ANIMADVERSIONS ON Mr. Congreve's LATE ANSWER TO Mr. COLLIER, etc. ANIMADVERSIONS ON Mr. Congreve's LATE ANSWER TO Mr. COLLIER. IN A DIALOGUE between Mr. Smith and Mr. Johnson. With the Characters of the present POETS; And some Offers towards New-Modeling the STAGE. Sr. Jos. Egad, there are good Morals to be picked out of Aesop's Fables, let me tell you that, and Reynard the Fox too. Bluff. Damn your Morals. Sr. Jos. Prithee don't speak so Loud. Bluff. Damn your Morals, I must revenge the Affront done to my Honor. Old Batch. Page 47. LONDON, Printed for John Nutt, near Stationers-Hall. 1698. TO THE INGENIOUS Mr.—. O Can I write like D—s sternly loud, That Ixion Author, in his Fancy proud To chase a Goddess,— but embrace a Cloud. With stretched out Wings on such Pursuits he soars, Presses the Cloud, and then the Thunder roars. Lost in a Fog, he sucks Infection there: The very ugliest Daemon of the Air; On whose foul Aspect should you sagely look, You can't but fancy that he's Thunderstruck. Such heavy Dulness dwells upon his Face, You read him much a Critic,— more an A—. Or could I run in Hop— s thundering strain, He who the Triumphs Sung of Peaceful Reign: In noisy roar of Numbers to excel, And gain to Kiss that Hand which fought so well. He who had every Muse,— and yet had none; With all his Grand-Sire's nonsense added to his own. Or could I write like the two Female things With Muse Pen-feathered, guiltless yet of Wings; And yet, it strives to Fly, and thinks it Sings. Just like the Dames themselves, who flaunt in Town, And flutter loosely, but to tumble down. The last that writ, of these presuming two, (For that Queen Ca— ne is no Play 'tis true) And yet to Spell is more than she can do, Told a High Princess, she from Men had torn Those Bays, which they had long engrossed and worn. But when she offers at our Sex thus Fair, With four fine Copies to her Play,— O rare! If she feels Manhood shoot— 'tis I know where. Let them scrawl on, and Loll, and Wish at case, (A Feather oft does Woman's Fancy please.) Till by their Muse (more jilt than they) accursed, We know (if possible) which writes the worst. Beneath these Pictures, sure there needs no name, Nor will I e what they ne'er got in Fame. Renowned like D D —y, for his written Chat Of Quixots, Monkies, and we know not what. Light in repute with all the Sacred Throng. Unless for heavy Burden in a Song. With stutt'ring Muse, and Self, he Sings,— or says He writes things sometimes, but his last were Plays. Next struts in Foppington of high Renown, Called the Beau-writer by the Sparkish Town; But him for all his Failings, I'll Excuse, He makes fair promises to quit his Muse: Yet here's the Danger, a Relapse before, Shows that the scurvy Sickness is not over; And drunken Men who know not what they do, Reel first on one side, then on another's too. Next, let the needy Gil— n peep abroad, Without a Muse, but more without a God. The first he claims, the latter's only Named In idle Talk,— so to be doubly Damned. Of all our throng of Wits and Men of Parts, 'Tis certain he has had his full Deserts, In a late Book, where of most Plays he treats, Of his dear self who knows what he Repeats? He tells you how his Beads were from him thrown, Then what Religion has he now? Why none. Equal to him in Poetry and Fame, Comes one who both has got, and lost a Name. See— le, who, when he gained a faint applause, Played a Just V— n, showed us what he was. He yields, no doubt, Great—! soon to you, We know, his recantations are not new. But he, 'tis feared is fond of Gil— n Curse, Eager of change, tho' still from bad to worse. Yet thou hast flashed such rays of Sacred Light, Sure, their dark Souls, for once, might find the right. Next in desert stands one, a Man of Wit, Made so by what he stole, not what he writ. But should each Bird pluck from this Crow his own. His Plumes would all be lost, and he undone. In some Years space, Play drops from thieving Muse, So long a time she takes to pick, and choose. Thus while he bears his burdens from the rest, His Title's but The Ass of Wit, at Best. Yet we may guests this Malefactor's end. Tho' the old I— H— be now his Friend. Inferior even to these, Mot— x appear, Do thou the last in Wit, bring up the Rear. Let the next piece you writ, to Damn the Pit, Be called not Beauty in Distress, but Wit. Poor every way, in Poetry and Pence, Keep your Advice, and write, to show your Sense. And if you can't do better for your Heart, Think not our Charity your own Desert. But be as conscious still, you want a prop, As when both Priest and Poet bore you up. On each side one, but now as Matters stand, I wonder which took place, and dear Right-hand. The Priest, no doubt; for Dr— en Pious grown, Throws down his Arms and yields to you alone. Triumphant—! over thy Vanquished Foes, As such, I wish not now to write like those. If ' ever too high my raised Ambition flew, It was, like thee, to Write and Conquer too. THE PREFACE TO THE READER. CVstom has made it requisite, that every body that Writes, should have something called a Preface prefixed to his Undertaking; but 'tis here, as in writing Private Letters, a Man has always the hardest Task, when he has no Business; so I have little else incumbent on me, but to let all my loving Friends in Town know, that I am very Well, and all that, as Mr. Bays says. As for News, (now you may suppose me writing to a Country Friend) Dear such a one, Because I have none else to tell you; Mr. Congreve has set out a Book in Vindication of his Plays from Mr. Collier's. Most of the other Scribbling Sparks o'th' Town, have discharged their little Artillery and their Spleen as well as he, but not one Breach have they made yet in Mr. Collier's Bastions; they are too well Lined against the disorderly Fire of such Poppers. And I am told, he will very soon make a Sally, which I am positive, will raise their Siege, and open for himself a vast Field to Triumph in, who even in his Walls was Conqueror. Being very Idle, I made bold to seize the Reins of your Friend Will's Prose Pegasus, (and yet his most fiery Poetic Steed is no better) to make my Remarks a little how he foamed, and champed upon his Bit; and tho' he was a Gift Horse to the World this bout (for I think no body bought him) I presumed to look him in the Mouth. He had many Faults, I sound as I Viewed him; very Headstrong; when Spurred, apt neither to run, nor Pace, but Kick and Fling, or at best, fall into a hard uncouth, unsufferable Trot. I observed him from Head to Tail, he was both Cropped and Bobbed. He was so untoward, he had given his Rider (while he pretended to show him) several Falls, and so I thought fit to take hold of him. This is all the Account I think necessary to be given of my Pebble-stone attempt upon the very Front of this Goliath; one, who braves Heaven as much as the former did, even in his most Modest and Innocent Play as he calls it. I'll give you an Instance or two.— Alm. — How I have Mourned and Prayed, Mourning Bride, P. 20. For I have Prayed to thee as to a Saint; A Roman-Catholick no doubt, but on— And thou hast heard my Prayer, for thou art come To my Distress, to my Despair, which Heaven Without thee cannot Cure. This is Superfine, for certain; But I find here was a Cure to be performed in the the business, and Heaven we must suppose, could not have applied it to the Wounded part, till the Poet had spread out Ozmyn as a Plaster to be laid upon her— even so, for here again he says— Ozmyn. Thou art my Wife— nay, Page 35 thou art yet my Bride! The sacred Union of Connubial Love Yet unaccomplish'd; his Mysterious Rites Delayed— Is this dark Cell, a Temple for the God? Or this vile Earth an Altar for such Offerings? 