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리이
​A 510396
Andrew Rutherfurd
ADVOCATE
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1
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MIchn Dryden
.
UNIC
OF
MICH

The DRAMATICK
WORKS
OF
John Dryden, Eſq;
IN
SIX VOLUMES.
L0 N D 0 N:
Printed for 7. Tonfon: And Sold by R. Knaplock,
W.Taylor, W. Mears, 7. Browne, W. Churchill,
E. Symon, and J. Brotherton, MDCCXVII

The DRAMATICK
WORKS
OF
fohn Dryden, Eſq;
VOLUME the FIRST.
CONTAINING,
An ESSAY of DRA-
MATICK POESIE.
The WILD GALLANT.
The RIVAL LADIES.
The INDIAN QUEEN,
The INDIAN EMPE-
ROR: Or, the Cona
queſt of Mexico.
R
Printed in the YEAR MDCCXVII.
English
marias
8-14-30
22400
svol

chen
PATPER
AMOR
To His GRACE the
Duke of Newcaſtle,
Lord Chamberlain of His Ma-
jeſty's Houſhold, &c.
My LORD,
T
T is the Fortune of this
Edition of the Drama-
tick Works of the late
Mr. Dryden, to come into the
World at a Time, when Your
Grace
a

DEDICATION.
Gracer) has juſt given Order for
Erecting, at Your own Expence,
a Noble Monument to his Me-
mory. uion & STATI nowotni
b. This is an Act of Generofity,
which has ſomething in it fo very
Uncommon, that the moſt un-
concern'd and indifferent Perſons
muſt be moved with it: How
much more, muft all ſuch be af-
fected by it, who had any due
Regard for the perſonal Merits of
the Deceasºd; or are capable of
any Taſte and Diſtinction, for
the Remains and elegant Labours
of one of the greateſt Men that
our Nation has produced. 40)
árab 50 kora
That

DEDICATION.
107 Thar, which diſtinguiſheth A-
étions of pure and elevated Gene-
roſity, from thoſe of a mird and
inferiour Nature, is nothing elſe
but o the abſolutely diſintereſted
Views of the Agent if this
My Lord, this being granted,
in how fair a Light does Your
Munificence ſtand? a Munificence
to the Memory, to the Aſhes of a
Man whom You never ſaw; whom
You never can ſee: And who, con-
ſequently, never could by any
perſonal Obligation, induce You
to do this Deed of Bounty ; nor
can he ever make You any Ac-
knowledgement for it when it
ſhall be done.
a 2
It

DEDICATION.
It is evident Your Grace can
have acted thus from no other
Motive but Your pure Regard to
Merit, from Your intire Love for
Learning, and from that accurate
Taſte and Diſcernment, which
by Your Studies you have ſo ear-
ly attained to in the Politer Arts.
m And theſe are the Qualities,
my Lord, by which You are more
diſtinguiſh’d, than by all thoſe o-
ther uncommon Advantages with
which You are attended, vi Your
great Diſpoſition, Your great A-
bility to be beneficent to Man-
kind, could by no means anſwer
that End, if You were noto pof-
bus IU yto mio bus 10 fels'd
2901

NOITRDIata
DEDICATION.”
apo te
ſeſs’d of a Judgment to direct You
in the right Application,, and juſt
Diſtribution of Your good Of-
fices. toilai mon brus og
Ab You are now in a Station, by
which You neceſſarily preſide over
the liberal Arts, and all the Pra-
Cticers and Profeſſors of them.
Poetry is more particularly with-
in Your Province: And with very
good Reafon may we hope to ſee
it revive and flouriſh, under Your
Influence and Protection. A $1.919
-H. What Hopes of Reward may
not the living Deſerver entertain,
when even the Dead are fought
out for ; and their very Urns and
a 3
Aſhes

DEDICATION.
Aſhes made Partakers of Your
Liberality? ylbroiit parce odli
ni As I have the Honour to be
known to You, my Lord, and to
have been diſtinguiſh'd by You,
by many Expreſſions and Inſtances
of Your Good-will towards me;
I take a ſingular Pleaſure to con-
gratulate You upon an Action fo
intirely Worthy of You. d And
as I had the Happineſs to be very
Converſant, and as intimately
acquainted, with Mr. Dryden, as
the great Diſproportion in our
Years could allow me to be u I
hope it will not be thought too
aſſuming in me, if in Love to
Ĉ
his

DEDICATION.
his Memory, and in Gratitude for
the many friendly Offices, and
favourable Inſtructions, which in
my early Youth I received from
him, I take upon me to make this
publick Acknowledgment to Your
Grace, for fo publick a Teſtimo-
ny as You are pleas’d to give the
World of that high Eſteem, in
which You hold the Performances
pfsthat eminent Man. tis beilles
yll can in fome Degree juſtifie
my ſelf for ſo doing, by a Cita-
tion of a kind of Right to it, ber
queath'd to me by him.c. And it
is indeed, upon that Pretenſion
that I prefume even to make
a 4
ટ airt
a

DEDICATION.
a Dedication of thefe his Works
to You. anal sikrets Thism
rynu In ſome very Elegant, tho've-
ry partial Verſes which he did
me the Honour to write to me,
he recommended it to me to be
kind to his Remains. I was then,
and have been ever fince moſt
ſenſibly touched with that Expreſ-
fion: and the more fo, becauſe I
could not find in my ſelf the
Means of ſatisfying the Paſſion
which I felt in me, to do ſome-
thing anſwerable to an Injunction
laid upon me in fo Pathetick and
fo Amicable a Manner. 100 % 911
மா antimonial bis zisz?
You,

VDEDVCATION.
at You, my Lord, have furniſhed
me with ample Means of acquit-
ting my felf, both of my Duty
and Obligation to my departed
Friend. What kinder Office lyes
in me, to do to thefe, his moſt
valuable and unperiſhable Re-
mains, than to commit them to
the Protection, and lodge them
under the Roof of a Patron, whoſe
Hoſpitality has extended it felf
even to his Duft?
- If I would permit my ſelf to
run on in the way which ſo fairly
opens it ſelf before me, I ſhould
tire Your Grace with reiterated
Praiſes and Acknowledgments,
as
and

DEDICATION
and I mighti poſſibly (notwith-
ſtanding my pretended Right ſo
to do) give ſome handle to fuch
who are inclinable to Cenſure,
to tax me of Affectation and Of-
ficiouſneſs;s in thanking You,
more than comes to my Share, for
doing a Thing, which is, in
truth, of a Publick Conſiderati-
on, as it is doing an Honour to
Your Country. For ſo unqueſti-
onably it is, to do Honour to
him, who was an Honour to
it.
doorgious le numb
I have but one thing to ſay ei-,
ther to obviate, or to anſwer ſuch
an Objection, if it ſhall be made
to

DEDICATION
tomejo which is o that I loved.
Mr. Dryden.bi191919 yar gibno
ta I have not touch'd upon any
other publick Honour, or Bounty
done by You to Your Country 93
I have induſtriouſly declined en->
tring upon a Theme of fo exer
tenſive a Nature, and of all Youib
numerous and continual Largeſfesa
to the Publick, I have only ſingled
out this, as what moſt particu-
larly affected me. I confeſs free
ly to Your Grace, I very much
admire all thoſe other Donations;
but I much more love this; and I
cannot help it, if I am naturally
more delighted with any thing
that

DEDICATION.
that is Amiables than with any
thing that is Wonderful.fonos
Whoever fhall Cenſure me ,
I dare be confident, You, my
Lord, will Excuſe me, for any
thing that I ſhall ſay with due Re-
gard to a Gentleman, for whoſe
Perſon I had as juſt an Affection
as I have an Admiration of his
Writings. And indeed Mr. Dry-
den had Perſonal: Qualities to
challenge both Love and Eſteem
from All who were truly ac-
quainted with him, bond sonst
• He was of a Nature exceeding-
ly Humane and Compaſſionate ;
Y eaſily forgiving Injuries, and ca-
pable

DEDICATION
pable of a prompt and fincere
Reconciliation with them who
had offended him. od
prSuch a Temperament is the
only folid Foundation of all mo-
ral Vertues, and ſociable Endow-
ments. 10 His Friendſhip, where he
profeſs'd it, went much beyond
his Profeſſions; and I have been
told of ſtrong and generous In-
stances of it, by the Perſons them-
felves who received them : Tho?
his Hereditary Income was little
more than a bare Competency.
- As his Reading had been very
extenſive, fo was he very happy
in a Memory tenacious of every
aldea
thing

DEDICATION
thing that he had read. i He
was not more poſſeſs'd of Know-
ledge, than he was Communica-
tive of it. But then his Comt
munication of it was by no
means pedantick, or impos’d upon
the Converſation z but juſt ſuch,
and went fo far as by the ynatu?
ral Turns i of the Diſcourfe in
which he was engag'd it was net
ceſſarily promoted or required.
He was extream ready and gentley
in his Correction of the Errors
of any Writer, who thought fit.
to conſult him ; and full as ready
and patient to admit of the Re-
prehenſion of others in reſpect
ol
of

DEDICATION
of his own Overfight or Miſtakes.
He was of very eaſie, I may ſay
of very pleaſing Acceſs : But fome-
thing ſlow, and as it were diffi-
dent in his Advances to others.
He had ſomething in his Nature
that abhorrd Intruſion into any
Society whatſoever. Indeed it is
to be regretted, that he was rå-
ther blameable in the other Ex-
tream:p For by that means, he
was Perſonally leſs known, and
conſequently his Character might
become liable both to Miſappre-
henſions and Miſrepreſentations.os
To the beſt of my Knowledge
and Obſervation, he was, of all
the

DEDICATION.
the Men that ever I knew, one
of the moſt Modeſt, and the
moft Eaſily to be diſcountenanced,
in his Approaches, either to his
Superiors, or his Equals. 11. ys!
I have given Your Grace this
ſlight Sketch of his perſonal Cha-
racter, as well to vindicate his
Memory, as to juſtifie my ſelf
for the Love which I bore" to
his Perſon; and I have the ra-
ther done it, becauſe I hope it
may be acceptable to You to
know that he was worthy of the
Diſtinction You have thewn
him, as a Man, as well as an
Author. izotum A 10 21897
As

DEDICATION
on As to his Writings, I ſhall not
take upon me to ſpeak of them;
for, to ſay little of them, would
not be to do them right: And to
ſay all that I ought to ſay, would
be, to be very Voluminous. But,
I may venture to ſay in
ge-
neral Terms, that no Man hath
written in our Language fo much,
and fo various Matter, and in ſo
various Manners, fo well. Another
thing I may ſay very peculiar to
him; which is, that his Parts did
not decline with his Years: But
that he was an improving Writer
to his laſt, even to near ſeventy
Years of Age; improving even
in

DEDICATION.
in Fire and Imagination, as well
as in Judgement: Witneſs his Ode
on St. Cecilia's Day, and his Fa-
bles, his lateſt Performances. 209
He was equally excellent sin
Verſe, and in Proſe. His Profe
had all the Clearneſs imaginable,
together with all the Nobleneſs of
Expreſſion; all the Graces and
Ornaments proper and peculiar to
it, without deviating into the
Language or Diction of Poetry.
I make this Obſervation, only to
diſtinguiſh his Stile from that of
many Poetical Writers, d who
meaning to v Write harmoniouſly
in Proſe, do in truth often write
meer Blank Verſe.
I

DBDVCATIO N.
IL I have heard him frequently
own with Pleaſure, that if he had
any Talent for Engliſh Profe, it
was owing to his having often
read the Writings of the great
Archbiſhop Tillotſon, bo to V
s His Verfification and his
Numbers he could learn of no
Body: For he firſt poſſeſs’d thoſe
Talents in Perfection in our
Tongue. And they who have
beſt fucceeded in them ſince his
Time, have been indebted to
hisar Example; and the more
they have been able to imitate
him iſthe better have they ſuc
ceeded, siio de ar obsto
I
av mod 1 AS
11 לוטוס

VOITAICI
DEDICATION.
oldalsoont, SIA 3107 Volo?
As his Stile in Profe is always
UN
fpecifically different from his
Stile in Poetry; fo, on the other
hand, in his Poems, his Diction
is, where-ever his Subject requires
it, fo Sublimely, and ſo truly
Poetical, that its Eſſence, like
that of pure Gold, cannot be de-
ſtroy'd. Take his Verſes, and
diveſt them of their Rhimes, dif-
joint them in their- Numbers,
tranſpoſe their Expreſſions, make
what Arrangement and Diſpoſition
you pleaſe of his Words, yet ſhall
there Eternally be Poetry, and
fomething which will be found in-
capable of being reſolv'd into ab-
folute

DEDICATION.
Genius. ut Jooflib
folute Proſe :
VOITNO
An inconteſtable
Characteriſtick of a truly poetical
Slune
1. Onun
olna
1911 will ſay but one Word more
in general of his Writings, which
is, that what he has done in any
one Species, or diſtinct Kind,
would have been ſufficient to have
acquir'd him a great Name. If
he had written nothing but his
Prefaces, i or nothing but his
Songs, or his Prologues, each of
them would have intituled him
to the Preference and Diſtinction
of excelling in his Kind. 1950
brBut I have forgot my felf; for
nothing can be more unneceſſary
de agrii b volan pand tools
than
Saulo

DEDICATION
than an Attempt to fay any thing
to Your Grace in Commendation
of the Writings of this great Poet;
ſince it is only to Your Know-
ledge, Taſte and Approbation of
them, that the Monument which
You are now about to raiſe to
him is owing. I will therefore,
my Lord, detain You no longer
by this Epiſtle ; and only intreat
You to believe, that it is addreſs’d
to Your Grace, from no other
Motive, than a fincere Regard to
the Memory of Mr. Dryden, and
a very ſenſible Pleaſure which I
take in applauding an Action by
which You are fo juſtly, and ſo
ſingu-
9V7900 micillin

DEDICATION
ſingularly entitled to a Dedication
of his Labours, tho' many Years
after his Death; and even tho'
moſt of them were produced by
him, many Years before You were
born.netTOM 50 151 modt
I am with the greateſt Reſpect,
910191915 Ilow Lwo ä mut
19 My LORD, bieden
159134 vino ba to the vd
b els
Your GRACE'S
r
бес от шоу
1981o on moito Y Of
oj bis moſt Obedient and vitoM
bris kiya Mto M.
I sbidy moſt Humble Servant,
yd moiDA 16-gmbuslugs i sidst
o bob yfim of 6 oy did
“ -I9012
William Congreve.

SQUARE てる
​0 F
Dramatick POESIE,
Α Ν
ES SAY.
-Fungar vice Cotis, acutum
Reddere quæ ferrum valet, exors ipſa ſecandi.
Horat. de Arte Poet.
А4

To the Right Honourable
CH A R L ES
Earl of Dorſet and Middle fex,
Lord Chamberlain of Their Majeſties Houſhold;
Knight of the moſt Noble Order of the Gar-
ter, &c.
My LORD,
S I was lately reviewing my looſe
Papers, amongſt the reſt Ì found this
Eſſay; the writing of which in this
rude and indigeſted manner, wherein
your Lordſhip now ſees it, ſery'd
as an Amuſement to me in the Coun-
try, when the violence of the laſt Plague had dri-
ven me from the Town. Seeing then our Thea-
ters fhut
up, I was engag'd in theſe kind of
Thoughts with the ſame Delight, with which
Men think upon their abſent Miſtreſſes. I confeſs
I find many things in this Diſcourſe, which I do
not now approve; my Judgment being not a lit-
tle alter'd ſince the writing of it ; but whether for
the better or the worſe I know not: Neither in-
deed
AT

The Epiſtle Dedicatory.
deed is it much material in an Eſſay, where all I
have ſaid is problematical. For the way of wri-
ting Plays in Verſe, which I have ſeein'd to fa-
vour, I have, ſince that time, laid the Practice of
it aſide, 'till I have more leiſure, becauſe I find it
troubleſome and flow. But I am no way alter'd
from my Opinion of it, at leaſt with any Reaſons
which have oppos'd it. For your Lordſhip may
eaſily obſerve, that none are very violent againſt it,
but thoſe who either have not attempted it, or who
have ill ſucceeded in their attempt. 'Tis enough
for me to have your Lordſhip’s Example for my
Excuſe in that little which I have done in it; and
I am ſure my Adverſaries can bring no ſuch Ar-
guments againſt Verſe, as thoſe with which the
fourth A&t of Pompey will furniſh me in its De-
fence. Yet, My Lord, you muſt ſuffer me a lit-
tle to complain of you, that you too ſoon with-
draw from us a Contentment, of which we ex-
pected the continuance, becauſe you gave it us ſo
early. 'Tis a Revolt, without occaſion, from
your Party, where your Merits had already rais'd
you to the higheſt Commands, and where you
have not the excuſe of other Men, that you have
been ill us’d, and therefore laid down Arms. I
know no other Quarrel you can have to Verſe,
than that which Spurina had to his Beauty, when
he tore and mangled the Features of his Face,
only becauſe they pleas’d too well the Sight. It
was an Honour which ſeem'd to wait for
you, to
lead out a new Colony of Writers from the Mo-
ther-Nation: And upon the firſt ſpreading of your
Enfigns, there had been many in a readineſs to
have follow'd ſo fortunate a Leader; if not all,
yet the better part of Poets.
Pars indocili melior grege ; mollis & exfpes
Innominata perprimat cubilia.
I

The Epiſtle Dedicatory.
mer
I am almoſt of Opinion, that we ſhould force
you to accept of the Command, as ſometimes the
Prætorian Bands have compell’d their Captains to
receive the Empire. The Court, which is the beſt
and ſureſt Judge of Writing, has generally allow'd
of Verſe; and in the Town it has found Favoura
ers of Wit and Quality. As for your own par-
ticular, My Lord, you have yet Youth and Time
enough, to give part of them to the Divertiſement
of the Publick, before you enter into the ſerious
and more unpleaſant Buſineſs of the World. That
which the French Poet ſaid of the Temple of
Love, may be as well apply'd to the Temple of
the Muſes. The words, as near as I can remem-
ber them, were theſe :
Le jeune homme, à mauvaiſe Grace,
N'ayant pas adoré dans le Temple d'Amour :
72
1 faut qu'il entre, & pour le ſage
Si ce n'eſt pas ſon vray ſejour,
C'eſt un gifte ſur ſon paſſage.
I leave the Wordst
I leave the Words to work their Effect upon
your Lordſhip in their own Language, becauſe no
other can ſo well expreſs the Nobleneſs of the
Thought; and wiſh you may be foon calls to
bear a part in the Affairs of the Nation, where I
know the World expects you, and wonders why
you have been ſo long forgotten; there being no
Perſon amongſt our young Nobility, on whom the
Eyes of all Men are ſo much bent. But, in the
mean time, your Lordſhip may imitate the Courſe
of Nature, who gives us the Flower before the
Fruit: That I may ſpeak to you in the Lan-
guage of the Muſes, which I have taken from an
excellenc Poem to the King :
As Nature, when ſhe Fruit deſigns, thinks fit
By beauteous Blolfoms to proceed to it;
And

The Epiftle Dedicatory.
And while ſhe does accompliſh all the Spring,
Birds to her ſecret Operations ſing.
I confeſs, I have no greater Reaſon, in Addreſ-
ſing this Eſay to your Lordſhip, than that it might
awaken in you the deſire of writing ſomething, in
whatever kind it be, which might be an Honour
to our Age and Country. And methinks it might
have the ſame Effect on you, which Homer tells
us the Fight of the Greeks and Trojans before the
Fleet, had on the Spirit of Achilles; who, tho'
he had reſolv'd not to ingage, yet found a Martial
Warmth to ſteal upon him, at the Sight of Blows,
the Sound of Trumpets, and the Cries of fighting
Men. For my own part, if, in treating of this
Subject, I ſometimes diſſent from the Opinion of
better Wits, I declare it is not ſo much to com-
bate their Opinions, as to defend my own, which
were firſt made publick. Sometimes, like a Scholar
in a Fencing-School, I put forth my ſelf, and ſhow
my own ill Play, on purpoſe to be better taught.
Sometimes I ſtand deſperately to my Arms, like
the Foot when deſerted by their Horſe, not in
hope to overcome, but only to yield on more Ho-
nourable Terms. And yet, My Lord, this War
of Opinions, you well know, has fallen out a-
mong the Writers of all Ages, and ſometimes be-
twixt Friends. Only it has been proſecuted by
ſome, like Pedants, with violence of Words; and
manag’d by others like Gentlemen, with Candour
and Civility. Even Tully had a Controverſie with
his dear Atticus ; and in one of his Dialogues
makes him ſuſtain the part of an Enemy in Philo-
fophy, who in his Letters is his Confident of State,
and made privy to the moſt weighty Affairs of the
Roman Senate. And the ſame Reſpect which was
paid by Tully to Atticus, we find return'd to him
afterwards by Caſar, on a like occaſion, who, an-
ſwering

The Epiſtle Dedicatory.
ſwering his Book in praiſe of Cato, made it not
ſo much his Buſineſs to condemn Cato, as to
praiſe Cicero.
But that I may decline ſome part of the En-
counter with my Adverſaries, whom I am neither
willing to combate, nor well able to reſiſt; I will
give your Lordſhip the Relation of a Diſpute be-
twixt ſome of our Wits on the ſame Subject, in
which they did not only ſpeak of Plays in Verſe,
but mingled, in the freedom of Diſcourſe, ſome
things of the Ancient, many of the Modern ways
of Writing; comparing thoſe with theſe, and the
Wits of our Nation with thoſe of others : 'Tis
true, they differ'd in their Opinions, as ’tis proba-
ble they would : Neither do I take upon me to
reconcile, but to relate them: And that as Tacitus
profeſſes of himſelf, Sine ſtudio partium aut irá:
Without Paſſion or Intereſt; leaving your Lord-
fhip to decide it in favour of which Part you ſhall
judge moſt reaſonable, and withal, to pardon the
many Errors of
Your Lordſhip's
moſt Obedient Humble Servant,
JOHN DRYDEN.
TO

Τ Ο Τ Η Ε
R E A D E R.
T
HE Drift of the enſuing Diſcourſe was
chiefly to vindicute the Honour of our Eng-
liſh Writers, from the Cenfure of thoſe who
unjuſtly prefer the French before them. This I
intimate, left any ſhould think me ſo exceeding vain,
as to teach others an Art, which they underſtand
much better than my ſelf. But if this incorre&t
El ay, written in the Country without the Help of
Books, or Advice of Friends, Jhall find any Accep-
tance in the World, I promiſe to my ſelf a better
Succeſs of the Second Part, wherein I ſhall more
fully Treat of the Virtues and Faults of the Eng-
liſh Poets, who have written either in this, the E-
pique, or the Lyrique way.
AN

Α Ν
E S S A Y
Ο F
Dramatick Poeſie.
T was that memorable Day, in the firſt
Summer of the late War, when our Navy
ingag‘d the Dutch: A Day wherein the
two moſt mighty and beſt appointed Fleets
which any Age had ever ſeen, diſputed
the Command of the greater half of the
Globe, the Commerce of Nations, and the Riches of the
Univerſe. While theſe vaſt floating Bodies, on either
ſide, mov'd againſt each other in parallel Lines, and our
Country-men, under the happy Conduct of his Royal
Highneſs, went breaking, by little and little, into the
Line of the Enemies; the Noiſe of the Cannon from both
Nayies reach'd our Ears about the City: So that all Men,
being alarm'd with it, and in a dreadful Suſpence of the
Event, which they knew was then deciding, every one
went following the Sound as his Fancy led him; and
leaving the Town almoſt empty, fome took towards the
Park,

16 An ESSA Y of Dramatick Poeſie.
Park, fome croſs the River, others down it; all ſeeking
the Noiſe in the Depth of Silence.
Amongſt the reſt, it was the Fortune of Eugenius, Crites,
Liſideius and Neander, to be in Company together: Three
of them Perſons whom their Wit and Quality have made
known to all the Town: And whom I have choſe to
hide under theſe borrowed Names, that they may not
fuffer by fo ill a Relation as I am going to make of their
Diſcourſe.
Taking then a Barge which a Servant of Lifideius had
provided for them, they made haſte to ſhoot the
Bridge, and left behind them that great Fall of Waters
which hindred them from hearing what they defir'd: Af-
ter which, having diſingag'd themſelves from many Vef-
ſels which rode at Anchor in the Thames, and almoſt
block'd up the Paſſage towards Greenwich, they ordered
the Watermen to let fall their Oars more gently; and
then every one favouring his own Curioſity with a ſtrict
Silence, it was not long 'ere they perceiy'd the Air to
break about them like the Noiſe of diſtant Thunder, or
of Swallows in a Chimney: Thoſe little undulations of
found, though almoſt vaniſhing before they reach'd them,
yet ſtill ſeeming to retain ſomewhat of their firſt Hor-
ror which they had betwixt the Fleets: After they had
attentively liſtened till fuch time as the Sound by little
and little went from them; Eugenius lifting up his Head,
and taking Notice of it, was the firſt who congratulated
to the reſt that happy Omen of our Nation's Victory:
Adding, that we had but this to deſire in Confirmation
of it, that we might hear no more of that Noiſe which
was now leaving the Engliſh Coaſt. When the reſt had
concurr'd in the fame Opinion, Crites, a Perſon of a
ſharp Judgment, and ſomewhat too delicate a Taſte in
Wit, which the World hath miſtaken in him for ill Na-
ture, ſaid, ſmiling to us, That if the Concernment of
this Battel had not been ſo exceeding great, he could
ſcarce have wiſh'd the Victory at the Price he knew he
muſt
pay for it, in being ſubject to the reading and hear-
ing of ſo many ill Verſes, as he was ſure would be made
on that Subject. Adding, That no Argument could
ſcape

An EssA Y of Dramatick Poeſie. 17
fcape ſome of thoſe eternal Rhymers, who watch a Battel
with more diligence than the Ravens and Birds of Prey;
and the worſt of them fureſt to be firſt in upon the
Quarry, while the better able, either out of Modeſty
writ not at all, or ſet that due Value upon their Poems,
as to let them be often deſired, and long expected. There
are ſome of thoſe impertinent People of whom you
ſpeak, anſwer'd Lifideius, who, to my Knowledge, are
already ſo provided, either way, that they can produce
not only a Panegyrick upon the Victory, but, if need be,
a Funeral Elegy on the Duke: Wherein, after they have
crown'd his Valour with many Laurels, they will at laſt
deplore the odds under which he fell, concluding that his
Courage deſery'd a better Deſtiny. All the Company
ſmild at the Conceit of Liſideius; but Crites, more eager
than before, began to make particular Exceptions againſt
fome Writers, and ſaid, the publick Magiſtrate ought to
ſend betimes to forbid them; and that it concern'd the
Peace and Quiet of all honeſt People, that ill Poets ſhould
be as well filenc'd as feditious Preachers. In my Opini-
on, replied Eugenius, you purſue your Point too far; for
as to my own particular, I am ſo great a Lover of Poe-
fie, that' I could wiſh them all rewarded, who attempt
but to do well; at leaſt, I would not have them worſe
us'd than one of their Brethren was by Sylla the Dictator:
Quem in concione vidimus (ſays Tully) cum ei libellum malus
poeta de populo fubjeciſſet, quod epigramma in eum feciſſet
tantummodo alternis verſibus longiufculis, ſtatim ex iis rebus
quas tunc vendebat jubere ei præmium tribui, ſub en con-
ditione ne quid poftea fcriberet. I could wiſh with all
my
Heart, replied Crites; that many whom we know, were
as bountifully thank'd upon the fame Condition, that
they would never trouble us again. For, amongſt others,
I have a mortal Apprehenſion of two Poets, whom this
Victory, with the help of both her Wings, will never be
able to eſcape. 'Tis eaſie to gueſs whom you intend, ſaid
Lifideius; and without naming them, I ask you if one of
them does not perpetually pay us with Clenches upon
Words, and a certain clowniſh kind of Raillery? If now
and then he does not offer at a Catachreſis or Clevelandiſm,
wreſting

18 An ESSA Y of Dramatick Poeſie.
wreſting and torturing a word into another meaning
In fine, if he be not one of thoſe whom the French
would call un mauvais buffon; one who is ſo much a
well-willer to the Satyr, that he intends, at leaſt, to ſpare
no Man; and though he cannot ſtrike a Blow to hurt a-
ny, yet he ought to be puniſh'd for the Malice of the
Action; as our Witches are juſtly hang'd, becauſe they
think themſelves to be ſuch: and ſuffer deſervedly for
believing they did Miſchief, becauſe they meant it. You
have deſcribed him, ſaid Crites, fo exactly, that I am a-
fraid to come after you with my other extremity of
Poetry: He is one of thoſe, who having had ſome ad-
vantage of Education and Converſe, knows better than
the other what a Poet ſhould be, but puts it into practice
more unluckily than any Man; his Stile and Matter are
every where alike; he is the moſt calm, peaceable Writer
you ever read: He never diſquiets your Paſſions with the
leaſt Concernment, but ſtill leaves you in as even a Tem-
per as he found you; he is a very Leveller in Poetry, he
creeps along with ten little Words in every Line, and
helps out his Numbers with For to, and Unto, and
all the pretty Expletives he can find, till he drags them
to the end of another Line; while the Senſe is left tir'd
half way behind it: He doubly ſtarves all his Verſes, firſt,
for want of Thought, and then of Expreſſion; his Poe-
try neither has Wit in it, nor ſeems to have it; like him in
Martial :
Pauper videri Cina vult, en eft pauper :
He affects Plainneſs, to cover his want of Imaginati-
on: When he writes the ſerious Way, the higheſt Flight
of his Fancy is ſome miſerable Antitheſis, or ſeeming Con-
tradiction; and in the Comick, he is ſtill reaching at
fome thin Conceit, the Ghoſt of a Jeſt, and that too flies
before him, never to be caught; theſe Swallows which
we ſee before us on the Thames, are the juſt Reſemblance
of his Wit: You may obſerve how near the Water they
ſtoop, how many proffers they make to dip, and yet
how ſeldom they touch it: And when they do, 'tis but
the ſurface: They skim over it but to catch a Gnat, and
then

An Essay of Dramatick Poeſie. 19
then mount into the Air and leave it. Well, Gentlemen,
faid Eugenius, you may ſpeak your Pleaſure of theſe Au-
thors; but though I and ſome few more about the Town
may give you a peaceable Hearing, yet aſſure your felves,
there are Multitudes who would think you malicious,
and them injur'd: Eſpecially him whom you firſt de-
ſcribed; he is the very Withers of the City: They have
bought more Editions of his works than would ſerve to
lay under all their Pies at the Lord Mayor's Chriſtmas.
When his famous Poem firſt came out in the Year 1660,
I have feen them reading it in the midſt of Change-time;
nay, ſo vehement they were at it, that they loſt their
Bargain by the Candles ends: But what will you ſay if
he has been received amongſt great Perſons? I can affure
you, this Day, he is the Envy of one, who is Lord in
the Art of Quibbling; and who does not take it well,
that any Man ſhould intrude ſo far into his Province.
All I would wiſh, replied Crites, is, That they who love
his Writings, may ſtill admire him, and his Fellow Poet,
qui Bavium non odit, donc. is Curſe fufficient. And farther,
added Lifideius, I believe there is no Man who writes
well, but would think he had hard Meaſure, if their Ad-
mirers ſhould Praiſe any thing of his: Nam quos contem-
nimus, eorum quoqué laudes contemnimus. There are ſo
few who write well in this Age, ſaid Crites, that me-
thinks
any Praiſes ſhould be welcome; they neither riſe
to the Dignity of the laſt Åge, nor to any of the Anci-
ents; and we may cry out of the Writers of this time,
with more reaſon than Petronius of his, Pace veſtrâ liceat
dixiſſe, prin i omnium eloquentiam perdidiftis : You have de-
bauched the true old Poetry ſo far, that Nature, which
is the Soul of it, is not in
any
of
your Writings.
If your quarrel (ſaid Eugenius) to thoſe who now write,
be grounded only on your Reverence to Antiquity, there
is no Man more ready to adore thoſe great Greeks and
Romans than I am: But on the other ſide, I cannot think
Lo contemptibly of the Age in which I live, or ſo diſho-
nourably of my own Country, as not to judge we equal
the Ancients in moſt kinds of Poeſie, and in ſome fur-
paſs them; neither know I any reafon why I
reafon why I may not
be

An EssA Y of Dramatick Poeſie.
be as zealous for the Reputation of our Age, as we find
the Ancients themſelves were in Reference to thoſe who
lived before them. For you hear your Horace ſaying,
Indignor quidquam reprehendi, non quia craſsè
Compoſitum, illepidéve putetur, ſed quia nuper.
And after,
Si meliora dies, ut vina, poemata reddit,
Scire velim pretium chartis quotus arroget annus ?
But I ſee I am ingaging in a wide Diſpute, where the
Arguments are not like to reach cloſe on either ſide; for
Poeſie is of fo large an Extent, and ſo many both of the
Ancients and Moderns have done well in all kinds of it,
that in citing one againſt the other, we ſhall take up
more time this Evening, than each Man's Occaſions will
allow him: Therefore I would ask Crites to what part
of Poeſie he would confine his Arguments, and whether
he would defend the general Cauſe of the Ancients againſt
the Moderns, or oppoſe any Age of the Moderns againſt
this of ours.
Crites a little while conſidering upon this Demand, told
Eugenius that if he pleaſed, he would limit their Diſpute
to Dramatick Poeſie; in which he thought it not difficult
to prove, either that the Ancients were ſuperiour to the
Moderns, or the laſt Age to this of ours.
Eugenius was ſomewhat furpriz'd, when he heard Cri-
tes make Choice of that Subject; For ought I ſee, ſaid he,
I have undertaken a harder Province than I imagin'd;
for though I never judg'd the Plays of the Greek or Ro-
man Poets comparable to ours; yet on the other ſide,
thoſe we now ſee acted, come ſhort of many which
were written in the laſt Age: But my Comfort is, if we
are o'ercome, it will be only by our own Country-men:
And if we yield to them in this one part of Poeſie, we
more ſurpaſs them in all the other; for in the Epique or
Lyrick way it will be hard for them to fhew us one ſuch
amongſt them, as we have many now living, or who
lately were. They can produce nothing fo courtly writ,
or which expreſſes ſo much the Converſation of a Gen-
tleman, as Sir John Suckling; nothing ſo even, ſweet, and
flowing

An Essay of Dramatick Poeſie. 21
ours,
by it.
flowing as Mr. Waller: Nothing fo Majeſtick, fo correct
as Sir John Denham; nothing ſo elevated, ſo copious, and
full of Spirit, as Mr. Cowley : As for the Italian, French,
and Spaniſh Plays, I can make it evident, that thoſe who
now write, ſurpaſs them; and that the Drama is wholly
All of them were thus far of Eugenius his Opinion,
that the ſweetneſs of Engliſh Verſe was never underſtood
or practis’d by our Fathers; even Crites himſelf did not
much oppoſe it: And every one was willing to acknow-
ledge how much our Poeſie is improv'd, by the happineſs
of ſome Writers yet living; who firſt taught us to mould
our Thoughts into eaſie and ſignificant Words; to re-
trench the Superfluities of Expreſſion, and to make our
Rhyme ſo properly a Part of the Verſe, that it ſhould
never miſ-lead the Senſe, but it ſelf be led and govern'd
Eugenius was going to continue this Diſcourſe, when
Liſideius told him that it was neceſſary, before they pro-
ceeded further, to take a ſtanding Meaſure of their Con-
troverſie; for how was it pollible to be decided who
writ the beſt Plays, before we know what a Play ſhould
be? but, this once agreed on by both Parties, each might
have Recourſe to it, either to prove his own Advantages,
or to diſcover the failings of his Adverſary.
He had no ſooner ſaid this, but all deſir'd the Favour
of him to give the Definition of a Play; and they were
the more importunate, becauſe neither Ariſtotle, nor Ho-
race, nor any other, who had writ of that Subject, had
ever done it.
Liſideius, after ſome modeſt Denials, at laſt confeſsd he
had a rude Notion of it; indeed rather a Deſcription than
a Definition: but which ſerv'd to guide him in his pri-
vate Thoughts, when he was to make a Judgment of
what others writ: That he conceiv'd a Play ought to be,
A juſt and lively Image of human Nature, repreſenting its
Paſſions and Humours, and the Changes of Fortune to which
it is ſubject; for the Delight and Inſtruction of Mankind.
This Definition, though Crites rais'd a Logical Objecti-
on again it; that it was only à genere og fine, and ſo
not

22
An Essay of Dramatick Poefie.
1
not altogether perfect; was yet well received by the reft:
And after they had given order to the Water-men to
turn their Barge, and row ſoftly, that they might take
the cool of the Evening in their return; Crites, being de-
fired by the Company to begin, ſpoke on behalf of the
Ancients, in this manner.
If Confidence preſage a Victory, Eugenius, in his own
Opinion, has already triumphed over the Ancients ; no-
thing ſeems more eaſie to him, than to overcome thoſe
whom it is our greateſt Praiſe to have imitated well :
for we do not only build upon their Foundations; but
by their Models. Dramatique Poeſie had time enough,
reckoning from Theſpis (who firſt invented it) to Ariſto-
phanes, to be born, to grow up, and to flouriſh in Ma
turity. It has been obſerved of Arts and Sciences, that
in one and the fame Century they have arriv'd to great
Perfection; and no wonder, ſince every Age has a kind
of Univerſal Genius, which inclines thoſe that live in it
to ſome particular -Studies: The Work then being puſh'd
on by many Hands, muſt of neceſſity go forward.
Is it not evident, in theſe laſt hundred Years (when the
Study of Philoſophy has been the Buſineſs of all the Vir-
tuoſi in Chriſtendom) that almoſt a New Nature has been
reveal'd to us ? that more Errors of the School have been
detected, more uſeful Experiments in Philoſophy have
been made, more noble Secrets in Opticks, Medicine,
Anatomy, Aſtronomy, diſcover'd, than in all thoſe credu-
lous and doting Ages from Ariſtotle to us? So true it is,
that nothing ſpreads more faſt than Science, when right-
ly and generally cultivated.
Add to this, the more than common Emulation that
was in thoſe times of writing well; which though it
be found in all Ages, and all Perſons that pretend to the
ſame Reputation; yet Poeſie being then in more Eſteem
than now it is, had greater Honours decreed to the Pro-
feſſors of it; and conſequently the Rivalſhip was more
high between them; they had Judges ordain'd to decide
their Merit, and Prizes to reward it; and Hiſtorians have
been diligent to record of Æſchylus, Euripides, Sophocles, Lyco.
phron, and the reſt of them, both who they were that
van-

An ESSAY of Dramatick Poeſie. 23
vanquiſh'd in theſe Wars of the Theater, and how often
they were crown'd: While the Aſian Kings and Grecian
Common-wealths ſcarce afforded them a nobler Subject,
than the unmanly Luxuries of a Debauch'd Court, or
giddy Intrigues of a Factious City. Alit emulatio ingenia
(faith Paterculus) do nunc invidia, nunc admiratio incitati-
onem accendit : Emulation is the Spur of Wit, and ſome-
times Envy, ſometimes Admiration quickens our En-
deavours.
But now ſince the Rewards of Honour are taken a-
way, that virtuous Emulation is turn'd into direct Ma-
lice; yet ſo ſlothful, that it contents it ſelf to condemn
and cry down others, without attempting to do better :
'Tis a Reputation too unprofitable, to take the neceſſary
Pains for it; yet wiſhing they had it, that deſire is in-
citement enough to hinder others from it. And this, in
fhort, Eugenius, is the reaſon, why you have now fo
few good Poets; and ſo many ſevere Judges: Certainly,
to imitate the Ancients well, much Labour and long Stu-
dy is required: Which Pains, I have already ſhewn, our
Poets would want incouragement to take, if yet they had
Ability to go through the Work. Thoſe Ancients have
been faithful Imitators, and wiſe Obſervers of that Na-
ture which is fo torn and ill repreſented in our Plays ;
they have handed down to us a perfect Reſemblance of
her; which we, like ill Copyers, neglecting to look on,
have rendred monſ rous, and disfigur'd. But, that you
may know how much you are indebted to thoſe your
Maſters, and be aſhamed to have ſo ill requited them: I
muſt remember you, that all the Rules by which we
practiſe the Drama at this Day, (either ſuch as relate to
the Juſtneſs and Symmetry of the Plot; or the Epiſodi-
cal Ornaments, ſuch as Deſcriptions, Narrations, and o-
ther Beauties, which are not eſſential to the Play ;) were
delivered to us from the Obſervations which Ariſtotle
made, of thoſe Poets, who either liy'd before him, or
were his Contemporaries: We have added nothing of
our own, except we have the Confidence to ſay our Wit
is better; Of which none boaſt in this our Age, but ſuch
as underſtand not theirs. Of that Book which Ariſtotle
has

24 An ESSA Y of Dramatick Poeſie.
has left us, wel ş IIoTexñs, Horace his Art of Poetry is
an excellent Comment, and, I believe, reſtores to us that
ſecond Book of his concerning Comedy, which is want-
ing in him.
Out of theſe two have been extracted the famous
Rules which the French call, Des Trois Unitez, or, The
Three Unities, which ought to be obſerv'd in every re-
gular Play; namely, of Time, Place, and Action.
The Unity of Time they comprehend in twenty four
Hours, the compaſs of a Natural Day; or as near it as
can be contriv'd: And the Reaſon of it is obvious to e-
very one, that the time of the feigned Action, or Fable
of the Play, ſhould be proportion'd as near as can be to
the Duration of that time in which it is repreſented ;
ſince therefore all Plays are Acted on the Theater in a
ſpace of time much within the compaſs of twenty four
Hours, that Play is to be thought the neareſt Imitation
of Nature, whoſe Plot or Action is confin'd within that
time; and, by the ſame Rule which concludes this
gene-
ral Proportion of time, it follows, that all the Parts of it
are (as near as may be) to be equally ſub-divided; name-
ly, that one Act take not up the fuppos'd time of half
day; which is out of Proportion to the reſt; ſince the
other four are then to be ſtraitned within the compaſs of
the remaining half; for it is unnatural, that one Act, which
being ſpoke or written, is not longer than the reſt,
ſhould be ſuppos'd longer by the Audience; 'tis there-
fore the Poet's Duty, to take care that no Act ſhould
be imagin’d to exceed the time in which it is repreſent-
ed on the Stage; and that the Intervals and Inequalities
of time be ſuppos'd to fall out between the Acts.
This Rule of Time how well it has been obſerv'd by
the Ancients, moſt of their Plays will witneſs; you fec
them in their Tragedies (wherein to follow this Rule, is
certainly moſt difficult) from the very beginning of their
Plays, falling cloſe into that part of the Story which
they intend for the Action or principal object of it :
Leaving the former Part to be delivered by Narration :
So that they ſet the Audience, as it were, at the Poſt
where the Race is to be concluded : And, ſaying them the
tedious
a

An ESSAY of Dramatick Poeſie. 25
tedious Expectation of ſeeing the Poet ſet out and ride
the Beginning of the Courſe, they ſuffer you not to be-
hold him, till he is in ſight of the Goal, and juſt upon
you.
For the Second Unity, which is that of Place, the Ana
tients meant by it, That the Scene ought to be conti-
nued through the Play, in the ſame Place where it was laid
in the Beginning: For the Stage, on which it is repre-
ſented, being but one and the fame Place, it is unnatu-
ral to conceive it many; and thoſe far diſtant from one
another. I will not deny, but by the Variation of pain-
ted Scenes, the Fancy (which in theſe Caſes will contri-
bute to its own Deceit) may ſometimes imagine it ſeve-
ral Places, with ſome Appearance of Probability; yet it
ſtill carries the greater likelihood of Truth, if thoſe Places
be ſuppos’d fo near each other, as in the ſame Town or
City, which
may all be comprehended under the larger
Denomination of one Place: For a greater Diſtance will
bear no proportion to the ſhortneſs of time, which is
alloted in the Acting, to paſs from one of them to ano-
ther. For the Obſervation of this, next to the Ancients,
the French are to be moſt commended. They tye them-
felves ſo ſtrictly to the Unity of Place, that you never
fee in
any of their Plays, a Scene chang'd in the middle
of an Ast: If the Act begins in a Garden, a Street, or
Chamber, 'tis ended in the ſame place; and that you
may know it to be the ſame, the Stage is ſo ſupplied
with Perſons, that it is never empty all the time: He who
enters ſecond has Buſineſs with him who was on before;
and before the ſecond quits the Stage, a third appears
who has buſineſs with him.
This Corneille calls La Liaiſon des Scenes, the continuity
or joining of the Scenes; and 'tis a good Mark of a well
contrivd Play, when all the Perſons are known to each
other, and every one of them has ſome Affairs with all
the reſt.
As for the third Unity, which is that of Action, the
Ancients meant no other by it than what the Logicians
do by their Finis, the End or Scope of any Action:
That which is the firſt in Intention, and laſt in Execu-
VOL. I.
B
tion:

26 An Essa Y of Dramatick Poeſie.
tion: Now the Poet is to aim at one great and com-
pleat Action, to the carrying on of which all things in
his Play, even the very Obſtacles, are to be ſubſervient;
and the reaſon of this is as evident as any of the
former.
For two Actions equally labour'd and driven on by
the Writer, would deſtroy the Unity of the Poem; it
would be no longer one Play, but two: Not but that
there may be many Actions in a Play, as Ben. Fohnſon
has obſerv'd in his Diſcoveries; but they muſt be all fub-
ſervient to the great one, which our Language happily
expreſſes in the Name of Under-plots: Such as in Te-
rence's Eunuch is the difference and reconcilement of Thais
and Phadria, which is not the chief Buſineſs of the Play,
but promotes the Marriage of Cherea and Chremes's Siſter,
principally intended by the Poet. There ought to be
but one Action, fäys Corneille, that is, one compleat A&ti-
on which leaves the Mind of the Audience in a full Re-
poſe: but this cannot be brought to paſs, but by many
otlier imperfect A&tions which conduce to it, and hold
the Audience in a delightful Safpence of what will be.
If by theſe Rules (to omít many other drawn from
the Precepts and Practice of the Ancients) we ſhould
judge our modern Plays; 'tis probable, that few of them
would endure the Tryal: That which ſhould be the Buſineſs
of a Day, takes up in ſome of them an Age; inſtead of
one Action they are the Epitomes of a Man's Life; and
for one ſpot of Ground (which the Stage ſhould repre-
ſent) we are ſometimes in more Countries than the Map
can thew us.
But if we will allow the Ancients to have contriva
well
, we muſt acknowledge them to have written bet-
ter, Queſtionleſs we are deprived of a great ſtock of
Wit in the loſs of Menander amongſt the Greek Poets,
and of Cæcilius, Affranius, and Varius among the Romans.
We may gueſs at Menander's Excellency, by the Plays of
Terence, who tranſlated ſome of them: And
yet
wanted
ſo much of him, that he was called 'by C. Cafar the
Half-Menander; and may judge of Varius, by the Teſti-
monics of Horace, Martial, and Velleius Paterculus: 'Tis
pro-
Counties,

An EssA Y of Dramatick Poeſie. 27
Probable that theſe, could they be recover'd, would de-
cide the Controverſie; but ſo long as Ariſtophanes and
Plautus are extant; while the Tragedies of Euripides, So-
phocles, and Senecæ are in our Hands, I can never ſee one
of thoſe Plays which are now written, but it encreaſes
my Admiration of the Ancients; and yet I muſt ac-
knowledge further, that to admire them as we ought,
we ſhould underſtand them better than we do. Doubt-
lefs many things appear flat to us, the Wit of which de-
pended on ſome Cuſtom or Story which never came to
our Knowledge; or perhaps on ſome Criticiſm in their
Language, which being ſo long dead, and only re-
maining in their Books, 'tis not poſſible they ſhould
make us underſtand perfectly. To read Macrobius, ex-
plaining the Propriety and Elegancy of many words in
Virgil
, which I had before paſs'd over without conſidera-
tion, as common things, is enough to aſſure me that I
ought to think the fame of Terence; and that in the Purity
of his Stile (which Tully ſo much valued, that he ever
carried his Works about him) there is yet left in him great
room for Admiration, if I knew but where to place
it. In the mean time, I muſt deſire you to take no-
tice, that the greateſt Man of the laſt Age (Ben. Fomfon)
was willing to give place to them in all things: He was
not only a profefs'd Imitator of Horace, but a learned
Plagiary of all the others; you track him
every
where
in their Snow. If Horace, Lucan, Petronius Arbiter, Sene-
ca, and Juvenal, had their own from him, there are
few ſerious Thoughts which are new in him; you will
pardon 1e therefore, if I preſume he lov'd their Faſhion
when he wore their Cloaths. But ſince I have other
wiſe a great Veneration for him, and you, Eugenius, pre-
fer him above all other Poets, I will uſe no farther Ar-
guments to you than his Example : I will produce
before you Father Ben. dreſs'd in all the Ornaments
and Colours of the Ancients, you will need no other
Guide to our Party, if you follow him; and whe-
ther you conſider the bad Plays of our Age, or regard
the good Plays of the laſt, both the beſt and worſt of
B 2

