.</p> + +<p>Mrs. <i>Knight</i>. This Play must be dress'd if there's any Credit +remains, tho' they are so cursedly in debt already.</p> + +<p>Mrs. <i>Cross</i>. It wants it, Madam, it wants it.</p> + +<p>Mr. <i>Wellf.</i> Well, Ladies, after this Play's over, I hope +you'll think of mine; I have two excellent Parts for ye.</p> + +<p><i>But</i>, We are at your Service.</p> + +<p>Mrs. <i>Wellf.</i> Mr. <i>Pinkethman</i>! Mr. <i>Pinkethman</i>! What, d'ye +run away from a Body?</p> + +<p>Mr. <i>Pink.</i> Who!? I beg your Pardon, Madam.</p> + +<p>Mrs. <i>Wellf.</i> Well, Mr. <i>Pinkethman</i>, you shall see what I +have done for you in my next.</p> + +<p>Mr. <i>Pink.</i> Thank ye, Madam; I'll do my best for you too.</p> + +<p>Mrs. <i>Wellf.</i> Mr. <i>Johnson</i>!</p> + +<p>Mr. <i>Pink.</i> So, now she's going her Rounds.</p> + +<p>Mrs. <i>Wellf.</i> Mr. <i>Johnson</i>!—Duce on him, he's gone! +Well, I shall see him by and by.</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Enter Mr.</i> Praiseall.</p> + +<p><i>Prais.</i> Ladies, the Chocolate is ready, and longs to be conducted +by your white Hands to your Rosie Lips!</p> + +<p>Mrs. <i>Wellf.</i> Rarely express'd! Come, Ladies.</p> + +<p class="right">[<i>Exeunt.</i></p> + +<p class="center"><i>Manent Mrs.</i> Knight <i>and Mrs.</i> Wellfed.</p> + +<p>Mrs <i>Knight</i>. I believe our People wou'd dance after any +Tom-Dingle for a pen'orth of Sugar-plums.</p> + +<p>Mrs. <i>Wellf.</i> Come Mrs. <i>Knight</i>, let you and I have a Bottle +of Sherry.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[20]</a></span></p> + +<p>Mrs. <i>Knight</i>. No, I thank you, I never drink Wine in a +Morning.</p> + +<p>Mrs. <i>Wellf.</i> Then you'll never write Plays, I promise +you.</p> + +<p>Mrs. <i>Knight</i>. I don't desire it.</p> + +<p>Mrs. <i>Wellf.</i> If you please, Madam, to pass the time away, +I'll repeat one of my best Scenes.</p> + +<p>Mrs. <i>Knight</i>. Oh Heav'ns! No Rest!—-- [<i>Aside.</i> +Madam, I doubt the Company will take it amiss. I am +your very humble Servant. [<i>Exit hastily.</i></p> + +<p>Mrs. <i>Wellf.</i> What! Fled so hastily! I find Poets had need +be a little conceited, for they meet with many a Bauk. However, +scribling brings this Satisfaction, that like our Children, +we are generally pleas'd with it our selves.</p> + +<p class="center"> +<i>So the fond Mother's rapt with her pratling Boys,<br /> +Whilst the free Stranger flies th' ungrateful Noise.</i><br /> +</p> + +<p class="right">[<i>Exit.</i></p> + + +<p class="center"><i>The End of the First ACT.</i><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[21]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2 class="spaced">ACT II.</h2> + +<p class="center"><i>Enter</i> Calista <i>and Mrs.</i> Wellfed.</p> + + +<p><i>Calista.</i> I Think <i>Marsillia</i> is very tedious.</p> + +<p>Mrs. <i>Wellf.</i> I think so too. 'Tis well 'tis <i>Marsillia</i>, +else the Players wou'd never have Patience.</p> + +<p><i>Calis.</i> Why, do they love her?</p> + +<p>Mrs. <i>Wellf.</i> No, but they fear her, that's all one.——Oh! +yonder's Mr. <i>Powell</i>, I want to speak with him.</p> + +<p><i>Calis.</i> So do I.</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Enter Mr.</i> Powell.</p> + +<p>Mrs. <i>Wellf.</i> Your Servant Mr. <i>Powell</i>.</p> + +<p><i>Calis.</i> Sir, I am your humble Servant.</p> + +<p>Mr. <i>Powell</i>. Ounds! What am I fell into the Hands of +two Female Poets? There's nothing under the Sun, but +two Bailiffs, I'd have gone so far to have avoided.</p> + +<p><i>Calis.</i> I believe, Mr. <i>Powell</i>, I shall trouble you quickly.</p> + +<p>Mr. <i>Pow.</i> When you please Madam.</p> + +<p><i>Calis.</i> Pray, Mr. <i>Powell</i>, don't speak so carelesly: I hope +you will find the Characters to your Satisfaction; I make +you equally in Love with two very fine Ladies.</p> + +<p>Mr. <i>Pow.</i> Oh, never stint me Madam, let it be two Douzen, +I beseech you.</p> + +<p><i>Calis.</i> The Thought's new I am sure.</p> + +<p>Mr. <i>Pow.</i> The Practice is old, I am sure.</p> + +<p>Mrs. <i>Wellf.</i> Now, Mr. <i>Powell</i>, hear mine: I make two +very fine Ladies in Love with you, is not that better? Ha!<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[22]</a></span></p> + +<p><i>Calis.</i> Why, so are my Ladies.</p> + +<p>Mrs. <i>Wellf.</i> But, my Ladies.——</p> + +<p><i>Calis.</i> Nay, if you go to that, Madam, I defie any Ladies, +in the Pale, or out of the Pale, to love beyond my Ladies.</p> + +<p>Mrs. <i>Wellf.</i> I'll stand up for the Violence of my Passion, +whilst I have a bit of Flesh left on my Back, Mr. <i>Powell</i>!</p> + +<p><i>Calis.</i> Lord! Madam, you won't give one leave to speak.</p> + +<p>Mr. <i>Pow.</i> O Gad! I am Deaf, I am Deaf, or else wou'd +I were.</p> + +<p>Mrs. <i>Wellf.</i> Well, Mr. <i>Powell</i>, when shall mine be done?</p> + +<p><i>Calis.</i> Sure I have Mr. <i>Powell's</i> Promise.</p> + +<p>Mrs. <i>Wellf.</i> That I am glad on, then I believe mine will +come first.</p> + +<p><i>Calis.</i> D'ye hear that, Mr. <i>Powell</i>! Come pray Name a Time.</p> + +<p>Mrs. <i>Wellf.</i> Then I'll have time set too.</p> + +<p>Mr. <i>Pow.</i> O Heav'ns! Let me go! Yours shall be done to +day, and yours to morrow; farewell for a Couple of Teazers! +Oh the Devil! [<i>Flinging from 'em.</i></p> + +<p class="center">Marsillia <i>Entring, meets him</i>.</p> + +<p><i>Mars.</i> What in a Heat, and a Passion, and all that, Mr. +<i>Powell</i>? Lord! I'll tell you, Mr. <i>Powell</i>, I have been in a +Heat, and Fret, and all that, Mr. <i>Powell</i>! I met two or +three idle People of Quality, who thinking I had no more +to do than themselves, stop'd my Chair, and teaz'd me with +a Thousand foolish Questions.</p> + +<p>Mr. <i>Pow.</i> Ay, Madam, I ha' been plagu'd with Questions too.</p> + +<p><i>Mars.</i> There's nothing gives me greater Fatigue than any +one that talks much; Oh! 'Tis the superlative Plague of the +Universe. Ump! This foolish Patch won't stick: Oh Lord! +Don't go Mr. <i>Powell</i>, I have a World of things to say to +you. [<i>Patching at her Glass.</i></p> + +<p>Mr. <i>Pow.</i> The more's my Sorrow.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[23]</a></span></p> + +<p class="center"><i>Enter Mr.</i> Praiseall <i>and Mrs.</i> Knight.</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> How do you like my Play, Mr. <i>Powell</i>?</p> + +<p>Mr. <i>Pow.</i> Extraordinary, Madam, 'tis like your Ladyship, +at Miracle.</p> + +<p><i>Calis.</i> How civilly he treats her.</p> + +<p>Mrs. <i>Wellf.</i> He treats her with what ought to be dispis'd, +Flattery.</p> + +<p><i>Mars.</i> What was that you said? Some fine thing I dare +swear? Well, I beg your Pardon a Thousand times: My +Head was got to <i>Cataline</i>: Oh, Mr. <i>Powell</i>, you shall be <i>Catiline</i>, +not <i>Ben Johnson</i>'s Fool, but my <i>Cataline</i>, Mr. <i>Powell</i>.</p> + +<p>Mr. <i>Pow.</i> I'd be a Dog to serve your Ladyship, as a +Learned Author has it.</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> Oh my Jehu! What, no Body come?</p> + +<p>Mrs. <i>Knight</i>. No Body, Madam! Why here's all the Players.</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> Granted, Mrs. <i>Knight</i> and I have great Value for +all the Players, and your self in particular; but give me +leave to say, Mrs. <i>Knight</i>, when I appear, I expect all that +have any Concerns in the Play-house, shou'd give their Attendance, +Knights, Squires, or however dignified, or distinguished.</p> + +<p>Mrs. <i>Knight</i>. I beg your Pardon, Madam, if we poor +Folks, without Titles, cou'd have serv'd you, we are ready.</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> Mr. <i>Powell</i>! Mr. <i>Powell</i>! Pray stay by my Elbow. +Lord! I don't use to ask a Man twice to stand by me.</p> + +<p>Mr. <i>Pow.</i> Madam, I am here.</p> + +<p>Mr. <i>Prais.</i> Ha! A rising Favourite, that may Eclipse my +Glory; Madam, I have been taking true Pains to keep your +Princes and Princesses together here.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[24]</a></span></p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> Pray don't interrupt me, Mr. <i>Praiseall</i>, at this time. +Mr. <i>Powell</i>, I suppose you observe, throughout my Play, I +make the Heroes, and Heroines in Love with those they +shou'd not be.</p> + +<p>Mr. <i>Pow.</i> Yes, Madam.</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> For look ye, if every Woman had lov'd her own +Husband, there had been no Business for a Play.</p> + +<p>Mr. <i>Pow.</i> But, Madam, won't the Critticks say, the Guilt +of their Passion takes off the Pity<i>?</i></p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> Oh, Mr. <i>Powell</i>, trouble not your self about the +Criticks, I am provided for them, my Prologue cools their +Courage I warrant 'em; han't you heard the Humour?</p> + +<p>Mr. <i>Pow.</i> No, Madam.</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> I have two of your stoutest Men enter with long +Truncheons.</p> + +<p>Mr. <i>Pow.</i> Truncheons! Why Truncheons?</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> Because a Truncheon's like a Quarter-staff, has a mischievous +Look with it, and a Critick is cursedly afraid of +any thing that looks terrible.</p> + +<p>Mr. <i>Prais.</i> Why, Madam, there are abundance of Critticks, +and witty Men that are Soldiers.</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> Not one upon my Word, they are more Gentlemen, +than to pretend to either, a Witty Man and a Soldier; you +may as well say a modest Man, and a Courtier; Wit is always +in the Civil Power, take my Word for it; Courage, and +Honesty work hard for their Bread; Wit and Flattery feeds on +Fools, and if they are counted Wise, who keep out of +Harm's way, there's scarce a Fool now in the Kingdom.</p> + +<p>Mr. <i>Prais.</i> Why, Madam, I have always took care to keep +my self out of Harms Way, not that it is my Pretence to +Wit, for I dare look Thunder in the Face, and if you think +no Wit has Courage, what made you send for me?</p> + +<p>Mr. <i>Pow.</i> Here's good Sport towards.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[25]</a></span></p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> Because I have Occasion for nothing but Wit: I +sent for you to vouch for mine, and not fight for your own. +Mr. <i>Powell</i>, let us mind our Cause.</p> + +<p>Mr. <i>Prais.</i> Damme, I dare fight!</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> Not with me, I hope: This is all Interruption by +Heav'n!</p> + +<p>Mr. <i>Prais.</i> 'Tis well there's not a Man asserts your Cause. [<i>Walks about.</i></p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> How Sir! Not a Man assert my Cause?</p> + +<p><i>Prais.</i> No, if there were, this Instant you should behold +him weltring at your Feet.</p> + +<p>Mr. <i>Pow.</i> Sir!</p> + +<p>Mr. <i>Prais.</i> Hold! Honest <i>George</i>; I'll not do the Town +such an Injury, to whip thee thro' the Guts.</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> Barbarous, not to endure the Jest the whole Audience +must hear with patience.</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Enter Mr.</i> Aw'dwell.</p> + +<p>Mr. <i>Aw'dw.</i> What's here Quarrelling? Come on; I thank +Heav'n, I never was more inclin'd to Bloodshed in my +Life.