'Tis pretty plain, he wanted to be doing: And, since Mr. Congreve left them in the Dark, no doubt, but they groped out one another's Meaning, and he found an Altar for his Offerings. Now, Old Batch. Pag. 46. If you can be as Grave as a Bishop, when he hears Venereal Causes in the Spiritual Court, you shall have more on't in the next Page— Ozmyn. Then Garcia shall lie Panting on thy Bosom, Luxurious, Revelling amidst thy Charms, And thou perforce must yield and Aid his Transports. This is luxuriously Modest, on my Word. I wonder who yielded to Aid Mr. Congreve's Transports when writ this: He must certainly have beheld several beautiful Ideas of Lust, to draw this Picture of Obscenity by, as well as the other Painter had, who drew his Luscious Venus. Now for another touch of Profaneness— Alm. 'Tis more than Recompense to see thy Face; If Heaven is greater Joy, it is no Happiness, For 'tis not to be born.— If that be Mr. Congreve's Opinion, he need not covet to go to Heaven at all, but to stay and Ogle his Dear Bracilla, with sneaking looks under his Ha', in the little side Box. One more, and then I have done; 'tis a most rampant one. King. Better for him to tempt the Rage of Heaven, Page 26. And wrench the Bolt red hissing from the hand Of him that Thunders, than but think that Insolence. 'Tis daring for a God— Now, he might have made something of this with a little Paraphrase, and avoided the Profanity too, as thus— Better for him to tempt the Tavern's Fury, In the full Face of a Presenting Jury. Snatch the brisk Glass red sparkling from the hand Of him that draws it— Comment. Drawer understand. Than but to think to thrust out Snout like Hog. Or Bark, or so— 'tis daring for a Dog. Pray now, as not our Poet a very insolent Capaneus, to Brave a true Jove, and real Thunderer? But 'tis my Opinion, that he who shows no Morality to Men, can't show any Religion to a God. As an Instance of his unGentile Principles; One Mr. P— showed him his Play, he approved on't, and tho' perhaps it deserved its Fate, yet 'tis very well known who it was, that by his Interest of Voices caused it to be damned. I instance this Gentleman particularly, because, his false Friend failed in all his other attempts of the like good Office. However, this Gentileman's Countrymen are not much obliged to him; for he is pleased (where he confesses his Demerits) to say he hopes the Faults are to be Excused in a young Writer, and especially a Man of Ireland. None I think, but the Author of such a Play, would have writ such a thing; I resent it, for perhaps I have the misfortune to have been born in Ireland, and to own it too. However, I think Mr. Congreve would have done well to have made the like Excuse (in spite of Staffordshire) for his Poetry. But a word or two of the following Pages. Some perhaps will say, that they are too Light and Airy; that they have not all that Solidity in them which is required in an Answer: But the Title Page is (I think) a sufficient Reply to this Objection; for the Word Animadversions, signifies only lose Thoughts, and not a set and studied Discourse: Nor will the Method they are writ in, (which is Dialogueways) permit of any other than a free, easy and light way of Writing. However, if there are still some Carpers, who won't be satisfied with this, but would have had a more solid and elaborate Reply to our Friend's Pamphlet, I shall only say, That I think it does not deserve it. Others perhaps may fancy that I have been too Severe upon Mr. Congreve; but I shall only desire these Gentlemen to take a slight View of his Book, and I dare engage they'll soon be of another Opinion. They'll find his Pages fuller of Malice than right Reasoning, and instead of being stored with Sense, blackened with Gall and Spleen. His way of Answering Mr. Collier, is with satire and Reflection; and since he has set the Copy, he can't take it ill if he is Imitated, especially when he sees we have observed our Distance, and not presumed to cope with him in his Masterpiece. For we are all assured his Prophetic Truth's now fulfilled, viz. Not But the Man has Malice, would he show it; Prologue to the Old Batch. But on my Conscience, he's a bashful Poet: You think that strange,— no matter— he'll out-grow it. ANIMADVERSIONS ON Mr. Congreve's LATE ANSWER TO Mr. COLLIER, etc. Mr. Johnson. COme, Mr. Smith, sit down.— bring a Flask Boy, let Wit and Wine flow together; here's Congreve, Congreve; here's the Man o'th' World, Old Batch. the Wittol of Wittol-Hall, Gad's daggers, Belts! and Scabbards! come and Embrace my Bully, my Back, this Pen of his I'll maintain to be the best Divine, Anatomist, Lawyer, or Casuist in Europe; it shall decide a Controversy or split a Cause— Smith. Nay, now I must speak, it will split a Hair, by the Lord Harry, I have seen it. Johns. Oh, now I kiss your Hilts Sir, you are floating upon the full blown Bladders of Repentance, to swim once more into his Favour. O Gad! I have a great passion for Congreve, don't you admire him? Ah! he's so fine, so extremely Fine, so every thing in the World that I like. Smith. Cowley I believe you mean. Johnson. No, no; our English Horace I mean: Cowley was a very pretty Fellow, but let me tell you, Comparisons are odious; Cowley was a very pretty Fellow in those days it must be granted; but alas, Sir, were he now Alive, he'd be nothing, nothing in the Earth. Smith How Sir! I make a doubt if there be so great a Poet breathing. Johnson. O Lard! Will Congreve's alive Man, he's my Countryman, he has been regenerated ever since he turned Poet, and his Muse has had a new Birth too since the Peace. Smith. What Miracle has made him a Stassordshire Man, I know not, but I'm sure his Muse, for all his fine Flights, is but a Bog-trotter still. Johns. Fie, Fie, I don't like that (still) 'tis not good word, vide Congreve, pag. 47. But why so sever upon your Friend, the Courteous the obliging Mr. Congreve? the very Pink of Courtesy; Love for Love. nay, the very reflection of Heaven in a Pond.— john's. Ay, ay, but he that leaps at him, is lost. Smith. No, you mistake him, he's all Love for Love, not on jot of the Double Dealer; come, come, edisie, and chew the cud of Understanding; here's Paper Diet that will make you Fat, here's Congreve against Collier Man, you shall see how he mauls him, Egad, he does not yield the Parson a Tithe of his Citations, For why should a Blockhead have one in Ten? You know the Song, Friend. Here, hand Willy with the Wisp hither to me; so— armed with this Book and this Flask, I stand like Jove, with my Thunder and Lightning: Ha', Boy, here's Bacchus and Apollo Virorum for you; come, Pledge me: By the Muses, tho' this Helicon of Wit will please you better than that of Wine, come, bless yourself, and I'll open the Book. Smith. Conjure up Parson Saygrace, to crave a Blessing, no doubt, Mr. Collier will give Thanks after Meat. Johns. Stay, cut open these two Leaves, and I'll tell you, (O pox! this will discover, (Damn the Bookseller) my partiality in commending before I read it) very well— so, thank you, my Dear,— but as I was telling you— pish, this is the untoward'st Leaf— so, as I was telling you— how d'ye like it now? Hideous— ha', frightful still, or how? Smith. O no, Sir, 'tis very well as can be. Johns. And so— but where did I leave off, my Dear, I was telling you— Smith. You were about to tell me something, but you left off before you began; I am afraid your Friend Mr. Congreve does so too; come, we'll see in the Title Page here what 'tis he drives at; Amendments of the Citations from the Old Bachelor, Double-Dealer, Love for Love, Mourning Bride.