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diff --git a/37546.txt b/37546.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..c18bdb7 --- /dev/null +++ b/37546.txt @@ -0,0 +1,3975 @@ +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: ASCII + +*** 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 + + + + + + + + THE AUGUSTAN REPRINT SOCIETY + + + THE + FEMALE + WITS + + (Anonymous) + + (1704) + + _Introduction by_ + LUCYLE HOOK + + PUBLICATION NUMBER 124 + + WILLIAM ANDREWS CLARK MEMORIAL LIBRARY + + UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA, LOS ANGELES + + 1967 + + + GENERAL EDITORS + + 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_ + + ADVISORY EDITORS + + Richard C. Boys, _University of Michigan_ + James L. Clifford, _Columbia University_ + Ralph Cohen, _University of California, Los Angeles_ + Vinton A. Dearing, _University of California, Los Angeles_ + Arthur Friedman, _University of Chicago_ + Louis A. Landa, _Princeton University_ + Samuel H. Monk, _University of Minnesota_ + Everett T. Moore, _University of California, Los Angeles_ + Lawrence Clark Powell, _William Andrews Clark Memorial Library_ + James Sutherland, _University College, London_ + H. T. Swedenberg, Jr., _University of California, Los Angeles_ + + CORRESPONDING SECRETARY + + Edna C. Davis, _William Andrews Clark Memorial Library_ + + + + + + +INTRODUCTION + + +_The Female Wits; Or, The Triumvirate of Poets at Rehearsal_, 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. [1] A +devastating satire in the manner of Buckingham's _The Rehearsal_, it +attacks all plays by women playwrights but Mary de la Riviere Manley's +blood and thunder female tragedy, _The Royal Mischief_ (1696), in +particular. _The Female Wits_ resembles _The Rehearsal_ 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. + +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. [2] 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. + +When Mrs. Manley arrived upon the dramatic scene with her first play, +_The Lost Lover; Or, The Jealous Husband_, 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 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 _The Royal Mischief_. + +One learns from _The Female Wits_ that Mrs. Manley considered herself +privileged at Drury Lane, that _The Royal Mischief_ 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, _The +Royal Mischief_ 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 _The Female Wits_, and although +highly exaggerated, it is essentially true. The time: March or April, +1696. + +_The Female Wits_ 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 _The Rehearsal_, 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. _A Comparison +between the Two Stages_, an anonymous satirical summary of drama from +1695 to 1702, echoes the attitude of the author of _The Female Wits_ +toward women playwrights. When _The Lost Lover_, Mrs. Manley's first +play, is brought up for discussion, Critick demands + + What occasion had you to name a Lady in the confounded + Work you're about? + +Sullen: Here's a Play of hers. + +Critick: The Devil there is: I wonder in my Heart we are so lost + to all Sense and Reason: What a Pox have the Women to + do with the Muses? I grant you the Poets call the Nine + Muses by the Names of Women, but why so? not because + the Sex had any thing to do with Poetry, but because in + the Sex they're much fitter for prostitution. + +Rambler: Abusive, now you're abusive, Mr. Critick. + +Critick: Sir, I tell you we are abus'd: I hate these Petticoat-Authors; + 'tis false Grammar, there's no Feminine for the + Latin word, 'tis entirely of the Masculine Gender.... Let + 'em scribble on, till they can serve all the Pastry-cooks + in Town, the Tobacconists and Grocers with Waste-paper[3]. + + * * * * * + +Although _The Royal Mischief_ was the immediate pretext for _The Female +Wits_, 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. + +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[4]. 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 _The Adventures of Rivella_ (1714), and +whose lineaments are certainly to be seen in the character of Homais in +the warmer passages of _The Royal Mischief_. 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. + +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 _The +Rival Queens_, Banks' _The Unhappy_ _Favourite_, Otway's _Venice +Preserv'd_, and many of Dryden's (_The Indian Emperour_, _The Conquest +of Granada_, _All for Love_). 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 _The Royal Mischief_ 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. + +If her own account of _The Royal Mischief_ 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 _The Royal Mischief_ even though it had been +written for the Betterton company. Circumstances, then, dictated that +_The Royal Mischief_ was finally played by the actors for whom it had +been written originally. + +It is likely, however, that _The Female Wits_ would never have been +written if Thomas Betterton had not aggravated the situation by +producing _The Royal Mischief_ 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 _The Female +Wits_ when she wrote, + + You were our Champion, and the Glory ours. + Well you've maintain'd our equal right in Fame, + To which vain Man had quite engrost the claim: + +Mary Pix confirmed her place in the satire with her panegyric: + + You the unequal'd wonder of the Age, + Pride of our Sex, and Glory of the Age, + Like Sappho Charming, like Afra Eloquent, + Like Chast Orinda, sweetly Innocent. + +Mrs. Manley minced no words in the printed version in answer to the +flurry of criticism that had greeted _The Royal Mischief_ 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," _The +Royal Mischief_ 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 _The Female Wits_ 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. + +In defending _The Royal Mischief_ 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 _The Adventures of Rivella_, 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...." [5] + +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 _The Rival Queens_, Dryden's Cleopatra in _All for Love_, and +his recent Cassandra in _Cleomenes_. Every playwright since 1680 had +written expressly for her: Otway's Monimia in _The Orphan_ was her first +great part in 1680, followed two years later by Belvidera in _Venice +Preserv'd_. Southerne had given her Isabella in _The Fatal Marriage_ in +1694, Congreve was still to write for her his Zara in _The Mourning +Bride_ in 1697, and Rowe his Calista in _The Fair Penitent_ 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." [6] + +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 _The Royal Mischief_, +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. + +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 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. + +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 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 + + O horrour, horrour, horrour! + What Mischief two fair Guilty Eyes have wrought; + Let Lovers all look here, and shun the Dotage. + To Heaven my dismal Thoughts shall straight be turn'd, + And all these sad Dissasters truly mourn'd. + +There is no need to point out that _The Royal Mischief_ 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. + +After reading both plays, one can believe that immediately after the +presentation of _The Royal Mischief_, 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 _The Royal Mischief_ was played in May, near the end of the +season, there was ample time to gloat over its absurdities during the +summer months and have _The Female Wits_ 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 _The Royal Mischief_ did +not become a stock play. + +_The Female Wits_ is a continuous hilarious romp of scenes from _The +Royal Mischief_ 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, + + By these Tears, which never cease to Flow." + +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 _The Royal Mischief_ and +using the same theatrical machinery that was being employed in _Brutus +of Alba_. Marsilia caps this scene by describing in detail the events +which were played seriously in _The Royal Mischief_: + + 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. + +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 _The +Female Wits_ an hilarious piece of dramatic satire as well as a valuable +theatrical document. + +All but forgotten, as it was when it was published in 1704, the played +version of _The Female Wits_ had its impact on women playwrights in +1696. Mrs. Manley did not produce another play until _Almyna_ 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 _The +Female Wits_. Mrs. Trotter gave her plays to the Betterton group until +1700 when a new management regulated affairs at Drury Lane. + +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 famous work, _The Secret Memoirs and Manners +of Several Persons of Quality ... by the New Atalanta_ (1709) and her +semi-autobiographical _The Adventures of Rivella_ (1714) caused +government inquiries, and she never ceased to be a controversial figure. + +Up to the present time, no one has ventured to say who wrote _The Female +Wits_. 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." _The Female Wits_ 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." [7] + +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 +toward critical writing--all are sharply etched from observation and +intimate knowledge. + +_The Female Wits_ 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, _Brutus of Alba_, must have been running concurrently with +_The Female Wits_ in October, 1696. Because _The Female Wits_ 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 _Brutus of Alba_ +contains a dialogue between a flirtatious young girl and an impotent old +man featuring Miss Cross [8]. 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 +_The Female Wits_. 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." [9] + +Perhaps Joe Haynes, the famous comedian, best fills the role of chief +author, as Buckingham was credited with the authorship of _The +Rehearsal_, 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 _The Female_ _Wits_. 