</p> + +<p>Mr. <i>Prais.</i> This is my Evil Genius: I said I should have no +Luck to Day——Mr. <i>Aw'dwell</i>, your very humble Servant, +did you hear a Noise, as you came in? 'Twas I made the +Noise, Mr. <i>Aw'dwell</i>, I'll tell you how 'twas.</p> + +<p><i>Aw'dw.</i> Do, for I am resolv'd to justifie the Lady.</p> + +<p>Mr. <i>Prais.</i> Then you must know, I was trying to act one +of <i>Marsillia's</i> Heroes, a horrible blustring Fellow<i>!</i> That +made me so loud, Sir; now, says Mr. <i>Powell</i>, you do it awkerdly; +whip says I, in answer like a Chollerick Fool, and +out comes Poker, whether <i>George</i> was out so soon I can't +say.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[26]</a></span></p> + +<p>Mr. <i>Pow.</i> How Sir<i>!</i> my Sword in the Scabbard, and +your's drawn!</p> + +<p>Mr. <i>Prais.</i> Nay, nay, may be it was <i>George</i>, but now we +are as good Friends as ever, witness this hearty Hug! +(to <i>Mars.</i>) Madam, I invented this Story to prevent your Rehearsals +being interrupted.</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> I thank you Sir, your Cowardize has kept Quietness.</p> + +<p>Mr. <i>Prais.</i> Your Servant Madam, I shall find a time.</p> + +<p>Mr. <i>Aw'dw.</i> So shall I!</p> + +<p>Mr. <i>Prais.</i> 'Tis hard tho' one can't speak a Word to a Lady +without being over-heard.</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> Come Mr. <i>Aw'dwell</i>, sit down, I am oblig'd to you +for what you have done, but this Fellow may make a Party +for me at the Coffee-house; therefore prithee let him alone, +tho' I believe my Play won't want it.—Now clear the Stage; +Prompter give me the Book! Oh, Mr. <i>Powell</i>, you must stay, +I shall want your Advice; I'll tell ye time enough for your +Entrance.</p> + +<p>Mr. <i>Pow.</i> Madam, give me leave to take a Glass of Sack, +I am qualmish.</p> + +<p><i>Mars.</i> Oh! Fie, Mr. <i>Powell</i>, we'll have Sack here; d'ye +see Ladies, you have teaz'd Mr. <i>Powell</i> sick: Well, Impertinence, +in a Woman is the Devil!</p> + +<p>Mrs. <i>Wellf.</i> Shall we stay to be affronted?</p> + +<p><i>Calista.</i> Prithee let's stay, and laugh at her <i>Opera</i>, as she +calls it, for I hear 'tis a very foolish one.</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> Come Prologue-Speakers! Prologue Speakers! Where +are you? I shall want Sack my self, by and by, I believe.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[27]</a></span></p> + +<p class="center"><i>Enter Two Men with Whiskers, large Truncheons, +Drest strangely.</i></p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> Lord, Mr. <i>Powell</i>, these Men are not half tall enough, +nor half big enough! What shall I do for a larger +sort of Men?</p> + +<p>Mr. <i>Pow.</i> Faith, Madam, I can't tell, they say the Race +diminishes every Day.</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> Ay, so they do with a witness, Mr. <i>Powell</i>. Oh, +these puny Fellows will spoil the Design of my Prologue! +Hark ye! Mr. <i>Powell</i>, you know the huge tall Monster, that +comes in one Play, which was taken Originally from <i>Bartholomew-fair</i> +Against this, is spoke Publickly; cou'd not we +contrive to dress up two such things, twou'd set the Upper-Gallery +a Clapping like mad? And let me tell you, Mr. +<i>Powell</i>, that's a Clapping not to be despis'd.</p> + +<p>Mr. <i>Pow.</i> We'll see what may be done; But, Madam, you +had as good hear these speak it now.</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> Well, Sheep-biters, begin!</p> + +<p><i>1st.</i>——Well, Brother Monster, what do you do here!</p> + +<p><i>Mars.</i> Ah! And t'other looks no more like a Monster than +I do; speak it fuller in the Mouth Dunce. +Well, Brother Monster, what do you do here?</p> + +<p><i>1st.</i>——Well, Brother Monster, what do you do here?</p> + +<p><i>2d.</i>——I come to put the Criticks in a mortal Fear.</p> + +<p><i>Mars.</i> O Heav'ns! You shou'd have every thing that is +terrible in that Line! You shou'd speak it like a Ghost, like a +Giant, like a Mandrake, and you speak it like a Mouse.</p> + +<p>Mr. <i>Pow.</i> Madam, if you won't let 'em proceed, we shan't +do the first Act this Morning.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[28]</a></span></p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> I have no Patience! I wish you wou'd be a Monster, +Mr. <i>Powell</i>, for once, but then I cou'd not match you neither.</p> + +<p>Mr. <i>Pow.</i> I thank you Madam, come, these will mend with +Practice.</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i>——Come begin then, and go thro' with it roundly.</p> + +<p><i>1st.</i>——Well, Brother Monster, what do you do here<i>?</i></p> + +<p><i>2d.</i>——I come to put the Critticks in a mortal Fear.</p> + +<p><i>1st.</i>——I'm also sent upon the same Design.</p> + +<p><i>2d.</i>——Then let's our heavy Trunchions shake and joyn.</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> Ah! The Devil take thee, for a squeaking Treble<i>!</i> +D'ye mention shaking your Trunchions, and not so much as +stir 'em, Block! By my hopes of <i>Cataline</i>, you shall never +speak it, give me the Papers quickly.</p> + +<p class="right">[<i>Throws their Trunchions down.</i></p> + +<p><i>1st.</i>——Here's mine.</p> + +<p><i>2d.</i>——And mine, and I'm glad on't.</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> Out of my Sight, begone I say! [<i>Pushes 'em off.</i> +Lord! Lord! I shan't recover my Humour again, this half +Hour!</p> + +<p>Mr. <i>Pow.</i> Why do you vex your self, so much, Madam?</p> + +<p>Mr. <i>Aw'dw.</i> Poetry ought to be for the use of the Mind, +and for the Diversion of the Writer, as well as the Spectator; +but to you, sure Madam, it proves only a Fatigue and +Toyl.</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> Pray, Mr. <i>Aw'dwell</i>, don't come here to make your +Remarks; what, I shan't have the Priviledge to be in a Passion +for you! Shall I; how dare you contradict me?</p> + +<p>Mr. <i>Prais.</i> But you shall be in a Passion, if you have a +mind to it, by the Clubb of <i>Hercules</i>. Ah! Madam, if we +had but <i>Hercules</i>, <i>Hercules</i> and his Clubb wou'd ha' done +rarely: Dear Madam! Let 'em have Clubbs next time, do +Madam, let 'em ha' Clubbs; let it be my Thought.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[29]</a></span></p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> What, for you to brag on't all the Town over! No, +they shan't have Clubbs, tho' I like Clubbs better my self too.</p> + +<p>Mr. <i>Prais.</i> I ha' done, I ha' done.</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> O Heav'ns! Now I have lost Mr. <i>Powell</i>, with your +Nonsensical Clubbs, wou'd there was a lusty one about your +empty Pate.</p> + +<p>Mr. <i>Prais.</i> I ha' done, I ha' done, Madam.</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> Mr. <i>Powell</i>! Mr. <i>Powell</i>!</p> + +<p><i>Scene-Keeper</i>—He's gone out of the House, Madam.</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> Oh the Devil! Sure I shall go distracted! Where's +this Book? Come we'll begin the Play: Call my Lady +<i>Loveall</i>, and <i>Betty Useful</i> her Maid: Pray keep a clear +Stage. +Now look you, Mr. <i>Praiseall</i>, 'thas been the receiv'd Opinion, +and Practice in all your late <i>Operas</i> to take care of the Songish +part, as I may call it, after a great Man; and for the Play, +it might be the History of <i>Tom Thumb</i>; no matter how, I +have done just contrary, took care of the Language and Plot; +and for the Musick, they that don't like it, may go whistle.</p> + +<p>Mr. <i>Aw'dw.</i> Why wou'd you chuse to call it an <i>Opera</i> +then?</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> Lord! Mr. <i>Aw'dwell</i>, I han't time to answer every +impertinent Question.</p> + +<p>Mr. <i>Prais.</i> No Sir! We han't time, it was the Ladys Will, +and that's Allmighty Reason.</p> + +<p>Mr. <i>Aw'dw.</i> I shall have an Opportunity to Kick that Fellow.</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> I wonder my Lord Duke's not come, nor Sir <i>Thomas</i>. +Bless me! What a Disorder my dress is in? Oh! +These People will give me the Spleen intollerablly! Do they +design ever to enter or no? My Spirits are quite gone! +They may do e'en what they will.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[30]</a></span></p> + +<p>Mrs. <i>Wellf.</i> They are entring, Madam.</p> + +<p><i>Mars.</i> Mrs. <i>Wellfed</i>, you know where to get good Wine; +pray speak for some, then perhaps we shall keep Mr. <i>Powell</i>.</p> + +<p>Mrs. <i>Wellf.</i> I'll take care of it, I warrant you.</p> + +<p><i>Mars.</i> I knew 'twas a pleasing Errand.</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Enter Lady</i> Loveall, <i>and</i> Betty Useful.</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> Come Child, speak handsomly, this Part will do +you a Kindness.</p> + +<p><i>Betty.</i> Why do those Eyes, Loves Tapers, that on whomsoe'er +they are fixt, kindle straight Desire, now seem to Nod, +and Wink, and hardly Glimmer in their Sockets?</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> Mr. <i>Praiseall</i>, is not that Simile well carried on?</p> + +<p>Mr. <i>Prais.</i> To an Extreamity of Thought, Madam, +But I think 'tis stole. [<i>Aside.</i></p> + +<p>La. <i>Lov.</i> Art thou the Key to all my Secrets, privy to every +rambling Wish, and canst not guess my Sorrows!</p> + +<p><i>Betty.</i> No! For what Lover have ye mist, honest <i>Betty +Useful</i> has been the Contriver, Guide and close Concealer +of your Pleasures: <i>Amorous</i> the Steward, you know, is +yours; the Butler too bows beneath your Conquering +Charms, and you have vow'd your Wishes in your own Family +shou'd be confin'd, who then of Worth remains?</p> + +<p>La. <i>Lov.</i>—Oh <i>Betty</i>! <i>Betty!</i></p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> Good Mrs. <i>Knight</i> speak that as passionately as you +can, because you are going to Swoon, you know; and I hate +Women shou'd go into a Swoon, as some of our Authors +make 'em, without so much as altering their Face, or +Voice.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[31]</a></span></p> + +<p>La. <i>Lov.</i>——Madam, I never knew <i>Betty</i> sound well +in Heroick.</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> Why, no Mrs <i>Knight</i>, therefore in that lies the Art, +for you to make it sound well; I think I may say, without +a Blush, I am the first that made Heroick natural.</p> + +<p>La. <i>Lov.</i> I'll do my best. +Oh! <i>Betty</i>! <i>Betty!</i> Fear and Love, like meeting Tides, o'erwhelm +me, the rowling Waves beat sinking Nature down, +and Ebbbing Life retires! [<i>Swoons.</i></p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> What d'ye think of that, Mr. <i>Praiseall</i>? There's a +Clap for a Guinea: 'Gad if there is not, I shall scarce forbear +telling the Audience they are uncivil.</p> + +<p><i>Prais.</i> Nor, Gad, I shall scarce forbear Fighting 'em one +by one. But hush! Now let's hear what <i>Betty</i> says.</p> + +<p><i>Betty.</i> Oh! My poor Lady! Look up, fair Saint! Oh close +not those bright Eyes! If 'tis in <i>Betty's</i> Power, they shall +still be feasted with the Object of their Wishes.</p> + +<p><i>Prais.</i> Well said, honest <i>Betty</i>.