ACT THE FIFTH.

EnterClerimont, Sen.andFainlove.

Cler. Sen.Then she gave you this letter, and bid you read it as a paper of verses?

Fain.This is the place, the hour, the lucky minute. Now am I rubbing up my memory, to recollect all you said to me when you first ruined me, that I may attack her right.

Cler. Sen.Your eloquence would be needless; 'tis so unmodish to need persuasion: Modesty makes a lady embarrassed; but my spouse is above that, as for example [Reading her letter]—

"Fainlove, you don't seem to want wit; therefore I need say no more than that distance to a woman of the world is becoming in no man but a husband: an hour hence come up the back stairs to my closet."Adieu, Mon Mignon."

"Fainlove, you don't seem to want wit; therefore I need say no more than that distance to a woman of the world is becoming in no man but a husband: an hour hence come up the back stairs to my closet.

"Adieu, Mon Mignon."

I am glad you are punctual; I'll conceal myself to observe your interview.—O torture! but this wench must not see it. [Aside.

Fain.Be sure you come time enough to save my reputation.

Cler. Sen.Remember your orders, "distance becomes no man but a husband."

Fain.I am glad you are in so good humour on the occasion; but you know me to be but a bully in love, that can bluster only till the minute of engagement—but I'll top my part, and form my conduct by my own sentiments. If she grows coy, I'll grow more saucy—'twas so I was won myself.

Cler. Sen.Well, my dear rival, your assignation draws nigh; you are to put on your transport, your impatient throbbing heart won't let you wait her arrival. Let the dull family-thing and husband, who reckons his moments by his cares, be content to wait; but you are a gallant, and measure time by ecstasies.

Fain.I hear her coming—To your post—good husband, know your duty, and don't be in the way when your wife has a mind to be in private—To your post, into the coal-hole.

EnterMrs. Clerimont.

Welcome, my dear, my tender charmer, oh! to my longing arms—feel the heart pant, that falls and rises as you smile or frown. Oh, the ecstatic moment!—I think that was something like what has been said to me. [Aside.

Mrs. Cler.Very well, Fainlove.—I protest I value myself for my discerning. I knew you had fire through all the respect you showed me; but how came you to make no direct advances, young gentleman? Why was I forced to admonish your gallantry?

Fain.Why, madam, I knew you a woman of breeding, and above the senseless niceties of an English wife. The French way is, you are to go so far, whether you are agreeable or not. If you are so happy as to please, nobody that is not of a constrained behaviour is at a loss to let you know it—Besides, if the humble servant makesthe first approaches, he has the impudence of making a request, but not the honour of obeying a command.

Mrs. Cler.Right; a woman's man should conceal passion in a familiar air of indifference. Now there's Mr. Clerimont; I can't allow him the least freedom, but the unfashionable fool grows so fond of me he cannot hide it in public.

Fain.Ay, madam, I have often wondered at your ladyship's choice of one that seems to have so little of the beau monde in his carriage, but just what you force him to, while there were so many pretty gentlemen——[Dancing.

Mrs. Cler.Oh, young gentleman, you are mightily mistaken, if you think such animals as you, and pretty Beau Titmouse, and pert Billy Butterfly, though I suffer you to come in, and play about my rooms, are any ways in competition with a man whose name one would wear.

Fain.O madam! then I find we are——

Mrs. Cler.A woman of sense must have respect for a man of that character; but alas! respect—what is respect? Respect is not the thing. Respect has something too solemn for soft moments—you things are more proper for hours of dalliance.

Cler. Sen.[Peeping.] How have I wronged this fine lady! I find I am to be a cuckold out of her pure esteem for me.

Mrs. Cler.Besides, those fellows for whom we have respect have none for us. I warrant on such an occasion Clerimont would have ruffled a woman out of all form, while you——

Cler. Sen.A good hint—now my cause comes on. [Aside.

Fain.Since then you allow us fitter for soft moments, why do we misemploy 'em? Let me kiss that beauteous hand and clasp that graceful frame.

Mrs. Cler.How, Fainlove! What, you don't designto be impertinent—But my lips have a certain roughness on 'em to-day, han't they?

Fain.[Kissing.] No, they are all softness; their delicious sweetness is inexpressible. Here language fails; let me applaud thy lips, not by the utterance, but by the touch of mine.

EnterClerimont, Sen.,drawing his sword.

Cler. Sen.Ha, villain! Ravisher! Invader of my bed and honour! draw.

Mrs. Cler.What means this insolence—this intrusion into my privacy? What, do you come into my very closet without knocking? Who put this into your head?

Cler. Sen.My injuries have alarmed me, and I'll bear no longer, but sacrifice your bravado, the author of 'em.

Mrs. Cler.Oh! poor Mr. Fainlove! Must he die for his complaisance and innocent freedoms with me? How could you, if you might? Oh! the sweet youth! What, fight Mr. Fainlove? What will the ladies say?

Fain.Let me come at the intruder on ladies' private hours. The unfashionable monster! I'll prevent all future interruption from him—Let me come. [Drawing his sword.

Mrs. Cler.Oh the brave pretty creature! Look at his youth and innocence—he is not made for such rough encounters. Stand behind me—Poor Fainlove!—There is not a visit in town, sir, where you shall not be displayed at full length for this intrusion. I banish you for ever from my sight and bed.

Cler. Sen.I obey you, madam, for distance is becoming in no man but a husband [Giving her the letter, which she reads, and falls into a swoon.]—I've gone too far—[Kissing her.]—The impertinent was guilty of nothing but what my indiscretion led her to. This is the first kiss I've had these six weeks—but she awakes. Well,Jenny, you topped your part, indeed. Come to my arms, thou ready, willing, fair one. Thou hast no vanities, no niceties; but art thankful for every instant of love that I bestow on thee. [Embracing her.