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 _The +Female Wits_), 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. + +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,[10] the author of _The Life of the Late Famous +Comedian, Jo. Hayns_, 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 _The Female Wits_ 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 _commedia del arte_ concoction that finally saw print in 1704. + +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 _The Observator_ (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 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. + +_The Female Wits_ 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. + + +Columbia University + +NOTES TO THE INTRODUCTION + + +[1] See the entry under Unknown Authors, Allardyce Nicoll, _A History of +English Drama, 1660-1900_ (Cambridge, 1955), I, 441. Also see William +van Lennep, _The London Stage, 1660-1800_ (Carbondale, 1965), Part I, +1660-1700, pp. 467-468. + +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, +_Check List_ (no. 374), the date of 1697 was next cautiously recorded +in Nicoll (_Ibidem_) 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. + +[2] Colley Cibber, _An Apology for the Life_ (London, 1740), chaps. +IV-VII. + +[3] _A Comparison between the Two Stages_, ed. Staring B. Wells +(Princeton, 1942), p. 17. + +[4] See _DNB_; Paul Bunyan Anderson, "Mistress Manley's Biography," +_Modern Philology_, XXXIII (1936), 261-278; Gwendolyn B. Needham, "Mary +de la Riviere, Tory Defender," _HLQ_, XII (1948-49), 253-288; Needham, +"Mrs. Manley, an Eighteenth-Century Wife of Bath," _HLQ_, XIV (1950-51), +259-284. + +[5] Mary de la Riviere Manley, _The Adventures of Rivella_ (London, +1714), p. 41. + +[6] Cibber, p. 95. + +[7] There was at least one avid reader of _The Female Wits_. The +Reverend Arthur Bedford of Bristol, one of Collier's followers who spent +his entire career attacking the theatres, mentions it forty times in +_The Evil and Danger of Stage-Plays_ (1706). He used it as an example in +all the categories of wickedness that Collier had set up in _A Short +View of the Prophaneness and Immorality of the English Stage_, the +original attack in 1698. + +[8] "Why dost thou fly me, pretty Maid," from _The Single Songs, with +the Dialogue, Sung in ... Brutus of Alba_. Composed by Daniel Purcell +(London, 1696). Henry E. Huntington Library _Devonshire Plays_, vol. 8 +(131929-35). + +[9] "By Moonlight on the Green," Henry E. Huntington Library _Collection +of Broadsides_, vol. 5 (Huth 81013). + +[10] 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 _The +Female Wits_. + + + +BIBLIOGRAPHICAL NOTE + +The text of this edition of _The Female Wits_ is reproduced from a copy +in the William Andrews Clark Memorial Library. + + + + + + THE + + FEMALE WITS: + + OR, THE + + Triumvirate of Poets + At _REHEARSAL_. + + A + + COMEDY. + + As it was Acted several Days successively with great Applause + + AT THE + + Theatre-Royal + + In _DRURY-LANE_. + + By Her MAJESTY'S Servants. + + Written by Mr. _W. M._ + + _Ita Astutim sibi Arrogat Hominem Ingenia + Ut Homines credas._ Cic. + + _LONDON_, Printed for _William Turner_, at the _Angel_ at + _Lincolns-Inn_ Back-Gate, _William Davis_, at the _Black Bull_ in + _Cornhil_, _Bernard Lintott_, at the _Middle-Temple-Gate_, and _Tho. + Brown_, at the _Blackamoors Head_ near the _Savoy_. 1704. + + _Price 1s. 6d._ + + + +THE PREFACE. + + +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 _Drury-Lane_, who did him the same +Justice, as was done by him to Dramatick Poetry and the Stage. Among the +rest, Mr. _Powel_ and his Wife excell'd in the Characters they +represented, as did Mrs. _Verbruggen_, 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 +_English_ 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 +_Buckingham_'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. _M--ly_, 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. _Welfed_, and _Calista_, are Mrs. +_P--x_ and Mrs. _T----r_, 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. + + + + +THE PROLOGUE. + + + _While Sinners took upon 'em to reform, + And on the Stage laid the late dreadful Storm, + Occasionally coming from the Crimes + Of us, whose Drama's would instruct the Times. + We wonder'd Rebels who against the Crown, + Justly draw all these heavy Judgments down, + Should pass uncensur'd, unmolested stand, + And be a heavy Judgment to the Land. + But they, Heav'ns bless 'em for their daily care, + Have reconcil'd us now to Ale and Air: + For Wine we know not, while the luckless Hit, + Has taught us want of Laugh, and want of Wit. + But when the Observator's Wrath withdraws, + And wanting Law instructs us in the Laws; + How happy are we made, who well agree, + To be laugh'd at by such a Fool as he. + Thanks to the Strumpets that would mask'd appear, + We now in their True Colours see 'em here: + False, I should say, for who e're saw before, + A Woman in True Colours and a Whore?_ + + _But it is not our Business to be rude + With Woman for the sake of Muffled Hood; + We lik'd 'em not with Masks or with their Paints, + Nor ever thought to baulk informing Saints. + They're welcome to us, when we're Peccant found, + Their Understanding's safe as well as sound. + All that we strive to please are Good and Just; + For Goodness ever we have ta'ne on Trust: + But when we to true Virtue would appear, + The Real Saints and not the False are here. + We're Regulary true to Royal Laws, + We admire th' Effect and we adore the Cause. + All that we're proud of is, that we have seen,_ + _Our_ Reformation _center in the Queen._ + + + + +THE EPILOGUE. + + + _The Sermon ended, 'tis the Preacher's way + For Blessings on the Auditors to pray, + And Supplicate what Doctrines have been said, + May thro' their Ears into their Hearts be laid. + So does our Poet in this sinful Age, + (Not that the Pulpit's likened to the Stage) + Fall to Petition after Application, + And beg that he may work a Reformation; + May turn the side of Follies now in Course, + And touch the guilty Scribe with due Remorse: + That every Fool his Errors may reclaim, + And take the Road of Pen and Ink to Fame._ + + _What here he writes to quash the Womens Pride, + May to the Men with Justice be apply'd. + Each Sex is now so self-conceited grown, + None can digest a Treat that's not their own. + So_ AEsop'_s Monkey that his Off-spring brought, + It's own the fairest of the Rivals thought; + As it preferr'd deformity of Face + To all the Beauties of the Bestial Race._ + + _But Manners might have hinder'd him, you'll say, + From Ridiculing Women in his Play, + When his own Sex so very open lay. + Troth so he might, but as I said before, + Wits do themselves, as Beaux, themselves adore; + Your Man of Dress, your Dressing Female Apes, + And doats upon their several Aires and Shapes: + Fearful that what upon the Sex is cast, + May on themselves stick scandalously fast._ + + _Not that the Good he'd with the Bad abuse, + Or lessen the true value of a Muse; + Since every Soul with Rapture must admire + The tuneful Motions of the skilful Lyre. + But as the Shade adds Beauty to the Light, + And helps to make it strike upon the Sight: + So those whom he has made his Present Theme, + Assist to make us Poetry esteem, + As we from what they are, distinctly see, + And learn, what other Poets ought to be._ + + + + +DRAMATIS PERSONAE. + + + Mr. _Awdwell_, A Gentleman of Sense } Mr Mills. + and Education, in Love with _Marsilia_, } + + Mr. _Praiseall_, A conceited, cowardly Coxcomb; } + a Pretender likewise to _Marsilia_'s } Mr. Cibber. + Affections, } + + _Fastin_, Son to Lord _Whimsical_, Husband } + to _Isabella_, and in Love with his Father's } Mr. Powell. + Wife, } + + _Amorous_, Steward to Lord _Whimsical_, and } + in Love with _Isabella_, } Mr. Pinkethman. + + Lord _Whiffle_, An empty Piece of Noise, } + that always shews himself at Rehearsals } Mr. Thomas. + and in publick Places, } + + Lord _Whimsicall_, Husband to Lady _Loveall_, Mr. Verbruggen. + + +WOMEN + + _Marsilia_, A Poetess, that admires her own } + Works, and a great Lover of Flattery, } Mrs. Verbruggen. + + _Patience_, her Maid, } Mrs. Essex. + + Mrs. _Wellfed_, One that represents a fat Female } + Author, a good sociable well-natur'd } + Companion, that will not suffer } Mrs. Powell. + Martyrdom rather than take off three } + Bumpers in a Hand, } + + _Calista_, A Lady that pretends to the learned } + Languages, and assumes to her self } Mrs. Temple. + the Name of a Critick, } + + _Isabella_, Wife to Fastin, and in Love with } + _Amorous_, } Mrs. Cross. + + Lady _Loveall_, Wife to Lord _Whimsical_, } + and in Love with _Fastin_, } Mrs. Knight. + + _Betty Useful_, A necessary Convenience of } + a Maid to Lady _Loveall_, } Mrs. Kent. + + + + +ACT I. + + +SCENE a Dressing-Room, Table and Toylet Furnish'd, &c. + +_Enter_ Marsilia _in a Night-Gown, followed by_ Patience. + +_Mar._ 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! + +_Pat._ I am about it, Madam. + +_Mar._ Yes, like a Snail!----. Mount, my aspiring Spirit! Mount! Hit yon +azure Roof, and justle Gods! [_Repeats._ + +_Pat._ Madam, your things are ready. + +_Mar._ Abominable! Intollerable! past enduring! [_Stamps._ 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. [_Cries._ Whither now, Mischievous? Do I +use to Dress without Attendance? So, finely prepar'd, Mrs. Negligence! I +never wear any Patches! + +_Pat._ Madam. + +_Mar._ 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. + +_Pat._ Indeed, Madam; 'tis but just made; I wou'd not offer such an +affront to those charming Hands for the World. + +_Mar._ Commended by thee! I shall grow sick of 'em.----Well, but +_Patty_, 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. + +_Pat._ Nothing but flattery brings my Lady into a good humour. [_Aside._ +With your Ladyship's directions I might aim at something. + +_Mar._ My Necklace. + +_Pat._ Here's a Neck! such a Shape! such a Skin!----[_Tying it on._ Oh! +if I were a Man, I shoud run Mad! + +_Mar._ Humph! The Girl has more Sense than I imagin'd, She finds out +those Perfections all the Beau-mond have admired.--Well, _Patty_, after +my Third day I'll give you this Gown and Pettycoat. + +_Pat._ Your Ladyship will make one of Velvet, I suppose. + +_Mar._ I guess I may; see who knocks. [_Goes out, and returns._ + +_Pat._ Madam, 'tis Mrs. _Wellfed_. + +_Mar._ 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. + +_Pat._ Madam, you invited her to the Rehearsal this Morning. + +_Mar._ What if I did? she might have attended me at the +Play-house.----Go, fetch her up. + +_Enter Mrs._ Wellfed _and_ Patty. + +Mrs. _Wellfed_. Good morrow, Madam. + +_Mar._ Your Servant, dear Mrs. _Wellfed_, I have been longing for you +this Half-hour. + +Mrs. _Wellf._ 'Tis near Ten. + +_Mar._ Ay, my Impertinence is such a Trifle--But, Madam, are we not to +expect some more of your Works? + +Mrs. _Wellf._ Yes; I am playing the Fool again.----The story is---- + +_Mar._ 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 +_England_ can reach 'em. + +Mrs. _Wellf._ My Language! + +_Mar._ 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? + +Mrs. _Wellf._ Extravagantly fine! But, as I was saying---- + +_Mar._ Mark but these two Lines. + +Mrs. _Wellf._ Madam, I have heard 'em already; you know you repeated +every word of your Play last Night. + +_Mar._ I hope, Mrs. _Wellfed_, 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. + +Mrs. _Wellf._ How Madam_!_ that's Three or Four more than the _Old +Batchelour_ held out. + +_Mar._ 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. + +Mrs. _Wellf._ I am dumb. Pray proceed. + +_Mar._ Pray observe.---- + + _My Scorching Raptures make a Boy of Jove, + That Ramping God shall learn of me to Love._ + +_My Scorching_---- + +Mrs. _Wellf._ Won't the Ladies think some of those Expressions indecent? + +_Mar._ 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, _&c._ in 'em.--Here, _Patty_, give me a Glass of +_Sherry_; my Spirits are gone.----No Manchet Sot! Ah! the Glass [_Brings +a Glass._ 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. [_Throws it in her Face._ + +_Pat._ These are Poetical Ladies with a Pox to 'em. (_Aside._ + +_Mar._ My Service to you Madam, I think you drink in a Morning. + +Mrs. _Wellf._ Yes, else I had never come to this bigness, Madam, to the +encreasing that inexhausted spring of Poetry: that it may swell, +o'erflow, and bless the barren Land. + +_Mar._ Incomparable, I protest_!_ + +_Pat._ Madam _Calista_ to wait upon your Ladyship. + +_Mar._ Do you know her Child? + +Mrs. _Wellf._ No. + +_Mar._ 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. + +Mr. _Wellf._ That's hard in a Friend. + +_Mar._ But 'tis very usual.