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

Ang. I have done dissembling now, Valentine ; and if that coldness which I have always worn before you, should turn to an extreme fondness, you must not suspect it.

Val. I'll prevent that suspicion :-for I intend to dote to that immoderate degree, that your fondness shall never distinguish itself enough to be taken notice of. If ever you seem to love too much, it must be only when I can't love enough.

Ang. Have a care of promises; you know you are apt to run more in debt than you are able to

A Dance.

Scan. Well, madam, you have done exemplary justice, in punishing an inhuman father, and rewarding a faithful lover: but there is a third good work, which I, in particular, must thank you for; I was an infidel to your sex, and you have converted me. For now I am convinced that all women are not like Fortune, blind in bestowing favours, either on those who do not merit, or who do not want 'em. Ang. 'Tis an unreasonable accusation, that you lay upon our sex: you tax us with injustice, only to cover your own want of merit. You would all have the reward of love; but few have the constancy to stay till it becomes your due. Men are generally hypocrites and infidels, they pretend to worship, but have neither zeal nor faith: how few, like Valentine, would persevere even to martyrdom, and sacrifice their interest to their constancy! In admiring me you misplace the novelty :

The miracle to-day is, that we find

A lover true: not that a woman's kind.

[Exeunt omnes.

EPILOGUE

SPOKEN AT THE OPENING OF THE NEW HOUSE BY MRS. BRACEGIrdle.

SURE Providence at first design'd this place
To be the player's refuge in distress;
For still in every storm they all run hither,
As to a shed that shields 'em from the weather.
But thinking of this change which last befel us,
It's like what I have heard our poets tell us :
For when behind our scenes their suits are pleading,
To help their love sometimes they show their read-

ing;

And wanting ready cash to pay for hearts,
They top their learning on us and their parts.
Once of philosophers they told us stories,
Whom, as I think, they call'd-Py-Pythagories;
I'm sure 'tis some such Latin name they give 'em,
And we, who know no better, must believe 'em.
Now to these men (say they) such souls were given,
That after death ne'er went to hell nor heaven,
But lived, I know not how, in beasts; and then,
When many years were pass'd, in men again.
Methinks, we players resemble such a soul;
That, does from bodies, we from houses stroll.
Thus Aristotle's soul, of old that was,
May now be damn'd to animate an ass;

Or in this very house, for aught we know,
Is doing painful penance in some beau :
And thus, our audience, which did once resort
To shining theatres to see our sport,
Now find us toss'd into a tennis-court.
These walls but t'other day were fill'd with noise
Of roaring gamesters, and your damme boys;
Then bounding balls and rackets they encompast,
And now they're fill'd with jests, and flights, and
bombast!

I vow, I don't much like this transmigration,
Strolling from place to place by circulation;
Grant, Heaven, we don't return to our first station!
I know not what these think, but, for my part,
I can't reflect without an aching heart,
How we should end in our original, a cart.
But we can't fear, since you're so good to save us,
That you have only set us up,-to leave us.
Thus from the past, we hope for future grace,
I beg it-

And some here know I have a begging face.
Then pray continue this your kind behaviour,
For a clear stage won't do, without your favour.

THE MOURNING BRIDE.

A Tragedy.

-Neque enim lex æquior ulla,

Quam necis artifices arte perire sua.-OVID. de Arte Amandi.

TO HER ROYAL HIGHNESS,

THE PRINCESS.

MADAM,-That high station which by your birth you hold above the people, exacts from every one, as a duty whatever honours they are capable of paying to your Royal Highness: but that more exalted place to which you virtues have raised you above the rest of princes, makes the tribute of our admiration and praise rather a chois more immediately preventing that duty.

The public gratitude is ever founded on a public benefit; and what is universally blessed, is always a universal blessing Thus from yourself we derive the offerings which we bring; and that incense which arises to your name, only retur to its original, and but naturally requites the parent of its being.