</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> Nay, She is so throughout the whole Play, to the +very last, I assure you.</p> + +<p>La. <i>Lov.</i> Yes, he shall be mine! Let Law, and Rules, +confine the creeping Stoick, the cold lifeless Hermit, or the +Dissembling Brethren of Broad Hats, and narrow Bands; +I am a Libertine, and being so, I love my Husband's Son, and +will enjoy him.</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> There's a Rant for you! Oh Lord! Mr. <i>Praiseall</i>, +look how Mrs. <i>Betty</i>'s surpriz'd: Well, she doth a silent Surprize +the best i'th' World; I must kiss her, I cannot help it, +'tis incomparable! Now speak Mrs <i>Betty</i>, now speak.</p> + +<p><i>Betty.</i> My Master's Son just Married to a Celebrated Beauty, +with which he comes slowly on, and beneath this Courteous +Roof rests this Night his wearied Head.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[32]</a></span></p> + +<p>La. <i>Lov.</i>——Let me have Musick then, to melt him +down; he comes and meets this Face to charm him. 'Tis +done! 'Tis done! By Heav'n, I cannot bear the reflected +Glories of those Eyes, all other Beauties fly before me.</p> + +<p><i>Betty.</i> But <i>Isabella</i> is——</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> Now <i>Betty</i>'s doubting——Dear Mrs <i>Knight</i>, in this +Speech, stamp as Queen <i>Statira</i> does, that always gets a +Clap; and when you have ended, run off, thus, as fast as +you can drive. O Gad! Duce take your confounded Stumbling +Stage. [<i>Stumbles.</i></p> + +<p>Mr. <i>Prais.</i> Oh! Madam!</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> Hush! Hush! 'Tis nothing! Come Madam.</p> + +<p>La. <i>Lov.</i> No more, he is mine, I have him fast: Oh! The +Extasie!</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> Now Stamp, and Hug your self, Mrs. <i>Knight</i>: Oh! +The strong Extasie!</p> + +<p>La. <i>Lov.</i> Mine! Forever mine! [<i>Exit.</i></p> + +<p><i>Betty.</i> But you must ask me leave first; yes, I will assist +her, for she is nobly generous, and pays for Pleasure, as dear +as a Chambermaids Avarice requires! Then, my old Master, +why, I fear not him, he is an old Book-worm, never out +of his Study; and whilst he finds out a way to the Moon, +my Lady and I'll tread another beaten Road much pleasanter: +My next Task must be to tempt Fasting, with my +Lady's Beauty, this <i>Isabella</i>.——</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Enter</i> Amourous <i>the Steward</i>.</p> + +<p><i>Am.</i> Did I not hear the Name of <i>Isabella</i>? <i>Isabella</i>, +Charming as <i>Venus</i> rising from the Sea, or <i>Diana</i> descen<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[33]</a></span>ing +on <i>Latmus</i> Top too like <i>Diana</i> much I fear; Oh <i>Isabella</i>! +Where art thou! I loose my way in Tears, and +cannot find my Feet. [<i>Exit.</i></p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> D'ye mark! This was Mr. <i>Amorous</i> the Steward, +and he was transported, he never saw <i>Betty</i>. Look <i>Betty</i>'s +surpris'd again.</p> + +<p>Mr. <i>Prais.</i> 'Tis amazingly fine!</p> + +<p><i>Betty.</i> What's this I have heard? It makes for us; Mischief +and Scandal are a Feast for them who have past +the Line of Shame: <i>Amorous</i> has a Wife, and <i>Isabella</i> +<i>Faustins</i>, work on together, work, work, on together +work.</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> Now make haste off, Mrs. <i>Betty</i>, as if you were +so full of Thought, you did not know what you did. +Gentlemen and Ladies, how d'ye like the first Scene?</p> + +<p class="right">[<i>Exit</i> Betty.</p> + +<p>Mr. <i>Prais.</i> If your Ladyship swore, you might justly +use <i>Ben Johnson</i>'s Expressions; <i>By Gad 'tis Good</i>!</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> What say you, <i>Calista</i>?</p> + +<p><i>Calis.</i> 'Tis beyond imitation. I never heard such stuff +in my Life. [<i>Aside.</i></p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> Did you observe <i>Betty</i> said her Master was finding +out a new way to the Moon?</p> + +<p>Mr. <i>Prais.</i> Yes marry did I, and I was thinking to ask if +I might not go with him, for I have a great mind to see +the Moon World.</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> And you shall see it all, and how they live in't, +before the Play's done, here they have talked of the Emperour +of the Moon, and the World in the Moon, but discovered +nothing of the Matter; Now, again, I go just contrary; +for I say nothing, and shew all.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[34]</a></span></p> + +<p>Mr. <i>Prais.</i> And that's kindly done to surprize us with such +a Sight.</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> Observe, and you'll be satisfied. Call <i>Fastin</i>, and <i>Isabella</i>, +attended; that is to say, call Mr. <i>Powell</i>, and Mistress <i>Cross</i>, +and the Mob; for their Attendants look much like the +Mob. Mr. <i>Praiseall</i>, do you know where the Scene of this +Play lies?</p> + +<p>Mr. <i>Prais.</i> Gad forgive me for a Sot; Faith I han't minded +it.</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> Why, to tell you the Truth, 'tis not yet resolv'd; +but it must be in some warm Climate, where the Sun +has power, and where there's Orange Groves; for <i>Isabella</i>, +you'll find, Loves walking in Orange Groves.</p> + +<p>Mr. <i>Prais.</i> Suppose you lay it in <i>Holland</i>, I think we have +most of our Oranges, and Lemons from thence.</p> + +<p>Mr. <i>Aw'dw.</i> Well said Geographer.</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> No, no, it must be some where in <i>Italy</i>. Peace! +They are coming.</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Enter</i> Fastin, <i>and</i> Isabella <i>attended</i>.</p> + +<p>Attendance, don't tread upon their Backs, keep at an awful +Distance there; so upon my Train! Ah thou Blockhead, +thou art as fit for a Throne, as a Stage.</p> + +<p><i>Fas.</i> Shall I speak, Madam.</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> Ay, dear Mr. <i>Powell</i>, soon as you please.</p> + +<p><i>Fas.</i> Wellcome, dear <i>Isabella</i>, to this peaceful Seat of all +my Father's Mansions, this is his Choice, this surrounded by +these melancholly Groves, it suits his Philosophick Temper +best; yet Fame reports, he has so long given his—Studies +truce, as to wed a Young and beauteous Bride.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[35]</a></span></p> + +<p>Mr. <i>Prais.</i> Why, Madam, had my Lady <i>Loveall</i> never +seen this Spark?</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> No, no; but she had heard of him, and that's all +one.—Don't ask a Question just when People are a speaking, +good Mr. <i>Praiseall</i>.</p> + +<p>Mr. <i>Prais.</i> I beg your Pardon.</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> Pish! Come Mrs. <i>Cross</i>.</p> + +<p><i>Isabella.</i> Close by there, is an Orange Grove dark as my +Thoughts, yet in that Darkness lovely; there my Lord, +with your leave, I'd walk.</p> + +<p><i>Fas.</i> Your Pleasure shall be mine.</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> Lead her to the side Scene, Mr. <i>Powell</i>, now come +back again.</p> + +<p><i>Fas.</i> To desire and love to walk alone, shews her Thoughts +entertain and please her more than I, that's not so well.</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> Mark! He is beginning to be jealous: Now comes +<i>Betty</i>, and I dare be bold to say, here's a Scene excells <i>Jago</i>, +and the <i>Moor</i>.</p> + +<p>Mr. <i>Prais.</i> Come, dear Mrs. <i>Betty Useful</i>! Oh! She's my +Heart's Delight!</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Enter</i> Betty Useful.</p> + +<p><i>Fas.</i> What Fair Nymph is this?</p> + +<p><i>Betty.</i> From the bright Partner of your Fathers Bed, too +sweet a Blossome, alass, to hang on such a wither'd Tree, +whose sapless Trunck affords no Nourishment to keep her +Fresh and Fair! From her I come to you, and charming <i>Isabella</i>, +But where is that Lady? Can you be separate? Can +any thing divide her from your fond Eyes.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[36]</a></span></p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> Now she begins.</p> + +<p><i>Fas.</i> By her own desire, she chooses Solitudes, and private +Walks, flies these faithful Arms; or if she meets 'em, Cold +and Clammy as the Damp of Death her Lips still joyn my +Longings.</p> + +<p><i>Betty.</i> Cold Sweats, Privacies and lonely Hours, all Signs +of strong Aversion: Oh had your Fate but thrown you on my +Lady, her very Eyes had rais'd your Passion up to Madness.</p> + +<p><i>Fas.</i> Thou hast already kindled Madness here; Jealousie +that unextinguish'd Fire, that with the smallest Fuel burns, +is blazing round my Heart. Oh! Courteous Maid, go on! +Inform me if my Love is false.</p> + +<p><i>Betty.</i> As yet, I cannot, the Office is ungrateful; but for +your sake, I'll undertake it.</p> + +<p><i>Fas.</i> Do, and command me ever.</p> + +<p><i>Betty.</i> The Fair <i>Clemene</i>.</p> + +<p><i>Fas.</i> My Mother, do you mean?</p> + +<p><i>Betty.</i> Call her not so, unless you break her Heart: A +Thousand tender Names all Day and Night she gives you, +but you can never scape her Lips, her Curtains by me drawn +wide, discover your goodly Figure, each Morn the Idol's +brought, eagerly she prints the dead Colours, throws her +tawny Arms abroad, and vainly hopes kisses so Divine, +wou'd inspire the painted Nothing, and mould into Man.</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> Is not this moving, Mr. <i>Powell</i>?</p> + +<p><i>Prais.</i> Ay, and melting too, I Gad, wou'd I was the +Picture for her sake.</p> + +<p><i>Fas.</i> What's this I hear?</p> + +<p><i>Prais.</i> Nay, no harm, Sir.</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> Fie! Mr. <i>Praiseall</i>! Let your ill-tim'd Jests alone.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[37]</a></span></p> + +<p><i>Prais.</i> I ha' done, I ha' done.</p> + +<p><i>Mars.</i> Mr. <i>Powell</i>, be pleas'd to go on.</p> + +<p><i>Fas.</i> What's this I hear?</p> + +<p><i>Betty.</i> Her own Picture, which sure she sees by Sympathy, +you'll entertain by me, she prays you to accept.</p> + +<p class="right">[<i>Gives the Picture.</i></p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> Now, dear Mr. <i>Powell</i>, let me have the pleasure +to hear you rave. Oh<i>!</i> Mr. <i>Praiseall</i>, this Speech, I die +upon this Speech!</p> + +<p>Mr. <i>Prais.</i> Wou'd we cou'd hear it, Madam, I am preparing +to clap.</p> + +<p><i>Fas.</i> What's this thou hast given me? There's more than +Necromantick Charms in every bewitching Line, my trembling +Nerves are in their Infancy; I am cold as Ice!</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> Ay, ay, Love comes just like an Ague Fit.</p> + +<p><i>Fas.</i> What alteration here? Now I am all on Fire! <i>Alcides</i> +Shirt sticks close; Fire, incestious Fire, I blaze! I +burn! I Rost! I Fry! Fire! Fire! [<i>Exit.</i></p> + +<p><i>Betty.</i> And my Lady will bring Water, Water, ha, ha, +ha.</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> Laugh heartily, Mrs. <i>Betty</i>, go off Laughing.</p> + +<p><i>Betty.</i> Ha, ha, ha! [<i>Exit.