----Dunce! Why do you let her stay so long? +[_Exit Pat. Re-enter with_ Calista. My best _Calista_! The charming'st +Nymph of all _Apollo_'s Train, let me Embrace thee! + +Mr. _Wellf._ So, I suppose my Reception was preceeded like this. +[_Aside._] + +_Mar._ Pray know this Lady, she is a Sister of ours. + +_Calista._ She's big enough to be the Mother of the Muses. [_Aside._ +Madam, your Servant. + +Mrs. _Wellf_. Madam, yours. [_Salute._ + +_Mar._ 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. + +_Calis._ From yours we expect Wonders. + +_Mar._ Has any Celebrated Poet of the Age been lately to look over any +of your Scenes, Madam? + +_Calis._ Yes, yes, one that you know, and who makes that his pretence +for daily Visits. + +_Mar._ But I had rather see one dear Player than all the Poets in the +Kingdom. + +_Calis._ Good Gad! That you shou'd be in Love with an Old Man! + +_Mar._ He is so with me; and you'll grant 'tis a harder Task to +Re-kindle dying Coals, than set Tinder on a Blaze. + +Mr. _Wellf._ I guess the Spark. But why then is your Play at this House? + +_Mar._ I thought you had known 't had been an _Opera_; and such an +_Opera_! But I wont talk on't, 'till you see it. Mrs. _Wellfed_, is not +your Lodgings often fill'd with the Cabals of Poets and Judges? + +Mr. _Wellf._ Faith, Madam, I'll not tell a Lye for the matter; they +never do me the Honour. + +_Mar._ I thought so, when I ask'd her. [_Aside to_ Calista. + +Mr. _Wellf._ My Brats are forc'd to appear of my own raising. + +_Mar._ Nay, Mrs. _Wellfed_, they don't come to others to assist, but +admire. + +_Pat._ Madam, Mr. _Aw'dwell_ and Mr. _Praiseall_ are below. + +_Mar._ Dear Ladies, step in with me, whilst I put on my Mantua: Bring +'em up, and then come to me.----What does that _Aw'dwell_ 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. _That Ramping God +shall learn of me to Love._ [Exeunt. + +_Enter Mr._ Aw'dwell _and Mr._ Praiseall. + +Mr. _Aw'dw._ So, Mr. _Praiseall_, you are come, I suppose, to pay your +Tribute of Encomiums to the Fair Lady and her Works. + +Mr. _Prais._ The Lady sometimes does me the Honour to Communicate; my +poor Abilities are at her Service, tho' I own my self weak. + +_Aw'dw._ Then you are not fit for the Ladies Service, to my Knowledge. + +_Prais._ Why, Sir? I was long an _Oxonion_, 'till a good Estate and the +Practice of the Law, tempted me from my studies. + +_Aw'dw._ 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 _Oxford_.----Now all the Observation I +have made of _Oxford_, 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. + +_Prais._ While the Lady has more complaisant Sentiments, yours shan't +disturb me, Sir, I assure you. + +_Aw'dw._ What is't bewitches me to _Marsilia_! I know her a Coquet; I +know her vain and ungrateful; yet, wise as _Almanzor_, knowing all this, +I still love on! [_Aside._ + +_Prais._ I wish _Marsilia_ 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. + +_Aw'dw._ Oh, one thing more of your Darling _Oxford_. 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? + +_Prais._ Ay, he will quarrel, I find.----[_Aside._ Sir, I was never +taught to practice Feats of Arms in a Lady's Anti-Chamber. + +_Aw'dw._ The Fool's afraid: Yet shall I have the Pleasure to see +_Marsilia_ prefer this Fop to me before my Face. [_Exit._ + +_Enter_ Marsilia, Calista, _and Mrs._ Wellfed. + +_Mars._ I must beg your Learned Ladyship's Pardon. _Aristotle_ never +said such a Word, upon my Credit.----_Patty_, What an Air these Pinners +have_?_ Pull 'em more behind.----Oh my Stars, she has pull'd my +Head-cloaths off! + +_Calist._ I cannot but re-mind you, Madam, you are mistaken; for I read +_Aristotle_ in his own Language: The Translation may alter the +Expression. + +_Aw'dw._ Oh that I cou'd but Conjure up the Old Philosopher, to hear +these Women pull him in pieces! + +_Mar._ 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. + +_Prais._ I am glad to hear her say sh'as done, for I dare not interrupt +her.--Madam, your Ladyship's most humble.---- + +_Mars._ Mr. _Praiseall_, Yours. + +_Prais._ Charming _Calista_, I kiss those enchanting Fingers. + +_Mars._ Humph! That might ha' been said to me more properly. [_Aside._ + +_Prais._ Mrs. _Wellfed_, tho' last, not least. + +Mrs. _Wellf._ That's right, Mr. _Praiseall_. + +_Prais._ In Love, I meant, Mrs. _Wellfed_. + +Mr. _Wellf._ Prethee, add _Good Tribonus_, don't steal by halves, Mr. +_Praiseall_. + +_Prais._ Lord, you are so quick! + +_Mar._ Well, you are come to go with us to the Rehearsal. + +_Prais._ '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 _Marsilia_'s Eloquence to express it. + +_Aw'dw._ How this Flattery transports her! Swells her Pride almost to +bursting. [_Aside._ + +_Mars._ I do avow, Mr. _Praiseall_, you are the most complaisant Man of +the Age. + +_Aw'dw._ Are you yet at Leisure, Madam, to tell me how you do? + +_Mars._ You see my Engagements, and have chosen a very busie Time to ask +such an insignificant Question. + +_Aw'dw._ What, it wants a Courtly Phrase? + +_Mars._ Must I meet with nothing but interruption? Mr. _Praiseall_! + +_Prais._ Madam? + +_Mars._ I think I have not seen you these two Days. + +_Prais._ So long I've liv'd in _Greenland_, seen no Sun, not felt no +warmth. + +_Mars._ Heav'ns! Mr. _Praiseall_, why don't you write? Words like those +ought to be preserv'd in Characters indelible, not lost in Air. + +_Aw'dw._ 'Tis pity your Ladyship does not carry a Commonplace Book. + +_Mars._ For your self 'twou'd be more useful.----But, as I was going to +tell you, Mr. _Praiseall_, since I saw you, I have laid a Design to +alter _Cateline's Conspiracy_. + +_Prais._ An Undertaking fit for so great a Hand. + +_Mars._ Nay, I intend to make use only of the first Speech. + +_Aw'dw._ That will be an Alteration indeed! + +_Mars._ 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. _Praiseall_, +and the Ladies too, I presume. + +_Calista._ I know it so well, as to have turn'd it into _Latin_. + +_Prais._ That was extraordinary. But let me tell you, Madam _Calista_, +'tis a harder Task to mend it in _English_. + +_Mars._ True, true, Mr. _Praiseall_; That all the Universe must +own.----Patty. Give me another Glass of Sherry, that I may speak loud +and clear.----Mr. _Praiseall_, my Service to you. + +_Prais._ I kiss your unequall'd Hand. + +Mrs. _Wellfed._ This drinking is the best part of the Entertainment in +my Opinion. [_Aside._ + +_Mars._ Now, Mr. _Praiseall_. + +_Prais._ I am all Ear. + +_Mars._ I wou'd you were----I was just beginning to speak. + +_Prais._ Mum, I ha' done a Fault. + +_Aw'dw._ Sure this Scene will chace her from my Soul. [_Aside._ + +_Mars._ 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;--[_Ex._ Patty. My Fan, my Fan, _Patty_.--[_All +clap._ + +_Prais._ Ah! Poor _Ben_! Poor _Ben_! 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 _Ben_! 'Tis well thou art dead; this News had broke +thy Heart. + +_Mars._ Then in the _Conspiracy_, I make _Fulvia_ a Woman of the nicest +Honour; and such Scenes! + +Mrs. _Wellf._ Madam, you forget the Rehearsal. + +_Mars._ 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. + +_Enter_ Patty. + +_Pat._ Madam, your Chair Men are come. + +_Mars._ Let them wait, they are paid for't. + +_Pat._ Not yet to my Knowledge, what ever they be after the third Day; +there's a long Bill I'm sure.--[_Aside._ + +_Mars._ How do you think to go Mrs. _Wellfed_? Shall _Pat._ call you +another Chair? + +Mrs. _Wellf._ I have no Inclination to break poor Mens Backs; I thank +you, Madam, I'll go a Foot. + +_Calist._ A Foot! + +Mrs. _Wellf._ Ay, a Foot, 'tis not far, 'twill make me leaner. Your +Servant Ladies. [_Exit._ + +_Mars._ Your Servant. + +_Prais._ A bouncing Dame! But she has done some things well enough. + +_Mars._ Fye, Mr. _Praiseall_! 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. + +_Prais._ I submit to your Ladyship. + +_Aw'dw._ Madam, shall I crave leave to speak a few Words with you before +you go? + +_Mars._ I must gratify you, tho' 'tis to my Prejudice.--My Dear +_Calista_, be pleas'd to take my Chair to the Play-House, and I'll +follow you presently. + +_Calist._ I will; but make haste. + +_Mars._ Fear not, yours waits below, I suppose, Sir. + +_Prais._ Yes Madam. + +_Mars._ Pray take Care of the Lady 'till I come. + +_Prais._ Most willingly. [_Exit._ + +_Mars._ What a ridiculous conceited thing it is!--A witty Woman +conceited, looks like a handsome Woman set out with Frippery: + +_Aw'dw._ Railing shou'd be my part: But, _Marsilia_, I'll give it a +genteeler Name, and call it complaining. + +_Mars._ Pshaw! You are always a complaining I think. Don't put me out of +Humour, now I am just going to the Rehearsal. + +_Aw'dw._ Why are you so ungrateful? Is it from your Lands water'd by +_Helicon_, 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. + +_Mars._ Now, Mr. _Aw'dwell_, 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.--[_Is going._ + +_Aw'dw._ 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. + +_Mars._ 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. + +_Aw'dw._ Obliging? If I shou'd go, I know my Fate; 'twou'd be like +standing on the Rack. + +_Mars._ While my Play's Rehearsing! That's an Affront I shall never +forgive whilst I breath. + +_Aw'dw._ Tho' I thought not of your Play? + +_Mars._ That's worse. + +_Aw'dw._ Your Carriage, your cruel Carriage, was the 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. + +_Mars._ 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 +_Catiline_. What a Monster was I to forget it! Oh Jehu! My Lord Duke, +and Sir _Thomas_! _Pat._ another Chair, Sir _Thomas_ and my Lord Duke +both stay.--[_Exit running._ + +_Aw'dw._ Follow, follow. Fool, be gorg'd and glutted with Abuses, then +throw up them and Love together.--[_Exit._ + + +SCENE the Play-House. + +_Enter Mr._ Johnson, _Mr._ Pinkethman, _Mrs._ Lucas, _and Miss_ Cross. + +Mrs. _Cross_. Good morrow Mrs. _Lucas_; why what's the Whim, that we +must be all dress'd at Rehearsal, as if we play'd? + +Mrs. _Lucas_, 'Tis by the Desire of Madam _Maggot_ the Poetess, I +suppose. + +Mrs. _Cross_. 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. _Powell_, that we may +try a little before she comes. + +Mr. _Johnson_. At the Tavern, Madam. + +Mrs. _Cross_. At the Tavern in a Morning? + +Mr. _Johns._ Why, how long have you been a Member of this Congregation, +pretty _Miss_, and not know honest _George_ regards neither Times nor +Seasons in Drinking? + +_Enter Mrs._ Wellfed. + +Mrs. _Cross_. O! Here comes Mrs. _Wellfed_. Your Servant Madam. + +Mrs. _Wellf._ Your Servant Gentlemen and Ladies. + +Mrs. _Lucas_. Sit down, Mrs. _Wellfed_, you are out of Breath. + +Mrs. _Wellf._ Walking a Pace, and this ugly Cough--[_Coughs._ 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. + +Mrs. _Cross_. So it seems. I think they talk she expects a Duke. + +Mrs. _Wellf._ Here's two of the Company. + +_Enter Mr._ Praiseall _and_ Calista. + +_Prais._ Dear Mrs. _Cross_, your Beauties Slave. + +Mrs. _Cross_. Upon Condition, 'tis then, if I have no Beauty, you are no +Slave; and the matter is just as 'twas. + +_Prais._ Sharp, Sharp.--Charming _Isabella_, let me kiss the Strap of +your Shoe, or the Tongue of your Buckle. + +Mrs. _Cross_. Now have I such a mind to kick him i'th' Chops.