28
An Essay of Dramatick Poeſie.
the modern Poets, will equally inſtruct you to admire
the Ancients.
Crites had no fooner left ſpeaking, but Eugenius, who
had waited with ſome Impatience for it, thus began:
I have obſery'd in your Speech, that the former Part of
it is convincing, as to what the Moderns have profited
by the Rules of the Ancients; but in the latter you are
careful to conceal how much they have excelld them ;
We own all the Helps we have from them, and want
neither Veneration nor Gatitude, while we acknow-
ledge, that to overcome them we muſt make uſe of the
Advantages we have received from them; but to theſe
Afliſtances we have join'd our own Induſtry; for (had
we ſate down with a dull Imitation of them) we might
then have loſt ſomewhat of the old Perfection, but ne-
ver acquir'd any that was new. We draw not there-
fore after their Lines, but thoſe of Nature; and having
the Life before us, beſides the Experience of all they
knew, it is no wonder if we hit fome Airs and Fea-
tures which they have miſs'd. I deny not what you
urge of Arts and Sciences, that they have flouriſhed in
ſome Ages more than others; but your Inſtance in Phi-
lofophy makes for me: For if Natural Cauſes be more
known now than in the time of Ariſtotle, becauſe more
ftudied, it follows, that Poeſie and other Arts may with
the ſame Pains arrive ſtill nearer to Perfection, and, that
granted, it will reſt for you to prove, that they wrought
more perfect Images of human Life, than we; which,
ſeeing in your
you
have avoided to make
good, it ſhall now be my task to ſhew you ſome part
of their Defects, and ſome few Excellencies of the Mo-
derns; and I think there is none among us can imagine
I do it enviouſly, or with purpoſe to detract from
them; for what Intereſt of Fame or Profit can the living
loſe by the Reputation of the dead? on the other ſide,
it is a great Truth which Velleius Paterculus affirms, An-
dita vilis libentius laudemus; eo præfentia invidia, præterita
admiratione profequimur; do his nos obrui, illis inſtrui credi-
mus: That Praiſe or Cenſure is certainly the moſt fin-
cere, which unbrib'd Poſterity ſhall give us.
Be
your Diſcourſe

An ESSAY of Dramatick Poeſie. 29
Be pleaſed then, in the firſt place, to take notice, that
the Greek Poeſie, which Crites has affirm’d to have ar-
riv'd to Perfection in the Reign of the old Comedy, was
ſo far from it, that the diſtinction of it into Acts was
not known to them; or if it were, it is yet ſo darkly
deliver'd to us, that we cannot make it out.
All we know of it, is from the ſinging of their Cho-
rus, and that too is ſo uncertain, that in ſome of their
Plays we have reaſon to conjecture they ſung more than
five times. Ariſtotle indeed divides the Integral parts of
a Play into four : Firſt, the Protaſis, or Entrance, which
gives light only to the Characters of the Perſons, and
proceeds very little into any part of the Action: Second-
ly, the Epitaſis, or working up of the Plot where the
Play grows warmer: The Deſign or Action of it is
drawing on, and you ſee ſomething promiſing that it
will come to paſs: Thirdly, the Cataſtaſis, call’d by the
Romans, Status, the Heighth, and full Growth of the
Play: We may call it properly the Counter-turn, which
deftroys that Expectation, imbroils the. Action in new
Difficulties, and leaves you far diſtant from that hope in
which it found you, as you may have obſerv'd in a vi-
olent Stream, reſiſted by a narrow Paſſage; it runs round
to an Eddy, and carries back the Waters with more
ſwiftneſs then it brought them on. Laſtly, the Cataſtro-
phe, which the Grecians call'd turis, the French, le de-
nouement, and we, the diſcovery or unravelling of the
Plot: There you ſee all things ſetling again upon their
firſt Foundations, and the obſtacles which hindred the
Deſign or Action of the Play once remoy'd, it ends with a
that reſemblance of Truth and Nature, that the Audio
ence are ſatisfied with the Conduct of it. Thus this
great Man deliver'd to us the Image of a Play, and I
muſt confeſs it is ſo lively, that from thence much light
has been deriv'd to the forming it more perfectly into
Acts and Scenes; but what Poet firſt limited to five the
number of the Acts I know not; only we ſee it fo
firmly eſtabliſh'd in the time of Horace, that he gives it
for a Rule in Comedy; Neu brevior quinto, neu ſit pro-
ductior actu: So that you ſee the Grecians cannot be faid
B3

zo An ESSAY of Dramatick Poeſie.
to have confummated this Art; writing rather by En-
trances, than by Acts, and having rather a general indi-
gefted Notion of a Play, than knowing how, and where
to beſtow the particular Graces of it.
But ſince the Spaniards at this Day allow but three
Acts, which they call Fornadas, to a Play; and the Ita-
lians in many of theirs follow them; when I condemn
the Ancients, I declare it is not altogether becauſe they
have not five Acts to every Play, but becauſe they have
not confin'd themſelves to one certain Number; 'tis
building an Houſe without a Model: And when they
fucceeded in fuch Undertakings, they ought to have
facrific'd to Fortune, not to the Muſes,
Next, for the Plot, which Ariſtotle calldó Mūdos,
and often των πραγμάτων σύνθεσις, and from him
the Romans Fabuld, it has already been judiciouſly ob-
fervd by a late Writer, that in their Tragedies it was
only fome Tale deriv'd from Thebes or Troy, or at leaſt
fome thing that happen'd in thoſe two Ages; which
was worn fo thread-bare by the Pens of all the Epique
Poets, and even by Tradition it ſelf of the Talkative
Greeklings (as Ben. Johnſon calls them) that before it came
upon
the Stage, it was already known to all the Audi-
ence: And the People, fo foon as ever they heard the
Name of Oedipus, knew as well as the Foet, that he had
kill'd his Father by a Miſtake, and committed Inceſt
with his Mother, before the Play; that they were now
to hear of a great Plague, an Oracle, and the Ghoſt of
Laius : So that they fate with a yawning kind of Ex-
pectation, till he was to come with his Eyes pulld out,
and ſpeak a hundred or more Verſes in a Tragick Tone,
in complaint of his Misfortunes. But one Oedipus, Her-
cules, or Medea, had been tolerable; poor People they
ſcap'd not ſo good cheap: they had ſtill the Chapon Boil-
illé ſet before them, till their Appetites were cloy'd with
the ſame Diſh, and the Novelty being gone, the Plea-
fure vaniſh'a: So that one main end of Dramatick Poe-
fie in its Definition, which was to cauſe Delight, was
of conſequence deſtroy'd.
In

An Essay of Dramatick Poeſie. 37
In their Comedies, The Romans generally borrow'd
their Plots from the Greek Poets; and theirs was com-
monly a little Girl ſtollen or wandred from her Parents,
brought back unknown to the City, there got with
Child by ſome lewd young Fellow; who, by the help
of his Servant, cheats his Father, and when her time
comes, to cry Funo Lucina fer opem; one or other fees a
little Box or Cabinet which was carried away with her,
and ſo diſcovers her to her Friends; if fome God do not
prevent it
, by coming down in a Machine, and taking
the thanks of it to himſelf.
By the Plot you may gueſs much of the Characters
of the Perſons. An old Father who would willingly
before he dies, ſee his Son well married; his debauch'd
Son, kind in his Nature to his Miſtreſs, but imilerably
in want of Mony; a Servant or Slave, who has ſo much
Wit to ſtrike in with him, and help to dupe his Father,
a Braggadochio Captain, a Paraſite, and a Lady of Plea-
fure,
As for the poor honeſt Maid, on whom the Story is
built, and who ought to be one of the principal Actors
in the Play, ſhe is commonly a Mute in it: She has the
breeding of the Old Elizabeth way, which was for
Maids to be ſeen, and not to be heard ; and it is enough
you know ſhe is willing to be married, when the Fifth
A&t requires it.
Theſe are Plots built after the Italian Mode of Houſes,
you fee through them all at once; the Characters are
indeed the Imitations of Nature, but ſo narrow as if
they ad imitated only an Eye or an Hand, and did not
dare to venture on the Lines of a Face, or the Propor-
tion of a Body.
But in how ſtraight a compaſs foever they have
bounded their Plots and Characters, we will paſs it by,
if they have regularly purſued them, and perfectly ob-
ſerv'd thoſe three Unities of Time, Place, and Action :
the knowledge of which you ſay is deriv'd to us from
them. But in the firſt Place give me leave to tell you,
that the Unity of Place, however it might be practiſed
by them, was never any of their Rules: We neither
find
B 4

32
An ESSAY of Dramatick Poeſie.
find it in Ariſtotle, Horace, or any who have written of
it, till in our Age the French Poets firſt made it a Pre-
cept of the Stage. The Unity of Time, even Terence
himſelf (who was the beſt and moſt regular of them)
has neglected : His Heautontimoroumenos or Self-puniſher
takes up viſibly two Days, ſays Scaliger ; the two firſt
Aets concluding the firſt Day, the three laſt the Day en-
fuing; and Euripides, in tying himfelf to one Day, has
committed an abſurdity never to be forgiven him: For
in one of his Tragedies he has made Theſeus go from
Athens to Thebes, which was about forty Engliſh Miles,
under the Walls of it to give Battel, and appear Victo-
rious in the next Act; and yet from the time of his
Departure to the return of the Nuntius, who gives the
Relation of his Victory, Æthra and the Chorus have
but thirty ſix Verſes; which is not for every Mile a
Verſe.
The like Error is as evident in Terence his Eunuch,
when Laches, the old Man, enters by miſtake into the
Houſe of Thais, where betwixt his Exit, and the En-
trance of Pythias, who comes to give ample Relati-
on of the Diſorders he has rais'd within, Parmeno
who was left upon the Stage, has not above five Lines
to ſpeak: C'eſt bien employer un temps ſi court, ſays the
French Poet, who furniſh'd me with one of the Obſerva-
tions: And almoſt all their Tragedies will afford us Ex-
amples of the like Nature.
'Tis true, they have kept the Continuity, or as you
calld it, Liaiſon des Scenes ſomewhat better: two do not
perpetually come in together, talk, and go out toge-
ther; and other two ſucceed them, and do the ſame
throughout the Act, which the Engliſh call by the Name
of fingle Scenes; but the reaſon is, becauſe they have
ſeldom above two or three Scenes, properly ſo call’d, in
every A&t; for it is be accounted a new Scene, not on-
ly every time the Stage is empty, but every Perſon who
enters, tho' to others, makes it fo; becauſe he intro-
duces a new Buſineſs: Now the Plots of their Plays be-
ing narrow, and the Perſons few, one of their Acts was
written in a leſs compaſs than one of our well-wrought
Scenes,

An ESSAY of Dramatick Poeſie. 33
Scenes, and yet they are often deficient even in this: To
go no further than Terence, you find in the Eunuch An-
tipho entring ſingle in the midſt of the third Act, after
Chremes and Pythias were gone off: In the ſame Play
you have likewiſe Dorias beginning the fourth Act alone;
and after ſhe has made a Relation of what was done at
the Soldiers entertainment (which by the way was very
inartificial) becauſe ſhe was preſum'd to ſpeak directly
to the Audience, and to acquaint them with what was
Neceſſary to be known, but yet ſhould have been fo
contriv'd by the Poet as to have been told by Perſons of
the Drama to one another, (and ſo by them to have
come to the Knowledge of the People) ſhe quits the
Stage, and Phadria enters next, alone likewiſe: He alſo
gives you an Account of himſelf, and of his returning
from the Country in Monologue, to which unnatural way
of Narration Terence is ſubject in all his Plays: In his
Adelphi or Brothers, Syrus and Demea enter; after the
Scene was broken by the Departure of Softrata, Geta and
Canthara; and indeed you can ſcarce look into any of
his Comedies, where you will not preſently diſcover the
fame interruption.
But as they have faild both in laying of their Plots,
and in the Management, ſwerving from the Rules of
their own Art, by miſ-repreſenting Nature to us, in
which they have ill fatisfied one intention of a Play,
which was Delight; ſo in the inſtructive Part they have
eri'd worſe: Inſtead of puniſhing Vice, and rewarding
Virtue, they have often ſhewn a proſperous Wickedneſs,
and an xnhappy Piety: They have ſet before us a bloody
Image of Revenge in Medea, and given her Dragons to
convey her ſafe from Puniſhment. A Priam and Afty-
anax murder'd, and Cafandra raviſhd, and the Luſt and
Murder ending in the Victory of him who acted them.
In ſhort, there is no indecorum in any of our modern
Plays, which if I would excuſe, I could not ſhadow
with ſome Authority from the Ancients.
And one farther Note of them let me leave you: Tra-
gedies and Comedies were not writ then as they are
LOW, promiſcuouſly, by the ſame Perſon; but he who
found
B $

34 An ESSAY of Dramatick Poeſie.
found his Genius bending to the one, never attempted the
other way. This is ſo plain, that I need not inſtance to you,
that Ariſtophanes, Plautus, Terence, never any of them writ a
Tragedy; Æſchylus,Euripides,Sophocles and Seneca, never med-
led with Comedy: The Sock and Buskin were not worn
by the ſame Poet. Having then ſo much care to excel
in one kind, very little is to be pardon'd them if they
miſcarried in it; and this would lead me to the Confi-
deration of their Wit, had not Crites given me fufficient
Warning not to be too bold in my Judgment of it; be-
cauſe the Languages being dead, and many of the Cu-
ftoms, and little Accidents on which it depended, loft to
us, we are not competent Judges of it. But tho' I
grant, that here and there we may miſs the Application
of a Proverb or a Cuſtom, yet a thing well faid will be
Wit in all Languages; and tho' it may loſe ſomething
in the Tranſlation, yet to him who reads it in the Ori-
ginal, 'tis ſtill the fame; He has an Idea of its Excellen-
cy, tho' it cannot paſs from his Mind into any other
Expreſſion or Words than thoſe in which he finds it.
When Phadria in the Eunuch had a Command from his
Miſtreſs to be abſent two Days, and encouraging him-
felf to go through with it, faid, Tandem ego non illa ca-
ream, fi opus fit, vel totum triduum ? Parmeno, to mock
the foftneſs of his Maſter, lifting up his Hands and Eyes,
Gries out as it were in admiration, Hui! univerſum tri-
duum! the Elegancy of which univerſum, tho' it cannot
be rendred in our Language, yet leaves an impreſſion on
our Souls: But this happens ſeldom in him, in Plautus
oftner; who is infinitely too bold in his Metaphors and
coyning Words; out of which many times his Wit is
nothing, which queſtionleſs was one reaſon why Horace
falls
upon him ſo ſeverely in thoſe Verſes:
Sed Proavi noftri Plautinos doo numeros, ago
Laudavere fales, nimium patienter utrumque,
Ne dicam ſtolidé.
For Horace himſelf was cautious to obtrude a new
Word on his Readers, and makes Cuſtom and common
Uſe the beſt Meaſure of receiving it into our Writings.
Multa

An EssA Y of Dramatick Poeſie.
Multa renaſcentur que nunc cecidere, cadentque
Qua nunc funt in honore vocabula, fi volet ufus,
Quem penes, arbitrium eft, doo jus, ego norma loquendi.
The not obſerving this Rule is that which the World
has blam'd in our Satyriſt Cleveland; to expreſs a thing
hard and unnaturally, is his new way of Elocution:
?Tis true, no Poet but may ſometimes uſe a Catachreſis;
Virgil does it,
Miftaque ridenti Colocaſia fundet Acantho.
In his Eclogue of Pollio, and in his ſeyenth Æneid.
Mirantur 89. unde,
Miratur nemus, infuetum fulgentia longe
Scuta virum fluvio, pictaſque innare carinas.
And Ovid once fo modeſtly, that he asks leave to do it,
Si verbo audacia detur,
Haud metuam fummi dixiſſe Palatia cæli.
Calling the Court of Jupiter by the Name of Auguſtus
his Palace, tho' in another place he is more bold, where
he ſays, Et longas viſent Capitolia pompas. But to do this
always, and never be able to write a Line without it,
tho' it may be admir'd by ſome few Pedants, will not
paſs upon thoſe who know that Wit is beſt convey'd to
us in the moſt eaſie Language; and is moſt to be ad-
mir'd when a great Thought comes dreſt in words fo
commonly receiva, that it is underſtood by the meaneſt
Apprehenſions, as the beſt Meat is the moſt eaſily di-
geſted. But we cannot read a Verſe of Cleveland's with-
out making a Face at it, as if every word were a Pill to
ſwallow: He gives us many times a hard Nut to break
our Teeth, without a Kernel for our Pains. So that
there is this difference betwixt his Satyrs and Doctor
Donn's, That the one gives us deep Thoughts in com-
mon

36 An EssA Y of Dramatick Poeſie.
mon Language, tho' rough Cadence; the other gives us
common Thoughts in abſtruſe Words: 'T'is true, in ſome
places his Wit is independent of his Words, as in that
of the Rebel Scot:
Had Cain been Scot, God would have chang'd his Doom;
Not forc'd him wander, but confin'd him home.
Si omnia dixiſſet! This is Wit in all Languages :
'Tis like Mercury, never to be loft or killd: And ſo
that other,
For Beauty, like White-Powder, makes no noiſe,
Andiyet the filent Hypocrite deſtroys.
You ſee the laſt Line is highly Metaphorical, but it
is ſo ſoft and gentle, that it does not ſhock us as wa.
read it.
But, to return from whence I have digreſs’d, to the
Confideration of the Ancients Writing and their Wit,
(of which, by this time, you will grant us in ſome meaſure
to be fit Judges,) Tho' I ſee many excellent Thoughts
in:Seneca; yet he, of them who had a Genius moſt pro-
per for the Stage, was Ovid; he had a way of writing
fö fit to ſtir up a pleaſing Admiration and Concernment,
which are the Objects of a Tragedy, and to ſhew the
various Movements of a Soul combating betwixt two
different Paſſions, that had he liv’d in our Age, or in his
own could have writ with our Advantages, no Man
but muſt have yielded to him; and therefore I am con-
fident the Medea is none of his; for though I eſteem it
for the Gravity and Sententiouſneſs of it, which he
himſelf concludes to be ſuitable to a Tragedy, Omne ge-
Thios ſcripti gravitate Tragedia vincit, yet it moves not my
Soul enough to judge that he, who in the Epique way
wrote things ſo near the Drama, as the Story of Myr-
yhus of Caunus and Biblis, and the reſt, ſhould ſtir
up
more concernment where he moſt endeavour'd it. The
Maſter-piece of Seneca I hold to be that Scene in the
Troades, where Ulyſſes is ſeeking for Afyanax to kill
no
him;

An ESSAY of Dramatick Poeſie. 37
him; There you ſee the Tenderneſs of a Mother, fo re-
preſented in Andromache, that it raiſes Compaſſion to a
high Degree in the Reader, and bears the neareſt Reſem-
blance of any thing in the Tragedies of the Ancients,
to the excellent Scenes of Pallion in Shakeſpear, or in
Fletcher: For Love-Scenes you will find few among
them, their Tragick Poets dealt not with that ſoft Palli-
on, but with Luſt
, Cruelty, Revenge, Ambition, and
thoſe bloody Actions they produc'd; which were more
capable of raiſing Horrour than Compaſſion in an Audi-
ence: Leaving Love untouch'd, whoſe Gentleneſs would
have temper'd them, which is the moſt frequent of all
the Paſſions, and which being the private Concernment
of every Perſon, is ſooth'd by viewing its own Image
in a publick Entertainment.
Among their Comedies, we find a Scene or two of
Tenderneſs, and that where you would leaft expect it,
in Plautus ; but to ſpeak generally, their Lóvers ſay lit-
tle, when they fee each other, but anima mex, vità mea;
Son xj fugit, as the Women in Juvenal's time us’d to
cry out in the Fury of their Kindneſs : Any ſudden guſt
of Paſſion (as an Ecſtaſie of Love in an unexpected Meet-
ing) cannot better be expreſs’d than in a word, and a
figh, breaking one another. Nature is dumb on ſuch
occaſions, and to make her ſpeak, would be to repreſent
her unlike her ſelf. But there are a thouſand other Con-
cernments of Lovers, as Jealouſies, Complaints, Contri-
vances, and the like, where not to open their Minds
at large to each other, were to be wanting to their own
Love, and to the Expectation of the Audience; who
wa ch the Movements of their Minds, as much as the
Changes of their Fortunes. For the imagining of the
firſt is properly the Work of a Poet, the latter he bor-
rows from the Hiſtorian.
Eugenius was proceeding in that part of his Diſcourſe,
when Crites interrupted him. I ſee, ſaid he, Eugenius
and I are never like to have this Queſtion decided be-
twixt us; for he maintains the Moderns have acquir'd a
new Perfection in Writing, I can only grant they have
altered the Mode of it. Homer deſcrib'd his Heroes, Men
of

38
An ESSA Y of Dramatick Poeſie.
of great Appetites, Lovers of Beef broild upon the Coals,
and good Fellows; contrary to the Practice of the French
Romances, whoſe Heroes neither eat, nor drink, nor
ſleep for Love. Virgil makes Æneas a bold Avower of
his own Virtues,
Sum pius Æneas famå ſuper ethera notus ;
which in the civility of our Poets is the Character of a
Fanfaron or Hector: For with us the Knight takes oc-
caſion to walk out, or ſleep, to avoid the Vanity of tell-
ing his own Story, which the truſty Squire is ever to
perform for him. So in their Love-Scenes, of which
Eugenius ſpoke laſt, the Ancients were more hearty, we
more talkative: They writ Love as it was then the Mode
to make it, and I will grant this much to Eugenius, that
perhaps one of their Poets, had he liv'd in our Age,
Si foret hoc noftrum fato delapfus in ævum,
(as Horace ſays of Lucilius) he had alter'd many things;
not that they were not natural before, but that he might
accommodate himſelf to the Age in which he liv'd; yet
in the mean time we are not to conclude any thing raſh-
ly againſt thoſe great Men, but preſerve to them the
Dignity of Maſters, and give that Honour to their Me-
mories, (Quos Libitina facrarit;) part of which we ex-
pect may be paid to us in future Times.
This Moderation of Crites, as it was pleaſing to all the
Company, ſo it put an end to that Diſpute; which Eu-
genius, who ſeem'd to have the better of the Argument,
would urge no farther: But Lifideius, after he had ac-
knowledg d himſelf of Eugenius his opinion, concerning
the Ancients; yet told him he had forborn, till his, Di-
fcourſe were ended, to ask him, why he prefer'd the Eng-
liſh Plays above thoſe of other Nations? And whether
we ought not to ſubmit our Stage to the Exactneſs of
our next Neighbours ?
Tho', ſaid Eugenius, I am at all times ready to defend
the Honour of my Country againſt the French, and to
main-

An ESSAY of Dramatick Poeſie. 39
maintain, we are as well able to vanquiſh them with our
Pens as our Anceſtors have been with their Swords; yet,
if
you pleaſe, added he, looking upon Neander, I will
commit this Cauſe to my Friend's management; his O-
pinion of our Plays is the ſame with mine: And beſides,
there is no reaſon, that Crites and I, who have now left
the Stage, ſhould re-enter ſo ſuddenly upon it; which is
againſt the Laws of Comedy.
If the Queſtion had been ſtated, replied Liſideius, who
had writ beſt, the French or Engliſh forty Years ago, I
ſhould have been of your Opinion, and adjudged the Ho-
nour to our own Nation; but ſince that time, (ſaid he,
turning towards Neander) we have been ſo long together
bad Englifomen, that we had not leiſure to be good Poets;
Beaumont, Fletcher, and Johnſon (who were only capable
of bringing us to that degree of Perfection which we
have) were juſt then leaving the World; as if in an Age
of ſo much Horror, Wit and thoſe milder Studies of Hu...
manity had no farther buſineſs among us.
But the
Muſes, who ever follow Peace, went to plant in another
Country; it was then that the great Cardinal of Richlieu.
began to take them into his Protection, and that, by his
Encouragement, Corneille and ſome other French-men re-
form’d their Theatre, (which before was as much below
ours, as it now ſurpaſſes it and the reſt of Europe ;) but
becauſe Crites, in his Diſcourſe for the Ancients, has pre-
vented me, by obſerving many Rules of the Stage,
which the Moderns have borrow'd from them; I ſhall
only, in ſhort, demand of you, whether you are not
convinc'd that of all Nations the French have beſt obſery'd
them? In the Unity of time you find them ſo ſcrupulous,
that it yet remains a diſpute among their Poets, whe-
ther the artificial Day of twelve Hours, more or leſs, be
not meant by Ariſtotle, rather than the natural one of
twenty four; and conſequently, whether all Plays ought
not to be reducd into that compaſs? This I can teſtifie,
that in all their Drama's writ within theſe laſt twenty
Years and upwards, I have not obſerv'd any
that have
extended the time to thirty Hours. In the Unity of place
they are full as fcrupulousy
, for many of their Criticks
limit

40 An ESSA Y of Dramatick Poeſie.
limit it to that very Spot of Ground where the Play is
fuppos’d to begin; none of them exceed the compaſs of
the fame Town or City.
The Unity of Action in all their Plays is yet more con-
fpicuous, for they do not burden them with Under-plots,
as the Engliſh do; which is the reaſon why many Scenes
of our Tragi-comedies carry on a deſign that is nothing
of kin to the main Plot; and that we ſee two diſtinct
Webs in a Play, like thoſe in ill-wrought Stuffs; and
two Actions, that is, two Plays carried on together, to
the confounding of the Audience; who, before they are
warm in their Concernments for one part, are diverted
to another ; and by that means eſpouſe the Intereſt of
neither. From hence likewiſe it ariſes, that the one half
of our Actors are not known to the other. They keep
their diſtances as if they were Mountagues and Capulets,
and ſeldom begin an Acquaintance 'till the laſt Scene of
the Fifth Act, when they are all to meet upon the Stage.
There is no Theatre in the World has any thing fo ab-
furd as the Engliſh Tragi-comedy, 'tis a Drama of our
own Invention, and the fafhion of it is enough to pro-
claim it fo; here a courſe of Mirth, there another of Sad-
neſs and Paſſion, and a third of Honour and a Duel:
Thus in two Hours and a half we run through all the
| Fits of Bedlam. The French afford you as much variety
on the ſame Day, but they do it not ſo unſeaſonably, or
mal à propos as we: Our Poets preſent you the Play and
the Farce together; and our Stages ftill retain ſomewhat
of the original civility of the Red-Bull.
Atque urfum ego pugiles media inter carmina pofcunt.
The end of Tragedies or ſerious Plays, ſays Ariſtotle, is
to beget Admiration, Compaſſion, or Concernment; but
are not Mirth and Compaſſion things incompatible? And
is it not evident, that the Poet muſt of neceſſity de-
ſtroy the former by intermingling of the latter ? That
is, he muſt ruin the ſole End and Object of his Tragedy
to introduce ſomewhat that is forced into it, and is not
of the body of it: Would you not think that Phyſician
mad

An ESSA Y of Dramatick Poeſie. 41
mad, who having preſcribed a Purge, ſhould immediate-
ly order you to take Reſtringents ?
But to leave our Plays, and return to theirs, I have
noted one great Advantage they have had in the Plotting
of their Tragedies; that is, they are always grounded upon
fome known Hiſtory; according to that of Horace, Ex
noto fi&tum carmen fequar; and in that they have ſo imi-
tated the Ancients, that they have ſurpaſs’d them. For
the Ancients, as was obſerv'd before, took for the foun-
dation of their Plays fome Poetical Fiction, ſuch as un-
der that conſideration could move but little concernment
in the Audience; becauſe they already knew the Event
of it. But the French goes farther;
Atque ita mentitur ; ſic veris falſa remiſcet,
Primo ne medium, medio ne diſcrepet imum.
He ſo interweaves Truth with probable Fiction, that
he puts a pleaſing Fallacy upon us; mends the intrigues
of Fate, and diſpenſes with the ſeverity of Hiſtory, to
reward that Virtue which has been render'd to us there
unfortunate. Sometimes the Story has left the Succeſs
ſo doubtful, that the Writer is free, by the privilege of
a Poet, to take that which of two or more Relations
will beſt ſuit with his Deſign: As for Example, In the
death of Cyrus, whom Juſtin and ſome others report to
have periſh'd in the Scythian War, but Xenophon affirms
to have died in his Bed of extream old Age. Nay more,
when the Event is paſt diſpute, even then we are will-
ing to be deceiv'd, and the Poet, if he contrives it with
appearance of Truth, has all the Audience of his Party ;
at leaſt during the time his Play is acting: So naturally
we are kind to Virtue, when our own Intereſt is not in
queſtion, that we take it up as the general Concernment
of Mankind. On the other ſide, if you conſider the Hi-
ſtorical Plays of Shakeſpear, they are rather ſo many Chro-
nicles of Kings, or the Buſineſs many times of thirty or
forty Years, crampt into a Repreſentation of two Hours
and a half, which is not to imitate or paint Nature, but
rather to draw her in miniature, to take her in little; to
look

42 An EssA Y of Dramatick Poeſie.
look upon her through the wrong end of a Perſpective;
and receive her Images not only much leſs, but infinitely
more imperfect than the Life: This, inſtead of making
à Play delightful, renders it ridiculous,
Quodcunque oftendis mihi fic, incredulus odi.
For the Spirit of Man cannot be ſatisfied but with Truth,
or at leaſt Verifimility; and a Poem is to contain, if not
τα έτυμα, yet ετυμοισιν ομοία, as one of the Greek
Poets has expreſs’d it.
Another thing in which the French differ from us and
from the Spaniards, is, that they do not embaraſs or cum-
ber themſelves with too much Plot: They only repre-
ſent ſo much of a Story as will conſtitute one whole and
great Action fufficient for a Play; we, who undertake
more, do but multiply Adventures; which, not being
produc'd from one another, as Effects from Caisſes, but
barely following, conſtitute many Actions in the Drama,
and conſequently make it many Plays.
But by purſuing cloſely one Argument, which is not
cloy'd with many Turns, the French have gain'd more
liberty for Verſe, in which they write: They have lei-
ſure to dwell on a Subject which deſerves it; and to re-
preſent the Paſſions (which we have acknowledg’d to be
the Poets work) without being hurried from one thing
to another, as we are in the Plays of Calderon, which
we have ſeen lately upon our Theaters, under the name
of Spaniſh Plots. I have taken notice but of one Trage-
dy of ours, whoſe Plot has that uniformity and unity of
Deſign in it, which I have commended in the French;
and that is Rollo, or rather, under the name of Rollo, The
Story of Baffianus and Geta in Heroilian; there indeed the
Plot is neither large nor intricate, but juſt enough to fill
the Minds of the Audience, not to cloy them. Beſides,
you ſee it founded upon the truth of Hiſtory, only the
time of the Action is not reduceable to the itrictneſs of
the Rules; and you ſee in ſome places a little Farce min-
gled, which is below the dignity of the other Parts; and
in this all our Poets are extreamly peccant, even Ben..
Johnfora

An ESSA Y of Dramatick Poeſie. 43
Fohnfor himſelf in Sejanus and Catiline has given us this
Oleo of a Play ; this unnatural Mixture of Comedy
and Tragedy, which to me founds juſt as ridiculouſly as
the Hiſtory of David with the merry Humours of Go-
liah. In Sejanus you may take notice of the Scene be-
twixt Livia and the Phyſician, which is a pleaſant Satyr
upon the artificial helps of Beauty: In Catiline you may
ſee the Parliament of Women; the little Envies of them
to one another; and all that paſſes betwixt Curio and Eul-
via: Scenes admirable in their kind, but of an ill mingle
with the reſt.
But I return again to the French Writers; who, as I
haye faid, do not burden themſelves too much with
Plot, which has been reproach'd to them by an ingenious
Perſon of our Nation as a Fault; for he ſays they com-
monly make but one Perſon conſiderable in a Play; they
dwell on him, and his concernments, while the reſt of
the Perſons are only ſubfervient to ſet him off. If he
intends this by it, that there is one Perſon in the Play
who is of greater Dignity than the reſt, he muſt tax, not
only theirs, but thoſe of the Ancients, and, which he
would be loath to do, the beſt of ours; for 'tis impofli-
ble but that one Perſon muſt be more conſpicuous in it
than any other, and conſequently the greateſt ſhare in
the Action muſt devolve on him. We fee it ſo in the
management of all Affairs; even in the moſt equal Ari-
ſtocracy, the ballance cannot be ſo juſtly pois’d, but ſome
one will be Superiour to the reſt; either in Parts, For-
tune, Intereſt, or the Conſideration of ſome glorious Ex-
ploit; which will reduce the greateſt part of Buſineſs in-
to his Hands.
But, if he would have us to imagine, that in exalting
one Character the reſt of them are neglected, and that all
of them have not ſome ſhare or other in the Action of
the Play, I defire him to produce any of Corneille's Tra-
gedies, wherein every Perſon (like ſo many Servants in
a well-govern'd Family) has not ſome Employment, and
who is not neceſſary to the carrying on of the Plot, or at
leaſt to your underſtanding it.
There

44 An Essay of Dramatick Poeſie.
There are indeed ſome protatick Perſons in the Anci-
ents, whom they make uſe of in their Plays, either to
hear, or give the Relation : But the French avoid this with
great Addreſs
, making their Narrations only to, or by
ſuch, who are ſome way intereſſed in the main Deſign.
And now I am ſpeaking of Relations, I cannot take a
fitter Opportunity to add this in favour of the French,
that they often uſe them with better judgment and more
a propos than the Enguiſh do. Not that I commend Nar-
rations in general, but there are two forts of them; one
of thoſe things which are antecedent to the Play, and are
related to make the conduct of it more clear to us; but
'tis a Fault to chuſe ſuch Subjects for the Stage as will
force us on that Rock; becauſe we ſee they are ſeldom
liſtned to by the Audience, and that is many times the
ruin of the Play: For, being once let paſs without At-
tention, the Audience can never recover themſelves to
underſtand the Plot; and indeed it is ſomewhat unrea-
fonable, that they ſhould be put to ſo much trouble, as,
that to comprehend what paſſes in their fight, they muſt
have recourſe to what was done, perhaps, ten or twenty
But there is another fort of Relations, that is of things
happening in the Action of the Play, and ſuppos’d to be
done behind the Scenes: And this is many times botli
convenient and beautiful: For, by it the French avoid the
Tumult, to which we are ſubject in England, by repre-
ſenting Duels, Battels, and the like; which renders our
Stage too like the Theaters where they fight Prizes.
For what is more ridiculous than to repreſent an Army
with a Drum and five Men behind it; all which, the
Heroe of the other ſide is to drive in before him? or to
ſee a Duel fought, and one ſlain with two or three
thrufts of the Foyl:s, which we know are ſo blunted,
that we might give a Man an Hour to kill another in
good earneſt with them?
I have obſery'd, that in all our Tragedies the Audience
cannot forbear laughing when the Actors are to die; 'tis
the moſt comick Part of the whole Play. Al Paſſions
may be lively repreſented on the Stage, if to the well-
writing
Years ago.

An EssA Y of Dramatick Poeſie. 45
writing of them the Actor fupplies" a good commanded
Voice, and Limbs that move eaſily, and without ſtiffneſs;
but there are many Actions which can never be imita-
ted to a juſt heighth: Dying eſpecially is a thing which
none but a Roman Gladiator could naturally perform on
the Stage, when he did not imitate or repreſent, but do
it; and therefore it is better to omit the Repreſentation
of it.
The Words of a good Writer which deſcribe it lively,
will make a deeper Impreſſion of Belief in us, than all
the Actor can inſinuate into us, when he ſeems to fall
dead before us; as a Poer in the deſcription of a beauti-
ful Garden, or a Meadow, will pleaſe our Imagination
more than the place it ſelf can pleaſe our ſight. When
we ſee Death repreſented, we are convinc'd it is but Fi-
etion; but when we hear it related, our Eyes (the ſtrong-
eſt Witneſſes) are wanting, which might have undeceiv'd
us; and we are all willing to favour the flight when
the Poet does not too grofly impoſe on us. They there-
fore who imagine theſe Relations would make no Con-
cernment in the Audience, are deceiv'd, by confounding
them with the other, which are of things antecedent to
the Play; thoſe are made often in cold Blood (as I may
ſay) to the Audience; but theſe are warm’d with our
Concernments, which were before awaken'd in the Play.
What the Philoſophers ſay of Motion, that, when it is
once begun, it continues of it ſelf, and will do ſo to E-
ternity without ſome ftop put to it, is clearly true on
this Occaſion; the Soul being already moy'd with the
Characters and Fortunes of thoſe imaginary Perſons, con-
tinues going of its own accord, and we are no more
weary to hear what becomes of them when they are not
on the Stage, than we are to liſten to the News of an
abſent Miſtreſs. But it is objected, That if one part of the
Play may be related, then why not all? I anſwer, Some
parts of the Action are more fit to be repreſented, ſome
to be related. Corneille ſays judiciouſly, that the Poet is
not oblig'd to expoſe to view all particular Actions which
conduce to the principal : He ought to ſelect ſuch of
them to be ſeen, which will appear with the greateſt
Beauty,

46
An EssA Y of Dramatick Poeſie.
Beauty, either by the magnificence of the Show, or the
vehemence of Paſſions which they produce, or fomeo-
ther Charin which they have in them, and let the reſt ar-
rive to the Audience by Narration. 'Tis a great miſtake
in us to believe the French preſent no part of the Action
on the Stage: Every alteration or croſſing of a Deſign,
every new-ſprung Pallion, and turn of it, is a part of
the Action, and much the nobleſt, except we conceive
nothing to be action till the Players come to Blows; as
if the painting of the Heroes Mind were not more pro-
perly the Poets Work, than the ſtrength of his Body.
Nor does this any thing contradict the Opinion of Ho-
face, where he tells us,
Segnius irritant animos demiſa per aurem,
Quam quæ funt oculis ſubjecta fidelibus.
For he ſays immediately after,
-Non tamen intus
Digna geri promes in ſcenam, multaque tolles
Ex oculis, qua mox narret facundia præfens.
Among which many he recounts fome. .
Nec pueros coram populo Medea trucidet,
Aut in avem Progne mutetur, Cadmus in anguem, &c,
That is, thoſe Actions which by reaſon of their Cru-
elty will cauſe Averſion in us, or by reaſon of their Im-
poſſibility, Unbelief, ought either wholly to be avoided
by a Poet, or only deliver'd by Narration. To which
we may have leave to add ſuch as to avoid Tumult, (as
was before hinted) or to reduce the Plot into a more
reaſonable compaſs of time, or for defect of Beauty in
them, are rather to be related than preſented to the Eye.
Examples of all theſe kinds are frequent, not only among
all the Ancients, but in the beſt receiv'd of our Engliſh
Poets. We find Ben. Johnſon uſing them in his Mag-
netick Lady, where one comes out from Dinner, and
relates

An Essay of Dramatick Poeſie. 47
relates the Quarrels and Diſorders of it to ſave the unde-
cent appearance of them on the Stage, and to abbreviate
the Story: And this in expreſs imitation of Terence, who
had done the ſame before him in his Eunuch, where Py-
thias makes the like Relation of what had happen'd with-
in at the Soldier's Entertainment. The Relations likewiſe
of Sejanus's Death, and the Prodigies before it, are re-
markable; the one of which was hid from fight to avoid
the Horror and Tumult of the Repreſentation; the other
to ſhun the introducing of things impoſſible to be be-
liev’d. In that excellent Play, The King and no King,
Fletcher goes yet fartherz for the whole unravelling of
the Plot is done by Narration in the fifth Act, after the
manner of the Ancients; and it moves great Concern-
ment in the Audience, tho' it be only a Relation of
what was done many Years before the Play. I could
multiply other Inſtances, but theſe are fufficient to prove,
that there is no Error in chuling a Subject which re-
quires this ſort of Narrations; in the ill Management of
them, there may.
But I find I have been too long in this Diſcourſe, ſince
the French have many other Excellencies not common to
us; as that you never ſee any of their Plays end with a
Converſion, or ſimple change of Will, which is the or-
dinary way which our Poets uſe to end theirs. It ſhews
little Art in the concluſion of a Draniatick Poem, when
they who have hinder'd the felicity during the four Acts,
defiſt from it in the Fifth, without ſome powerful
Caufe to take them off their Deſign; and tho I deny
not but ſuch Reaſons may be found, yet it is a Path that
is cautiouſly to be trod, and the Poet is to be ſure he
convinces the Audience, that the Motive is ſtrong e-
nough. As for Example, The Converſion of the Ulurer
in The Scornful Lady, ſeems to me a little forcd; for be-
ing an Ulurer, which implies a lover of Money to the
higlieſt degree of Covetouſneſs, (and ſuch the Poet has
Tepreſented him) the Account he gives for the ſudden
Change is, that he has been dup'd by the wild young
Fellow, which in reaſon might render him more wary
another time, and make him puniſh himſelf with harder
Fare

48
An ESSA Y of Dramatick Poeſie.
you will
Fare and coarſer Cloaths to get up again what he had
loft: But that he ſhould look on it as a Judgment, and ſo
repent, we may expect to hear in a Sermon, but I ſhould
never indure it in a Play.
I paſs by this; neither will I inſiſt on the Care they
take, that no Perſon after his firſt Entrance ſhall ever
appear, but the Buſineſs which brings him upon
the
Stage ſhall be evident : Which Rule if obſerv'd, muſt
needs render all the Events in the Play more natural: For
there you ſee the probability of every Accident, in the
Cauſe that produc'd it; and that which appears Chance
in the Play, will ſeem ſo reaſonable to you,
that
there find it almoſt neceſſary; ſo that in the Exit of the
Actor you have a clear account of his purpoſe and De-
ſign in the next Entrance: (tho', if the Scene be well
wrought, the Event will commonly deceive you) for
there is nothing ſo abſurd, ſays Corneille, as for an Actor
to leave the Stage, only becauſe he has no more to ſay.
I ſhould now ſpeak of the beauty of their Rhyme, and
the juſt reaſon I have to prefer that way of writing in
Tragedies before ours in Blank-Verſe; but becauſe it is
partly receiv'd by us, and therefore not altogether pecu-
liar to them, I will ſay no more of it in relation to
their Plays. For our own, I doubt not but it will ex-
ceedingly beautifie them, and I can ſee but one Reaſon
why it ſhould not generally obtain, that is, becauſe our
Poets write ſo il in it. This indeed may prove a more
prevailing Argument than all others which are us’d to
deſtroy it, and therefore I am only troubled when great
and judicious Poets, and thoſe who are acknowledg'd
ſuch, have writ or ſpoke againſt it; as for others, they
are to be anſwer'd by that one Sentence of an ancient
Author.
Sed ut primo ad conſequendos eos quos priores ducimus at-
cendimur, ita ubi aut præteriri, aut aquari eos poſje defpera-
vimus, ſtudium cum ſpe ſeneſcit: quod, ſcilicet, aſſequi non
poteft, ſequi definit; præteritoque eo in quo eminere non poſſu-
mus, aliquid in quo nitamur conquirimus.
Lifideius concluded in this manner; and Neander after a
little pauſe thus anſwer'd him.
1

An ESSA Y of Dramatick Poeſie. 49
bove us.
I fliall grant Lifideius, without much diſpute, a great
part of what he has urg'd againſt us; for I acknowledge,
that the French contrive their Plots more regularly, and
obſerve the Laws of Comedy, and decorum of the Stage
(to ſpeak generally) with more Exactneſs than the Eng=
liſh. Farther, I deny not but he has tax'd us jufly in
ſome Irregularities of ours which he has mention’d; yet,
after all, I am of Opinion, that neither our Faults nor
their Virtues are conſiderable enough to place them a-
For the lively Imitation of Nature being in the defi-
nition of a Play, thoſe which beſt fulfil that Law, ought
to be eſteem'd Superior to the others. 'Tis true, thoſe
Beauties of the French Poefie are ſuch as will raiſe Per-
fection higher where it is, but are not ſufficient to give
it where it is not: They are indeed the Beauties of a
Statue, but not of a Man, becauſe not animated with
the Soul of Poeſie, which is imitation of Humour and
Paſſions: And this
. Liſideius himſelf, or any other, how-
ever byafs'd to their Party, cannot but acknowledge, if
he will either compare the Humours of our Comedies,
or the Characters of our ſerious Plays with theirs. He
who will look upon theirs which have been written 'till
theſe laſt ten Years or thereabouts, will find it an hard
matter to pick out two or three paffable Humours a-
mongſt them. Corneille himſelf, their Arch-Poet, what
has he produc'd, except The Lier, and you know how it
was cry'd up in France ; but when it came upon the
Engliſh Stage, though well tranſlated, and that part of
Dorant acted with ſo much Advantage as I am confident
it never receiv'd in its own Country, the moſt favourable
to it would not put it in Competition with many of
Fletcher's or Ben. Fohnſon's. In the reſt of Corneille's Co-
medies you have little Humour; he tells you
himſelf his
way is firſt to ſhew two Lovers in good Intelligence
with each other; in the working up of the Play, to em-
broil them by ſome Miſtake, and in the latter end to
clear it, and reconcile them.
But of late Years Moliere, the younger Corneille, Qui
mault, and ſome others, have been imitating afar off the
VOL. I.
quick
C

TO
An Essay of Dramatick Poeſie.
quick Turns and Graces of the Engliſh Stage. They
"have mix'd their ſerious Plays with Mirth, like our
* Tragi-Comedies, ſince the Death of Cardinal Richelieu,
which Lifideius, and many others not obſerving, have
scommended that in them for a Virtue, which they them-
ſelves no longer practiſe. Moſt of their new Plays are,
like ſome of ours, derived from the Spaniſh Novels.
There is ſcarce one of them without a Veil, and a truſty
Diego, who drols much after the rate of the Adventures.
But their Humours, if I may grace them with that
name, are ſo thin ſown, that never above one of them
comes up in any Play: I dare take upon me to find
more variety of them in ſome one Play of Ben. Folm-
fori's, than in all theirs together : As he who has ſeen
the Alchymiſt, the Silent Woman, or Bartholomew-Fair, can-
not but acknowledge with me.
I grant the French have performed what was poſſible
on the ground-work of the Spaniſh Plays; what was
pleaſant before, they have made regular ; but there is
not above one good Play to be writ on all thoſe Plots;
they are too much alike to pleaſe often, which we need
not the Experience of our own Stage to juſtifie. As for
their new Way of mingling Mirth with ſerious Plot, I
do not, with Lifideius, condemn the thing, though I
cannot approve their manner of doing it: He tells us,
we cannot ſo ſpeedily recollect our felves after a Scene
of great Paſſion and Concernment, as to paſs to another
of Mirth and Humour, and to enjoy it with any reliſh:
But why ſhould he imagine the Soul of Man more hea-
vy than his Senſes? Does not the Eye paſs from an un-
pleaſant Object to a pleaſant, in a much ſhorter time
than is required to this? And does not the Unpleaſant-
neſs of the firſt commend the Beauty of the latter? The
old Rule of Logick might have convinc'd him, That
Contraries when
plac'd near, fet off each other. A con-
tinued Gravity keeps the Spirit too much bent; we muſt
refreſh it ſometimes, as we bait in a journey, that we
may go on with greater eaſe. A Scene of Mirth mixd
with Tragedy, has the ſame effect upon us which our
Mufick has betwixt the Acts, which we find a Relief to,
US

An Essay of Dramatick Poeſie.
us from the beſt Plots and Language of the Stage, if the
Diſcourſes have been long. I muſt therefore have ſtron-
ger Arguments 'ere I am convinc'd, that Compaſſion and
Mirth in the fame Subject deſtroy each other, and in the
mean time, cannot but conclude, to the Honour of our
Nation, that we have invented, increas’d, and perfected
a more pleaſant way of writing for the Stage, than was
ever known to the Ancients or Moderns of any Nation,
which is Tragi-Comedy.
And this leads me to wonder why Lifideius and many
others ſhould cry up the Barrenneſs of the French Plots,
above the Variety and Copiouſneſs of the Engliſh. Their
Plots are ſingle, they carry on one Deſign which is
puſh'd forward by all the Actors, every Scene in the
Play contributing and moving towards it : Our Plays,
beſides the main Deſign, have Under-Plots, or By-Con-
cernments, of leſs conſiderable Perſons, and Intrigues,
which are carried on with the Motion of the main Plot:
As they ſay the Orb of the fix'd Stars, and thoſe of the
Planets, though they have Motions of their own, are
whirld about by the Motion of the primum mobile, in
which they are contain’d: That Similitude expreſſes
much of the Engliſh Srage: For if contrary Motions may
be found in Nature to agree; if a Planet can go Eaſt
and Weſt at the ſame time; one way by Virtue of his
own Motion, the other by the force of the firſt Movers
it will not be difficult to imagine how the Under-Plot,
which is only different, not contrary to the great De-
fign, may naturally be conducted along with it.
Eugenius has already ſhewn us, from the Confeffion
of the French Poets, that the Unity of Action is ſuffici-
ently preſerv’d, if all the imperfect Actions of the Play
are conducing to the main Deſign: But when thoſe
petty Intrigues of a play are ſo ill order'd, that they have
no coherence with the other, I muſt grant that Lifideius
has reaſon to tax that want of due Connexion; for Co-
ordination in a Play is as dangerous and unnatural as in a
State. In the mean time, he muſt acknowledge our Va-
riety, if well order'd, will afford a greater Pleaſure to
the Audience.