— By the Author of those Plays. Who alone in the name of Wonder, can this be? Did you not tell me this was Mr. Congreve's Book? I hope you will not make me believe these four Plays were Mr. Congreve's. Johns. Whose are they then? Cujus pecus? Smith. Non Meleboei—. You know what Hartwell says, this Brat's mighty like his Grace, has just his Smile and Air of's Face, has such a one's Nose and Eyes, and Mr. What de calls Mouth to a tittle. In short, those Plays are little Compounds of the whole Body of Scribblers: Nay, even Tom. Du Du —y has not been proof against his Stealths, and I would have him reflect Mr. Congreve's Motto upon him, viz. Those pretty things Friend Congreve you rehearse, Were once my Words, tho' they are now your Verse. Well, now to page 1. here he says, Some would think him idle if he laboured for an Answer to Mr. Collier; intimating, that Mr. Collier would upon his own Evidence be Condemned, and he Acquitted before he could make his Defence,— and pray why so? all the World are not Staffordshire Men, and 'twill be no easy Task to make them so. But to agree with him, if he were acquitted at all, it must have been before he offered at his Defence; for he has made so mean and wretched a business of it, that he is now Cast in the Opinion of the World: He has said nothing that can hinder Sentence from being passed upon him, even in the Opinion of his Friends. Johns. Well, but peruse him from page 2. to 7. Smith. Yes, I see he very dully Asperses Mr. Collier all the way; and at the end, to close the Climax of the Abuse, he calls him Mr. Collier. Now 'tis my Opinion, that Mr. Collier knows himself very well, and needs not that Advice which may justly be given to Mr. Congreve. Ne te quoesiveris extra. For indeed he is Tantum mutatus ab illo, that he seems to be no more his Father's Offspring, than the Plays he owns are his. Before I proceed, for Method sake, I must premise some few things, V Cong. p. 7. which if you think in your Conscience too much to be granted me, I desire you to proceed no further, but you may return to Mr. Congreve's Book a loan, etc. Johns. Well, go on, you'll come to Greek presently, 'tis very Witty I believe, but I can't read it,— Smith. 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 I wonder Mr. Congreve has not instructed his Friends in the meaning of that; why, it relates to all kinds of Vice; O yes, here 'tis Construed, look here Mr. Johnson. Johns. Well what think you now of his four Postulatas? Smith. Why, he plays a sure Card, he's at all-Fours with Mr. Collier I think, Highest, Lowest— john's. Jack and the Game boy,— ay, ay, he steers a right course, he can give him a Broadside, let the Winds blow how they will. Smith. Ay, right, but he sends his Wits for a Venture, and I fear they will be plaguily Weatherbeaten before they come home; here he is run aground already, I see, and beats upon the Sands, and for fear of being made Prize, has set out false Colours, viz. His third Postulatum, where he desires Mr. Collier's Citations may be absolutely thought false, that is, may appear in Mr. Congreve's own Colours: Now his Answering Mr. Collier, must certainly be ridiculously vain, if this is granted; for any Man, to clear the Aspersion of being Scabby, need only expose his Hands, and turn up his Backside, to prove his Cleanness. But he's Affronted I suppose to be turned up by Mr. Collier, because taking him unawares, the dirty Linen appears in view. Johns. Hold, hold, good Friend, you lash too hard; our Jehu too will turn Hackney-Coachman I fear. If my Friend has been in fault, and is taken up to be Whipped, and has nothing else to say; he piously cries out, Jesus, and like other good Natured Boys, promises never to do't again. Smith. But if he has still the itch to steal and publish on, and scan other Men's Prose on his own Unpoetical Fingers, he does it so roughly, they must needs break out to Soreness. Et vivos roderet ungues, etc. For Example, I'll repeat you one or two of his smooth Lines. For Love's Island: Old Batch. p. 8. I for the Golden Coast. Now if you can get a Shore on that Island without being plaguily out of Breath, I'll be bound to find out the Golden Coast for Mr. Congreve. Let's have a fair Trial, and a clear Sea. Prol. to Double Dealen. There's a Line for you, that has sailed itself into a clear Sea of Prose. Johns. No indeed, 'tis a Verse, I'm sure, for it Rhymes to three lines going before. Smith. O than the Rhyme does the business, or else egad let me tell you Mr. Congreve 's standing Argument is depressed in dumb show: If this Claim won't pass in the Court of Parnassus, I'm afraid we shall see him expelled the Land at the next Visitation of Apollo. Johns. Come read on, 'tis mighty fine I think, and as my dear Friend Setter says, Old Batc. p. 47. my Head runs on nothing else, nor can I talk of nothing else. Smith. That (Nor) makes it excellent English— nor Du Du—y nor M—ux themselves, nor the insufferable Dullness of P— x, nor the Lightness both in Head and Tail of the presuming T— r, could have brought in Nor more elegantly. Well, as to his fourth Postulatum, we'll see what he says there, I'll pass his two first, for he may have halfway given him in his Race, and be easily run down too. To show himself a Man of Letters, he talks of the Alphabet here in the fourth place, and says, that tho' he claps a Scripture Sentence into the Mouths of Persons in a Play (which, by the by, may be Bawds or Whores) 'tis allowable, because the same Letters are requisite to the spelling of all Words whatever. Here Mr. Congreve seems not to understand his A. B. C. for tho' the Bread and Wine may be received in the Church before the Altar, yet 'tis not to be offered in a Playhouse, or any other place of Sport, much less be swallowed by such whose touch would Pollute it; for once Consecrated, it immediately ceases to be common. Johns. Nay, if you won't allow him his Heads, the Body of his Discourse is ruined. Smith. His Heads? why I can find neither Head nor Tail in't for my part, 'tis a beastly sort of a Monster that crawls on all Four; and only licks the Dust, which itself raises. In his 13th. page, he says, he has written but four poor Plays, here indeed the Man were modest, had he not said Written. Well, four Plays; in how many Years? About eight; does he not hammer out his Minerva's? Johns. Why; 'tis necessary a good Play should be a twelve Month or two a Writing; but go on with the Book, come turn over a new Leaf and done't rail. Smith. Well; in the next page Mr. Collier, he says, is in the right, and he agrees with him, and immediately after he says he does not understand him, and can make no answer to him. He Juggles finely it seems, sometimes there is something in his Cups, and then whip it's gone again. The Gentleman understands Legerdemain sure. Johns. I know not what you'd be at. Sir, with your Juggling, and your Cups, pray, what do you mean? Smith. Why, I believe your Friend Will was in his Cups when he wrote this P. 15. He makes a great splutter about big Whores, and because there are three of them that are of the biggest, and but four in all, he would put them upon Mr. Collier; nay, sure they'll be reconciled soon, now he parts with his Whores; but hold, I see 'tis out of a sly design, he has made them Whores, and now would put them on him; a cunning Shaver, and knows how to dispose of a Wench when he's tired of her: Here he runs on like an Arithmetician, builds upon a false Multiplication Table of Three of the biggest of Four, runs to Divisions and Subtractions, and casts up Accounts, which he places to Mr. Collier, and which really when Examined, turn only to a cipher. Here he changes his Tune again, and after he has blown the World up with false Music, he lets his Pipe fall, and says, He loves to meddle with his Match. He says, It was a Mercy all the four Women were not Nought. It was so indeed, since Mr. Congreve had any Business with them. Towards the end of the Paragraph, he musters up Furies and Harpies; and after he has shown his little Reading, he brings in honest Aristotle, with his ipse dixit, to pass a Compliment on Women, and say, there are more bad than good in the World: This very piece of Breeding is what he taxes Mr. Collier with just before. But his Opinion perhaps may be as his Song goes, The Nymph may be Chaste that has never been Tried. Love for Love. Which Sense, Ovid writing after Mr. Congreve, had occasion to borrow, but to hid his Theft, he made Latin of it, and put it in an Elegy. Casta est quam nemo rogavit. Book 1st. Elegy 8. And because he seems to value himself for the niceness of his Breeding, I'll quote you a place out of the