-- +[_Aside._ Oh fye, Sir, What d'ye mean? + +_Calista._ So, now he's got among the Players, I may hang my self for a +Spark. + +Mr. _Pink._ Prithee _Johnson_, who is that? + +Mr. _Johns._ He belongs to one of the Inns of Chancery. + +Mr. _Pink._ A Lawyer? + +Mr. _Johns._ I can't say that of the Man neither, tho' he sweats hard in +Term-time, and always is as much at _Westminster_, as he that has most +to do. + +Mr. _Pink._ Does he practice? + +Mr. _Johns._ Walking there, much. + +Mr. _Pink._ But I mean, the Laws? + +Mr. _Johns._ 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. + +Mr. _Pink._ What, at one time? + +Mr. _Johns._ 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. + +Mr. _Pink._ I have enough of him, I thank you Sir. + +_Calista._ How d'ye Madam? [_To Mrs._ Wellfed. + +Mrs. _Wellf._ At your Service, Madam. + +_Calista._ _Marsilia_ committed me to the Care of Mr. _Praiseall_; but +more powerful Charms have robb'd me of my Gallant. + +Mrs. _Wellf._ 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. + +_Calist._ Unmask'd! Humph! I'll be ev'n with you for that. [_Aside._ +Madam, I have read all your excellent Works, and I dare say, by the +regular Correction, you are a Latinist, tho' _Marsilia_ laught at it. + +Mrs. _Wellf._ _Marsilia_ 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. + +_Calist._ Then I cannot but take the Freedom to say, you, or whoever +writes, imposes upon the Town. + +Mrs. _Wellf._ 'Tis no imposition, Madam, when ev'ry Body's inclination's +free to like, or dislike a thing. + +_Calist._ Your Pardon, Madam. + +_Prais._ How's this? Whilst I am making Love, I shall have my two +Heroines wage War. Ladies, what's your Dispute? + +Mrs. _Wellf._ Not worth appealing to a Judge, in my Opinion. + +_Calista._ I'll maintain it with my Life. Learning is absolutely +necessary to all who pretend to Poetry. + +Mrs. _Wellf._ We'll adjourn the Argument, _Marsilia_ shall hear the +Cause. + +_Prais._ Ay, if you can perswade her to hold her Tongue so long. + +Mrs. _Wellf._ I wish I cou'd engage you two in a _Latin_ Dispute, Mr. +_Praiseall_, and you shou'd tell how often the Lady breaks +_Pris_--_Pris_--What's his Name? His Head, you know. + +_Prais._ _Priscian_, you mean; Hush! Hush! + +Mrs. _Wellf._ He cares not for entring the Lists neither. Come, Mr. +_Praiseall_, I'll put you upon a more pleasing Task. Try to prevail with +that Fair Lady, to give us her New Dialogue. + +_Prais._ What, my Angel? + +Mrs. _Wellf._ Mrs. _Cross_, I mean. + +_Prais._ There is no other She, Madam. + +Mrs. _Cross_. Sir! + +_Prais._ Will you be so good, to charm our Ears, and feast our Eyes; let +us see and hear you in Perfection. + +Mrs. _Cross_. This Complement is a Note above _Ela_. If _Marsilia_ +shou'd catch me anticipating her Song, she'd chide sadly. + +Mrs. _Wellf._ Oh, we'll watch. I'll call Mr. _Leveridge_. + +_Song by Mrs._ Cross.----_A Dialogue._ + +_Prais._ Thank you Ten thousand times, my Dear. + +_Calista._ I'm almost weary of this illiterate Company. + +Mrs. _Wellf._ Now, Mr. _Praiseall_, get but Mrs. _Lucas_'s New Dance, by +that time sure the Lady will come. + +_Prais._ I'll warrant ye my little _Lucas_. + +SINGS. + + With a Trip and a Gim, + And a Whey and a Jerk at Parting. + +Where art thou, my little Girl? + +_Little Boy._ She is but drinking a Dish of Coffee, and will come +presently. + +_Prais._ Pshaw! Coffee! What does she drink Coffee for? She's lean +enough without drinking Coffee. + +Mr. _Pink._ Ay, but 'tis good to dry up Humours. + +_Prais._ That's well, I Faith! Players dry up their Humours_!_ 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? + +Mrs. _Lucas_. For the same Reason you drink Claret; because I love it. + +_Prais._ Ha, Pert_!_ Come, your last Dance, I will not be deny'd. + +_Lucas._ I don't intend you shall; I love to Dance, as well as you do to +see me. + +_Prais._ 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. _All_ agreed. + +_A Dance by Mrs._ Lucas. + +_Prais._ Titely done, I Faith, little Girl. + +_Enter Mrs._ Knight. + +Mrs. _Cross_. Good morrow Mrs. _Knight_. Pray, dear Mrs. _Knight_, tell +me your Opinion of this Play; you read much, and are a Judge. + +Mrs. _Knight_. Oh your Servant, Madam! Why truly, my Understanding is so +very small, I can't find the Ladies meaning out. + +Mrs. _Cross_. Why, the Masters admire it. + +Mrs. _Knight_. 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. _Cross_, than you can have of the Pleasures of +Wedlock, that are unmarry'd. + +Mrs. _Cross_. 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 _Morocco_ Dresses, when new formerly for _Sebastian_, +they say enliven'd the Play as much as the Pudding and Dumpling Song +did _Merlin_. + +Mrs. _Knight_. This Play must be dress'd if there's any Credit remains, +tho' they are so cursedly in debt already. + +Mrs. _Cross_. It wants it, Madam, it wants it. + +Mr. _Wellf._ Well, Ladies, after this Play's over, I hope you'll think +of mine; I have two excellent Parts for ye. + +_But_, We are at your Service. + +Mrs. _Wellf._ Mr. _Pinkethman_! Mr. _Pinkethman_! What, d'ye run away +from a Body? + +Mr. _Pink._ Who!? I beg your Pardon, Madam. + +Mrs. _Wellf._ Well, Mr. _Pinkethman_, you shall see what I have done for +you in my next. + +Mr. _Pink._ Thank ye, Madam; I'll do my best for you too. + +Mrs. _Wellf._ Mr. _Johnson_! + +Mr. _Pink._ So, now she's going her Rounds. + +Mrs. _Wellf._ Mr. _Johnson_!--Duce on him, he's gone! Well, I shall see +him by and by. + +_Enter Mr._ Praiseall. + +_Prais._ Ladies, the Chocolate is ready, and longs to be conducted by +your white Hands to your Rosie Lips! + +Mrs. _Wellf._ Rarely express'd! Come, Ladies. + +[_Exeunt._ + +_Manent Mrs._ Knight _and Mrs._ Wellfed. + +Mrs _Knight_. I believe our People wou'd dance after any Tom-Dingle for +a pen'orth of Sugar-plums. + +Mrs. _Wellf._ Come Mrs. _Knight_, let you and I have a Bottle of +Sherry. + +Mrs. _Knight_. No, I thank you, I never drink Wine in a Morning. + +Mrs. _Wellf._ Then you'll never write Plays, I promise you. + +Mrs. _Knight_. I don't desire it. + +Mrs. _Wellf._ If you please, Madam, to pass the time away, I'll repeat +one of my best Scenes. + +Mrs. _Knight_. Oh Heav'ns! No Rest!----[_Aside._ Madam, I doubt the +Company will take it amiss. I am your very humble Servant. [_Exit +hastily._ + +Mrs. _Wellf._ 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. + + _So the fond Mother's rapt with her pratling Boys, + Whilst the free Stranger flies th' ungrateful Noise._ + +[_Exit._ + + +_The End of the First ACT._ + + + + +ACT II. + +_Enter_ Calista _and Mrs._ Wellfed. + + +_Calista._ I Think _Marsillia_ is very tedious. + +Mrs. _Wellf._ I think so too. 'Tis well 'tis _Marsillia_, else the +Players wou'd never have Patience. + +_Calis._ Why, do they love her? + +Mrs. _Wellf._ No, but they fear her, that's all one.----Oh! yonder's Mr. +_Powell_, I want to speak with him. + +_Calis._ So do I. + +_Enter Mr._ Powell. + +Mrs. _Wellf._ Your Servant Mr. _Powell_. + +_Calis._ Sir, I am your humble Servant. + +Mr. _Powell_. 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. + +_Calis._ I believe, Mr. _Powell_, I shall trouble you quickly. + +Mr. _Pow._ When you please Madam. + +_Calis._ Pray, Mr. _Powell_, 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. + +Mr. _Pow._ Oh, never stint me Madam, let it be two Douzen, I beseech +you. + +_Calis._ The Thought's new I am sure. + +Mr. _Pow._ The Practice is old, I am sure. + +Mrs. _Wellf._ Now, Mr. _Powell_, hear mine: I make two very fine Ladies +in Love with you, is not that better? Ha! + +_Calis._ Why, so are my Ladies. + +Mrs. _Wellf._ But, my Ladies.---- + +_Calis._ Nay, if you go to that, Madam, I defie any Ladies, in the Pale, +or out of the Pale, to love beyond my Ladies. + +Mrs. _Wellf._ I'll stand up for the Violence of my Passion, whilst I +have a bit of Flesh left on my Back, Mr. _Powell_! + +_Calis._ Lord! Madam, you won't give one leave to speak. + +Mr. _Pow._ O Gad! I am Deaf, I am Deaf, or else wou'd I were. + +Mrs. _Wellf._ Well, Mr. _Powell_, when shall mine be done? + +_Calis._ Sure I have Mr. _Powell's_ Promise. + +Mrs. _Wellf._ That I am glad on, then I believe mine will come first. + +_Calis._ D'ye hear that, Mr. _Powell_! Come pray Name a Time. + +Mrs. _Wellf._ Then I'll have time set too. + +Mr. _Pow._ 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! [_Flinging +from 'em._ + +Marsillia _Entring, meets him_. + +_Mars._ What in a Heat, and a Passion, and all that, Mr. _Powell_? Lord! +I'll tell you, Mr. _Powell_, I have been in a Heat, and Fret, and all +that, Mr. _Powell_! 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. + +Mr. _Pow._ Ay, Madam, I ha' been plagu'd with Questions too. + +_Mars._ 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. _Powell_, I have a World of +things to say to you. [_Patching at her Glass._ + +Mr. _Pow._ The more's my Sorrow. + +_Enter Mr._ Praiseall _and Mrs._ Knight. + +_Mar._ How do you like my Play, Mr. _Powell_? + +Mr. _Pow._ Extraordinary, Madam, 'tis like your Ladyship, at Miracle. + +_Calis._ How civilly he treats her. + +Mrs. _Wellf._ He treats her with what ought to be dispis'd, Flattery. + +_Mars._ What was that you said? Some fine thing I dare swear? Well, I +beg your Pardon a Thousand times: My Head was got to _Cataline_: Oh, Mr. +_Powell_, you shall be _Catiline_, not _Ben Johnson_'s Fool, but my +_Cataline_, Mr. _Powell_. + +Mr. _Pow._ I'd be a Dog to serve your Ladyship, as a Learned Author has +it. + +_Mar._ Oh my Jehu! What, no Body come? + +Mrs. _Knight_. No Body, Madam! Why here's all the Players. + +_Mar._ Granted, Mrs. _Knight_ and I have great Value for all the +Players, and your self in particular; but give me leave to say, Mrs. +_Knight_, 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. + +Mrs. _Knight_. I beg your Pardon, Madam, if we poor Folks, without +Titles, cou'd have serv'd you, we are ready. + +_Mar._ Mr. _Powell_! Mr. _Powell_! Pray stay by my Elbow. Lord! I don't +use to ask a Man twice to stand by me. + +Mr. _Pow._ Madam, I am here. + +Mr. _Prais._ Ha! A rising Favourite, that may Eclipse my Glory; Madam, I +have been taking true Pains to keep your Princes and Princesses together +here. + +_Mar._ Pray don't interrupt me, Mr. _Praiseall_, at this time. Mr. +_Powell_, I suppose you observe, throughout my Play, I make the Heroes, +and Heroines in Love with those they shou'd not be. + +Mr. _Pow._ Yes, Madam. + +_Mar._ For look ye, if every Woman had lov'd her own Husband, there had +been no Business for a Play. + +Mr. _Pow._ But, Madam, won't the Critticks say, the Guilt of their +Passion takes off the Pity_?_ + +_Mar._ Oh, Mr. _Powell_, 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? + +Mr. _Pow._ No, Madam. + +_Mar._ I have two of your stoutest Men enter with long Truncheons. + +Mr. _Pow._ Truncheons! Why Truncheons? + +_Mar._ 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. + +Mr. _Prais._ Why, Madam, there are abundance of Critticks, and witty Men +that are Soldiers. + +_Mar._ 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. + +Mr. _Prais._ 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? + +Mr. _Pow._ Here's good Sport towards. + +_Mar._ Because I have Occasion for nothing but Wit: I sent for you to +vouch for mine, and not fight for your own. Mr. _Powell_, let us mind +our Cause. + +Mr. _Prais._ Damme, I dare fight! + +_Mar._ Not with me, I hope: This is all Interruption by Heav'n! + +Mr. _Prais._ 'Tis well there's not a Man asserts your Cause. [_Walks +about._ + +_Mar._ How Sir! Not a Man assert my Cause? + +_Prais._ No, if there were, this Instant you should behold him weltring +at your Feet. + +Mr. _Pow._ Sir! + +Mr. _Prais._ Hold! Honest _George_; I'll not do the Town such an Injury, +to whip thee thro' the Guts. + +_Mar._ Barbarous, not to endure the Jest the whole Audience must hear +with patience. + +_Enter Mr._ Aw'dwell. + +Mr. _Aw'dw._ What's here Quarrelling? Come on; I thank Heav'n, I never +was more inclin'd to Bloodshed in my Life. + +Mr. _Prais._ This is my Evil Genius: I said I should have no Luck to +Day----Mr. _Aw'dwell_, your very humble Servant, did you hear a Noise, +as you came in? 'Twas I made the Noise, Mr. _Aw'dwell_, I'll tell you +how 'twas. + +_Aw'dw._ Do, for I am resolv'd to justifie the Lady. + +Mr. _Prais._ Then you must know, I was trying to act one of +_Marsillia's_ Heroes, a horrible blustring Fellow_!_ That made me so +loud, Sir; now, says Mr. _Powell_, you do it awkerdly; whip says I, in +answer like a Chollerick Fool, and out comes Poker, whether _George_ was +out so soon I can't say. + +Mr. _Pow._ How Sir_!