From hence it is that this poem, constituted on a moral whose end is to recommend and to encourage virtue, a consequence has recourse to your Royal Highness's patronage; aspiring to cast itself beneath your feet, and declining approbation, till you shall condescend to own it, and vouchsafe to shine upon it as on a creature of your influence. It is from the example of princes that virtue becomes a fashion in the people; for even they who are averse t instruction will yet be fond of imitation.

But there are multitudes who never can have means nor opportunities of so near an access, as to partake of the benefit of such examples. And to these Tragedy, which distinguishes itself from the vulgar poetry by the dignity of its characters, may be of use and information. For they who are at that distance from original greatness as to be deprived of the happiness of contemplating the perfections and real excellences of your Royal Highness's person in your court, may yet behold some small sketches and imagings of the virtues of your mind, abstracted and represented on the theatre.

Thus poets are instructed, and instruct; not alone by precepts which persuade, but also by examples which illustrate. Thus is delight interwoven with instruction; when not only virtue is prescribed, but also represented. But if we are delighted with the liveliness of a feigned representation of great and good persons and their actions. how must we be charmed with beholding the persons themselves! If one or two excelling qualities, barely touched in the single action and small compass of a play, can warm an audience, with a concern and regard even for the seeming success and prosperity of the actor: with what zeal must the hearts of all be filled for the continued and increasing happiness of those who are the true and living instances of elevated and persisting virtue! Even the vicious themselves must have a secret veneration for those peculiar graces and endowments which are daily so eminently conspicuous in your Royal Highness; and, though repining, feel a pleasure which, in spite of envy, they perforce

approve.

If in this piece, humbly offered to your Royal Highness, there shall appear the resemblance of any of those many excellences which you so promiscuously possess, to be drawn so as to merit your least approbation, it has the end and accomplishment of its design. And however imperfect it may be in the whole, through the inexperience or incapacity of the author, yet, if there is so much as to convince your Royal Highness, that a play may be with industry so disposed (in spite of the licentious practice of the modern theatre) as to become sometimes an innocent, and not unprofitable entertainment; it will abundantly gratify the ambition, and recompense the endeavours of your Royal Highness's most obedient, and most humbly devoted servant, WILLIAM CONGREVE

PROLOGUE

SPOKEN BY MR. BETTERTON.

THE time has been when plays were not so plenty,
And a less number new would well content ye.
New plays did then like almanacs appear;
And one was thought sufficient for a year:
Though they are more like almanacs of late;
For in one year, I think, they're out of date.
Nor were they without reason join'd together;
For just as one prognosticates the weather,
How plentiful the crop, or scarce the grain,
What peals of thunder, and what showers of rain:
So t'other can foretell, by certain rules,
What crops of coxcombs, or what floods of fools.
In such like prophecies were poets skill'd,
Which now they find in their own tribe fulfill'd:
The dearth of wit they did so long presage,
Is fallen on us, and almost starves the stage.
Were you not grieved as often as you saw
Poor actors thrash such empty sheafs of straw?
Toiling and labouring at their lungs' expense,
To start a jest, or force a little sense.
Hard fate for us! still harder in the event;
Our authors sin, but we alone repent.

Still they proceed, and, at our charge, write worse;
'Twere some amends if they could reimburse :
But there's the devil, though their cause is lost,
There's no recovering damages or cost.

Good wits, forgive this liberty we take,
Since custom gives the losers leave to speak.
But if provoked, your dreadful wrath remains,
Take your revenge upon the coming scenes:
For that damn'd poet's spared who damns a brother,
As one thief 'scapes that executes another.
Thus far alone does to the wits relate;
But from the rest we hope a better fate.
To please and move has been our poet's theme,
Art may direct, but nature is his aim;
And nature miss'd, in vain he boasts his art,
For only nature can affect the heart.
Then freely judge the scenes that shall ensue;
But as with freedom, judge with candour too.
He would not lose through prejudice his cause,
Nor would obtain precariously applause;
Impartial censure he requests from all,
Prepared by just decrees to stand or fall.

ACT I.

SCENE I-A Room of State in the Palace.

The curtain rising slowly to soft music, discovers ALMERIA in mourning, LEONORA waiting in mourning. After the music, ALMERIA rises from her chair and comes forward.