Mrs. Cler.What, am I then abused? Is it a wench then of his? Oh me! Was ever poor abused wife, poor innocent lady, thus injured! [Runs and seizesFainlove'ssword.]

Cler. Sen.Oh the brave pretty creature! Hurt Mr. Fainlove! Look at his youth, his innocence—Ha! ha! [Interposing.

Fain.Have a care, have a care, dear sir—I know by myself she'll have no mercy.

Mrs. Cler.I'll be the death of her; let me come on. Stand from between us, Mr. Clerimont—I would not hurt you. [Pushing and crying.

Cler. Sen.Run, run, Jenny. [ExitJenny.] [Looks at her upbraidingly before he speaks.] Well, madam, are these the innocent freedoms you claimed of me? Have I deserved this? How has there been a moment of yours ever interrupted with the real pangs I suffer? The daily importunities of creditors, who became so by serving your profuse vanities: did I ever murmur at supplying any of your diversions, while I believed 'em (as you call 'em) harmless? Must, then, those eyes that used to glad my heart with their familiar brightness hang down with guilt? Guilt has transformed thy whole person; nay, the very memory of it——Fly from my growing passion!

Mrs. Cler.I cannot fly, nor bear it. Oh! look not——

Cler. Sen.What can you say? Speak quickly. [Offering to draw.

Mrs. Cler.I never saw you moved before. Don't murder me impenitent; I'm wholly in your power as a criminal, but remember I have been so in a tender regard.

Cler. Sen.But how have you considered that regard?

Mrs. Cler.Is it possible you can forgive what you ensnared me into? Oh, look at me kindly! You know I have only erred in my intention, nor saw my danger, till, by this honest art, you had shown me what 'tis to venture to the utmost limit of what is lawful. You laid that train, I'm sure, to alarm, not to betray, my innocence. Mr. Clerimont, scorn such baseness! Therefore I kneel—I weep—I am convinced. [Kneels.

[Takes her up, embracing her.

Cler. Sen.Then kneel, and weep no more, my fairest—my reconciled! Be so in a moment, for know I cannot (without wringing my own heart) give you the least compunction. Be in humour. It shall be your own fault if ever there's a serious word more on this subject.

Mrs. Cler.I must correct every idea that rises in my mind, and learn every gesture of my body anew—I detest the thing I was.

Cler. Sen.No, no; you must not do so. Our joy and grief, honour and reproach, are the same; you must slide out of your foppery by degrees, so that it may appear your own act.

Mrs. Cler.But this wench!

Cler. Sen.She is already out of your way; you shall see the catastrophe of her fate yourself. But still keep up the fine lady till we go out of town; you may return to it with as decent airs as you please.—And now I have shown you your error, I'm in so good humour as to repeat you a couplet on the occasion—

They only who gain minds, true laurels wear:'Tis less to conquer, than convince, the fair.[Exeunt.

EnterPouncewith papers; a table, chairs, pen, ink, and paper.

Pounce.'Tis a delight to gall these old rascals, and set 'em at variance about stakes, which I know neither of 'em will ever have possession of.

EnterTipkinandSir Harry.

Tip.Do you design, Sir Harry, that they shall have an estate in their own hands, and keep house themselves, poor things?

Sir Har.No, no, sir, I know better; they shall go down into the country, and live with me, not touch a farthing of money; but, having all things necessary provided, they shall go tame about the house, and breed.

Tip.Well, Sir Harry, then considering that all human things are subject to change, it behoves every man that has a just sense of mortality to take care of his money.

Sir Har.I don't know what you mean, brother. What do you drive at, brother?

Tip.This instrument is executed by you, your son, and my niece, which discharges me of all retrospects.

Sir Har.It is confessed, brother; but what then?

Tip.All that remains is, that you pay me for the young lady's twelve years' board, as also all other charges, as wearing-apparel, &c.

Sir Har.What is this you say? Did I give you my discharge from all retrospects, as you call it? and after all do you come with this and t'other, and all that? I find you are—I tell you, sir, to your face—I find you are——

Tip.I find too what you are, Sir Harry.

Sir Har.What am I, sir? What am I?

Tip.Why, sir, you are angry.

Sir Har.Sir, I scorn your words; I am not angry. Mr. Pounce is my witness; I am as gentle as a lamb. Would it not make any flesh alive angry, to see a close hunks come after all with a demand of——

Tip.Mr. Pounce, pray inform Sir Harry in this point.

Pounce.Indeed, Sir Harry, I must tell you plainly, that Mr. Tipkin, in this, demands nothing but what he may recover. For though this case may be consideredmultifariam—that is to say, as 'tis usually, commonly,vicatim, or vulgarly expressed—yet, I say, when we only observe that the power is settled as the law requires,assensu patris, by the consent of the father, that circumstance imports you are well acquainted with the advantages which accrue to your family by this alliance, which corroborates Mr. Tipkin's demand, and avoids all objections that can be made.

Sir Har.Why then, I find you are his adviser in all this.

Pounce.Look ye, Sir Harry, to show you I love to promote among my clients a good understanding; though Mr. Tipkin may claim four thousand pounds, I'll engage for him, and I know him so well, that he shall take three thousand nine hundred and ninety-eight pounds, four shillings and eightpence farthing.

Tip.Indeed, Mr. Pounce, you are too hard upon me.

Pounce.You must consider a little, Sir Harry is your brother.

Sir Har.Three thousand nine hundred and ninety-eight pounds, four shillings and eightpence farthing! For what, I say? For what, sir?

Pounce.For what, sir! for what she wanted, sir; a fine lady is always in want, sir—her very clothes would come to that money in half the time.

Sir Har.Three thousand nine hundred and ninety-eight pounds, four shillings and eighteenpence farthing forclothes! Pray how many suits does she wear out in a year?