_ my Sword in the Scabbard, and your's drawn! + +Mr. _Prais._ Nay, nay, may be it was _George_, but now we are as good +Friends as ever, witness this hearty Hug! (to _Mars._) Madam, I invented +this Story to prevent your Rehearsals being interrupted. + +_Mar._ I thank you Sir, your Cowardize has kept Quietness. + +Mr. _Prais._ Your Servant Madam, I shall find a time. + +Mr. _Aw'dw._ So shall I! + +Mr. _Prais._ 'Tis hard tho' one can't speak a Word to a Lady without +being over-heard. + +_Mar._ Come Mr. _Aw'dwell_, 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. _Powell_, +you must stay, I shall want your Advice; I'll tell ye time enough for +your Entrance. + +Mr. _Pow._ Madam, give me leave to take a Glass of Sack, I am qualmish. + +_Mars._ Oh! Fie, Mr. _Powell_, we'll have Sack here; d'ye see Ladies, +you have teaz'd Mr. _Powell_ sick: Well, Impertinence, in a Woman is the +Devil! + +Mrs. _Wellf._ Shall we stay to be affronted? + +_Calista._ Prithee let's stay, and laugh at her _Opera_, as she calls +it, for I hear 'tis a very foolish one. + +_Mar._ Come Prologue-Speakers! Prologue Speakers! Where are you? I shall +want Sack my self, by and by, I believe. + +_Enter Two Men with Whiskers, large Truncheons, Drest strangely._ + +_Mar._ Lord, Mr. _Powell_, these Men are not half tall enough, nor half +big enough! What shall I do for a larger sort of Men? + +Mr. _Pow._ Faith, Madam, I can't tell, they say the Race diminishes +every Day. + +_Mar._ Ay, so they do with a witness, Mr. _Powell_. Oh, these puny +Fellows will spoil the Design of my Prologue! Hark ye! Mr. _Powell_, you +know the huge tall Monster, that comes in one Play, which was taken +Originally from _Bartholomew-fair_ 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. _Powell_, +that's a Clapping not to be despis'd. + +Mr. _Pow._ We'll see what may be done; But, Madam, you had as good hear +these speak it now. + +_Mar._ Well, Sheep-biters, begin! + +_1st._----Well, Brother Monster, what do you do here! + +_Mars._ 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? + +_1st._----Well, Brother Monster, what do you do here? + +_2d._----I come to put the Criticks in a mortal Fear. + +_Mars._ 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. + +Mr. _Pow._ Madam, if you won't let 'em proceed, we shan't do the first +Act this Morning. + +_Mar._ I have no Patience! I wish you wou'd be a Monster, Mr. _Powell_, +for once, but then I cou'd not match you neither. + +Mr. _Pow._ I thank you Madam, come, these will mend with Practice. + +_Mar._----Come begin then, and go thro' with it roundly. + +_1st._----Well, Brother Monster, what do you do here_?_ + +_2d._----I come to put the Critticks in a mortal Fear. + +_1st._----I'm also sent upon the same Design. + +_2d._----Then let's our heavy Trunchions shake and joyn. + +_Mar._ Ah! The Devil take thee, for a squeaking Treble_!_ D'ye mention +shaking your Trunchions, and not so much as stir 'em, Block! By my hopes +of _Cataline_, you shall never speak it, give me the Papers quickly. + +[_Throws their Trunchions down._ + +_1st._----Here's mine. + +_2d._----And mine, and I'm glad on't. + +_Mar._ Out of my Sight, begone I say! [_Pushes 'em off._ Lord! Lord! I +shan't recover my Humour again, this half Hour! + +Mr. _Pow._ Why do you vex your self, so much, Madam? + +Mr. _Aw'dw._ 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. + +_Mar._ Pray, Mr. _Aw'dwell_, 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? + +Mr. _Prais._ But you shall be in a Passion, if you have a mind to it, by +the Clubb of _Hercules_. Ah! Madam, if we had but _Hercules_, _Hercules_ +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. + +_Mar._ 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. + +Mr. _Prais._ I ha' done, I ha' done. + +_Mar._ O Heav'ns! Now I have lost Mr. _Powell_, with your Nonsensical +Clubbs, wou'd there was a lusty one about your empty Pate. + +Mr. _Prais._ I ha' done, I ha' done, Madam. + +_Mar._ Mr. _Powell_! Mr. _Powell_! + +_Scene-Keeper_--He's gone out of the House, Madam. + +_Mar._ Oh the Devil! Sure I shall go distracted! Where's this Book? Come +we'll begin the Play: Call my Lady _Loveall_, and _Betty Useful_ her +Maid: Pray keep a clear Stage. Now look you, Mr. _Praiseall_, 'thas been +the receiv'd Opinion, and Practice in all your late _Operas_ 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 _Tom Thumb_; 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. + +Mr. _Aw'dw._ Why wou'd you chuse to call it an _Opera_ then? + +_Mar._ Lord! Mr. _Aw'dwell_, I han't time to answer every impertinent +Question. + +Mr. _Prais._ No Sir! We han't time, it was the Ladys Will, and that's +Allmighty Reason. + +Mr. _Aw'dw._ I shall have an Opportunity to Kick that Fellow. + +_Mar._ I wonder my Lord Duke's not come, nor Sir _Thomas_. 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. + +Mrs. _Wellf._ They are entring, Madam. + +_Mars._ Mrs. _Wellfed_, you know where to get good Wine; pray speak for +some, then perhaps we shall keep Mr. _Powell_. + +Mrs. _Wellf._ I'll take care of it, I warrant you. + +_Mars._ I knew 'twas a pleasing Errand. + +_Enter Lady_ Loveall, _and_ Betty Useful. + +_Mar._ Come Child, speak handsomly, this Part will do you a Kindness. + +_Betty._ 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? + +_Mar._ Mr. _Praiseall_, is not that Simile well carried on? + +Mr. _Prais._ To an Extreamity of Thought, Madam, But I think 'tis stole. +[_Aside._ + +La. _Lov._ Art thou the Key to all my Secrets, privy to every rambling +Wish, and canst not guess my Sorrows! + +_Betty._ No! For what Lover have ye mist, honest _Betty Useful_ has been +the Contriver, Guide and close Concealer of your Pleasures: _Amorous_ +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? + +La. _Lov._--Oh _Betty_! _Betty!_ + +_Mar._ Good Mrs. _Knight_ 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. + +La. _Lov._----Madam, I never knew _Betty_ sound well in Heroick. + +_Mar._ Why, no Mrs _Knight_, 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. + +La. _Lov._ I'll do my best. Oh! _Betty_! _Betty!_ Fear and Love, like +meeting Tides, o'erwhelm me, the rowling Waves beat sinking Nature down, +and Ebbbing Life retires! [_Swoons._ + +_Mar._ What d'ye think of that, Mr. _Praiseall_? There's a Clap for a +Guinea: 'Gad if there is not, I shall scarce forbear telling the +Audience they are uncivil. + +_Prais._ Nor, Gad, I shall scarce forbear Fighting 'em one by one. But +hush! Now let's hear what _Betty_ says. + +_Betty._ Oh! My poor Lady! Look up, fair Saint! Oh close not those +bright Eyes! If 'tis in _Betty's_ Power, they shall still be feasted +with the Object of their Wishes. + +_Prais._ Well said, honest _Betty_. + +_Mar._ Nay, She is so throughout the whole Play, to the very last, I +assure you. + +La. _Lov._ 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. + +_Mar._ There's a Rant for you! Oh Lord! Mr. _Praiseall_, look how Mrs. +_Betty_'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 _Betty_, now speak. + +_Betty._ 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. + +La. _Lov._----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. + +_Betty._ But _Isabella_ is---- + +_Mar._ Now _Betty_'s doubting----Dear Mrs _Knight_, in this Speech, +stamp as Queen _Statira_ 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. [_Stumbles._ + +Mr. _Prais._ Oh! Madam! + +_Mar._ Hush! Hush! 'Tis nothing! Come Madam. + +La. _Lov._ No more, he is mine, I have him fast: Oh! The Extasie! + +_Mar._ Now Stamp, and Hug your self, Mrs. _Knight_: Oh! The strong +Extasie! + +La. _Lov._ Mine! Forever mine! [_Exit._ + +_Betty._ 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 +_Isabella_.---- + +_Enter_ Amourous _the Steward_. + +_Am._ Did I not hear the Name of _Isabella_? _Isabella_, Charming as +_Venus_ rising from the Sea, or _Diana_ descening on _Latmus_ Top too +like _Diana_ much I fear; Oh _Isabella_! Where art thou! I loose my way +in Tears, and cannot find my Feet. [_Exit._ + +_Mar._ D'ye mark! This was Mr. _Amorous_ the Steward, and he was +transported, he never saw _Betty_. Look _Betty_'s surpris'd again. + +Mr. _Prais._ 'Tis amazingly fine! + +_Betty._ 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: _Amorous_ has a +Wife, and _Isabella_ _Faustins_, work on together, work, work, on +together work. + +_Mar._ Now make haste off, Mrs. _Betty_, 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? + +[_Exit_ Betty. + +Mr. _Prais._ If your Ladyship swore, you might justly use _Ben +Johnson_'s Expressions; _By Gad 'tis Good_! + +_Mar._ What say you, _Calista_? + +_Calis._ 'Tis beyond imitation. I never heard such stuff in my Life. +[_Aside._ + +_Mar._ Did you observe _Betty_ said her Master was finding out a new way +to the Moon? + +Mr. _Prais._ 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. + +_Mar._ 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. + +Mr. _Prais._ And that's kindly done to surprize us with such a Sight. + +_Mar._ Observe, and you'll be satisfied. Call _Fastin_, and _Isabella_, +attended; that is to say, call Mr. _Powell_, and Mistress _Cross_, and +the Mob; for their Attendants look much like the Mob. Mr. _Praiseall_, +do you know where the Scene of this Play lies? + +Mr. _Prais._ Gad forgive me for a Sot; Faith I han't minded it. + +_Mar._ 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 _Isabella_, you'll find, Loves walking in Orange Groves. + +Mr. _Prais._ Suppose you lay it in _Holland_, I think we have most of +our Oranges, and Lemons from thence. + +Mr. _Aw'dw._ Well said Geographer. + +_Mar._ No, no, it must be some where in _Italy_. Peace! They are coming. + +_Enter_ Fastin, _and_ Isabella _attended_. + +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. + +_Fas._ Shall I speak, Madam. + +_Mar._ Ay, dear Mr. _Powell_, soon as you please. + +_Fas._ Wellcome, dear _Isabella_, 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. + +Mr. _Prais._ Why, Madam, had my Lady _Loveall_ never seen this Spark? + +_Mar._ 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. _Praiseall_. + +Mr. _Prais._ I beg your Pardon. + +_Mar._ Pish! Come Mrs. _Cross_. + +_Isabella._ 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. + +_Fas._ Your Pleasure shall be mine. + +_Mar._ Lead her to the side Scene, Mr. _Powell_, now come back again. + +_Fas._ To desire and love to walk alone, shews her Thoughts entertain +and please her more than I, that's not so well. + +_Mar._ Mark! He is beginning to be jealous: Now comes _Betty_, and I +dare be bold to say, here's a Scene excells _Jago_, and the _Moor_. + +Mr. _Prais._ Come, dear Mrs. _Betty Useful_! Oh! She's my Heart's +Delight! + +_Enter_ Betty Useful. + +_Fas._ What Fair Nymph is this? + +_Betty._ 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 _Isabella_, But where is that Lady? Can you be +separate? Can any thing divide her from your fond Eyes. + +_Mar._ Now she begins. + +_Fas._ 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. + +_Betty._ 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. + +_Fas._ 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. + +_Betty._ As yet, I cannot, the Office is ungrateful; but for your sake, +I'll undertake it. + +_Fas._ Do, and command me ever. + +_Betty._ The Fair _Clemene_. + +_Fas._ My Mother, do you mean? + +_Betty._ 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. + +_Mar._ Is not this moving, Mr. _Powell_? + +_Prais._ Ay, and melting too, I Gad, wou'd I was the Picture for her +sake. + +_Fas._ What's this I hear? + +_Prais._ Nay, no harm, Sir. + +_Mar._ Fie! Mr. _Praiseall_! Let your ill-tim'd Jests alone. + +_Prais._ I ha' done, I ha' done. + +_Mars._ Mr. _Powell_, be pleas'd to go on. + +_Fas._ What's this I hear? + +_Betty._ Her own Picture, which sure she sees by Sympathy, you'll +entertain by me, she prays you to accept. + +[_Gives the Picture._ + +_Mar._ Now, dear Mr. _Powell_, let me have the pleasure to hear you +rave. Oh_!