Old Bachelor, shall give you a strong proof of his good Manners; Hartwell says, My Talon is chief that of speaking Truth, Old Batch. P. 7. which I don't expect should ever recommend me to People of Quality— I thank Heaven, I have very honestly purchased the Hatred of all the Great Families in Town. The Gentleman is extremely well bred, and the Lord C— to whom it was Dedicated, had, no doubt, an extraordinary Compliment of it. But here, in the 18th page, he gins to look about him and refer to his first Proposition with a Witness. Johns. How do you mean with a Witness? What because he quotes Moliere? Smith. Ay, as the Proverb goes, Ask my Brother if I am a Thief. But prithee, dost think thy Friend Will has no other mark of the French, but a small Citation? Johns. None that he is willing to produce Sir; go on prithee, here you shall see he's a Sophister; in short, he's every thing; see here how he argues about a Pimp and a Poet, Page, 20. and when he has talked towards the end, a little, of Worshipping the Devil, he conculdes— Smith. Like the Grave-digger in Hamlet, very Gravely with an Ergol, etc. Truly I think, that Grave-digger and he, were the fittest Persons to cast up their Dirt and their Arguments together. In his pretty concise Sentence of three Lines, immediately following, he Snaps and Snarls like an angry Cur, that will suffer none to pass in quiet but his own Mongrel Breed: But, 'tis not Mr. Collier, as he would have it, but he himself that ought to be Licked, Vide Ans. p. 21. but not with an Absolution. O Law! Answ. p. 23. here's the poor Mourning Bride taxed with Smat and Profaneness, Alack! and a Welladay! Nay, if there be Immodesty in my Tragedy too, I shall never write any thing Modestly while I have a Being. Poor Will. what do the Damned endure, but to Despair. In Page 26. he's got to his Letters again: Who knows but he may be able to write something with Modesty and Decency as he calls it? If he can but get back again the Skill that he wittily gives to Mr. Collier, in Anagram, there may be some hopes still. Here he seems more than ordinary moved: That his Poetry should be Criticised upon, is ten times worse than the Profaneness, but the corruption of an incorrigible Plagiary is the Generation of a Sour Poet. Here he seems to take a breathing a little, and for refreshment sake, I suppose, wafts the Air to and fro with a couple of Epithets, till he cools himself into a consent with Mr. Collier in a very short time; and indeed he has need on't, for he seems to be in a very fiery Passion: But I find, Non potest & sor●ere & flare. He might have kept his breath to have cooled his Pottage. Here in the self same Paragraph he breaks the new made League, and that very affair which just now he consented to, he lays, at the close to Mr. Collier's Charge as Nonsense. Prithee don't tell your Friend Congreve I find fault with his Book, for if it be his Irish-Staffordshire way of boxing, to shake hands first, and hit one a slap in the Face, I'll be sure to keep out of his Clutches. He's a dainty Critic indeed? 'Tis with him and his Muse, as he says,— O let us not support, but sink each other lower yet, down, down, where levelled low, etc. Prithee, what would his Muse and he have? Are they not low enough already? I am sure if her wings were cut, as Mr. Collier has justly marked them, we should have fewer of his flights to Heaven or Hell, till he were better convinced whether the Torture of the Damned were, but knowing Heaven, to know it lost for ever. Here he falls a Jesting, and letting off Puns and Crackers, he has got a Whip and a Bell too, and indeed I think they are in very good hands. Since he by his own confession, and in his own dog Language, can teach a Spaniel to set. So, he's got into his Element again. What will he say to this here, where he would make two of Mr. Collier? I don't find that he has hacked, and hewed him so, that he's like to fall one jot apieces; rather, crescit sub pondere virtus. Two to one they say is odds at Football, and I fancy Mr. Collier unmultiplyed has given him tosses enough to make him shun him, but poor Will. when the Ball is lost, will venture to kick at his Shins, for I don't underderstand how he can make Mr. Collier the Divine any other Man than what he is, so as to assume another Person to turn Critic in, and yet remain Mr. Collier the Divine, all the while; if he can spin this double spider's Web out of the Bowels of his Invention, I should allow that he had some guts in his Brains, and consent with him, where he says, p. 51. Nature has been provident only to Bears and Spiders. Here's a rare boy for you again. Epithets make Prose languishing, Answ. p. 31. and cold; and the frequent use of them in Prose, makes it pretend too much, and approach too near to Poetry, Sure the Gentleman forgot himself here, the Ague of inervate coldness, not the Fever of Passion has seized him now, but he has been kneading up his Prose so long, that in spite of all his shaking, it will stick upon his hands; for that the same thing should make Prose languishing and cold, and yet approach too near to any Poetry, (but Mr. Congreve's) is as strange to me, as that the same acquaintance between Mr. Charles Hopkins and him, should make the former, through too much good Nature, and willingness to raise his Friend as he thought him, Dedicate, and Ascribe to him, what he really owes to Nature only; and the latter very impudently, in public; to say he was very angry with him for the presumption. A very pretty Fellow truly this. Now, I suppose he was at the head of the Table, where he always sits, when he talked at this most arrogant manner. Well, Mr. Collier says some of his Figures are Stiff. I don't doubt it, he's a very stiff Gentleman, we see, but prithee what answer dost think he gives him? Johns. Why, I don't know, I dare swear he does not bend to him, for I don't know where his stiffness bends in the whole Book, unless it be to an Old Woman, p. 42. why, perhaps he answers him as I would do my myself, and says, they are not stiff. Smith. Just so indeed, that's his way of arguing as well as yours. 'Tis certainly to be observed, that all weak Disputants, when they have nothing to say, grow plaguy positive. I wonder he did not offer to lay a wager that they were not stiff, for, Fools for Arguments lay Wagers Hudibr. But he's too far in for the Betts already, and I am sure would be glad to get his own Stake, and sneak off. And indeed I have heard so bad a Character of his Book since it came out, that I fancy 'tis worse with his countenance than the proverb would make it, which says, he looks as he had neither lost nor won. He has gained nothing, Old Batch, p. 9 but what as a Man might say has been to his loss: Nay, don't stare, for there's another Sharper has been forced to own the same thing. Johns. Prithee mind the Book, and read that, not the Man, don't make him worse than he is, or you'll run into as bad a distinction as you say he does, when he divides Mr. Collier the Divine, and Mr. Collier the Critic, for here you make a difference between the Poet, and Mr. Congreve. Smith. O there's a great deal of difference, but perhaps I don't pretend to make them the same person. Besides, he takes Mr. Collier's person to task, and why should not I inspect him a little, 'tis not his snarling at the Town in a fulsome Dedication to a damned Play, when he should Address to his Patron all the while, that shall make me spare him, neither am I bound to believe him when he says in the same Dedication— If I really wish it might have had a more popular reception; it is not at all in consideration of myself; Dedica. Double Dealer. but because I wish well, and would gladly contribute to the benefit of the Stage, and diversion of the Town. There's your Double Dealer for you, never was Poet's Character better drawn by himself, since the Ignorance and Malice of the greater part of the Audience grew such, Ibid. that they would make a Man turn Herald to his own