Pounce.Oh! dear sir, a fine lady's clothes are not old by being worn, but by being seen.

Sir Har.Well, I'll save her clothes for the future, after I have got her into the country. I'll warrant her she shall not appear more in this wicked town, where clothes are worn out by sight—And as to what you demand, I tell you, sir, 'tis extortion.

Tip.Sir Harry, do you accuse me of extortion?

Sir Har.Yes, I say extortion.

Tip.Mr. Pounce, write down that; there are very good laws provided against scandal and calumny—Loss of reputation may tend to loss of money.

Pounce.Item, "for having accused Mr. Tipkin of extortion."

Sir Har.Nay, if you come to your items—look ye, Mr. Tipkin, this is an inventory of such goods as were left to my niece, Bridget, by her deceased father, and which I expect shall be forthcoming at her marriage to my son: Imprimis, "a golden locket of her mother's, with something very ingenious in Latin on the inside of it"; item, "a couple of muskets, with two shoulder-belts and bandoleers"; item, "a large silver caudle-cup, with a true story engraven on it."

Pounce.But, Sir Harry——

Sir Har.Item, "a bass viol, with almost all the strings to it, and only a small hole on the back."

Pounce.But nevertheless, sir——

Sir Har.This is the furniture of my brother's bedchamber that follows:—"A suite of tapestry hangings, with the story of Judith and Holofernes, torn only where the head should have been off; an old bedstead, curiously wrought about the posts, consisting of two load of timber; a hone, a basin, three razors, and a comb-case"—Look ye, sir, you see I can item it.

Pounce.Alas, Sir Harry, if you had ten quire of items, 'tis all answered in the word retrospect.

Sir Har.Why then, Mr. Pounce and Mr. Tipkin, you are both rascals.

Tip.Do you call me rascal, Sir Harry?

Sir Har.Yes, sir.

Tip.Write it down, Mr. Pounce, at the end of the leaf.

Sir Har.If you have room, Mr. Pounce, put down "villain, son of a whore, curmudgeon, hunks, and scoundrel."

Tip.Not so fast, Sir Harry, he cannot write so fast; you are at the word "villain"; "son of a whore," I take it, was next—You may make the account as large as you please, Sir Harry.

Sir Har.Come, come, I won't be used thus. Hark ye, sirrah, draw—what do you do at this end of the town without a sword? Draw, I say—

Tip.Sir Harry, you are a military man, a colonel of the Militia.

Sir Har.I am so, sirrah, and will run such an extorting dog as you through the guts, to show the Militia is useful.

Pounce.O dear, O dear! How am I concerned to see persons of your figure thus moved—The wedding is coming in, we'll settle these things afterwards.

Tip.I am calm.

Sir Har.Tipkin, live these two hours, but expect—

EnterHumphry,leadingNiece; Mrs. Clerimont,led byFainlove; Captain ClerimontandClerimont, Sen.

Pounce.Who are these? Hey-day, who are these, Sir Harry? Ha!

Sir Har.Some frolic, 'tis wedding-day; no matter.

Hump.Haw! haw! father, master uncle, come, you must stir your stumps, you must dance—Come, old lads, kiss the ladies.

Mrs. Cler.Mr. Tipkin, Sir Harry, I beg pardon for an introduction so malapropos; I know sudden familiarity is not the English way. Alas, Mr. Gubbin, this father and uncle of yours must be new modelled; how they stare, both of them!

Sir Har.Hark ye, Numps, who is this you have brought hither? is it not the famous fine lady, Mrs. Clerimont? What a pox did you let her come near your wife?

Hump.Look ye, don't expose yourself, and play some mad country prank to disgrace me before her; I shall be laughed at, because she knows I understand better.

Mrs. Cler.I congratulate, madam, your coming out of the bondage of a virgin state. A woman can't do what she will properly till she's married.

Sir Har.Did you hear what she said to your wife?

EnterAunt,before a service of Dishes.

Aunt.So, Mr. Bridegroom, pray take that napkin, and serve your spouse to-day, according to custom.

Hump.Mrs. Clerimont, pray know my aunt.

Mrs. Cler.Madam, I must beg your pardon; I can't possibly like all that vast load of meat that you are sending in to table, besides, 'tis so offensively sweet, it wants that haut-goût we are so delighted with in France.[100]

Aunt.You'll pardon it, since we did not expect you—Who is this? [Aside.

Mrs. Cler.Oh, madam, I only speak for the future; little saucers are so much more polite. Look ye, I'm perfectly for the French way; where'er I'm admitted, I take the whole upon me.

Sir Har.The French, madam, I'd have you to know——

Mrs. Cler.You'll not like it at first, out of a natural English sullenness, but that will come upon you by degrees. When I first went into France I was mortally afraid of a frog, but in a little time I could eat nothing else, except salads.

Aunt.Eat frogs! have I kissed one that has ate frogs? Paw! paw!

Mrs. Cler.Oh, madam, a frog and a salad are delicious fare; 'tis not long come up in France itself, but their glorious monarch has introduced the diet which makes 'em so spiritual. He eradicated all gross food by taxes, and, for the glory of the monarch, sent the subject a-grazing—but I fear I defer the entertainment and diversion of the day.

Hump.Now father, uncle, before we go any further, I think 'tis necessary we know who and who's together; then I give either of you two hours to guess which is my wife—and 'tis not my cousin; so far I'll tell you.

Sir Har.How! What do you say? But oh! you mean she is not your cousin now, she's nearer akin; that's well enough. Well said, Numps; ha! ha! ha!

Hump.No, I don't mean so; I tell you I don't mean so—My wife hides her face under her hat. [All looking atFainlove.

Tip.What does the puppy mean? His wife under a hat!

Hump.Ay, ay, that's she, that's she—A good jest, 'faith!