</i></p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> So, Mr. <i>Praiseall</i>, here's a difficult matter brought +about with much ease.</p> + +<p><i>Prais.</i> Yes, Faith Madam, so there is; the young Gentleman +made no great Scruple to fall in Love with his Mother-in-Law.</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> O fie, Mr. <i>Praiseall</i>, 'twas the Struglings of his +Virtue put him in such a Passion.</p> + +<p><i>Prais.</i> Ah! Madam! When once Virtue comes to strugle, +either in Male or Female, it commonly yields.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[38]</a></span></p> + +<p><i>Mars.</i> You are waggish——Now for my Dance——Mrs.——-Mrs. +<i>Cross</i>, Mrs. <i>Cross</i>, come you little Cherubim, +your Dance.</p> + +<p class="spaced">A <i>DANCE</i>.</p> + +<p><i>Aw'dwell.</i> Pray, Madam, who is this Dance to entertain?</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> What, do you sit an Hour to study a cross Question? +Why, to satisfie you, Sir, you are to suppose <i>Fastin</i>, in +passing towards his Mothers Lodgings, may, out of some +Gallery, see it; now you are answered.</p> + +<p><i>Aw'dw.</i> I am.</p> + +<p>Mr. <i>Prais.</i> Ay, and sufficiently too: A Gallery Balcony, +twenty Peepholes.</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Enter Mrs.</i> Cross</p> + +<p>Mrs. <i>Cross</i>. Madam, I cou'd wish you wou'd not be disoblig'd +if I gave up this Part, I shall get my self, nor you, +no Credit by it.</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> How, Mrs. <i>Cross</i>! Disoblig'd! Assure your self, I +shall resent it ill to the last Degree, what throw up my Heroine! +my <i>Isabella</i>! Was there ever a Character more Chaste, +more Noble, or more Pitiful?</p> + +<p>Mrs. <i>Cross</i>. Yes, very Chaste, when I am in Love with +my Father-in-Law's Steward, I know not why, nor wherefore.</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> Mrs. <i>Cross</i>, I maintain, no Woman in the Play-House, +nor out of the Play-house, can be chaster than I +ma'e <i>Isabella</i>, but trouble your Head no further, I'll do the +Part my self.</p> + +<p>Mrs. <i>Cross</i>. With all my Heart.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[39]</a></span></p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> And let me tell you Mistress <i>Cross</i>, I shall command +whatever is in the Wardrobe, I assure you!</p> + +<p>Mrs <i>Cross</i>. Any of my Gowns are at your Service, if +they'll fit you, Madam.</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> Nay, they shall be; perhaps, without boasting, I +command them, that command you.</p> + +<p>Mrs. <i>Cross</i>. Perhaps 'tis not worth boasting on; there's your +part. [<i>Exit.</i></p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> A little inconsiderable Creature! Well, she shall see +how much better 'twill be done, and for meer madness, +hang her self in her own Garters. Mrs. <i>Wellfed</i>, I'll wear a +white Feather, That, I believe, will become me best. <i>Patty</i>, +is <i>Patty</i> there?</p> + +<p><i>Pat.</i> Yes, Madam.</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> <i>Patty</i>, run to the Exchange, bring me a Dozen yards +of Scarlet Ribbon; and d'ye hear <i>Patty</i>? Some shining +Patches, some Pulvil and Essence, my Lord Duke shall help +me to Jewels, throw up her part! I'll fit her, let her see +how the Town will receive her, after I have trode the Stage.</p> + +<p>Mr. <i>Aw'dw.</i> Why, Madam, you are not in earnest!</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> By my hopes of <i>Catiline</i>, I am.</p> + +<p>Mr. <i>Aw'dw.</i> For Heav'ns sake, don't make your self so irrecoverably +rediculous.</p> + +<p>Mr. <i>Prais.</i> Do, Madam, I say, 'Gad, I'll make such a Party<i>!</i> +Gad, I'll do nothing but clap, from the time I come into +the House, 'till I go out; Ouns, I'll be hang'd if it don't +bring a Swindging Audience, on the third day.</p> + +<p>Mr. <i>Aw'dw.</i> To dance naked on the third Day, wou'd +bring a bigger Audience; Why don't you perswade the Lady +to that? [<i>Speaking loud to</i> Marsillia.</p> + +<p>Do, <i>Marsillia</i>, be rul'd by your Vanity, and that good +Friend, Mr. <i>Praiseall</i>; but rest assur'd, after such a weakness, +I will never see your Face again.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[40]</a></span></p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> Ha! I must not loose him. (<i>aside</i>) Why, Mr. <i>Aw'dwell</i>, +wou'd you have such a hopeful Play lost? Can you be so +unreasonable to desire it? And that Part ruins all.</p> + +<p>Mr. <i>Aw'dwell</i>. Give me the Part, and I'll try to perswade +Mrs. <i>Cross</i>.</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> Do, that's a good Boy; and I won't disoblige him +this two days.</p> + +<p>Mr. <i>Aw'dw.</i> Is't possible! Will you dine at your own Lodgings +to day? I'll give Order for some Dishes of Meat +there?</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> Yes, yes.</p> + +<p>Mr. <i>Aw'dw.</i> Don't serve me now, as you did when I provided +a handsome Dinner for you at my own House; and +you whiskt to <i>Chelsy</i>, in a Coach, with the Lord knows +who.</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> No, I scorn it. [<i>Exit Mr.</i> Aw'dwell.</p> + +<p><i>Prais.</i> You was talking of Wine, there is some within; +pray take a Recruit before you proceed.</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> A good Motion, wait upon these two Ladies in, and +I'll follow; I must practice a little, least Mrs. <i>Cross</i> shou'd +prove stubborn, and then, not my Father's Ghost shou'd hinder +me.</p> + +<p><i>Calista.</i> We'll begin your health.</p> + +<p class="right">[<i>Exeunt.</i></p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> Do. +Whom shall I Curse, my Birth, My Fate, or Stars! All are +my Foes! All bent to ruine Innocence!<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[41]</a></span></p> + +<p class="center"><i>Enter</i> Patty, <i>with Patches</i>, <i>Powder</i>, <i>Looking-glass</i>, &c.</p> + +<p><i>Pat.</i> Oh, Madam!</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> How now, Impertinence! was not you told of Interrupting +once to Day? Look how she stands now! How +long must I expect what you have to say?</p> + +<p><i>Pat.</i> My Lord <i>Whiffle</i> is come to wait on your Ladyship, +and sends to know, whether you are at leisure.</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> Ay, he understands Breeding, and Decorum. Is my +Dress in great disorder?</p> + +<p><i>Pat.</i> You Look all Charming, Madam.</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> Hold the Glass; give me some Patches; my Box is +done; I am much oblig'd to his Lordship for this Honour. +Some Powder. (<i>Pulls the Box out of her Pocket.</i> +Put my Gown to rights, and shake my Tail. The unmannerly +Blockheads have made a Road over it, and left the +vile Impression of their Nauseous Feet. Well, how do I look +now, <i>Patty</i>?</p> + +<p><i>Pat.</i> Like one of the Graces, drest for a Ball at the Court +of <i>Orleans</i>.</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> Ha, ha, ha; well said, <i>Patty</i>; now for my dear +dear Lord <i>Whiffle</i>.</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Mr.</i> Awdwell <i>meeting her</i>.</p> + +<p>Mr. <i>Awd.</i> How!</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> And how too! why, look ye, Mr. <i>Awdwell</i>, my +Lord is come to pay his Respects to me; and I will pay<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[42]</a></span> +my Respects again to my Lord, in spight of your Tyrannical +Pretensions. And so, your humble Servant.</p> + +<p class="right">(<i>Exit</i></p> + +<p> +Mr. Awd. <i>Who wou'd a kind and certain Mistress choose,<br /> +Let him, like me, take one that loves a Muse.</i><br /> +</p> + +<p class="right">(Exit.</p> + + +<p class="center"><i>The End of the Second</i></p><p class="spaced">ACT.</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[43]</a></span> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2 class="spaced">ACT III.</h2> + +<p class="center"><i>Enter my Lord</i> Whiffle, Marsilia, <i>Mr.</i> Awdwell, +<i>Mr.</i> Praisall, <i>Mrs.</i> Wellfed <i>and</i> Calista.</p> + + +<p>Mrs. <i>Well.</i> For my part I am quite tir'd, and have a great +mind to steal home to Dinner; will you +please to go with me, Madam?</p> + +<p><i>Cal.</i> With all my Heart: <i>Marsilia</i>'s so taken up with +my Lord, they'll never miss us.</p> + +<p>Mrs. <i>Well.</i> Come then. (<i>Exeunt.</i></p> + +<p class="center">[Marsilia <i>and my Lord</i> Whiffle <i>talk, both looking in +a great Glass</i>.</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> Thus I have told your Lordship the First part, +which is past.</p> + +<p>L. <i>Whif.</i> I conceive you, Madam, I have the whole Story +in a Corner of my head intire, where no other Thought +shall presume to interpose. Confound me, if my damn'd +Barber has not made me look like a Mountebank: This +Wigg I shall never endure, that's certain.</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> Now I must beg your Lordship to suppose <i>Fastin</i> +having seen his Mother-in-Law, is wholly captivated with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[44]</a></span> +her Charms, and <i>Betty</i> and she have both foresworn the +Consummation of her Marriage with <i>Fastin's</i> Father; so he +takes her to an adjacent Castle of his; she having cast the +old Philosopher in a deep sleep. I'm forc't to tell your +Lordship this, because the Play does not mention it.</p> + +<p>Mr. <i>Awd.</i> I am afraid your Ladyship will be wanted, +like the <i>Chorus</i> of Old, to enlighten the understanding of +the Audience.</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> Meer Malice, Spight, and burning Malice, by the +Gods!</p> + +<p>L. <i>Whiff.</i> Very good, my Coat is as full of wrinkles +as an Old Woman's Face, by <i>Jove</i>.</p> + +<p>Mr. <i>Prais.</i> Madam, han't they took <i>Betty</i> with 'em to his +Castle?</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> Yes, yes; But, Mr. <i>Praisall</i>, you must keep your +Distance a little now, and not interrupt me, when I am +talking to my Lord.</p> + +<p>Mr. <i>Prais.</i> I am dumb as a fish.</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> Now, if your Lordship pleases to sit down, you +will see my <i>Opera</i> begin; for tho' some of the Play is +over, there has been no Scene Operaish yet.</p> + +<p>Mr. <i>Awd.</i> Operaish! Thats' a word of your own, I suppose, +Madam.</p> + +<p>Mr. <i>Prais.</i> Ne're the worse for that, I hope, Sir; why mayn't +the Ladies make a word as well as the Men?</p> + +<p>L. <i>Whiff.</i> The Lady shall make what words she pleases; +and I will justifie her in't.</p> + +<p>Mr. <i>Awd.</i> And I will laugh at her for it.</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> Well, Mr. <i>Awdwell</i>, these Affronts, are not so +soon forgot as given.</p> + +<p>Mr. <i>Awd.</i> Use your Pleasure, Madam, the Fool's almost +weary.</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> He nettles me; but I think I have him in my power: +Is your Lordship ready to observe?<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[45]</a></span></p> + +<p>L. <i>Whiff.