Play, and blazon every Character. I'll no more believe his late Declaration to the World and his Patron, than I believed him, when he said he'd go as far as Newmarket to see a Play which a Friend of mine writ; but perhaps Mr. Congreve thought himself particularly concerned, which made him mention Newmarket, when the Horseraces were run there, this Gentleman, he said, (as he had heard) declared to set up in opposition to him in the other House, so, 'tis likely, Mr. Congreve thought his Poetry in danger: But, set up, what? Not himself, in opposition to Mr. Congreve. I dare excuse my Friend from that Grand Presumption, or the open profession of it at least; he only, as being a Poet, designed indeed to set up his Pegasus at the other House, pray, what was that to Mr. Congreve: O, but when he talked of opposition to his House, perhaps 'twas something to the Beast he rides on. Now in my opinion, it would be well if he could bridle his Tongue, and not spur himself, as well as his Rosinante, out of breath; nor would I have him think others, (who may have better Coursers) must be rid out o' the stirrups, because he has got so much the start of them; and I know not how it might have gone, if my Friend had given him the Challenge, (tho' he never designed more than an airing) but I dare swear he would have sweated least, and yet I'll allow too what Hartwell says, All Coursers the first heat with vigour run, But 'tis with Whip and Spur the Race is won. the Gentleman too thought Mr. Congreve not his Enemy at least, because when he was first recommended to him by a Friend's Letter, the mighty Man of Wit was pleased to say he'd give him what assistance possibly he could in his Art, (as he was pleased to call it) when in the end, at the Representation of this Play of my Friend's, he was seen very gravely with his Hat over his Eyes among his chief Actors, and Actresses, together with the two She Things, called Poetesses, which Writ for his House, as 'tis nobly called; thus seated in State among those and some other of his Ingenious critical Friends, they fell all together upon a full cry of Damnation, but when they found the malicious Hiss would not take, this very generous, obliging Mr. Congreve was heard to say, We'll find out a New way for this Spark, take my word there is a way of clapping of a Play down.— This was heard by very creditable Persons, but his Malice could no way prevail, for spite of him, and all other disadvantages the Play survived with Applause, and overcame his Envy. But to go on with his Book, here he talks of puffing and blowing, and laying about in short Sentences, sure he has been an Apprentice to a Blacksmith that he's always stirring the Coals thus, only to make himself more smutty; but the mischief on't is, he can never strike the Iron while 'tis hot: Well, I begin to be tired of him, and shall only run him slightly over, and take notice of his errors, where they shall appear blazing in his polite Pages. Johns. You are undoubtedly in the right to take just as much as serves your own turn. Ans. Pag. 38. But I don't hear you commend at all. Smith. No truly, I can't commend a dull thing, if I know it to be such; I can't forbear falling a sleep over the Double Dealer, tho' Dryden has writ a fine Commendatory Copy before it: Where the paints laid on so very thick, 'tis a sign the Face is a very scurvy one; and as for Dryden, why he'd give Du Du —y a Copy of Verses if he would cringe to him, pray did he not write one to ' their day, prefixed to as wretched a piece of Stuff of a Play, as ever a Tennis-Court Theatre tossed into the World? Here in page 38. he musters up a Speech of the crying Sin of Adultery. Shows us that Mr. Collier has left a rank broken and imperfect, and refers us to the Play, as the main body to make the breach up from thence. A pretty sort of an Answer this; Is Mr. Congreve so assured that every Body has his foolish Plays by them? Or does he think those that have, will take the pains? Pray, whose Business is it? 'tis they that Answer Mr. Collier, if they do, not he— Ah! poor Man! Ans. Pag. 39 Indeed I cannot forbear Laughing when I compare his dreadful Comment with such poor silly words as are in the Text.— But hold, what's here? is our Democritus turned Heraclitus already? Alas! Let sable Clouds her chalky Cliffs adorn. Pastora. Which with his foregoing Line, which makes up the burden of the Song, is Stolen from a Poem written on the Death of General Monk; but I need not detect him in Particulars, what has he published that is not Stolen? Alas! this is so Melancholy, 'tis almost next to Dead, Dead, Dead. Well, if I can constrain my Tears, I'll read it you in totidem Verbis. — Especially when I reflect how young a beginner, Ibid. and how very much A Boy I was when that Comedy was Written, which several know, was some Years before it was Acted: When I wrote it, I had little thoughts of the Stage; but did it to amuse myself in a slow recovery from a fit of Sickness. Afterwards through my Indiscretion, it was seen; and in some little time more, it was Acted. And I through the remainder of my Indiscretion, suffered my sells to be drawn in, to the prosecution of a difficult and thankless Study. Poor Billy! why I protest, the poor Boy has been hardly dealt with. I'm afraid it has met with a Stepmother Muse; But what would it be at? would it have its Backside stuck with Points? Or would it have the Ladies o'th' Town send it Bread and Butter with Glass Windows wrought on't? Or what other Gugaw would it have? Mr. Collier has given it a Coral to make it cut its Teeth kindly, and a Rattle to quiet it, but these it is not pleased with. Well, Ans. Pag. 40. here's another piece of Mr. Congreve's Kindness, he's very glad Mr. Collier has some devotion for the Lips and Eyes of a pretty Woman; the Wag talks so pleasingly of it, that he licks his own Lips at her till he makes his Teeth water, and yet he gives her up to Mr. Collier; what won't he do to be Reconciled? Well, with reverence to your Friend the Author be it spoken; Immediately following here, Ibid. he confesses himself to have writ stark Nonsense. I wonder now what's become of all his wont Fury, he has not been very angry for a pretty while, but as he says, perhaps Passion comes upon him by Inspiration. I wonder if Dulness does not so too. Here he repeats a Citation out of the Old Bachelor, and says. There are some things promised in some body's Name. Now, to excuse himself from the abuse of the Catechism, he wisely says only— I meant no ill in this Allegory, Ans. Pag. 42. nor do I perceive any in it now. To rerturn his own ill Expression on him which he uses on this occasion, he has proved but a very bad Godfather, to promise some thing, and perform nothing, but poorly excuse himself with pleading Ignorance, when he should rather correct the Brats he has promised for, than wilfully (merely to be rid of them) have them confirmed in their unbounded Wickedness. So,— here's another Paragraph I'll read you verbatim. In the Double Dealer, Ans. Pag. 42. Mr. Collier says, Lady Pliant cries out Jesus, and talks Smut in the same Sentence. That Exclamation I give him up freely. I had myself long since condemned it, and resolved to strike it out in the next Impression. I will not urge the Folly, Viciousness or Affectation of the Character to excuse it. Here I think myself obliged to make my Acknowledgements for a Letter which I received after the publication of this Play, relating to this very Passage. It came from an Old Gentlewoman and a Widow, as she said, and very well to pass: It contained very good Advice, and required an Answer, but the Direction for the Superscription was forgot. If the good Gentlewoman is yet in being, I desire her to receive my Thanks for her good Council, and for her approbation of all the Comedy, that word alone excepted. This is a pretty tale of a Tub, is it not? In the first place, the word Jesus is no less than thrice Profanely mentioned in this Comedy, which I never