Sir Har.Hark ye, Numps, what dost mean, child? Is that a woman, and are you really married to her?

Hump.I am sure of both.

Sir Har.Are you so, sirrah? then, sirrah, this is your wedding dinner, sirrah—Do you see, sirrah, here's roast meat.

Hump.Oh, oh! what, beat a married man! Holdhim, Mr. Clerimont, Brother Pounce, Mr. Wife; nobody stand by a young married man! [Runs behindFainlove.

Sir Har.Did not the dog say Brother Pounce? what, is this Mrs. Ragout? this Madam Clerimont? Who the devil are you all? but especially who the devil are you two? [BeatsHumphryandFainloveoff the Stage, following.

Tip.[ToPounce.] Master Pounce, all my niece's fortune will be demanded now—for I suppose that red coat has her. Don't you think you and I had better break?

Pounce.[ToTipkin.] You may as soon as you please, but 'tis my interest to be honest a little longer.

Tip.Well, Biddy, since you would not accept of your cousin, I hope you han't disposed of yourself elsewhere.

Niece.If you'll for a little while suspend your curiosity, you shall have the whole history of my amour to this my nuptial day, under the title of the loves of Clerimont and Parthenissa.

Tip.Then, madam, your portion is in safe hands.

Cler.Come, come, old gentleman, 'tis in vain to contend; here's honest Mr. Pounce shall be my engineer, and I warrant you we beat you out of all your holds.

Aunt.What then, is Mr. Pounce a rogue?—He must have some trick, brother, it cannot be; he must have cheated t'other side, for I'm sure he's honest. [Apart toTipkin.

Cler. Sen.Mr. Pounce, all your sister has won of this lady she has honestly put into my hands; and I'll return it her, at this lady's particular request.

Pounce.And the thousand pounds you promised in your brother's behalf, I'm willing should be hers also.

Cler. Sen.Then go in, and bring 'em all back to make the best of an ill game; we'll eat the dinner and have a dance together, or we shall transgress all form.

Re-enterFainlove, Humphry,andSir Harry.

Sir Har.Well, since you say you are worth something, and the boy has set his heart upon you, I'll have patience till I see further.

Pounce.Come, come, Sir Harry, you shall find my alliance more considerable than you imagine; the Pounces are a family that will always have money, if there's any in the world—Come, fiddles.

[A Dance here.]

Cler. Sen.

You've seen th' extremes of the domestic life,A son too much confined—too free a wife;By generous bonds you either should restrain,And only on their inclinations gain;Wives to obey must love, children revere,While only slaves are governed by their fear.

Spoken byMr. Estcourt.[101]

Britons, who constant war, with factious rage,For liberty against each other wage,From foreign insult save this English stage.No more th' Italian squalling tribe admit,In tongues unknown; 'tis popery in wit.[102]The songs (theirselves confess) from Rome they bring,And 'tis high mass, for ought you know, they sing.Husbands take care, the danger may come nigher,The women say their eunuch is a friar.But is it not a serious ill to seeEurope's great arbiters so mean can be;Passive, with an affected joy to sit,Suspend their native taste of manly wit;Neglect their comic humour, tragic rage,For known defects of nature, and of age?Arise, for shame, ye conquering Britons rise,Such unadorned effeminacy despise;Admire (if you will dote on foreign wit)Not what Italians sing, but Romans writ.So shall less works, such as to-night's slight play,At your command with justice die away;Till then forgive your writers, that can't bearYou should such very tramontanes appear,The nations which contemn you to revere.Let Anna's soil be known for all its charms;As famed for liberal sciences, as arms:Let those derision meet, who would advanceManners or speech, from Italy or France.Let them learn you, who would your favour find,And English be the language of mankind.

"Illud genus narrationis, quod in personis positum est, debet habere sermones festivitatem, animorum dissimilitudinem, gravitatem, lenitatem, spem, metum, suspicionem, desiderium, dissimulationem, misericordiam, rerum varietates, fortunæ commutationem, insperatum incommodum, subitam letitiam, jucundum exitum rerum."[103]—Cicero, Rhetor. ad Herenn. Lib. i.

The Conscious Lovers, a Comedy which had been long in preparation, was acted at Drury Lane Theatre on November 7, 1722, "with new scenes and all the characters new drest," and with Booth (who had acted the part of Pamphilus—the prototype of young Bevil—at Westminster with great success), Wilks (Myrtle), Cibber (Tom), Mills (Sir John Bevil), Mrs. Oldfield (Indiana), and Mrs. Younger (Phillis) in the principal parts. The play ran for eighteen nights, and was a great success. It was often revived between 1722 and 1760, and was acted at Covent Garden in 1810, and at Bath in 1818. Phillis was Peg Woffington's second speaking character in Dublin, and she took that part on March 9, 1741, during her first season in London. The play was published by Tonson on December 1, 1722, with the date 1723 on the title-page. The general idea of the piece is taken from Terence'sAndria, but the original is widely departed from after the opening scenes. Colley Cibber lent material aid in preparing the play for representation. It was attacked by John Dennis in two pamphlets, and defended by Benjamin Victor and others.

May it please your Majesty,

After having aspired to the highest and most laudable ambition, that of following the cause of liberty, I should not have humbly petitioned your Majesty for a direction of the theatre, had I not believed success in that province an happiness much to be wished by an honest man, and highly conducing to the prosperity of the commonwealth. It is in this view I lay before your Majesty a Comedy which the audience, in justice to themselves, has supported and encouraged, and is the prelude of what, by your Majesty's influence and favour, may be attempted in future representations.