</i> Madam, I am all Attention.</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> Come, the Night Scene there, a Dark Grove made +Glorious by a Thousand burning Lights: By Heav'ns my +words run of themselves into Heroick! Now Let em' enter.</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Enter</i> Fastin, <i>Lady</i> Loveall.</p> + +<p><i>Fast.</i> Cou'd Age expect to hold thee! Oh thou Heav'nly +Charmer! was there such an Impudence in Impotence; if +the old Dotard has liv'd past his Reason, he must be taught +it; yes, it shall dazle in his Eyes.</p> + +<p>Mr. <i>Awd.</i> A very Dutiful Son, this.</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> Sir, I desire your Absence, if you won't let the +Players go on: His Father has done a very foolish thing; +and must be call'd to an account for it.</p> + +<p>L. <i>Whif.</i> Right Madam; all old Men do foolish things +when they marry young Wives, and ought to meet with +exemplary Punishments.</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> Aye, your Lordship understands the Justice of the +thing——Mrs. <i>Knight</i>, if you please.</p> + +<p>La. <i>Lov.</i> Whilst my Ears devour your protested Love, +my Heart dances to the Musick of your Vows. But is there +no Falshood in a Form so lovely! if there is, these Eyes +that let the Object in, must weep for ever!</p> + +<p><i>Fast.</i> By Honour and by Glory, I love thee more than +Mortal can express or bear.</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> Now, Mr. <i>Powel</i>, my Rhime with a Boon Grace.</p> + +<p> +Fast. <i>My scorching Raptures make a Boy of Jove;<br /> +That ramping God shall learn of me to love.</i><br /> +</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> How does your Lordship like these Lines<i>?</i><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[46]</a></span></p> + +<p>L. <i>Whiff.</i> Madam, they exceed any of our modern +Flights, as far as a Description of <i>Homer</i>'s does Mr. <i>Settle</i>'s, +Poet in Ordinary for my Lord Mayor's Show.</p> + +<p>Mr. <i>Prais.</i> After what my Lord has said, I dare not speak, +but I am all Admiration,</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> to Mrs. <i>Knight</i>.) Madam I beg your pardon for this +Interruption; my Friends here will treat me with Flattery.</p> + +<p>La. <i>Lov.</i> to <i>Fastin</i>.) And you will be so vain to believe +it none. (<i>aside.</i>) Nor <i>Isabella</i> shall not——</p> + +<p><i>Fast.</i> Be nam'd only for Punishment, her Adultery with +<i>Amorous</i> is plain, therefore she shall be disgrac'd, and dye.</p> + +<p>Mr. <i>Awd.</i> Who had told him this?</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> Why <i>Betty</i> had told him, tho' <i>Isabella</i>' was Innocent +as to the matter of Fact. Indeed Fate over-rul'd her Inclination: +I will not answer you another Question, I protest: +find it out as the rest of the World does.</p> + +<p><i>Fastin</i> to his Attendants.) Guard the Orange Grove; +there let <i>Isabella</i> remain a Prisoner, whilst I entertain the +fair <i>Clemene</i> with a Song and Dances here.</p> + +<p class="center">(<i>Italian Song by Mr.</i> Pate.)</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> This Song's my own; and I think soft and moving.</p> + +<p>L. <i>Whiff.</i> My slacken'd Fibres!—--My Soul's dissolv'd.</p> + +<p class="right">(<i>Repeats.</i></p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> Now the Grotesque Entertainment; I have mine +perform'd by women, because it should differ from t'other +House: if it has done em' any Injury I am sorry; but it +cou'd not be hop'd, the Play must not be absolutely without +Ornament. Pray take care, Gentlewomen, as we Poets are +fain to do, that we may excell the Men, who first led the +way.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[47]</a></span></p> + + +<h2 class="spaced">DANCE.</h2> + +<p class="center"><i>After the Dance, a Drum beats.</i></p> + +<p class="center"><i>Enter</i> Betty.</p> + +<p><i>Prais.</i> Oh, Mrs. <i>Betty</i>!</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> Hold your peace, Mrs. <i>Betty</i>'s in haste.</p> + +<p><i>Bet.</i> Fly, Sir, fly; old <i>Whimsical</i> is waked by another +wretch, a Fornicator, who has liv'd past the Pleasure +and the Sin. These wither'd Cuffs come on, follow'd by +a monstrous Rabble, to seize the Lady.</p> + +<p>Lady <i>Lo.</i> Alas, I fear.</p> + +<p><i>Fast.</i> Talk not of fear, my Love, while I am by; thou +art as safe as if ten thousand Legions were thy Guard. +First to the Castle I will take my way, and leave thee +there secure; in the mean time my Men fall on upon his +mobbish Soldiers, but spare the stubborn old Man, because +he is my Father. (<i>Exeunt.</i></p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> Now there's his Duty, there's his Duty! D'ye hear +that, Mr. <i>Quarelsom</i>!</p> + +<p>Mr. <i>Awd.</i> Wondrous Duty! sets the Rabble about his +Father's Ears, and bids 'em not hurt him.</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> Now, my Lord, and Gentlemen, and Ladies, where +are the Ladies?</p> + +<p>Mr. <i>Prais.</i> I have miss'd 'em a great while, Madam: +But I wou'd not interrupt you to tell you of't.</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> Ill-bred Things! who do they expect shou'd have +Patience with their dull stuff? But, as I was saying, I +must beg you once again to suppose old Lord <i>Whimsical Loveall</i>, +is attacking his Son's Castle, and beaten back: Now they are<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[48]</a></span> +behind the Scenes; found a Storm again, three times; +now we'll suppose 'em repuls'd. And from the Castle let +the Trumpets and Violins join in a Tune of Victory. So, +there's a Battle well over.</p> + +<p>L. <i>Whiff.</i> With a very little trouble. But, Madam had +not the storming the Castle been as good a Scene as the taking +of <i>Jerusalem</i>.</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> Granted, my Lord. But I have a Castle taken upon +the Stage; and twice, you know, had been Repetition.</p> + +<p>Mr. <i>Prais.</i> True; your Ladiship was never in the wrong +in your Life, unless it was when you said, I had no Courage.</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> Change the Scene to the Orange Grove.</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Enter</i> Isabella.</p> + +<p>Your Servant Mrs. <i>Cross</i>, I am glad to see you again.</p> + +<p>Mrs. <i>Cross</i>. Truly the Gentleman would not be deny'd; +tho' really, Madam, 'twas only fear I shou'd not serve you +in't, made me backward.</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> All's well, and I'm pleas'd. Will you give your +self the trouble to enter again? because that will make you +look more alone.</p> + +<p>Mrs. <i>Cross</i>. Yes, Madam. (<i>Goes out, and Re-enters.</i></p> + +<p><i>Isab.</i> Methought I heard the sound of War pierce the hollow +Groves: Else 'twas my melancholly Fancy chim'd to +my sick Brain. Yet it cannot be Delusion; for I am a Prisoner. +A surly Fellow, who lookt as if Pity was his Foe, +told me, I here must wait my Lord's Commands. Oh, +<i>Fastin</i>! if thou art cruel or unkind, thou art justly so: +For I came to thy Arms without a Heart, without Love's<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[49]</a></span> +Flames, or desire to kindle 'em. Oh! why was <i>Amorous</i> +sent to my Fathers Castle, to begin the Parly? 'Tis true, +he's in the vale of Years; yet Oh! such Charms remain! +He found the way to my unguarded Heart; nor need he +storm, I could not the least Opposition make; he streight +was Lord of all within; yet, Chaste as Fires, which consume +in Urns, and vainly warm the Dead, so Useless is my +Flame!</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> My Lord! wou'd your Lordship imagine Mrs. <i>Cross</i> +shou'd dislike the part, when I defie all the Virgins in <i>Europe</i> +to make so cold a Simile as that?</p> + +<p>L. <i>Wh.</i> Thou'st turn'd me into Marble; I am a Statue upon +the Tomb where the Urn's inclos'd.</p> + +<p>Mr. <i>Prais.</i> My Teeth chatter in my head.</p> + +<p>Mr. <i>Awd.</i> Oh for a Couple of good Cudgels to warm +the Coxcombs. (<i>aside.</i></p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> Well, dear <i>Isabella</i>, proceed.</p> + +<p><i>Isab.</i> Thou Mother Earth, bear thy wretched Daughter: +Open thy all receiving Womb, and take thy groaning burthen +in!</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> Now You'll see this Act, very full of Business. Come, +Lord <i>Whimsicall</i>, and <i>Amorous</i>, hastily.</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Enter Lord</i> Whimsicall <i>and</i> Amorous.</p> + +<p>L. <i>Whim.</i> Raise thee from Earth, thou most unhappy +Wife of my most wicked Son! fly, whilst faithful <i>Amorous</i> +and I Protect thee from what his Savage rage has doom'd.</p> + +<p><i>Isab.</i> What has he doom'd? alas, I dare not fly with you +and <i>Amorous</i>.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[50]</a></span></p> + +<p><i>Amo.</i> Then leave me here to Death; follow your Father, +and shun approaching Danger.</p> + +<p><i>Is.</i> What Death! what Danger! make me understand you.</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> Ay, Poor Lady! she's unwilling <i>Amorous</i> shou'd +dye too.</p> + +<p>L. <i>Whim.</i> Your Husband loudly proclaims you an Adultress, +and means to make War on that fair work of Heav'n, your +Face; And Noseless send you back to your own Father.</p> + +<p><i>Amo.</i> Oh, horrid! hasten, Madam, from the brutal Tyrant.</p> + +<p><i>Isa.</i> I must consult my Immortal Honour; that's a +Beauty to me, more valued than Nature's Out-work's, a +Face. Let me consider, tis my Husband's Father; to retire +till I am justifi'd, cannot be a Crime, Sir. I have resolv'd to go.</p> + +<p> +My Innocence is white as <i>Alpine</i> Snow,<br /> +By these Tears, which never cease to flow.<br /> +</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> Your pardon, Mrs. give me leave to instruct you +in a moving Cry. Oh! there's a great deal of Art in crying: +Hold your Handkerchief thus; let it meet your Eyes, +thus; your Head declin'd, thus; now, in a perfect whine, +crying out these words,</p> + +<p class="center"><i>By these Tears, which never cease to Flow.</i></p> + +<p>Is not that right my Lord?</p> + +<p>L. <i>Whim.</i> Oh gad! feelingly Passionate, Madam; were +your Ladyship to do it, the whole House wou'd catch the +Infection; and as in <i>France</i> they are all in a Tune, they'd +here be all in Tears.</p> + +<p><i>Awdwell.</i> Now I fancy 'twou'd have just the contrary +effect on me.</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> Oh Jehu! how am I tortur'd with your Nonsence! +Proceed, for Heav'ns sake; let my Ears be diverted with +my own words; for your's grate 'em beyond induring.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[51]</a></span></p> + +<p><i>Isab.</i> Must I repeat this stuff agen?</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> Stuff! my Spirit rises at her: But 'tis in vain to resent +it. The truth on't is, Poets are so increas'd, Players +value 'em no more than——</p> + +<p><i>Awd.</i> Ballad-singers.</p> + +<p><i>Awd.