Roe. By Heaven I swear so too; for I'm married already. Love. Then thou'rt a villain ! Roe. A villain, man!-Psha! that's nonsense. A poor fellow can no sooner get married, than you imagine he may be called a villain presently. You may call me fool, a blockhead, or an ass, by the authority of custom: but why a villain, for God's sake? Love. Did not you engage to meet and fight a gentleman for me in Moorfields? Roe. Did not you promise to engage a lady for me at the fountain, sir? Love. This Lucinda is my mistress, sir. [Throws ROEBUCK his sword and draws his own. Roe. Prithee be quiet, man, I've other business to mind on my wedding-night. I must in to my [Going. bride. Love. Hold, sir! move a step, and by Heavens I'll stab thee. Roe. Put up, put up! Psha! I an't prepared to die; I an't, devil take me! Love. Do you dally with me, sir? Roe. Why, you won't be so unconscionable as to kill a man so suddenly? I han't made my will yet. Perhaps I may leave you a legacy. Love. Pardon me, Heavens, if pressed by stinging taunts, My passion urge my arm to act what's foul. [Offers to push at him. Roe. Hold!-[Taking up his sword.] 'Tis safest making peace, they say, with sword in hand.-I'll tell thee what, Ned, I would not lose this night's pleasure for the honour of fighting and vanquishing the Seven Champions of Christendom. Permit me then but this night to return to the arms of my dear bride, and faith and troth I'll take a fair thrust with you to-morrow morning. Love. What! beg a poor reprieve for life! Then thou'rt a coward. Roe. You imagined the contrary when you employed me to fight for ye in Moorfields. Love. Will nothing move thy gall?-Thou'rt base, ungrateful! Roe. Ungrateful! I love thee, Ned; by Heavens, my friend, I love thee! Therefore name not that word again, for such a repetition would overpay all thy favours. Love. A cheap, a very cheap way of making acknowledgment, and therefore thou hast catched, which makes thee more ungrateful. Roe. My friendship even yet does balance passion; but throw in the least grain more of an affront, and by Heaven you turn the scale. Love. [Pausing.] No, I've thought better; my reason clears she's not worth my sword; a bully only should draw in her defence, for she's false, a prostitute. [Puts up his sword. Roe. A prostitute! by Heavens thou liest ![Draws.] Thou hast blasphemed. Her virtue answers the uncorrupted state of woman; so much above immodesty, that it mocks temptation. She has convinced me of the bright honour of her sex, and I stand champion now for the fair female cause. Love. Then I have lost what nought on earth can pay. Curse on all doubts, all jealousies, that destroy our present happiness, by mistrusting the future! Thus misbelievers making their heaven uncertain, find a certain hell. And is she virtuous? Sound the bold charge aloud, which does proclaim me guilty. Roe. By Heavens, as virtuous as thy sister. Love. My sister!-Ha!-I fear, sir, your mar. riage with Lucinda has wronged my sister; for her you courted, and I heard she loved you. Roe. I courted her, 'tis true, and loved her alsog Nay, my love to her rivall'd my friendship to wards-; And had my fate allow'd me time for thought, Her dear remembrance might have stopp'd the marriage. But since 'tis past I must own to you, to her, That I cast off all former passion, and shall Roe. Oh gods and happiness! Leanthe! Lovewell, my friend, this is thy sister! T Leanthe! My mistress! my bride! my wife! Lean. I am your sister, sir; as such I beg you to pardon the effect of violent passion, which driven me into some imprudent actions: but no such as may blot the honour of my virtue family. To hold you no longer in suspense, 't I brought the letter from Leanthe; 'twas I manage the intrigue with Lucinda; I sent the note to M Roebuck this afternoon; and I— Roe. That was the bride of happy me. Love. Thou art my sister and my guardian-ange For thou hast bless'd thyself, and bless'd brother. Lucinda still is safe, and may be mine. Roe. May!-She shall be thine, my friend. Love. Where is Lucinda? Enter MOCKMODE. Mock. Not far off; though far enough from you by the universe! Lean. You must give me leave not to believe you, sir. Mock. Oh, madam! I crave you ten thousand pardons, by the universe, madam!-Zauns, madam! Dem me, madam ! [Offers to salute her awkward). Love. By your leave, sir- (Thrusts him toote Roe. Ah, cousin Mockmode!-How do all cur friends in Shropshire?— Mock. Now, gentlemen, I thank you all for your trick, your sham. You imagine I have got your whore, cousin, your crack. But, gentlemen, by the assistance of a poet, your Sheely is metamorphosed into the real Lucinda; which your eyes shall testify Bring in the jury there!-Guilty or not guilty? Enter LYRIC and TRUDGE. Trudge. Oh my 'dear Roebuck!--[ Throws off her mask, flies to him, takes him about the neck ama kisses him.] And faith is it you, dear joy? And where have you been these seven long years? Mock. Zauns! Roe. Hold off, stale iniquity!-[ To LEANTHE.] Madam, you'll pardon this? Trudge. Indeed I won't live with that stranger. You promised to marry me, so you did. Ah, sir, Neddy's a brave boy, God bless him; he's a whole armful; Lord knows I had a heavy load of him. Love. Guilty or not guilty, Mr. Mockmode? Mock. 'Tis past that; I am condemned, I'm banged in the marriage noose.