The imperial mantle, the royal vestment, and the shining diadem are what strike ordinary minds; but your Majesty's native goodness, your passion for justice, and her constant assessor mercy, is what continually surrounds you in the view of intelligent spirits, and gives hope to the suppliant, who sees he has more than succeeded in giving your Majesty an opportunity of doing good. Our King is above the greatness of royalty, and every act of his will which makes another man happy has ten timesmore charms in it than one that makes himself appear raised above the condition of others. But even this carries unhappiness with it; for calm dominion, equal grandeur, and familiar greatness do not easily affect the imagination of the vulgar, who cannot see power but in terror; and as fear moves mean spirits, and love prompts great ones to obey, the insinuations of malcontents are directed accordingly; and the unhappy people are ensnared, from want of reflection, into disrespectful ideas of their gracious and amiable sovereign, and then only begin to apprehend the greatness of their master when they have incurred his displeasure.

As your Majesty was invited to the throne of a willing people, for their own sakes, and has ever enjoyed it with contempt of the ostentation of it, we beseech you to protect us who revere your title as we love your person. 'Tis to be a savage to be a rebel, and they who have fallen from you have not so much forfeited their allegiance as lost their humanity. And, therefore, if it were only to preserve myself from the imputation of being amongst the insensible and abandoned, I would beg permission in the most public manner possible to profess myself, with the utmost sincerity and zeal,

Sire,

Your Majesty's

Most devoted subject

And servant,

Richard Steele.

This Comedy has been received with universal acceptance, for it was in every part excellently performed; and there needs no other applause of the actors but that they excelled according to the dignity and difficulty of the character they represented. But this great favour done to the work in acting renders the expectation still the greater from the author, to keep up the spirit in the representation of the closet, or any other circumstance of the reader, whether alone or in company; to which I can only say that it must be remembered, a play is to be seen, and is made to be represented with the advantage of action, nor can appear but with half the spirit without it. For the greatest effect of a play in reading is to excite the reader to go to see it; and when he does so, it is then a play has the effect of example and precept.

The chief design of this was to be an innocent performance, and the audience have abundantly shown how ready they are to support what is visibly intended that way. Nor do I make any difficulty to acknowledge that the whole was writ for the sake of the scene of the Fourth Act, wherein Mr. Bevil evades the quarrel withhis friend, and[105]hope it may have some effect upon the Goths and Vandals that frequent the theatres, or a more polite audience may supply their absence.

But this incident, and the case of the father and daughter, are esteemed by some people no subjects of comedy; but I cannot be of their mind, for anything that has its foundation in happiness and success must be allowed to be the object of comedy; and sure it must be an improvement of it to introduce a joy too exquisite for laughter, that can have no spring but in delight, which is the case of this young lady. I must, therefore, contend that the tears which were shed on that occasion flowed from reason and good sense, and that men ought not to be laughed at for weeping till we are come to a more clear notion of what is to be imputed to the hardness of the head and the softness of the heart; and I think it was very politely said of Mr. Wilks, to one who told him there was a General[106]weeping for Indiana, "I'll warrant he'll fight ne'er the worse for that." To be apt to give way to the impressions of humanity, is the excellence of a right disposition and the natural working of a well-turned spirit. But as I have suffered by critics who have got no farther than to inquire whether they ought to be pleased or not,[107]I would willingly find them properer matter for their employment, and revive here a song which was omitted for want of a performer, and designed for the entertainment of Indiana. Signor Carbonelli,[108]instead of it, played[109]on the fiddle, and it is for want of a singer that such advantageous things are said of an instrument which were designed for a voice. The song is the distress of alove-sick maid, and may be a fit entertainment for some small critics[110]to examine whether the passion is just or the distress male or female.

I.From place to place forlorn I go,With downcast eyes a silent shade,Forbidden to declare my woe;To speak till spoken to, afraid.II.My inward pangs, my secret grief,My soft consenting looks betray.He loves, but gives me no relief;Why speaks not he who may?

It remains to say a word concerning Terence, and I am extremely surprised to find what Mr. Cibber told me prove a truth:[111]that what I valued myself so much upon—the translation of him[112]—should be imputed to me as a reproach. Mr. Cibber's zeal for the work, his care and application in instructing the actors and altering the disposition of the scenes, when I was, through sickness, unable to cultivate such things myself, has been a very obliging favour and friendship to me. For this reason I was very hardly persuaded[113]to throw away Terence's celebrated funeral, and take only the bare authority of the young man's character; and how I have worked it into an Englishman, and made use of the same circumstances of discovering a daughter when we least hoped for one, is humbly submitted to the learned reader.

ByMr. Welsted.[114]

Spoken byMr. Wilks.

To win your hearts and to secure your praise,The comic writers strive by various ways;By subtle stratagems they act their game,And leave untried no avenue to fame.One writes the spouse a beating from his wife,And says each stroke was copied from the life.Some fix all wit and humour in grimace,And make a livelihood of Pinkey's[115]face.Here, one gay show and costly habits tries,Confiding to the judgment of your eyes;Another smuts his scene (a cunning shaver),Sure of the rakes' and of the wenches' favour.Oft have these arts prevailed, and one may guess,If practised o'er again, would find success.But the bold sage—the poet of to-night—By new and desperate rules resolved to write;Fain would he give more just applauses rise,And please by wit that scorns the aids of vice;The praise he seeks from worthier motives springs,Such praise as praise to those that give it brings.Your aid most humbly sought, then, Britons lend,And liberal mirth like liberal men defend.No more let ribaldry, with licence writ,Usurp the name of eloquence or wit;No more let lawless farce uncensured go,The lewd dull gleanings of a Smithfield show.[116]'Tis yours with breeding to refine the age,To chasten wit, and moralise the stage.Ye modest, wise and good, ye fair, ye brave,To-night the champion of your virtues save;Redeem from long contempt the comic name,And judge politely for your country's fame.

SirJohn Bevil.

Mr.Sealand.

Bevil, Jun., in love withIndiana.