F2
An Ess A-Y of Dramatick Poeſie.
As for his other Argument, that by purſuing one fin-
gle Theme they gain an Advantage to expreſs and work
up the Paſſions, I wiſh any Example he could bring
from them would make it good: for I confeſs their
Verſes are to me the coldeſt I have ever read: Neither
indeed is it poſſible for them, in the way they take, ſo
to expreſs Paſſion, as that the Effects of it ſhould appear
in the Concernment of an Audience, their Speeches be-
ing ſo many Declamations, which tire us with the
length; ſo that inſtead of perſwading us to grieve for their
imaginary Heroes, we are concern'd' for our own trou-
ble, as we are in tedious Viſits of bad Company; we
are in pain till they are gone. When the French Stage
came to be reform’d by Cardinal Richelieu, thoſe long
Harangues were introduc'd, to comply with the Gravity
of a Churchman. Look upon the Cinna and the Pompey,
they are not ſo properly to be called Plays, as long Diſ-
courſes of Reaſon of State: And Polieuete in Matters of
Religion is as folemn as the long Stops upon our Organs.
Since that time it is grown into a Cuſtom, and their
Actors ſpeak by the Hour-glaſs, like our Parſons; nay,
they account it the Grace of their Parts, and think them-
felves diſparaged by the Poet, if they may not twice or
thrice in a Play entertain the Audience with a Speech
of an hundred Lines. I deny not but this may fuit well
enough with the French; for as we, who are a more ſul-
len People, come to be diverted at our Plays; ſo they,
who are of an aiery and gay Temper, come thither to
make themſelves more ſerious: And this I conceive to
be one reaſon, why Comedies are more pleaſing to us,
and Tragedies to them. But to ſpeak generally, it can-
not be deny'd, that ſhort Speeches and Replies are more
apt to move the Paſſions, and beget Concernment in us,
than the other : For it is unnatural for any one in a
Guſt of Paſſion, to ſpeak long together, or for another,
in the fame Condition, to ſuffer him without Interrup-
tion. Grief arid Paſſion are like Floods rais'd in little
Brooks by a ſudden Rain; they are quickly up, and
if the Concernnient be pour'd unexpectedly in upon
us, it overflows us: But a long ſober Shower gives
thens

An ESSA Y of Dramatick Poeſie. 53
them leiſure to run out as they came in, without trou-
bling the ordinary Current. As for Comedy, Repartee is
one of its chiefeſt Graces; the greateſt Pleaſure of the
Audience is a Chace of Wit kept up on both fides, and
ſwiftly manag’d. And this our Fore-Fathers, if not we,
have had in Fletcher's Plays, to a much higher Degree of
Perfection, than the French Poets can, reaſonably, hope
to reach.
There is another part of Liſideites his Diſcourſe, in
which he has rather excus'd our Neighbours than com
mended them; that is, for aiming only to make one
Perſon conſiderable in their Plays. "Tis very true what
he has urged, That one Character in all Plays, even with-
out the Poet's Care, will have Advantage of all the o-
thers; and that the Deſign of the wholé Drama will
chiefly depend on it. But this hinders not that there
may be more ſhining Characters in the Play; many Per-
ſons of a ſecond Magnitude, nay, ſome ſo
very near, lo
almoſt equal to the firſt, that Greatneſs may
be oppos'd
to Greatneſs, and all the Perſons be made conſiderable,
not only by their Quality, but their action. 'Tis evi-
dent, that the more the Perſons are, the greater will be
the Variety of the Plot. If then the Parts are managed
fo regularly, that the Beauty of the whole be kept in-
tire, and that the Variety become not a perplex'd and
confus'd Maſs of Accidents, you will find it infinitely
pleaſing to be led in a Labyrinth of Deſign, where you
ſee ſome of your way before you, yet difcern not the
End till you arrive at it. And that all this is practica-
ble, I can produce for Examples many of our Engliſh
Plays: As the Maids Tragedy, the Alchymiſt
, the Silent
Woman; I was going to have named the Fox, but that
the Unity of Deſign ſeems not exactly obſerv'd in it;
for there appear two Actions in the Play; the firſt natu-
rally ending with the fourth Act; the ſecond forc'd from
it in the fifth: Which yet is the leſs to be condemn'd
in him, becauſe the Diſguiſe of Volpone, though it ſuited
not with his Character as a crafty or covetous Perſon,
agreed well enough with that of a Voluptuary: And by
it the Poet gain'd the end at which he aim'd, the Pu-
C 3
niſhment


54
An ESSAY of Dramatick Poeſie.
niſhment of Vice, and the Reward of Virtue, both
which that Diſguiſe produc'd. So that to judge equally
of it, it was an excellent fifth Act, but not fo naturally
proceeding from the former.
But to leave this
, and paſs to the latter part of Lifidei-
34s his Diſcourſe, which concerns Relations, I muſt ac-
knowledge with him, that the French have reaſon to
hide that part of the Action which would occaſion too
much tumult on the Stage, and to chuſe rather to have
it made known by Narration to the Audience. Farther,
I think it very convenient, for the Reaſons he has given,
that all incredible Actions were remov'd; but, whether
Cuſtom has ſo inſinuated it ſelf into our Country-men,
or Nature has ſo form'd them to Fierceneſs, I know
not; but they will ſcarcely ſuffer Combats and other Ob-
jects of Horror to be taken from them. And indeed,
the Indecency of Tumults is all which can be objected
againſt fighting: For why may not our Imagination as
well ſuffer it ſelf to be déluded with the probability of
it, as with any other thing in the Play ? For my Part, I
can with as great eaſe perſuade my ſelf, that the blows
are given in good earneſt, as I can, that they who ſtrike
them are Kings or Princes, or thoſe Perſons which
they repreſent. For Objects of Incredibility, I would be
ſatisfied from Lifideius, whether we have any ſo remov'd
from all Appearance of Truth, as are thoſe of Corneille's
Andromede ? A Play which has been frequented the moſt
of any he has writ. If the Perſeus, or the Son of an
Heathen God, the Pegaſus and the Monſter, were not
capable to choak a ſtrong belief, let him blame any Re-
preſentation of ours hereafter. Thoſe indeed were Ob-
jects of Delight; yet the Reaſon is the ſame as to the
probability: For he makes it not a Balette or Maſque,
but a Play, which is to reſemble Truth. But for Death,
that it ought not to be repreſented, I have, beſides the
Arguments alledged by Liſtdeius, the Authority of Ben.
Johnſon, who has forborn it in his Tragedies; for both
the Death of Sejanus and Catiline are related : Though in
the latter I cannot but obſerve one Irregularity of that
great Poet: He has remov'd the Scene in the fame Act,
from

An Essay of Dramatick Poeſie. 55
from Rome to Catiline's Army, and from thence again to
Rome; and beſides, has allow'd a very inconſiderable time
after Catiline's Speech, for the ſtriking of the Batte),
and the return of Petreius, who is to relate the event of
it to the Senate: Which I ſhould not animadvert on
him, who was otherwiſe a painful Obſerver of To trpé-
Tov, or the decorum of the Stage, if he had not us’d ex-4
tream Severity in his Judgment on the incomparable
Shakeſpear for the ſame fault. To conclude on this Sute
ject of Relations, if we are to be blam’d for ſhewing took
much of the Action, the French are as-faulty for diſco-
vering too little of it: A Mean betwixt both ſhould be
obſerved by every judicious Writer, fo as the Audience
may neither be left unſatisfied by not ſeeing what is
beautiful, or ſhock'd by beholding what is either incre-
dible or undecent. I hope I have already prov'd in this
Diſcourſe, that though we are not altogether fo punctum
al as the French, in obſerving the Laws of Comedy; yet
our Errors are ſo few, and little, and thoſe things where
in we excel them ſo conſiderable, that we ought of
right to be preferr'd before them. But what wil Life
deius ſay, if they themſelves acknowledge they are too
ſtrictly bounded by thoſe Laws, for breaking which he
has blam'd the Engliſh? I will alledge Corneille's Words,
as I find them in the end of his Diſcourſe of the three
Unities ; Il eſt facile aux ſpeculatifs d'efire feveres, &c.
*'Tis eaſie for ſpeculative Perſons to judge ſeverely ;
« but if they would produce to publick View ten or
s twelve Pieces of this Nature, they would perhaps give
" more Latitude to the Rules than I have done, when
by Experience they had known how much we are
« limited and conſtraind by them, and how many Beau-
“ ties of the Stage they baniſh'd fronx it. To -illuſtrata
a little what he has ſaid: By their ſervile Obſervations
of the Unities of time and place, and integrity of Scenes,
they have brought on themſelves that dearth of Plot, and
narrowneſs of Imagination, which may be obſery'd in
all their Plays. How many beautiful Accidents might
naturally happen in two or three Days, which cannot
arrive with any probability in the Compaſs of twenty
four
СА.

56 An ESSAY of Dramatick Poeſie.
four Hours? There is time to be allowed alſo for matu-
rity of Deſign, which amongſt great and prudent Per-
ſons, ſuch as are often repreſented in Tragedy, can-
not, with
any
likelihood of truth, be brought to paſs at
fo ſhort a warning. Farther, By tying themſelves ſtrict-
ly to the Unity of Place, and unbroken Scenes, they are
forc'd many times to omit ſome Beauties which cannot
be ſhewn where the Aet began; but might, if the Scene
were interrupted, and the Stage clear'd for the Perſons
to enter in another place; and therefore the French Poets
are often forc'd upon abſurdities: For if the Act begins
in a Chamber, all the Perſons in the Play muſt have
ſome Buſineſs or other to come thither, or elſe they are
not to be thewn that Act, and ſometimes their Cha-
racters are very unfitting to appear there: As, Suppoſe
it were the King's Bed-chamber, yet the meaneſt Man
in the Tragedy muſt come and diſpatch his Buſineſs
there, rather than in the Lobby or Court-yard, (which
is fitter for him) for fear the Stage fhould be clear’d,
and the Scenes broken. Many times they fall by it into
a greater Inconvenience; for they keep their Scenes un-
broken, and yet change the Place; as in one of their
neweſt Plays, where the Act begins in the Street. There
a Gentleman is to meet his Friend; he ſees him with
his Man, coming out from his Father's Houſe; they talk
together, and the firſt goes out: The Second, who is a
Lover, has made an appointment with his Miſtreſs; ſhe
appears at the Window, and then we are to imagine
the Scene lyes under it. This Gentleman is calld
aways
and leaves his Servant with his Miſtreſs: Preſently her
Father is heard from within ; the young Lady is afraid
the Serving-man ſhould be diſcover'd, and thruſts him
into a place of fafety, which is ſuppos’d to be her Cloſet.
After this, the Father enters to the Daughter, and now
the Scene is in a Houſe: For he is ſeeking from one
Room to another for this poor Philipin, or French Diego,
who is heard from within, drolling and breaking many
a miſerable Conceit on the ſubject of his fad Condition.
In this ridiculous Manner the Play goes 'forward, the
Stage being never empty all the while: ſo that the
Street,

An Ess A Y of Dramatick Poeſie.
57
Streef, the Window, the two Houſes, and the Cloſet,
are made to walk about, and the Perſons to ſtand ſtill.
Now what I beſeech you is more eaſie than to write a
regular French Play, or more difficult than to write an
irregular Engliſh one, like thoſe of Fletcher, or of Shake-
Spear?
If they content themſelves as Corneille did, with ſome
flat deſign, which like an ill Riddle, is found out e're
it be half propos’d; ſuch Plots we can make every way
regular as eaſily as they: But whene'er they endeavour
to riſe to any quick turns and counter-turns of Plot, as
ſome of them have attempted, ſince Corneille's Plays have
been leſs in vogue, you ſee they write as irregularly as
we, though they cover it more ſpeciouſly Hence the
reaſon is perſpicuous, why no French Plays, when tranſ-
lated, have, or ever can ſucceed on the Engliſh Stage.
For, if you conſider the Plots, our own are fuller of va-
riety; if the Writing, ours are more quick and fuller of
{pirit: and therefore 'tis a ſtrange miſtake in thoſe who
decry the way of writing Plays in Verſe, as if the En-
gliſh therein imitated the French. We have borrowed
nothing from them; our Plots are weav'd in Engliſh
Looms: we endeavour therein to follow the variety and
greatneſs of Characters which are deriv'd to us ifrom
Shakeſpear and Fletcher: the copiouſneſs and well-knitting
of the Intriegues we have from Johnſon; and for the
Verſe it ſelf we have Engliſh Precedents of elder date
than any of Corneille's Plays: (not to name our old Ca-
medies before Shakeſpear, which were all writ in verſe
of fix feet, or Alexandrin's, ſuch as the French now uſe)
I can fhew in Shakespear, many Scenes of rhyme toge-
ther, and the like in Ben. Johnſon's Tragedies: In Cati-
line and Sejanus fometimes thirty or forty lines; I mean,
beſides thé Chorus, or the Monologues, which by the
way, ſhew'd Ben, no enemy to this way of writing, e-
ſpecially if you read his Sad Shepherd, which goes fome-
times on Rhyme, ſometimes on blank Verſe, like an
Horſe who eaſes himſelf on Trot and Amble. You find
him likewiſe commending Fletcher's Paſtoral of the
Faithful Shepherdeſs; which is for the moſt part Rhyme,
C5
though

58 An Essay of Dramatick Poeſie.
though not refin’d to that Purity to which it hath ſince
been brought: And theſe Examples are enough to clear
us from a ſervile Imitation of the French.
But to return whence I have digreſs’d, I dare boldly
affirm theſe two things of the Engliſh Drama: Firſt,
That we have many Plays of ours as regular as any of
theirs; and which, beſides, have more variety of Plot
and Characters: And ſecondly, that in moſt of the irre-
gular Plays of Shakeſpear or Fletcher, (for Ben. Johnſon's
are for the moſt part regular) there is a more maſculine
Fancy, and greater Spirit in the writing, than there is in
any of the French. I could produce even in Shakeſpear's
and Fletcher's Works, ſome Plays which are almoſt ex-
actly form’d; as The Merry Wives of Windſor, and The
Scornful Lady: But, becauſe (generally ſpeaking) Shakeſpear,
who writ firſt, did not perfectly obſerve the Laws of
Comedy, and Fletcher, who came nearer to Perfection,
yet through careleſſneſs made many Faults; I will take
the Pattern of a perfect Play from Ben. Johnſon, who
was a careful and learned Obſerver of the Dramatick
Laws, and from all his Comedies I ſhall ſelect The Si-
lent Woman; of which I will make a ſhort Examen, ac-
cording to thoſe Rules which the French obſerve.
As Neander was beginning to examine The Silent Wom
man, Eugenius, earneſtly regarding him; I beſeech you,
Neander, ſaid he, gratifie the Company, and me in par..
ticular fo far, as before you ſpeak of the Play, to give
us a Character of the Author; and tell us frankly your
Opinion, whether you do not think all Writers, both
French and Engliſh, ought to give place to him?
I fear, replied Neander, That in obeying your Com-
mands, I ſhall draw ſome Envy on my felf. Beſides, in
performing them, it will be firſt neceſſary to ſpeak fome-
what of Shakeſpear and Fletcher, his Rivals in Poeſie; and
one of them, in my opinion, at leaſt his Equal, per-
haps his Superior,
To begin then with Shakeſpear; he was the Man who
of all Modern, and perhaps Ancient Poets, had the larg-
eſt and moſt comprehenſive Soul. All the Images of
Nature were ſtill preſent to him, and he drew them not
laboriouſly,

An ESSAY of Dramatick Poeſie. To
laborioufly, but luckily: When he deſcribes any thing,
you more than ſee it, you feel it too. Thoſe who ac-
cuſe him to have wanted Learning, give him the great-
er Commendation: he was naturally learn’d: he needed
not the Spectacles of Books to read Nature; he look'd
inwards, and found her there. I cannot ſay he is every
where alike; were he ſo, I ſhould do him injury to
compare him with the greateſt of Mankind. He is many
times flat, and inſipid; his Comick Wit degenerating in-
to Clenches, his Serious ſwelling into Bombaſt. But he
is always great, when ſome great Occafion is preſented
to him: No Man can ſay he ever had a fit fubject for the
his Wit, and did not then raiſe himſelf as high above-
the reſt of Poets,
Quantum lenta ſolent inter Viburna Cupreſi.
The Confideration of this made Mr. Hales of Eaton
fay, That there was no Subject of which any Poet ever
*writ, but he would produce it much better done in
Shakeſpear; and however others are now generally pre-
ferr'd before him, yet the Age wherein he liyºd, which
had Contemporaries with him, Fletcher and Johnſon, never
equall'd them to him in their Eſteem: And in the laſt
King's Court, when Ben's Reputation was at higheſt,
Sir John Suckling, and with him the greater Part of the
Courtiers, ſet our Shakeſpear far above him.
Beaumont and Fletcher, of whom I am next to ſpeak,
had, with the Advantage of Shakeſpear's Wit, which was
their Precedent, great natural Gifts, improv'd by Study.
Beaumont eſpecially being ſo accurate a Judge of Plays,
that Ben. Fohnſon while he liv'd ſubmitted all his Writ-
ings to his Cenſure, and, 'tis thought, us’d his Judg-
ment in correcting, if not contriving all his Plots. What
value he had for him, appears by the Verſes he writ to
him; and therefore I need ſpeak no farther of it. The
firſt Play that brought Fletcher and him in Eſteem, was
their Philaſter; for before that, they had written two
or three very unſucceſsfully: As the like is reported of
Ben. Fohnſon, before he writ Every Man in his Humour.
Their

60
An Essay of Dramatick Poeſie
Their Plots were generally more regular than Shake-
Spear's, eſpecially thoſe which were made before Beau-
mont's Death; and they underſtood and imitated the Con-
verſation of Gentlemen much better; whoſe wild De-
baucheries, and quickneſs of Wit in Reparties, no Poet
before them could paint as they have done. Humour,
which Ben. Johnſon deriv'd from particular Perſons,
they made it not their Buſineſs to deſcribe: They repre-
ſented all the Paſſions very lively, but above all, Love,
I am apt to believe the Engliſh Language in them arriv'd
to its higheſt Perfection; what words have ſince been
taken in, are rather Superfluous than Ornamental. Their
Plays are now the moſt pleaſant and frequent Entertain-
ments of the Stage; two of theirs being acted through
Herkes the Year for one of Shakeſpear's or Johnſon's: The Rea-
ſon is, becauſe there is a certain gayety in their Come-
dies, and Pathos in their more ſerious Plays, which ſuits
generally with all Mens Humours. Shakeſpear's Lan-
guage is likewiſe a little obſolete, and Ben. Fohnſon's Wit
comes ſhort of theirs.
As for. Fohnſon, to whoſe Character I am now arri-
ved, if we look upon him while he was himſelf, (for
his laſt Plays were but his Dotages) I think him the
moſt learned and judicious Writer which any Theater
ever had. He was a moſt ſevere Judge of himſelf as
well as others. One cannot ſay he wanted Wit, but ra-
ther that he was frugal of it. In his Works
little to retrench or alter. [Wit and Language, and Hu-
mour alſo in ſome meaſure, we had before him; but
ſomething of Art was wanting to the Drama 'till he
came. ] He manag'd his Strength to more advantage than
any who preceded him. You ſeldom find him making
Love in any of his Scenes, or endeavouring to move
the Paſſions'; his Genius was too ſullen and Saturnine to
do it gracefully, eſpecially when he knew he came after
thoſe who had performed both to ſuch an height. Hu-
mous was his proper Sphere, and in that he delighted
moſt to repreſent Mechanick People. He was deeply
converfant in the Ancients, both Greek and Latin, and he
borrow'd boldly from them: There is ſcarce a Poet or
Hiſtorian
you find
Den

An ESSAY of Dramatick Poeſie. 61
Hiſtorian among the Roman Authors of thoſe Times;
whom he has not tranſlated in Sejanus and Catiline. But
he has done his Robberies fo openly, that one may fee
he fears not to be taxed by any Law. He invades Au-
thors like a Monarch, and what would be Theft in other
Poets, is only Victory in him. With the Spoils of theſe
Writers he fo repreſents old Rome to us, in its Rites, Ce-
remonies, and Cuſtoms, that if one of their Poets had
written either of his Tragedies, we had ſeen leſs of it
than in him. If there was any Fault in his Language,
etwas, that he weav'd it too cloſely, and laboriouſly, in
his Comedies eſpecially: Perhaps too, he did a little too
much Romanize our Tongue, leaving the Words which
he tranſlated almoſt as much Latin as he found them:
Wherein though he learnedly followed their Language,
he did not enough, comply with the Idiom of ours. If
I would compare him with Shakeſpear, I muſt acknowe
ledge him the more correct Poet, but Shakeſpear, the
greater Wit. Shakeſpear was the Homer, or Father of our
Dramatick Poets; Fohnſon was the Virgil, the Pattern of
elaborate Writing ; I admire him, but I love Shakeſpear. X
To conclude of him, as he has given us the moſt correct
Plays, fo in the Precepts which he has laid down in this res the
Diſcoveries, we have as many and profitable Rules for.
perfecting the Stage as any wherewith the French can see
furniſh us.
Having thus ſpoken of the Author, I. proceed to the big
Examination of his Comedy, The Silent Woman.
dramat
Examen of the Silent Woman.
To begin firſt with the length of the Action; it is fo
far from exceeding the Compaſs of a Natural Day, that it
takes not up an Artificial one. 'Tis all included in the
Limits of three Hours and an half, which is no more
than is required for the Preſentment on the Stage. A
Beauty perhaps not much obſery'd ; if it had, we ſhould
not have look'd on the Spaniſh Tranſlation of five Hours
with ſo much Wonder. The Scene of it is laid in Lohm
don; the Latitude of Place is almoſt as little as you can
imagine:

62 An ESSAY of Dramatick Poeſie.
imagine: For it lies all within the Compaſs of two-
Houſes, and after the firſt Act, in one. The Continuity
of Scenes is obſerv'd more than in any of our Plays, ex-
cept his own Fox and Alchymiſt. They are not broken
above twice or thrice at moſt, in the whole Comedy;
and in the two beſt of Corneille's Plays, the Cid and
Cinna, they are interrupted once. The Action of the
Play is intirely one; the End or Aim of which is the
ſettling Moroſe's Eſtate on Dauphine. The Intrigue of it is
the greateſt and moſt noble of any pure unmix'd Come-
dy in any Language: You ſee in it many Perſons of va-
rious Characters and Humours, and all delightful : As
firſt, Moroſe, or an old Man, to whom all Noiſe, but his
own talking, is offenſive. Some, who would be thought
Criticks, ſay this Humour of his is forc'd : But to re-
move that Objection, we may conſider him, firſt, to be
naturally of a delicate hearing, as many are to whom all
fharp Sounds are unpleaſant; and ſecondly, we may at-
tribute much of it to the peeviſhneſs of his Age, or the
wayward Authority of an old Man in his own Houſe,
where he may make himſelf obey'd ; and to this the
Poet ſeems to allude in his Name Moroſe. Beſide this, I
am affura from divers Perſons, that Ben. Fohnſon was
actually acquainted with ſuch a Man, one altogether as
ridiculous as he is here repreſented. Others ſay it is not
enough to find one Man of ſuch an Humour; it muſt
be common to more, and the more common the more
natural. To prove this, they inſtance in the beſt of co-
mical Characters, Falſtaff: There are many Men reſembling
him; Old, Fat, Merry, Cowardly, Drunken, Amorous,
Vain, and Lying. But to convince theſe People, I need
but tell them, that Humour is the ridiculous extrava-
gance of Converſation, wherein one Man differs from all
others. If then it be common, or communicated to
many,
how differs it from other Mens? Or what indeed
cauſes it to be ridiculous ſo much as the fingularity of
it? As for Falſtaff, he is not properly one Humour, but
a Miſcellany of Humours or Images, drawn from ſo
many ſeveral Men: That wherein he is ſingular, is his
Wit, or thoſe things he ſays, præter expectatum, unex-
pected

An ESSAY of Dramatick Poeſie. 63
peeted by the Audience; his quick Evaſions when
you
imagine him ſurpriz’d, which as they are extreamly di-
verting of themſelves, fo receive a great addition from
his Perſon; for the very fight of ſuch an unweildly old
debauch'd Fellow, is a Comedy alone. And here having
a place fo proper for it, I cannot but enlarge ſomewhat
upon this Subject of Humour into which I am fallen.
The Ancients have little of in it their Comedies; for the
TÒ gerokov of the old Comedy, of which Ariſtophanes
was chief, was not ſo much to imitate a Man, as to
make the People laugh at ſome odd Conceit, which had
commonly ſomewhat of unnatural or obſcene in it,
Thus when you ſee Socrates brought upon the Stage,
you are not to imagine him made ridiculous by the I-
mitation of his Actions, but rather by making him per-
form ſomething very unlike himſelf : Something fo
childiſh and abſurd, as by comparing it with the Gravity
of the true Socrates, makes a ridiculous Object for the
Spectators. In their new Comedy which ſucceeded, the
Poets fought indeed to expreſs the rio, as in their
Tragedies the ado of Mankind. But this li- con-
taind only the general Characters of Men and Manners;
as old Men, Lovers, Serving-men, Courtezans, Paraſites,
and ſuch other Perſons as we ſee in their Comedies; all
which they made alike: That is, one old Man or Fa-
ther; one Lover, one Courtezan ſo like another, as if
the firſt of them had begot the reſt of every fort: Ex
homine hunc natum dicas. The fame Cuſtom they ob-
fery'd likewiſe in the Tragedies. As for the French,
tho' they have the word humeur among them, yet they
have ſmall uſe of it in their Comedies, or Farces; they
being but ill Imitations of the ridiculum, or that which
ſtirr'd up Laughter in the old Comedy. But among the
Engliſh 'tis otherwiſe : Where, by Humour is meant ſome
extravagant Habit, Paſſion, or Affection ; particular (as
I ſaid before) to ſome one Perſon: By the Oddneſs of
which, he is immediately diſtinguiſh'd from the reſt of
Men; which being lively and naturally repreſented, moſt
frequently begets that malicious Pleaſure in the Audi-
ence which is teſtified by Laughter: As all things which

64 An ESSA Y of Dramatick Poeſie.
are Deviations from Cuſtoms are ever the apteſt to prove
duce it: Though by the way this Laughter is only ac-
cidental, as the Perſon repreſented is Fantaſtick or Bi-
zarre; but Pleaſure is eſſential to it, as the Imitation of
what is natural. The Deſcription of theſe Humours,
drawn from the Knowledge and Obſervation of parti-
cular Perſons, was the peculiar Genius and Talent of
Ben. Johnſon; to whoſe Play I now return.
Beſides Moroſe, there are at leaſt, nine or ten different
Characters and Humours in the Silent Woman, all which
Perſons have ſeveral Concernments of their own, yet
all us'd by the Poet, to the conducting of the main De-
ſign to Perfection. I ſhall not waſte time in com-
mending the writing of this Play, but I will give you
my Opinion, that there is more Wit and Acuteneſs of
Fancy in it than in any of Ben. Johnſon's. Beſides, that
he has here defcrib'd the Converſation of Gentlemen in
the Perſons of True-Wit, and his Friends, with more
Gaiety, Air, and Freedom, than in the reſt of his Come-
dies. For the Contriyance of the Plot, 'tis extream ela-
borate, and yet withal eaſie; for the ruois, or untying
it, 'tis fo admirable, that when it is done, no one of the
Audience would think the Poet could have miſs'd it;
and yet it was conceal'd ſo much before the laſt Scene,
that
any
other
way
would ſooner have enter'd into your
Thoughts. But I dare not take upon me to commend
the Fabrick of it, becauſe it is altogether ſo full of Art,
that I muſt unravel every Scene in it to commend it as
I ought. And this excellent Contrivance is ſtill the more
to be admir'd, becauſe 'tis Comedy where the Perſons
are only of common Rank, and their Buſineſs private, not
elevated by Paſſions or highi Concernments, as in ſerious
Plays. Here every one is a proper Judge of all he fees ;
nothing is repreſented but that with which he daily.
converſes: So that by conſequence all Faults lie open to
diſcovery, and few are pardonable, 'Tis this which Hog.
race has judiciouſly obſervd:
Creditur ex medio quia res arceffit, habere
Sudoris minimum, ſed habet Comedia tanto
Plus oneris, quanto venia minus,
But:

An ESSA Y of Dramatick Poeſie. 65
But our Poet, who was not ignorant of theſe Difficulties,
has made uſe of all Advantages; as he who deſigns a
large Leap, takes his riſe from the higheſt Ground. One
of theſe Advantages, is that which Corneille has laid down
as the greateſt which can arrive to any Poem, and which
he himſelf could never compaſs above thrice in all his
Plays, viz. the making Choice of ſome ſignal and long-
expected Day, whereon the Action of the Play is to de-
pend. This Day was that deſign'd by Dauphine, for the
ſetling of his Uncle's Eſtate upon him; which to compaſs
he contrives to marry him: That the Marriage had been
plotted by him long beforehand, is made evident, by
what he tells True-Wit in the ſecond Act, that in one
Moment he had deſtroy'd what he had been raiſing ma
ny Months.
There is another Artifice of the Poet, which I can-
not here omit, becauſe by the frequent practice of it in
his Comedies, he has left it to us almoſt as a Rule; that
is, when he has any Character or Humour wherein he
would ſhew a Coup de Maiſtre, or his higheſt Skill; he
recommends it to your Obſervation, by a pleaſant De-
fcription of it before the Perſon firſt appears. Thus, in
Bartholomew-Fair, he gives you the Pictures of Numps
and Cokes, and in this, thoſe of Daw, Lafoole, Moroſe,
and the Collegiate Ladies ; all which you hear deſcriľa
before you ſee them. So that before they come upon
the Stage, you have a longing Expectation of then,
which prepares you to receive them favourably ; and
when they are there, even from their firſt appearance
you are ſo far acquainted with them, that nothing of
their Humour is loſt to you.
I will obſerve yet one thing further of this admirable
Plot; the Buſineſs of it riſes in every Act. The ſecond
is greater than the firſt; the third than the ſecond, and
fo forward to the fifth. There too you ſee, till the ve-
ry laſt Scene, new Difficulties ariſing to obſtruct the
Action of the Play; and when the Audience is brought
into deſpair that the Buſineſs can naturally be effecteds
then, and not before, the Diſcovery is made. But that
the Poet might entertain you with more Variety
all:

66 An ESSAY of Dramatick Poeſie.
greater Perſons.
all this while, he reſeryes fome new Characters to ſhow
you, which he opens not till the ſecond and third Act.
In the ſecond, Moroſe
, Daw, the Barber and Otter; in
the third, the Collegiate Ladies : All which he moves af-
terwards in By-walks, or under-Plots, as Diverſions to
the main Deſign, left it ſhould grow tedious, though
they are ſtill naturally join'd with it, and ſomewhere or
other ſubfervient to it. Thus, like a skilful Cheſs-player,
by little and little, he draws out his Men, and makes his
Pawns of uſe to his
If this Comedy, and ſome others of his, were tranf-
lated into French Proſe (which would now be no won-
der to them, ſince Moliere has lately given them Plays
out of Verſe, which have not diſpleas'd them) I believe
the Controverſie would ſoon be decided betwixt the
two Nations, even making them the Judges. But we
need not call our Heroes to our Aid; Be it ſpoken to
the Honour of the Engliſh, our Nation can never want
in
any Age ſuch, who are able to diſpute the Empire of
Wit with any People in the Univerſe. And though the
Fury of a Civil War, and Power, for twenty Years to-
gether, abandon'd to a barbarous Race of Men, Enemies
of all good Learning, had buried the Muſes under the
Ruins of Monarchy; yet with the Reſtoration of our
Happineſs, we ſee reviv'd Poeſie lifting up its Head, and
already ſhaking off the rubbiſh which lay ſo heavy on it.
We have ſeen
fince his Majeſty's return, niany Drama-
tick Poems which yield not to thoſe of any foreign Na-
tion, and which deſerve all Laurels but the Engliſh. I
will ſet aſide Flattery and Envy: It cannot be deny?d but
we have ſome little blemiſh either in the Plot or Wri-
ting of all thoſe Plays which have been made within
theſe ſeven Years: (and perhaps there is no Nation in
the World fo quick to diſcern them, or ſo difficult to
pardon them, as ours:) yet if we can perſuade our
ſelves to uſe the Candour of that Poet, who (though
the moſt ſevere of Criticks) has left us this caution by
which to moderate our Cenſures;
Ubi plura nitent in carmine, non ego paucis offender
maculis.
If

An ESSA Y of Dramatick Poeſie. 67
If in conſideration of their many and great Beauties,
we can wink at ſome flight and little Imperfections ;
if we, I ſay, can be thus equal to our felves, I ask no
favour from the French. And if I do not venture upon
any particular Judgment of our late Plays, 'tis out of
the Confideration which an ancient Writer gives me ;
Vivorum, ut magna admiratio, ita cenſura difficilis: betwixt
the Extreams of Admiration and Malice, 'tis hard to
judge upright of the living. Only I think it may be
permitted me to ſay, that as it is no leſs’ning to us to
yield to ſome Plays, and thoſe not many of our own
Nation in the laſt Age, fo can it be no addition to pro-
nounce of our preſent Poets, that they have far ſurpaſs d
all the Ancients, and the Modern Writers of other Coun-
tries.
This was the ſubſtance of what was then ſpoke on
that occafion; and Lifideius, I think, was going to reply,
when he was prevented thus by Crites: I am confident,
faid he, that the moſt material things that can be ſaid,
have been already urg'd on either ſide, if they have not,
I muſt beg of Lifideius that he will defer his Anſwer till
another time: for I confeſs I have a joint Quarrel to
you both, becauſe you have concluded, without any
Reaſon given for it, that Rhyme is proper for the Stage.
I will not diſpute how ancient it hath been among us
to write this way; perhaps our Anceſtors knew no bet-
ter till Shakeſpear's time. I will grant it was not alto-
gether left by him, and that Fletcher and Ben. Fohnfora
us'd it frequently in their Paſtorals; and ſometimes in
other Plays. Farther, I will not argue whether we re-
ceiv'd it originally from our own Countrymen, or from
the French; for that is an inquiry of as little Benefit as
theirs, who in the midſt of the late Plague were not fo
ſollicitous to provide againſt it, as to know whether we
had it from the Malignity of our own Air, or by tranſ-
portation from Holland. I have therefore only to affirm,
That it is not allowable in ſerious Plays; for Comedies
I find you already concluding with me. To prove this,
I might ſatisfie my ſelf to tell you, how much in vain
it is for you to ſtrive againſt the Stream of the Peoples
Incli-

68 * An ESSA Y of Dramatick Poeſie.
Inclination; the greateſt part of which are prepoſſeſsa
ſo much with thoſe excellent Plays of Shakeſpear, Fletcher,
and Ben. Johnſon, (which have been written out of
Rhyme) that except you could bring them fuch as were
written better in it, and thoſe too by Perſons of equal
Reputation with them, it will be impoſſible for you to
gain your Cauſe with them, who will ſtill be judges.
This it is to which in fine all your Reaſons muſt ſub-
mit. The unanimous Conſent of an Audience is ſo
powerful, that even Julius Cafar (as Macrobius reports of
him) when he was perpetual Dictator, was not able to
ballance it on the other ſide. But when Laberius, a Ro-
man Knight, at his Requeſt contended in the Mime with
another Poet, he was forc'd to cry out, Etiam favente me
victus es Laberi. But I will not on this occaſion, take the
Advantage of the greater Number, but only urge ſuch
Reaſons againſt Rhyme, as I find in the Writings of
thoſe who have argu'd for the other way. Firſt then,
I am of Opinion, that Rhyme is unnatural in a Play,
becauſe Dialogue there is preſented as the Effect of fud-
den Thought. For a Play is the imitation of Nature
and ſince no Man, without Premeditation, ſpeaks in
Rhyme, neither ought he to do it on the Stage; this
hinders not but the Fancy may be there elevated to an
higher Pitch of Thought than it is in ordinary Diſcourſe :
For there is a probability that Men of excellent and quick
Parts may ſpeak noble things ex tempore : But thoſe
Thoughts are never fetter'd with the Numbers or found
of Verſe, without Study; and therefore it cannot be but
unnatural to preſent the moſt free way of ſpeaking, in
that which is the moſt conſtrain'd. For this Reaſon,
ſays Ariſtotle, 'Tis beſt to write Tragedy in that kind of
Verſe which is the leaſt ſuch, or which is neareſt Profe:
And this amongſt the Ancients was the lambique, and
with us is Blank Verſe, or the Meaſure of Verſe, kept
exactly without Rhyme. Theſe Numbers therefore are
fitteſt for a Play; the others for a Paper of Verſes, or a
Poem; blank Verſe being as much below them, as
Rhyme is improper for the Drama. And if it be ob-
jected, that neither are blank Verſes made ex tempore,
yet

An Essay of Dramatick Poefe. 69
yet -as neareſt Nature, they are ſtill to be preferr'd. But
there are two particular Exceptions which many
beſides
my
ſelf have had to Verſe; by which it will appear yet
more plainly, how improper it is in Plays. And the
firſt of them is grounded on that very reaſon for which
ſome have commended Rhyme: They ſay the quickneſs of
Repartees in argumentative Scenes receives an Ornament
from Verſe. Now what is more unreaſonable than to
imagine, that a Man ſhould not only imagine the Wit,
but the Rhyme too upon the ſudden? This nicking of
him who ſpoke before both in found and meaſure, is ſo
great an Happineſs, that you muſt at leaſt fuppoſe the
Perſons of your Play to be born Poets, Arcades omnes og
cantare pares dos reſpondere parati, they muſt have arriv'd
to the degree of quicquid conabar dicere, to make Verſes
almoſt whether they will or no: If they are any thing
below this, it will look rather like the Deſign of two,
than the anſwer of one: It will
appear
that
your
Actors
hold Intelligence together, that they perform their Tricks
like Fortune-tellers, by Confederacy. The Hand of Art
will be too viſible in it againſt that Maxim of all Profeſ-
fions; Ars eſt celare artem, That it is the greateſt Per-
fection of Art to keep it ſelf undiſcover'd. Nor will it
ferve you to object, that however you manage it, 'tis
ſtill known to be a Play; and conſequently the Dialogue
of two Perſons underſtood to be the Labour of one
Poet. For a Play is ſtill an imitation of Nature; we
know we are to be deceiv'd, and we deſire to be fo; but
no Man ever was deceiv'd but with a probability of Truth,
for who will ſuffer a grofs Lie to be faſten’d on him?
Thus we fufficiently underſtand that the Scenes which
repreſent Cities and Countries to us, are not really ſuch,
but only painted on Boards and Canyaſs: But ſhall that
excuſe the ill Painture or Deſignment of them ? Nay,
rather, ought they not to be labour'd with ſo much the
more Diligence and Exactneſs to help the Imagination,
ſince the Mind of Man does naturally tend to truth? and
therefore the nearer any thing comes to the Imitation of
it, the more it pleaſes.
Thus

79 An Essay of Dramatick Poeſie.
Thus, you fee, your Rhyme is uncapable of expreſſing
the greateſt Thoughts naturally, and the loweſt it can-
not with any grace: For what is more unbefitting the
Majeſty of Verſe, than to call a Servant, or bid a Door
be ſhut in Rhyme? And yet you are often forc'd on this
miſerable Neceſſity. But Verſe, you ſay, Circumſcribes
a quick and luxuriant Fancy, which would extend it ſelf
too far on every Subject, did not the labour which is
requird to well turn'd and poliſh'd Rhyme, ſet bounds
to it. Yet this Argument, if granted, would only prove,
that we may write better in Verſe, but not more natu-
rally. Neither is it able to evince that; for he who
wants Judgment to confine his Fancy in blank Verſe,
may want it as much in Rhyme; and he who has it,
will avoid Errors in both kinds. Latin Verſe was as
great a Confinement to the Imagination of thoſe Poets,
as Rhyme to ours: And yet you find Ovid ſaying too
much on every ſubject. Neſcivit (fays Seneca) quod bene
ceſſit relinquere: of which he gives you one famous In-
ſtance in his Deſcription of the Deluge,
Ommia pontus erat, deerant quoque
litora ponto.

Now all was Sea, nor had that Sea a Shore. Thus
Ovid's Fancy was not limited by Verſe, and Virgil need-
ed not Verſe to have bounded his.
In our own Language we ſee Ben. Fohnſon confining
himſelf to what ought to be faid, even in the Liberty
of blank Verſe; and yet Corneille, the moſt judicious of
the French Poets, is ſtill varying the fame Senſe an hun-
dred ways, and dwelling eternally on the ſame Subject,
though confin'd by Rhyme. Some other Exceptionis I
have to Verſe, but ſince theſe I have nam'd are for the
moſt part already publick; I conceive it reaſonable they
ſhould firſt be anſwer'd.
It concerns me leſs than any, ſaid Neander, (ſeeing he
had ended) to reply to this Diſcourſe; becauſe when I
ſhould have provºd, that Verſe may be natural in Plays,
yet I ſhould always be ready to confeſs, that thoſe which
1

An ESSAY of Dramatick Poeſie. 71
I have written in this kind, come ſhort of that Perfecti-
on which is requir’d. Yet ſince you are pleas’d I ſhould
undertake this Province, I will do it, though with all
imaginable reſpect and deference, both to that Perſon
from whom you have borrow'd your ſtrongeſt Argu-
ments, and to whoſe Judgment when I have ſaid all, I
finally ſubmit. But before I proceed to anſwer your
Objections, I muſt firſt remember you, that, I exclude
all Comedy from my Defence; and next, that I deny
not but blank Verſe may be alſo us’d, and content my
ſelf only to aſſert, that in ſerious Plays, where the Subject
and Characters are great, and the Plot unmix'd with
Mirth, which might allay or divert theſe Concernments
which are produc'd, Rhyme is there as natural, and
more effectual than blank Verſe.
And now having laid down this as a Foundation, to
begin with Crites, I muſt crave leave to tell him, that
ſome of his Arguments againſt Rhynie reach no farther
than from the Faults or Defects of ill Rhyme, to con-
clude againſt the Uſe of it in general. May not I con-
clude againſt blank Verſe by the fame Reaſon? If the
words of ſome Poets who write in it, are either ill
choſen, or ill placed, (which makes not only Rhyme,
but all kind of Verſe in any Language unnatural;) Shall
I, for their vicious Affectation, condemn thoſe excellent
Lines of Fletcher, which are written in that kind? Is
there any thing in Rhyme more conſtrain'd than this
Line in blank Verſe? I Heav'n invoke, and ſtrong reſiſtance
make; where
you
ſee both the Clauſes are plac'd unnatu-
rally; that is, contrary to the common way of ſpeaking,
and that without the Excuſe of a Rhyme to cauſe it :
Yet you would think me very ridiculous, if I ſhould
accuſe the Stubbornneſs of blank Verſe for this, and not
rather the Stiffneſs of the Poet. Therefore, Crites, you
muſt either prove that words, though well choſen, and
duly plac'd, yet render not Rhyme natural in it felf; or
that however natural and eaſie the Rhyme may be, yet
it is not proper for a Play. If you inſiſt on the former
Part, I would ask you what other Conditions are re-
quir'd

An ESSA Y of Dramatick Poéſie.
quir'd to make Rhyme natural in it ſelf, beſides an E-
lection of apt Words, and a right Diſpoſition of them ?
For the due Choice of your Words expreſſes your Senſe
naturally, and the due placing them adapts the Rhyme
to it. If you object, that one Verſe may be made for
the ſake of another, though both the words and Rhyme
be apt: I anſwer, it cannot poſſibly fo fall out; for ei-
ther there is a Dependance of Senſe betwixt the firſt
Line and the ſecond, or there is none: If there be that
connection, then in the natural Poſition of the Words,
the latter Line muſt of neceſſity flow from the former :
If there be no Dependance, yet ſtill the due ordering of
Words makes the laſt Line as natural in it ſelf as the o-
ther: So that the Neceſſity of a Rhyme never forces a-
ny but bad or lazy Writers to ſay what they would not
otherwiſe. 'Tis true, there is both Care and Art re-
quir'd to write in Verſe; A good Poet never eſtabliſhes
the firſt Line, till he has ſought out ſuch a Rhyme as
may fit the Senſe, already prepard to heighten the ſe-
cond: Many times the cloſe of the Senſe falls into the
middle of the next Verſe, or farther off, and he may of-
ten prevail himſelf of the fame Advantages in Engliſh
which Virgil had in Latin, he may break off in the He-
miſtich, and begin another Line: Indeed, the not obſer-
ving theſe two laſt things, makes Plays, which are writ
in Verfe, ſo tedious: For though, moſt commonly, the
Senſe is to be confin’d to the Couplet, yet nothing that
does perpetuo tenore fluere, run in the fame Channel, can
pleaſe always. 'Tis like the murmuring of a Stream,
which not varying in the Fall, cauſes at firſt Attention,
at laſt Drowſineſs. Variety of Cadences is the beſt Rule,
the greateſt help to the Actors, and refreſhment to the
Audience.
If then Verſe may be made natural in it ſelf
, how
becomes it unnatural in a Play? You ſay the Stage is
the Repreſentation of Na ure, and no Man in ordinary
Converſation ſpeaks in Rhyme. But you foreſaw, when
you ſaid this, that it might be anſwer'd; neither does
any Man ſpeak in blank Verſe, or in Meaſure without
Rhyme.