-[ To TRUDGE.] Hark ye, madam, was this the doctor that let you blood under the tongue for the quinsy? Trudge. Yes, that it was, sir. Mock. Then he may do so again; for the devil ake me if ever I breathe a vein for ye -Mr. Lyric, is this your poetical friendship? Lyr. I had only a mind to convince you of your quireship. Love. Now, sister, my fears are over. But there's Lucinda? how is she disposed of? Lean. The fear she lay under of being disovered by you, gave me an opportunity of imosing Pindress upon her instead of this gentleman, hom she expected to wear one of Pindress's ightgowns as a disguise. To make the cheat more urrent, she disguised herself in my clothes, which as made her pass on her maid for me; and I by that pportunity putting on a suit of her's, passed upon is gentleman for Lucinda, my next business is to nd her out, and beg her pardon, endeavour her concilement to you, which the discovery of the istakes between both will easily effect. [Exit. Roe. [To LYRIC.] Well, sir, how was your lot carried on? Lyr. Why this squire, (will you give me leave to ill you so now?) this squire had a mind to permate Lovewell, to catch Lucinda. So I made rudge to personate Lucinda, and snap him in this ry garden.-[To MOCKMODE.] Now, sir, you'll ve me leave to write your epithalamium ? Mock. My epithalamium! my epitaph, screechwl, for I'm buried alive. But I hope you'll turn my hundred pound I gave you for marrying Lyr. No; but for five hundred more I'll unarry you. These are hard times, and men of adustry must make money. Mock. Here's the money, by the universe, sir! bill of five hundred pound sterling upon Mr. litto the mercer in Cheapside. Bring me a rerieve, and 'tis yours. Lyr. Lay it in that gentleman's hands.[MOCK4ODE gives ROEBUCK the bill.] The executioner ball cut the rope.-[Goes to the door and brings a Widow BULLFINCH dressed like a parson.] Here's revelation for you! [Pulls open the gown. 4 Re-enter LEANTHE, with LUCINDA and PIndress. Luc. You have told me wonders! Lean. Here are these can testify the truth.— This gentleman is the real Mr. Mockmode, and much such another person as your dream represented. Roe. I hope, madam, you'll pardon my dissembling, since only the hopes of so great a purchase could cause it. Luc. Let my wishing you much joy and happiness in your bride testify my reconciliation; and at the request of your sister, Mr. Lovewell, I pardon your past jealousies.-You threatened me, Mr. Lovewell, with an Irish entertainment at my wedding. I wish it present now, to assist at your sister's nuptials. Lean. At my last going hence I sent for 'em, and they're ready. Love. Call 'em in then. [An Irish entertainment of three men and three women, dressed after the Fingallian fashion. Luc. I must reward your sister, Mr. Lovewell, for the many services done me as my page. I therefore settle my fortune and myself on you, on this condition, that you make over your estate in Ireland to your sister, and that gentleman. Love. 'Tis done; only with this proviso, brother, that you forsake your extravagances. Roe. Brother, you know I always slighted gold, But most when offer'd as a sordid bribe. I scorn to be bribed even to virtue, But for bright virtue's sake I here embrace it. [Embracing Leanthe. I have espoused all goodness with Leanthe, And am divorced from all my former follies. Woman's our fate. Wild and unlawful flames Debauch us first, and softer love reclaims. Thus paradise was lost by woman's fall; But virtuous woman thus restores it all. [Exeunt omnes. EPILOGUE. WRITTEN AND SPOKEN BY JO. HAYNES, IN MOURNING. I COME not here, our poet's fate to see, Must still kind Fortune through all weathers steer 'em, And beauties bloom there spite of edax rerum, Seduced me first to be a wicked player. I knew that stage must down where not one whore is. But can you have the hearts though?-(Pray The females found a damn'd blot in his scutcheon. An Italian now we've got of mighty fame, His voice is like the music of the spheres, [201. a tim He's a handsome fellow too, looks brisk and trim: If he don't take ye, then the devil take him! Besides, lest our white faces always mayn't de light ye, We've pick'd up gipsies now to please or fright ye. Lastly, to make our house more courtlier shine, She, to return our foreigner's complaisance, souse: We've lost the only touch-hole of our house. Losing that jewel, gave us a fatal blow : Well, if thin audience must Jo. Haynes undo, Well, if 'tis decreed, nor can thy fate, O stage! Resist the vows of this obdurate age, I'll then grow wiser, leave off playing the fool, And hire this playhouse for a boarding-school. D'ye think the maids won't be in a sweet condition When they are under Jo. Haynes's grave tuition! Don Sigismondo Fideli.