Myrtle, in love withLucinda.

Cimberton, a Coxcomb.

Humphry, an old Servant to SirJohn.

Tom, Servant toBevil, Jun.

Daniel, a Country Boy, Servant toIndiana.

Mrs. Sealand, second Wife toSealand.

Isabella, Sister toSealand.

Indiana, Sealand'sDaughter, by his first Wife.

Lucinda, Sealand'sDaughter, by his second Wife.

Phillis, Maid toLucinda.

SCENE.—London.

EnterSir John BevilandHumphry.

Sir J. Bev.Have you ordered that I should not be interrupted while I am dressing?

Humph.Yes, sir; I believed you had something of moment to say to me.

Sir J. Bev.Let me see, Humphry; I think it is now full forty years since I first took thee to be about myself.

Humph.I thank you, sir, it has been an easy forty years; and I have passed 'em without much sickness, care, or labour.

Sir J Bev.Thou hast a brave constitution; you are a year or two older than I am, sirrah.

Humph.You have ever been of that mind, sir.

Sir J. Bev.You knave, you know it; I took thee for thy gravity and sobriety, in my wild years.

Humph.Ah, sir! our manners were formed from ourdifferent fortunes, not our different age. Wealth gave a loose to your youth, and poverty put a restraint upon mine.

Sir J. Bev.Well, Humphry, you know I have been a kind master to you; I have used you, for the ingenuous nature I observed in you from the beginning, more like an humble friend than a servant.

Humph.I humbly beg you'll be so tender of me as to explain your commands, sir, without any farther preparation.

Sir J. Bev.I'll tell thee, then: In the first place, this wedding of my son's in all probability—shut the door—will never be at all.

Humph.How, sir! not be at all? for what reason is it carried on in appearance?

Sir J. Bev.Honest Humphry, have patience; and I'll tell thee all in order. I have, myself, in some part of my life, lived (indeed) with freedom, but, I hope, without reproach. Now, I thought liberty would be as little injurious to my son; therefore, as soon as he grew towards man, I indulged him in living after his own manner. I knew not how, otherwise, to judge of his inclination; for what can be concluded from a behaviour under restraint and fear?[117]But what charms me above all expression is, that my son has never, in the least action, the most distant hint or word, valued himself upon that great estate of his mother's, which, according to our marriage settlement, he has had ever since he came to age.

Humph.No, sir; on the contrary, he seems afraid of appearing to enjoy it, before you or any belonging to you. He is as dependent and resigned to your will as if he had not a farthing but what must come from your immediate bounty. You have ever acted like a goodand generous father, and he like an obedient and grateful son.

Sir J. Bev.Nay, his carriage is so easy to all with whom he converses, that he is never assuming, never prefers himself to others, nor ever is guilty of that rough sincerity which a man is not called to, and certainly disobliges most of his acquaintance; to be short, Humphry, his reputation was so fair in the world, that old Sealand, the great India merchant, has offered his only daughter, and sole heiress to that vast estate of his, as a wife for him. You may be sure I made no difficulties, the match was agreed on, and this very day named for the wedding.

Humph.What hinders the proceeding?

Sir J. Bev.Don't interrupt me. You know I was last Thursday at the masquerade; my son, you may remember, soon found us out. He knew his grandfather's habit, which I then wore; and though it was the mode, in the last age, yet the masquers, you know, followed us as if we had been the most monstrous figures in that whole assembly.

Humph.I remember, indeed, a young man of quality in the habit of a clown, that was particularly troublesome.

Sir J. Bev.Right; he was too much what he seemed to be. You remember how impertinently he followed and teased us, and would know who we were.

Humph.I know he has a mind to come into that particular. [Aside.

Sir J. Bev.Ay, he followed us till the gentleman who led the lady in the Indian mantle presented that gay creature to the rustic, and bid him (like Cymon in the fable) grow polite by falling in love, and let that worthy old gentleman alone, meaning me. The clown was not reformed, but rudely persisted, and offered to force off my mask; with that, the gentleman, throwing off his own, appeared to be my son, and in his concern for me, tore off that of the nobleman; at this they seized each other;the company called the guards, and in the surprise the lady swooned away; upon which my son quitted his adversary, and had now no care but of the lady. When raising her in his arms, "Art thou gone," cried he, "for ever?—forbid it, Heaven!" She revived at his known voice, and with the most familiar, though modest, gesture, hangs in safety over his shoulder weeping, but wept as in the arms of one before whom she could give herself a loose, were she not under observation; while she hides her face in his neck, he carefully conveys her from the company.

Humph.I have observed this accident has dwelt upon you very strongly.

Sir J. Bev.Her uncommon air, her noble modesty, the dignity of her person, and the occasion itself, drew the whole assembly together; and I soon heard it buzzed about she was the adopted daughter of a famous sea-officer who had served in France. Now this unexpected and public discovery of my son's so deep concern for her——

Humph.Was what, I suppose, alarmed Mr. Sealand, in behalf of his daughter, to break off the match?

Sir J. Bev.You are right. He came to me yesterday and said he thought himself disengaged from the bargain; being credibly informed my son was already married, or worse, to the lady at the masquerade. I palliated matters, and insisted on our agreement; but we parted with little less than a direct breach between us.[118]

Humph.Well, sir; and what notice have you taken of all this to my young master?

Sir J. Bev.That's what I wanted to debate with you. I have said nothing to him yet—but look you, Humphry, if there is so much in this amour of his, that he denies upon my summons to marry, I have cause enoughto be offended; and then by my insisting upon his marrying to-day, I shall know how far he is engaged to this lady in masquerade, and from thence only shall be able to take my measures. In the meantime I would have you find out how far that rogue, his man, is let into his secret. He, I know, will play tricks as much to cross me, as to serve his master.