_ Mr. _Praiseall_, this Speech, I die upon this Speech! + +Mr. _Prais._ Wou'd we cou'd hear it, Madam, I am preparing to clap. + +_Fas._ 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! + +_Mar._ Ay, ay, Love comes just like an Ague Fit. + +_Fas._ What alteration here? Now I am all on Fire! _Alcides_ Shirt +sticks close; Fire, incestious Fire, I blaze! I burn! I Rost! I Fry! +Fire! Fire! [_Exit._ + +_Betty._ And my Lady will bring Water, Water, ha, ha, ha. + +_Mar._ Laugh heartily, Mrs. _Betty_, go off Laughing. + +_Betty._ Ha, ha, ha! [_Exit._ + +_Mar._ So, Mr. _Praiseall_, here's a difficult matter brought about with +much ease. + +_Prais._ Yes, Faith Madam, so there is; the young Gentleman made no +great Scruple to fall in Love with his Mother-in-Law. + +_Mar._ O fie, Mr. _Praiseall_, 'twas the Struglings of his Virtue put +him in such a Passion. + +_Prais._ Ah! Madam! When once Virtue comes to strugle, either in Male or +Female, it commonly yields. + +_Mars._ You are waggish----Now for my Dance----Mrs.-----Mrs. _Cross_, +Mrs. _Cross_, come you little Cherubim, your Dance. + +A _DANCE_. + +_Aw'dwell._ Pray, Madam, who is this Dance to entertain? + +_Mar._ What, do you sit an Hour to study a cross Question? Why, to +satisfie you, Sir, you are to suppose _Fastin_, in passing towards his +Mothers Lodgings, may, out of some Gallery, see it; now you are +answered. + +_Aw'dw._ I am. + +Mr. _Prais._ Ay, and sufficiently too: A Gallery Balcony, twenty +Peepholes. + +_Enter Mrs._ Cross + +Mrs. _Cross_. 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. + +_Mar._ How, Mrs. _Cross_! Disoblig'd! Assure your self, I shall resent +it ill to the last Degree, what throw up my Heroine! my _Isabella_! Was +there ever a Character more Chaste, more Noble, or more Pitiful? + +Mrs. _Cross_. Yes, very Chaste, when I am in Love with my +Father-in-Law's Steward, I know not why, nor wherefore. + +_Mar._ Mrs. _Cross_, I maintain, no Woman in the Play-House, nor out of +the Play-house, can be chaster than I ma'e _Isabella_, but trouble your +Head no further, I'll do the Part my self. + +Mrs. _Cross_. With all my Heart. + +_Mar._ And let me tell you Mistress _Cross_, I shall command whatever is +in the Wardrobe, I assure you! + +Mrs _Cross_. Any of my Gowns are at your Service, if they'll fit you, +Madam. + +_Mar._ Nay, they shall be; perhaps, without boasting, I command them, +that command you. + +Mrs. _Cross_. Perhaps 'tis not worth boasting on; there's your part. +[_Exit._ + +_Mar._ 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. _Wellfed_, I'll wear a white Feather, That, I believe, +will become me best. _Patty_, is _Patty_ there? + +_Pat._ Yes, Madam. + +_Mar._ _Patty_, run to the Exchange, bring me a Dozen yards of Scarlet +Ribbon; and d'ye hear _Patty_? 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. + +Mr. _Aw'dw._ Why, Madam, you are not in earnest! + +_Mar._ By my hopes of _Catiline_, I am. + +Mr. _Aw'dw._ For Heav'ns sake, don't make your self so irrecoverably +rediculous. + +Mr. _Prais._ Do, Madam, I say, 'Gad, I'll make such a Party_!_ 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. + +Mr. _Aw'dw._ To dance naked on the third Day, wou'd bring a bigger +Audience; Why don't you perswade the Lady to that? [_Speaking loud to_ +Marsillia. + +Do, _Marsillia_, be rul'd by your Vanity, and that good Friend, Mr. +_Praiseall_; but rest assur'd, after such a weakness, I will never see +your Face again. + +_Mar._ Ha! I must not loose him. (_aside_) Why, Mr. _Aw'dwell_, wou'd +you have such a hopeful Play lost? Can you be so unreasonable to desire +it? And that Part ruins all. + +Mr. _Aw'dwell_. Give me the Part, and I'll try to perswade Mrs. _Cross_. + +_Mar._ Do, that's a good Boy; and I won't disoblige him this two days. + +Mr. _Aw'dw._ Is't possible! Will you dine at your own Lodgings to day? +I'll give Order for some Dishes of Meat there? + +_Mar._ Yes, yes. + +Mr. _Aw'dw._ Don't serve me now, as you did when I provided a handsome +Dinner for you at my own House; and you whiskt to _Chelsy_, in a Coach, +with the Lord knows who. + +_Mar._ No, I scorn it. [_Exit Mr._ Aw'dwell. + +_Prais._ You was talking of Wine, there is some within; pray take a +Recruit before you proceed. + +_Mar._ A good Motion, wait upon these two Ladies in, and I'll follow; I +must practice a little, least Mrs. _Cross_ shou'd prove stubborn, and +then, not my Father's Ghost shou'd hinder me. + +_Calista._ We'll begin your health. + +[_Exeunt._ + +_Mar._ Do. Whom shall I Curse, my Birth, My Fate, or Stars! All are my +Foes! All bent to ruine Innocence! + +_Enter_ Patty, _with Patches_, _Powder_, _Looking-glass_, &c. + +_Pat._ Oh, Madam! + +_Mar._ 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? + +_Pat._ My Lord _Whiffle_ is come to wait on your Ladyship, and sends to +know, whether you are at leisure. + +_Mar._ Ay, he understands Breeding, and Decorum. Is my Dress in great +disorder? + +_Pat._ You Look all Charming, Madam. + +_Mar._ Hold the Glass; give me some Patches; my Box is done; I am much +oblig'd to his Lordship for this Honour. Some Powder. (_Pulls the Box +out of her Pocket._ 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, _Patty_? + +_Pat._ Like one of the Graces, drest for a Ball at the Court of +_Orleans_. + +_Mar._ Ha, ha, ha; well said, _Patty_; now for my dear dear Lord +_Whiffle_. + +_Mr._ Awdwell _meeting her_. + +Mr. _Awd._ How! + +_Mar._ And how too! why, look ye, Mr. _Awdwell_, my Lord is come to pay +his Respects to me; and I will pay my Respects again to my Lord, in +spight of your Tyrannical Pretensions. And so, your humble Servant. + +(_Exit_ + + Mr. Awd. _Who wou'd a kind and certain Mistress choose, + Let him, like me, take one that loves a Muse._ + +(Exit. + + +_The End of the Second_ ACT. + + + + +ACT III. + +_Enter my Lord_ Whiffle, Marsilia, _Mr._ Awdwell, _Mr._ Praisall, _Mrs._ +Wellfed _and_ Calista. + + +Mrs. _Well._ 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? + +_Cal._ With all my Heart: _Marsilia_'s so taken up with my Lord, they'll +never miss us. + +Mrs. _Well._ Come then. (_Exeunt._ + +[Marsilia _and my Lord_ Whiffle _talk, both looking in a great Glass_. + +_Mar._ Thus I have told your Lordship the First part, which is past. + +L. _Whif._ 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. + +_Mar._ Now I must beg your Lordship to suppose _Fastin_ having seen his +Mother-in-Law, is wholly captivated with her Charms, and _Betty_ and +she have both foresworn the Consummation of her Marriage with _Fastin's_ +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. + +Mr. _Awd._ I am afraid your Ladyship will be wanted, like the _Chorus_ +of Old, to enlighten the understanding of the Audience. + +_Mar._ Meer Malice, Spight, and burning Malice, by the Gods! + +L. _Whiff._ Very good, my Coat is as full of wrinkles as an Old Woman's +Face, by _Jove_. + +Mr. _Prais._ Madam, han't they took _Betty_ with 'em to his Castle? + +_Mar._ Yes, yes; But, Mr. _Praisall_, you must keep your Distance a +little now, and not interrupt me, when I am talking to my Lord. + +Mr. _Prais._ I am dumb as a fish. + +_Mar._ Now, if your Lordship pleases to sit down, you will see my +_Opera_ begin; for tho' some of the Play is over, there has been no +Scene Operaish yet. + +Mr. _Awd._ Operaish! Thats' a word of your own, I suppose, Madam. + +Mr. _Prais._ Ne're the worse for that, I hope, Sir; why mayn't the +Ladies make a word as well as the Men? + +L. _Whiff._ The Lady shall make what words she pleases; and I will +justifie her in't. + +Mr. _Awd._ And I will laugh at her for it. + +_Mar._ Well, Mr. _Awdwell_, these Affronts, are not so soon forgot as +given. + +Mr. _Awd._ Use your Pleasure, Madam, the Fool's almost weary. + +_Mar._ He nettles me; but I think I have him in my power: Is your +Lordship ready to observe? + +L. _Whiff._ Madam, I am all Attention. + +_Mar._ 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. + +_Enter_ Fastin, _Lady_ Loveall. + +_Fast._ 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. + +Mr. _Awd._ A very Dutiful Son, this. + +_Mar._ 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. + +L. _Whif._ Right Madam; all old Men do foolish things when they marry +young Wives, and ought to meet with exemplary Punishments. + +_Mar._ Aye, your Lordship understands the Justice of the thing----Mrs. +_Knight_, if you please. + +La. _Lov._ 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! + +_Fast._ By Honour and by Glory, I love thee more than Mortal can express +or bear. + +_Mar._ Now, Mr. _Powel_, my Rhime with a Boon Grace. + + Fast. _My scorching Raptures make a Boy of Jove; + That ramping God shall learn of me to love._ + +_Mar._ How does your Lordship like these Lines_?_ + +L. _Whiff._ Madam, they exceed any of our modern Flights, as far as a +Description of _Homer_'s does Mr. _Settle_'s, Poet in Ordinary for my +Lord Mayor's Show. + +Mr. _Prais._ After what my Lord has said, I dare not speak, but I am all +Admiration, + +_Mar._ to Mrs. _Knight_.) Madam I beg your pardon for this Interruption; +my Friends here will treat me with Flattery. + +La. _Lov._ to _Fastin_.) And you will be so vain to believe it none. +(_aside._) Nor _Isabella_ shall not---- + +_Fast._ Be nam'd only for Punishment, her Adultery with _Amorous_ is +plain, therefore she shall be disgrac'd, and dye. + +Mr. _Awd._ Who had told him this? + +_Mar._ Why _Betty_ had told him, tho' _Isabella_' 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. + +_Fastin_ to his Attendants.) Guard the Orange Grove; there let +_Isabella_ remain a Prisoner, whilst I entertain the fair _Clemene_ with +a Song and Dances here. + +(_Italian Song by Mr._ Pate.) + +_Mar._ This Song's my own; and I think soft and moving. + +L. _Whiff._ My slacken'd Fibres!----My Soul's dissolv'd. + +(_Repeats._ + +_Mar._ 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. + + +DANCE. + +_After the Dance, a Drum beats._ + +_Enter_ Betty. + +_Prais._ Oh, Mrs. _Betty_! + +_Mar._ Hold your peace, Mrs. _Betty_'s in haste. + +_Bet._ Fly, Sir, fly; old _Whimsical_ 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. + +Lady _Lo._ Alas, I fear. + +_Fast._ 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. (_Exeunt._ + +_Mar._ Now there's his Duty, there's his Duty! D'ye hear that, Mr. +_Quarelsom_! + +Mr. _Awd._ Wondrous Duty! sets the Rabble about his Father's Ears, and +bids 'em not hurt him. + +_Mar._ Now, my Lord, and Gentlemen, and Ladies, where are the Ladies? + +Mr. _Prais._ I have miss'd 'em a great while, Madam: But I wou'd not +interrupt you to tell you of't. + +_Mar._ 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 _Whimsical Loveall_, is attacking his Son's Castle, and +beaten back: Now they are 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. + +L. _Whiff._ With a very little trouble. But, Madam had not the storming +the Castle been as good a Scene as the taking of _Jerusalem_. + +_Mar._ Granted, my Lord. But I have a Castle taken upon the Stage; and +twice, you know, had been Repetition. + +Mr. _Prais._ True; your Ladiship was never in the wrong in your Life, +unless it was when you said, I had no Courage. + +_Mar._ Change the Scene to the Orange Grove. + +_Enter_ Isabella. + +Your Servant Mrs. _Cross_, I am glad to see you again. + +Mrs. _Cross_. 