heard that any body but Dryden and this good old Woman ever yet approved of. Well, 'twere something could we hope this word, which he applies so ill, would be dashed out of the next Impression; but hold, I forget myself, who will ever be at the charge of another Impression of such a piece of heavy Stuff as the Double Dealer? Well,— here's a most surprising Turn, here's an old Woman (because, as she said, very well to pass) courted at a most extravagant rate: But poor Will was very hard put to it here, that he might not make his Confession, and own his Thanks to Mr. Collier; and being thus heavily puzzled, and in the dark, thought Joan was as good there as my Lady. After he had been a good while, as I imagine, between Hawk and Buzzard, he even wisely turned to the to the latter. But what a wretched condition must he certainly have been in, when he was forced to frame so idle a Story, chief for the sake of a pretence to make us believe in the tail of the Paragraph, that he had an Old Woman's approbation of all the Comedy, that word alone excepted? I think he had better have yielded thankfully to Mr. Collier, but he's of his own Mr. Brisk's temper, where he says, Egad, I love to be Malicious, Double Dealer, Pag. 8. — nay, the Deuce take me, there's Wit in't too— and Wit must be foiled by Wit; cut a Diamond with a Diamond: No other way Egad.— Egad; there's a Diamond for you now, pray what Diamond can cut that? I'm afraid the World Exclaims, (or I'm sure they have reason) at the unequalled Profaneness of his Expressions, worse than the Lady Pliant does in his Play, viz. But I have not Patience— Oh! Double Dealer. Page, 21. the Impiety of it! as I was saying, and the unparableled Wickedness! Then follows, O Merciful Father! A very pretty Exclamation, that— when the Person speaking, Dissembled all the while, and taxes another with what she knew to be false. I shall only desire your Friend to consider, what the same Lady says a little after. O reflect upon the horror of that and then the guilt of deceiving every Body. Here he seems to be at Questions and Commands, Ans. Pag. 43. a playing with Mr. Collier, and because the latter has not given a pawn for my Lady Plyant's lose talk, your Friend Will pretends to Smut him, 'tis a very dirty trick of him, that you will own at least. Well, here he pretends to excuse the Character of a Fool in his Play, Ibid. (saying upon all, and upon no occasions,— I am beholding to Providence, truly, I am mightily beholding to Providence.) only by, catching at a slip which perhaps the Printer might have been guilty of, not Mr. Collier, the meaning is plain however, but such a Foe as your Friend Will once driven to despair, will give no quarter, but catch at all advantages. Well, if this Profaneness of his, bened reputed to him as Sin, (without Repentance,) he will have reason in earnest to take the words of his Fool into his own Mouth, and say, truly I am mightily beholding to Providence. But here the aspiring driver runs on in his Career, more mad than Phaethon, lashing the Scripture with Burlesque, calling Jehu a Hackney-Coachman, he really does what the other Madman was only feigned to have done, he drives at Heaven to confound it with the wildness of his Course; and might he be suffered to go on, he would set the World on Fire; but as the saying is, I hope, there will be a spoke put in his Wheel. Mr. Collier has Thundered him pretty well, but like the other rash mistaken Boy, he runs headlong on, because forsooth he thinks himself a Brat of Apollo's. Well then, because we suppose ourselves to have sprung from this radiant God, we may be presumptuous, and Passion may come upon us by Inspiration. Well, see this same Highborn Babe, with not one of his Father's Rays about him, or any thing else of the God, but the fiery Rage, when he's at a loss how to Guide. Inspiration signifies no more than Breathing into; Ans. Pag. 45. Now, if if it be so, I believe when Mr. Congreve was Inspired with Poetry, he was only Breathed into; but whether it might be the back way or no, I leave to the Opinion of the World. He has got a Dogtrick of turning round sometimes before he lies down, as referring, (when all his other Breathing into is gone) to some of his fine Propositions. Well, after his reference to his Postulatum, sure you would think he were laid; Ay, but he gets up again to Bark a little; he renews the Discourse, merely to show his knowledge of a Puppet-show, where he owns he can only argue as the Puppet did with the Rabbi; It is Profane, Ans. Page 46. and it is not Profane. This is pro and con, that's the Truth on't, but if he would do as Mr. Brisk desires, that is, give us Marginal Notes, it might be some Satisfaction. So, to excuse himself here from Mr. Collier, in his saying, Tho' Marriage makes Man and Wife one Flesh, it leaves them still two Fools. He is forced to detect his Theft, and confess that he Borrowed it from Ben Johnson. who says in one of his Plays, Man and Wife make one Fool. Well, Ans. Page 48. here Scandal says, he'll die a Martyr rather than disclaim his Passion. Now, what Martyr the Greek word may signify, I must beg leave to contradict Mr. Congreve, and say, that in plain English, that is, plain customary Acceptation, it does not signify Witness, but Martyr, that is, as our common Notion of the word bears, one who dies for his Religion. But Mr. Congreve is so angry, and so near Swearing about it, that he will needs have it for a Witness; well, he's a fiery Gentleman, and would rather die a Martyr than disclaim his Passion. Here again he's put to't to confess where he borrowed the word Whoreson; from Shakespeare and Johnson. Well, but he has used it so lately, that I shan't dispute his Title to't by any means. hay day! what have we got here? Jeremy Congreve, who's that prithee, dost know? Johns. No, faith, my Friend's Name is Will. Smith. No, no, 'tis Jeremy, 'tis certainly Jeremy, I'll call him so, because there's Wit in't; Oh, 'tis very Ingenious when I would rally a Man, to say, Ans. Page 50. He can't call me Jeremy Congreve; let him call me what he will, he can't call me Jeremy Congreve. I find he rallies more like a Waterman than a Gentleman, and and argues more like a Pedant than a Scholar. Here again, he desires the Reader to look over his Plays, to find Citations; set the Impudence on't aside, 'tis a very pretty way of Evasion; when he's caught in the Net, if possible, he gives a flounce out, and the Standards by, if they please, may go seek for him in his own Mud; but as the saying is, I fancy most have other Fish to fry. Here he talks of a Speech of Sir Sampson's; in the Play 'tis said, The sampson's were strong Dogs from the Beginning. And so on with more such Profane Stuff; but let Mr. Congreve take notice how Sir Samson is Auswered, for 'tis well if he does not pull an old House over his Head. Here he's a Stargazing with as much care as Sir Sydrophel's Watchum himself, Aus. Pag. 52. to know whether Solomon had his Wisdom by Astrology or no; or perhaps it may be to find out whether or not he was Wise; for, to banter the Scripture, and ridicule the Knowledge of Solomon; I remember where he says, All that he knew was, that he knew nothing. and that Stolen too from the last Lines of the Emperor of the Moon. I wish Mr. Congreve knew as much of himself, I am sure it were not amiss to tell him so; for in spite of all his Astrology, I fear in the end he may come to Curse his Stars. Well, here Valentine says I am Truth. This is in all men's Opinion, whom I have heard speak of it, horrid Profanity, and I think scarce any Body but a Wittol would have put such words in a Madmans' Mouth: Poorly to excuse it, he says he had first written, I am Tom-tell-troth. Ans. Pag. 56. I dare presume, Mr. Congreve is not Truth, when he says so, nor will I allow him the Title (which he himself as he owns has blotted out) of Tom-tel-troth neither. As Mr. Congreve allows Inspiration to be but Breathing into, certainly I believe, when