Humph.Why do you think so of him, sir? I believe he is no worse than I was for you, at your son's age.

Sir J. Bev.I see it in the rascal's looks. But I have dwelt on these things too long; I'll go to my son immediately, and while I'm gone, your part is to convince his rogue, Tom, that I am in earnest.—I'll leave him to you. [ExitSir John Bevil.

Humph.Well, though this father and son live as well together as possible, yet their fear of giving each other pain is attended with constant mutual uneasiness. I'm sure I have enough to do to be honest, and yet keep well with them both. But they know I love 'em, and that makes the task less painful however. Oh, here's the prince of poor coxcombs, the representative of all the better fed than taught. Ho! ho! Tom, whither so gay and so airy this morning?

EnterTom,singing.

Tom.Sir, we servants of single gentlemen are another kind of people than you domestic ordinary drudges that do business; we are raised above you. The pleasures of board-wages, tavern dinners, and many a clear gain; vails, alas! you never heard or dreamt of.

Humph.Thou hast follies and vices enough for a man of ten thousand a year, though 'tis but as t'other day that I sent for you to town to put you into Mr. Sealand's family, that you might learn a little before I put you to my young master, who is too gentle for training such a rude thing as you were into proper obedience. Youthen pulled off your hat to everyone you met in the street, like a bashful great awkward cub as you were. But your great oaken cudgel, when you were a booby, became you much better than that dangling stick at your button, now you are a fop. That's fit for nothing, except it hangs there to be ready for your master's hand when you are impertinent.

Tom.Uncle Humphry, you know my master scorns to strike his servants. You talk as if the world was now just as it was when my old master and you were in your youth; when you went to dinner because it was so much o'clock, when the great blow was given in the hall at the pantry door, and all the family came out of their holes in such strange dresses and formal faces as you see in the pictures in our long gallery in the country.

Humph.Why, you wild rogue!

Tom.You could not fall to your dinner till a formal fellow in a black gown said something over the meat, as if the cook had not made it ready enough.

Humph.Sirrah, who do you prate after? Despising men of sacred characters! I hope you never heard my good young master talk so like a profligate.

Tom.Sir, I say you put upon me, when I first came to town, about being orderly, and the doctrine of wearing shams to make linen last clean a fortnight, keeping my clothes fresh, and wearing a frock within doors.

Humph.Sirrah, I gave you those lessons because I supposed at that time your master and you might have dined at home every day, and cost you nothing; then you might have made a good family servant. But the gang you have frequented since at chocolate houses and taverns, in a continual round of noise and extravagance—

Tom.I don't know what you heavy inmates call noise and extravagance; but we gentlemen, who are well fed, and cut a figure, sir, think it a fine life, and that we must be very pretty fellows who are kept only to be looked at.

Humph.Very well, sir, I hope the fashion of being lewd and extravagant, despising of decency and order, is almost at an end, since it has arrived at persons of your quality.

Tom.Master Humphry, ha! ha! you were an unhappy lad to be sent up to town in such queer days as you were. Why, now, sir, the lackeys are the men of pleasure of the age, the top gamesters; and many a laced coat about town have had their education in our party-coloured regiment. We are false lovers; have a taste of music, poetry, billet-doux, dress, politics; ruin damsels; and when we are tired of this lewd town, and have a mind to take up, whip into our masters' wigs and linen, and marry fortunes.

Humph.Hey-day!

Tom.Nay, sir, our order is carried up to the highest dignities and distinctions; step but into the Painted Chamber,[119]and by our titles you'd take us all for men of quality. Then, again, come down to the Court of Requests, and you see us all laying our broken heads together for the good of the nation; and though we never carry a question nemine contradicente, yet this I can say, with a safe conscience (and I wish every gentleman of our cloth could lay his hand upon his heart and say the same), that I never took so much as a single mug of beer for my vote in all my life.

Humph.Sirrah, there is no enduring your extravagance; I'll hear you prate no longer. I wanted to see you to enquire how things go with your master, as far as you understand them; I suppose he knows he is to be married to-day.

Tom.Ay, sir, he knows it, and is dressed as gay asthe sun; but, between you and I, my dear, he has a very heavy heart under all that gaiety. As soon as he was dressed I retired, but overheard him sigh in the most heavy manner. He walked thoughtfully to and fro in the room, then went into his closet; when he came out he gave me this for his mistress, whose maid, you know——

Humph.Is passionately fond of your fine person.

Tom.The poor fool is so tender, and loves to hear me talk of the world, and the plays, operas, and ridottos[120]for the winter, the parks and Belsize[121]for our summer diversions; and "Lard!" says she, "you are so wild, but you have a world of humour."

Humph.Coxcomb! Well, but why don't you run with your master's letter to Mrs. Lucinda, as he ordered you?

Tom.Because Mrs. Lucinda is not so easily come at as you think for.

Humph.Not easily come at? Why, sirrah, are not her father and my old master agreed that she and Mr. Bevil are to be one flesh before to-morrow morning?

Tom.It's no matter for that; her mother, it seems, Mrs. Sealand, has not agreed to it; and you must know, Mr. Humphry, that in that family the grey mare is the better horse.

Humph.What dost thou mean?

Tom.In one word, Mrs. Sealand pretends to have awill of her own, and has provided a relation of hers, a stiff, starched philosopher, and a wise fool, for her daughter; for which reason, for these ten days past, she has suffered no message nor letter from my master to come near her.

Humph.And where had you this intelligence?

Tom.From a foolish fond soul that can keep nothing from me; one that will deliver this letter too, if she is rightly managed.

Humph.What! her pretty handmaid, Mrs. Phillis?

Tom.Even she, sir; this is the very hour, you know, she usually comes hither, under a pretence of a visit to your housekeeper, forsooth, but in reality to have a glance at——

Humph.Your sweet face, I warrant you.