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. + +_Mar._ 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. + +Mrs. _Cross_. Yes, Madam. (_Goes out, and Re-enters._ + +_Isab._ 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, _Fastin_! +if thou art cruel or unkind, thou art justly so: For I came to thy Arms +without a Heart, without Love's Flames, or desire to kindle 'em. Oh! +why was _Amorous_ 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! + +_Mar._ My Lord! wou'd your Lordship imagine Mrs. _Cross_ shou'd dislike +the part, when I defie all the Virgins in _Europe_ to make so cold a +Simile as that? + +L. _Wh._ Thou'st turn'd me into Marble; I am a Statue upon the Tomb +where the Urn's inclos'd. + +Mr. _Prais._ My Teeth chatter in my head. + +Mr. _Awd._ Oh for a Couple of good Cudgels to warm the Coxcombs. +(_aside._ + +_Mar._ Well, dear _Isabella_, proceed. + +_Isab._ Thou Mother Earth, bear thy wretched Daughter: Open thy all +receiving Womb, and take thy groaning burthen in! + +_Mar._ Now You'll see this Act, very full of Business. Come, Lord +_Whimsicall_, and _Amorous_, hastily. + +_Enter Lord_ Whimsicall _and_ Amorous. + +L. _Whim._ Raise thee from Earth, thou most unhappy Wife of my most +wicked Son! fly, whilst faithful _Amorous_ and I Protect thee from what +his Savage rage has doom'd. + +_Isab._ What has he doom'd? alas, I dare not fly with you and +_Amorous_. + +_Amo._ Then leave me here to Death; follow your Father, and shun +approaching Danger. + +_Is._ What Death! what Danger! make me understand you. + +_Mar._ Ay, Poor Lady! she's unwilling _Amorous_ shou'd dye too. + +L. _Whim._ 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. + +_Amo._ Oh, horrid! hasten, Madam, from the brutal Tyrant. + +_Isa._ 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. + + My Innocence is white as _Alpine_ Snow, + By these Tears, which never cease to flow. + +_Mar._ 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, + +_By these Tears, which never cease to Flow._ + +Is not that right my Lord? + +L. _Whim._ Oh gad! feelingly Passionate, Madam; were your Ladyship to do +it, the whole House wou'd catch the Infection; and as in _France_ they +are all in a Tune, they'd here be all in Tears. + +_Awdwell._ Now I fancy 'twou'd have just the contrary effect on me. + +_Mar._ 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. + +_Isab._ Must I repeat this stuff agen? + +_Mar._ 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---- + +_Awd._ Ballad-singers. + +_Awd._ Spiteful Devils. Well, Mrs. _Cross_, I'll not trouble you agen; +_Amorous_ shall suppose you are going. Come, Mr. _Pinkethman_. + +_Amo._ Then with this Flaming Sword I'll clear the way, And hunt for +Danger in the Face of Day. + +_Mar._ Well, Mr. _Pinkethman_, 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. + +Then with this Flaming Sword I'll clear the way. + +_Amo._ Then thus I'll clear your way, (_Draws._ And hunt for Danger in +the Face of Day. + +_Isa._ Alas, does any oppose us? + +L. _Whim._ Only some stragling fellows, which _Amorous_ will scour; and +in the Corner of the Grove the Chariot waits. (_Exeunt._ + +_Mar._ Now will your Ladyship please to conceive these three are got +into my Lord _Whimsicall's_ Castle? Whither _Fastin_, mad with Jealousie +and Love, pursues: Now your Lordship shall see the storming of a Fort, +not like your _Jerusalem_, but the modern way; my Men shall go all up +thro' a trap door, and ever now and then one drop polt down dead. +(_talking eagerly, she throws my Lords Snuff-box down._ + +L. _Whim._ Like my Snuff-box, Madam. 'Ouns my Snuff cost two Guineas. + +_Mar._ I beg your Lordship's pardon. + +Mr. _Prais._ Two Guineas, it shan't be all lost then. + + (_Picks up the Snuff._ +_Mar._ Are you ready? (_goes to the Scenes._ +_Within._) Yes, yes, Madam. + + +_SCENE A Castle Storming._ + +_Mar._ 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 _Jehu_! I am +sorry I had not this Castle taken by women, then t'had been done like my +Grotesque Dance there: mount, mount, Rascals. + +(Marcilia _bustling among 'em, loses her Head-Cloathes_. + +_Patty_, _Patty_, my Head, my Head, the Brutes will trample it to +Pieces. Now, Mr. _Powel_, enter like a Lyon. + +_Enter_ Fastin, _Followers_, _Lady_ Loveall, Betty, &c. + +_Fast._ By Heav'n, I'll tear her from her Lover's Arms, my Father only +Spare. + +_La. Lov._ Spare him not: hear my Charge. Aim every arrow, at his +Destin'd Head, There is no Peace, 'till that Curst Villain's Dead. + +_Mar._ Look, look my Lord, where Mr. _Powell_ 's got. + +_La. Lov._ Oh, the rash young Man; save him, Gods! + +_Betty._ Protect him, _Venus_! + +Mr. _Prais._ How heartily _Betty_ prays, and to her own Deity, I dare +swear. + +_Fast._ They fly! they fly! sound Trumpets, Sound! let _Clemene's_ +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 +_Clemenes_ know she's Mistress here. + +_La. Lov._ 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. + + To Feast, and Revels Dedicate the Day. + Let the old Misers stores be all expos'd, and made the Soldiers Prey! + D' ye hear, let the Butler dye, least he tell Tales. + +_Betty._ Madam, he shall then, no body will dare contradict us in the +Cellar neither. (_Exeunt._ + +Mr. _Prais._ Well said, Mrs. _Betty_; she loves a Cup, I like her the +better for't. + +Mr. _Awd._ A hopeful Wife, this! do's she go on thus Triumphant? + +_Mar._ I have sworn to answer you no more Questions. + +L. _Whiff._ Indeed, Madam, you have made her very wicked. + +_Mar._ 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 _Amorous_, and _Isabella_. Mr. +_Praisall_, do you remember that old _Whimsicall_ was all along a +Philosopher_?_ Come let down the Chariot. + +Mr. _Prais._ Lord Madam, do you think I don't, why was not he and I a +going to the Moon together? + +_Mar._ Right! you must keep a steady, and a solid Thought to find the +Depths of this plot out. Now, my Lord, be 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? + +Mr. _Awd._ May be they both leapt over the Leads, and broke their Necks. + +L. _Whiff._ That's one way; but pray lets hear the Ladies. + +_Mar._ 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, _Amorous_ 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. + +L. _Whif._ Your Ladyship's Wit is Almighty, and produces nothing but +Wonders. + +Mr. _Prais._ The Devil take his Lordship, he is always before hand with +me, and goes so confounded high, there's no coming after him. + +_Mar._ Your Lordship shall see what, I think, their Opera's have not yet +had. + + +_SCENE The Leads of a Castle._ + +_The Sun seen a little beyond: A Chariot stands upon the Leads._ + +_Enter_ Isabella, _follow'd by_ Amorous. + +_Isab._ 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! + +Mr. _Awd._ I am sorry to find your Heroine Shrink. + +_Mar._ 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. + +_Amor._ 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. + +Mr. _Awd._ Hey boy, little _Amorous_! He'll loose no opportunity. + +Mr. _Prais._ He is not like to have many; he was a fool, if he did not +improve 'em. + +_Isab._ We soon shall mount yon Blisful Seats! Let us be rob'd with +Innocence, least we want admittance there. + +_Amor._ 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 defeat their Malice: they hunt us +for imaginary Crimes; and we must dye like Fools for doing nothing. + +Mr. _Prais._ Well urg'd, _Amorous_. + +L. _Whiff._ Bold, I vow. + +_Mar._ A Lover shou'd be so, my Lord. + +_Amor._ 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. + +_Mar._ Dance upon the Wheel! that's a new thought, I am sure, my Lord. + +L. _Whiff._ Your Tract is all new, and must be uncommon, because others +can never find it. + +_Prais._ A Pox on him! he has out-done me agen. + +_Mar._ I am your Lordship's very humble Servant: My Lord, How _Amorous_ +gazes on her! + +L. _Whiff._ Piercing Eyes, I confess. + +_Prais._ An irresistible Lere----I got in a word. + +_Isab._ Take off your Eyes; mine shou'd be fix'd above; but Love draws +'em downwards, and almost pulls my Heart along. + +_Amo._ Give me your Heart! your Arms! Oh! give me all! see at your Feet +the wretched _Amorous_ falls! Be not more cruel than our Foes. Behold me +on the Torture! _Fastin_ cannot Punish me with half the Racks denying +Beauty lays on longing Love. + +_Isab._ 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. + +_Mar._ Won't this be a Surprize, my Lord, to see her have such an Icy +Fit? + +L. _Whiff._ When I thought she was just going to melt. + +_Amor._ 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! + +Mr. _Prais._ Alas, poor _Amorous_! (_A Noise without._ + +_Mar._ Do you hear, my Lord? do's not your Heart ake for the poor +Lovers? + +L. _Whif._ I am ready to swoon, Madam. + +Mr. _Prais._ Wou'd I had some Cordial-water. + +Mr. _Awd._ Art thou _Marsilia_? wilt thou confess it? so weak to believe +these Coxcombs? + +_Mar._ 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. + +_Isab._ Alas my fears return; what shall I do? I dare not dye. + +_Amor._ Oh Let not Monstrous Fear deform the Beauties of thy Soul, but +brave thy Fate. + +_Mar._ Louder; but brave thy Fate; strain your Voice: I tell you, Mr. +_Pinkethman_, this speaking Loud gets the Clap. + +_Amo._ Pox of this Heroick; I shall tear my Lungs. (_Aside._ But brave +thy Fate. + +_Mar._ Aye, that goes to ones very Heart. + +_Awd._ And rends ones Head. + +_Isab._ I cannot, I dare not; Oh, they come! where shall I hide me? +(_Gets into the Chariot._ + +_Amo._ For Heav'n's sake, Madam, come from hence: This will expose us to +all their scorn. (_goes in after._ + +_Mar._ Now, now, up with it. Here, my Lord, here's the wonder; this very +Chariot _Whimsical_ 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_?_ + +L. _Whif._ I know not where I am! + +_Prais._ Oh! this is a plain case; so while the old Cuckold was watching +his Chariot, his Wife had Opportunity to make him one. + +_Mar._ Right, right, Mr. _Praisall_: Now _Amorous_ finds it move. + +_Amor._ Ha! the Chariot moves; a Miracle is known in our Preservation. + +_Isab._ Oh! I dye with fear! + +_Mar._ Now she falls in a Swoon, and never wakes 'till they come into +another world. + +Mr. _Prais._ E gad, 'tis well I am not in the Chariot with her. + +_Mar._ You may open the Door, they are out of sight. + +_Enter_ Fastin, _Lady_ Loveall _and_ Betty. + +_Fast._ Where is the Hellish Pair? Let my Eyes be fasten'd on 'em, that +I may look 'em dead. + +_Mar._ Look dreadfully, sweet Mr. _Powell_, look dreadfully. + +Mr. _Awd._ Hark'e, Madam, only one thing; did you never hear an old +Proverb; _He that has a House of Glass shou'd never throw Stones at his +Neighbours_? I think this young Gentleman is guilty of much the same +fault. + +_Mar._ 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. _Powell_, go +on. + +_Fast._ Where are you hid? in what Lustful Corner? + +L. _Lov._ 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. + +_Betty._ I am sure they took the Stairs that led this way, and must be +here; let me ferret 'em. + +Mr. _Prais._ God-a-Mercy, _Betty_! Let _Betty_ alone. + +_Bett._ A-dad I can't set Eyes on 'em high nor low. + +Mr. _Prais._ No, they are too high for thee, indeed, little _Betty_. + +_Mar._ Pray, Mr. _Praisall_, be quiet; here's a great Scene a coming. + +Mr. _Prais._ I am silent as the Grave. + +_Fast._ In vain they think to 'scape my Rage, by thus evading it; for if +the Earth holds 'em, they shall be found. + +_Betty._ 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. + +L. _Lov._ It did so. + +_Betty._ Perhaps they are gone to _Elyzium_ in it. + +L. _Lov._ No, Fool, _Elyzium_ has no room for Lawless Lovers. + +_Betty._ Then you must never come there, I'm sure. (_aside._ + +_Mar._ That's the first ill word _Betty_ has given her Mistress; and +that was to her self too. + +_Fast._ 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. + + L. _Lov._ Whilst I