he was Inspired to write this, he was breathed into by the Devil. A pretty Humour this next of his, viz. In the next Chapter he quotes me so little, Ans. Page 57 and has so little reason even for that little, that 'tis hardly worth Examining. This is all very little I must confess, but while Mr. Congreve seems to slight it, and give no Answer, he is raised so upon that little, that he looks very big upon't. I find he grows a little weary of his Adversary tho', for he is not rather for playing at small Game than stand out. Johns. Sure you'll be pleased at last, come prithee read it out. Smith. Pleased! no Faith, but I'm almost a-sleep, prithee drink to me, all this stuff is so plaguy dry and insipid, I want something to put my mouth in Taste. Here's a long business all the way from pag. 60, to pag. 78. Whether or not Parsons should be Exposed upon the Stage; I shall leave that to Mr. Collier (in the Answer I am told he designs) to determine; I shall only give my private Opinion that they should not; for, to bring a Minister to ridicule him upon the Stage, must be merely the effect of the Author's Contempt of the Clergy, and desire that the Audience should despise them them too, for what we have in Derision we Contemn: there is certainly no necessity for making the Priest or the Chaplain appear on the Stage; for, the Ceremony for which they're generally hooked in, (that's Marriage) is never performed in the presence of the Audience; and as to Exposing their Faults, I take it to be the care and business of the Bishops set over them, who can Punish them too for the Offence, and not the business of the Theatre, where Divines very rarely or never come of late. But I had like to have forgot one of your dear Friend's Expressions. Mr. Ans. Pag. 38. Collier, who is very Conversant in ill Plays. A very fair Confession this that he makes now of his own four poor Plays; (his own, as he is pleased to call them.) But because Mr. Collier is so conversant in his ill Plays, he's resolved to hue him down, and place one part of him in the Pit, and the other on the Stage: he had divided him Potentia once before, but now he divides him Actu. He dares not engage him any longer entire, but (as the French served us at Landen, when our Army was separated) he fights him by halves. Well, but while Mr. Collier is thus planted Piecemeal, where dost think Mr. Congreve will take his Post? Why with his Dear Bracilla, in the little Box over the Stage, with his Hat held before his Face, to show his Modesty; or his Hatstring. But I shall pass his Conceited Stuff which he runs on with here, as arrogantly as if he had Spatchcocked Mr. Collier in good Earnest: And take it from me, tho' some of the Town be your Friend Will's Bigots', yet they will not continue so, when He shall appear mounted upon a false Pegasus, Ans. Page 83. like a Lancashire Witch upon an imaginary Horse, the Fantom shall be Unbridled, and the Broomstick made visible. Well, he continues his fine Division of Mr. Collier for some Pages; I wonder what he makes of him at last, he'll rise in his Arithmetic to his own Golden Rule by and by perhaps, and make him in the first ten Lines, the chief of the Giants that fought against the Gods, and in the following Ten, the Mars that overthrew the Giants; this he could do admirably well in a Poem on Namur, and why not here? Johns. And yet you say he steals every thing, now I dare swear he did not steal that? Smith. Yes, doubtless, he stole both the chief Giant and Mars, but for his own particular fancy he thought fit to make but One of those Two, just as he thought fit here to make Two of Mr. Collier: By this, I am afraid, that Mr. Collier appeared more dreadful to him, than both Mars and the Giant together. But, Ans. Page 85. pitiful and mean comparisons, (viz. Mars and the chief Giant) proceed from pitiful and mean Ideas, and such Ideas have their beginning from a familiarity with such Objects. From this Author's poor and filthy Metaphors and Similitudes we may learn the filthiness of his Imagination; and from the uncleanness of that, we may make a reasonable guess at his rate of Education, and those Objects with which he has been most conversant and familiar. Here he says a great deal of Valentine, Ans. Page 88 to vindicate him, but I shan't trouble myself with it, even let the two Madmen go together for me, with the Curse of all kind tenderhearted Women, which he modestly calls the Pox, and which he wonders Mr. Collier could write at length, doubtless, Mr. Collier would not rob Mr. Congreve of his Pox; for he knew it to be his, and that he deserved it to the full, and at length. Here he has got a Cat to Mew out a Spanish Proverb for him, and I dare swear the one understands the Language as well as tother, but any thing to show our learning; tho' it be a Cat one while that shall storm a Town, and the next Minute Mars and the Giant. But he's of his dear Sharpers' opinion— this excellent Talon of railing was born with him, Old Batch. p. 38. and he must needs confess he has taken care to improve it, to qualify him for the Society of Ladies. Now I think all the Citations in your Friend's Book are over, and to give him his due, he seems every where to write more from Prejudice than Opinion; he Rails when he should Reason, and for gentle reproofs, uses scurrilous reproaches. He looks upon his Adversaries to be his Enemies, and to justify his Opinion in that particular, before he has done with them, he makes them so. If there were any Spirit in his Arguments, it would eva, porate and fly off unseen, through the heat of his Passion. His Passion does not only make him appear to be in many places in the wrong, but it also makes him appear to be conscious of it. That which shows the face of Wit in his writing, has indeed no more than the Face, for the Head is wanting; he has put himself to some pain to show his reading; and his reading is such, it puts us to pain to behold it. He discovers an ill taste in Books, and a worse Digestion. He has swallowed so much of the scum of Authors, that the over flowing of his own Gall was superfluous to make it rise upon his Stomach. Mr. Congreve 's vanity in pretending to Criticism, has extremely betrayed his Ignorance in the Art of Poetry: This is manifest to all that understand it, and I am not the only One who look on this Pamphlet of his to be a Gun levelled at the whole Clergy, while the Shot only glances on Mr. Collier. Persecution may make Men persevere in the wrong; Men may, by ill usage be irritated sometimes to assert, and maintain even their very errors. Perhaps there is a vicious Pride of triumphing in the worst of the Argument, which is very prevailing with the Vanity of Mankind; I cannot help thinking that our Author is not without his share of this Vanity,— And so, Friend Will, I return you your Pamphlet. Johns. Well, and how do you like it in gross, speak your mind. Smith. Why, he has followed Capt. Vanbrook most servilely, in every thing— but his Wit, and Gentlemanlike stile, and 'tis no matter if he had followed the Gentleman Capt. Vanbrook talks of, who went Poet-Laureat to Russia with the Czar. He has very plainly shown himself to the view of the World, and in that he has lost himself; he was unfit to play at Blind-mans-buff with the Muses, who could not far well, but he must cry out Roastmeat. I must indeed confess, I think, Mr. Collier is a little too severe, when he would have the Playhouses pulled down. In truth, rather than remain so horridly wicked as they are, with such Actors, and such Actresses, I should be of his Opinion: but my Sentence passes, as it was once given at Rome, of Carthage— Non delendam, sed Carthaginem esse non timendam. The incomparable Author of the Whole Duty of Man. Sund. 2d Lect. 35. does not complain of the Theatre, as an Evil, where, if there had been reason, he had just opportunity, viz. By the Pomp's and Vanities there are several things meant, some of them such as were used by the Heathens, in some