Have softly whisper'd, and inquired his health;
Sent in my sighs and prayers for his deliverance;
For sighs and prayers were all that I could offer.

Alm. Indeed thou hast a soft and gentle nature,
That thus couldst melt to see a stranger's wrongs.
O Leonora, hadst thou known Anselmo,
How would thy heart have bled to see his sufferings!

Alm. Music has charms to soothe a savage Thou hadst no cause, but general compassion.

breast,

To soften rocks, or bend a knotted oak.
I've read that things inanimate have moved,
And, as with living souls, have been inform'd,
By magic numbers and persuasive sound.

What then am I? Am I more senseless grown
Than trees or flint? O force of constant woe!
Tis not in harmony to calm my griefs.
Anselmo sleeps, and is at peace; last night
The silent tomb received the good old king;
He and his sorrows now are safely lodged
Within its cold but hospitable bosom.
Why am not I at peace?

Leon.
Dear madam, cease,
Or moderate your griefs; there is no cause—
Alm. No cause! peace, peace; there is eternal

cause,

And misery eternal will succeed.

Thou canst not tell-thou hast indeed no cause.
Leon. Believe me, madam, I lament Anselmo,
And always did compassionate his fortune :
Have often wept to see how cruelly
Your father kept in chains his fellow-king:
And oft at night when all have been retired,
Have stolen from bed, and to his prison crept;
Where, while his jailor slept, I through the grate

Leon. Love of my royal mistress gave me cause, My love of you begot my grief for him; For I had heard that when the chance of war Had bless'd Anselmo's arms with victory, And the rich spoil of all the field, and you, The glory of the whole, were made the prey Of his success; that then, in spite of hate, Revenge, and that hereditary feud Between Valentia's and Granada's kings, He did endear himself to your affection, By all the worthy and indulgent ways His most industrious goodness could invent; Proposing by a match between Alphonso His son, the brave Valentia prince, and you, To end the long dissension, and unite The jarring crowns.

Alm.

Alphonso! O Alphonso! Thou too art quiet-long hast been at peaceBoth, both-father and son are now no more. Then why am I? O when shall I have rest? 'Why do I live to say you are no more? Why are all these things thus ?-Is it of force? Is there necessity I must be miserable? Is it of moment to the peace of heaven That I should be afflicted thus ?-If not, Why is it thus contrived? Why are things laid

By some unseen hand so, as of sure consequence,
They must to me bring curses, grief of heart,
The last distress of life, and sure despair?

Leon. Alas, you search too far, and think too deeply!

Alm. Why was I carried to Anselmo's court? Or there, why was I used so tenderly? Why not ill treated like an enemy?

For so my father would have used his child.

O Alphonso! Alphonso!

Devouring seas have washed thee from my sight,
No time shall rase thee from my memory;

No, I will live to be thy monument;
The cruel ocean is no more thy tomb :

But in my heart thou art interr'd; there, there,
Thy dear resemblance is for ever fix'd ;

My love, my lord, my husband still, though lost.
Leon. Husband! O heavens !
Alm.
Alas! what have I said?
My grief has hurried me beyond all thought:
I would have kept that secret; though I know
Thy love and faith to me deserve all confidence.
But 'tis the wretch's comfort still to have
Some small reserve of near and inward woe,
Some unsuspected hoard of darling grief,
Which they unseen may wail, and weep and mourn,
And, glutton-like, alone devour.

Alm. O no, thou know'st not half, Know'st nothing of my sorrows.-If thou didstIf I should tell thee, wouldst thou pity me? Tell me; I know thou wouldst, thou art compassionate.

Leon. Witness these tears! Alm. I thank thee, Leonora, Indeed I do, for pitying thy sad mistress; For 'tis, alas! the poor prerogative Of greatness, to be wretched and unpitied. But I did promise I would tell thee-what? My miseries? thou dost already know 'em ; And when I told thee thou didst nothing know, It was because thou didst not know Alphonso: For to have known my loss, thou must have known

His worth, his truth, and tenderness of love. Leon. The memory of that brave prince stands fair

In all report

And I have heard imperfectly his loss!
But fearful to renew your troubles past,
I never did presume to ask the story.