</i> Spiteful Devils. Well, Mrs. <i>Cross</i>, I'll not +trouble you agen; <i>Amorous</i> shall suppose you are going. +Come, Mr. <i>Pinkethman</i>.</p> + +<p><i>Amo.</i> Then with this Flaming Sword I'll clear the way, +And hunt for Danger in the Face of Day.</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> Well, Mr. <i>Pinkethman</i>, I think you are oblig'd to +me for choosing you for a Heroe; Pray do it well, that the +Town may see, I was not mistaken in my Judgment: Fetch +large Strides; walk thus; your Arms strutting; your +Voice big, and your Eyes terrible.</p> + +<p>Then with this Flaming Sword I'll clear the way.</p> + +<p><i>Amo.</i> Then thus I'll clear your way, (<i>Draws.</i> +And hunt for Danger in the Face of Day.</p> + +<p><i>Isa.</i> Alas, does any oppose us?</p> + +<p>L. <i>Whim.</i> Only some stragling fellows, which <i>Amorous</i> +will scour; and in the Corner of the Grove the Chariot +waits. (<i>Exeunt.</i></p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> Now will your Ladyship please to conceive these +three are got into my Lord <i>Whimsicall's</i> Castle? Whither +<i>Fastin</i>, mad with Jealousie and Love, pursues: Now your +Lordship shall see the storming of a Fort, not like your +<i>Jerusalem</i>, but the modern way; my Men shall go all up +thro' a trap door, and ever now and then one drop polt +down dead. (<i>talking eagerly, she throws my Lords +Snuff-box down.</i></p> + +<p>L. <i>Whim.</i> Like my Snuff-box, Madam. 'Ouns my Snuff +cost two Guineas.</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> I beg your Lordship's pardon.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[52]</a></span></p> + +<p>Mr. <i>Prais.</i> Two Guineas, it shan't be all lost then.</p> + +<p><span style="margin-left: 16.5em;">(<i>Picks up the Snuff.</i></span><br /> +<i>Mar.</i> Are you ready? (<i>goes to the Scenes.</i> +<i>Within.</i>) Yes, yes, Madam.</p> + + +<p class="spaced"><i>SCENE</i></p><p class="center"><i>A Castle Storming.</i></p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> My Lord, my Lord, this will make you amends for +your Snuff! Drums beat; mount, ye Lumpish Dogs: what +are you afraid of? you know the Stones are only Wool: +Faster, with more Spirit? Brutes. Oh <i>Jehu</i>! I am sorry I +had not this Castle taken by women, then t'had been done +like my Grotesque Dance there: mount, mount, Rascals.</p> + +<p class="center">(Marcilia <i>bustling among 'em, loses her Head-Cloathes</i>.</p> + +<p><i>Patty</i>, <i>Patty</i>, my Head, my Head, the Brutes will trample +it to Pieces. Now, Mr. <i>Powel</i>, enter like a Lyon.</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Enter</i> Fastin, <i>Followers</i>, <i>Lady</i> Loveall, Betty, &c.</p> + +<p><i>Fast.</i> By Heav'n, I'll tear her from her Lover's Arms, my +Father only Spare.</p> + +<p><i>La. Lov.</i> Spare him not: hear my Charge. +Aim every arrow, at his Destin'd Head, +There is no Peace, 'till that Curst Villain's Dead.</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> Look, look my Lord, where Mr. <i>Powell</i> 's got.</p> + +<p><i>La. Lov.</i> Oh, the rash young Man; save him, Gods!</p> + +<p><i>Betty.</i> Protect him, <i>Venus</i>!<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[53]</a></span></p> + +<p>Mr. <i>Prais.</i> How heartily <i>Betty</i> prays, and to her own Deity, +I dare swear.</p> + +<p><i>Fast.</i> They fly! they fly! sound Trumpets, Sound! let +<i>Clemene's</i> Musick joyn confine my Father to yon distant +Tower: I'll not see him 'till I have punish'd the Adultress: +Set wide the Gates, and let <i>Clemenes</i> know she's Mistress +here.</p> + +<p><i>La. Lov.</i> Where is he; Let me fly and bind his Wounds +up with my Hair, lull him upon my own Bosom, and sing +him into softest ease.</p> + +<p> +To Feast, and Revels Dedicate the Day.<br /> +Let the old Misers stores be all expos'd, and made the Soldiers Prey!<br /> +D' ye hear, let the Butler dye, least he tell Tales.<br /> +</p> + +<p><i>Betty.</i> Madam, he shall then, no body will dare contradict +us in the Cellar neither. (<i>Exeunt.</i></p> + +<p>Mr. <i>Prais.</i> Well said, Mrs. <i>Betty</i>; she loves a Cup, I like +her the better for't.</p> + +<p>Mr. <i>Awd.</i> A hopeful Wife, this! do's she go on thus Triumphant?</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> I have sworn to answer you no more Questions.</p> + +<p>L. <i>Whiff.</i> Indeed, Madam, you have made her very wicked.</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> The woman is a little Mischievous; but your Lordship +shall see I'll bring her to Condign Punnishment. My +Lord, I will be bold to say, here is a Scene a coming, wherein +there is the greatest Distress that ever was seen in a Play: +'tis poor <i>Amorous</i>, and <i>Isabella</i>. Mr. <i>Praisall</i>, do you remember +that old <i>Whimsicall</i> was all along a Philosopher<i>?</i> +Come let down the Chariot.</p> + +<p>Mr. <i>Prais.</i> Lord Madam, do you think I don't, why was +not he and I a going to the Moon together?</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> Right! you must keep a steady, and a solid Thought +to find the Depths of this plot out. Now, my Lord, be<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[54]</a></span> +pleas'd once again to conceive these poor Lovers hunted above +the Castle, at last taking Sanctuary in a high pair of +Leads, which adjoyns to the old Man's study; conceive +also their Enemies at their Heels; how then can these lost +Creatures 'scape?</p> + +<p>Mr. <i>Awd.</i> May be they both leapt over the Leads, and +broke their Necks.</p> + +<p>L. <i>Whiff.</i> That's one way; but pray lets hear the Ladies.</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> You must know, my Lord, at first I design'd this +for Tragedy; and they were both taken; She was +Poyson'd, and dy'd, like an Innocent Lamb, as she was indeed: +I was studying a Death for him; once I thought +Boys shou'd shoot him to Death with Pot-Guns: for your +Lordship may be pleas'd to understand, <i>Amorous</i> had been a +Soldier, tho' now he was a Steward of the Family; and +that wou'd have been Disgrace enough, you know: But at +length I resolv'd to ram him into a great Gun, and +scatter him o're the sturdy Plain: This, I say, was my first +resolve. But I consider'd, 'twould break the Lady's Heart; +so there is nothing in their Parts Tragical but as your Lordship +shall see miraculously I turn'd it into an Opera.</p> + +<p>L. <i>Whif.</i> Your Ladyship's Wit is Almighty, and produces +nothing but Wonders.</p> + +<p>Mr. <i>Prais.</i> The Devil take his Lordship, he is always before +hand with me, and goes so confounded high, there's no +coming after him.</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> Your Lordship shall see what, I think, their Opera's +have not yet had.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[55]</a></span></p> + + +<p class="spaced"><i>SCENE</i></p><p class="center"><i>The Leads of a Castle.</i></p> + +<p class="center"><i>The Sun seen a little beyond: A Chariot stands +upon the Leads.</i></p> + +<p class="center"><i>Enter</i> Isabella, <i>follow'd by</i> Amorous.</p> + +<p><i>Isab.</i> Now Death's in view, methinks I fear the Monster. +Is there no God that Pities Innocence? Oh! thou All-seeing +Sun, contract thy Glorious Beam's, hide me, in Darkness +hide me!</p> + +<p>Mr. <i>Awd.</i> I am sorry to find your Heroine Shrink.</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> Oh! 'tis more natural for a woman than bold; as +an Imprison'd Cat, to fly Death i th Face, as 'twere. Humph, +was it you I took pains to convince? Pray no more Interruption +of this Scene.</p> + +<p><i>Amor.</i> Ten Massy Doors, all barr'd with wondrous +strength impede their Passage: Rest then, thou Milk-white +hunted Hind, forget the near Approach of fear, and hear the +Story of my Love.</p> + +<p>Mr. <i>Awd.</i> Hey boy, little <i>Amorous</i>! He'll loose no opportunity.</p> + +<p>Mr. <i>Prais.</i> He is not like to have many; he was a fool, +if he did not improve 'em.</p> + +<p><i>Isab.</i> We soon shall mount yon Blisful Seats! Let us be +rob'd with Innocence, least we want admittance there.</p> + +<p><i>Amor.</i> All Dreams! meer Dreams! bred from the Fumes +of Crabbed Education, and must we for this lose true Substantial +Pleasure? By Heav'n, 'twould be a noble Justice to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[56]</a></span> +defeat their Malice: they hunt us for imaginary Crimes; +and we must dye like Fools for doing nothing.</p> + +<p>Mr. <i>Prais.</i> Well urg'd, <i>Amorous</i>.</p> + +<p>L. <i>Whiff.</i> Bold, I vow.</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> A Lover shou'd be so, my Lord.</p> + +<p><i>Amor.</i> But give me up the Heav'n my ravenous Love requires: +Let me fill my Sences with thy Sweetness; then +let 'em pour upon me, I cou'd laugh at all their idle +Tortures, every pleas'd Limb shou'd dance upon the +Wheel.</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> Dance upon the Wheel! that's a new thought, I am +sure, my Lord.</p> + +<p>L. <i>Whiff.</i> Your Tract is all new, and must be uncommon, +because others can never find it.</p> + +<p><i>Prais.</i> A Pox on him! he has out-done me agen.</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> I am your Lordship's very humble Servant: My +Lord, How <i>Amorous</i> gazes on her!</p> + +<p>L. <i>Whiff.</i> Piercing Eyes, I confess.</p> + +<p><i>Prais.</i> An irresistible Lere——I got in a word.</p> + +<p><i>Isab.</i> Take off your Eyes; mine shou'd be fix'd above; but +Love draws 'em downwards, and almost pulls my Heart along.</p> + +<p><i>Amo.</i> Give me your Heart! your Arms! Oh! give me all! +see at your Feet the wretched <i>Amorous</i> falls! Be not more +cruel than our Foes. Behold me on the Torture! <i>Fastin</i> cannot +Punish me with half the Racks denying Beauty lays on +longing Love.</p> + +<p><i>Isab.</i> I recover strength: rise, and begone; Alas, thou +can'st not go; then at awful distance, cold as Ice, not dare +to let thy hot Breath agen offend my chaste Ears! If thou +hast, a Dagger rams thy Passion down thy Throat.</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> Won't this be a Surprize, my Lord, to see her have +such an Icy Fit?</p> + +<p>L. <i>Whiff.</i> When I thought she was just going to melt.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[57]</a></span></p> + +<p><i>Amor.</i> See, you are obey'd; shivering your er'e-while raging +Lover stands; your Words and Looks, like Frost on +Flowers, have nipt my Hopes and fierce Desires!</p> + +<p>Mr. <i>Prais.</i> Alas, poor <i>Amorous</i>! (<i>A Noise without.</i></p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> Do you hear, my Lord? do's not your Heart ake +for the poor Lovers?</p> + +<p>L. <i>Whif.</i> I am ready to swoon, Madam.</p> + +<p>Mr. <i>Prais.</i> Wou'd I had some Cordial-water.</p> + +<p>Mr. <i>Awd.</i> Art thou <i>Marsilia</i>? wilt thou confess it? so +weak to believe these Coxcombs?</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> I always choose to believe what pleases me best. If a +School-Boy had been told so often of a Fault, as you have +been, of Interruption, he had certainly left it. Make a Noise +agen without.</p> + +<p><i>Isab.</i> Alas my fears return; what shall I do? I dare not +dye.</p> + +<p><i>Amor.