An ESSAY of Dramatick Poeſie. 73
5
Rhyme. Therefore you concluded, that which is near-
eſt Nature is ſtill to be preferr'd. But you took no no-
tice, that Rhyme might be made as natural as blank
Verſe, by the well placing of the Words, doc. all the
Difference between them when they are both correct,
is the found in one, which the other wants; and if ſo,
the Sweetneſs of it, and all the Advantage reſulting from
it, which are handled in the Preface to the Rival Ladies,
will
yet ſtand good. As for that place of Ariſtotle, where
he ſays Plays ſhould be writ in that kind of Verſe which
is neareſt Proſe; it makes little for you, blank Verſe be-
ing properly but meaſur'd Proſe. Now Meaſure alone
in any modern Language, does not conſtitute Verſe
thoſe of the Ancients in Greek and Latin, conſiſted in
quantity of Words, and a determinate number of Feet.
But when, by the Inundation of the Goths and Vandals
into Italy, new Languages were introduced, and barba-
rouſly mingled with the Latin (of which the Italian,
Spaniſh, French, and ours, (made out of them, and the
Teutonick) are Dialects :) a new way of Poeſie was pra-
étis’d; new, I ſay, in thoſe Countries, for in all proba-
bility it was that of the Conquerors in their own Na-
tions: At leaſt we are able to prove, that the Eaſtern
People have us’d it from all Antiquity, Vid. Dan, his Dea
fence of Rhyme. This new way conſiſted in Meaſure or
Number of Feet and Rhyme. The Sweetneſs of Rhyme,
and Obſervation of Accent, ſupplying the place of
quantity in Words, which could neither exactly be ob-
ſerv'd by thoſe Barbarians who knew not the Rules of
it, neither was it ſuitable to their Tongues as it had
been to the Greek and Latin. No Man is tied in Modern
Poeſie to obſerve any farther Rule in the Feet of his
Verſe, but that they be diſfyllables; whether Sponde ?,
Trochee, or Tambique, it matters not; only he is obliged
to Rhyme: Neither do the Spaniſh, French, Italian, or
Germans, acknowledge at all, or very rarely, any ſuch
kind of Poeſie as blank Verſe amongſt them. There-
fore, at moſt, 'tis but a Poetick Proſe, a Sermo pedeſtris,
and, as ſuch, moſt fit for Comedies, where I acknow-
VOL. I.
D
ledge
I

94 An EssA Y of Dramatick Poeſie.
ledge Rhyme to be improper. Farther, As to that Quo-
tation of Ariſtotle, our Couplet Verſes may be rendred
as near Proſe as blank Verſe it ſelf, by uſing thoſe Ad-
vantages I lately nam'd, as Breaks in an Hemiſtich, or
running the Senſe into another Line, thereby making
Art and Order appear as looſe and free as Nature; or
not tying our ſelves to Couplets ſtrictly, we may uſe
the Benefit of the Pindarick way, practis'd in the Siege
of Rhodes; where the Numbers vary, and the Rhyme
is diſpos'd careleſly, and far from often chyming. Nei-
ther is that other Advantage of the Ancients to be de-
{pis’d, of changing the kind of Verſe when they pleaſe
with the change of the Scene, or ſome new Entrance :
For they confine not themſelves always to Tambiques,
but extend their Liberty to all Lyrique Numbers, and
ſometimes even to Hexameter. But I need not go ſo
far to prove that Rhyme, as it ſucceeds to all other Of-
fices of Greek and Latin Verſe, ſo eſpecially to this of
Plays, ſince the Cuſtom of Nations at this Day con-
firms it, the French, Italian and Spaniſh Tragedies are ge-
nerally writ in it, and ſure the univerſal Conſent of the
moſt civiliz'd Parts of the World, ought in this, as it
doth in other Cuſtoms, to include the reſt.
But perhaps you may tell me I have propos'd ſuch a
Way to make Rhyme natural, and conſequently proper
to Plays, as is unpracticable, and that I ſhall ſcarce find
fix or eight Lines together in any Play, where the
Words are ſo plac'd and choſen as is requir'd to make it
natural. I anſwer, No Poet need conſtrain himſelf at all
times to it. It is enough he makes it his general Rule;
for I deny not but ſometimes there may be a greatneſs
in placing the Words otherwiſe; and ſometimes they
may found better, ſometimes alſo the variety it ſelf is
Excuſe enough. But if, for the moſt part, the Words be
plac'd as they are in the negligence of Proſe, it is fuffi-
cient to denominate the way practicable; for we eſteem
that to be ſuch, which in the trial oftner ſucceeds than
miſſes. And thus far you may find the Practice made
good in many Plays; where you do not, remember ſtill,
that

An Essay of Dramatick Poeſie. 75
that if you cannot find fix natural Rhymes together, it
will be as hard for you to produce as many Lines in
Blank Verſe, eyen among the greateſt of our Poets, a-
gainſt which I cannot make ſome reaſonable Exception,
And this, Sir, calls to my remembrance the beginning
of your Diſcourſe, where you told us we ſhould never
find the Audience favourable to this kind of Writing,
'till we could produce as good Plays in Rhyme, as Ben.
Fohnſon, Fletcher, and Shakeſpear, had writ out of it. But
it is to raiſe Envy to the Living, to compare them with
the Dead. They are honour'd, and almoſt ador'd by us,
as they deſerve; neither do I know any fe preſumptu-
ous of themſelves as to contend with them. Yet give
me leave to ſay thus much, without injury to their Aſhes,
that not only we ſhall never equal them, but they could
never equal themſelves, were they to riſe and write ao
gain. We acknowledge them our Fathers in Wit, but
they have ruin'd their Eſtates themſelves before they came
to their Childrens Hands. There is ſcarce an Humour,
a Character, or any kind of Plot, which they have not
us’d. All comes füllied or waſted to us: And were they
to entertain this Age, they could not now make fo plen-
teous Treatments out of ſuch decay'd Fortunes. This
therefore will be a good Argument to us either not to
write at all
, or to attempt ſome other way. There is
no Bays to be expected in their Walks ; Tentanda via eft
quà me quoque poſſim tollere humo.
This way of writing in Verſe, they have only left free
to us; our Age is arriv'd to a Perfection in it, which
they never knew; and which (if we may gueſs by what
of theirs we have ſeen in Verſe, as the Faithful Shepher-
deſs
, and Sad Shepherd :) 'tis probable they never could
have reach'd. For the Genius of every Age is different:
And though ours excel in this, I deny not but that to
imitate Nature in that Perfection which they did in
Proſe, is a greater Commendation than to write in Verſe
exactly. As for what you have added, that the People
are not generally inclin'd to like this way; if it were true,
it would be no wonder, that betwixt the ſhaking off an
old
D 2

376 An ESSAY of Dramatick Poeſie.
old habit, and the introducing of a new, there ſhould be
difficulty. Do we not ſee them ſtick to Hopkins and Stern-
hold's Plalms, and forſake thoſe of David, I mean Sandys's
Tranſlation of them? If by the People, you underſtand
the Multitude, the ól morroi, 'tis no matter what they
think; they are ſometimes in the right, ſometimes in
the wrong; their Judgment is a meer LotteryEft ubi
plebs rectè putat, eſt ubi peccat. Horace ſays it of the Vul-
gar, judging Poeſie. But if you mean the mix'd Audi-
ence of the Populace, and the Nobleſs, I dare confident-
ly affirm, that a great Part of the latter ſort are already
favourable to Verle; and that no ſeriousi Plays written
fince the King's Return, have been more kindly receiv'd
by them, than the Siege of Rhodes, the Muſtapha, the In-
dian Queen, and Indian Emperor.
But I come now to the Inference of your firſt Argu-
ment. You ſaid, that the Dialogue of Plays is preſented
as the Effect of ſudden Thought, but no Man ſpeaks
ſuddenly, or ex tempore in Rhyme: And you inferi'd
from thence, that Rhyme, which you acknowledge to
be proper to Epique Poeſie, cannot equally be proper to
Dramatick, unleſs we could ſuppoſe all Men born ſo
much more than Poets, that Verſes ſhould be made in
them, not by them.
Do It has been formerly urg'd by you, and confeſs’d by
me, that ſince no Man ſpoke any kind of Verſe ex ten-
pore, that which was neareſt Nature was to be preferr’d.
I anſwer you therefore, by diſtinguiſhing betwixt what
is neareſt to the Nature of Comedy, which is the Imita-
tion of common Perſons and ordinary Speaking, and
what is neareſt the Nature of a ſerious Play: This laſt is
indeed the Repreſentation of Nature, but 'tis Nature
wrought up to an higher Pitch. The Plot, the Cha-
racters, the Wit, the Paſſions, the 'Deſcriptions, are all
exalted above the level of common Converſe, as high as
the Imagination of the Poet can carry them, with
pro-
portion to veriſimility. Tragedy we know is wont
to image to us the Minds and Fortunes of Noble Per-
fons, and to portray theſe exactly; Heroick Rhyme is
nearest

An ESSA Y of Dramatick Poeſie. 77
neareſt Nature, as being the nobleſt Kind of modern
Verſe.
Indignatur enim privatis, do prope ſocco
Dignis carminibus, narrari coena Thyeſta. (ſays Horace.)
And in another place,
ih
Effutire leveis indigna tragedia verſus.
Blank Verſe is acknowledg’d to be too low for a
Poem; nay more, for a Paper of Verſes; but if too low
for an ordinary Sonnet, how much more for Tragedy,
which is by Ariſtotle, in the diſpute betwixt the Epick
Poeſie and the Dramatick, for many Reaſons he there
alledges, rankd above it.
But ſetting this Defence afide, your Argument is al-
moſt as ſtrong againſt the uſe of Rhyme in Poems as in
Plays; for the Epick way is every where interlac'd with
Dialogue, or diſcourſive Scenes; and therefore you muſt
either grant Rhyme to be improper there, which is con-
trary to your Affertion, or admit it into Plays by the ſame
Title which
you have given it to Poems. For though
va Tragedy be juſtly preferi'd above the other, yet there is
a great Affinity between them, as may eaſily be diſcover-
ed in that Definition of a Play which Lifideius gave
us. The Genius of them is the ſame, a juſt and lively
Image of Human Nature, in its Actions, Paffions, and
Traverſes of Fortune: So is the End, namely for the De-
e light and Benefit of Mankind. The Characters and Per-
fons are ſtill the ſame, viz. the greateſt of both Sorts,
's only the manner of acquainting us with thoſe Actions,
Paſſions and Fortunes is different. Tragedy performs it
viva voce, or by Action, in Dialogue, wherein it excels
the Epick Poem, which does it chiefly by Narration,
and therefore is not ſo lively an Image of Human Na-
ture. However, the Agreement betwixt them is ſuch,
that if Rhyme be proper for one, it muſt be for the o-
ther. Verſe, 'tis true, is not the Effect of fudden Thought;
but
30 h
D 3

178 An ESSAY of Dramatick Poeſie.
but this hinders not that ſudden Thought may be
repre-
ſented in Verſe, ſince thoſe Thoughts are ſuch as muft
be higher than Nature can raiſe them without Premedi-
tation, eſpecially to a continuance of them even out of
Verſe, and conſequently you cannot imagine them to
have been ſudden either in the Poet, or the Actors. A
Play, as I have ſaid, to be like Nature, is to be fet above
it; as Statues which are plac'd on high are made greater
than the Life, that they may deſcend to the Sight in
their juſt Proportion.
Perhaps I have inſiſted too long on this Objection;
but the clearing of it will make my ſtay ſhorter on the
reft. You tell
us, Crites, that Rhyme appears moſt un-
natural in Repartees, or ſhort Replies: When he who
anſwers, (it being preſum'd he knew not what the other
would ſay, yet) makes up that part of the Verſe which
was left incompleat, and ſupplies both the Sound and Mea-
fure of it. This, you ſay, looks rather like the Confe-
deracy of two, than the Anſwer of one.
This, I confeſs, is an Objection which is in every
Man's Mouth who loves not Rhyme: But ſuppoſe, I be-
feech
you, the Repartee were made only in Blank Verſe,
might not part of the fame Argument be turn'd againſt
you? For the Meaſure is as often ſupply'd there as it is
in Rhyme. The latter half of the Hemiſtich as com-
monly made up, or a ſecond Line ſubjoin'd as a Reply
to the former; which any one Leaf in Johnſon's Plays
will fufficiently clear to you. You will often find in the
Greek Tragedians, and in Seneca, that when a Scene grows
up into the warmth of Repartees, (which is the cloſe
fighting of it) the latter part of the Trimeter is ſupply'd
by him who anſwers; and yet it was never obſerv'd as
a Fault in them by any of the Ancient or Modern Cri-
ticks. The Caſe is the ſame in our Verſe as it was in
theirs; Rhyme to us being in lieu of quantity to them.
But if no Latitude is to be allow'd a Poet, you take from
him not only his Licence of quidlibet audendi, but you
tie him up in a ſtraighter compaſs than you would a
Philoſopher. This is indeed Muſas colere ſeveriores: You
would

An Essay of Dramatick Poeſie. 79.
would have him follow Nature, but he muſt follow her
on Foot : You have difmounted him from his Pegaſus.
But
you
tell us, this ſupplying the laſt half of a Verſe, or
adjoining a whole Second to the former, looks more
like the deſign of two, than the anſwer of one. Suppoſe
we acknowledge it: How comes this confederacy to be
more diſpleaſing to you than in a Dance which is well con-
trivd? You ſee there the united deſign of many Perfons
to make up one Figure: After they have ſeparated them-
ſelves in many petty Diviſions, they rejoin one by one
into a groſs: The Confederacy is plain amongſt them;
for Chance could never produce any thing fo beautiful,
and yet there is nothing in it that ſhocks your fight. I
acknowledge the Hand of Art appears in Repartee, as of
neceſſity it muſt in all kind of Verſe. But there is alſo
the quick and poinant brevity of it (which is an high I-
mitation of Nature in thoſe ſudden Guſts of Paſſion) to
to mingle with it: And this joind with the Cadency
and Sweetneſs of the Rhyme, leaves nothing in the Soul
of the Hearer to deſire. Tis an Art which appears; but
it appears only like the Shadowings of Painture, which
being to cauſe the rounding of it, cannot be abſent; but
while that is conſidered they are loft: So while we ata.
tend to the other Beauties of the Matter, the. Care and
Labour of the Rhyme is carried from us, or at leaſt
drown'd in its own Sweetneſs, as Bees are ſometimes
buried in their Honey. When a Poet has found the Re-
partee, the laſt Perfection he can add to it, is, to put it
into Verſe. However good the Thought may be; how-
ever apt the Words in which 'tis couch’d, yet he finds
himſelf at a little unreſt, while Rhyme is wanting : He
cannot leave it ’till that comes naturally, and then is at
eaſe, and fits down contented.
From Replies, which are the moſt elevated Thoughts of
Verſe, you paſs to thoſe which are moſt mean, and which are
common with the loweſt of houſhold Converſation. In
theſe, you ſay, the Majeſty of Verſe ſuffers. You in-
ſtance in the calling of a Servant, or commanding a Door
to be fhut in Rhyme. This, Crites, is a good Obſervati-
D A
Ons

80 An Essay of Dramatick Poeſie.
on of yours, but no Argument: For it proves no more
but that ſuch Thoughts fhould be way'd, as often as
may be, by the Addreſs of the Poet. But fuppoſe they
are neceſſary in the Places where he uſes them, yet
there
is no need to put them into Rhyme. He may place
them in the beginning of a Verſe, and break it off, as
unfit, when ſo debas'd for any other uſe: Or granting
the worſt, that they require more room than the He-
miſtich will allow ; yet ſtill there is a Choice to be made
of the beſt Words, and leaſt vulgar (provided they be apt)
to expreſs ſuch Thoughts. Many have blam'd Rhyme
in general
, for this Fault, when the Poet, with a little
Care, might have redreſs'd it. But they do it with no more
Juſtice, than if Engliſh Poeſie ſhould be made ridiculous
for the ſake of the Water-Poet's Rhymes. Our Language
is noble, full, and ſignificant; and Í know not why he
who is Maſter of it, may not cloath ordinary things in
it as decently as the Latin; if he uſe the ſame diligence
in his choice of Words.
Dele&tus verborum Origo eft Eloquentia.
It was the Saying of Julius Cæfar, one ſo curious in
his, that none of them can be chang'd but for a worſe.
One would think unlock the Door was a thing as vul-
gar as could be ſpoken, and yet Seneca could make it
lound high and lofty in his Latin.
Referate cluſos Regii poſtes Laris.
Set wide the Palace Gates.
But I turn from this Exception, both becauſe it hap-
pens not above twice or thrice in any Play that thoſe
vulgar Thoughts are us’d; and then too (were there no
other Apology to be made, yet) the neceſſity of them
(which is alike in all kind of writing) may excuſe them.
For if they are little and mean in Rhyme, they are of
Conſequence ſuch in Blank Verſe. Beſides that the great
eagere

An ESSA Y of Dramatick Poeſie. 81
a Man
eagerneſs and precipitation, with which they are ſpoken
makes us rather mind the Subſtance than the Dreſs; that
for which they are ſpoken, rather than what is ſpoke.
For they are always the Effect of ſome haſty Concern-
ment, and ſomething of Conſequence depends on them.
Thus, Crites, I have endeavour'd to anfwer your ob-
jections; it remains only that I ſhould vindicate an Ar-
gument for Verſe, which you have gone about to over-
throw. It had formerly been ſaid, that the eaſineſs of
Blank Verſe renders the Poet too luxuriant; but that the
labour of Rhyme bounds and circumſcribes an over-fruit-
ful Fancy. The Scene there being commonly confin’d to
the Couplet, and the Words ſo order'd that the Rhyme
naturally follows them, not they the Rhyme. To this
you anſwer'd, That it was no Argument to the Queſti-
on in hand, for the Diſpute was not which
way
may write beſt; but which is moſt proper for the Sub-
ject on which he writes.
Firſt, give me leave, Sir, to remember you, that the
Argument againſt which you rais'd this Objection, was
only ſecondary: It was built on this Hypotheſis, that to
write in Verſe was proper for ſerious Plays. Which
Suppoſition being granted (as it was briefly made out in
that Diſcourſe, by ſhewing how Verſe might be made
natural) it aſſerted, that this way of writing was an help
to the Poets Judgment, by putting Bounds to a wild o-
ver-flowing Fancy. I think therefore it will not be hard
for me to make good what it was to prove on that
Suppoſition. But you add, that were this let paſs, yet
he who wants Judgment in the liberty of his Fancy,
may as well ſhew the defect of it when he is confin'd
to Verſe: For he who has Judgment will avoid Errors;
and he who has it not, will commit them in all kinds
of writing
This Argument, as you have taken it from a moſt a-
cute Perſon, ſo, I confeſs, it carries much weight in it.
But by uſing the word Judgment here indefinitely, you
feem to have put a Fallacy upon us: I grant he who has
Judgment, that is, fo profound, ſo ſtrong, or rather fo
infal-
D5

82 AR ESSA Y of Dramatick Poeſie.
infallible a Judgment, that he needs no Helps to keep it
always pois’d and upright, will commit no Faults either
in Rhyme or out of it. And on the other extream, he
who has a Judgment ſo weak and craz’d, that no Helps
can correct or amend it, ſhall write ſcurvily out of
Rhyme, and worſe in it. But the firſt of theſe Judg-
ments is no where to be found, and the latter is not fit
to write at all. To ſpeak therefore of Judgment as it
is in the beſt Poets: They who have the greateſt Pro-
portion of it, want other Helps than from it within.
As for Example, you would be loath to ſay, that he who
is indued with a ſound Judgment has no need of Hiſto-
Ty, Geography, or Moral Philoſophy, to write correctly.
Judgment is indeed the Maſter-workman in a Play: But
ħe requires many ſubordinate Hands, many Tools to his
Affiſtance. And Verſe I affirm to be one of theſe: "Tis
a Rule and Line by which he keeps his Building com-
pact and even, which otherwiſe lawleſs Imagination
would raiſe either irregularly or loofly. At leaſt if the
Poet commits Errors with this Help, he would make
greater and more without it: 'Tis (in ſhort) a flow and
painful; but the ſureſt kind of working. Ovid, whom.
you accuſe for luxuriancy in Verſe, had perhaps been
farther guilty of it, had he writ in Proſe. And for your
Inſtance of Ben. Johnſon, who, you ſay, writ exactly
without the help of Rhyme; you are to remember 'tis
only an aid to a luxuriant Fancy, which his was not:
As he did not want Imagination, ſo none ever faid he
had much to ſpare. Neither was Verſe then refind ſo
much, to be an help to that Age, as it is to ours. Thus
then the ſecond Thoughts being uſually the beſt, as re-
ceiving the matureft digeſtion from Judgment, and the
Jaſt and moſt mature Product of thoſe Thoughts being
artful and labour'd Verſe, it may well te inferr'd, that
Verſe is a great help to a luxuriant Fancy; and this is
what that Argument which you oppos'd, was to evince,
Neander was purſuing this Diſcourſe ſo eagerly, that
Eugenius had calld to him twice or thrice e'er he took
notice that the Barge ſtood ſtill, and that they were at
the

An ESSAY of Dramatick Poeſie. 83
the Foot of Somerſet-Stairs, where they had appointed it
to land. The Company were all ſorry to ſeparate ſo
foon, tho' a great part of the Evening was already ſpent;
and ſtood a-while looking back on the Water, upon which
the Moon-beams play'd, and made it appear like floating
Quick-filver : At laſt they went up thro' a Crowd of
French People, who were merrily dancing in the open
Air, and nothing concern'd for the noiſe of Guns, which
had allarm’d the Town that Afternoon. Walking thence
together to the Piazza, they parted there; Eugenius and
Lifideius to ſome pleaſant Appointment they had made;
and Crites and Neander to their ſeveral Lodgings. -

THE
WILD GALLANT:
A
C O M E D Y.
As it was Afted at the
THEATER. ROYAL
BY
His MAJESTY's Servants.
Printed in the YEAR MDCCXVII.

PREF A C E.
T
Twould be a great Impudence
in me to fay much of a Comedy,
which has had but indifferent
Succeſs in the Action I made
the Town my Judges; and the
greater part condemn’d it. After which I
do not think it my Concernment to de-
fend it, with the ordinary Zeal of a Poet
for his decry'd Poem. Though Corneille
is more reſolute in his Preface before his
Pertharite, which was condemn'd more
univerſally than this. For he avows boldly,
That, in ſpight of Cenſure, his Play was
well and regularly written ; which is
more than I dare ſay for mine. Yet it was
receiv'd at Court; and was more than once
the Divertiſement of His Majeſty, by his
own Command. But I have more Mode-
fty than to aſcribe that to my Merit, which
was His particular A&t of Grace. It was
the firſt Attempt I made in Dramatick Poe-
try; and, I find ſince, a very bold one, to
begin with Comedy, which is the moſt
difficult

PREFACE.
difficult part of it. The Plot was not
Originally my own: But ſo alter'd by
me, (whether for the better or worſe, I
know not) that, whoever the Author
was, he could not have challeng'd a Scene
of it. I doubt not but you will ſee in it,
the Uncorrectneſs of a young Writer:
Which is yet but a ſmall Éxcuſe for him,
who is ſo little amend d ſince. The beſt
Apology I can make for it, and the trueſt,
is only this; That you have fince that time
received with Applauſe, as bad, and as un-
correct Plays from other Men.
PRO-

SR9930
PROLOGUE,
When it was firſt Acted.
I
S it not ſtrange, to hear a Poet ſay,
He comes to ask you, how you like the Play ?
You have not ſeen it yet! alas 'tis true,
But now your Love and Hatred judge, not You.
And cruel Factions (brib’d by Intereſt) come,
Not to weigh Merit, but to give their Doom.
Our Poet therefore, jealous of th Event,
And (though much boldneſs takes) not confident,
Has ſent me, whither you, fair Ladies, too
Sometimes upon as ſmall Occaſions go,
And from this Scheme, drawn for the Hour and Day,
Bid me inquire the Fortune of his Play.
The Curtain drawn diſcovers two Aſtrologers; the
Prologue is preſented to them.
Firſt Aftrol. reads. A Figure of the heavenly Bodies in
their ſeveral Apartments, Feb, the 5th, half an Hour after
Three after Noon, from whence you are to judge the Succeſs
of a new Play called the Wild Gallant.
2. Aſtrol
. Who muſt judge of it, we, or theſe Gentlemen ?
We'll not meddle with it, ſo tell your Poet. Here are in this
Houſe the ableft Mathematicians in Europe for his Pur-
pole.
They will reſolve the Queſtion e'er they part.
i Aft. Yet let us judge it by the Rules of Art.
Firſt Jupiter, the Aſcendants Lord diſgracd,
In the twelfth Houſe, and near grim Saturn plac'd,
Denote ſhort Life unto the Play :-
2 Aft.
In his Apartment Sagittary, ſet
Under
-Jove yet,

PROLOGUE.
Under his own Roof, cannot take much wrong;
1 Aſt. Why then the Life's not very ſhort, nor long;
2 Aſt. The Luck not very good, nor very
ill,
Prolo. That is to fay, 'tis as 'tis taken ſtill.
1 Aft. But, Brother, Ptolemy the Learned ſays,
'Tis the fifth Houſe from whence we judge of Plays.
Venus the Lady of that Houſe I find
Is Peregrine, your Play is ill defign’d,
It ſhould have been but one continued Song,
Or at the leaſt a Dance of three Hours long.
2 Aft. But yet the greateſt Miſchief does remain,
The twelfth Apartment bears the Lord of Spain;
Whence I conclude, it is your Author's Lot,
To be indanger'd by a Spaniſh Plot.
Prolo. Our Poet yet Protection hopes from you,
But Bribes you not with any thing that's new.
Nature is old, which Poets imitate,
And for Wit, thoſe that boaſt their own Eſtate,
Forget Fletcher and Ben before them went,
Their Elder Brothers, and that vaſtly ſpent :
So much 'twill hardly be repair'd again,
Not, tho' ſupply'd with all the Wealth of Spain:
This Play is Engliſh, and the growth your own;
As ſuch it yields to Engliſh Plays alone.
He could have wiſh'd it better for your ſakes ;
But that in Plays he finds you love Miſtakes :
Beſides he thought it was in vain to mend
What you are bound in Honour to defend,
That Engliſh Wit (howe'er deſpis’d by fome)
Like Engliſh Valour ſtill may overcome.
PRO.

PROLOGUE,
When Reviy'd.
А
He
S fome raw Squire, by tender Mother bred,
'Till one and Twenty keeps his Maidenhead,
(Pleas'd with ſome Sport, which he alone does find,
And thinks a ſecret to all Human-kind;)
'Till mightily in love, yet half afraid,
He firſt attempts the gentle Dairy-maid.
Succeeding there, and led by the Renown
Of Whetſton's Park, he comes at length to Town,
Where enter'd, by ſome School-fellow or Friend,
grows to break Glaſs-Windows in the end :
His Valour too, which with the Watch began,
Proceeds to Duel, and he kills his Man.
By ſuch degrees, while Knowledge he did want,
Our unfledg’d Author writ a Wild Gallant.
He thought him monſtrous leud (I lay my Life)
Becauſe ſuſpected with his Landlord's Wife:
But ſince his Knowledge of the Town began,
He thinks him now a very civil Man:
And, much aſham'd of what he was before,
Has fairly play'd him at three Wenches more.
'Tis fome amends his Frailties to confeſs;
Pray pardon him his want of Wickedneſs:
He's towardly, and will come on apace;
His frank Confeſſion shows he has ſome grace.
You baulk'd him when he was a young Beginner,
And almoſt ſpoil'd a very hopeful Simer:
But, if once more you ſlight his weak Endeavour;
For ought I know, he may turn Tail for ever.
Dramatis

Dramatis Perſonæ,
Μ Ε Ν.
Lord Nonfuch, an old rich humorous Lord.
Juſtice Trice, his Neighbour.
Mr. Loveby, the Wild Gallant.
Sir Timorous, a baſhful Knight.
Failer,
.
Burr,
Bibber, a Taylor.
Setſtone, a Jeweler.
baſhful Knight
. ^
W O M E N.
Lady Conſtance, Lord Nonſuch his Daughter,
Madam Iſabella, her Couſin.
Mrs. Bibber, the Taylor's Wife.
Serjeants, Boy to Loveby, Servants, a Bawd
and Whores, Watch and Conſtable.
SCENE LONDON.
THE

BULGUR
THE
Wild Gallant.
A C T I. SCENE I.
Failer entring to Burr ; who is putting on his
Buff-Coat.
FAILER,
HAT! Not ready yet, Man?
Burr. You do not conſider my Voyage
from Holland laſt Night.
Fail. Piſh, a meer Ferry; get up, get
up; my Couſin's Maids will come and
Blanket thee anon: Art thou not aſhamed
to lye a-bed ſo long?
Burr. I may be more aſhamed to riſe; and fo you'll
ſay, dear Heart, if you look upon my Cloaths; the beſt
is, my Buff-coat will cover all
.
Fail. I gad, there goes more cunning than one would
think, to the putting thy Cloaths together: Thy Doub-
let and Breeches are Guelphs and Ghibellins to one ano-
ther
r;

94
The WILD GALLANT.
ther; and the Stitches of thy Doublet are ſo far afunder,
that it ſeems to hang together by the Teeth. No Man
could ever gueſs to what part of the Body theſe Frag-
ments did belong, unleſs he had been acquainted with
'em as long as thou haſt been. If they once loſe their
hold, they can never get together again, except by chance
the Rags hit the Tallies of one another. He that gets
into thy Doublet, muſt not think to do't by Storm; no,
he muſt win it Inch by Inch, as the Turk did Rhodes.
Burr. You are very merry with ny Wardrobe: But
till I am provided of a better, I am reſolv'd to receive all
Viſits in this Truckle-bed.
Fail. Then will I firſt ſcotch the Wheels of it, that it
may not run; thou haſt Cattle enough in it, to carry it
down Stairs, and break thy Neck, 'tis got a Yard nearer
the Door already.
Enter Boy
Boy. Sir, Mr. Bibber your Taylor's below, and deſires
to ſpeak with you.
Fail. He's an honeſt Fellow, and a faſhionable, he
Thall ſet thee forth I warrant thee.
Burr. I, but where's the Mony for this, dear Heart?
Fail. -Well, but what think you of being put in-
to a Suit of Cloaths, without Mony?
[Aſide.
Burr. You ſpeak of Miracles.
Fail. Do you not know Will. Bibber's Humour?
Burr. Prethee, What have I to do with his Humour?
Fail. Break but a Jeſt, and he'll beg to truſt thee for a
Suit; nay, he will contribute to his own Deſtruction ;
and give thee occaſions to make one : He has been my
Artificer theſe three Years; and, all the while, I have
liv’d upon his favourable Apprehenſion : Boy, conduct
him
[Exit Boy
Burr. But, what am I the better for this? I ne'er
made Jeſt in all my Life.
Fail. A bare Clinch will ſerve the turn; a Carwichet,
a Quarterquibble, or a Punn.
Burr. Wit from a Low-Country-Soldier ! One that has
conyers'd with none but dull Dutchmen theſe ten Years!
What
up.

The WILD GALLANT.'
95
What an unreaſonable Rogue art thou? why, I tell thee,
'tis as difficult to me, as to pay him ready Mony.
Fail. Come, you ſhall be ruld for your own good; lie
down; I'll throw the Cloaths over you to help Meditati-
on. And, upon the firſt Opportunity, ſtart you up, and
ſurprize him with a Jeſt.
Burr. Well
, I think this impoflible to be done: But,
however I'll attempt.
[Lies down, Failer covers him.
Fail. Huſht! he's coming up.
Enter Bibber.
Bib. Morrow Mr. Failer : What, I warrant you think
I come a Dunning now?
Fail. No, I vow to Gad, Will, I have a better Opinion
of thy Wit, than to think thou would'ſt come to fo lit-
tle Purpoſe.
Bib. Pretty well that: No, no; my Buſineſs is to drink
my Morning's-draught in Sack with you.
Fail. Will not Ale ſerve the turn, Will ?
Bib. I had too much of that laſt Night; I was a little
diſguis'd, as they ſay.
Fail. Why diſguis’d? Hadſt thou put on a clean Band,
or waſhid thy Face lately? Thoſe are thy Diſguiſes,
Bibber.
Bib. Well, in ſhort, I was drunk; damnably drunk
with Ale; great Hogen Mogen bloody Ale: I was por-
terly drunk, and that I hate of all things in Nature.
Burr. Riſing.] And of all things in Nature I love it
beſt.
Bib. Art thou there I'faith; and why, old Boy?
Burr. Becauſe when I am porterly drunk, I can carry
Bib. Ha, ha, Boy.
Fail. This Porter brings fad News to you, Will, you
muſt truſt him for a Suit of Cloaths, as bad as 'tis: Come,
he's an honeſt Fellow, and loves the King.
Bib. Why? It ſhall be my Suit to him, that I may
truſt him.
Burr. I grant your Suit, Sir,
my ſelf.
Fail,

96
The WILD GALLANT,
Fail
. Burr, make haſte and dreſs you ; Sir Timorous
dines here to Day: you know him.
Burr. I, I, a good honeſt
young Fellow; but no Con-
jurer; he and I are very kind.
Fail. I gad we two have a conſtant Revenue out of
him: He would now be admitted Suitor to my Lady
Conſtance Nonſuch, my Lord Nonfuch his Daughter; our
Neighbour here in Fleetſtreet.
Burr. Is the Match in any forwardneſs?
Fail. He never ſaw her before Yeſterday, and will not
be brought to ſpeak to her this Month yet.
Burr. That's ſtrange.
Fail. Such a baſhful Knight did I never ſee; but we
muſt move for him.
Bib. They ſay here's a great Dinner to be made to
Day here, at your Couſin Trice's, on purpoſe for the En-
terview.
Burr. What, he keeps up his old Humour ſtill?
Fail. Yes certain; he admires eating and drinking well,
as much as ever, and meaſures every Man's Wit, by the
goodneſs of his Palate.
Burr. Who Dines here beſides?
Fail. Jac. Lozeby.
Bib. O, my Gueſt.
Burr. He has ever had the repute of a brave clear-ſpi-
rited Fellow.
Fail. He's one of your Dear Hearts, a Debauchee.
Burr. I love him the better fort: The beſt Heraldry
of a Gentleman is a Clap deriv'd to him, from three
Generations: What Fortune has he?
Fail. Good Fortune at all Games; but no Eſtate: He
had one; but he has made a Devil on't long ago: He's
a bold Fellow, I vow to Gad: A Perſon that keeps Com-
pany
with his Betters; and commonly has Gold in's
Pockets. 'Come Bibber, I ſee thou longeſt to be at thy
Morning's Watering: I'll try what Credit I have with
the Butler.
Burr. Come away my noble Feftus and new Cuſtom
Fail.

The WILD GALLANT. 97
Fail. Now will he drink 'till his Face be no bigger
than a Three-pence.
Exeunt.
Enter Loveby and Boy; follow'd by Frances, Bibber's
Wife.
Lov. Nay, the Devil take thee, ſweet Landlady, hold
thy Tongue: Was't not enough thou haſt ſcolded me
from my Lodging, which, as long as I rent it, is my
Caſtle; but to follow me here to Mr. Trice's, where I am
invited; and to diſcredit me before Strangers, for a lou-
fie, paltry Sum of Mony?
Pranc. I tell you truely, Mr. Loveby, my Husband and
I cannot live by Love, as they ſay; we muſt have where-
withal, as they ſay; and pay for what we take; and ſo
Thall you, or ſome ſhall ſmoak for't.
Lov. Smoak! why a piece of hung Beef in Holland is
not more ſmoak’d, than thou haſt ſmoak'd me already.
Thou-know'ſt I am now faſting; let me have but fair
play; when I have lined my Sides with a good Dinner,
I'll ingage upon Reputation to come home again, and
thou ſhalt ſcold at me all the Afternoon.
Franc. I'll take the Law on you.
Lov, The Law allows none to ícold in their own Cauſes:
What do'ſt thou think the Lawyers take our Mony for?
Franc. I hope you intend to deal by my Husband like
a Gentleman, as they ſay?
'Lov. Then I ſhould beat him moſt unmercifully, and
not pay
him neither.
| Franc. Come, you think to fobb me off with your
Jefts, as you do my Husband; but it won't be: Yonder
he comes, and Company with him. Husband, Husband;
why William I fay!
Enter Bibber, Burr, and Failer, at the other end.
Lov. Speak ſoftly, and I will ſatisfie thee.
Franc. You ſhall not ſatisfie me, Sir; pay me for what
you owe me, for Chamber-rent, and Diet, and many a
good thing beſides, that ſhall be nameleſs.
Lov. What a Stygian Woman's this to talk thus ? Hold
thy Tongue 'till they be gone, or I'll Cuckold thy Hus-
band.
VOL. I.
E
Frane.

08
The WILD GALLANT.
Franc. You Cuckold him—would you durft Cuck-
old him. I will not hold my Tongue, Sir.
Bib. Yonder's my Gueſt; what ſay you, Gentlemen ?
Shall I call him to go down with us?
Lov. I muſt make a looſe from her, there's no other
way. Save yė, Mr, Failer ; is your Couſin Trice ſtirring
yet? Anſwer me quickly, Sir, is your Couſin Trice yet
Itirring?
Fail, I'll
go
and fee, Sir. Sure the Man has a mind to
beat me; but I vow to gad I have no mind to be bea-
ten by him. Come away Burr. Will, you'll follow us.
Bib. I'll be with you immediately
[Exeunt Bur. ds. Failer, .
Lou. Who was that with Failer, Will ?
Bib. A Man at Arms, that's come from Holland.
Lov. A Man out at Arms thou mean'ft, Will.
Bib. Good l'faith.
Franc. Ay, Ay; you run queſting up and down after your
Gambols, and your Jeſts, William; and never mind the
main Chance, as they ſay: Pray get in your Debts, and
think upon your Wife and Children.
Lov. Think upon the Sack at Cary-Houſe, with the A-
bricot flavour, Will. Hang a Wife; what is ſhe, but a law-
ful kind of Manflayer ? Every little hugg in Bed, is a
degree of murdering thee: And for thy Children, fear
'em not: Thy part of 'em ſhall be Taylors, and they ſhall
truſt; and thoſe thy Cuſtomers get for thee ſhall be Gen-
tlemen, and they ſhall be truſted by their Brethren; and
ſo thy Children ſhall live by one another.
Bib. Did you mark that, Frances? There was Wit now;
he calld me Cuckold to my Face, and yet
for
I cannot be
angry
with him: I perceive you love Frances,
Sir; and I love her the better for your fake; ſpeak truly,
do you not like ſuch a pretty brown kind of Woman?
Lov, I do I'faith, Will your fair Women have no Sub-
ſtance in 'em, they ſhrink i'th' wetting:
Frane. Well, you may be undone if you will, Hus-
band: I hear there are two or three Actions already out
againſt him: You nmay be the laſt, if you think good.
my Heart
Bib.

The WILD GALLANT.
99
Bib. 'Tis true ſhe tells me; I love your Wit well, Sir;
but I must cut my Coat according to my Cloth.
Franc. Sir, we'll come by our own as we can; you
put us off from Week to Week thus.
Lov. Nay, but good Landlady-
Franc. Will good Landlady ſet on the Pot, as they
fay; or make the Jack go? then I'll hear you.
Bib. Now ſhe's too much on t'other Hand; Hold
your prating, Frances; or I'll put you out of your
Pater
Noſters, with a forrow to you.
Franc. I did but lay the Law open to him, as they
fay, whereby to get our Mony in: But if you knew,
how he had uſed me, Husband!
Bib. Has he us’d you, Frances? put ſo much more intoʻ
his Bill for Lodging,
Lov. Honeſt Will, and ſo he dy'd; I thank thee little
Bibber, being ſober, and when I am drunk, I will kiſs
thee for't.
Bib. Thank '
me, and pay me my Mony, Sir; though
I could not forbear my Jeſt, I do not intend to loſe by
you; if you pay me not the fooner, I muſt provide you
another Lodging; ſay I gave you warning.
Lov, Againſt next Quarter, Landlord ?
Bib. Of an Hour, Sir.
Lov. That's ſhort warning, Will.
Bib. By this Hand
you
ſhall up into the Garret, where
the little Bed is; I'll let my beſt Room to a better Pay-.
maſter; you know the Garret, Sir?
Franc. I, he knows it by a good Token, Husband.
Lov. I ſweat to think of that Garret, Will, thou art
not ſo unconſcionable to put me there: Why ʼtis a kind
of little eaſe, to cramp thy rebellious Prentices in. I
have ſeen an Uſurer's Iron Cheſt would hold two on't:
A penny Looking-glaſs cannot ſtand upright in the Win-
dow, that and the Bruſh fills it: The Hat-caſe muſt be
diſpos'd under the Bed, and the Comb-caſe will hang
down from the Ceiling to the Floor. If I chance to
Dine in my Chamber, I muſt ſtay till I am empty be-
fore
E2
>
5

TOO
The WILD GALLANT.
fore I can get out: And if I chance to ſpill the Cham-
ber-pot, it will over-flow it from top to bottom.
Bib. Well, for the Deſcription of the Garret, I'll bate
you ſomething of the Bill.
Lov. All, all, good Will; or to ſtay thy Fury till my
Rents come up, I will deſcribe thy little Face.
Bib. No, rather deſcribe your own little Mony; I am
fure that's ſo little, it is not viſible.
Lov. You are i’th'right, I have not a Croſs at pre-
fent, as I am a Sinner;
and
you
will not believe me, I'll
turn my Pockets inſide outward -Ha! What's the
meaning of this, my Pockets heavy? Has my ſmall Of-
ficer put in Counters to abuſe me?
-How now! yel-
low Boys, by this good. Light! Sirrah, Varlet, how
came I by this Gold? Ha!
Boy. What Gold do you mean, Sir? the Devil-a-piece
you had this Morning: In theſe laſt three weeks, I have
almoſt forgot what my Teeth were made for; laſt Night
good Mrs. Bibber here took pity on me, and crumm’d
me a Meſs of Gruel, with the Children, and I popt and
popt my Spoon three or four Times to my Mouth, be-
fore I could find the
way
to't.
Lov. 'Tis ſtrange, how I ſhould come by ſo much
Mony! [Aſide.] Has there been no body about my Cham.
ber this Morning, Landlady?
Boy. O Yes, Sir; I forgot to tell you that: This Morn-
ing a ſtrange Fellow, as ever Eyes beheld, would needs
come up to you when you were aſleep; but when he
came down again, he ſaid, He had not wak'd you.
Lov. Sure this Fellow, who-e'er he was, was ſent by
Fortune to miſtake me into ſo much Mony -
Well,
this is not the firſt Time my Neceſſities have been
ſtrangely ſupply'd: Some Cadua or other has a Kindneſs
for me, that's certain : [ Aſide.] Well, Monſ. Bibber,
from henceforward I'll keep my Wit for more refin’d
Spirits ; you ſhall be paid with Dirt;-there's Mony
for you.
Bib, Nay, good Sir.
>
Lov)

The WILD GALLANT: IOI
Lov. What's your Sum? tell it out: Will the Mony
burn your Fingers ? Sirrah, Boy, fetch my Suit with the
Gold Lace at Sleeves from Tribulation_Gives him
Gold. Exit Boy.] Mr. Taylour, I ſhall turn the better
Bill-man, and knock that little Coxcomb of yours, if
you do not anſwer me what I owe you.
Bib. Pray, Sir, trouble not your ſelf; 'tis nothing i
I'feck now 'tis not.
Lov. How, nothing, Sir?
Franc. And't pleaſe your Worſhip, it was ſeventeen
Pounds and a Noble, Yeſterday at Noon, your Worſhip
knows: And then your Worſhip came home ill laſt
Night, and complain'd of your Worſhip’s Head; and I
ſent for three Diſhes of Tea for your good Worſhip,
and that was Six Pence more, and pleaſe your Worſhip's
Honour.
Lov. Well; there's eighteen Pieces, tell 'em.
Bib. I fay, Frances, do not take 'em.
Lov. What, is all your pleading of Neceſſity come to
this?
Bib. Now I ſee he will pay, he ſhall not pay, Frances;
go
home, and fetch him the whole Bag of forty Pounds,
I'll lend it him, and the Leaſe of the Houſe too; he
ſhall want for jothing,
Lov. Take the Mony, or I'll leave
Bib. Nay, rather than diſpleaſe his Worſhip, take it.
She takes it.
Lov. So, fo; go home quietly, and fuckle
my
God-
fon, Frances.
[Exit Frances.
Bib. If you are for the Cellar, Sir, you know the
Way.
[Exit Bibber.
Lov. No, my firſt Viſit ſhall be to my Miſtreſs, the
Lady Conſtance Nonfuch: She's diſcreet, and how the De-
vil ſhe comes to love me, I know not; yet I am pret-
ty confident ſhe loves me: Well, no Woman can be
wiſer, thari you know what will give her leave to be.
Enter Lady Conſtance, and Madam Iſabella.
Ifa. Look, look; is not that your Servant Loveby?
your Houſe.
E 3
Lov.

402
Tho WILD GALLANT.
Lov. 'Tis ſhe; there's no being ſeen, till I am better
habited
[Exit Loveby.
Conſt. Let him go, and take no Notice of him: Poor
Rogue! He little thinks I know his Poverty.
Ida. And leſs, that you ſupply it by an unknown
Hand.
Conft. Ay, and falſified my Father's Keys to do it.
Ifa. How can you anſwer this to your Diſcretion ?
Conft. Who could ſee him want the loves ?
Enter Setſtone,
Ifa. Oh here's Mr. Setſtone come, your Jeweller, Madam.
Conft. Welcome Setſtone, haft thou perform’d thy Vi-
fit happily, and without Diſcovery?
Set. As you would wiſh it, Madam: I went up to his
Chamber without Interruption; and there found him
drowning his Cares, and pacifying his Hunger, with
Sleep; which Advantage I took, and undiſcovered by
him left the Gold divided in his Pockets.
Conft. Well
, this Mony will furniſh him I hope, that
we may have his Company again.
Set. Two hundred and fifty good Pounds, Madam !
Has
your
Father miſs d it yet?
Conft. No; if he had, we ſhould have all heard on't
before now: But, pray God Monſieur Loveby has no 0-
ther haunts to divert him now he's ranſom'd: What a
kind of Woman is his Landlady?
Set. Well enough to ſerve a Taylor ; or to kiſs when
he comes home drunk, or wants Mony; but far unlike- -
ly to create Jealouſie in your Ladyſhip.
Enter Servant.
Serv. Madam, Juſtice Trice deſires your Ladyſhip's
Excuſe, that he has not yet perform’d the Civilities of
his Hour to you; he is diſpatching a little Buſineſs, a-
bout which he is earneſtly employed.
Conft. He's Maſter of his own Occaſions. [Exit Servant.
Ifa. We ſhall ſee him anon, with his Face as red as
if it had been boild in Pump-water: But, when comes
this Mirror of Knighthood that is to be preſented you
for your Servant?
Conſt.

The WILD GALLANT. 103
Conſt. Oh, 'tis well thought on; °Faith thou know'ſt
my Affections are otherwiſe diſpos’d; he's rich, and thou
want'ſt a Fortune; atchieve him if thou can'ſt; 'tis but
trying, and thou haſt as much Wit as any Wench in
England.
Ifa. On Condition you'll take it for a Courteſie to be
rid of an Aſs, I care not if I marry him : the old Fool,
your Father, would be ſo importunate to match you
with a young Fool, that partly for quietneſs fake I am
content to take him.
Conft. To take him! then you make ſure on't.
Ifa. As fure, as if the Sack Poffet were already eaten,
Conft. But, what means wilt thou uſe to get him?
Ifa. I'll bribe Failer, he's the Man.
Conſt. Why, this Knight is his Inheritance; he lives
upon him: Do'ſt thou think he'll ever admit thee to
govern him? No, he fears thy Wit too much: Beſides,
he has already received an hundred Pound to make the
Match between Sir Timorous and me.
Ifa. 'Tis all one for that; I warrant you he ſells me
the Fee-ſimple of him.
Set. Your Father, Madam.-
Enter Nonfuch.
Ifa. The Tempeſt is riſen; I ſee it in his Face; he
puffs and blows yonder, as if two of the Winds were
fighting upwards and downwards in his Belly.
Set. Will he not find your falſe Keys, Madam ?
Ifa. I hope he will have more Humanity than to
{earch us.
Confi. You are come after us betimes, Sir.
Non. Oh Child! I am undone; I am robb’d, I am
robb’d; I have utterly loſt all Stomach to my Dinner.
Conft. Robb'd! good my Lord how, or of what?
Non. Two hundred and fifty Pounds in fair Gold out
of my Study: An hundred of it I was to have paid a
Courtier this Afternoon for a Bribe.
Set. I proteſt, my Lord, I had as much ado to get that
Parcel of Gold for your Lordſhip
E 4
Non.

104
The WILD GALLANT.
Non. You muſt get me as much more againſt to Mor-
Tow; for then my Friend at Court is to pay his Mercer.
Ifa. Nay, if that be all, there's no ſuch hafte: The
Courtiers are not ſo forward to pay their Debts.
Conft. Has not the Monkey been in the Study? He may
have carried it away, and dropt it under the Garden-
window: The Graſs is long enough to hide it.
Non. 112
go
fee immediately.
Enter Failer, Burr, Timorous,
Fail. This is the Gentleman, my Lord.
Non. He's welcome
Fail. And this the Particular of his Eftate.
Non. That's welcome too.
Fail. But, beſides the Land here mentioned, he has
Wealth in Specie.
N073. A
very
fine young Gentleman.
Tim. Now, my Lord, I hope there's no great need of
Wooing : I ſuppoſe my Eſtate will ſpeak for me; yet, if
you pleaſe to put in a word.
Non. That will I inſtantly.
Tim. I hope I ſhall have your good word too, Madam,
your Couſin for me.
[To Iſabella,
Ifa. Any thing within my Power, Sir Timorous.
Non. Daughter, here's a Perſon of Quality, and one
that loves and honours you exceedingly,
Tim. Nay, good my Lord! you diſcover all at firſt
daih,
Non. Let me alone, Sir; have not I the dominion o-
ver my own Daughter? Conſtance, here's a Knight in -
love with you, Child.
Conft. In love with me, my Lord, it is not poſſible.
Non. Here he ſtands that will make it good, Child.
Tim. Who I, my Lord? I hope her Ladyſhip has a
better Opinion of me than fo.
Non. What, are not you in love with
my Daughter
I'll be ſworn you told me ſo but even now: I'll eat
Words for no Man.
Tim. If your Ladyſhip will believe all Reports that are
raiſed on Men of Quality
Non.
to

The WILD GALLANT. 105
Non. He told it me with his own Mouth, Child: I'll
eat Words for no Man; that's more than ever I told
him yet.
Fail. You told him fo but juſt now; fie, Sir Timorous
Non. He ſhall have no Daughter of mine and he were
a thouſand Knights; he told me, he hop'd I would ſpeak
for him: I'll eat no Man's Words; that's more than ever
I told him yet.
ifa. You need not keep ſuch a pudder about eating his
Words; you ſee he has eaten 'em already for you.
Non. I'll make him ſtand to his Words, and he ſhall
not marry my Daughter neither : By this good Day,
will
[Exit Nonſuch.
Conſt. 'Tis an ill Day to him, he has loſt two hundred
and fifty Pounds in't.
To Ifa.
Burr. He Swears at the rate of two thouſand Pounds
a Year, if the Rump Act were ſtill in being.
Fail. He's in Paſſion, Man; and beſides, he has been a
great Fanatick formerly, and now has got a habit of
Swearing, that he may be thought a Cavalier.
Burr. What Noiſe is that? I think I hear your Couſin
Trice's Voice.
Fail. I'll go ſee-
[Exit Fail,
Ifa. Come Sir Timorous, be not diſcouraged: 'Tis but
an old Man's frowardneſs; he's always thus againſt
Rain.
Enter Failer.
Fail. O Madamı, follow me quickly; and if you
fee Sport, Melancholy be upon my Head-
[Exeunt omnes.
The SCEN E changes, and Trice is diſcovered playing at
Tables by himſelf, with Spectacles on, a Bottle and Par-
mezan by him; they return and ſee him, undiſcovered by
him.
do not
Trice. Cinque and Cater: My Cinque I play here, Sir,
my Cater here, Sir: Now for you, Sir: But firſt I'II
drink to you, Sir; upon my Faith I'll do you Reaſon,
E 5
Sir

106 The WILD GALLANT.
Sir: Mine was thus full
, Sir: Pray mind your Play, Sir :
Size Ace I have thrown: I'll play 'em at length, Sir.
-Will you, Sir? Then you have made a blot,
Sir; I'll try if I can enter: I have hit you, Sir.
-I think you can cog a Dye, Sir.
I cog a Dye, Sir? I play as fair as you, or
any Man,
-You Lie, Sir.
How ! Lie, Sir ? I'll teach you what 'tis to give
a Gentleman the Lie, Sir.
[Throws down the Tables.
[They all laugh and diſcover themſelves.
Ifa. Is this your ſerious Buſineſs ?
Trice. O you Rogue, are you there? You are welcome
Huſwife, and ſo are you Conſtance, Fa tol de re tol de rela.
[Claps their Backs.
Ifa. Prithee be not fo rude, Trice.
Trice. Huſwife Conſtance, I'll have you into my Lar-
der, and thew you my Proviſion: I have Cockles, dain-
ty fat Cockles that came in the Night; if they had ſeen
the Day, I would not have given a Fart for 'em. I
would the King had 'em.
Conft. He has as good, I warrant you.
Trice. Nay, that's a Lie. I could fit and cry for him
ſometimes, he does not know what 'tis to eat a good
Meal in a whole Year: His Cooks are Afles : I have a
delicate Diſh of Ruffs to Dinner, Sirrah.
Conft. To Dinner!
Trice. To Dinner! why by Supper they had been paſt
their prime. I'll tell thee the Story of 'em: I have a
Friend
Enter Servant.
Serv. Sir, Dinner's upon the Table.
Trice. Well, well; I have a Friend, as I told you-
Serv. Dinner ſtays, Sir; 'tis Dinner that ſtays: Şure
he will hear now.
Trice. I have a Friend, as I told
you-
Ifa. I believe he's your Friend, you are fo loath to
Trice, Away, away
I'll tell you the Story be-
tween the Courſes. Go you to the Cook immediately,
Sirrah;
part with him-

The WILD GALLANT. 107
Sirrah; and bring me Word what we have to Supper,
before we go to Dinner ; I love to have the Satisfaction
of the Day before me.
(Exeunt omnes.
А СТ II.
II. SCENE I.
Enter as from Dinner, Trice, Timorous, Failer,
Burr, Conſtance, Iſabella.
Trice. Peak thy Conſcience; was it not well dreſs’d, ,
Sirrah?
Tim. What think you of the Park, after our plenteous
Entertainment, Madam?
Iſa. I defie the Park, and all its Works.
Conft. Comé, Mr. Trice, we'll walk in your Garden.
comes
[Exeunt all but Failer and Burr.
Fail. O, one thing I had almoſt forgot to tell you s
:
One of us two muſt ever be near Sir Timorous.
Burr. Why?
Fail. To guard our Intereſt in him from the Enemy,
Madam Iſabella; who, I doubt, has Deſigns upon him.
I do not fear her Wit, but her Sex; ſhe carries a pre-
vailing Argument about her.
Enter Bibber with a Bottle.
· Bib. By this Hand, I have a-light upon the beſt Wine
in your Couſin's Cellar ; drink but one Glaſs to me, to
ſhew I am welcome, and I am gone.
Fail. Here then, honeſt Will, 'tis a Cup of Forbearance
to thee.
| Bib. Thank
you, Sir, I'll pledge you---now here's to
you again.
Fail. Come away; what is't, Will?
Bib. 'Tis what you chriſtened it, a Cup of Forbear-
ance, Sir. -
Fail.