Alm. If for my swelling heart I can, I'll tell thee.
I was a welcome captive in Valentia,
Even on the day when Manuel my father
Led on his conquering troops, high as the gates
Of king Anselmo's palace; which in rage,
And heat of war, and dire revenge, he fired.
The good king flying to avoid the flames,
Started amidst his foes, and made captivity
His fatal refuge.-Would that I had fallen
Amid those flames!-but 'twas not so decreed.
Alphonso, who foresaw my father's cruelty,
Had borne the queen and me on board a ship
Ready to sail; and when this news was brought,
We put to sea; but being betray'd by some
Who knew our flight, we closely were pursued,
And almost taken; when a sudden storm
Drove us, and those that follow'd, on the coast
Of Afric; there our vessel struck the shore,

And bulging 'gainst a rock was dash'd in pieces!
But Heaven spared me for yet much more affliction!
Conducting them who follow'd us to shun
The shoal, and save me floating on the waves,
While the good queen and my Alphonso perish'd.

Leon. Alas! were you then wedded to Alphonso? Alm. That day, that fatal day, our hands were join'd.

For when my lord beheld the ship pursuing,
And saw her rate so far exceeding ours;
He came to me, and begged me by my love,
I would consent the priest should make us one;
That whether death or victory ensued,
I might be his beyond the power of fate :
The queen too did assist his suit-I granted;
And in one day, was wedded and a widow.
Leon. Indeed 'twas mournful.
Alm.
"Twas as I have told thee;
For which I mourn, and will for ever mourn;
Nor will I change these black and dismal robes,
Or ever dry these swollen and watery eyes;
Or ever taste content, or peace of heart,
While I have life, and thought of my Alphonso.
Leon. Look down, good Heaven, with pity on
her sorrows,

And grant that time may bring her some relief.
Alm. O no, time gives increase to my afflictions.
The circling hours, that gather all the woes,
Which are diffused through the revolving year,
Come, heavy-laden with the oppressing weight,
To me with me, successively, they leave
The sighs, the tears, the groans, the restless cares,
And all the damps of grief, that did retard their
flight;

They shake their downy wings, and scatter all
The dire collected dews on my poor head;
Then fly with joy and swiftness from me.

Leon. Hark! The distant shouts proclaim your father's triumph. [Shouts at a distas

O cease, for heaven's sake, assuage a little
This torrent of your grief; for much I fear
'Twill urge his wrath to see you drown'd in tears,
When joy appears in every other face.

Alm. And joy he brings to every other heart, But double, double weight of woe to mine; For with him Garcia comes-Garcia, to whom I must be sacrificed, and all the vows

gave my dear Alphonso basely broken. No, it shall never be; for I will die; First, die ten thousand deaths!-Look down, look

down,

[Кай

Alphonso, hear the sacred vow I make;
One moment cease to gaze on perfect bliss,
And bend thy glorious eyes to earth and me;
And thou, Anselmo, if yet thou art arrived,
Through all impediments of purging fire,
To that bright heaven, where my Alphonso reigns,
Behold thou also, and attend my vow.
If ever I do yield, or give consent,
By any action, word, or thought, to wed
Another lord, may then just Heaven shower down
Unheard-of curses on me, greater far
(If such there be in angry Heaven's vengeance)
Than any I have yet endured.-And now [Risin
My heart has some relief; having so well
Discharged this debt, incumbent on my love.
Yet one thing more I would engage from thee.
Leon. My heart, my life, and will, are only

yours.

Alm. I thank thee. 'Tis but this; anon, when all Are wrapp'd and busied in the general joy, Thou wilt withdraw, and privately with me Steal forth, to visit good Anselmo's tomb. Leon. Alas! I fear some fatal resolution. Alm. No, on my life, my faith, I mean no ill, Nor violence. I feel myself more light, And more at large, since I have made this vow. Perhaps I would repeat it there more solemnly. 'Tis that, or some such melancholy thought, Upon my word, no more.

Leon.

I will attend you.