-There's music in his They'll have no occasion then I'm sure to play, name; They'll have such comings in another way. THE CONSTANT COUPLE; OR, A TRIP TO THE JUBILEE. A Comedy. Sive favore tuli, sive hanc ego carmine famam ; OVID. Trist. iv. 10. TO THE HONOURABLE SIR ROGER MOSTYN, BART., OF MOSTYN-HALL IN FLINTSHIRE. -Tis no small reflection on pieces of this nature, that panegyric is so much improved, and that dedication is rown more an art than poetry; that authors, to make their patrons more than men, make themselves less; and that ersons of honour are forced to decline patronising wit, because their modesty cannot bear the gross strokes of adulation. But give me leave to say, Sir, that I am too young an author to have learned the art of flattery; and, I hope, the the modesty which recommended this play to the world, will also reconcile my addresses to you, of whom I can say thing but what your merits may warrant, and all that have the honour of your acquaintance will be proud to indicate. The greatest panegyric upon you, Sir, is the unprejudiced and bare truth of your character, the fire of youth, with the dateness of a senator, and the modern gaiety of a fine English gentleman, with the noble solidity of the ancient riton. This is the character, Sir, which all men, but yourself, are proud to publish of you, and which more celebrated pens han mine should transmit to posterity. The play has had some noble appearances to honour its representation; and to complete the success, I have presumed 0 prefix so noble a name to usher it into the world. A stately frontispiece is the beauty of a building. But here I must transverse Ovid :—materia superabit opus. I am, honourable Sir, your most devoted and humble servant, G. FARQUHAR. PREFACE TO THE READER. As affected modesty is very often the greatest vanity, and authors are sometimes prouder of their blushes than of the raises that occasioned them. I shan't therefore, like a foolish virgin, fly to be pursued, and deny what I chiefly wish r. I am very willing to acknowledge the beauties of this play, especially those of the third night, which not to be rud of were the height of impudence. Who is ashamed to value himself upon such favours, undervalues those who referred them. As I freely submit to the criticisms of the judicious, so I cannot call this an ill play, since the town has allowed it nth success. When they have pardoned my faults 'twere very ill manners to condemn their indulgence. Some may hink (my acquaintance in town being too slender to make a party for the play) that the success must be derived from the pure merits of the cause I am of another opinion: I have not been long enough in town to raise enemies against me; and the English are still kind to strangers. I am below the envy of great wits, and above the malice of little ones. I have not displeased the ladies, nor offended the clergy; both which are now pleased to say, that a comedy may be liverting without smut and profaneness. Next to those advantages, the beauties of action gave the greatest life to the play, of which the town is so sensible, that all will join with me in commendation of the actors, and allow (without detracting from the merit of others) that the Theatre Royal affords an excellent and complete set of comedians. Mr. Wilks's performance has set him so far above mpetition in the part of Wildair, that none can pretend to envy the praise due to his merit. That he made the part, wiil appear from hence, that whenever the stage has the misfortune to lose him, Sir Harry Wildair may go to the Jubilee. A great many quarrel at the Trip to the Jubilee for a misnomer: I must tell them, that perhaps there are greater trips in the play; and when I find that more exact plays have had better success, I'll talk with the critics about decoFams, &c. However, if I ever commit another fault of this nature, I'll endeavour to make it more excusable. LL POETS will think nothing so checks their fury Why, what your grave don thinks but dully writ, No, no, your thoughts, like theirs, lie quite another way. The ladies safe may smile: for here's no slander, No smut, no lewd-tongued beau, no double-entendre. 'Tis true, he has a spark just come from France, But then so far from beau-why, he talks sense! Like coin oft carried out, but-seldom brought from thence. There's yet a gang to whom our spark submits, Your elbow-shaking fool, that lives by's wits, That's only witty though, just as he lives, by fits. Who, lion-like, through bailiffs scours away, Hunts, in the face, a dinner all the day, At night, with empty bowels, grumbles o'er the play. And now the modish prentice he implores, Next to our mounted friends, we humbly move, Snaps rope like thread; but when his fortune told him, He'll hear perhaps of rope will one day hold him At least, I hope, that our good-natured town Will find a way to pull his prizes down. Well, that's all ! Now, gentlemen, for the play On second thoughts, I've but two words to say: Such as it is for your delight design'd, Hear it, read, try, judge, and speak as you find. ANOTHER PROLOGUE. Tis hard, the author of this play in view, 'Twas malice all: no malice like to theirs, Our plays are farce, because our house is cramm Their plays all good; for what?—because they' damn'd. Because we pleasure you, you call us tools; fools. By their good-nature, they are wits, true blue : And men of breeding, by their respects to you. To engage the fair, all other means being lost, They fright the boxes with old Shakspeare's ghost The ladies of such spectres should take heed; For 'twas the devil did raise that ghost indeed. Their case is hard that such despair can show: They've disobliged all powers above, they know And now must have recourse to powers below. Let Shakspeare then lie still, ghosts do no good; The fair are better pleased with flesh and blood. What is't to them, to mind the ancients' taste? But the poor folks are mad, and I'm in haste. |