108
The WILD GALLANT.
men,
Fail. Why, I drank that to thee, Will that thou ſhouldſt
forbear thy Mony:
Bib. And I drink this to you, Sir; henceforward I'll
forbear working for you.
Fail. Then ſay I: Take a little. Bibber, and throw him
in the River, and if he will Truſt never, then there let
him lie ever,
Bib. Then ſay I: Take a little Failer, and throw him
to the Jaylor ; and there let him lie, 'till he has paid his
Taylor.
Burr. You are very ſmart upon one another, Gentle-
Fail. This is nothing between us; I uſe to tell him of
his Title, Fiery facias; and his Setting-Dog, that runs in-
to Ale-houſes before him, and comes queſting out again,
if any of the Woots his Cuſtomers be within.
Bib. I faith 'tis true; and I uſe to tell him of his two
Capon's Tails about his Hat, that are laid ſpread Eagle
wiſe to make a Feather; I would go into the Snow at
any time, and in a Quarter of an Hour I would come
in with a better Feather upon my Head; and ſo farewel,
Sir; I have had the better on you hitherto, and for this
time I am reſolved to keep it.
[Exit Bibber.
Fail. The Rogue's too hard for me, but the beſt on't
is, I have my Revenge upon his Purſe.
Enter Iſabella.
Ifa. Came not Sir Timorous this way, Gentlemen? He
left us in the Garden, and ſaid he would look out my
Lord Nonfuch, to make his Peace with him.
Fail. Madam, I like not your enquiring after Sir Timo-
rous: I ſuſpect you have ſome Deſign upon him: You
would fain undermine your Couſin, and marry
him
your
felf.
Ifa. Suppoſe I ſhould deſign it ; what are you the
worſe for my good Fortune? Shall I make a Propoſition
to you? I know you two carry a great ſtroke with
him : Make the Match between us, and propound to
your felves what Advantages you can reaſonably hope :
You ſhall chouſe him of Horſes, Cloaths and Mony, and
Pll wink at it.
Rurr.

The WILD GALLANT. IOS
goes: But
Burr. And if he will not be chous'd, ſhall we beat him
out on't?
Iſa. For that, as you can agree.
Fail. Give us a Handſel of the Bargain; let us enjoy
you, and ’tis a Match.
ifa. Grammarcy l’faith Boys; I love a good Offer, how
e'er the World
you would not be ſo baſe to
wrong him that way.
Fail. I vow to gad but I would, Madam: In a Horſe
or a Woman I may lawfully cheat my own Father: Be-
fides, I know the Knight's Complexión; he would be
ſure to follow other Women; and all that.
Iſa. Nay, if he fought with the Sword, he ſhould give
me leave to fight with the Scabbard.
Burr. What ſay you, Madain ? Is't a Bargain?
ila. 'Tis but a Promiſe ; and I have learnt a Court
Trick for performing any thing. [Aſide.] Well Gentle-
men, when I am married I'll think upon you; you'll
grant there's a Neceſſity I ſhould Cuckold him, if it
were but to prove my ſelf a Wit.
Fail. Nay, there's no doubt you'll Cuckold him; and
all that; for look you, he's a Perſon fit for nothing elſe;
but I fear we ſhall not have the graffing of the Horns;
we muſt have Livery and Seiſin before-hand of
you, or
I proteſt to gad we believe you not.
Ifa. I have paſt my Word, is't not ſufficient? What
do
you think, I would tell a Lie to ſave ſuch a paltry
thing as a Night's Lodging? Hark you Sir.
[To Burr.
Fail. Now will ſhe attempt Burr; i'gad, ſhe has found
him out for the weaker Veffel.
Ifa. I have no Kindneſs for that Failer, we'll ſtrike
him out, and manage Sir Timorous our ſelves,
Burr. Indeed we won't.
Ifa. Failer's a Rook, and beſides, he's ſuch a debauch'd
Fellow
Burr. I am ten times worſe.
Ifa. Leave it, and him that taught it you: You have
virtuous Inclinations, and I would not have you ruin
your

IIO
The WILD GALLANT.
your
ſelf. He that ſerves many Miſtreſſes, ſurfeits on
his Diet, and grows dead to the whole Sex: 'Tis the
Folly in the World next long Ears and braying.
Burr. Now I'm ſure you have a Mind to me; when
a Woman once falls to Preaching, the next thing is ever
Uſe and Application.
Ifa. Forbear your Rudeneſs
Burr. Then I am ſure you meant to Jilt me: You
decline Failer becauſe he has Wit; and you think me
ſuch an Aſs, that you may pack me off fo ſoon as you
are married; no, no, I'll not venture Certainties for Un-
certainties.
Ifa. I can hold no longer ; Mr. Failer, what do you
think this Fellow was ſaying of you?
Fail. Of me, Madam?
Iſa. That you were one of the erranteſt Cowards in
Chriſtendom, though you went for one of the dear
Hearts : That your Name had been upon more Poſts
than Play-Bills : And that he had been acquainted with
you theſe feven Years, drunk and ſober, and yet could
never faften a Quarrel upon you.
Burr. Do
you
believe this, dear Heart?
Ifa. If you deny it, I'll take his Sword, and force
you to confeſs it.
Fail. I vow to gad, this will not do, Madam: You
ſhall not fet us at Variance ſo eaſily; neither ſhall you
have Sir Timorous.
Iſa. No! then mark my Words: I'll marry him in ſpight
of you; and which is worſe, you ſhall both work my
Ends; and I'll diſcard
you
for
your
Pains.
Fail. You fhall not touch a Bit of him: I'll preſerve
his Humbles from you i’gad; they ſhall be his Keepers
Fees,
Burr. She ſhall cut an Atome ſooner than divide us.
[Exeunt Burr and Failer.
Enter Conſtance,
Conſt. I have given 'em the ſlip in the Garden, to
come and over-hear thee: No Fat overgrown Virgin of
forty ever offer'd her ſelf ſo dog-cheap, or was more
deſpis’d:

The WILD GALLANT. III
deſpis’d: Methinks now this ſhould mortifie thee ex-
ceedingly.
Ifa. Not a whit the more for that: Couſin mine, our
Sex is not ſo eaſily put out of conceit with our own
Beauties.
Conſt. Thou haſt loſt the Opinion of thy Honeſty, and
got nothing in Recompence: Now that's ſuch an Over-
fight in a Lady.
Ifa. You are deceiv'd; they think me too Virtuous
for their Purpoſe; but I have yet another way to try,
and
you
ſhall help me.
Enter Loveby new habited.
Conft. Mr. Loveby, welcome, welcome: Where have
you been this Fortnight?
Lov. Faith, Madam, out of Town to ſee a little thing
that's fallen to me upon the Death of a Grandmother.
Conſt. You thank Death for the Windfall, Servant :
But why are you not in Mourning for her ?
Lov. Troth, Madam, it came upon me ſo ſuddenly, I
had not time: 'Twas a Fortune utterly unexpected by
Ifa. Why, was your Grandmother ſo
not look for her Deceaſe?
Lov. Not for that neither; but I had many other
Kindred whom ſhe might have left it to, only ſhe heard
I liv'd here in faſhion, and ſpent my Mony in the Eye
of the World.
Conft
. You forge theſe things prettily; but I have
heard you are as poor as a decimated Cavalier, and had
not one foot of Land in all the World.
Lov. Rivals Tales, Rivals Tales, Madam.
Conft. Where lyes your Land, Sir ?
Lov. I'll tell you, Madam, it has upon it a very fair
Manor Houſe; from one ſide you have in proſpect an
hanging Garden.
Ila. Who was hang'd there? not your Grandmother,
I hope?
Lov. In the midſt of it you have a Fountain: You
have ſeen that at Hampton-Court; it will ſerve to give
you
me.
young you could

The WILD GALLANT.
you a flight Image of it. Beyond the Garden you look
to a River through a Perſpective of Fruit-trees; and be-
yond the River you ſee a Mead fo flowry: --Well
, I
ſhall never be at quiet, till wetwo make Hay there.
Conſt. But where lyes this Paradiſe?
Lov. Pox on't; I am thinking to ſell it, it has ſuch a
Villanous unpleaſant Name; it would have founded ſo
harſh in a Lady's Ear. But for the Fountain, Madam--
Conſt. The Fountain's a poor Excuſe, it will not hold
Water; come, the Name, the Name.
Lov. Faith it is come fo lately into my Hands, that I
have forgot the Name on't.
Iſa. That's much, now, you ſhould forget the Name,
and yet could make ſuch an exact Deſcription of the
Place,
Lov. If you will needs know, the Name's Bawdy.
Sure this will give a ſtop to their Curioſity. [Aſide.
Ifa. At leaſt you'll tell us in what County it lyes, that
my Couſin may ſend to enquire about it; come, this
ſhall not ſerve your turn, tell us any Town that's near
it.
Lov. 'Twill be ſomewhat too far to ſend; it lyes in
the very North of Scotland.
Iſa. In good time, a Paradiſe in the Highlands; is't
not fo, Sir?
Conft. It ſeems you went Poſt, Servant: In troth you
are a Rank Rider, to go to the North of Scotland, ſtay
and take Pofieſſion, and return again, in ten Days time,
Ifa. I never knew your Grandmother was a Scotch
Woman: Is ſhe not a Tartar too? Pray whiſtle for her,
and lets ſee her Dance; Come -whift Grannee!
Conſt. Fie, fie, Servant; what, no invention in you ? all
this while a ſtudying for a Name of your
Manor ? come,
come, where lyes it? tell me,
Lov. No Faith, I am wiſer than ſo; I'll diſcover my
Seat to no Man; fo I ſhall have ſome damn'd Lawyer
keep a prying into my Title to defeat me of it.
Conſt. How then ſhall I be ſatisfied there is ſuch a
thing in Nature ?
Lov,

The Wild GALLANT.
113
Lov. Tell me what Jewel you would wear, and you
ſhall have it: Enquire into my Mony, there's the Tryal.
Conft. Since you are ſo fluſh, Sir, you ſhall give me a
Locket of Diamonds of three hundred Pounds.
ifa. That was too ſevere; you know he has but two
hundred and fifty Pounds to beſtow.
[To her.
Lov. Well you ſhall have it, Madam: But I cannot
higgle: I know you'll ſay it did not coſt above two
hundred Pieces,
Ifa. I'll be hanged if he does not preſent you with a
Parcel of melted Flints ſet in Gold, or Norfolk Pebbles.
Lov. Little Gentlewoman, you are ſo keenMa-
dam, this Night I have appointed Buſineſs, to morrow
I'll wait upon you with it.
[Exit Loveby
Iſa. By that time he has bought his Locket, and paid
his Landlady, all his Mony will be gone : But, do you
mean to proſecute your Plot, to ſee him this Evening?
Conft. Yes, and that very privately; if my Father
know it, I am undone.
Enter Setſtone.
Ifa. I heard him ſay this Night he had appointed Bu-
fineſs.
Set. Why that was it, Madam; according to your Or-
der I put on a Diſguiſe, and found him in the Temple-
Walks: Having drawn him aſide, I told him, if he ex-
pected Happineſs, he muſt meet me in a blind Alley. I
nam'd-to him, on the back-ſide of Mr. Trice's Houſe,
juſt at the cloſe of Evening; there he ſhould be ſatisfied
from whom he had his ſupplies of Mony.
Conſt. And how did he receive the Summons?
Set. Like a bold Hector of Troy; without the leaft
doubt or ſcruple: But, the jeſt on’t was, he would
needs believe that I was the Devil.
Conft. Sure he was afraid to come then.
Set. Quite contrary; he told me I need not be ſo ſhy,
to acknowledge my ſelf to him; he knew I was the De-
vil; but he had learnt ſo much civility, as not to preſs
his Friend to a farther Diſcovery than he was pleaſed. I
1hould fee I had to do with a Gentleman; and any Cour-
tefie


114
The WILD GALLANT.
tefie I ſhould confer on him he would not be unthanke
ful; for he hated Ingratitude of all things.
Conft. "'Twas well carried not to dif-abuſe him: I laugh
to think what ſport I ſhall have anon, when I convince
him of his Lies, and let him know I was the Devil to
whom he was beholden for his Mony : Go Setſtone ; and
in the fame Diſguiſe be ready for him. [Exit Setſtone.
Ifa. How dare you truſt this Fellow?
Conſt. I muſt truſt ſome body; Gain has made him
mine, and now fear will keep him Faithful.
To them, Burr, Fa ler, Timorous, Trice, and Nonſuch.
Fail. Pray, my Lord, take no picque at it: 'Tis not
given to all Men to be confident: I gad you ſhall fec
Sir Timorous will redeem all upon the next occaſion.
Non. A raw mieking Boy.
Iſa. And what are you but an old Boy of five and
fifty? I never knew any thing ſo humourſome. I
Warrant you, Sir Timorous, I'll ſpeak for you.
Non. Would't thou have me be Friends with him! for
thy fake he fhall only add five hundred a Year to her
Jointure, and I'll be ſatisfied: Come you hither, Sir.
[Here Trice and Nonſuch and Timorous talk
privately; Burr with Failer apart; Conſtance
with Iſabella.
Conft. You'll not find your account in this Trick to
get Failer beaten; 'tis too palpable and open.
Ifa. I Warrant you 'twill paſs upon Burr for a time:
So my Revenge and your Intereſt will go on together.
Fail
. Burr, there's Miſchief a brewing, I know it by
their whiſpering I vow to gad: Look to your felf, their
Deſign's on you; for my part I am a Perſon that am a-
bove 'em.
Tim. to Trice. But then you muſt ſpeak for me, Mr.
Trice; and you too, my Lord.
Non. If you deny't again, I'll beat you; look to't Boy.
Trice. Come on; I'll make the Bargain.
Ifa. You were ever good in a Fleſh Market.
Trice. Come you little Harlotry; what Satisfaction can
you give me for running away before the Ruffs came
in?
Conft.

The WILD GALLANT. 115
Conft. Why I left you to 'em, that ever invite your
own Belly to the greateſt Part of all
your
Feaſts.
Trice. I have brought you a Knight here Huſwife,
with a plentiful Fortune to furniſh out a Table; and,
what would
you
more? Would you be an Angel in
Heaven?
Iſa. Your Mind's ever upon your Belly.
Trice. No; 'tis ſometimes upon yours : But, what
fay'ſt thou to Sir Timorous, little Conſtance ?
Conft. Would you have me married to that King Mi-
das's Face?
Trice. Midas me no Midas; he's a Wit; he underſtands
eating and drinking well: Poeta coquus, the Heathen Phi-
loſopher could tell
you
that,
Conft. Come on, Sir; what's your Will with me?
[Laughs.
Tim. Why, Madam, I could only wiſh we were a
little better acquainted, that we might not laugh at one
another fo.
Conft. If the Fool puts forward I am undone,
Tim, Fool! Do you know me, Madam?
Confo. You may ice i know you, becauſe I call you
by your Name.
Fail
. You muſt endure theſe Rebukes with [Patience,
Sir Timorous.
Conft. What, are you Planet ftruck? Look you, my
Lord, the Gentleman's Tongue-ty’d.
Non. This is paſt enduring.
Fail. 'Tis nothing, my Lord; Courage, Sir Timo-
Non. I ſay 'tis paſt enduring; that's more than ever I
told
you yet: Do you come to make a Fool of my
Daughter?
Ifa. Why Lord-
Non. Why Lady
[Exit Nonfuch.
Trice. Let's follow the old Man, and pacifie him.
Ifa. Now Couſin
[Exeunt Iſa. Trice, Burr.
Conſt
. Well, Mr. Failer, I did not think you of all
the reſt would have endeavoured a thing ſo much againſt
my
rous.

116 The WILD G'ALLANT.
my Inclination, as this Marriage: if you
had been ac-
quainted with my Heart, I am ſure you would not.
Fail. What can the Meaning of this be ? you
would
not have me believe you love me; and yet how other-
wiſe to underſtand you I vow to gad I cannot com-
prehend.
Conſt. I did not ſay I lov'd you; but if I ſhould take
a Fancy to your Perſon and Humour, I hope it is no
Crime to tell it you: Women are ty’d to hard unequal
Laws: The Paſſion is the ſame in us, and yet we are
debarr'd the Freedom to expreſs it. You make poor
Grecian Beggars of us Ladies; our Deſires must have no
Language; but only be faſtned to our Breaſts.
Fail. Come, come; I gad I know the whole Sex of
you: Your Love's at beſt but a kind of Blind-mans-buff,
catching at him that's next in your Way.
Conft. Well, Sir, I can take nothing ill from you ;
when 'tis too late you'll ſee how unjuſt you have been
to me I have ſaid too much already—[Is going.
Fail. Nay, ſtay ſweet Madam: I vow to gad my
Fortune's better than I could imagine.
Conft. No, pray let me go, Sir; perhaps I was in jeſt,
Fail. Really, Madam, I look upon you as a Perſon of
fuch worth, and all that, that I vow to gad I honour
you of all Perſons in the World; and tho' I am a Perſon
that am inconſiderable in the World, and all that, Ma-
dam, yet for a Perſon of your Worth and Excellency, I
would
Conft. What would you, Sir?
Fail. Sacrifice my Life and Fortunes, I vow to gad,
Madam.
Enter Iſabella, Burr and Timorous, at a diſtance from them.
Ifa. There's Failer cloſe in Talk with my Couſin; he's
folliciting your Suit, I warrant you, Sir Timorous: Do
but obſerve with what Paſſion he courts for
you.
Burr. I do not like that kneading of her Hand though.
Ifa. Come, you are ſuch a jealous Coxcomb: I war-
rant you ſuſpect there's ſome Amour between 'em ;
there can be nothing in't it is ſo open : Pray obſerve,
Burr.

The Wild GALLANT.
117
Burr. But, how come you ſo officious, Madam; you,
that e'er now had a Deſign upon Sir Timorous for
your
felf?
Iſa. I thought you had a better Opinion of my Wit,
than to think I was in earneſt. My Couſin may do
what ſhe pleaſes, but he ſhall never pin himſelf upon me,
allure him.
Conft. to Fail
. Sir Timorous little knows how dange-
rous a Perſon he has employed in making Love :-
[Aloud.
Burr. How's this! Pray my Lady Conſtance, what's
the Meaning of that you ſay to Failer?
Fail. What luck was this, that he ſhould over-hear
you! Pax on't!
Conft. Mr. Burr, I owe you not that Satisfaction ;
what
you
have heard you may interpret as you pleaſe.
Tim. The Raſcal has betray'd me.
Ila. In earneſt, Sir, I do not like it.
Fail. Dear Mr. Burr, be pacify’d; you are a Perſon I
have an Honour for; and this change of Affairs ſhall not
be the worſe for you, I gad Sir.
Conſt. Bear up reſolutely Mr. Failer; and maintain
my
Favours, as becomes my Servant. .
Burr. He maintain 'em! go you Judas! I'll teach you
what 'tis to play faſt and looſe with a Man of War.
[Köcks him.
Tim. Lay it on, Burr.
Ifa. Spare him not, Burr.
Conft. Fear him not, Servant.
Fail. Oh, oh; would no body were on my Side;
here I am prais'd, I vow to gad, into all the Colours of
the Rainbow.
Conſt. But, remember 'tis for me.
Burr. As you like this, proceed, Sir ; but, come not
near me to Night, while I'm in wrath.
[Exeunt Burr and Timorous.
Conft. Come, Sir; how fare
you
after
your
al? You bore it with a moſt heroick Patience.
Id. Brave Man at Arms, but weak to Balthazer!
ſore Try-
Fail.

118 The WILD GALLANT.
Fail. I hope to gad, Madam, you'll conſider the Merit
of my Sufferings. I would not have been beaten thus,
but to obey that Perſon in the World
Conft. Heaven reward
you
for’t: I never ſhall.
Fail. How, Madam!
Ifa. Art thou ſuch an Aſs as not to perceive thou art
abuſed? This Beating I contriv'd for you: You know
upon what Account; and have yet another or two at
your Service; Yield up the Knight in time, 'tis your
beſt Courſe.
Fail. Then, does not your Ladyſhip love me, Madam ?
Conft. Yes, yes; I love to ſee you beaten.
Ifa. Well, methinks now you have had a hard Bar-
gain on't: You have loſt your Cully, Sir Timorous; and
your Friend Burr, and all to get a poor Beating : But I'll
ſee it mended againſt next time for you.
[Exeunt Conſtance, and Iſabella laughing.
Fail. I am ſo much amaz’d, I vow to gad, I do not
underſtand my own Condition.
[Exit Failer.
Enter Loveby folus, in the dark; his Sword drawn; groping
.
Lov. This is the Time and Place he 'pointed me; and
'tis certainly the Devil I am to meet; for no mortal
Creature could have that Kindneſs for me, to ſupply my
Neceflities as he has done, nor could have done it in fo
ſtrange a manner: He told me he was a Scholar, and had
been a Parſon in the Fanaticks Times; a ſhrewd Sufpi-
cion it was the Devil; or at leaſt a Limb of him. If
the Devil can ſend Churchmen on his Errands, Lord
have mercy on the Layety! Well, let every Man ſpeak
as he finds, and give the Devil his due; I think him a
very honeſt and well-natur'd Fellow: And if I hear any
Man ſpeak Ill of him, (except it be a Parſon that gets
his Living by it) I wear a Sword at his Service: Yet
for all this I do not much care to ſee him. He does
not mean to hook me in for my Soul, does he? If he
does, I ſhall deſire to be excus'd. But what a Rogue am
I, to ſuſpect a Perſon that has dealt fo like a Gentleman
by me? He comes to bring me Mony, and would do it
hand-
out his way

The WILD GALLANT.
I 19
handſomely, that it might not be perceiv'd: Let it be as
ºtwill
, I'll ſeem to truſt him, and then if he have any
thing of a Gentleman in him, he will ſcorn to deceive
me, as much as I would to couſin him, if I were the
Devil
, and he Jack Loveby.
Enter Failer at t'other end of the Stage.
Fail. What will become of me to Night! I am juſt
in the Condition of an out-lying Deer, that's beaten from
his Walk for offering to Rutt: Enter I dare not for
Burr,
Lov. I hear a Voice, but nothing do I ſee; ſpeak what
thou art.
Fail. There he is, watching for me: I muſt venture
to run by him; and when I am in, I hope my Couſin
Trice will defend me: The Deyil would not lie abroad in
fuch a Night.
Lov. I thought it was the Devil before he nam’d him-
felf. [Failer goes to run off, and falls into Loveby's Arms.
Lov. Honeſt Sathan ! well encounter'd! I am ſorry
with all my Heart it is ſo dark: 'Faith I ſhould be very
glad to ſee thee at my Lodging; prithee let's not be ſuch
Strangers to one another for the time to come; and,
what haſt thou
got under thy Cloak there little Sathan?
I warrant thou haſt brought me ſome more Mony.
Fail. Help, help; Thieves, Thieves.
[Loveby let's him go.
Lov. This is Failer's Voice: How the Devil was I
miſtaken! I muſt get off, e'er Company comes in.
[Exit Loveby,
Fail. Thieves ! Thieves!
Enter Trice, Burr, Timorous, undreſs:a.
All. Where! where!
Fail. One was here juſt now; and it ſhould be Loveby
by his Voice, but I have no Witneſs.
Trice. It cannot be; he wants no Mony.
Burr. Come, Sirrah; I'll take pity on you to Night;
you ſhall lie in the Truckle-bed.
Trice. Pox o'this Noiſe, it has diſturb'd me from ſuch
2 Dream of Eating!
[Exeunt omnes.
ACT

1 2
The WILD GALLANT.
ACT III. SCENE I.
Coriſt
. 'T
Enter Conſtance, and Iſabella.
WAS ill Luck to have the Meeting broke
laſt Night, juſt as Setſtone was coming to-
wards him.
Ifa. But in part of Recompence you'll have the Plea-
ſure of putting him on farther Streights. O, theſe little
Miſchiefs are Meat and Drink to me.
Conſt. He ſhall tell me from whence he has his Mony:
I am reſolv'd now to try him to the utmoſt.
Ifa. I would deviſe ſomething for him to do, which
he could not poſſibly perform.
Conft. As I live yonder he comes with the Jewel in
his Hand he promis’d me; prithee leave me alone with
him.
Ifa. Speed the Plough; if I can make no Sport, I'll hin-
der none: I'll to my Knight, Sir Timorous; ſhortly you
ſhall hear News from Dametas.
[Exit Ifabella.
Enter Loveby.
Lov. Look you, Madam, here's the Jewel; do me the
Favour to accept it, and ſuppoſe a very good Comple-
ment deliver'd with it.
Conſt. Believe me a very fair Jewel: But, why will
you
be at this needleſs Charge? What Acknowledgment
do you expect? You know I will not marry you.
Lov. How the Devil do I know that? I do not con-
ceive my ſelf, under Correction, fo inconſiderable a Per-
fon,
Conft. You'll alter your partial Opinion, when I tell
you 'tis not a flaſh of Wit fires me; nor is it a gay
Out-
Lide can ſeduce me to Matrimony.
Lov. I am neither Fool, nor deform's ſo much as to
be deſpicable. What do I want?
Conft.

The WILD GALLANT. I ZI
Conſt. A good Eſtate, that makes every thing hand-
ſome; nothing can look well without it.
Lov. Does this Jewel expreſs Poverty?
Conſt. I conjure you by your Love to me, tell me one
Truth not minc'd by your Invention: How came you
by this Jewel?
Lov, "Tis well I have a Voucker;
pray
ask
your own
Jeweller Setſtone, if I did not buy it of him.
Conft. How glad you are now, you can tell a Truth fo
near a Lie: But, where had you the Mony that purcha-
ſed it? Come,
-without Circumſtances and Pream-
bles-
Lov. Umph -perhaps that may be a Secret.
Conſt. Say it be one; yet he that lov'd indeed, could
not keep it from his Miſtreſs.
Lov. Why ſhould you be thus importunate?
Conft. Becauſe I cannot think you love me, if you will
not truſt that to my Knowledge, which you conceal
from all the World beſide.
Lov. You urge me deeply
Conft. Come, ſweet Servant, you ſhall tell me; I am
reſolv'd to take no denial: Why do you figh?
Lov. If I be blaſted, it muſt out.
Conſt. Either tell me, or reſolve to take your Leave
for ever.
Lov. Then know I have my Means, I know not how.
Conſt. This is a fine Secret.
Lov. Why then if you will needs know; ’tis from the
Devil; I have Mony from him, what, and when I pleaſe.
Conſt. Have you feal'd a Covenant, and given away
your Soul for Mony?
Lov. No ſuch thing intended on my part.
Conſt. How then?
Lov. I know not yet what Conditions he'll propoſe:
I ſhould have ſpoke with him laſt Night, but that a croſs
Chance hinder'd it.
Conft. Well, my Opinion is, ſome great Lady that is
in Love with you, ſupplies you ſtill; and you tell me
Vol. I.
F
an

I 22
The WILD GALLANT.
me,
an incredible Tale of the Devil, meerly to ſhadow your
Infidelity.
Lov. Deviſe fome means to try me.
Conft. I take you at your Word; you ſhall fwear free-
dy to beſtow on me, whatever you ſhall gain this un-
known way; and for a Proof, becauſe you tell me you
can have Mony, what, and when you pleaſe; bring me
an hundred Pounds e'er Night.-If I do marry him for
a Wit, I'll ſee what he can do; he ſhall have none from
[-Aſide.
Lov. You overjoy me, Madam ; you ſhall have it, and
*twere twice as much.
Conft. How's this!
Lov. The Devil a Croſs that I have, or know where
to get; but I muſt promiſe well, to ſave my Credit: Now
Devil, if thou do'ſt forſake me!
[Aſide.
Conft. I miſtruſt you; and therefore if you fail, I'll
have your Hand to ſhow againſt you; here's Ink and
Paper.
[Loveby writes.
Enter Burr and Timorous.
Burr. What makes Loveby yonder? He's writing ſome-
what.
Tim, I'll go ſee.
[Looks over him.
Lov. Have you no more Manners than to overlook a
Man when he's a Writing? -Oh, is't you, Sir Ti-
morous ? You may ſtand ſtill; now I think on't, you can-
not read written Hand.
Burr. You are very familiar with Sir Timorous.
Lov. So I am with his Companions, Sir.
Burr. Then there's hopes you and I may be better ac-
quainted: I am one of his Companions.
Lov. By what Title, as you are an Aſs, Sir ?
Conft. No more, Loveby.
Lov. I need not, Madam; alas this Fellow is only the
Sollicitor of a Quarrel, 'till he has brought it to an head;
and will leave the fighting part to the courteous Pledger.
Do not I know theſe Fellows? You ſhall as ſoon per-
fuade a Maſtiff to faſten on a Lion, as one of theſe to
ingage with a Courage above their own: They know
well

The WILD GALLANT. 123
well enough who they can beat, and who can beat
them.
Enter Failer at a diſtance.
Fail. Yonder they are; now would I compound for a
reaſonable Sum, that I were Friends with Burr: If I am
not, I ſhall loſe Sir Timorous.
Conſt
. O, Servant, have I ſpy'd you! let me run into
your Arms.
Fail. I renounce my Lady Conſtance: I vow to gad I
renounce her.
Tim. To your Task, Burr. .
Enter Nonſuch and Iſabella.
Conſt. Hold, Gentlemen; no ſign of Quarrel.
Non. O Friends! I think I ſhall
go
mad with Grief: I
have loſt more Mony.
Lov. Would I had it: That's all the Harm I wiſh my
ſelf: Your Servant, Madam; I go about the Buſineſs
[Exit Loveby.
Non. What! does he take no pity on me?
Conft. Prithee moan him, Iſabella.
Iſa. Alas, al s poor Uncle! could they find in their
Hearts to rob him!
Non. Five hundred Pounds out of poor fix thouſand
Pounds a Year! I and mine are undone for ever.
Fail. Your own Houſe you think is clear, my Lord?
Conft. I dare anſwer for all there, as much as for my
felf.
Burr. Oh that he would but think that Loveby had it!
Fail. If you'll be Friends with me, I'll try what I can
perſwade him to.
Burr. Here's my Hand, I will dear Heart.
Fail. Your own Houſe being clear, my Lord; I am
apt to ſuſpect this Loveby for ſuch a Perſon: Did
you
mark how abruptly he went out?
Non. He did indeed, Mr. Failer: But, why ſhould I
fufpect him? his Carriage is fair, and his Means great :
He could never live after this rate, if it were riot.
Fril. This ſtill renders him the more ſuſpicious: He
has no Land, to my Knowledge.

3124
The WILD GALLANT.
Burr. Well ſaid, Miſchief.
[Aſide.
Conft. My Father's credulous, and this Rogue has found
the blind ſide of him; would Loveby heard him!
[To Iſabella,
Fail. He has no Mears, and he loſes at Play: So that
for my part, I proteſt to gad, I am reſolv'd, he picks
Locks for his Living.
Burr. Nay, to my Knowledge, he picks Locks.
Tim. And to mine.
Fail. No longer ago than laſt Night he met me in the
dark, and offer'd to dive into
my Pockets.
Non. That's a main Argument for Suſpicion.
Fail. I remember once when the Keys of the Exche-
quer were loſt in the Rump-time, he was ſent for upon
an Extremity, and i'gad he opens me all the Locks
with the Blade-bone of a Breaſt of Mutton.
Non. Who, this Loveby?
Fail. This very Loveby: Another time, when we had
fate up very late at Ombre in the Country, and were
hungry towards Morning, he plucks me out (I vow to
gad I tell you no Lie) four ten-penny Nails from the
Dairy-Lock with his Teeth, fetches me out a Meſs of
Milk; and knocks me 'em in again with his Head, upon
Reputation.
Ifa. Thou Boy!
Non. What ſhall I do in this Caſe? My Comfort is,
my Gold's all mark'd.
- Conft. Will you ſuſpect a Gentleman of Lożeby's
Worth, upon the tare Report of ſuch a Raſcal as this
Failer ?
Non. Hold thy Tongue, I charge thee; upon my Bleſ-
fing hold thy Tongue. I'll have him apprehended before
he ſleeps; come along with me, Mr. Failer.
Fail. Burr, look well to Sir Timorous; I'll be with you
inſtantly.
Confi. I'll watch you, by your Favour. [Aſide.
[Exeunt Nonſuch and Failer, Conſtance following them.
F Ifa. A word, Sir Timorows.
Bury

The WILD GALLANT. 125
Burr. [Gets behind.] She ſhall have a Courſe at the
Knight, and come up to him, but when ſhe is juſt ready
to pinch, he ſhall give ſuch a looſe from her, ſhall break
her Heart,
Ifa. Burr there ſtill, and watching us? There's certain+
ly fome Plot in this, but I'll turn it to my own advan-
tage.
[Aſide.
Tim. Did you mark Burr's retirement, Madam?
Ifa. Ay; his Guilt it ſeems makes him ſhun your Com--
pany.
Tim. In what can he be guilty ?
Ifa. You muſt needs know it; he Courts your Mi-
ftreſs.
Tim. Is he too in love with my Lady Conſtance ?
Ia. No, no; but, which is worſe, he Courts me.
Tim. Why, what have I to do with you? You know
I care not this for
you.
Ifa. Perhaps ſo; but he thought you did: And gooch.
Reaſon he had for it.
Tim. What Reaſon, Madam?
Iſa. The moſt convincing in the World: He knew my:
Couſin Conſtance never lov'd you: He has heard her ſay,
you were as invincibly ignorant as a Town-ſop judging.
a new. Play : As ſhame-fac'd as a great over-grown
School-boy: In fine, good for nothing but to be worm’d-
out of your Eſtate, and facrificed to the God of Laugh--
Tim. Was your Couſin fo barbarous to ſay this?
Iſa. In his hearing
Tim. And would he let me proceed in my ſuit to her ?
Iſa. For that I muſt excuſe him; he never thought
you could love one of my Couſin's Humour: But took :
your Court to her, only as a blind to your Affection for
me: And being poſſeſſed with that Opinion, he thought -
himſelf as worthy as you to marry me.
Tim. He is not half ſo worthy, and ſo I'll tell him, in
Burr. [to a Boy entring.] Sirrah, Boy, deliver this Note to
Madam iſabella; but be not known I am ſo near.
oy.
ter.
a fair way.
F 3

1 26 The WILD GALLANT.
Boy. I warrant you, Sir.
Burr. Now Fortune, all I deſire of thee, is, that Sir
Timorous
may ſee it; if he once be brought to believe
there is a Kindneſs between her and me, it will ruin all
her Projects.
Ifa. [to the Boy.] From whom ?
Boy. From Mr. Burr, Madam.
Iſábella reads. Theſe for Madam Iſabella.
Dear Rogue,
Sir Timorous knows nothing of our Kindneſs, nor ſhall for
me; ſeem ſtill to have Deſigns upon him; it will hide thy
Affection the better to thy Servant Burr.
Ifa. Alas, poor Woodcock, doſt thou go a Birding ?
Thou haſt e'en fet a Sprindge to catch thy own Neck.
Look you here Sir Timorous; here's ſomething to con-
firm what I have told
you. [Gives him the Letter,
Tim. D, e, a, re, dear, r, o, g, u, e, ro-gue. Pray, Ma-
dam, read it: This written Hand is ſuch a damn'd Pe-
dantick thing, I could never away with it.
Ifa. He would fain have robbed you of me: Lord,
Lord! to ſee the Malice of a Man.
Tim. She has perſwaded me ſo damnably, that I begin
to think ſhe's my Miſtreſs indeed.
Ifa. Your Miſtreſs ? why, I hope you are not to
doubt that at this time of Day. I was your Miſtreſs
from the firſt Day you ever ſaw me.
Tim. Nay, like enough you were fo; but I vow to
gad now, I was wholly ignorant of my own Affection.
Ifa. And this Rogue pretends he has an intereſt in me,
meerly to defeat you: Look you, look you where he
ſtands in ambuſh, like a Jeſuit behind a Quaker, to ſee
how his Deſign will take.
Tim. I ſee the Rogue: Now could I find in my Heart
to marry you in ſpight to him; what think you on't in
a fair Way?
Ifa. I have brought him about as I would wiſh; and
now I'll make my own Conditions [-Aſide.] Sir Timo-
rous, I wiſh you well; but he I marry muſt promiſe me
to live at London: I cannot abide to be in the Country,
like

The WILD GALLANT. 127
like a wild Beaſt in the Wilderneſs, with no Chriſtian
Soul about me.
Tim. Why, I'll bear you company.
Ifa. I cannot endure your early Hunting-matches -
there ; to have my Sleep diſturbed by break of Day,
with heigh Fowler, Fowler, there Venus, ah Beauty! and
then a Serenade of deep-mouth'd Currs, to anſwer the
Salutation of the Huntſman, as if Hell were broke looſe
about me: And all this to meet a Pack of Gentlemen
Salvages to ride all Day like mad Men, for the immor-
tal Fame of being firſt in at the Hare's Death: To come
upon the Spur after a Trail at four in the Afternoon to
deſtruction of cold Meat and Cheeſe, with
your
lewd
Company in Boots ; fall a drinking till Supper time, be
carried to Bed, rop'd out of your Seller, and be good -
for nothing all the Night after.
Tim. Well, Madam, what is it you would be at? you s
ſhall find me reaſonable to all your Propoſitions.
Ifa. I have but one condition more to add; for I will
be as reaſonable as you; and that is a very poor Requeſt,
to have all the Mony in my Diſpoſing..
Tim. How, all the Mony ?
Ifa. Ay, for I am ſure I can Huſwife it better for
your
Honour; not but that I ſhall be willing to encourage
you with Pocket-Mony, or ſo, ſometimes.
Tim. This is ſomewhat hard.
Ifa. Nay, if a Woman cannot do that, I ſhall think
you have an ill Opinion of my Virtue: Not truſt your
own Fleſh and Blood, Sir Timorous ?
Tim. Well, is there any thing more behind ?
Ifa. Nothing more, only the Choice of my own Com-
pany, my own Hours, and my own Actions: Theſe
trifles granted me, in all things of moment, I am your
moſt obedient Wife and Servant Iſabella.
Tim. Is't a Match then?
Ifa. For once I am content it ſhall; but 'tis to redeem
you from thoſe Raſcals Burr and Failer.
Sir Timorous, for fear of Spies; I'll meet you at the
Garden-door-
[Exit Timorous.
that way,
F 4.

128
The WILD GALLANT.
follow me;
Yous.
Ifa. I have led all Women the Way, if they dare but
And now march off, if I can ſcape but ſpying,
With my Drums beating, and my Colours flying. [Exit.
Burr. So, their Wooing's at an end; thanks to my
Wit.
Enter Failer.
Fail. Oh Burr ! whither is it Sir Timorous and Ma-
dam Iſabella are gone together?
Burr. Adore my Wit, Boy; they are parted never to
meet again.
Fail. I ſaw 'em meet juſt now at the Garden-door :
So ho, ho, ho, who's within there: Help here quickly,
quickly.
Enter Nonſuch and two Servants.
Non. What's the Matter?
Fail. Your Neice Iſabella has ſtollen away Sir Timo-
Non. Which way took they?
Fail. Follow me, I'll ſhew you.
Non. Break
your Necks after him, you idle Varlets.
[Exeunt Omnes.
Enter Loveby: Loveby's Collar unbutton'd, Band careleſly
on, Hat on the Table, as new riſing from fleep.
Lov. Boy! how long have I ſlept, Boy?
Boy. Two Hours and a half, Sir.
Lou. What's a-Clock, Sirrah?
Boy. Near four, Sir.
Lov. Why there's it: I have promiſed my Lady Cora-
Stance an hundred Pounds e'er Night; I had four Hours
to perform it in when I engaged to do it; and I have
ſlept out more than two of them: All my Hope to get
this Mony lyes within the Compaſs of that Hat there.
-Before I lay down I made bold a little to prick my
Finger, and write a Note in the Blood of it, to this
fame Friend of mine in t'other World, that uſes to fup-
ply me; the Devil has now had above two Hours to
perform it in; all which time I have ſlept to give him
the better Opportunity: Time enough for a Gentleman
of
Enter Boy

The Wild GALLANT. I 29
take it up.
of his Agility to fetch it from the Eaſt-Indies, out of
one of his Temples where they worſhip him; or if he
were lazy, and not minded to go ſo far; 'twere but
ſtepping over Sea, and borrowing ſo much Mony out
of his own Bank at Amſterdam! hang’t, what's an hun-
dred Pounds between him and me Now does my
Heart go pit a pat, for fear I ſhould not find the Mony
there: I would fain lift it up to ſee, and yet I am fo
fraid of miſſing: Yet a Plague, why ſhould I fear he'll
fail me; the Name of Friend's a facred thing; fure he'll
conſider that : -Methinks this Hat looks as if it
ſhould have ſomething under it: If one could - ſee the
yellow Boys 'peeping underneath the Brims now: Ha !
Looks under round about.] in my Conſcience I think
Ī do : Stand out o'th' way, Sirrah, and be ready to
gather up the pieces that will fluſh out of the Hat as I
Boy. What, is my Maſter mad trow?
[Loveby ſnatches up the Hat, looks in it haſtily, and
ſees nothing but the Paper.
Lov. Now the Devil take the Devil: Ah Plague! was eyer
Man ſery'd ſo as I am: [Throws his Hôt upon the Ground.]
To Break the Bonds of Amity for one hundred Pieces :
Well, it ſhall be more out of thy way than thou imagin'ſt,
Devil; I'll turn Parſon, and be at open defiance with
thee; I'll lay the wickedneſs of all People upon thee,
though thou art never ſo innocent; I'll convert thy
Bawds and Whores; I'll Hector thy Gameſters, that they
ſhall not dare to ſwear, curſe or bubble; nay, I'll ſet thee
out ſo, that thy very Uſurers and Aldermen ſhall fear to
have to do with thee.
[A Noiſe within of Iſabella and Frances
Enter Frances, thruſting back Iſabella and Timorous,
Fran. How now, what's the matter?
Ifa. Nay, ſweet Miſtreſs, be not ſo hard-hearted; all
I deſire of you is but harbour for a minute: you cannot
in humanity deny that ſmall fuccour to a Gentlewo-
man,
Franc

130
The WILD GALLANT.
Franc. A Gentlewoman! I thought fo; my Houſe af-
fords no Harbour for Gentlewomen: You are a Com-
pany of proud Harlotries; I'll teach you to take place
of Tradeſmens Wives with a wannion to you.
Lov. How's this ! Madam Isabella !
Ifa. Mr. Loveby! how happy am I to meet with you
in my Diſtreſs!
Lov. What's the matter, Madam?
Ifa. I'll tell you, if this Gentlewoman" will give me
leave.
Franc. No Gentlewoman, I will not give you leave ;
they are ſuch as we maintain your Pride, as they ſay.
[Iſabella and Loveby whiſper.] Our Husbands truſt you,
and you muſt go before their Wives. I am ſure my
Good-man never goes to any of your Lodgings, but he
comes home the worſe for it, as they ſay.
Lov. Is that all! prithee good Landlady, for my fake
entertain
my Friends.
Franc. If the Gentleman's Worſhip had come alone,
it may be I might have entertained him; but for your
Minion!
Enter Nonſuch, Failer, Burr, and Officers: Cry within,
Here, here.
Fail. My Lord, arreſt Sir Timorous upon a Promiſe
of Marriage to your Daughter, and we'll witneſs it.
Tim. Why, what a ſtrange thing of you's this, Ma-
dam Ifabella, to bring a Man into trouble thus!
Fail. You are not yet married to her?
Tim. Not that I remember.
Ifa. Well, Failer, I ſhall find a time to reward your
Diligence.
Lov, If the Knight would have own'd his Action, I
ſhould have taught ſome of you more Manners, than to
come with Officers into my Lodging.
Franc. I'm glad with all my Heart this Minx is pre-
vented of her Deſign: The Gentleman had got a great
Catch of her, as they ſay. His old Father in the Coun-
try would have given him but little thank for’t, to ſee
him bring down a fine-bred Woman, with a Lute, and
a

The WILD GALLANT.
131
a Dreſſing-box, and a handful of Mony to her Por-
tion,
Ifa. Good Miſtreſs Whatdeelack! I know your Quar-
rel to the Ladies, do they take up the Gallants from the
Tradeſmens Wives? Lord, what a grievous thing it is
for a ſhe Citizen to be forced to have Children by her
own Husband!
Franc. Come, come, you're a ſlanderful Huſwife, and
I ſquorn your Harlotry-trick that I do, ſo I do.
Iſa. Steeple-hat your Husband never gets a good Look
when he comes home, except he brings a Gentleman to
Dinner; who if he caſts an amorous Eye towards you,
then, Truſt him good Husband, ſweet Husband truſt him
for my fake: Verily the Gentleman's an honeſt Man,
I read it in his Countenance: And if you ſhould not be
at home to receive the Mony, I know he will pay
the
Debt to me. Is't not fo, Miſtreſs?
Enter Bibber in Slippers, with a Skein of silk about his Neck.
Franc. Will you ſee me wronged thus, under
my own
Roof, as they ſay, William?
Ifa. Nay, 'tis very true, Miſtreſs: You let the Men
with old Compliments take up new Cloaths: I do not
mean your Wife's Cloaths, Mr. Merchant-Tailor.
Bib. Good i'Faith! a notable ſmart Gentlewoman!
Iſa. Look to your Wife, Sir, or in time ſhe may un-
do your Trade : For ſhe'll
get
all
your Men-Cuſtomers
to her ſelf.
Bib. And I ſhould be hang'd, I can forbear no longer.
[He plucks out bis Meaſure, and runs to Iſabella,
to take meaſure of her.
Iſa. How now! what means Prince Pericles by this?
Bib. [On his Knees.] I muſt beg your Ladyſhip e'en to
have the Honour to truſt you but for your Gown, for
the ſake of that laſt Jeſt. Flowrid Satten, wrought
Tabby, Silver upon any Grounds: I ſhall run mad if
I may not truſt your Ladyſhip.
Franc. I think you are mad already, as they fay, Wil.
Tiam: You ſhall not truſt her
[Plucks him back.
Bib

132
The WILD GALLANT.
Gold; you
Bib. Let me alone, Frances; I am a Lion when I ani
anger'd.
Iſa. Pray do not pull your Lion by the Tail fo, Mi-
ſtreſs In theſe Cloaths that he now takes meaſure of
me for, will I marry Sir Timorous, mark that, and trem-
ble, Failer.
Fail
. Never threaten me, Madam, you're a Perſon I
deſpiſe.
Iſa. I vow to gad I'll be even with you, Sir. [Exit Ifa.
Non. [to the Bailiffs] And when you have ar-
reſted him, be ſure you ſearch him for
my
Gold.
Bailiffs to Loveby. We arreſt you, Sir, at my Lord
Nonſuch his Suit.
Lov. Me, you Raſcals!
Non. Search him for
my
know the Marks
on't.
Lov. If they can find any mark'd or unmark'd Gold
about me, they'll find more than I can. You expect I
ſhould reſiſt now; no, no, I'll hamper you for this.
Bail. There's nothing to be found about him.
Fail. 'Tis no matter, to Priſon with him; there all
his Debts will come upon him.
Lov. What, hurried to durance like a Stinkard!
Bib. Now as I live, a pleaſant Gentleman; I could find
in my Heart to Bail him; but I'll overcome my ſelf, and
[Is going.
Bail. Come, Sir, we muſt provide you of another Lodge
ing; but I believe you'll ſcarce like it.
Lov. If I do not, I ask no Favour; pray turn me out
of Doors.
Bib. Turn him out of Door! What a Jeſt was there?
Now and I ſhould be hang'd I cannot forbear Bailing
him: Stay Officers; I Bail him Body and Soul for that
Jeſt.
Fail. Let us be gone in time, Burr.
[Exeunt Burr, Failer, and Timorous.
Franc. You ſhall not Bail him.
Bib. I know I am a Rogue to do it; but his Wit has
prevailed upon me, and a Man muſt not go againſt his
Conſcience. There Officers
Lou.
ſteal away.

The WILD GALLANT.
133
ter
Lov. to Non. Old Man, if it were not for thy Daugh-
Non. Well, well; take your Courſe, Sir.
[Ex. Nonſuch and Bailiffs.
Lov. Come Will. I'll thank thee at the Tavern. Fran-
ces, remember this the next time you come up to make
my Bed.
Franc. Do your worſt, I fear you not, Sir. This is
twice to Day, William ; to truſt a Gentlewoman, and
Bail a Ragamuffin: I am ſure he call'd you
Cuckold but
Yeſterday, and ſaid he would make you one.
Lov. Look you Frances, I am a Man of Honour, and
if I ſaid it, I'll not break my Word with you.
Bib. There he was with you again, Frances: An ex-
cellent good Jeſt i'faith la.
Franc. I'll not endure it, that I won't, fo I won't: I'll
go to the Juſtices Worſhip and fetch a Warrant for him.
Lov. But Landlady, the word Cuckold will bear no
Action in the Law, except you could prove your Hus-
band prejudiced by it. Have any of his Cuſtomers for-
ſook him for’t? Or, any Mercer refus’d to truſt him
the leſs, for my calling him fo?
Franc. Nay, I know not for the Mercers; perhaps the
Citizens may take it for no Slander among one another,
as they ſay: but for the Gentlemen-
Lov. Will have they forſaken thee upon
it?
Bib. No, I aſſure
Lov. No, I warrant 'em: A Cuckold has the fignifi-
cation of an honeſt well-meaning Citizen; one that is
not given to Jealouſies or Suſpicions; a juſt Perſon to
his Wife, egc. one that to ſpeak the worſt of him, does
but to her, what he would be content ſhould be done to
her by other Men.
Franc. But that another Man ſhould be the Father of
his Children, as they ſay; I don't think that a civil thing,
Husband.
Lov. Not civil, Landlady! why all things are civil that
are made ſo by Cuſtom,
Bib. Why may not he get as fine Children as I, or any
Man?
Franc.
you, Sir.