unlawful Sports of theirs, wherein we are not now so much concerned, there being none of them remaining among us. Well, 'tis a little late now, but I should be glad to meet you here some other Night to talk of Matters of the Theatre. Here boy, receive your Reckoning,— Friend Johnson, I thank you for bringing me to a Bottle of good Wine. Stay, I protest I had almost forgot: I have a Paper in my Pocket concerning the Stage, and 'twas given me this Morning by a young Lady— john's. I am afraid you have quite forgot, are you sure it was a young Lady? Ha', Mr. Smith; perhaps this is like my Friend Will's old Woman. Smith. My young Lady like your Friend's old Woman! I assure you Sir you are mistaken, She's in her bloom of Beauty as well as Wit, and that the latter flourishes in her, you shall see immediately, She's a little brief, I must confess; her writing is like herself; the Possession and Enjoyment of either, would but raise our Wishes and desires, for new fruition. Johns. Prithee, let me see this so celebrated Offspring of a Beauty— you use me as a Jilt does a pressing Lover; you raise me to a height of expectation which I can't bear, till at last my desires fly out, and the fruition's lost. Smith. You know Ceremony is always used to Ladies; but not to keep you longing, here 'tis; read it, and give me your opinion. A Short ESSAY ON THE STAGE. TOtus Mundus agit Histrionem, is a Saying demonstratively true: All Mankind are Actors; tho' the Lives of some pass away in gaudy Show and Opera, and the Lives of others are shuffled over, and spent in wild Confusion; like irregular Plays, whose Scenes are ill, and often shifted: And tho' in reality, we, (even while we are Spectators in a Theatre) play and act the Droll, or serious parts of our Lives, ourselves; yet are we pleased with the Representation there, as we are, when we see our Faces in a Glass. Every Spectator, Narcissus-like, may view his Shadow in this Well, and fall in Love with the Phantom if he pleases. The use of the Stage, is to Instruct and Delight, and where the Representation fails in either of these Points, it fails of the end; for Instruction (in a Theatre particularly) without Pleasure, is as heavy, as Pleasure without Instruction, is light. Instruction like a Plant, may shoot forth into many branches, but at best, they would look bare and naked, without the flourishing Ornament of blooming Leaves; for, 'tis through those the Representation courts, and Gently bends to the applause of the Audience, as spreading Boughs receive the Southern Breezes. Now, on the other hand, Delight may please or take the Eye a little while, like full blown Roses in a Garden; and while the Actor gathers them, to strew your Bed of Pleasure, you are ravished with the Odour, but ' soon as e'er you press them for Enjoyment, your Delight is Crushed. The Representation than ought to appear like the Orange-Tree, with Blossoms, to please the View, and Fruit to feed on: So that it may be supposed the Instruction ought to proceed from the Delight; (or appear at least to do so.) For, the Spectators must needs be tempted with the Fruit, viewing the Beauteous Blossoms whence it grew. I shall now look into the Affairs of the English Stage: that, (as a slander by, seeing all the Miscarriages of the Game) I may give my Opinion how it ought to be: showing where the Oversights are committed, and how the like may be avoided for the future. I would by no means have a Player made a Sharer, for than he grows so Saucy immediately, that the Poet and the Actor tread the Stage with equal Foot; nay, and the Actor in a little while, shall Ten to One, pretend to turn Poet too. Actors should indeed never have more Sense than generally they have; a Parrot-like sort of Cant, so they can but change their Tone, is sufficient for them. The chief Manager, or Patentee, besides Honesty, aught at least to have a good share of Sense, if not some acquaintance with the Muses. However it may happen that a Patentee has not a Palate to relish Helicon; but then 'tis absolutely necessary that such a one should keep a Taster; he should employ and encourage some industrious Inhabitant of Parnassus, and make him his Agent to set the Playhouse Leases; by this Method, tho' the Tenant Poets take them but for the term of three, or six Nights at most; if they are Substantial Men, they may be encouraged often to renew; and the Landlord have his Rents come in, with all the Duties. I would not have the top Actor a Madman, nor be admired for the Rant, and Clapped more for his Lungs than his Action. I would have all Actresses obliged by their Articles, to a considerable Forfeiture, upon proof of the abuse of their Virtue, or rather be Expelled the Theatre; for I think no Woman, after she has played the Whore notoriously, can be fancifully received upon the Stage for a Heroine. I would have a moderate share of the Gains of the Theatre, set apart to some good Use, by public Order; and special care taken for the performance of it: If I may give my Opinion, it should be to ease the Commonwealth of some of its useless Members, either by maintaining Old Decrepit Persons, or putting a select number of poor Children Apprentices Yearly, to some honest and useful Employments; and all Players should be obliged to contribute a certain Quantum out of every Pound they gain, towards it. This would seem as it were a kind of Compensation for the Idleness of their own Lives; 'twould look like a Purchase upon their Country, and be a sort of buying their way of Living. I would have Seats separately for the Men and Women; which would perhaps be the best Method to lessen the company of the Masks and Vizards in the Pit, who bestow their Half-crown only to make Prize of some unwary Gentleman, whom they may Cully out of a more considerable Sum; and be a very effectual means to hinder the dismal Consequences that too often attend those unhappy Encounters. This separation of the Sexes, would cut off all conveniencies and opportunities for such sort of Engagements, or however, it must be granted, it would totally take away the strongest and most powerful parts of the Temptation: It would secure the Ladies from the foolish and vexatious Impertinencies of the Fluttering Fops, and protect them from their Noise and Nonsense; the Moral of the Drama would be consequently more minded, and the Poet's Sense and Player's Action more regarded: Bad Poets could never be able then to pass such Stuff on the Audience, as they daily do; and even the Best would be obliged to a greater care and pains in their Productions. By this nice attention and regard to the Performance, we should have fewer Plays, yet more good ones. The number of our Dishes would be lessened, but the remaining few, would be more Wholesome and Palatable. I would have such Immorality and Profaneness as the Master of the Revels Marks to be cut out, absolutely refused the Stage, and a nice care taken that nothing pass to compliment Vice, or discourage Virtue: Nothing that bears the least tendency to Immodesty, should be permitted. By this means, the Ladies might came boldly to a new Play; and not be at the trouble of enquiring into its Character, before tthey appear at the Performance: They need not then be afraid of paying too dear for their Diuresion, nor of being at the cost of Blushes as well as Money, for their Entertainment. The Stage being thus regulated, it will afford us Instruction as well as Delight, or at least it will become an Innocent Diversion: And in order to encourage its continuance in this State, I would have all Ladies, (as I would myself) come constantly on the POET's Night Mr. john's. Well, all I have to say, Mr. Smith, is, 'tis a Lady's you tell me; I am a Lady's humble Servant at all times. Mr. Smith. And I am yours Sir; come, will you walk Mr. Johnson? Johns. O Sir,— nay, but pray now,— Smith. Indeed Sir,— I won't take the Wall of you by no means,— you are Sir Jeremy Congreve's Back,— pray Sir,— Your most Humble Servant. FINIS.