weave flowry Chaplets for your Hair, + Revels and Masks to please your Sight prepare: + Feed on your Presence, on your absence grieve, + Love you alone, for you alone I'll live. + +_Mar._ Now quick, quick, get behind her, Mr. least she shou'd resist; +the rest disarm Mr. _Powell_. + +_Enter Lord_ Whimsicall _and others_. + +L. _Whim._ Not fit to live, nor dye! but Death thou best deserv'st. +(_stabs her._ + +L. _Lov._ Oh! thou Impotence, only strong in mischief: That feeble aged +Arm has reach'd my youthful Heart. + +_Fast._ Slaves, unhand me! Oh! _Clemene_, Oh! + +L. _Lov._ Let me come at the Dotard, let me cover the Blood-thirsty Man +with Livid Gore. + +_Mar._ D'ye hear, Property-Man, be sure some red Ink is handsomely +convey'd to Mrs. _Knight_. + +_Fast._ Move, Dogs; bear her to me, that I may press her close, and keep +in Life. + +_Mar._ Strive and struggle now, Mr. _Powell_; 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. + +_Fast._ 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. + +_Mar._ And by my hopes of _Cataline_ I'll propose it. But now pray go +on. + +_Fast._ I say, lose your _Plebeian_ Goals, and let me reach my Love. + +_Mar._ Well, that's your own; but 'twill do. You may speak it, Mr. +_Powell_. + +L. _Whim._ What, the Sorceress! thy Father's Wife, rash Boy! + +_Fast._ Ha, ha, ha, ha! Your Wife: I have heard indeed of old Men that +wanted Virgins, when vital warmth was gone. + +_L. Whim._ To that Title do's _Clemene_'s Impudence pretend. Speak, lewd +Adultress. + +_La. Lov._ 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 _Clemene_ wou'd not sigh in vain. + +_Fast._ What's this I hear? + +_Bet._ 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. + +Mr. _Prais._ True, Mrs. _Betty_; slip behind me, and thou art gone. + +_Mar._ See, my Lord, they are all struck in a Maze. + +(_Exit._ + +L. _Whiff._ 'Tis very amazing! + +_L. Whim._ Why, _Fastin_, stare you thus? Is her wickedness such News? +Go, bear her off, and let her die alone. + +_La. Lov._ 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. + +_Fast._ Rage not; it wastes thy precious Life. + +Mr. _Awd._ Then he loves her still. + +_Mar._ Yes; what, you think him hot and cold in a quarter of an hour? + +_La. Lov._ _Fastin_, 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 work of Children in the dark. (_Exit led off._ + +_L. Whim._ 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? (_Runs up and down to +look it._ + +_Fast._ Defeated Love! approaching Shame! Remorse and deathless Infamy! +they crowd one Breast too much: Here's to give 'em vent. (_Stabs +himself._ + +_L. Whim._ Oh! 'tis gone! 'tis gone! my Chariot! Oh, my Chariot! + +_Fast._ See, _Clemene_, see, thy Adorer comes! guiltily fond, and +pressing after thee. (_Dies._ + +_L. Whim._ Have you all lookt below? is there no news of this +inestimable Chariot? + +_Serv._ No, my Lord; and here your Son is dead. + +_L. Whim._ 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_ shall go mad. + +_Mar._ Good Mr. What-d'-call-'um, this last Speech to the highest pitch +of raving. + +_L. Whim._ Ha! the Sun has got it; _I_ see the glorious Tract: But _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_ am light as Air, and mad as rowling Tempests. + +(_Exit_ + +_Mar_. Is not this passion well exprest? + +Mr. _Awd._ 'Tis indeed all mad Stuff. + +_Mar._ your word neither mends nor mars it, that's one Comfort. Mr. +_Powell_, will you walk off, or be carry'd off? + +Mr. _Pow._ I'll make use of my Legs, if you please, Madam. Your most +humble Servant. + +_Mar._ Mr. _Powell_, yours; I give you ten thousand thanks for your +trouble. I hope, Mr. _Powell_, you are convinc'd this Play won't fail. + +Mr. _Pow._ O Lord! Madam, impossible! (_Exit._ + +_Mar._ 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. + +L. _Whiff._ But, Madam, I fear our excellent Entertainment's over; I +think all your Actors are kill'd. + +_Mar._ 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. + +L. _Whiff._ In the World in the Moon! + +Mr. _Prais._ Prodigious! + +_Mar._ Scene-Men: Where the Devil are these Blockheads? Scene-Men. + +_Within._) Here, here. + +_Mar._ Come, one of your finest Scenes, and the very best that ye know +must be, when the Emperour and Empress appear. + +_Scene-Men._ How d'ye like this Madam? + +_Mar._ Aye, aye, that will do. + +L. _Whim._ 'Tis every thing the Stage, can afford in perfection. + +Mr. _Prais._ And which no Stage in the World can equal. + +_Mar._ Oh, fie! Mr. _Praisall_, you go often to _Lincoln's-Inn-Fields_. + +Mr. _Prais._ I have said it, let t'other House take it how they will. + +L. _Whif._ What, are these Men, or Monsters? + +_Mar._ 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 shallow, and go, as you +see, upon all four; now I design _Amorous_ and _Isabella_ shall bring in +such a Reformation; then all the Hero's of the Moon-world shall fall in +love with _Isabella_, as, you know, in _Aurenzebe_ they are all in love +with _Indamora_: 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? + +Mr. _Prais._ Dear Madam, are these crawling things to speak, or no? + +_Mar._ Patience is a great Vertue, Mr. _Praisall_. + +Mr. _Awd._ And your Spectators must exercise it, o'my Conscience. + +_Mar._ Pray now, my Lord, be pleas'd to suppose this is the Emperor's +Wedding-day. Musick and the Dance. + +_Dance upon all Four._ + +SONG. + +What's the whispering for? + +_One of the Men._) 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. + +(_All the Men and Women stand up, when they're come forward._ + +Mr. _Prais._ Hey! heres another Surprize! + +_Mar._ Oh! the Devil; you have spoilt my Plot! you have ruin'd my play, +ye Blockheads! ye Villains, I'll kill you all, burn the Book, and hang +my self! (_Throws down the Book, and stamps upon it._ + +L. _Whiff._ _Taking up the Book._) Hold, Madam! Don't let Passion +provoke you, like the Knight of old, to destroy what After-ages cannot +equal. + +_Mar._ Why, my Lord _Amorous_, and _Isabella_ 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. + +Mr. _Awd._ Won't ye go home to Dinner first? + +_Mar._ 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. + +Mr. _Prais._ Madam, consider; cou'd they not stoop agen, when +_Isabella's_ come in; I'll try how 'tis. (_stoops_ Oun's 'tis Devillish +painful. + +_Mar._ Don't tell me, 'tis painful; if they'll do nothing for their +Livings, let 'em starve and be hang'd. My Chair there. + +L. _Whiff._ Madam, my Coach is at your Service, it waits without. + +_Mar._ To be seen in my Lord's Coach is some Consolation (_aside_ My +Lord, I desire to go directly into _Lincoln's-Inn-Fields_. + +L. _Whiff._ Where you please, Madam. + +_Mar._ I'll never set my Foot agen upon this confounded Stage. My Opera +shall be first, and my _Catiline_ 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 +_Marsilias_ Works, I assure 'em. Come, my Lord. + +Mr. _Awd._ You won't go, Madam? + +_Mar._ By my Soul, I will; your damn'd ill Humour began my Misfortunes. +Farewel, _Momus_; 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. (_Exit._ + +_Prais._ What, ner'e a word to me! or did she put me among the Ideots? +Sir, the Lady's gone. + +_Awd._ And you may go after; there's something to help you forward. +(_kicks him._ + +_Prais._ I intend, Sir, I intend it. (_Exit._ + +_Enter Mr._ Powell, _Mrs._ Knight, _Mrs._ Cross, _&c._ _Laughing_ + +_Awd._ So, what's the news now? + +Mr. _Pow._ 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 _Whiffle's_ Wigg, with +trying to rise by it: So they are, with a Shagreen Air, and tatter'd +Dress, gone into the Coach: Mr. _Praisall_ 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. + +A DANCE. + +Mr. _Awd._ Mr. _Powell_, if you'll do me the favour to dine with me. +I'll prevent the Dinner I bespoke going to _Marsilia's_ Lodgings, and +we'll eat it here. + +Mr. _Pow._ With all my heart: I am at your Service. + + _Awd._ _Thus warn'd, + I'll leave the Scribler to her Fops, and Fate; + I find she's neither worth my Love or Hate._ + + +_FINIS._ + + + + +_BOOKS Printed for, and Sold by_ William Turner, _at the_ Angel at +Lincolns-Inn Back-Gate. + + +The _History of Man_, 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_s._ + +The Cheats and Illusions of Romish Priests and Exorcists discovered in +the History of the Devils of _London_, being an account of the pretended +Possession of the _Ursuline_ Nuns, and of the Condemnation and +Punishment of _Urban Grandier_, a Parson of the same Town. Price 4_s._ + +The _English Theophrastus_, or the Manners of the Age; being the Modern +Characters of the Court, the Town and the City; written by several +Hands; _Price_ 5_s._ + +Letters of Wit, Politicks and Morality; by Cardinal _Bentivoglio_, +Father _Rapin_, _Aurelian_ the Emperor, Queen _Zenobia_, _Don Quevedo_, +_Petronius_, Madam _Maintenon_, &c. with several Original Letters of +Love and Friendship; by Mr. _Cheek_, Mr. _Savage_, the Sieur _Boyer_, +Capt. _Ayloff_, Mrs. _Carrol_, and several others; _Price_ 5_s._ + +The Vanities of _Philosophy_ and _Physick_, 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. _Gideon Harvey_; _Pr._ 5_s._ + +A Defence of Mr. _Lock's_ 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. _Lock_, Mr. _Toland_, &c. +_Price_ 1_s._ + +The Life of the late famous Comedian _Jo. Hayns_, containing his Comical +Exploits and Adventures both at home and abroad; _Pr._ 1_s._ + +Love at a Loss; or most Votes carries it. A Comedy. + +The Unhappy Penitent. A Tragedy--both written by Mrs. _Trotter_. + +The Beau Defeated; or the Lucky Younger Brother. A Comedy. + +_Antiochus_ the Great; or the Fatal Relapse. A Tragedy--by Mrs. +_Wiseman_. + +Queen _Catherine_; or the Ruines of Love; by Mrs. _Pix_. + +The Stolen Heiress; or the _Salamanca Doctor out-plotted_. A Comedy. + +She Wou'd, and she Wou'd not; or the Kind Impostor. A Comedy--by Mr. +_Cibber_. + +The Different Widdows; or Intrigue Allamode. A Comedy. + +The Fickle Shepherdess, play'd all by Women. + +The Faithful Bride of _Granada_. A Tragedy. + + + + + + + + + + + +William Andrews Clark Memorial Library: University of California, Los +Angeles + +THE AUGUSTAN REPRINT SOCIETY + +_General Editors_: 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 + +_Corresponding Secretary_: Mrs. Edna C. Davis, William Andrews Clark +Memorial Library + + * * * * * + +The Society's purpose is to publish reprints (usually facsimile +reproductions) of rare seventeenth and eighteenth century works. All +income of the Society is devoted to defraying costs of publication and +mailing. + +Correspondence concerning subscriptions in the United States and Canada +should be addressed to the William Andrews Clark Memorial Library, 2520 +Cimarron St., Los Angeles, California. 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LORD HERVEY, _The + Difference Between Verbal and Practical Virtue_ (1742). + Introduction by A. J. Sambrook. + + _Le Lutrin: an Heroick Poem, Written Originally in French by + Monsieur Boileau: Made English by N. O._ (1682). Introduction + by Richard Morton. + + +_ANNOUNCEMENTS:_ + +The Society announces a series of special publications beginning with a +reprint of JOHN OGILBY, _The Fables of AEsop Paraphras'd in Verse_ +(1668), with an Introduction by Earl Miner. Ogilby's book is commonly +thought one of the finest examples of seventeenth-century bookmaking and +is illustrated with eighty-one plates. The next in this series will be +JOHN GAY'S _Fables_ (1728), with an Introduction by Vinton A. Dearing. +Publication is assisted by funds from the Chancellor of the University +of California, Los Angeles. Price to members of the Society, $2.50 for +the first copy and $3.25 for additional copies. 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