Tom.Nothing else in nature; you must know, I love to fret and play with the little wanton.

Humph.Play with the little wanton! What will this world come to!

Tom.I met her this morning in a new manteau and petticoat, not a bit the worse for her lady's wearing; and she has always new thoughts and new airs with new clothes—then she never fails to steal some glance or gesture from every visitant at their house; and is, indeed, the whole town of coquets at second-hand. But here she comes; in one motion she speaks and describes herself better than all the words in the world can.

Humph.Then I hope, dear sir, when your own affair is over, you will be so good as to mind your master's with her.

Tom.Dear Humphry, you know my master is my friend, and those are people I never forget.

Humph.Sauciness itself! but I'll leave you to do your best for him. [Exit.

EnterPhillis.[122]

Phil.Oh, Mr. Thomas, is Mrs. Sugar-key at home? Lard, one is almost ashamed to pass along the streets! The town is quite empty, and nobody of fashion left in it; and the ordinary people do so stare to see anything, dressed like a woman of condition, as it were on the same floor with them, pass by. Alas! alas! it is a sad thing to walk. O fortune! fortune!

Tom.What! a sad thing to walk? Why, Madam Phillis, do you wish yourself lame?

Phil.No, Mr. Tom, but I wish I were generally carried in a coach or chair, and of a fortune neither to stand nor go, but to totter, or slide, to be short-sighted, or stare, to fleer in the face, to look distant, to observe, to overlook, yet all become me; and, if I was rich, I could twire[123]and loll as well as the best of them. Oh, Tom! Tom! is it not a pity that you should be so great a coxcomb, and I so great a coquet, and yet be such poor devils as we are?

Tom.Mrs. Phillis, I am your humble servant for that——

Phil.Yes, Mr. Thomas, I know how much you are my humble servant, and know what you said to Mrs. Judy, upon seeing her in one of her lady's cast manteaus:That any one would have thought her the lady, and that she had ordered the other to wear it till it sat easy; for now only it was becoming. To my lady it was only a covering, to Mrs. Judy it was a habit. This you said, after somebody or other. Oh, Tom! Tom! thou art as false and as base as the best gentleman of them all; but, you wretch, talk to me no more on the old odious subject—don't, I say.

Tom.I know not how to resist your commands, madam. [In a submissive tone, retiring.

Phil.Commands about parting are grown mighty easy to you of late.

Tom.Oh, I have her; I have nettled and put her into the right temper to be wrought upon and set a-prating. [Aside.]—Why, truly, to be plain with you, Mrs. Phillis, I can take little comfort of late in frequenting your house.

Phil.Pray, Mr. Thomas, what is it all of a sudden offends your nicety at our house?

Tom.I don't care to speak particulars, but I dislike the whole.

Phil.I thank you, sir, I am a part of that whole.

Tom.Mistake me not, good Phillis.

Phil.Good Phillis! Saucy enough. But however——

Tom.I say, it is that thou art a part, which gives me pain for the disposition of the whole. You must know, madam, to be serious, I am a man, at the bottom, of prodigious nice honour. You are too much exposed to company at your house. To be plain, I don't like so many, that would be your mistress's lovers, whispering to you.

Phil.Don't think to put that upon me. You say this, because I wrung you to the heart when I touched your guilty conscience about Judy.

Tom.Ah, Phillis! Phillis! if you but knew my heart!

Phil.I know too much on't.

Tom.Nay, then, poor Crispo's[124]fate and mine are one. Therefore give me leave to say, or sing at least, as he does upon the same occasion—

"Se vedette," &c. [Sings.]

Phil.What, do you think I'm to be fobbed off with a song? I don't question but you have sung the same to Mrs. Judy too.

Tom.Don't disparage your charms, good Phillis, with jealousy of so worthless an object; besides, she is a poor hussy, and if you doubt the sincerity of my love, you will allow me true to my interest. You are a fortune, Phillis.

Phil.What would the fop be at now? In good time, indeed, you shall be setting up for a fortune!

Tom.Dear Mrs. Phillis, you have such a spirit that we shall never be dull in marriage when we come together. But I tell you, you are a fortune, and you have an estate in my hands. [He pulls out a purse, she eyes it.

Phil.What pretence have I to what is in your hands, Mr. Tom?

Tom.As thus: there are hours, you know, when a lady is neither pleased or displeased; neither sick or well; when she lolls or loiters; when she's without desires—from having more of everything than she knows what to do with.

Phil.Well, what then?

Tom.When she has not life enough to keep her bright eyes quite open, to look at her own dear image in the glass.

Phil.Explain thyself, and don't be so fond of thy own prating.

Tom.There are also prosperous and good-natured moments: as when a knot or a patch is happily fixed; when the complexion particularly flourishes.

Phil.Well, what then? I have not patience!

Tom.Why, then—or on the like occasions—we servants who have skill to know how to time business, see when such a pretty folded thing as this [Shows a letter.] may be presented, laid, or dropped, as best suits the present humour. And, madam, because it is a long wearisome journey to run through all the several stages of a lady's temper, my master, who is the most reasonable man in the world, presents you this to bear your charges on the road. [Gives her the purse.

Phil.Now you think me a corrupt hussy.

Tom.O fie, I only think you'll take the letter.

Phil.Nay, I know you do, but I know my own innocence; I take it for my mistress's sake.

Tom.I know it, my pretty one, I know it.

Phil.Yes, I say I do it, because I would not have my mistress deluded by one who gives no proof of his passion; but I'll talk more of tips as you see me on my way home. No, Tom, I assure thee, I take this trash of thy master's, not for the value of the thing, but as it convinces me he has a true respect for my mistress. I remember a verse to the purpose—

They may be false who languish and complain,But they who part with money never feign.[Exeunt.

Bevil, Jun.,reading.

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