</i> Oh Let not Monstrous Fear deform the Beauties of +thy Soul, but brave thy Fate.</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> Louder; but brave thy Fate; strain your Voice: I +tell you, Mr. <i>Pinkethman</i>, this speaking Loud gets the +Clap.</p> + +<p><i>Amo.</i> Pox of this Heroick; I shall tear my Lungs. (<i>Aside.</i> +But brave thy Fate.</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> Aye, that goes to ones very Heart.</p> + +<p><i>Awd.</i> And rends ones Head.</p> + +<p><i>Isab.</i> I cannot, I dare not; Oh, they come! where shall +I hide me? (<i>Gets into the Chariot.</i></p> + +<p><i>Amo.</i> For Heav'n's sake, Madam, come from hence: This +will expose us to all their scorn. (<i>goes in after.</i></p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> Now, now, up with it. Here, my Lord, here's the +wonder; this very Chariot <i>Whimsical</i> had been making fifty +Years, contriv'd beyond all humane Art, for the Sun to +draw up to the Moon; at this very Critical minute the +Matter's affected. Is not your Lordship surpriz'd<i>?</i><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[58]</a></span></p> + +<p>L. <i>Whif.</i> I know not where I am!</p> + +<p><i>Prais.</i> Oh! this is a plain case; so while the old Cuckold +was watching his Chariot, his Wife had Opportunity to +make him one.</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> Right, right, Mr. <i>Praisall</i>: Now <i>Amorous</i> finds it +move.</p> + +<p><i>Amor.</i> Ha! the Chariot moves; a Miracle is known in our +Preservation.</p> + +<p><i>Isab.</i> Oh! I dye with fear!</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> Now she falls in a Swoon, and never wakes 'till they +come into another world.</p> + +<p>Mr. <i>Prais.</i> E gad, 'tis well I am not in the Chariot with +her.</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> You may open the Door, they are out of sight.</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Enter</i> Fastin, <i>Lady</i> Loveall <i>and</i> Betty.</p> + +<p><i>Fast.</i> Where is the Hellish Pair? Let my Eyes be fasten'd +on 'em, that I may look 'em dead.</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> Look dreadfully, sweet Mr. <i>Powell</i>, look dreadfully.</p> + +<p>Mr. <i>Awd.</i> Hark'e, Madam, only one thing; did you never +hear an old Proverb; <i>He that has a House of Glass shou'd +never throw Stones at his Neighbours</i>? I think this young +Gentleman is guilty of much the same fault.</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> Lord! Lord! I told ye once before, he did not +know his Father was marry'd to her, he took her for a pure +Virgin. Come, Mr. <i>Powell</i>, go on.</p> + +<p><i>Fast.</i> Where are you hid? in what Lustful Corner?</p> + +<p>L. <i>Lov.</i> Alas, I fear they have escap'd, and I have such a +Detestation for ill Women, 'twould grieve me much to have +'em go unpunish'd.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[59]</a></span></p> + +<p><i>Betty.</i> I am sure they took the Stairs that led this way, +and must be here; let me ferret 'em.</p> + +<p>Mr. <i>Prais.</i> God-a-Mercy, <i>Betty</i>! Let <i>Betty</i> alone.</p> + +<p><i>Bett.</i> A-dad I can't set Eyes on 'em high nor low.</p> + +<p>Mr. <i>Prais.</i> No, they are too high for thee, indeed, little +<i>Betty</i>.</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> Pray, Mr. <i>Praisall</i>, be quiet; here's a great Scene a +coming.</p> + +<p>Mr. <i>Prais.</i> I am silent as the Grave.</p> + +<p><i>Fast.</i> In vain they think to 'scape my Rage, by thus +evading it; for if the Earth holds 'em, they shall be +found.</p> + +<p><i>Betty.</i> Why, where's my old Master's Conjuring Chariot, +I wonder, that he alway's told us wou'd carry him to Heaven, +when we little thought on't? It us'd to stand here.</p> + +<p>L. <i>Lov.</i> It did so.</p> + +<p><i>Betty.</i> Perhaps they are gone to <i>Elyzium</i> in it.</p> + +<p>L. <i>Lov.</i> No, Fool, <i>Elyzium</i> has no room for Lawless Lovers.</p> + +<p><i>Betty.</i> Then you must never come there, I'm sure. (<i>aside.</i></p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> That's the first ill word <i>Betty</i> has given her Mistress; +and that was to her self too.</p> + +<p><i>Fast.</i> Let my Chariots be prepar'd, we'll leave this hated +place, and in my Castle unlade our Cares. Love shall crown +our Hours, and Wine and Musick rob 'em of 'em with delight.</p> + +<p> +L. <i>Lov.</i> Whilst I weave flowry Chaplets for your Hair,<br /> +Revels and Masks to please your Sight prepare:<br /> +Feed on your Presence, on your absence grieve,<br /> +Love you alone, for you alone I'll live.<br /> +</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> Now quick, quick, get behind her, Mr. least she +shou'd resist; the rest disarm Mr. <i>Powell</i>.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[60]</a></span></p> + +<p class="center"><i>Enter Lord</i> Whimsicall <i>and others</i>.</p> + +<p>L. <i>Whim.</i> Not fit to live, nor dye! but Death thou best +deserv'st. (<i>stabs her.</i></p> + +<p>L. <i>Lov.</i> Oh! thou Impotence, only strong in mischief: +That feeble aged Arm has reach'd my youthful Heart.</p> + +<p><i>Fast.</i> Slaves, unhand me! Oh! <i>Clemene</i>, Oh!</p> + +<p>L. <i>Lov.</i> Let me come at the Dotard, let me cover the +Blood-thirsty Man with Livid Gore.</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> D'ye hear, Property-Man, be sure some red Ink +is handsomely convey'd to Mrs. <i>Knight</i>.</p> + +<p><i>Fast.</i> Move, Dogs; bear her to me, that I may press her +close, and keep in Life.</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> Strive and struggle now, Mr. <i>Powell</i>; Lord, you +scarce stir; hold me, hold me, some of you. Observe, that +I may press her close, and keep in Life:, ye see my Breath's +almost gone. Oh! if we Poets did but act, as well as write, +the Plays wou'd never miscarry.</p> + +<p><i>Fast.</i> Why, there's enow of you, both Males and Females; +entertain the Town when you will, I'll resign the +Stage with all my Heart.</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> And by my hopes of <i>Cataline</i> I'll propose it. But +now pray go on.</p> + +<p><i>Fast.</i> I say, lose your <i>Plebeian</i> Goals, and let me reach +my Love.</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> Well, that's your own; but 'twill do. You may +speak it, Mr. <i>Powell</i>.</p> + +<p>L. <i>Whim.</i> What, the Sorceress! thy Father's Wife, +rash Boy!<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[61]</a></span></p> + +<p><i>Fast.</i> Ha, ha, ha, ha! Your Wife: I have heard indeed +of old Men that wanted Virgins, when vital warmth was +gone.</p> + +<p><i>L. Whim.</i> To that Title do's <i>Clemene</i>'s Impudence pretend. +Speak, lewd Adultress.</p> + +<p><i>La. Lov.</i> Yes, I will speak, and own it all: Why shou'd +I mince the matter, now I've lost my hopes of him? For +the old Skeleton, sign alone, and shadow of a Man, I +might have yet been pure: But whilst gay Youths adorn'd +thy Family <i>Clemene</i> wou'd not sigh in vain.</p> + +<p><i>Fast.</i> What's this I hear?</p> + +<p><i>Bet.</i> My Lady dying! I am not yet prepared to bear her +Company: I'll e'en shift for one. I wou'd not willingly +leave this wicked World, before I have tasted a little more +on't.</p> + +<p>Mr. <i>Prais.</i> True, Mrs. <i>Betty</i>; slip behind me, and thou +art gone.</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> See, my Lord, they are all struck in a Maze.</p> + +<p class="right">(<i>Exit.</i></p> + +<p>L. <i>Whiff.</i> 'Tis very amazing!</p> + +<p><i>L. Whim.</i> Why, <i>Fastin</i>, stare you thus? Is her wickedness +such News? Go, bear her off, and let her die alone.</p> + +<p><i>La. Lov.</i> Do, convey me hence; for not gaping Pipes +of burning Sulphur, nor grinning hideous Fiends, can +jerk my Soul like that old Husband. Fogh! how he stinks! +Set him a fire with all his Chymistry about him, see how +he'll blaze on his own Spirits.</p> + +<p><i>Fast.</i> Rage not; it wastes thy precious Life.</p> + +<p>Mr. <i>Awd.</i> Then he loves her still.</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> Yes; what, you think him hot and cold in a quarter +of an hour?</p> + +<p><i>La. Lov.</i> <i>Fastin</i>, farewel. Oh! thou only Youth, whom I +can truly say I lov'd, for thee I'd run this mad Risque agen; +for thee I die. Away, away! and let me do the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[62]</a></span> +work of Children in the dark. (<i>Exit led off.</i></p> + +<p><i>L. Whim.</i> Where's my Chariot? my Chariot of the Sun, +Slaves! who has remov'd it? if it jogg'd but a Hair awry, +may set me backwards ten tedious Years. But it is gone! +where can it be? (<i>Runs up and down to look it.</i></p> + +<p><i>Fast.</i> Defeated Love! approaching Shame! Remorse and +deathless Infamy! they crowd one Breast too much: Here's +to give 'em vent. (<i>Stabs himself.</i></p> + +<p><i>L. Whim.</i> Oh! 'tis gone! 'tis gone! my Chariot! Oh, +my Chariot!</p> + +<p><i>Fast.</i> See, <i>Clemene</i>, see, thy Adorer comes! guiltily fond, +and pressing after thee. (<i>Dies.</i></p> + +<p><i>L. Whim.</i> Have you all lookt below? is there no news of +this inestimable Chariot?</p> + +<p><i>Serv.</i> No, my Lord; and here your Son is dead.</p> + +<p><i>L. Whim.</i> Why dost thou tell me of my Son, the blind +work of Chance, the sport of Darkness, which produc'd a +Monster? I've lost an Engine, the labour'd care of half a +hundred Years. It is gone! <i>I</i> shall go mad.</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> Good Mr. What-d'-call-'um, this last Speech to the +highest pitch of raving.</p> + +<p><i>L. Whim.</i> Ha! the Sun has got it; <i>I</i> see the glorious +Tract: But <i>I</i> will mount and yet recover it: The covetous +Planet shall not dare to keep it for the use of his Paramour. +Bear me, ye Winds, upon your blustring Wings; +for <i>I</i> am light as Air, and mad as rowling Tempests.</p> + +<p class="right">(<i>Exit</i></p> + +<p><i>Mar</i>. Is not this passion well exprest?</p> + +<p>Mr. <i>Awd.</i> 'Tis indeed all mad Stuff.</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> your word neither mends nor mars it, that's one +Comfort. Mr. <i>Powell</i>, will you walk off, or be carry'd off?</p> + +<p>Mr. <i>Pow.</i> I'll make use of my Legs, if you please, Madam. +Your most humble Servant.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[63]</a></span></p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> Mr. <i>Powell</i>, yours; I give you ten thousand thanks +for your trouble. I hope, Mr. <i>Powell</i>, you are convinc'd this +Play won't fail.</p> + +<p>Mr. <i>Pow.</i> O Lord! Madam, impossible! (<i>Exit.</i></p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> Well, sure by this Play, the Town will perceive +what a woman can do. I must own, my Lord, it stomachs +me sometimes, to hear young Fops cry, there's nothing +like Mr. Such-a-one's Plays, and Mr. Such-a-ones Plays.</p> + +<p>L. <i>Whiff.</i> But, Madam, I fear our excellent Entertainment's +over; I think all your Actors are kill'd.</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> True, my Lord, they are most of 'em dispatch'd. +But now, my Lord, comes one of my Surprizes; I make an +end of my Play in the World in the Moon.</p> + +<p>L. <i>Whiff.