GONSALEZ, ALMERIA, and LEONORA.

Gon. Be every day of your long life like this! The sun, bright conquest, and your brighter eyes, Have all conspired to blaze promiscuous light, And bless this day with most unequall'd lustre. Your royal father, my victorious lord, Loaden with spoils, and ever-living laurel, Is entering now in martial pomp the palace. Five hundred mules precede his solemn march, Which groan beneath the weight of Moorish wealth. Chariots of war, adorn'd with glittering gems, Succeed; and next, a hundred neighing steeds, White as the fleecy rain on Alpine hills, That bound and foam, and champ the golden bit, As they disdain'd the victory they grace. Prisoners of war in shining fetters follow; And captains, of the noblest blood of Afric, Sweat by his chariot wheel, and lick and grind, With gnashing teeth, the dust his triumphs raise. The swarming populace spread every wall, And cling, as if with claws they did enforce Their hold through clifted stones, stretching and As if they were all eyes, and every limb [staring, Would feed its faculty of admiration: While you alone retire, and shun this sight; This sight, which is indeed not seen (though twice The multitude should gaze) in absence of your eyes. Ala. My lord, my eyes ungratefully behold The gilded trophies of exterior honours. Nor will my ears be charm'd with sounding words, Or pompous phrase; the pageantry of souls. But that my father is return'd in safety, I bend to Heaven with thanks.

Gon

Excellent princess! But 'tis a task unfit for my weak age, With dying words, to offer at your praise. Garcia, my son, your beauty's lowest slave, Has better done, in proving with his sword The force and influence of your matchless charms.

Alm. I doubt not of the worth of Garcia's deeds, Which had been brave, though I had ne'er been born.

Leon. Madam, the king.
Alm.

[Flourish. My women. I would meet him. [Attendants to ALMERIA enter in mourning.

SCENE IV.

Symphony of warlike music. Enter MANUEL, attended by GARCIA and several Officers. Files of Prisoners in chains, and Guards, who are ranged in order round the stage. ALMERIA meets MANUEL, and kneels; afterwards GONSALEZ kneels, and kisses MANUEL'S hand, while GARCIA does the same to ALMERIA.

Man. Almeria, rise!-My best Gonsalez, rise! What, tears! my good old friend!

Gon.
But tears of joy.
Believe me, sir, to see you thus has fill'd
My eyes with more delight than they can hold.
Man. By heaven, thou lovest me, and I'm
pleased thou dost !

Take it for thanks, old man, that I rejoice
To see thee weep on this occasion.-Some
Here are, who seem to mourn at our success!
Why is't, Almeria, that you meet our eyes,
Upon this solemn day, in these sad weeds?
In opposition to my brightness, you
And yours are all like daughters of affliction.
Alm. Forgive me, sir, if I in this offend.
The year, which I have vow'd to pay to Heaven
In mourning and strict life for my deliverance
From wreck and death, wants yet to be expired.

Man. Your zeal to Heaven is great, so is your Yet something too is due to me, who gave [debt: That life which Heaven preserved. A day bestow'd In filial duty, had atoned and given

A dispensation to your vow-No more.
'Twas weak and wilful-and a woman's error.
Yet-upon thought, it doubly wounds my sight,
To see that sable worn upon the day
Succeeding that, in which our deadliest foe,
Hated Anselmo, was interr'd.-By heaven,
It looks as thou didst mourn for him! just so,
Thy senseless vow appear'd to bear its date,
Not-from that hour wherein thou wert preserved,
But that wherein the cursed Alphonso perish'd.
Ha! what thou dost not weep to think of that?

Gon. Have patience, royal sir; the princess weeps
To have offended you. If fate decreed
One pointed hour should be Alphonso's loss,
And her deliverance; is she to blame?

Man. I tell thee she's to blame not to have feasted When my first foe was laid in earth, such enmity, Such detestation, bears my blood to his ; My daughter should have revell'd at his death, She should have made these palace-walls to shake, And all this high and ample roof to ring With her rejoicings. What, to mourn, and weep; Then, then to weep, and pray, and grieve! By

heaven,

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