134
The WILD GALLANT.
Franc. But if thoſe Children, that are none of yours,
ſhould call you Father, William!
Bib. If they call me Father, and are none of mine, I
am the more beholden to 'em.
Franc. Nay, if that be your Humour, Husband, I am
glad I know it, that I may pleaſe you the better another
time, as they ſay.
[Exit Frances.
Bib. Nay, but Frances, Frances; 'tis ſuch another Wo-
[Exit Bibber.
Lov. "Tis ſuch another Man:
-My Coat and Sword
Boy, I muſt go to Juſtice Trice's; bring the Women, and
come after me.
[Exit Loveby.
inan.
GU
A CT IV. SCENE I.
A Table ſet, with Cards upon it.
Seru.
Trice walking : Enter Servant.
SLI
IR, fome Company is without upon Juſtice-
buſineſs.
Trice. Sawcy Raſcal, to diſturb my Meditations,
[Exit Servant.
-Ay, it ſhall be he: Jack Loveby, what think'ſt
thou of a Game at Picquet, we two, Hand to Fift! you
and I will play one ſingle Game for ten Pieces: "Tis
deep Stake, Fack, but 'tis all one between us two: You
Thall Deal, Fack: Who I, Mr. Juſtice, that's a good one,
you muſt give me uſe for your Hand then; that's fix ith
hundred. Come, lift, lift ; mine’s a Ten; Mr. Juſtice :-
mine's a King, oh ho, fack, you Deal. I have the ad-
vantage of this i’faith, if I can keep it.
[He Deals 12 a piece; 2 by 2, and looks on his own Cards.
I take ſeven, and look on this Now for you,
fack Loveby.
Enter

The WILD GALLANT, 135
younger hand
Enter Loveby behind,
Lov. How's this? Am I the Man he fights with?
Trice. I'll do you right, Jack; as I am an honeſt Man
you muſt diſcard this, there's no other way: If you were
my own Brother, I could do no better for you.
Zounds, the Rogue has a Quint-Major, and three Aces
.
[Looks on t'other Cards.
Stay; what am I for the Point? But bare forty, and
he fifty one: Fifteen and five for the Point, 20, and
3
by Aces, 23, well, I am to play firſt: 1, 23; 2, 23; 3,
23; 4, 23;
-Pox on't, now I muſt play into his
Hand: 5
-now you take it, Fack, 5, 24, 25, 26,
27, 28, 29, 30, and the Cards forty.
Lov. Hitherto it goes well on my fide.
Trice. Now I Deal: How many do you take, Jack ?
All? Then I am gone: What a riſe is here! 14 by Aces,
and a Sixieme-Major ; I am gone, without looking into
my
Cards, [Takes up an Ace and bites it.] Ay, I thought
fo: If ever Man play'd with ſuch curs’d Fortune, I'll be
hang’d, and all for want of this damn’d Ace-there's
your ten Pieces, with a Pox to you, for a rooking beg-
garly Raſcal as you are.
Loveby Enters.
Lov. What occaſion have I given you for theſe
Words, Sir? Rook and Raſcal! I am no more Raſcal
than your ſelf, Sir.
Trice. How's this, how's this!
Lov. And though for this time I put it up, becauſe I
am a winner
[Snatches the Gold.
Trice. What a Devil do'ſt thou put up? Not my
Gold
I hope, Fack?
Lov. By your Favour but I do; and 'twas won fairly;
a Sixieme, and fourteen by Aces by your own Confef-
fion, What a Pox, we don't make Childrens Play
I hope?
Trice. Well, remember this, Fack; from this Hour I
forfwear playing with you when I am alone; what, will
you bate me nothing on't?
Lov,

136
The WILD GALLANT.
get-
Lov. Not a Farthing, Juſtice ; I'll be judged by you, if
I had loſt you would have taken every Piece on't: What
I win, I win—and there's an end.
Enter Servant.
Serv. Sir, theſe People ſtay without, and will not be
anſwer'd.
Trice. Well, what's their Buſineſs?
Serv. Nay, no great Matter : Only a Fellow for
ting a Wench with Child.
Trice. No great Matter, fay'ſt thou? 'Faith but it is. Is
he a poor Fellow, or a Gentleman?
Serv. A very poor Fellow, Sir.
Trice. Hang him, Rogue, make his Mittimus immedi-
ately; muſt ſuch as he preſume to get Children?
Lov. Well conſider'd: A poor louſie Raſcal, to intrench
upon the Game of Gentlemen! he might have paſſed his
Time at Nine-pins, or Shovel-board, that had been fit
Sport for ſuch as he; Juſtice, have no Mercy on him.
Trice. No, by the Sword of Juſtice will I not.
Lov. Swear'ft thou, ungracious Boy? That's too much
on t'other hand for a Gentleman. I ſwear not, I drink
not, I curſe not, I cheat not; they are unneceſſary Vices :
I fave ſo much out of thoſe Sins, and take it out in that
one neceſſary Vice of Wenching.
Enter Loveby's Boy.
Boy. Sir, the Parties are without, according to your
Order.
Lov. 'Tis well; bring 'em in, Boy.
Enter Lady Du Lake, and two or three Whores.
Juſtice, I recommend this ancient Gentlewoman, with
theſe virtuous Ladies, to thy Patronage; for her part, ſhe
is a Perſon of exemplary Life and Behaviour; of fingular
Conduct to break through, and Patience to bear the Aſiáults
of Fortune: A general Benefactreſs of Mankind, and in
fine, a Promoter of that great Work of Nature, Love.
Trice. Or, as the vulgar Tranſlation hath it, a very
ſufficient and fingular good Bawd: Is't not ſo, Boy!
Lov. Ay, Boy: Now for ſuch a petty-fogging Fellow as
thy Clerk to perſecute this Lady; prithee think on't:
Tis a Grievance of the Free-born Subject.
L. Die

The WILD GALLANT.
137
L. Du Lake. To ſee the ingratitude of this Generation !
that I that have ſpent my Youth, ſet at nought my For-
tune, and, what is more dear to me, my Honour, in the
Service of Gentlemen; ſhould now in my old Age be left
to Want and Beggary, as if I were the vileſt, and moſt
unworthy Creature upon God's Earth! [Crying.
Lov. Nay, good Mother, do not take it ſo bitterly.
L, Du Lake. I confeſs the Unkindneſs of it troubles
me.
Lov. Thou ſhalt not want ſo long as I live: Look,
here's five pieces of Cordial Gold to comfort thy Heart
with, I won it e’en now of Mr. Juſtice; and I dare ſay
he thinks it well beſtow'd.
Trice. My Mony's gone to very pious Uſes.
L. Du Lake. [laying her Hand on Loveby's Head.] Son
Loveby, I knew thy Father well; and thy Grandfather
before him; Fathers they were both to me; and I could
weep for Joy to ſee how thou tak'ſt after them. [Weep-
ing again.] I wiſh it lay in my Power too, to gratifie
this worthy Juſtice in my Vocation.
Trice. 'Faith I doubt I am paſt that noble Sin.
Lov. Prithee good Magiſtrate drink to her, and wipe
Sorrow from her Eyes.
Trice. Right Reverend, my Service to you in Canary.
[She drinks after him, and ſtays at half Glaſs.
L. Du Lake. 'Tis a great way to the bottom ; but
Heav'n is All-fuſficient to give me Strength for it :-
[Drinks it up.] Why God's Bleſſing on your Heart, Son
Trice. I hope 'tis no Offence to call you Son: Hem,
Hem ! Son Loveby, I think my Son Trice and I are much
of the fame Years: Let me ſee Son, if Nature be utterly
extinct in Are you tickliſh, Son Trice? [Tickles him.
Trice. Are you tickliſh, Mother Du Lake ?
[Tickles her Sides. She falls off her Chair; he falls off
his to her; they rowl one over the other.
Lov. I would have all London now ſhow me ſuch ano-
ther ſight of Kindneſs in old Age. [They help each other
up.] Come, a Dance, a Dance; call for your Clerk, Ju-
ſtice, he ſhall make one in ſign of Amity: Strike up
Fidlers, [They Dance a round Dance, and Sing the Tune.
you:
Enter

138
The WILD GALLANT.
Enter Iſabella and Conſtance.
Ifa. Are you at that Sport, i’faith? Have among you
blind Harpers.
[She falls into the Dance.
[.At the Dance's ending Loveby ſees Conſtance.
Trice. Is ſhe come! a Pox of all honeft Women at ſuch
a time!
Lov. If fhe knows who theſe are, by this Light I am
undone.
Conſt. Oh Servant, I come to mind
you
of
your
Pro-
miſe; come, produce my hundred Pounds; the time's
out I ſet you.
Lov. Not till dark Night, upon my Reputation : I
have not yet ſpoke with the Gentleman in the black
Pantaloons; you know he ſeldom walks abroad by Day-
light: Dear Madam, let me wait on you to your Coach,
and if I bring it not within this Hour, diſcard me ut-
terly.
Conft. You muſt give me Leave to ſalute the Compa-
ny: What are they?
Lov. Perſons of Quality of my Acquaintance; But, I'll
make your Excuſe to 'em.
Conft. Nay, if they are Perſons of Quality, I ſhall be
rude to part from 'em ſo abruptly.
Lov. Why ſo! the Devil ow'd me a Shame; and now
he has paid me. I'muſt preſent em, whate’er come on't.
[Aſide.] -This, Madam, is my Lady Du Lake
the Lady Springwell -the Lady Hoyden.
[She and Iſabella Salute 'em.
Ifa. What a Whiff was there came from my Lady
Hoyden! and, what a Garlick Breath my Lady Springwell
had?
Trice. Ha, ha, ha, ha.
Lov. Do not betray me, Juſtice, if you do
Ifa. Oh, are you thereabouts, Sir; then I ſmell a Rat
i faith; but I'll ſay nothing.
Conft. Ladies, I am an humble Servant to you all, and
account it my Happineſs to have met with ſo good
Company at my Couſin Trice's.
Trice, Ha, ha, ha.
L. Du

The WILD GALLANT. 139
L. Du Lake. Are theſe two Ladies of your Acquain-
tance, Son Loveby?
Lov. Son quoth a! a Pox of our Relation. [Aſide.
L. Du Lake. I ſhall be glad to be better known to
your Ladyſhips.
Conft. You too much honour your Servants, Madam.
Ifa. How Loveby fidges up and down: In what Pain
he is! well, if theſe be not they they call Whores, I'll
be hang'd, though I never ſaw one before [-Aide.
Lov. Will your Ladyſhip pleaſe to go, Madam?
Conſt. I muſt beg the Favour of theſe Ladies firſt, that
I may know their
Lodgings, and wait of 'em.
L. Du Lake. It will be our Duty to pay our Reſpects
firſt to your Ladyſhip.
Conft. I beg your Ladyſhip's Pardon, Madam-
L. Du Lake. Your Ladyſhip ſhall excuſe us, Madam-
Ifa. Trice. Ha, ha, ha!
Lov. Ah Devil grin you-
[-Aſide.
Trice. I muſt go out, and laugh my Belly full
.
[Exit Trice.
Conſt. But in earneſt, Madam, I muſt have no denial;
I beſeech your Ladyſhip inſtruct me where I may ten-
der my Devoirs.
L. Du Lake. Since your Ladyſhip commands me, Ma-
dam, I dare diſobey no longer. My Lodgings are in St.
Lucknor's Lane, at the Cat and Fiddle.
Conft. Whereabouts is that Lane, Servant?
Lov. Faith, Madam, I know not that part o'th' Town.
--Lord, how I ſweat for fear
[Aſide.
Conft. And yours, Madam, where, I beſeech
your
La-
dyſhip.
2 Whore. In Dog and Bitch Yard, an't pleaſe your La-
dyſhip.
3
Whore. And mine in Sodom, ſo like your Ladyſhip.
Conft
. How, Loveby! I did not think you
would have
us'd me thus?
Lov. I beſeech your Ladyſhip but hear my Juſtificati-
on as I lead you.
Conft

140
The WILD GALLANT.
Conft. By no means, Sir; that were ſuch a Rudeneſs
to leave Perſons of Quality, to wait upon me: Unhand
me, Sir.
Ifa. Ha, ha, ha.--- [Exeunt Conſtance, Iſabella.
Lov. I am ruin'd! for ever ruin'd. Plague, had you no
Places in the Town to name but Sodom, and Lucknor's
Lane for Lodgings!
L. Du Lake. If any Prejudice ariſe from it, upon my
Honour, Son, 'twas by miſtake, and not intended you :
I thought ſhe defu'd to have been admitted of the Qua-
lity.
Lov. I was curſt when I had firſt to do with you-
[Kicks 'em.
L. Du Lake. Well, I thank Heay'n, that has indued me
with ſuch Patience. [Exeunt all but Loveby and his Boy.
Lov. I have made a fair Hand on't to Day-
Both
loſt my Miſtreſs, and hear no News from my Friend
below: The World frowns upon me, and the Devil and
my Miſtreſs have forſaken me: My Godfathers and
Godmothers have promiſed well for me: Inſtead of re-
nouncing them, they have renounc'd me.
Boy. Sir, I ſaw my Lady Conſtance ſmile as ſhe went
out: I am confident fhe's angry but from the Teeth
outwards; you might eaſily make fair Weather with
her, if
get the Mony you promis'd her, but
there's the Devil
Lov. Where is he Boy? fhew me him quickly.
Boy. Marry God bleſs us! I mean, Sir, there's the
Difficulty.
Lov. Damn'd Rogue to put me in hope fo-
Enter Bibber at the other end.
Lov. Uds fo, look where Bibber is : Now I think
on't, he offer'd me a Bag of forty Pounds, and the Leaſe
of his Houſe, yeſterday: But that's his pocky Humour,
when I have Mony, and do not ask him, he will offer
it; but when I ask him he will not lend a Farthing----
Turn this way Sirrah, and make as though we did not
ſee him
you could
Bib.

The WILD GALLANT.
141
Bib. Our Gentleman I think a talking with his Boy
there-
Lov. You underſtand me
Boy. I warrant you, Sir.
Lov. No News yet; what an unlucky Raſcal 'tis !
if the Rogue ſhould hereafter be reduced to the Raiment
of his own Shreds, I ſhould not pity him
Bib. How's this!
Lov. Now is this Raſcal hunting after Jelts, to make
himſelf the greateſt to all that know him.
Bib. This muſt be me.
Boy. I can hear neither tale nor tydings of him : I
have ſearched him in all his haunts; amongſt his Credi-
wars; and in all Companies where they are like to break
the leaſt Jeſt. I have viſited the Coffee-houſes for him;
but among all the news there, I heard none of him.
[Bib. Good i faith.
Lov. Where's the Warrant, I'll put in my own name,
ſince I cannot find him.
Boy. Sir, I
gave
it a Scrivener at next door becauſe I
could not write, to fill up the blank place with Mr. Bib-
ber's Name.
Lov. What an unlucky Vermin 'tis ; now for an
hundred Pound could I have gratified him with a
Waiter's Place, at Cuſtom-houſe, that had been worth to
him an hundred Pound a Year upon the Nail.
Bib. Could you ſo, could you fo, Sir? give me your
Hand, and I thank you heartily Mr. Loveby.
Lov. Art thou honeſt Will? faith 'tis not worth thy
Thanks till it be done: I wiſh I had the Mony for thee.
Bib. How much is’t, Sir ?
Lov. An hundred Pounds would do it.
Bib. Let me ſee; forty I have already by me; take that
in part Sir; and that, and the Leaſe of
my
Houſe
would over-do it.
Lov. By all means thy Leaſe Will: ne'er ſcruple at that;
hang a Piece of Parchment, and two Bits of ſoft Wax:
Thou ſhalt do't, thou ſhalt Boy,
Bib.

142
The WILD GALLANT.
Bib. Why, then I will
, Sir:-But ſtay, ſtay;
now I think on’t, Frances has one hundred and twenty
Pieces of old Grandam and Aunt Gold left her, that ſhe
would never let me touch: If we could get that,
Mr. Loveby --but ſhe'll never part with't,
Lov. "Tis but ſaying the Place is for her; a Waiting-
woman's Place in the Cuſtom-houſe: Boy, go and tell
her on’t immediately.
[Exit Boy:
Bib. Hold a little; ſhe has been very deſirous to get a
Place in Court, that ſhe might take place as the Queen's
Servant.
Lov. She ſhall have a Dreſſer's Place, if thou'lt keep
counſel. The worſt on't is, I have never a Warrant
ready.
Bib. 'Tis all one for that, Sir; ſhe can neither write
nor read; 'tis but my telling her, 'tis a Warrant, and
all's well. I can but laugh to think how ſhe'll be
chousa.
Lov. And you too: Mum. She's here, Will.
Enter Frances.
Franc. A Waiting-Woman's Place in the Cuſtom-
Houſe! there's News for me! thank you kind Mr. Love-
by; you have been Inſtrumental I hear of
ment.
Lov. No, 'tis a Dreſſer's Place at Court, Landlady.
Franc. O Gemini! that's better News.
Bib. I, but you muſt make haſte and fetch an hun-
dred Pieces: I can aſſure you five hundred are bidden
for it: And the Courtiers are ſuch flippery Youths,
they are ever for the faireſt Chapman.
Franc. I'll fetch it preſently; oh how my Heart quops
now, as they ſay: I'IÌ fetch it preſently: Sweet Mr. Love-
by, if the Buſineſs can be done, it ſhall be a good thing
in your Worſhip’s Way I promiſe you: O the Father!
that it could be done: O ſweet Father!
[Loveby plucks out a Paper.
Lov. Here Mr. Bibber, pray put in Madam Bibber's
Name into the Warrant.
my Prefer-
Bib.

The WILD GALLANT.
143
am.
Bib. Madam Bibber, there's joy, I muſt call you Wife
no more, 'tis Madam Bibber now.
Franc. Pray read it, Mr. Bibber.
Bib. An Order for the Admiſſion of the Illuſtrious
Lady, Madam Bibber, into her Majeſty's Service.
Franc. Pray give me the Paper, I'll have no body
touch it but my felf; I am ſure my Mony pays for it,
as they ſay. Theſe are the fineſt words; Madam Bibber;
pray
Chicken ſhew me where Madam is written, that I
may kiſs it all over. I ſhall make bold now to bear up
to theſe flirting Gentlewomen, that ſweep it up and
down with their long Tails. I thought my ſelf as good
as they when I was, as I was, but now I am, as I
Lov. Good Landlady diſpatch, and bring the Mony--
Franc. Truly in the Place of a Dreſſer, I dare be bold
to ſay, as they ſay, I ſhall give their Majeſties Worſhips
good Content: I'll
go
fetch it-
[Exit Frances.
Bib. We muſt keep the poor Soul in Ignorance as
long as we can, Sir; for, when ſhe has once ſmoak'd
it, I have no other way but to retreat into the Body of
my Fanizaries, my Journey-men; and never come out
into her Preſence more. Where will you be at nine-a-
Clock, Sir, that we may rejoice over our good For-
tune?
Lov. Call me at my Lord Nonfuch his Houſe, and I'll
go
with
you.
Bib. We'll have the Fiddles and triumph i’faith.
[Exit Bibber.
Lov. Lord, how eager this Vermin was to cheat
himſelf! Well, I'll after, I long to finger theſe Facobus's:
Perhaps they may make my Peace again with my Mi-
ſtreſs.
[Exit Loveby.
Enter Failer and Nonſuch. [Conſtance and Iſabella
liftning.]
Fail
. I vow to gad my Lord, Sir Timorous is the moſt
dejected. Perſon in the World, and ſo full of regret for
what is paſt. 'Twas his Misfortune to be drawn in by
ſuch a Perſon as Madam Iſabella.
None

144
The WILD GALLANT.
Non. 'Tis well his Eftate pleads for him; he ſhould
ne'er fet Foot more within my Doors elſe.
Fail. I'll be Security for him for time to come:
Leave it to me to get the Licence: All I deſire is, your
Daughter may be ready to morrow Morning.
Non. Well, let me alone with her.
[Exeunt Failer and Nonſuch.
Iſa. You heard the dreadful Sound, to-morrow, Couſin.
Conft. I would not throw my ſelf away upon this
Fool, if I could help it.
Iſa. Better marry a Tertian Ague than a Fool, that's
certain; there's one good Day and Night in that.
Conſt. And yet thou art mad for him thy felf.
Ifa. Nay, the Fool is a handſom Fool, that's fome-
what; but 'tis not that; 'tis a kind of Fancy I have
taken to a Glaſs Coach, and fix Flanders Mares; rich
Liveries, and a good Fortune.
Conft. Prithee do not mind me of 'em; for though I
want 'em not, yet I find all Women are caught with
Gaieties: One Grain more would turn the Ballance on
his fide ; I am ſo vexed at the wild Courſes of this
Loveby.
Ifá. Vexd? Why vex'd? the worſt you can fay of
him, is, he loves Women: And ſuch make the kindeſt
Husbands, I am told. If you had a Sum of Mony to
put out, you would not look ſo much whether the
Man were an honeſt Man, (for the Law would make
him that) as if he were a good ſufficient Pay-maſter.
Enter Setſtone.
Conft. As I live thou art a mad Girl.
Set. She muſt be us'd as Mad-folks are then; had into
the dark and cur'd.
Conft. But all this is no comfort to the Word To-
morrow.
Ifa. .Well, what ſay you, if I put you to Night into
the Arms of Loveby.
Conft. My Condition's deſperate, and paſt thy Phy-
fick.

The WILD GALLANT.
345
Iſa. When Phyſick's paſt, what remains but to fend
for the Divine? here's little Nicodemus, your Father's
Chaplain; I have ſpoke with him already; for a Brace
of Angels he ſhall make all ſure betwixt you without
a Licenſe. Ay, and prove ten at Night a more Canonical
Hour than ten i'th' Morning.
Conft. I fee not which way thou can'ſt perform it ;
but if thou do'ſt, I have many Admirations in ſtore for
thee.
[Whiſpers.
If. Step in, and get a Cuſhion underneath your Apron,
Conft. O, I muſt be with Child it ſeems!
Ifa. And Loveby ſhall bring you to Bed to Night, if
the Devil be not in the Dice: Away, make haſte;-
[Exit Conſtance.] Setſtone be not you far off; I ſhall have
need of you too: I hear my Uncle coming -Me-
thinks I long to be revenged of this wicked Elder for
hindering of my Marriage to Day: Hark you, Setſtone---
Set. 'Tis impoſſible, Madam: 'Twill never take.
Ifa. I warrant you, do not I know him? he has not
Brains enough, if they were butter'd, to feed a Black-
Bird Nay, no replies out of what I have
ſaid, you may inſtruct my couſin too. [Exit Setſtone.
Enter Nonfuch.
Ifa. Oh, are you there, Sir ? Faith it was kindly done
of
you to hinder me of a good Husband this Afternoon:
And but for one thing, I would reſolve to leave your
Houſe.
Non. I'm glad there's any thing will ſtay thee.
Ifa. If I ſtay, 'tis for love of my Couſin Conſtance,
not of you: I fhould be loath to leave her in this fad
Condition.
Non. What Condition?
Ifa. Nay, I know not; ſhe has not worn her Busk
this Fortnight. I think ſhe's grown fat o'th' ſudden.
Non. O Devil, Devil! what a Fright am I in?
Ifa. She has qualms too every Morning: Ravens mightily
for green Fruit; and fwoons at the fight of hot Meat.
Non. She's with Child: I am undone! I am undone!
VOL. I.
Isa.

1:46
The WILD GALLANT.
[To her.
Ifa. I underſtand nothing of ſuch matters: She's but
in the next Room; teſt call her, and examine her about it,
Non. Why Conſtance, Conſtance ?
Enter Conſtance, as with Child.
Iſa. Now for a Broad-fide; turn your prow to him,
Couſin.
Non. Now Gentlewoman! is this poſſible?
Conft. I do not reach your Meaning, Sir.
Non. Where have you been of late?
Conſt. I feldom ftir without you, Sir: Theſe Walls
moſt commonly confine me.
Non. Theſe Walls can get no Children; nor theſe
Hangings; though there be Men wrought in 'em.
Ifi. Yet, by your Favour, Nuncle, Children may be
wrought behind the Hangings.
Non. o Conſtance, Conſtance! How have ny gray
Hairs deſervd this of thee? Who got that Belly there?
Conft. You, I hope, Sir.
Non. Tell me the truth, for I will know it; come,
Conft. The Story's quickly told, Sir, I'm with Child.
Non. And who's the Father?
Conft. I do not know, Sir.
Non. Not know! went there fo many to't?
Conft. So far from that, that there were none at all,
beſt Knowledge, Sir.
Non. Was't got by Miracle? Who was the Father?
Conft. Who got your Mony, Sir, that you have loſt?
Non. Nay, Heaven knows who
got
that.
Conft. And, Heaven knows who got this: For, on my
Conſcience, he that had your Mony, was the Father
on't.
Non. The Devil it was as ſoon.
Conſt. That's all I fear, Sir.
Iſa. 'Tis ſtrange: And yet 'twere hard, "Sir, to fufpect
my Couſin's Virtue, ſince we know the Houſe is haun-
ted,
Non. 'Tis true; that nothing can be laid, though un-
der Lock and Key, but it miſcarries.
the Story
to my
Ifa.

The WILD GALLANT.
Ifa. 'Tis not to be believed what theſe villanous Spi-
rits can do: They go inviſible.
Conſt. Firſt they ſtole away my Prayer-Book; and a
little after that a finall Treatiſé I had againſt Temptation;
and when they were gone, you know, Sir
Iſa. If there be ſuch Doings, pray Heav'n we are not
all with Child: 'Tis certain that none that live within
theſe Walls, but they have power of; I have fear'd Toby
the Coachman any time this Fortnight.
Non. Out Impudence! a Man with Child! why 'tis un-
natural.
Ifa. Ay, ſo is he that got it.
Non. Thou art not in earneſt.
Ifa. I would I were not; hark, I hear him
groan hi-
ther: Come in poor Toby.
Enter Toby Coachman, with an Urinal.
Non. How now! what have you there, Sirrah?
Tob. An't pleaſe your Worſhip 'tis my Water; I had a
Spice o’th' new Diſeaſe here i’th' Houſe, and ſo carried
it to Maſter Doctor.
Non. Well; and what did he ſay to you?
Tob. He told me very ſad News, and pleaſe you: I am
ſomewhat baſhful to ſpeak on't.
Ifa. Out with it Man.
Tob. Why truly he told me, the Party that ownd the
Water, was with Child.
Ifa. I told
you
fo Uncle.
Non. To my beſt remembrance I never heard of ſuch
a thing before
Tob. I never ſtretch out my felf to ſnap my Whip, but
it goes to th' Heart of me.
Iſa. Alas poor Toby.
Non. Be
gone,
and
your Livery, Sirrah: You
ſhall not ſtay a Minute in my Service.
Tob. I beſeech your good Worſhip be good to me;
'twas the firſt Fault I ever committed in this kind : I
have three poor Children by my Wife, and if you
leave
me to the wide World, with a new Charge upon my
felf.
put off
G2

148 The WILD GALLANT.
I'll not
Non. Begone, I will not hear a Word.
Tob. If I muſt
go,
go alone: Ambroſe Tinis the
Cook is as bad as I am.
Non. I think you'll make me mad: Call the Raſcal hi-
ther, I muſt account with him upon another Score, now
I think on't.
Enter Ambroſe Tinis.
Non. Sirrah, what made you ſend a Pheaſant with one
Wing to the Table Yeſterday?
Amb. I beſeech your Worſhip to pardon me, I long’d
for’t.
Iſa. I fear'd as much.
Amb. And I beſeech your Worſhip let me have a Boy
to help me in the Kitchen; for I find my ſelf unable to
go thro' with the Work: Beſides, the Doctor has warn’d
me of ſtooping to the Fire, for fear of a Miſchance.
Non. Why, are you with Child, Sirrah!
Amb. So he tells me: But if I were put to my Oath,
I know not that ever I deſervd fort.
Non. Still worſe and worſe: And here comes Setſtone
groaning
Enter Setſtone.
Setſt. O Sir, I have been ſo troubled with fwooning
Fits; and have fo long'd for Cherries.
Non. He's poopt too.
Iſa. Well, this is not the worſt yet: I ſuſpect ſome-
thing more than I will ſpeak of.
Non. What doſt thou ſuſpect; ha!
Ifa. Is not your Lordſhip with Child too?
Non. Who, I with Child! marry Heav'n forbid: What
doſt thou ſee by me to ground it on?
Ifa. You're very round of late; that's all, Sir.
Non. Round ? that's only fat I hope: I have had a very
good Stomach of late I'm ſure,
Ifa. Alas, and well you may: You eat for two, Sir.
Non. Setſtone, look upon me, and tell me true: Do you
obſerve any Alteration in me?
Set. I would not diſhearten your Ladyſhip : wwyour
Lordſhip I would ſay: But I have obferý'd of late, your
Colour

The WILD GALLANT.
149
Colour goes and comes extreamly: Methinks your Lord--
ſhip looks very ſharp, and bleak i’th Face, and mighty:
pufft i'th' Body.
Non. O the Devil! wretched Men that we are all: No--
thing grieves me, but that in my old Age, when others,
are paſt Child-bearing, I ſhould come to be a Diſgrace to
my Family.
Con. How do you, Sir? your Eyes look wondrous:
dim: Is not there a Mift before 'em?
Ifa. Do you not feel a kicking in your Belly? When
do you look, Uncle?
Non. Uh, uh! methinks I am very ſick o’th’ ſudden.
Ifa. What ſtore of old Shirts have you againſt thes
good Time? Shall I give you a Shift, Uncle?
Non. Here's like to be a fine Charge towards: We ſhall
all be brought to Bed together: Well, if I be with Devil,
I will have ſuch Goſlips: an Uſurer and a Scrivener ſhall.
be Godfathers.
Iſa. I'll help you, Uncle, and Sawney's two Grannies
ſhall be Godmothers: The Child ſhall be chriſten’d by
the Directory, and the Goſſips Gifts ſhall be the gude
Scotch Kivenant.
Conſt. Set. Non. Tob. Amb. Uh, uh, uh!
Ifa. What rare Muſick’s here!
Non. Whene'er it comes from me, 'twill kill me, that's
certain.
Set. Beſt take a Vomit.
Iſa. And't comes upward, the Horns will choak him,
Non. Maſs, and ſo they will.
Ifa. Your only way is to make ſure o’th’ Man-mid--
wife.
Non. But my Child's Diſhonour troubles me the moſt.
If I could but ſee her well married, before I under-
went the Labour and Peril of Child-bearing! what would
you adviſe, Niece?.
Ifa. That which I am very loath to do: Send for ho-
neft Jack Loveby, and let him know the truth on't: He's
a Fellow without a Fortune, and will be glad to leap at
the occaſion.
Non
G 3

IGO
The WILD GALLANT.
Non. But why Loveby of all the World ? 'Tis but ſtay
ing 'till to Morrow, and then Sir Timorous will marry
her
Conft. Uh! I ſwell ſo faſt, I cannot hide it 'till to Mora
IOW.
Ifa. Why there's it now!
Non. I'll ſend for the old Alderman Getwell immediate-
ly: He'll father the Devil's Baſtard, I warrant you.
Ifa. Fie Uncle! my Couſin's ſomewhat too good yet
for an Alderman; if it were her third Child, ſhe might
hearken to you.
Non. Well, ſince it muſt be fo, Setſtone go you to Love-
by; make my Excuſe to him for the Arreſt, and let him
know what Fortune may attend him.
Iſa. Mr. Setſtone, pray acquaint him with my
Couſin's
Affection to him; and prepare him to father the Cuſhi-
en underneath her Petticoat.
[Aſide to Setſtone.
Set. I'll bring him immediately. [Exit Setſtone.
Ifa. When he comes, Uncle, pray cover your great
Belly with your Hat, that he may not ſee it.
Non. It goes againſt my Heart to marry her to this
Loveby; but what muſt be, muſt be.
Enter Loveby.
Confi. O, Mr. Loveby! the welcom'ſt Man alive: You
met Setſtone I hope, that you came fo opportunely.
Lov. No Faith, Madam, I came of my own accord.
Ifa. 'Tis unlucky he's not prepar'd.
Lov. Look you, Madam, I have brought the hundred
Pound, the Devil was as punctual as three a Clock at a
Play-houſe: Here, 'tis right I warrant it without telling:
I took it upon his Word-
[Gives it.
Conft. Your Kindneſs ſhall be requited, Servant: But I
ſent for you upon another Buſineſs: Pray Coufin tellit
him, for I am afham'd to do't.
Lov, Ha! 'tis not that great Belly I hope! is't come to
that?
Ifa. Hark you Mr. Loveby,---- Word with you.
Lov. A Word with you, Madam: Whither is your
Couſin bound

The WILD GALLANT.
INI
ifa. Bound, Sir?
Lov. Ay, Bound; look you, ſhe's under fail, with a luſty
fore-wind.
Non. I ſent for you, Sir; but to be plain with you,
twas more out of Neceſſity than Love.
Lov. I wonder, my Lord, at your invincible ill Nature :
You forget the Arreſt that I paſſed by: But this tis to
be civil to unthankful Perſons; 'tis feeding an ill-natur'd
Dog, that ſnarls while he takes Victuals from your Hand.
Non. All Friends, all Friends; no ripping up old Sto-
ries; you ſhall have my Daughter.
Lov. Faith I ſee your Lordſhip would let Lodgings
ready furniſh'd, but I am for an empty Tenement.
Non. I had almoſt forgot my own great Belly; if he
fhould diſcover that too!
[Claps his Hat before it.
ifa. to Loveby. You will not hear me, Sir : "Tis all
Roguery, as I live.
Lov. Flat Roguery I'll fwear ; if I had been Father
on’t; nay, if I had but laid my Breeches upon the Bed,
I would have married her: But I fee we are not ordain'd.
for one another,
[Is going
Non. I beſeech you, Sir.
Lov. Pray cover, my Lord.
Ifa. He does his great Belly, methinks
Non. I'll make it up in Mony to you.
Lov. That cannot tempt me; I have a Friend that
ſhall be nameleſs, that will not fee me want--and ſa
your Servant.
[Exit Loveby.
Ifa. I'll after, and bring him back-
Non. You ſhall not ftir after him; does he ſcorn my
Daughter ?
Iſa. Lord, how fretful you are! This Breeding makes
you fo peeviſh, Uncle.
Non. 'Tis no matter, fhe ſhall ſtraight be married to
Sir Timorons.
Con. I am ruin'd, Couſin.
Ifa. I warrant you:—My Lord, I wiſh her well mar-
ried to Sir Timorous; but Loveby will certainly infect him
with the News of her great Belly.
Non,
G-4

172
The WILD GALLANT.
Non. I'll diſpatch it e'er he can ſpeak with him.
Ifa. When e'er he comes, he'll ſee what a bona roba ſhe
is grown.
Non. Therefore it ſhall be done i'th' Evening.
Ifa. It ſhall, my Lord.
Conft. Shall it?
Ifa. Let me alone, Couſin,
and to this effect
the ſhall write to him, that to conform to your Will, and
his Modeſty, ſhe deſires him to come hither alone this Evening.
Non. Excellent Wench! I'll get my Chaplain ready:
[Exit Nonſuch.
Conft. How can you hope to deceive my Father?
Ifa. If I don't I have hard Luck.
Conft. You go ſo ſtrange a way about, your Bowl muſt
be well biaſs'd to come in.
Ifa. So plain a Ground, there's not the leaſt rub in't.
I'll meet Sir Timorous in the dark, and in your room
marry hiin.
Conft. You'll be ſure to provide for one.
Iſa. You miſtake me, Couſin : Oh! here's Setſtone a-
gain,
Enter Setſtone.
Mr. Jeweller, you muſt again into your Devil's ſhape,
and ſpeak with Loveby: But pray be careful not to be
diſcover'd.
Set. I warrant
you,
Madam
;
I have cozen'd wiſer
Men than he in my own Shape; and if I cannot con-
tinue it in a worſe, let the Devil I make bold with, e'en
make as bold with me.
Iſa. You muſt guide him by back Ways, to my Un-
cle's Houſe, and ſo to my Couſin's Chamber, that he
may not know where he is when he comes there: The
reft I'll tell you as we go along.
[Exeunt omnes.
Enter Timorous; after him Burr and Failer.
Tim. Here, here, read this Note; there's News for us.
Fail. Let me fee't.
[Reads.
Sir Timorous,
Be at the Garden Door at nine this Evening, there I'll receive
you with my Daughter; to gratifie gour Modeſty I deſign'd
this

The WILD GALLANT. 153
this way, after I had better conſider'd on it : And pray
leave your Caterpillars, Burr and Failer, behind you.
Yours, Nonfuch.
There is ſome Trick in this, what e'er it be : But this
word Caterpillars; you ſee Burr, Sir Timorous is like to
be lur'd from us.
Burr. Is there no prevention?
[To him aſide.
Fail. One way there is. Sir Timorous, pray walk a turn,
while Burr and I conferr a little upon this Matter
Look you, Burr, there is but one Remedy in Nature, I
vow to gad: That is, for you to have a new Sir Timo-
rous, exceeding this Perſon in Bounty to you. Obſerve
then, in Sir Timorous his place will I go, and i’gad I'll
marry my Lady Conſtance; and then from the Bowels of
Friendſhip bleſs thee with a thouſand Pounds, beſides,
Lodging and Diet for thy Life, Boy:-
Burr. Umh-very well thought on.-
well thought on.—No, Sir, you
ſhall truſt to my Bounty; I'll go in his place; murmur
or repine, ſpeak the leaſt Word, or give thy Lips the.
leaſt Motion, and I'll beat thee 'till thou art not in con-
dition to go.
Fail
. I vow to gad this is extream Injuſtice: Was it
not my Invention?
Burr. Why, doſt thou think thou art worthy to make
uſe of thy own Invention ?--Speak another Word, d'ye
fee-come help me quickly to ſtrip Sir Timorous :-
His Coat may conduce to the deceit. Sir Ti-
morous, by your Leave.-
[Falls on him.
Tin. O Lord, what's the matter ---Murdermam
Murder
Burr. D’ye open? I have ſomething in my Pocket that
will ſerve for a Gag, now I think on’t.
[Gags and binds him.
So, lye there Knight. Come, Sir, and help to make me
Sir Timorous; and when I am married, remember to en-.
creaſe your Manners with my Fortune-yet we'll al-
ways drink together.
[Exeunt.
ACT

154
The WILD GALLANT.
A CT V. SCEN E I.
Enter Conſtance, Iſabella and Nonſuch,
Conf. This is juſt the Knight's Hour; and Lovers
Non. Good Night Daughter, I'll to Bed; and give you
Joy to morrow Morning.
[Exit Nonſúch.
Ifa. I'm glad he's gone: What, your Train takes?
Conft. Yes, yes; Loveby will come: Setſtone has been
with him in Diſguiſe; and promis'd him golden Moun-
tains, if he will not be wanting to his own Fortune.
Ifa. Is your Habit provided too?
Conft. All is ready.
Ifa. Away then; for this is the place where we muſt
part like Knights Errant, that take ſeveral Paths to their
Adventures.
Conft. 'Tis time; for I hear ſome body come along
the Alley; without queſtion 'tis Timorous. Farewel, the
Captain ſtays for me in my Chamber.
iſa. And I'll poſt after you to Matrimony; I have laid
a freſh Parſon at the next Stage, that ſhall carry me tan-
tivy.
[Exit Conſtance.
Enter Burr with Timorous his Coat on.
Burr. My Lady Conſtance !
Iſa. The ſame: Sir Timorous !
Burr. The fame.
Iſa. Sir Timorous takes me for my Couſin. [Aide.
Burr. My Lady Conſtance miſtakes me for the Knight.
[-Aſide.
Ifa. Here, Sir; through the dark Walk; ºtis but a lit-
tle way about
He's my own beyond Redempti-
[-Aſide.
Burr. The Indies are mine; and a handſom Lady into
the Bargain
[Exeunt.
Enter
on-

The WILD GAL ĽANT.
Enter Failer, dogging them as they go off.
Fail. He ſhall be hang'd e'er he ſhall get her. Thus
far I have dogg'd 'em, and this way I am ſure they muſt
paſs e'er they come to the Houſe: The Rogue had
got
the old Dog-trick of a Stateſinan; to fiſh things out of
wiſer Heads than his own, and never ſo much as take:
notice of him that gave the Counſel-
Enter Iſabella and Burr again.
Now if I can but give her the hint without his
Knowledge!Madam -my Lady Conſtance-
Ifa. Whoſe Voice is that?
Fail. A word in private, or you are undone
Pray ſtep aſide.
Burr. Where are you, Madam?'
Ifa. Immediately, Sir Timorous.
Fail. You are miſtaken, Madam; 'Tis not Sir Timos
rous; but Burr in his Cloaths: He has ſtript the Knight;:
gagʻd him, and lock'd him up.
Ifa. Failer?
Fail. The ſame: I could not but prevent your Unhap-
pineſs, though I hazard my Perſon in the Diſcovery, I
vow to gad, Madam,
Burr. Who's that talks to you, my Lady Conſtance ?
Ifa. A Maid of my Acquaintance that's come to take
her leave of me before I marry; the poor Soul does ſo
pity me.
Burr. How will that Maid lye thinking of
to Night!
Iſa. Has he the Key about him?
[To Failer,
Fail. I think ſo, Madam.
Ifa. Could not you poſſibly pick his Pocket, and give
me the Key? then let me alone to releaſe Sir Timorous ;.
and
you
ſhall be Witneſs of the Wedding,
Fail. I gad you want your Couſin Iſabella’s Wit to
bring that to paſs, Madam.
ILA, I warrant you, my own Wit will ſerve to fool
Burr-mand you too, or I am much deceiv’d--- [Aſide.
Fail. I am a little apprehenſive of the Raſcal's Fingers
ſince I felt 'em laſt; and yet my Fear has not Power to
you and me
reliit

156
The WILD GALLANT.
reſiſt the ſweet temptation of Revenge; I vow to gad
I'll try, Madam
ifa. Never fear; let me alone to keep him buſie.—-
Burr. Come, Madam, and let me take off thoſe taſte-
leſs Kiſſes the Maid gave you; may we not join Lips be-
fore we are married?
Ifa. No, fie, Sir Timorous.
[They ſtruggle a little, and in that time Failer picks his
Pocket of the Key.
Fail. I have it, here 'tis,now ſhift for your
ſelf as I'll do: I'll wait you in the Alley.
[Exit Failer.
Ifa. Sir Timorous, pray go into my Chamber; and make
no Noiſe 'till I return: I'll but fetch the little Man of
God, and follow you in a twinkling.
Burr. There's no Light I hope.
Iſa. Not a Spark.
Burr. For to light me to the Mark—- [Exit Burr,
Ifa. What a fcowring have I ſcap'd to Night! For-
tune, 'tis thou haſt been ingenious for me! Allons Iſa-
bella! Courage! now to deliver my Knight from the
enchanted Caſtle.
[Exit Iſabella.
Enter Loveby led by Setſtone antickly habited; with a
Torch in one Hand, and a Wand in the other.
Lov. What art thou that haft led me this long Hour
through Lanes and Alleys, and blind Paſſages ?
Set. I am thy Genius ; and conduct thee to Wealth,
Fame, and Honour; what thou com'ft to do, do boldly:
Fear not; with this Rod I charm thee; and neither Elf
nor Goblin now can harm thee.
Lov. Well, march on; if thou art my Genius, thou art
bound to be anſwerable for me: I'll have thee hang'd if
I miſcarry.
Set. Fear not, my Son.
Lov. Fear not, quoth a! then prithee put on a more
familiar Shape : -one of us two ſtinks extreamly:
Prithee do not come lo near me: I do not love to have
my Face bleach'd like a Tiffany with thy Brimſtone.----
Set. Fear not, but follow me.-
Lov,

The WILD GALLANT.
199
Lou. 'Faith I have no great Mind to’t: I am ſome-
what godly at preſent; but ſtay a Month longer and I'll
be proud, and fitter for thee: In the mean time prithee
ſtay thy Stomach with ſome Dutchman: An Hollander
with Butter will fry rarely in Hell.
Set. Mortal, 'tis now too late for a retreat: Go on and
live: Step back and thou art mine.
Lov. So I am however, firſt or laſt; but for once I'll
truſt thee.
[Exe.
The SCENE opens, and diſcovers Conſtance ; and a
Parſon by ker; She habited like Fortune.
Enter again.
Set. Take here the mighty Queen of Good and Ill;
Fortune, firſt Marry, then enjoy thy fill
Of lawful Pleaſures; but depart e'er Morn:
Slip from her Bed, or elſe thou ſhalt be torn
Piece-meal by Fiends; thy Blood carouz'd in Bowls,
And thy four Quarters blown to th' top of Pauls.
Lov. By your Favour I'll never venture it: Is marrying
the Buſineſs? I'll none, I thank you. .
[Here Conſtance whiſpers Setſtone.
Set. Fortune will turn her Back if twice deny'd.
Lov. Why ſhe may turn her Girdle too on t'other ſide.
This is the Devil; I will not venture on her.
Set. Fear not; ſhe ſwears thou ſhalt receive no harm.
Lov. Ay, if a Man durſt truſt her, but the Devil is got
into ſuch an ill name of Lying.
Set. When e'er you are not pleas'd, it ſhall be lawful
to ſue out your Divorce.
Lov. Ay; but where ſhall I get a Lawyer ? there you
are afore-hand with me : You have retained moſt of
them already
for the Favours I have received, I
am very much her Servant, but in the way of Matrimo-
ny, Mr. Parſon there can tell you ’tis an Ordinance; and
muſt not be enter'd into without mature Deliberation:
Beſides, Marriages you know are made in Heaven; and
that I am ſure this was not.
Sed

158
The WILD GALLANT.
Set. She bids you then at leaſt, reſtore that Gold,
which ſhe, too laviſhly, pour'd out on you, unthankful
Man.
Lov. Faith I have it not at preſent; 'tis all gone, as I
am a Sinner ; but, 'tis gone wickedly; all ſpent in the
Deyil her Father's Service,
Set. Where is the grateful Senſe of all
your Favours?
Come, Fiends, with Fleih-hooks, tear the Wretch in
pieces, and bear his Soul upon your Leather-wings, be
low the Fountain of the dark Abyſs..
Lov. What are you a Conjuring? If you are good at
that Sport, I can Conjure as well as you-
[Draws his Sword.
Conft. Hold; for Heav'n's fake hold, I am no Spirit:
Touch but my Hand; Ghoſts have no Fleſh and Blood.
[Diſcovering.
Lov. My Lady Conſtance ! I began to ſuſpect it might
be a Trick; but never could imagine you the Author :
It ſeems you are deſirous I ſhould Father this Hans en
Kelder here.
Conft. I know not how without a Bluſh to tell
you,
it
was a Cheat I practisºd for your Love.
Set. A meer Tympany, Sir, rais’d by a Cuſhion, you
ſee 'tis gone already.
Conft. Setſtone was ſent to have acquainted you;
the
way unfortunately miſs'd
you.
Lov. 'Twas you then that ſupply'd me all this while
with Mony; pretty Familiar, I hope to make thee a-
mends e'er I ſleep to Night: Come Parfon, prithee make
haſte and join us. I long to be out of her Debt poor Rogue.
[The Parfon takes them to the ſide of the Stage : They turn
their Backs to the Audience, while he mumbles to them.
Set. I'll be the Clerk; Amen, give you Joy, Mr. Bride.
groom, and Mrs. Bride.
Lov. Conſt. Thanks honeſt Setſtone.
[Bib. Franc. and Muſick without, they play.
Muſick. God give your Worſhip a good Even, Mr.
Loveby:
Conft. Hark! what Noiſe is that? Is this Muſick of
your providing, Setſtone ?
Set.
but by

The WILD GALLANT.
iro
Set. Alas, Madam, I know nothing of it.
Lov. We are betray'd to your Father, but the beſt on't
is, he comes too late to hinder us fear not, Madam,
I'll bear you through them all.-
[As they ruſh out; Bibber, Frances, and Muſick are
entring in: Bibber and Frances are beaten down.
[Exeunt Loveby, Conſtance, Setſtone and Parfon.
All cry out. Oh the Devil! the Devil! the Devil!
Bib. Lord bleſs us, where are you Frances ?
Franc. Here William! this is a Judgment, as they ſay,
upon you William; for truſting Wits, and calling Gen-.
tlemen to the Tavern, William.
Bib. No ; 'twas a Judgment upon you, for deſiring
Preferment at Court, Frances. Let's call up the Watch,
and Juſtice Trice, to have the Houſe ſearch'd.
Franc. Ay, Ay; there's more Devils there I warrant you,
[Exeunt.
Enter Loveby, Conſtance, Setſtone, again.
Lov. It was certainly Will. Bibber and his Wife with:
Muſick : For now I remember my ſelf, I pointed him
this Hour at your Father's Houſe: But we frighted them
worſe than they frighted us.
Conſt. Our Parſon run away too :
-when they
cry'd out the Devil!
Lov. He was the wiſer: For if the Devil had come
indeed, he has preach'd ſo long againſt him,. it would
have gone hard with him.
Set. Indeed I have always obſerv'd Parſons to be more
fearful of the Devil than other People.
Lov. Oh the Devil's the Spirit, and the Parſon's the
Fleſh: And betwixt thoſe two there muſt be War: Yet
to do 'em both right, I think in my Conſcience they
quarrel only like Lawyers for their Fees; and meet good
Friends in private to laugh at their Clients.
Conft. I ſaw him run in at my Couſin Iſabella's Cham-
ber Door, which was wide open; I believe ſhe's return-
ed: We'll fetch a Light from the Gallery, and give her
Joy.
Lov. Why, is ſhe married, Madam?
Conft. I'll tell you as we go.-
[Exeunt.
The

160
The WILD GALLANT.
you
The SCENE changes; Burr and the Parfon enter's
meeting in the dark.
Burr. My Lady Conſtance, are you come again? That's
well: I have waited fufficiently for you in the dark.
Parſ. Help, help, help, good Chriſtian People! the De..
yil, the Devil's here.
Burr. "Tis I Madam; what do mean?
Parſ. Avoid Sathan! avoid, avoid.
Burr. What have I here, the hairy Woman?
Enter Loveby, Conſtance with the Light.
Burr. Ha! yonder's my Lady Conſtance ! who have I
got, a ſtone Prieſt by this good Light. How's this,
Loveby too!
Lov. Burr a beating my Reverend Clergy! What make
you here at this unſeaſonable Hour! I'll know
your
Bu-
fineſs
[Draws.
Burr. Will you, Sir?-
[They fight.
Conft. Set. Parf. Help, Murder, Murder.
Enter at one Door, Trice drunk, with the Watch: Bibber,
and Frances following; at the other, Nonſuch and Ser-
vants, and Failer.
Non. Murder, murder! beat down their Weapons: Will
you murder Sir Timorous, Mr. Loveby - [They difarm
both.] Sir Timorous ! ha Burr ! Thieves, Thieves ! fit
down good Mr. Juſtice, and take their Examinations :
Now I ſhall know how my Mony went.
Trice. They ſhall have Juſtice, I warrant 'em.
[Goes to fit and miſſes the Chair.
Bib. The Juſtice is almoſt dead drunk, my Lord.
Franc. But and't pleaſe your Worſhip, my Lord, this
is not the worſt fight that we have ſeen here to Night in
your Worſhip's Houſe, we met three or four hugeous.
ugly Devils, with Eyes like Sawcers, that threw down
my Husband, that threw down me, that made
ſo panck ever ſince, as they ſay.
Non. The Devil again in my
Houſe !
Lov. Nay, here he was, that's certain; he brought me
hither, I know not how my ſelf, and married me; Mr.
Setſtone
my Heart

The WILD GALLANT. 161
Setſtone there can juſtifie it: But the beſt is, I have a
Charm about me that will lay him yet e’er Midnight.
Fail
. And I vow to gad, my Lord, I know as little,
how I came hither as any Man.
Burr. Nor I.
Trice. Nor I.
Lov. No, I dare ſwear do'ſt thou not, Mr. Juſtice.
Trice. But I wonder how the Devil durſt come into,
our Ward, when he knows I have been at the Duties of
-my Family-
-this Eveuing
Enter one of the Watch, with Timorous and Iſabella.
Watch. And pleaſe your Worſhip, I met this Couple in.
the Street late, and ſo feeing them to be Man and Woman,
I brought 'em along with me, upon Suſpicion of Felony,
together.
Franc. This is the proud Minx that fought ſhelter in
my Houſe this Afternoon, Mr. Juſtice.
Fail: Sir Timorous and Madam Iſabella! I vow to gad
we are undone, Burr.-
Ifa. Do not you know me, Mr. Juſtice?
Lov. Juſtice is blind, he knows no Body.
Ifa. My Name is Iſabella.
Franc. No, thy Name is fezabella : I warrant you
there's none but Rogues and Papiſts would be abroad at.
this time of Night.
Bib. Hold, Frances
Trice. She's drunk I warrant her as any Beaſt: I won-
der Woman you do not conſider what a crying Sin
Drunkenneſs is? Whom do you learn it from in our
Pariſh? I'm fure you never ſee me worſe.
Ifa. Burr and Failer, acknowledge your ſelves a cou-
ple of recreant Knights: Sir Timorous is mine: I have
won him in fair Field from you. .
Conſt Give you Joy, Couſin, give you Joy!
Lov. Married!
Ifa. And in Diana's Grove, Boy.
Lov. Why 'tis fine by Heay'n ; 'tis wondrous fine; as
the Poet goes on ſweetly.
Tim.