</i> In the World in the Moon!</p> + +<p>Mr. <i>Prais.</i> Prodigious!</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> Scene-Men: Where the Devil are these Blockheads? +Scene-Men.</p> + +<p><i>Within.</i>) Here, here.</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> Come, one of your finest Scenes, and the very best +that ye know must be, when the Emperour and Empress +appear.</p> + +<p><i>Scene-Men.</i> How d'ye like this Madam?</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> Aye, aye, that will do.</p> + +<p>L. <i>Whim.</i> 'Tis every thing the Stage, can afford in perfection.</p> + +<p>Mr. <i>Prais.</i> And which no Stage in the World can equal.</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> Oh, fie! Mr. <i>Praisall</i>, you go often to <i>Lincoln's-Inn-Fields</i>.</p> + +<p>Mr. <i>Prais.</i> I have said it, let t'other House take it how +they will.</p> + +<p>L. <i>Whif.</i> What, are these Men, or Monsters?</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> My Lord, this is very true, I'll believe the Historian, +for he was there, my Lord. The World in the Moon is as fine +a place as this represents; but the Inhabitants are a little<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[64]</a></span> +shallow, and go, as you see, upon all four; now I design +<i>Amorous</i> and <i>Isabella</i> shall bring in such a Reformation; then +all the Hero's of the Moon-world shall fall in love with <i>Isabella</i>, +as, you know, in <i>Aurenzebe</i> they are all in love with +<i>Indamora</i>: Oh! that's a sweet, a pretty Name; but a Duce +on't, my Brother Bay's has scarce left a pretty Name for +his Successors?</p> + +<p>Mr. <i>Prais.</i> Dear Madam, are these crawling things to +speak, or no?</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> Patience is a great Vertue, Mr. <i>Praisall</i>.</p> + +<p>Mr. <i>Awd.</i> And your Spectators must exercise it, o'my +Conscience.</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> Pray now, my Lord, be pleas'd to suppose this is +the Emperor's Wedding-day. Musick and the Dance.</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Dance upon all Four.</i></p> + +<p class="spaced">SONG.</p> + +<p>What's the whispering for?</p> + +<p><i>One of the Men.</i>) Why, Madam, to tell you the truth, in +short, we are not able to continue in this Posture any longer, +without we break our Backs; so we have unanimously +resolv'd to stand upright.</p> + +<p class="center">(<i>All the Men and Women stand up, when they're come forward.</i></p> + +<p>Mr. <i>Prais.</i> Hey! heres another Surprize!</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> Oh! the Devil; you have spoilt my Plot! you have +ruin'd my play, ye Blockheads! ye Villains, I'll kill you all,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[65]</a></span> +burn the Book, and hang my self! (<i>Throws down the Book, and stamps upon it.</i></p> + +<p>L. <i>Whiff.</i> <i>Taking up the Book.</i>) Hold, Madam! Don't let +Passion provoke you, like the Knight of old, to destroy what +After-ages cannot equal.</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> Why, my Lord <i>Amorous</i>, and <i>Isabella</i> was to come +in, and their wou'd have been such a Scene! Asses! Ideots! +Jolts! But they shall never speak a Line of mine, if it wou'd +save 'em from in evitable ruine; I'll carry it to t'other House +this very Moment.</p> + +<p>Mr. <i>Awd.</i> Won't ye go home to Dinner first?</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> Dinner be damn'd! I'll never eat more. See too! if +any of their impudent People come to beg my Pardon! or +appease me! Well, I will go, that's resolv'd.</p> + +<p>Mr. <i>Prais.</i> Madam, consider; cou'd they not stoop agen, +when <i>Isabella's</i> come in; I'll try how 'tis. (<i>stoops</i> +Oun's 'tis Devillish painful.</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> Don't tell me, 'tis painful; if they'll do nothing +for their Livings, let 'em starve and be hang'd. My Chair +there.</p> + +<p>L. <i>Whiff.</i> Madam, my Coach is at your Service, it waits +without.</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> To be seen in my Lord's Coach is some Consolation (<i>aside</i> +My Lord, I desire to go directly into <i>Lincoln's-Inn-Fields</i>.</p> + +<p>L. <i>Whiff.</i> Where you please, Madam.</p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> I'll never set my Foot agen upon this confounded +Stage. My Opera shall be first, and my <i>Catiline</i> next; which +I'd have these to know, shall absolutely break 'em. They +may shut up their Doors; strole or starve, or do what ever +the Devil puts in their heads; no more of <i>Marsilias</i> Works, +I assure 'em. Come, my Lord.</p> + +<p>Mr. <i>Awd.</i> You won't go, Madam?<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[66]</a></span></p> + +<p><i>Mar.</i> By my Soul, I will; your damn'd ill Humour began my +Misfortunes. Farewel, <i>Momus</i>; farewel, Ideots: Hoarse be +your Voices, rotten your Lungs, want of Wit and Humour +continue upon your damn'd Poets, and Poverty consume +you all. (<i>Exit.</i></p> + +<p><i>Prais.</i> What, ner'e a word to me! or did she put me among +the Ideots? Sir, the Lady's gone.</p> + +<p><i>Awd.</i> And you may go after; there's something to help +you forward. (<i>kicks him.</i></p> + +<p><i>Prais.</i> I intend, Sir, I intend it. (<i>Exit.</i></p> + +<p class="center"><i>Enter Mr.</i> Powell, <i>Mrs.</i> Knight, <i>Mrs.</i> Cross, <i>&c.</i> +<i>Laughing</i></p> + +<p><i>Awd.</i> So, what's the news now?</p> + +<p>Mr. <i>Pow.</i> Oh, my Sides! my Sides! the wrathful Lady +has run over a Chair, shatter'd the Glasses to pieces: The +Chair-Men, to save it, fell pell-mell in with her. She has +lost part of her Tail, broke her Fan, tore her Ruffles, and +pull'd off half my Lord <i>Whiffle's</i> Wigg, with trying to rise +by it: So they are, with a Shagreen Air, and tatter'd Dress, +gone into the Coach: Mr. <i>Praisall</i> thrust in after 'em, with +the bundle of Fragments, his Care had pick'd up from under +the Fellows Feet. Come, to make some Atonement, Entertain +this Gentleman with the Dance you are practising for +the next new Play.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[67]</a></span></p> + +<p>A DANCE.</p> + +<p>Mr. <i>Awd.</i> Mr. <i>Powell</i>, if you'll do me the favour to dine +with me. I'll prevent the Dinner I bespoke going to <i>Marsilia's</i> +Lodgings, and we'll eat it here.</p> + +<p>Mr. <i>Pow.</i> With all my heart: I am at your Service.</p> + +<p> +<i>Awd.</i> <i>Thus warn'd,<br /> +I'll leave the Scribler to her Fops, and Fate;<br /> +I find she's neither worth my Love or Hate.</i><br /> +</p> + + +<p class="center"><i>FINIS.</i></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><i>BOOKS Printed for, and Sold by</i> William Turner, <i>at the</i> +Angel at Lincolns-Inn Back-Gate.</h2> + + +<p>The <i>History of Man</i>, or the Wonders of Human Nature, in +Relation to the Virtues, Vices and Defects of both Sexes, with +Examples Antient and Modern, Alphabetically digested under their +proper Heads. The whole Work being intermix'd with variety +of useful and divertive Relations, never before published. Price 6<i>s.</i></p> + +<p>The Cheats and Illusions of Romish Priests and Exorcists discovered +in the History of the Devils of <i>London</i>, being an account +of the pretended Possession of the <i>Ursuline</i> Nuns, and of the Condemnation +and Punishment of <i>Urban Grandier</i>, a Parson of the same +Town. Price 4<i>s.</i></p> + +<p>The <i>English Theophrastus</i>, or the Manners of the Age; being the +Modern Characters of the Court, the Town and the City; written +by several Hands; <i>Price</i> 5<i>s.</i></p> + +<p>Letters of Wit, Politicks and Morality; by Cardinal <i>Bentivoglio</i>, +Father <i>Rapin</i>, <i>Aurelian</i> the Emperor, Queen <i>Zenobia</i>, <i>Don Quevedo</i>, +<i>Petronius</i>, Madam <i>Maintenon</i>, &c. with several Original Letters of +Love and Friendship; by Mr. <i>Cheek</i>, Mr. <i>Savage</i>, the Sieur <i>Boyer</i>, +Capt. <i>Ayloff</i>, Mrs. <i>Carrol</i>, and several others; <i>Price</i> 5<i>s.</i></p> + +<p>The Vanities of <i>Philosophy</i> and <i>Physick</i>, to be perused chiefly by +all that would preserve Health, and prolong Life, as well in a Regular +as Irregular way of Living, by Directions and Medicines +therein mentioned; the Third Edition; by Dr. <i>Gideon Harvey</i>; <i>Pr.</i> 5<i>s.</i></p> + +<p>A Defence of Mr. <i>Lock's</i> Essay of Humane Understanding; +wherein its Principles, with reference to Morality, revealed Religion, +and the Immortality of the Soul, are considered and justified, +in answer to some Remarks on that Essay, Recommended by Mr. +<i>Lock</i>, Mr. <i>Toland</i>, &c. <i>Price</i> 1<i>s.</i></p> + +<p>The Life of the late famous Comedian <i>Jo. Hayns</i>, containing his +Comical Exploits and Adventures both at home and abroad; <i>Pr.</i> 1<i>s.</i></p> + +<p>Love at a Loss; or most Votes carries it. A Comedy.</p> + +<p>The Unhappy Penitent. A Tragedy—both written by Mrs. <i>Trotter</i>.</p> + +<p>The Beau Defeated; or the Lucky Younger Brother. A Comedy.</p> + +<p><i>Antiochus</i> the Great; or the Fatal Relapse. A Tragedy—by Mrs. +<i>Wiseman</i>.</p> + +<p>Queen <i>Catherine</i>; or the Ruines of Love; by Mrs. <i>Pix</i>.</p> + +<p>The Stolen Heiress; or the <i>Salamanca Doctor out-plotted</i>. A Comedy.</p> + +<p>She Wou'd, and she Wou'd not; or the Kind Impostor. A Comedy—by +Mr. <i>Cibber</i>.</p> + +<p>The Different Widdows; or Intrigue Allamode. A Comedy.</p> + +<p>The Fickle Shepherdess, play'd all by Women.</p> + +<p>The Faithful Bride of <i>Granada</i>. A Tragedy.</p> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>William Andrews Clark Memorial Library: University of California, Los Angeles</h2> + +<h3><span class="smcap">The Augustan Reprint Society</span></h3> + +<p class="center"><i>General Editors</i>: George Robert Guffey, University of California, Los Angeles; Earl Miner, University +of California, Los Angeles; Maximillian E. Novak, University of California, Los Angeles; Robert Vosper, +William Andrews Clark Memorial Library</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Corresponding Secretary</i>: Mrs. Edna C. Davis, William Andrews Clark Memorial Library</p> +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<p>The Society's purpose is to publish reprints (usually facsimile reproductions) of rare seventeenth and eighteenth +century works. 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Introduction by +Patricia Meyer Spacks.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">James Macpherson</span>, <i>Fragments Of Ancient Poetry</i> +(1760). Introduction by John J. Dunn.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Edmond Malone</span>, <i>Cursory Observations on the Poems +Attributed to Thomas Rowley</i> (1782). Introduction +by James M. Kuist.</p> + +<p>Anonymous, <i>The Female Wits</i> (1704). Introduction +by Lucyle Hook.</p> + +<p>Anonymous, <i>The Scribleriad</i> (1742). <span class="smcap">Lord Hervey</span>, +<i>The Difference Between Verbal and Practical Virtue</i> +(1742). Introduction by A. J. Sambrook.</p> + +<p><i>Le Lutrin: an Heroick Poem, Written Originally in French +by Monsieur Boileau: Made English by N. 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