162
The WILD GALLANT.
your bare Shirt
fake, you
Tim. I am ſure they had gaggʻd me, and bound me;
and ſtript me almoſt ſtark naked, and lockt me up as
faſt as a Butterfly, 'till fhe came and made me a Man a-
gain; and therefore I have reaſon to love her the longeſt
Day I have to live.
iſa. Ay, and the longeſt Night too, or you are to blame.
And
you have one Argument I love you, if the Proverb
be true, for I took
you
almoſt in
.
Burr. So much for us, Failer!
Conft. Well, my Lord, it had as good at firſt as at laſt:
I muſt beg your Lordfhip's Bleſſing for this Gentleman
and my ſelf.
[Both kneel.
Non. Why, you are not married to him I hope! he's
married to the Devil.
Lov. 'Twas a white Devil of your Lordſhip's getting
then; Mr. Setſtone and the Reverend here can witneſs it.
Set. Par. We muſt ſpeak truth, my Lord.
Non. Would I had another Child for
your
ſhould ne'er fee Penny of my Mony.
Lov. Thank you, my Lord; but methinks 'tis much
better as 'tis.
Ifa. Come Nuncle, 'tis in vain to hold out now 'tis
paſt remedy: 'Tis like the laſt Act of a Play, when Peo-
ple muſt marry; and if Fathers will not conſent then,
they ſhould throw Oranges at 'em from the Galleries :
Why ſhould you ſtand off to keep us from a Dance?
Non. But there's one thing ſtill that troubles me, that's
her great Belly, and my own too.
Conft. Nay for mine, my Lord, 'tis vaniſh'd already:
STwas but a Trick to catch the old One.
Lov. But I'll do my beſt; fhe ſhall not be long with-
out another.
Ifa. But as for your great Belly, Nuncle, I know no
way to rid you on't but by taking out your Guts.
Love. 'Tis ſuch a pretty ſmart Raſcal; 'tis well I am
pleas'd with my own Choice; but I could have
got
fuch
i lectors and Poets and Gamefters out of thee.
Conft. No, no; two Wits could never have liv'd well
together; Want would have ſo ſharpen'd you upon one
another.
Ilang

The WILD GALLANT. 163
Ifa. A Wit ſhould naturally be joined to a Fortune; by
the ſame reaſon your Vintners feed their hungry Wines.
Conſt. And if Sir Timorous and I had married, we two
Fortunes muſt have built Hoſpitals with our Mony, we
could never have ſpent it elſe.
Lov. Or what think you of paying Courtiers Debts
with it?
Iſa. Well
, to fhew I am in Charity with my Enemies,
I'll make a Motion: While we are in Town, let us hire
a large Houſe, and live together: Burr and Failer.
Fail, Shall be utterly diſcarded; I knew 'twould come
to that, I vow to gad.
Ifa. Shall be our Gueſts.
[Burr and Failer throw up their Caps, and cry Vive,
Madam Iſabella.
Lov. And Bibber Mall make our Wedding Cloaths with-
out truſting
Bib. No, henceforward I'll truſt none but landed Men;
and ſuch as have Houſes and Apple-trees in the Country,
now I have got a Place in the Cuſtom-houſe.
Franc. Nothing vexes me, but that this flirting Gen-
tlewoman ſhould go before me; but I'll to the Heralds
Office, and ſee whether the Queen's Majeſty's Dreſſer
ſhould not take place of any Knight's Wife in Chriſten-
dom.
Bib. Now all will out- no more, good Frances.
Franc. I will ſpeak, that I will, ſo I will: What! ſhall
I be a Dreſſer to the Queen's Majeſty, and no Body muſt
know on't; I'll ſend Mr. Church-warden word on't ;
and Gentlemen, when you come to St. Bride's Church
(if ever you come to Church, Gentlemen) you ſhall ſee
me in the Pew that's next the Pulpit; thank Mr. Love-
by's Worſhip fort.
Lov. Spare your Thanks good Landlady, for the truth
is we came too late, the place is gone; and ſo is yours,
Will; but you ſhall have two hundred Pound for one, if
that will ſatisfie you.
Franc. This is better News, as they ſay.
Lov,

164
The WILD GALLANT.
1
Lov. Chear up thy Wife, Will. Where are the Fiddles?
A Dance ſhould do it.
Bib. I'll run and call 'em.
Ifa. I have found out that will comfort her: Hence-
forward I chriften her by the Name of Madam Bibber.
All. A Madam Bibber, a Madam Bibber.
Franc. Why, I thank you ſweet Gentlemen and La-
dies, this is a Cordial to my drooping Spirits: I confeſs
I was a little eclips'd; but I'll chear up with abundance
of Love, as they ſay. Strike up Fiddles.
Lov. That's a good Wench.
Dance.
Trice. This Muſick and a little Nod has recover'd me;
I'll in and provide for the Sack-poſſet.
Non. To Bed, to Bed ; 'tis late: Son Loveby get me a
Boy to Night, and I'll ſettle three thouſand a Year upon
him the firſt Day he calls me Grandfire.
Lov. I'll do my beſt,
To make the Bargain fure before I ſleep.
Where Love and Mony Strike, the Blom goes deep.

Aree
THE
EPILOGUE,
When it was firſt Acted.
T
HE Wild Gallant has quite play'd out his Game;
He's marry'd now, and that will make him tame;
Or if you think Marriage will not reclaim him,
The Criticks ſwear they'll damn him, but they'll tame him,
Yet though our Poet's threatned moſt by theſe,
They are the only People he can pleaſe:
For he to humour them, has ſhown to day,
That which they only like, a wretched Play:
But though his Play be ill, here have been ſhown
The greateſt Wits, and Beauties of the Town.
And his Occaſion having brought
you here,
You are too grateful to become ſevere.
There is not any Perſon here ſo mean,
But he may freely judge each Act and Scene :
But if you bid him chuſe his Fudges then,
He boldly names true Engliſh Gentlemen :
For he ne'er thought a handſom Garb or Dreſs,
So great a Crime to make their Fudgment leſs:
And with theſe Gallants he theſe Ladies joins,
To judge that Language their Converſe refines.
But if their Cenſures Mould condemn his Play,
Far from Diſputing, he does only pray
He may Leander's Deſtiny obtain:
Now ſpare him, drown him when he comes again.
EPI-

EPILOG U E,
When Reviv'D.
0
F all Dramatick Writing, Comick Wit,
As 'tis the beſt, fo 'tis moſt hard to bit.
For it lyes all in level to the Eye,
Where all may judge, and each Defect may spy.
Humour is that which every Day we meet,
And therefore known as every publick Street ;
In which, if e'er the Poet go altray,
You all can point, 'twas there he loſt his way.
But, what's ſo common, to make pleaſant too,
Is more than any Wit can always do.
For 'tis, like Turks, with Hen and Rice to treaty
To make Regalio's out of conimon Meat.
But, in your Diet you grow Salvages :
Nothing but human Fleſh your Taſte can pleaſe:
And, as their Feaſts with ſlaughter'd Slaves began,
So you, at each new Play muſt have a Man.
Hither you come, as to ſee Prizes fought;
If no Blood's drawn, you cry the Prize is naught.
But Fools grow wary now; and when they ſee
A Poet Eyeing round the Company,
Straight each Man for himſelf begins to doubt;
They Shrink like Seamen when a Preſs comes out.
Few of 'em will be found for publick Uſe,
Except you charge an Oaf upon each Houſe,
Like the Train-Bands, and every Man ing age
For a ſufficient Fool to ſerve the Stage.
And, when with much ado you get him there,
Where he in all his Glory Mou'd appear,
Your Poets make him ſuch rare things to say,
That he's more Wit than any Man i'th Play.
B2

EPILOGU E.
But of ſo ill a mingle with the reſt,
As when a Parrot's taught to break a Feſt.
Thus aiming to be fine, they make a show
As tawdry Squires in Country Churches do.
Things well conſider'd, 'tis ſo hard to make
A Comedy, which should the Knowing take:
That our dull Poet, in deſpair to pleaſe,
Does humbly beg by me his Writ of Eaſe.
"Tis a Land-tax, which he's too poor to pay;
You, therefore muſt ſome other Impoſt lay.
Would you but change for ſerious Plot and Verſe
This motley Garniture of Fool and Farce,
Nor ſcorn a Mode, becauſe 'tis taught at home,
Which does, like Veſts, our Gravity become ;
Our Poet yields you Mould this Play refuſe,
As Tradeſmen by the Change of Faſhions, loſe
With ſome content their Fripperies of France,
In hope it may their ſtaple Trade advance.

Τ Η Ε
RIVAL LADIES:
A
Tragi-Comedy
As it was A&ed at the
THEATER · ROY AL
---------Nos hec novimus effe nibil.
TYTTRIMM
Printed in the YEAR MDCCXVII.

To the Right Honourable
R 0 G
G E
R
EARL of ORRERT:
T
ne
My LORD,
HIS worthleſs Preſent was deſign'd
you, long before it was a Play ;
when it was only a confus'd Maſs
of Thoughts, tumbling over one 2-
nother in the Dark: when the Fancy
was yet in its firſt Work, moving
the Sleeping Images of things towards the Light,
there to be diſtinguiſh'd, and then either choſen or
rejected by the Judgment: It was yours, my
Lord, before I could call it mine. And, I con-
fefs, in that firſt Tumult of my Thoughts, there
appear'd a diſorderly Kind of Beauty in ſome of
them, which gave me hope, ſomething worthy
my Lord of Orrery might be drawn from them :
But I was then in that Eagerneſs of Imagination,
H2
which

The Epiſtle Dedicatory.
*which by over-pleaſing fanciful Men, flatters
them into the Danger of Writing ; ſo that when
I had moulded it to that Shape it now bears,
I look’d with ſuch Diſguſt upon it, that the Cen-
fures of our fevereſt Criticks are Charitable to
what I thought (and ſtill think) of it my ſelf :
'Tis ſo far from me to believe this perfect, that
I ain apt to conclude our beſt Plays are ſcarcely
ſo. For the Stage being the Repreſentation of
the World, and the Actions in it, how can it be
imagin'd, that the Picture of human Life can be
more Exact than Life it ſelf is? He may be al-
low'd ſometimes to Err, who undertakes to
move ſo many Characters and Humours as are
requiſite in a Play, in thoſe narrow Channels
which are proper to each of them: To conduct
his imaginary Perſons, through ſo many various
Intrigues and Chances, as the labouring Audi-
ence ſhall think them loft under every Billow;
and then at length to work them ſo naturally
out of their Diſtreſſes, that when the whole Plot
is laid open, the Spectators may reſt ſatisfied, that
every Cauſe was powerful enough to produce
the Effect it had ; and that the whole Chain of
them was with fuch due Order link'd together,
that the firſt Accident would naturally beget the
ſecond, till they all render'd the Concluſion ne-
ceffary.
Theſe Difficulties, my Lord, may reaſonably
excuſe the Errors of my Undertaking; but for
this Confidence of my Dedication, I have an Ar-
gument which is too Advantageous for me, not
to publiſh it to the World. Tis the Kindneſs
your Lordſhip has continually ſhown to all my
Writings. You have been pleas’d, my Lord,
they fhould ſometimes croſs the Iriſh Seas to
Kifs

The Epiſtle Dedicatory
Kiſs your Hands; which Paſſage (contrary to the
Experience of others) I have found the leaſt dan-
gerous in the World. Your Favour has ſhone
upon me at a remote Diſtance, without the leaſt
Knowledge of my Perſon; and (like the Influ
ence of the Heavenly Bodies) you have done good
without knowing to whom you did it. - 'Tis this
Virtue in your Lordſhip, which imboldens me
to this attempt : For did I not conſider you as
my Patron, I have little reaſon to deſire
you
for
my Judge; and ſhould appear with as much Awe
before you in the Reading, as I had when the full
Theater ſat upon the Aétion. For who could.
ſo ſeverely judge of Faults as he, who has given.
Teſtimony he commits none ?. Your excellenes
Poems having afforded that Knowledge of it to
the World, that your Enemies are ready to up-
braid you with it, as a Crimne for a Man or Buli-
neſs to write ſo well. Neither durft I have juſti-
fied your Lordſhip in it, if Examples of it had
not been in the World before you; if Xenophorz.
had not written a Romance, and a certain Ro---
man call?d Auguſtus Cæfar, a Tragedy, and Epi-
grams. But their Writing was the Entertainment
of their Pleaſure ; Yours is only a Diverſion of
your Pain. The Mufes have ſeldom employed
your Thoughts, but when ſome violent Fit of
the Gout has ſnatch'd you from Affairs of State:
And, like the Prieſteſs of Apollo, you never come
to deliver his Oracles, but Unwillingly, and in
Torment. So that we are oblig'd to your Lord-
ſhip’s Miſery for our Delight: You treat us with
the cruel Pleaſure of a Turkiſh Triumph, where
thoſe who cut and wound their Bodies, fing Songs
of Victory as they paſs, and divert others with
their own Sufferings. Other Men indure their
Diſeaſes,
H3

The Epiſtle Dedicatory.
Diſeaſes, your Lordſhip only can enjoy them.
Plotting and Writing in this kind, are certainly
more troubleſome Employments than many which
fignifie more, and are of greater Moment in the
World: The Fancy, Memory, and Judgment,
are then extended (like ſo many Limbs) upon the
Rack; all of them reaching with their utmoſt
Streſs at Nature; a thing ſo almoſt Infinite, and
Boundleſs, as can never fully be comprehended,
but where the Images of all things are always
preſent. Yet I wonder not, your Lordſhip fuc-
ceeds fo well in this Attempt; the Knowledge
of Men is your daily Practice in the World; to
work and bend their ſtubborn Minds, which go
not all after the fame Grain, but each of them ſo
particular a way, that the ſame common Humours,
in ſeveral Perſons, muſt be wrought upon by ſe-
veral Means. Thus, my Lord, your Sickneſs is
but the Imitation of your Health; the Poet but
ſubordinate to the States-Man in you; you ſtill
govern Men with the ſame Addreſs, and manage
Buſineſs with the ſame Prudence; allowing it
here (as in the World) the due Increaſe and
Growth, till it comes to the juſt heighth; and
then turning it when it is fully Ripe, and Nature
calls out, as it were, to be deliver'd. With this
only Advantage of eaſe to you in your Poetry,
that you have Fortune here at your Command :
With which, Wiſdom does often unſucceſsfully
ftruggle in the World. Here is no Chance which
you have not fore-ſeen; all your Heroes are more
than your Subjects; they are your Creatures. And
though they ſeem to move freely, in all the Sal-
lies of their Paſſions, yet you make Deſtinies for
them which they cannot ſhun. They are mov'd
(if I may dare to ſay ſo) like the rational Crea-
tures

The Epifle Dedicatory.
tures of the Almighty Poet, who walk at Liber-
ty, in their own Opinion, becauſe their Fetters
are Inviſible; when indeed the Priſon of their
Will is the more ſure, for being large: And in-
ſtead of an abſolute Power over their Actions,
they have only a wretched Defire of doing that,
which they cannot chuſe but do.
I have dwelt, my Lord, thus-long upon your
Writing, not becauſe you deſerve not greater and
more noble Commendations, but becauſe I am not
equally able to expreſs them in other Subjects.
Like an ill Swimmer, I have willingly ſtaid long
in my own Depth: And though I am eager of per-
forming more, yet am loath to venture out be-
yond my Knowledge. For beyond your Poetry,
my Lord, all is Ocean to me. To ſpeak of you
as a Soldier, or a States-Man, were only to be-
tray my own Ignorance: And I could hope no
better Succeſs from it, than that miſerable Rheto-
rician had, who folemnly declaim'd before Han-
nibal, of the Conduct of Armies, and the Art of
War. I can only ſay, in general, that the Souls
of other Men ſhine out at little Cranies; they un-
derſtand ſome one thing, perhaps, to Admiration,
while they are darkned on all the other Parts :
But your Lordſhip’s Soul is an intire Globe of
Light, breaking out on every Side; and if I have
only diſcover'd one Beam of it, 'tis not that the
Light falls unequally, but becauſe the Body which
receives it, is of unequal Parts.
The Acknowledgment of which is a fair Oc--
caſion offer'd me, to retire from the Conſideration
of your Lordſhip, to that of my ſelf: I here pre-
ſent you, my Lord, with that in Print, which
you had the Goodneſs not to diſlike upon the
Stage; and account it happy to have met you
here
H4

The Epiflle Dedicatory:
here in England: It being at beſt, like ſmall
Wines, to be drunk out upon the Place, and has not
Body enough to endure the Sea. I know not
whether I have been ſo careful of the Plot and
Language as I ought; but for the latter I have
endeavour'd to write Engliſh, as near as I could
diſtinguiſh it from the Tongue of Pedants, and
that of affected Travellers. Only I am ſorry,
that (ſpeaking fo noble a Language as we do)
we have not a more certain Meaſure of it, as
they have in France, where they have an Acade-
my erected for that purpoſe, and indow'd with
Jarge Privileges by the preſent King. I wiſh we
Inight at length leave to borrow Words from o-
ther Nations, which is now a Wantonneſs in us,
not a Neceſſity; but ſo long as ſome affect to
fpeak them, there will not want others who will
have the Boldneſs to write them.
But, I fear, leaſt defending the receiv'd Words,
I ſhall be accus’d for following the new Way, Í
mean, of writing Scenes in Verſe: Though, to
ſpeak properly, 'tis not ſo much a new Way as
mongſt us, as an old Way new Reviv'd: For
many Years before Shakeſpear's Plays, was the
Tragedy of Queen Gorboduc in Engliſh Verſe,
written by that famous Lord Buckburſt, after-
wards Earl of Dorſet, and Progenitor to that
Excellent Perſon, who (as he Inherits his Soul
and Title) I wiſh may Inherit his good Fortune.
But fuppoſing our Country-men had not receiv'd
this writing till of late; Shall we oppoſe our
ſelves to the moſt poliſh'd and civiliz'd Nations
of Europe ? Shall we with the fame Singularity
oppoſe the World in this, as moſt of us do in
pronouncing Latin? Or do we deſire that the
Brand which Barclay has (I hope) unjuſtly laid
upon

The Epiſtle Dedicatory.
upon the Engliſh, ſhould ſtill continue? Angli
fuos ac ſua omnia impensè mirantur; cæteras nati-
ones deſpectui habent. All the Spaniſh and Italian
Tragedies I have yet ſeen, are writ in Rhyme :
For the French, I do not name them, becauſe it
is the Fate of our Country-men to admit little
of theirs among us, but the baſeſt of their Men,
the Extravagances of their Faſhions, and the Frip-
pery of their Merchandiſe. Shakeſpear (who
with ſome Errors not to be avoided in that Age,
had, undoubtedly a larger Soul of Poeſie than
ever any of our Nation) was the firſt, who to
ſhun the Pains of continual Rhyming, invented.
that kind of Writing, which we call blank Verſe,
but the French more properly, Profe Meſurée :
Into which the Engliſh Tongue ſo naturally ſlides,
that in writing Proſe 'tis hardly to be avoided.
And therefore, I admire ſome Men ſhould per-
petually ſtumble in a Way ſo eaſie; and invert-
ing the Order of their Words, conſtantly cloſe
their Lines with Verbs; which, though com-
mended ſometimes in writing Latin, yet we were
whipt at Weſtminſter if we us'd it twice toge-
ther. I know ſome, who, if they were to write
in blank Verſe, Sir, I ask your Pardon, would
think it ſounded more heroically to write, Sir,
I your Pardon ask. I ſhould judge him to have
little command of Engliſh, whom the Neceflity
of a Rhyme ſhould force often upon this Rock
though ſometimes it cannot eaſily be avoided
And indeed this is the only Inconvenience with
which Rhyme can be charged. This is that which
makes them fay, Rhyine is not natural, it being
only ſo, when the Poet either makes a vicious
Choice of Words, or places them for Rhyme
fake ſo unnaturally, as no Man would in ordi-
nary
H5

The Epifle Dedicatory.
nary Speaking : But when 'tis ſo judiciouſly or-
der'd, that the firſt Word in the Verſe ſeems to
beget the ſecond, and that the next, till that be-
comes the laſt Word in the Line, which in the
Negligence of Proſe would be ſo; it muſt then
be granted, Rhyme has all the Advantages of
Proſe, beſides its own. But the Excellence and
Dignity of it were never fully known till Mr.
Waller taught it; he firſt made Writing eaſily an
Art: Firſt ſhew'd us to conclude the Senſe, moſt
commonly, in Diſtichs; which in the Verſe of
thoſe before him, runs on for ſo many Lines to-
gether, that the Reader is out of Breath to over-
take it. This ſweetneſs of Mr. Waller's Lyrick
Poeſie was afterwards follow'd in the Epick by
Sir John Denham, in his Coopers-Hill: A Poem
which your Lordſhip knows for the Majeſty of
the Stile, is, and ever will be, the exact Standard
of good Writing. But if we owe the Invention
of it to Mr. Waller, we are acknowledging for
the nobleſt Uſe of it to Sir William D'Avenant;
who at once brought it upon the Stage, and made
it perfect, in the Siege of Rhodes.
The Advantages which Rhyme has over blank
Verſe, are ſo many, that it were loſt time to
Name them: Sir Philip Sidney, in his Defence of
Poeſie, gives us one, which, in my Opinion, is
not the leaſt conſiderable; I mean the help it
brings to Memory; which Rhyme ſo knits up
by the Affinity of Sounds, that by reinembring
the laſt Word in one Line, we often call to
Mind both the Verſes. Then in the Quickneſs of
Reparties, (which in diſcourſive Scenes fall very
often) it has ſo particular a Grace, and is fo apt-
ly ſuited to them, that the ſudden Smartneſs of
the Anſwer, and the Sweetneſs of the Rhyme,
ſet

The Epiſtle Dedicatory.
ſet off the Beauty of each other. But that Be-
nefit which I conſider moſt in it, becauſe I
have not ſeldom found it, is, that it Bounds and
Circumſcribes the Fancy. For Imagination in a
Poet is a Faculty ſo Wild and Lawleſs, that, like
an High-ranging Spaniel it muſt have Clogs tied.
to it, leaft it out-run the Judgment. The great
eaſineſs of blank Verſe, renders the Poet too
Luxuriant ; he is tempted to ſay many things,
which might better be omitted, or at leaſt ſhut
up in fewer Words: But when the Difficulty of
artful Rhyming is interpos’d, where the Poet
commonly confines his Senſe to his Couplet, and
muſt contrive that Senſe into ſuch Words, that
the Rhyme ſhall naturally follow them, not they
the Rhyme; the. Fancy then gives leiſure to the
Judgment to come in; which ſeeing ſo heavy a
Tax impos'd, is ready to cut off all unneceſſary
Expences. This laſt Conſideration has already
anſwer'd an Objection which ſome have made;
that Rhyme is only an Embroidery of Senſe, to
make that which is ordinary in it felf paſs for Ex-
cellent with leſs Examination. But certainly,
that which moſt regulates the Fancy, and gives
the Judgment its buſieſt Employment, is like to
bring forth the richeſt and cleareſt Thoughts.
The Poet examines that moſt which he produceth
with the greateſt Leiſure, and which, he knows,
muſt paſs the ſevereſt Teſt of the Audience, be-
cauſe they are apteſt to have it ever in their
Memory: As the Stomach makes the beſt Con-
coction when it ftri&rly Embraces the Nou-
riſhment, and takes account of every little Par-
ticle as it paſſes through. But as the belt Medi-
cines may loſe their Virtue, by being ill applied,
fo is it with Verſe, if a fit Subject be not chofen
for

The Epiftle Dedicatory.
for it. Neither muſt the Argument alone, but
the Characters and Perſons be great and noble ;
Otherwiſe, (as Scaliger ſays of Claudian) the Poet
will be, Ignobiliore materia depreſus. The Scenes,
which, in my Opinion, moſt commend it, are
thoſe of Argumentation and Diſcourſe, on the
Reſult of which the doing or not doing ſome
conſiderable Action ſhould depend.
But, my Lord, though I have more to ſay up-
on this Subject, yet I muſt remember 'tis your
Lordſhip to whom I ſpeak ; who have much bet-
ter commended this way by your Writing in it,
than I can do by Writing for it.
Reaſons cannot prevail, I am ſure your Lord-
ſhip's Example muſt. Your Rhetorick has gain’d
my Cauſe; at leaſt the greateſt Part of my De-
fign has already ſucceeded to my Wiſh, which
was to intereſt ſo noble a Perſon in the Quarrel,
and withal to teſtifie to the World how happy I
Eſteem my ſelf in the Honour of being,
Where my
My LORD
Your Lordſhip’s moſt Humble,
and moſt Obedient Servant,
JOHN DRYDEN.
PRO:

PROLOGUE.
IS much Deſir’d, you Judges of the Town
Would paſs a Vote to put
all Prologues down;
For who can ſhow me, ſince they firſt were Writ,
Tbey e'er converted one hard-hearted Wit?
Yet the World's mended well; in former Days
Good Prologues were as ſcarce, as now good Plays.
For the reforming Poets of our Age,
In this firſt Charge, ſpend their Poetick Rage:
Expect no more when once the Prologue's done;
The Wit is ended e'er the Play's begun.
You now have Habits, Dances, Scenes and Rhymes;
High Language often; Ay, and Senſe, ſometimes :
As for a clear Contrivance doubt it not ;
They blow out Candles to give Light to th’ Plot.
And for Surprize, two Bloody-minded Men
Fight till they Die, then riſe and Dance again:
Such deep Intrigues you're welcome to this Day :
But blame your felves
, not him who Writ the Play;
Though his Plot's Dull, as can be well deſir'd,
Wit ſtiff as any you have e'er admir'd:
He's bound to pleaſe, not to Write well; and knows
There is a Mode in Plays as well as Cloaths:
Therefore, kind Judges-
A Second PROLOGUE enters,
-Hold; would
you admit
For Fudges all you ſee within the Pit ?
1. Whom would he then Except, or on what Score ?
2. All
, who (like him) have Writ ill Plays before :
For they, like Thieves condemn'd, are Hang-men made,
To execute the Members of their Trade.
All that are Writing now he would diſown,
But then he muſt Except, evin all the Town.
All Cholrick, loſing Gameſters, who in Spight
Will damn to Day, becauſe they loſt laſt Night.
All Servants whom their Miſtreſ's Scorn upbraids;
All maudlin Lovers, and all fighted Maids :
All who are out of Humour, or Severe;
All
, that want Wit, or hope to find it here.
Dramatis

Dramatis Perſonæ.
M E N.
Don Gonſalvo de Peralta, a young Gentle-
man, newly arriv'd from the Indies, in
love with Julia.
Don Rodorigo de Sylva, in love with the
fame Lady.
Don Manuel de Torres, Brother to fulia.
W O M E N.
Julia, elder Siſter to Don Manuel, promis’d
to Rodorigo
Honoria, younger Siſter to Don Manuel,
diſguis’d in the Habit of a Man, and
going by the Name of Hippolito, in love
with Gonſalvo.
Angelina, Siſter to Don Rodorigo, in Man's
Habit, likewiſe in love with Gonſalvo,
and going by the Name of Amideo.
Servants, Robbers, Seamen, and Maſquers.
SCENE ALICANT.
THE

T HE
Rival Ladies.
ACT I. SCENE I.
SCENE a Wood.
Enter Gonſalvo, and a Servant.
IN
GONSALVO.
SEE A Y, 'twas a ſtrange as well as cruel Storm,
To take us almoſt in the Port of Sevil,
And drive us up as far as Barcelona;
The whole Plate-Fleet was ſcatter'd, ſome
part wrackd;
There one might ſee the Sailors diligent
To caſt o'er-board the Merchant's envy'd Wealth,
While he, all pale and dying, ſtood in doubt,
Whether to eaſe the Burden of the Ship
By drowning of his Ingots, or himſelf
Serv.

184 The RIVAL LADIES.
Serv. Fortune, Sir, is a Woman every where,
But moſt upon the Sea.
Gonf. Had that been all
I ſhould not have complain'd; but 'ere we could
Repair our Ship, to drive us back again,
Was ſuch a Cruelty-
Serv. Yet that ſhort time you ſtaid at Barcelona,
You husbanded ſo well, I think you left
A Miſtreſs there.
Gons. I made ſome ſmall Eſſays
Of Love, what might have been I cannot tell:
But to leave that, upon what part of Spain
Are we now caſt?
Serv. Sir, I take that City to be Alicant.
Gonf. Some Days muſt of neceſſity be ſpent
In looking to our Ship; then back again
For Sevil.
Serv. There you're ſure you ſhall be welcome.
Gonf. Ay, if my Brother Rodorick be return'd
From Flanders; but 'tis now three Years ſince I
Have heard from him, and ſince I ſaw him twelve.
Seru. Your Growth, and your long Abſence in the Indios
Have alter'd you ſo much, he'll ſcarcely know you.
Gonſ. I'm ſure I ſhould not him, and leſs my
Siſter:
Who, when I with my Uncle went this Voyage,
Was then one of thoſe little prating Girls
Of whom fond Parents tell ſuch tedious Stories:
Well, go you back,
Serv. I go, Sir.
Gonf. And take care
None of the Sea-men flip afhore.
Serv. I ſhall, Sir.
[Exit Servant.
Gonſ. I'll walk a little while among theſe Trees,
Now the freſh Evening Air blows from the Hills,
And breath the Sweetneſs of the Orange Flowers
Upon me from the Gardens near the City.
Robbers within.
1 Rob. I fay, make ſure, and kill him.
Hip

The RIVAL LADIES. 185
Hip. For Heav'n's dear fake have Pity on my Youth,
[Within.
Gonſ. Some Violence is offer'd in the Wood
By Robbers to a Traveller: Who e'er
Thou art, Humanity obliges me
To give thee Succour.
Hip. Help! ah cruel Men!
[Within.
Gonſ. This way I think the Voice came, 'tis not far.
[Exit.
The SCENE draws, and diſcovers Hippolito bound to
& Tree, and two Robbers by him with drawn Swords.
2 Rob. Strip him, and let him go.
i Rob. Diſpatch him quite; off with his Doublet quickly.
Hip. Ah me unfortunate!
Enter Gonſalvo, ſeizes the Sword of one of ihem, and runs
him thorough; then after a little Reſiſtance difarms the
other.
2 Rob. If you have Mercy in you ſpare my Life;
I never was conſenting to a Deed
So black as Murder, though my Fellow wg'd me:
I only meant to Rob, and I am puniſht
Enough, in miſſing of my wicked Aim.
Gonf. Do they rob Angels here? This ſweet Youth has
A Face ſo like one which I lately ſaw,
It makes your Crime of kin to Sacrilege:
But live; and henceforth
Take nobler Courſes to maintain your Life:
Here's ſomething that will reſcue
you
from Want,
"Till you can find Employment.
[Gives him Gold, and unbinds Hippolito.
Hip. What ſtrange Adventure's this! How little hop'd I,
When thus diſguis’d I ſtole from Barcelona,
To be reliev'd by brave Gonſalvo here?
[Aſide,
2 Rob. That Life you have preſerv'd ſhall ſtill be yours;
And that you may perceive, how much my Nature
Is wrought upon by this your generous Act;
That Goodneſs
you
have ſhown to me, I'll uſe
Te

186 The RivAL LADIES.
your Sake, if
To others for
you
dare truſt mc
A moment from your Sight.
Gonf. Nay, take your Sword,
I will not ſo much cruſh a budding Virtue
As to ſuſpect.
[Gives him his Sword. Exit Robber.
Sweet Youth, you ſhall not leave me
Till I have ſeen you ſafe.
Hip. You need not doubt it:
Alas! I find I cannot if I would;
I am but freed to be a greater Slave:
[ Aſide
How much am I oblig'd, Sir, to your Valour?
Gonſ: Rather to your own Sweetneſs, pretty Youth;
You muſt have been fome way preſerv'd, though I.
Had not been near; my Aid did büt prevent
Some Miracle more flowly ſetting out .
To ſave ſuch Excellence.
Hip. How much more gladly could I hear theſe words,
If he that ſpoke them knew he ſpoke to me! [ Aſide.
Enter the Robber again with Don Manuel, and Julia, bovend.
My Brother and my Siſter Pris'ners too! !
They cannot ſure diſcover me through this
Diſguiſe; however I'll not venture it.
[Steps ho'ind the Trees.
2 Rob. This Gentleman and Lady [To Gonf. privately.
My Fellows bound.
[Exit Robber.
Man. We muſt prepare to Die;
This is the Captain of the Picarons.
Jul. Methinks he looks like one; I have a ſtrange
Averſion to that Man; he's fatal to me.
Gonfy. I ne'er ſaw Excellence in Woman-kind
[Stares on her,
Till now, and yet diſcern it at the firſt:
Perfection is diſcover'd in a Moment.
He that ne'er ſaw the Sun before, yet knows him.
Ful. How the Villain ſtares upon me!
Gonſ. Wonder prepares my Soul, and then Love enters :
But Wonder is ſo cloſe purſu'd by Love,
That like a Fire it warms as ſoon as born.
Man. If we muſt die, what need theſe Circumſtances?
Jul.

The RIVAL LADIES 187
Ful. Heav'n defend me from him.
Gonſ. Why, Madam, can you doubt a Rudeneſs from me?
Your very Fears and Griefs create an awe,
Such Majeſty they bear; methinks I ſee
Your Soul retir'd within her inmoſt Chamber,
Like a fair Mourner fit in State, with all
The filent Pomp of Sorrow round about her.
Man. Your Language does expreſs a Man bred up
To worthier Ways than thoſe you
follow now:
Gons. What does he mean?
[-4lide,
Man. If (as it ſeems) you love; Love is a Paſſion
Which kindles Honour into noble Acts:
Reſtore my Siſter's Liberty; oblige her,
And fee what Gratitude will work.
Gons. All this is ſtranger yet.
Man. Whate'er a Brother's Power
To, morrow can do for you, claim it boldly. [Pris’ners,
Gonſ
. I know not why you think your ſelves my
This Lady's Freedom is a thing too precious
To be diſpos’d by any but her ſelf:
But value this ſmall Service as you pleaſe,
Which you reward too prodigally, by
Permitting me to Pay her more.
Jul. Love from an Out-law ? from a Villain, Love!
If I have that Pow'r on thee thou pretend ft,
Go and purſue thy Miſchiefs, but preſume not
To follow me:Come Brother. [Exe. Jul. and Man. ..
Gonf. Thoſe foul Names of Out-law, and of Villain,
I never did deſerve: They raiſe my Wonder. [Walks.
Dull that I was, not to find this before?
She took me for the Captain of the Robbers:
It muſt be fo; I'll teil her her Miſtake.
[Goes out haſtily, and returns immediately,
She's
;
gone, and who or whence ſhe is
I cannot tell; methinks fhe ſhould have left
A Track ſo bright I might have follow'd her;
Like ſetting Suns that vaniſh in a Glory.
O Villain that I am! O hated Villain!

188 The RIVAL LADIES.
Enter Hippolito again.
Hip. I cannot ſuffer you to wrong your ſelf
So much; for though I do not know your Perſon;
Your Actions are too fair, too noble, Sir,
To merit that foul Name:
Gonf. Prithee do not flatter me, I am a Villain,
That admirable Lady ſaid I was..
Hip. I fear you love her, Sir .
Gonf. No, no, not love her:
Love is the Name of ſome more gentle Paſſion;
Mine is a Fury grown up in a Moment
To an Extremity, and laſting in it:
An heap of Powder ſet on Fire, and burning
As long as any ordinary Fewel.
Hip. How could he love fo foon? and yet alas!
What Cauſe have I to ask that Queſtion ?
Who lov'd him the firſt Minute that I ſaw him:
I cannot leave him thus, though I perceive
His Heart ingag‘d another way.
[Aſide.
Sir, can you have ſuch Pity on my Youth,
[To him.
On my forſaken, and my helpleſs Youth,
To take me to your Service ?
Gonſ. Would'ſt thou ſerve
A Mad-man? how can he take care of thee,
Whom Fortune and his Reaſon have abandon'd?
A Man that ſaw, and lov'd, and diſoblig'd,
Is baniſh'd, and is mad, all in a Moment.
Hip. Yet you alone have Title to my Service;
You make me Yours by your preſerving me:
And that's the Title Heav'n has to Mankind.
Gons. Prithee no more.
Hip. I know your Miſtreſs too.
Gonf. Ha! doſt thou know the Perſon I adore ?
Anſwer me quickly; ſpeak, and I'll receive thee:
Haſt thou no Tongue?
Hip. Why did I ſay I knew her?
All I can hope for, if I have my Wiſh
To live with him, is but to be unhappy.
[4fide.
Gons.

The RIVAL LADIES.
189
Gonf. Thou falſe and lying Boy, to ſay thou knew'f her ;
Prithee ſay ſomething, though thou Coſen'ſt me,
Hip. Since you will know, her Name is Julia, Sir,
And that
young Gentleman you faw, her Brother,
Don Manuel de Torres.
[thee
Gonſ. Say I ſhould take thee, Boy, and fhould employ
To that fair Lady, would'ſt thou ſerve me faithfully?
Hip. You ask me an hard Queſtion; I can die
For you, perhaps I cannot Woo ſo well.
Gonf. I knew thou would'ſt not do't.
Hip. I ſwear I would :
But, Sir, I grieve to be the Meſſenger
Of more unhappy News; ſhe muſt be married
This Day to one Don Rodorick de Sylva,
Betwixt whom and her Brother there has been
A long (and it was thought a Mortal). Quarrel,
But now it muſt for ever end in Peace:
For hapning both to Love each others Siſters,
They have concluded it in a croſs Marriage;
Which, in the Palace of Don Rodorick,
They went to Celebrate from their Country-houſe,
When, taken by the Thieves, you reſcu'd them.
Gonf. Methinks I am grown patient on a ſudden;
And all my Rage is gone : Like loſing Gameſters
Who fret and ſtorm, and ſwear at little Loſſes :
But, when they ſee all hope of Fortune vaniſhid,
Submit
, and gain a Temper by their Ruin.
Hip. Would you could caſt this Love, which troubles you,
Out of your Mind.
Gonf. I cannot, Boy; but ſince
er Brother, with intent to Cozen me,
Made me the Promiſe of his beſt Aſſistance;
I'll take ſome Courſe to be reveng'd of him.[Is going out.
But ſtay, I charge thee, Boy, diſcover not
То
any,
who I am.
Hip. Alas, I cannot, Sir, I know you not.
Gonſ. Why, there's it; I am mad again; Oh Love!
Hip. Oh Love!
[Exeunt,
SCENE

195
The RIVAL LADIES
S-CENE II.
Enter two- Servants of Don Rodorick's, placing Chairs, and
talking as they place them.
1 Serv. Make ready quickly there; Don Manuel
And his fair Siſter, that muſt be our Lady,
Are coming in.
2 Serv. They have been long expected;
"Tis Evening now, and the Canonick Hours
For Marriage are paſt.
1 Serv. The nearer Bed-time
The better ſtil; my Lord will not deferr it:
He ſwears the Clergy are no fit Judges
Of our Neceſſities.
: 2 Serv. Where is
my
Lord ?
1 Seru. Gone out to meet his Bride.
2 Serv. I wonder that my Lady Angellina
"Went not with him, ſhe's to be married too.
1 Serv. I do not think ſhe fancies much the Man
3
Only, to make the Reconcilement perfect
Betwixt the Families, ſhe's Paſſive in it;
The Choice being but her Brother's, not her own.
2 Serv. Troth, wer't my Caſe, I car'd not who chofe
for me:
Serv. Nor I; 'twould ſave the Proceſs of a tedious
Paſſion,
A long Law-fuit of Love, which quite conſumes
An honeſt Lover 'ere he
gets Poffeffion:
I would come plump, and freſh, and all my Self,
Serv'd up to my Bride's Bed like a fat Fowl,
Before the Frošt of Love had nipt me through.
I look on Wives as on good dull Companions,
For elder Brothers to ſleep out their Time withs
All we can hope for in the Marriage-bed,
Is but to take our Reſt; and what care I
Who lays my Pillow for me?
Enter a Poet with Verſes.
Serv. Now, what's your Buſineſs, Friend?
Poet

Ibe RIVAL LADIES.
191
Poet. An Epithalamium, to the noble Bridegrooms.
1 Séru. Let me ſee; what's here? as I live [Takes it.
Nothing but down-right Bawdry: Sirrah, Raſcal,
Is this an Age for Ribaldry in Verſe;
When every Gentleman in Town ſpeaks it
With ſo much better Grace, than thou canſt write it?
I'll beat thee with a Staff of thy own Rhymes.
Poet. Nay, good Sir
[Runs off, and Exit.
2 Seru. Peace, they are here.
Enter Don Rodorick, Don Manuel, Julia, and Company.
1 Serv. My Lord looks ſullenly, and fain would hide it.
2 Serv. Howe'er he weds Don Manuel's Siſter, yet
I fear he's hardly reconcild to him.
Jul. I tremble at it ſtill.
Rod. I muſt confeſs
Your Danger great: But, Madam, fince 'tis paſt,
To ſpeak of it were to renew your Fears.
My noble Brother, welcome to
my
Breaſt.
Some call my Siſter; fay, Don Manuel
Her Bridegroom waits.
Man. Tell her, in both the Houſes
There now remains no Enemy but ſhe.
Rod. In the mean time let's Dance; Madam, I hope
You'll
.
Enter Leonora, Woman to Angellina; takes the-two Mer
aſide.
Leon. O Sir, my Lady Angellina!
Red. Why comes ſhe not?
Leon. Is fallen extreamly_fiek.
Both. How?
Leon. Nay, trouble not your ſelves too much,
Theſe Fits are uſual with her; and not dangerous.
Rod. O rarely counterfeited.
Alide.
Man. May not I fee her?
Leon. She does by me, deny her ſelf that Honour.
[As ſhe ſpeaks ſteals a Note-into his Hande
í fhall return, I hope, with better News;
In the mean time fhe prays, you'll not diſturb
The Company
[Exit Leonora
Rod,
grace me with
your Hand.

102
The Rival LADIES.
Rod. This troubles me exceedingly.
Man. A Note put privately into my
Hand
By Angellina's Woman? She's
my
Creature:
There's ſomething in't; I'll read it to my felf. [4fide,
Rod. Brother, what Paper's that?
Man. Some begging Verſes
Deliver d me this Morning on my Wedding.
Rod. Pray let me ſee 'em :
Man. I have many Copies,
Pleaſe you to entertain your ſelf with theſe.
[Gives him another Paper. Manuel reads.
Sir,
My Lady feigns this Sickneſs to delude you:
Her Brother hates you ſtill; and the Plot'is,
That he shall marry firſt your Siſter,
And then deny you his
Yours, Leonora.
POS T'SCRIPT.
Since I wait this, I have ſo wrought upon her,
(Who of her felf, is timorous enough)
That ſhe believes her Brother will betray her,
Or elſe be fored to give her up to you;
Therefore, anknown to him, she means to fly:
Come to the Garden Door at ſeven this Evening,
And there you may Surprize her; mean time I
Will keep her ignorant of all things, that
Her Fear may ſtill increaſe.
Enter Leonora again.
Rod. How now? How does your Lady?
Leon. So ill, fhe cannot poſſibly wait on you.
Man. Kind Heav'n give me her Sickneſs.
Rod. Thoſe are Wiſhes:
What's to be done?
Man. We muſt deferr our Marriages.
Rod. Leonora, now!
[4file to her.
Leon. My Lady, Sir, has abſolutely charg'd
Her Brother's Mould go forward.
Rode

The RIVAL LADIES. 193
Rod. Abſolutely!
Leon. Exprefly, Sir, becauſe ſhe ſays there are
So many honourable Perſons here,
Whom to defraud of their intended Mirth,
And of each others Company, were rude:.
So hoping your Excuſe-
TExit Leonora
Rod. That privilege of Pow'r which Brothers have
In Spain, I never us’d: Therefore ſubmit
My Will to hers, but with much Sorrow, Sir;
My Happineſs ſhould go before, not wait
On yours: Lead on.
Man. Stay, Sir; tho' your fair Siſter, in reſpece
To this Aſembly, ſeems to be content
Your Marriage ſhould proceed, we muſt not want
So much good Manners as to ſuffer it.
Rod. So much good Manners, Brother?
Man. -
I have ſaid it.
Should we, to ſhow our Sorrow for her Sickneſs,
Provoke our eaſie Souls to careleſs Mirth,
As if our drunken Revels were defign'd
For Joy of what ſhe ſuffers ?
Rod.''Twill be over
In a few Days.
Man. Your Stay will be the leſs.
Rod. All things are now in Readineſs, and muſt not
Be put off, for a peeviſh Humour thus.
Man. They muſt; or I ſhall think you mean not fairly.
Rod. Explain your ſelf.
Man. That you would marry firſt
,
And afterwards refuſe me Angelina.
Rod.
Think ſo.
Man. You are-
Rod. Speak ſoftly.
Man. A foul Villain.
Rod. Then
Man. Speak ſoftly.
Rod. Pl find a time to tell you, you aře on.
Man. 'Tis well.
you, I.
I
Ladies,

1194
The RIVAL LADIES,
Ladies, you wonder at our private Whiſpers,
[To the Company
But more will wonder when you know the Cauſe;
The beauteous Angelina is fall'n Ill;
And ſince ſhe cannot with her Preſence
grace
This Day's Solemnity, the noble-Rodorick
Thinks fit it be deferr'd, 'till ſhe recover;
Then, we both hope to have your Companies.
Lad. Wiſhing her Health, we take our Leaves.
[Exeunt Company
Rod. Your Sifter yet will marry me.
Man. She will not: Come hither, Julia.
Ful. What ſtrange afflicting News is this you tell us?
Man. 'Twas all this falſe Man's Plot; that when he had
Poffeſt you, he might cheat me of his Siſter?:
Ful. Is this true, Rodorick ? Alas his Silence
Does but too much confefs it: How I bluſh
To own that Love I cannot yet take from thee!
Yet for my fake be Friends.
Man. 'Tis now too late:
I am by Honour hinderd.
Rod. I by Hate.
Ful. What ſhall I do?
Man. Leave him, and come away;
Thy Virtue bids thee.
Ful. But Love bids me ſtay.
Man. Her Love's fo like my own, that I ſhould blame
The Brother's Paſſion in the Siſter's Flame.
Rodorick, we ſhall meet He little thinks
I am as ſure this Night of Angelina,
As he of Julia.
[Aſide. Exit Manuel.
Rod. Madam, to what an Ecſtaſie of Joy
Your Goodneſs raiſes me! this was an act
Of Kindneſs which no Service e'er can pay.
Ful. Yes, Rodorick, 'tis in your Pow'r to quit
The Debt you owe me.
Rod. Do but name the way.
Ful. Then briefly thus, 'tis to be juſt to me
As I have been to you.
Rod.

The RIVAL LADIES. 195
Rod. You cannot doubt it.
Foel. You know I have adventur’d, for your ſake,
A Brother's Anger, and the World's Opinion:
I value neither; for a ſetled Virtue
Makes it ſelf Judge, and fatisfy’d within,
Smiles at that common Enemy, the World.
I am no more afraid of flying Cenſures,
Than Heav'n of being fir'd with mounting Sparkles.
Rod. But wherein muſt my Gratitude confift?
Jul. Anſwer your ſelf, by thinking what is fit
For me to do.
Rod. By Marriage; to confirm
Our mutual Love.
ful. Ingrateful Rodorick!
Canſt thou name Marriage, while thou entertain'ſt
A Hatred ſo unjuſt againſt my Brother?
Rod. But, unkind Julia, you know the Cauſes
Of Love and Hate are hid deep in our Stars,
And none but Heav'n can give account of both.
Jul. Too well I know it; for my Love to thee
Is born by Inclination, not by Judgment;
And makes my Virtue ſhrink within my Heart,
As loath to leave it, and as loath to mingle.
Rod. What would you have me do?
Ful. Since I muſt tell thee,
Lead me to ſome near Monaſtery; there,
(Till Heav'n find out ſome way to make us happy)
I ſhall be kept in Safety from my Brother :
Rod. But more from me; what hopes can Rodorick have,
That ſhe who leaves him freely, and unforc'd,
Should ever of her own accord return?
Ful. Thou haſt too great Aſſurance of my Faith,
That in deſpight of my own ſelf I love thee.
Be friends with Manuel, I am thine; til when
My Honour's
Lead me.
[Exeunt.
SCENE
.

196
The RIVAL LA DIE S.
SCENE III. The Repreſentation of a Street
diſcover'd by Twilight.
Enter Don Manuel, folus.
Man. This is the Time and place where I expect
My fugitive Miſtreſs; if I meet with her,
I may forget the Wrongs her Brother did me:
If otherwiſe, his Blood ſhall expiate them.
I hope her Woman keeps her ignorant
How all things paſs’d, according to her Promiſe. be
A Door opens-
Enter Angelina in-Boys Cloaths.
Leonora-behind at the Door.
Leon. I had forgot to tell him of this Habit
She has put on; but fure he'll know her in it.
[Aſide.
Man, who
goes
there?
Ang. 'Tis Don Manuel's Voice; I muſt run back:
The Door ſhut on me? Leonora, where? Sve
Does ſhe not follow me? I am betray'd doet
Man. What are you?
Ang. A poor Boy.
Man. Do you belong to Rodorick ?
Ang. Yes, I do.
Man. Here's Mony for you, tell me where's his Siſter?
Ang. Juſt now I met her coming down the Stairs,
Which lead into the Garden. kao
LO
Man. "Tis well, leave me sometido bar
In filence.
te mi dedo
Ang. With all my Heart; was ever ſuch a ſcape!
oses but in [Exit running. I
Man. She cannot now be long; fure by the Moon-fhine
I ſhall diſcover her:
Co
Enter Rodorick, and Julia. si grossa
This inuſt be ſhe; Pll ſeize her.
Ful. Help me, Rodorick.. ir
и нивните сюдоА.
Rod. Unhand the Lady, Villain.
Man. Rodorick!
I'm glad we meet alone; now is the time
To end our Difference,
Rod.

The RIVAL LADIES.
197
Rod. I cannot ſtay.
Man. You muſt.
Rod. I will not.
Man. 'Tis bafe to injure any Man: but yet.
'Tis far more baſe, once done not to defend it.
Rod. Is this an Hour for valiant Men to fight?
They love the Sun ſhould witneſs what they do;
Cowards have Courage when they fee not Death:
And fearful Hares, that ſculk in Forms all Day,
Yet fight their feeble Quarrels by the Moon-light.
Man. No, Light and Darkneſs are but poor diſtinctions
Of fuch, whoſe Courage comes by fits and ſtarts.
Rod. Thou urgeſt me above my
Patience:
This Minute of my Life was not my own,
But hers I love beyond it. [They draw, and fight.
Ful. Help, help; none hear me!
Heav'n I think is deaf too:
O Rodorick! O Brother!
Enter Gonſalvo, and Hippolito.
Jul. Whoe'er you are, if you have Honour part'em.“
[Manuel ſtumbles, and falls.
Gonſ. Hold, Sir, you are too cruel; he that kills
At ſuch advantage fears to fight again. (Holds Rodorick.
Man. Cavalier, I may live to thank you for this Favour.
[Rifes
Rod. I will not quit you ſo.
Man. I'll breath, and then-
Ful. Is there no way to ſave their Lives?
Hip. Run out of fight,
If 'tis concerning you they Quarrel.
[Julia retires to a Corner.
Hip. Help, help, as you are Cavaliers; the Lady
For whom you thus contend, is ſeizd by ſome
Night-robbing Villains.
All. Which way took they?
Hip. 'Twas ſo dark I could not ſee diſtinctly.
Rod. Let us divide; I this way,
[Exit.
Conf. Down yonder Street I'll take.
I 3
Man

108 The RIVAL LADIES.
Man. And I down that.
[Exeunt ſeverally.
Hip. Now, Madam, may we not lay by our Fear?
They are all
gone.
Jul. 'Tis true, but we are here,
Expos’d to Darkneſs without Guide or Aid,
But of our felves.
Hip. And of our ſelves afraid.
Jul. Theſe Dangers while 'twas Light I could deſpiſe,
Then I was Bold; but watch'd by many Eyes :
Ah! could not Heav'n for Lovers find a way,
That prying People ſtill might ſleep by Day.
Enter Angelina.
Hip. Methinks I'm certain I diſcover fome.
Ful. This was your ſpeaking of 'em made 'em cone.
Hip. There is but one, perhaps he may go by.
Ang. Where had I Courage for this bold Diſguiſe,
Which more my
Nature than my Sex belies?
Alas! I am betraid to Darkneſs here;
Darkneſs which Virtue hates, and Maids moſt fear:
Silence and Solitude dwell every where :
Dogs ceaſe to bark; the Waves more faintly roar,
And rowl themſelves aſleep upon the Shore:
No noiſe but what my Foot-ſteps make, and they
Sound dreadfully, and louder than by Day:
They double too, and every Step I take
Sounds thick methinks, and more than one could make,
Ha! who are theſe?
I wiſh'd for Company, and now I fear.
Who are you gentle People that go
there?
Jul. His Voice is ſoft as is the upper Air,
Or dying Lover's Words: O pity us,
Ang. O pity me! take freely as your own
My Gold, my Jewels; ſpare my Life alone.
Hip. Alas, he fears as much as we.
Jul. What ſay you
Sir, will you join with us ?
Ang. Yes, Madam, but
If you would take my Sword, you'll uſe it better,
Hip. Ay, but you are a Man.
Ang

The RIVAL LADIES:
199
Ang. Why, ſo are you.
Hip. Truly my Fear had made nie quite forget it.
Enter Gonſalyo.
Gonf. Hippolito! how barbarous was I
To leave my Boy! Hippolito !
Hip. Here, here.
Now, Madam, fear not, you are ſafe.
Ful. What is become, Sir, of thoſe Gentlemen?
Gonf. Madam, they all went ſeveral ways; not like
To meet.
Ful. What will become of me!
Gonf. 'Tis late,
And I a Stranger in the Town: Yet all
Your Dangers ſhall be mine.
Ful. You're Noble, Sir.
Gonf. I'll pawn the Hopes of all my Love, to ſee?
You fafe:
Jul. Whoe'er your Miſtreſs be, ſhe has
My Curſes if ſhe prove note kind.
Ang. And mine.
Hip. My Siſter will repent her when ſhe knows
For whom ſhe makes that Wiſh; but I'll ſay nothing
Till Day diſcovers it. A Door opens,
[Aſide.
I hope it is ſome inn.
[ A Door opens, at which a Servant appears.
Ang. Friend, can you Lodge us here?
Serv. Yes, Friend, we can.
Ful. How fhall we be diſposa ?
Sero, As Nature would;
The Geritleman and you: I have a rule,
That when a Man and Woman ask for Lodging
They are ever Husband and Wife.
Ful. Rude and unmanner'd.
Gonf. Sir, this Lady muſt be lodg'd apart.
Sery. Then the two Boys that are good for nothing
"But one another, they ſhall
go together.
Ang. Lye with a Man? Iweet Heav'n defend me!
Hip. Alas, Friend, I ever lye dlone.
Serv. Then to ſave trouble, Sir, becauſe 'tis late
I 4
One

200
The RIVAL LADIES.
[with you
One of the Youths ſhall be diſpos'd with you.
Ang. Who, I! not for the World.
Hip. Neither of us; for though I weuld not Lodge
My felf; I never can indure he fould.
Ang. Why then, to end the Difference, if you pleaſe
I and that Lady will be Bed-fellow s.
Hip. No, She and I will Lodge together rather.
Sequ. You are ſweet Youths indeed ; not for the World
You would not Lodge with Men! none but the Lady
Would ſerve your turn.
Ang. Alas, I had forgot I am a Boy;
I am ſo lately one.
[Aſide.
Serv. Well, well; all ſhall be lodg'd apart.
Gonf. to Hip. I did not think you harbour'd wanton
So young, ſo bad!
[Thoughts:
Hip. I can make no defence,
But muſt be ſham'd by my own Innocence. [Exe. omnes.
А ст ІІ.
II. SCENE I.
-
SCENE a Chamber.
H
Enter Gonſalvo, Hippolito, and Amideo at a
Diſtance.
Gonf. Ippolito, what is this pretty Youth
That follows us?
Hip. I know not much of him:
Handſome you fee, and of a graceful Faſhion;
Of noble Blood, he ſays, and I believe him;
But in fome deep Diſtreſs; he'll tell no more,
And I could cry for that which he has told,
So much I pity him.
Gonf. My pretty Youth;
Would I could do thee
.
any Service,

The RIVAL LADIES. 202
Ang. Sir,
The greateſt you can do me, is accepting mine.
Hip. How's this? methinks already I begin
To hate this Boy, whom but ev'n now I moan'd.
You ſerve my Maſter? Do you think I cannot
Perform all Duties of a Servant better
And with more Care than you?
Ang. Better you may,
But never with more Care:
Heax'n which is fery'd with Angels, yet admits
Poor Man to pay his Duty, and receives it.
Hip. Mark but, my Lord, how ill behay'd a Youth,
How very ugly, what a Dwarf he is.
Ang. My Lord, I yet am young enough to grow,
And 'tis the Commendation of a Boy
That he is little.
[Cries.
Gonf. Prithee do not cry;
Hippolito, 'twas but juſt now you prais'a him,
And are you chang'd fo foon?
Hip. On better View.
Gonſ. What is your Name, ſweet Heart? or
Hip. Sweet Heart! ſince I
Have ſery'd you, you ne'er calld me fo. diere
Ang. O, ever,
Ever call me by that kind Name, I'll own
No other, becauſe I would ſtill have that.
Hip. He told me, Sir, his Name was Amideas and
Pray call him by't.
Gonſ. Come, I'll employ you both;
Reach me my Belt, and help to put it on.
Amid. I run my Lord.
Hip. You run? it is my Office.
[They both take it up, and ſtrive for it; Hippolite
puts
Amid. Look you, my
you, my Lord, he puts it on ſo awkard-
lys.
[Crying.
The Sword does not fit right.
Hip. Why, where's the Fault?
Amid, I know not that; but I am ſure 'tis wrong.
15
Genf
gets it, and
it on.

202
The RIVAL LADIES.
Gonf. The Fault is plain, 'tis put on the wrong
Shoulder
Hip. That cannot be, I look'd on Amideo's,
And hung it on that Shoulder his is on.
Amid. Then I doubt mine is fo.
Gonſ. It is indeed:
You're both good Boys, and both will learn in time:
Hippolito, go you and bring me word,
Whether that Lady we brought in laft Night
Be willing to receive a Vifit from me.
Hip. Now Amideo, fince you are ſo forward
To do all Service, you fhall to the Lady.
Amid. No, I'll ſtay with my Mafter, he bid you.
Hip. It mads me to the Heart to leave him here:
But I will be reveng'd.
[ Aſide
My Lord, I beg
You would not truſt this Boy with any thing
Till my Return; pray know him better firft. (Exit Hip.
Gonſ 'Twas my Unhappineſs to meet this Lady
Laſt Night; becauſe it ruin d my Deſign
Of walking by the Houſe of Roclorick:
Who knows but through ſome Window I had ſpy'd
Fair Julia's Shadow paſſing by the Glaſs=;
Or if ſome others, I would think it hers;
Or if not any, yet to fee the Place
Where Julia lives: O Heav'n, how ſmall a Bleffing
Will ſerve to make deſpairing Lovers happy!
Amid. Unhappy Angelina, thou art loft:
Thy Lord loves Julia.
Enter Hippolito and Julia.
Jul. -Where is thy Maſter?
I long to give him my Acknowledgments
For my own Safety, and my Brother's both. »
Ha! Is it he?
[Looks.
Gonf. Can it be Julia ?
Could Night fo far diſguiſe her from my Knowledge!
ful. I would not think thee him I ſee thou art:
Prithee diſown thy felf in pity to me:
Why ſhould I be oblig'd by one I hate?
Gonf. I could fay ſomething in my own Defence;
Bus

The RIVAL LADIES.
203
But it were half a Crime to plead my Cauſo
When you would have me Guilty.
Amid. How I fear
The Sweetneſs of thoſe words will move her Pity:
I'm ſure they would do mine.
Gonf. You took me for a Robber, but ſo far
I am from that
Jul. O prithee be one ſtill,
That I may know ſome Cauſe for my Averſion.
Gong. I freed
you from them, and more gladly did it.
Jul. Be what thou wilt, 'tis now too late to tell me:
The Blackneſs of that Image I firſt fancy'd,
Has ſo infected me, I ſtill muſt hate thee.
Hip. Though (if ſhe loves him) all my Hopes are ruin'd,
It makes me mad to ſee her thus unkind. [Aide.
Madam, what ſee you in this Gentleman,
Deſerves your Scorn or Hatred? love him, or
Expect juſt Heav'n ſhould ſtrangely puniſh you.
Gonf. No more :- Whate'er the does is beft; and if
You would be mine, you muſt like me ſubmit
Without diſpute.
Hip. How can I love you, Sir, and fuffer this?
She has forgot that which laſt Night you
did
In her Defence.
Ful. O call that Night again;
Pitch her with all her Darkneſs round; then ſet me
In ſome far Defart, hemm'd with Mountain Wolyes
To howl about me: This I would indure,
And more, to Cancel my Obligements to him.
Gons. You owe me nothing, Madam ; if you do
..
I make it void; and only ask your leave
To love you ſtill; for to be lov'd again
I never hope.
Jul. If that will clear my Debt, enjoy thy With;
Love me, and long, and deſperately love me.
I hope thou wilt, that I may plague thee more:
Mean time take from me that deteſted Object;
Convey thy much loath'd Perſon from my Sight,
Garf. Madam, you are obeyd.
Hippolito

204
The RIVAL LADIES.
Hippolito and Amideo, wait
Upon fair Julia; look upon her for me
With dying Eyes, but do not ſpeak one word
In my behalf;' for to diſquiet her,
Ev'n happineſs it ſelf were bought too dear.
[Goes farther off, towards the end of the Stage
My Paſſion ſwells too high:
And like a Veſſel ſtruggling in a Storm,
Requires more hands than one to Steer her upright;
I'll find her Brother out,
[Exit Gonf.
Ful. That Boy, I fee, he truſts above the other :
He has a ſtrange Reſemblance with a Face
That I have ſeen, but when, or where, I know not.
I'll watch till they are parted; then perhaps
I may corrupt that little one to free me. [-Aſide. Exit Jul.
Amid. Sweet Hippolito, let me ſpeak with you.
Hip. What would you with me?
Amid. Nay, you are ſo fierce;
By all that's good I love and honour you.
And would you do but one poor thing I'll ask you,
In all things elſe you ever ſhall command me.
Look you, Hippolito, here's Gold and Jewels,
Theſe
may
be yours.
Hip. To what end doſt thou ſhow
Theſe trifles to me? or how cam'ſt thou by them?
Not honeſtly, I fear.
Amid. I ſwear I did :
And you ſhall have 'em; but you always preſs
Before me in my Maſter's Service fo:-
Hip. And always will.
Amid. But dear Hippolito, .
WO
Why will you not give way, that I may be
Firſt in his Favour, and be ſtill imploy'd?
Why do you frown? ?tis not for Gain I ask it;
Whatever he ſhall give me ſhall be
Except it be fome Toy, you would not care for,
Which I ſhould keep for his dear fake that gave it.
Hip. If thou would'It offer both the Indies to me,
The Eastern Quarries, and the Weſtern Mines,
They
yours,

The RIVAL LADIES
203
But for sigI
They ſhould not buy one Look, one gentle Smile
Of his from me: Aflure thy Soul they ſhould not,
I hate thee fo.
Amid. Henceforth I'll hate you worſe.
But yet there is a woman whom he loves,
A certain Fulia, who will ſteal his Heart
From both of us; we'll join at leaſt againſt
The common Enemy.
Hip. Why does he fear my Lord ſhould love a Woman?
The Paſſion of this Boy is ſo like mine
That it amazes me.
Enter a Servant,
Piet. Young Gentleman,
Your Maſter calls for
you.
Hip. I'll think upon't
[Exit Hippolito, cum Pietro.
Enter Julia to Amideo.
Jul. Now is the time, he is alone,
Amid. Here comes
The Saint my Lord adores; Love, pardon me
The Fault I muſt commit.
Ful. Fair Youth, I am
A Suitor to you.
Amid. So am I to you.
Ful. You ſee me here a Pris’ner..
Amid. My Requeſt
Is, I
may
ſet
you free;
free; make haſte, ſweet Madam;
Which way would you go?
Jul. To the next
Religious Houſe.
Amid. Here through the Garden, Madam;
How I commend your holy Reſolution! [Exeunt ambo.
Enter Don Manuel in the Streets, and a Servant with him.
Man. Angelina fled to a Monaſtery, ſay you?
Serv. So 'tis giv'n out: I could not ſee her Woman:
your Siſter, what
what you heard is true:
I ſaw her at the Inn:
"They told me ſhe was brought in late laſt Night,
By a young Cavalier they ſhow'd me there,
Alan.

206 The RIVAL LADIES.
Man. This muft be he that reſcu'd me:
What would I give to ſee him!
Seru, Fortune is
Obedient to your Wiſhes; he was coming
To find out you; I waited on him to
The turning of the Street; and ſtept before ---
To tell you of it.
Man. You o'er-joy me.
Serv. This, Sir, is he
Enter Gonſalvo. Don Manuel is running to Embrace him,
and ſtops,
Man. The Captain of the Robbers!
Gonſ. As ſuch indeed you promisd me your
Sister
Man. I promis'd all the Intreſt I fhould have,
Becauſe I thought before you came to claim it,
A Husband's Right would take my Title from me.
Gonf. I come to ſee if any manly Virtue
Can dwell with Falfhood: Draw, thou'ſt injurd me.
Man. You ſay already I have done you wrong...
And yet would have me right you by a greater.
Gonf. Poor abject thing!
Man. Who doubts another's Courage
Wants it himſelf; but I who know my own,
Will not receive a Law from you to Fight,
Or to forbear: for then I grant your Courage
To maſter mine, when I am forc'd to do
What of my ſelf I would not.
Gonf. Your Reaſon ?
Man. You fav’d my Life.
Gonf. I'll quit that Debt, to be
In a Capacity of forcing you
To keep your Promiſe with me; for I come
To learn, your Siſter is not yet diſpos'd.
Man. I've loſt all privilege to defend my Life;
And if you take it now, 'tis no new Conqueſt;
Like Fish, firſt taken in a River, then
Beſtow'd in Ponds to catch a ſecond Time,
Gonf. Mark but how partially you plead your Cauſe,
Pretending Breach of Honour if you Fight;

The RIVAL Ladies.
207
But yet.
Yet think it none to Violate your Word.
Man. I cannot give my Siſter to a Robber.
Gonf. You ſhall not; I am none, but born of Blood
As Noble as your felf; my Fortune's equal
At leaſt with yours; my Reputation yet
I think unſtain'd.
Man. I wiſh, Sir, it may prove ſo;
I never had ſo ſtrong an Inclination
To believe any Man as you:
Gonf. All things fhall be ſo clear, there ſhall be left
No room for any Scruple: I was born
In Sevil, of the beſt Houſe in that City;
My Mame Gonſalvo de Peraltar: Being
A younger Brother, 'twas my Uncle's Care -
To take me with him in a Voyage to
The Indies, where ſince dying, he has left me
A Fortune not Contemptible; returning
From thence with all my Wealth in the Plate-ffeet:
A furious Storm almoft within the Port
Of Sevil, took us, fcatter'd all the Navy:
My Ship, by the unruly Tempeſt born
Quite through the Streights, as far as Barcelona,
There firſt caſt Anchor; there I ſtept Afhore:
Three Days I ſtaid, in which ſmall time I made
A little Love, which vaniſh'd as it came.
Man. But were you not Ingagd to her you courted?
Gonf. Upon my Honour, no; what might have been
I cannot tell: But e'er I could repair
My beaten Ship, or take freſh Water in,
One Night, when there by chance I lay Aboard,
A Wind tore up my Anchor from the Bottom,
And with that Violence it brought me thither,
Has thrown me in this Port-
Man. But yet our Meeting in the Wood was ſtrange
Gonſ. For that I'll fatisfie you as we walk.
Enter Hippolito.
Hip. O, Sir, how glad I am to find you— [whiſpers.
Man. That Boy I have ſeen fomewhere, or one like him,
But where, I cannot call to Mind
Hip

208
The RIVÁL LADIES.
muſt go
Hip. I found it out, and got before 'em-
And here they are
Enter Amideo and Julia.
Man. My Siſter! as I could have wiſh'd it-
Amid. Ó! we are caught!
Ful. I did expect as much:
Fortune has not forgot that I am Julia.
Man. Siſter, I'm glad you're happily return'd;
'Twas kindly done of
you
thus to prevent
The Trouble of
my
Search.
Fril. I would not have you
Miſtake my Love to Rodorick ſo much,
To think I meant to fall into your Hands.
My Purpoſe is for the next Nunnery;
There I'll pray
for
you:
So farewel.
Man. Stay, Julia, you go with me.
Ful. Lead, lead;
You think I am your Pris'ner now-
Gonſ. If you will needs to a Religious Houſe, **
Leave that fair Face behind; a worſe will ſerve
To ſpoil with Watching, and with Faſting there.
Man. 'Prithee no more of this; the only way
To make her happy is to force it on her.
Julia, prepare your ſelf ſtrait to be married.
Jul. To whom?
Man. You ſee your Bridegroom: And you
know
My Father's Will
, who with his dying Breath
Commanded, you
ſhould
pay as ſtrict Obedience
To me, as formerly to him: If not,
Your Dowry is at my Diſpoſe.
Jul. O would
The loſs of that diſpenſe with Duty in mej.
How gladly would I ſuffer it! and yet
If I durft queſtion it, methinks 'tis hard!
What Right have Parents over Children, more
Than Birds have o'er their Young? yet they impoſe
No rich plum’d Miſtreſs on their feather'd Sons;
But leave their Love, more open yet and free
Thaa

The RIVAL LADIES.
209
Than all the Fields of Air, their ſpacious Birth-right.
[Gonſalvo ſeems to beg Manuel not to be harſh
Man. Nay, good Gonſalvo trouble not your ſelf,
There is no other way, when 'tis once done
She'll thank me for't.
Jul. I ne’er expected other Uſage from you;
A kind Brother you have been to me,
And to my Siſter: You have ſent, they ſay,
To Barcelona, that my Aunt ſhould force her
To marry the old Don you brought her,
Hip. Who could! that once had ſeen Gonſalvo's Face?
Alas the little thinks I am ſo near!
[4ſide.
Man. Mind not what ſhe ſays ;-
A word with
you-
[TO Gonſ.
Amid. Don Manuel eyes me ſtrangely; the beſt is
He never ſaw me yet but at a Diſtance:
My Brother's Jealouſie (who ne'er intended
I ſhould be his) reſtraind our nearer Converſe. [-Aide.
Jul. My pretty Youth, I am inforc'd to truſt thee
[To Amid.
With
my
moſt near Concerns; Friend I have none,
If thou deny'ſt to help me.
Amid. Any thing
To break your Marriage with my Maſter.
Ful. Go to Rodorick, and tell him my Condition :
But tell it him as from thy felf, not me.
Amid. That you are forc'd to marry..
Ful. But do not ask him
To fuccour me; if of himſelf he will not:
I ſcorn a Love that muſt be taught its Duty:
Man. What Youth is that? I mean the little one?
Gonſ. I took him
up
laſt Night.
Man. A ſweet-fac'd Boy,
I like him ſtrangely: Would you part with him?
Amid. Alas, Sir, I am good for no Body
But for
nny
Maſter.
Hip. Sir, I'll do your Errand
Another time, for letting Fulia go.
[To Amideo.
Man. Come, Sir.
Gonſ

210
The RIVAL LADIES.-
Gonf. I beg your Pardon for a Moment,
I'H but diſpatch fome Buſineſs in my Ship,
And wait you prefently.
Man. We'll go before,
I'll make ſure Rodorick ſhall never have her ;
And 'tis at leaſt fome Pleaſure to deſtroy
His Happineſs, who ruin'd firſt my Joy.
[Exeunt all but Gonſalvo; who before he goess
whiſpers Hippolito.
Gonf. Againſt her Will fair Julia to poſſeſs,
Is not t'enjoy but raviſh Happineſs :
Yet Women pardon Force, becauſe they find
The violence of Love is ſtill moſt kind:
Juſt like the Plots of well built Comedies,
Which then pleaſe moſt, when moſt they do ſurprize:
But yet Conſtraint Love's nobleſt End deſtroys,
Whoſe higheſt Joy is in another's Joys:
Where. Pallion rules, how weak does Reaſon prove!
I yield my Cauſe, but cannot yield my Love.
A ET III. SCENE 1.
SCENE a great Room in Den Manuel's Houſe.
MW
Hippolito, folus.
Y.Mafter bid me fpeak for him to Julia:
Hard Fate that I am made a Confident
Againſt my ſelf;-
Yet though unwillingly I took the Office,
I would perform it well: But how can I
Prove lucky to his Love, who to my own
Am fo unfortunate! he truſts his Paſſion
Like him that ventures all his Stock at once
On an unlucky Hand.
Enter Amideo,
Amid. Where is the Lady Julija?
Hip?

The RIVAL LADIES. 211
Hip. What new Treaſon
Againſt my Maſter's Love have you contriy'd
With her?
Amid. I ſhall not render you account.
Enter Julia.
Ful. I ſent for him; yet if he comes, there's Dangex
Yet if he does not, I for ever loſe him.
What can I wiſh? and yet I wiſh him here!
Only to take the Care of me from me.
Weary with fitting out a loſing Hand,
"Twill be ſome eaſe to ſee another Play it..
Yeſterday I refus’d to marry him,
To Day I run into his Arms unask'd;
Like a mild Prince incroach'd upon by Rebels,
Love yielded much, till Honour ask'd for all.
[Sees Hippolito,
How now, where's Rodorick ?
[Sees Amideo.
I mean Gonſalvo?
Hip. You would do well to meet him:
Amid. Meet him! you ſhall not do’t: I'll throw my
ſelf
Like a young fawning Spaniel in your way
So often, you ſhall never move a ſtep
But you ſhall tread on me.
Ful. You need not beg me:
I would as ſoon meet a Syren, as ſee him.
Hip. His Sweetneſs for thoſe Frowns no Subject finds:
Seas are the Field of Combat for the Winds:
But when they ſweep along fome flowry Coaſt,
Their Wings move mildly, and their Rage is loft.
Jul. 'Tis that which makes me more unfortunate:
Becauſe his Sweetneſs muft upbraid my Hate.
The Wounds of Fortune touch me not fo nears.
I can my Fate, but not his Virtue bear.
For my Diſdain with my Eſteem is-rais'd;
He moſt is hated when he moſt is prais’d:
Such an Eſteem, as like a Storm appears,
Which riſes but to Shipwreck what it bears.
Hip. Infection dwells upon my Kindneſs fure,
Since it deftroys ev’n those whom it would cure.
[Cries, and Exit Hippolito.
Amid.

212
The RIVAL LADIES.
Amid. Still weep Hippolito ; to me thy Tears-
Are Sovereign, as thoſe Drops the Balm-tree ſweats.
-But, Madam, are you ſure you ſhall not love him!
I ſtill fear.
Ful. Thy Fear will never let thee be a Man...
Amid. Indeed I think it won't.
Jul. We are now
Alone; what News from Rodorick?
Amid. Madam, he begs you not to fear; he has
А
way,
which when
you
think all deſperate
Will ſet you free.
Ful. If not, I' will not live
A Moment after it,
Amid. Why! there's ſome Comfort.
Jul. I ſtrongly wiſh, for what I faintly hope:
Like the Day-dreams of melancholy Men,
I think and think on things impoſlible,
Yet love to wander in that golden Maze.
Enter Don Manuel, Hippolito, and Company
Amid. Madam, your Brother's here.
Man. Where is the Bridegroom?
Hip. Not yet return’d, Sir, from his Ship.
Man, Siſter, all this good Company is met
To give you Joy
Jul. While I am compaſs’d round
With Mirth, my Soul lies hid in flades of Grief,
Whence, like the Bird of Night, with half fhut Eyes
She peeps, and fickens at the light of Day. [ Aſide
Enter Servant.
Serv. Sir, fome Gentlemen and Ladies are withouts
Who to do Honour to this Wedding come
To preſent a Maſques
Man. 'Tis well; deſire 'em
They would leave out the Words, and fall to Dancing;
'The Poetry of the Foot takes moſt of late.
Serv. The Poet, Sir, will take that
He's at the Door, with th’ Argument o’th' Maſque
In Verſe.
Man. Which of the Wits is it that made it?
very ill,
Serv

The RIVAL LADIES.
213
Serv. None of the Wits, Sir; 'tis one of the Poets.
Mon. What Subject has he choſe ?
Serv. The Rape of Proſerpine.
Enter Gonſalvo.
Man. Welcome, welcome, you have been long expected.
Gonf. I ſtaid to ſee th' unlading of fome Rarities
Which are within
Madam, your pardon that I was ſo long abſent.
Jul. You need not ask it for your Abſence, Sir.
Gonf. Still cruel, Julia :-
Ful. The Danger's here, and Rodorick not here:
I am not griev'd to die; but I am griev'd
To think him falfe.
[Aſide.
Man. Bid 'em begin.
[The Muſick Plays
A Cupid deſcends in ſwift Motion, and ſpeaks theſe
Verſes.
Cup. Thy Conqueſts, Proſerpine, have ſtretch'd too far;
Amidſt Heav'n's Peace thy Beauty makes a War:
For when, laſt Night, I to Jove's Palace went,
(The brighteſt part of all the Firmament)
Inſtead of all thoſe Gods, whoſe thick reſort
Fill'd up the preſence of the Thund'rer's Court ;
There Jove and Juno all forſaken fate,
Penſive, like Kings in their declining State:
Yet (wanting Pow’r) they would preferve the ſhow,
By hearing Pray’rs from ſome few. Men below:
Mortals to Jove may their Devotions pays
The Gods themſelves to Proſerpine do Pray.top
To Sicily the rival Pow'rs refort;
'Tis Heav'n where-ever Ceres keeps her Court.
Phoebus and Mercury are both at ſtrife,
The courtlieſt of our Gods who want a Wife:
Croan
But Venus, whar e'er Kindneſs the pretends,
Yet (like all Females, envious of their Friends) To
Has, by my Aid, contrivd a black Deſign, - 1816
The God of Hell flrould raviſh Proſerpine: loved /
Beauties, beware; Venus will never bear
Another Venus ſhining in her Sphere,
After

: 214
The RIVAL LADIES.
After Cupid's Speech, Venus and Ceres deſcend in the flow
Machines; Ceres drawn by Dragons, Venus by Swans.
After them Phoebus and Mercury deſcend in ſwift Motion.
Then Cupid turns to Julia, and Speaks;
Cup. The Rival Deities are come to Woo
A Proſerpine, who muſt be found below :
World jou (fair Nymph) become this happy How,
-In Name a Goddeſs as you are in Pow'r?
Then to this Change the King of Shades will owe
A fairer Proſerpine thans Heav'n can ſhow.
(Julia, firft whiſper'd by Amideo, goes into the Dance, pero
form’d by Cupid, Phæbus, Mercury, Ceres, Venus,
Julia.
[Towards the end of the Dance, Rodorick in the Habit of
Pluto, riſes from below in a black Chariot all flaming,
and drawn by black Horſes ; he raviſhes Julia, who
perſonated Proferpine, and as he is carrying her away,
his Vizardt falls off: Hippolito firſt diſcovers him.
Hip. A Rape, a Rape; 'tis Rodorick, 'tis Rodorick.
Rod. Then I muſt have recowfe to this [Dramos
Jul. Oh Heav'ns !
[Don Manuel and Gonfalvo draw, and a Servant; the
twoʻthat acted Phoebus. and Mercury return to all
Rodorick, and are bear back by Manuel and a Ser-
vant, while Gonſalvo attacks Rodorick.
Gons. Unlooſe thy hold, foul Villain,
Rod. No, I'll grafp her
Ev'n after Death.
Ful. Spare him,"ör I'll die with him.
Gonf. Muſt Raviſhers and Villains live, while I
In vain implore her Mercy?
Thrufts at him, and hurts Júlia in the drag,
Ful. Oh, I am murtherd!
Gonf. Wretched that I am
What have I done? To what ſtrange Puniſhment
Will you condemn this guilty Hand? And yet
My

The RIVAL LADIES. 215
*My Eyes were guilty firſt: For they could look
On nothing elſe but you; and my unlucky Hand
Too cloſely follow'd them!
Enter Manuel again.
Man. The Pow'rs above are juſt, that thou ſtill liv'ft
For me to kill.
Rod. You'll find no eaſie Task. on't
Alone; come both together, I defie you:
Curſe on this Diſguiſe, that has betray'd me
Thus cheaply to my Death..
Man. Under a Devil's Shape thou could'At not be
Diſguis’d.
Ful. Then muſt he die?
Yet I'll not bid my Rodorick Farewel;
For they take leave, who mean to be long abſent.
Gonf. Hold, Sir; I have had Blood enough already,
And muſt not murder Julia again
In him fhe loves: Live, Sir, and thank this Lady
Rod. Take my Life, and ſpare my Thanks.
Man. Though you
Forgive him, let me take my juft Revenge.
Gonf. Leave that Diſtinction to our dull Divines;
That Ill I ſuffer to be done, I do.
Hip. My Heart bleeds Tears for hims to ſee his Virtue
O'ercome ſo fatally againſt ſuch Odds
Of Fortune and of Love!
Man. Permit his Death, and Julia will be yours.
Jul. Permit it not, and Julia will thank you.
Gonf, Who e'er could think that one kind Word from
Should be preferr'd to Julia her ſelf ! Bhur (Fulia
Could any Man think it a greater good for
To ſave a Rival, than poffefs a Miſtreſs?!
Yet this I do; theſe are thy Riddles, Love.
What Fortune gives me. I my ſelf deſtroys
And feed my Virtue, but to ſtarve my joy.
Honour ſits on me like ſome heavy Armour;
And with its ſtiff Defence incumbers me. 09
And yet when I would put it off, it ſticks
Like Hercules his Shirt; heats me at onces

216
The RIVAL LADIES.
And Poiſons me!
Man. I find my ſelf grow calm by thy Example;
My panting Heart heāves lefs, and leſs each Pulſe;
And all the boiling Spirits ſcatter from it.
Since thou deſir’ft he ſhould not die, he thall not
'Till I on nobler Terms can take his Life.
Rod. The next turn may be yours: Remember Julia,
I ow'd this Danger to your Wilfulneſs;
Once you might eaſily have been mine, and would not,
[Exit Rodorick.
Man. Lead out my Siſter, Friend, her Hurt's ſo fmall
Twill ſcarce diſturb the Ceremony:
Ladies once more your Pardons.
[Leads out the Company, Exeunt.
Manent Julia, Gonſalvo, Amideo: Gonſalvo offers his
Hand, Julia pulls back hers.
Ful. This Hand would riſe in Bliſters, ſhould'ſt thou
touch it:
My Rodorick's diſpleas'd with me, and thou
Unlucky Man the Cauſe; dare not ſo niuch
As once to follow me.
[Exit Julia.
Gonf. Not follow her! Alas ſhe need not bid me!
O how could I preſume to take that Hand
To which mine prov'd ſo fatal!
Nay, if I might, ſhould I not fear to touch it?
A Murd'rers Touch would make it bleed afreſh.
Amid. I think, Sir, I could kill her for your fake. .
Gonſ. Repent that Word, or I fhall hate thee ſtrangely:
Harſh Words from her, like Blows from angry Kings,
Tho' they are meant Affronts, are conſtrued Favours.
Hip. Her Inclinations and Averſions
Are both alike unjuſt; and both, I hope,
Too violent to laſt; chear up your ſelf;
For if I live (I hope I ſhall not long)
[Aſide,
She ſhall be
yours.
Amid. "Twere much more noble in him out
To make a Conqueſt of himſelf than her.
She ne'er can merit him, and had'It not thou
A mean low Soul, thou wouldſt not name her to him.
Hip.

The RIVAL LADIES. 2.17
Hip. Poor Child, who would'ſt be wiſe above thy Years,
Why doſt thou talk, like a Philoſopher,
Of conquering Love, who art not yet grown up
To try the force of any manly Paffion?
The ſweetneſs of thy Mother's Milk is yet
Within thy Veins, not four'd and turn’d by Love,
Gonf. Thou haſt not Field enough in thy young Breaſt,
To entertain ſuch Storms to ſtruggle in.
Amid. Young as I am, I know the pow'r of Love;
Its leſs Diſquiets, and its greater Cares,
And all that's in it, but the Happineſs.
Truſt a Boy's Word, Sir, if you pleaſe, and take
My Innocence for Wiſdom; leave this Lady;
Ceaſe to perſwade your ſelf you are in Love,
And you will ſoon be freed: Not that I wiſh
A thing fo noble as your Paſſion, loft
To all the Sex: Beſtow it on ſome other;
You'll find many as Fair, though none ſo Cruel.
Would I could be a Lady for your fake.
Hip. If I could be a Woman with a Wiſh,
You ſhould not be without a Rival long.
Amid. A Cedar of your Stature would not cauſe
Much Jealouſie.
Hip. More than a Shrub of
yours.
Gonſ. How eagerly theſe Boys fall out for nothing!
Tell me Hippolito, wert thou a Woman,
Who would'ſt thou be?
Hip. I would be Julia, Sir,
Becauſe you love her.
Amid. I would not be ſhe,
Becauſe ſhe loves not you.
Hip. True, Amideo :
And therefore I would wiſh my ſelf a Lady,
Who I am ſure does infinitely love him.
Amid. I hope that a Lady has a Name:
Hip. She has;
And The is callid Honoria, Siſter to
This Julia, and bred up at Barcelona.
Who loves him with a Flame ſo pure and noble,
K
That
VOL. I.

218
The RIVAL LADIES.
That did ſhe know his Love to Julia,
She would beg Julia to make him happy.
Gonſ. This ſtartles me!
Amid. Oh Sir, believe him not;
They love not truly, who on any Terins
Can part with what they Love.
Gonf. I ſaw a Lady
At Barcelona, of what Name I know not,
Who next to Julia was the faireſt Creature
My Eyes did e'er behold: but how cam'ſt thou
To know her ?
Hip. Sir, ſome other time I'll tell you.
Amid. It could not be Honoria whom you faw.
For, Sir, ſhe has a Face ſo very ugly,
That if ſhe were a Saint for Holineſs,
Yet no Man would ſeek Virtue there.
Hip. This is the lying'ít Boy, Sir; I am ſure
He never ſaw Honoria; for her Face
'Tis not ſo bad to fright any Man;
None of the Wits have libelld it.
Amid. Don Rodorick's Siſter, Angelina, does
So far exceed her in the Ornaments
Of Wit and Beauty, tho' now hid from fight,
That like the Sun (ev’n while eclips’d) fhe cafts
A yellowneſs upon all other Faces.
Hip. I'll not ſay much of her; but only this,
Don Manuel faw not with my Eyes, if e'er
He lov'd that Flanders Shape, that lump of Earth
And Phlegm together.
Amid. You have often ſeen her
It ſeems, by your Deſcription of her Perſon :
Fut I'll maintain on any Spaniſh Ground,
What e'er ſhe be, yet fhe is far more worthy
To have my Lord her Servant, than Honoria.
Hip. And I'll maintain Honoria's Right againſt her
In any part of all the World.
Gonf. You go
Too far, to Quarrel on ſo flight a Ground.
Hip. O pardon me, my Lord, it is not flight:
I

The RIVAL LADIES. 219
I muſt confefs I am ſo much concern'd
I ſhall not bear it long.
Amid. Nor I, aſſure you.
Gonf. I will believe what both of you have faid,
That Honoria and Angelina.
Both equally are Fair.
Amid. Why did you name
Honoria firſt?
Gonf. And ſince you take their Parts fo eagerly,
Henceforth I'll call you by thoſe Ladies names:
You, my Hippolito, ſhall be Honoria ;
And you, my Amideo, Angelina.
Amid. Then all my Services, I wiſh, may make
You kind to Angelina, for my fake.
Hip. Put all my Merits on Honoria's Score,
And think no Maid could ever Love you more. [Exeunt.
NJUT
Bene 2
ACT IV: SCENE I.
Manuel, folus.
Tush
And loſe my Own: 'Tis true, I cannot blame
Thy Hatred, Angelina, but thy Silence.
Thy Brother's Hatred made thine juſt; but yet
'Twas cruel in thee not to tell me fo.
Conqueſt is noble when an Heart ſtands out;
But mine which yielded, how could'ſt thou betray?
That Heart of which thou could ſt not be depriv’ds
By any force or pow'r beſide thy own;
Like Empires to that fatal height arrivd,
They muſt be ruin'd by themſelves alone.
My guarded Freedom cannot be a Prize
To any ſcornful Face a ſecond time;
For thy Idea like a Ghoſt would riſe,
And fright my Thoughts from ſuch another Crime,
K 2
Enter

4220 The RIVAL LADIES.
Enter a Servant with a Letter.
Man. From whom?
Serv. Sir, the Contents will ſoon reſolve you.
[He reads.
Man. Tell Rodorick he has prevented me
In my Deſign of ſending to him firſt.
I'll meet him fingle at the Time and Place;
But for my Friend, tell him he muſt excuſe me:
I'll hazard no Man in my Quarrel, but [Exit Mefs.
My felf alone: - Who's within there?
Enter a Servant.
Go call
my Siſter, and Gonſalvo hither. [Exit Seru
"Twas puſh'd ſo far, that like two Armies, we
Were drawn ſo cloſely up, we could not part
Without engagement: But they muſt not know it.
Enter Julia, Gonſalvo and Amideo.
I have ſome Buſineſs calls me hence, and know not
When I ſhall return: But e'er I go,
That Pow'r I have by my dead Father's Will
Over my Siſter, I bequeath to you:
[To Gonf.
She and her Fortunes both be firmly yours;
And this when I revoke, let Cowardiſe
Blaſt all my Youth, and Treaſon taint my Age.
Gonf. Sira
Man. Nay, good, no thanks, I cannot ſtay-
[Exit Manuel,
Gonf. There's ſomething more than ordinary in this:
Go Amideo, quickly follow him,
And bring me word which way he takes.
Amid. I go, Sir.
[Exit Amid. Jul. Kneels.
Gonf. Madam, When you implore the Pow'rs divine,
You have no Pray’rs, in which I will not join,
Though made againſt my ſelf. [Kneels with her,
Jul. In vain I ſue,
Unleſs my
Vows may be convey'd by you.
Gonf. Convey'd by me? -My.ill Succeſs in Love
Shews me too ſúre I have few Friends above.
How can you fear your juſt Deſires to want ?
When the Gols pray, they both requeſt and grant.
Jul
.

The RiyAL LADIES.
Jul. Heav'n has reſign'd my Fortune to your Hand,
if you, like Heav'n, th Afflicted underſtand.
Gonſ. The Language of th' Afflictel is not new;
Too well I learn'd- it when I firſt ſaw you.
Jul. In ſpight of me, you now command my Fate;
And
yet the Vanquiſh'd ſeeks the Victor's Hate;
Ev’n in this low Submiſſion, I declare,
That had I Pow'r, I would renew the War.
I'm forc'd to ſtoop, and 'twere too great a
Blow
To bend my Pride, and to deny me too.
Gonf. You have my Heart ; diſpoſe it to your Will;
If not, you know the way to uſe it ill.
Jul. Cruel to me, though kind to your Deſert,
My Brother gives my Perſon, not my Heart :
And I have left no other means to ſue,
But to you only to be freed from you.
Gonf. From ſuch a Suit how can you hope Succeſs,
Which givin, deſtroys the Giver's Happineſs?
Jul, You think it equal you ſhould not refign
That Pow'r you have; yet will not leave me mine :
:
Yet on my Will I have the Pow'r alone,
And ſince you cannot move it, move your Own.
Your Worth and Virtue my Eſteem may win,
But Womens Paſſions from themſelves begin ;
Merit may be, but Force ſtill is in vain.
Gonf. I would but love you, not your Love conſtrain ;
And though your Brother left me to command,
He plac'd his Thunder in a gentle Hand.
Jul. Your Favour from Conſtraint has ſet me free,
But that ſecures not my Felicity ;
Slaves, who, before, did cruel Maſters ſerve,
May fly to Deſarts, and in Freedom ſtarve.
The nobleſt Part of Liberty they loſe,
Who can but hun, and want the Pow'r to chuje.
Gonſ. O whither would your fatal Reaſons move !
You court my Kindneſs to deſtroy my Love.
Jul. You have the Pow'r to make my Happineſs,
By giving that which you can ne'er poſſeſs:
K 3
Gonf.

222
The RIVAL LADIE 3.
Gonf. Give
you to Rodorick? there wanted yet
That Curſe to make my Miſeries compleat.
Jul. Departing Miſers bear a nobler Mind;
They, when they can enjoy no more, are kind:
You, when your Love is dying in deſpair,
Yet want the Charity to make an Heir.
Gonf. Though Hope be dying, yet it is not dead;
And dying People with ſmall Foods are fed.
Jul. The greateſt Kindneſs dying Friends can have,
Is to diſpatch them when we cannot ſave.
Gonf. Thoſe dying People, could they ſpeak at all,
That Pity of their friends would Murder call.
For Men with Horrour Diſſolution meet ;
The Minutes, ev’n of painful Life, are ſweet.
Jul. But I'm by pow'rful Inclination led;
And Streams turn ſeldom to their Fountain head.
Gonf. No, 'tis a Tide which carries you away;
And Tides may turn though they can never ſtay.
Jul. Can you pretend to Love, and fee my Grief
Caus’d by your ſelf, yet give me no Relief ?
Gonſ. Where's my Reward ?
Jul. The Honour of the Flame.
Gonf. I loſe the Subſtance then to gain the Name.
Jul. I do too much a Miſtreſs's Pow'r betray;
Mójt Slaves be won by Courtſhip to obey :
Thy Diſobedience does to Treaſon rife,
Which thou, like Rebels, would ſt with Love diſguiſe.
I'll kill my ſelf, and if thou can't deny
To ſee me happy, thou malt ſee me die.
Gonf. o ſtay! I can with leſs Regret bequeath
My Love to Rodorick, than you to Death:
Jul. What new Objections can you find ?
Gonf. But are you ſure you never ſhall be kind?
Jul. Never.
Gonſ. What, never ?
Jul. Never to remove.
Gonſ. oh fatal Never to Souls damn'd in Love!
Jul. Lead me to Rodorick.
Gonſ.
And yet

The RIVAL LADIES. 223
One more ;
my
Stars could prove;
Gonf. If it muſt be ſo!
Jul. Here, take my Hand, ſwear on it thou wilt
go.
Gonf. oh balmy Sweetneſs! but 'tis loſt to me,
[He kiſſes her Hand.
Like Food upon a Wretch condemn’d to die:
Another, and I vow to go:-
If I ſwear often I ſhall be for ſwore.
Others againſt their Wills may hafte their Fate;
I only Toil to be unfortunate :
More
my own Foe than all
They give her Perfon, but I give her Love.
I muſt not truſt my
ſelf Hippolito.
Enter Hippolito.
Hip. My Lord!
Gonf. Quickly go find Don Rodorick out:
Tell him the Lady Julia will be walking
On the broad Rock that lies beſide the Port,
And there expects to ſee him inſtantly.
In the mean time I'il call for Amideo.
Jul. You'll keep your Promiſe to Don Rodorick.
Gonf. Madam, Since you bring Death, I welcome it;
But to his Fortuno at his Love ſubmit.
[Exit Gon.
Hip. I dare not ask what I too fain would haar :
But, like a tender Mother, Hope and Fear ;
My equal Twins, my equal Care I make; [4fide.
And keep Hope quiet, leaſt that Fear ſhould wake. [Exit Hip.
Ful. So, now I'm firmly at my own Diſpoſe;
And all the Lets, my Virtue caus'd: re:nor
Now, Rodorick, I come-
Enter Gonſalvo again.
Gons. Madam, my Boy's not yet return'd.
Jul. No matter, we'll not ſtay for him.
Gonf. Pray make not too much haſte.
[Exeunt Jul, and Gonf.
IVVD
K.4
SCENE

224
The RIVAL LADIES.
SCENE II.
Enter Don Rodorick, and a Servant.
Rod. Have you beſpoke a Veſſel, as I bid you?
Serv. I have done better; for I have employ'd
Some, whom I know, this Day to ſeize a Ship;
Which they have done; clapping the Men within her
All under Hatches, with ſuch ſpeed and ſilence,
That though ſhe rides at Anchor in the Port
Among the reſt, the Change is not diſcover’d.
Rod. Let my beſt Goods and Jewels be embark'd
With Secrecy: We'll put to Sea this Night.
Have you yet found my Siſter, or her Woman ?
Serv. Neither, Sir; but in all probability
She is with Manuel.
Rod. Would God the meaneſt Man in Alicant
Had Angelina rather than Don Manuel:
I never can forgive, much leſs forget.
How he (the younger Soldier) was preferr'd
To that Command of Horſe which was my due,
Serv. And after that, by force diſſeiz’d you of
Your Quarters
Rod Should I meet him fev’n Years hence
At th' Altar, I would kill him there: I had
Forgot to tell you the Deſign we had;
To carry Fulia by force away
Will now be needleſs; ſhe'll come to the Rock
To ſee me, you unſeen ſhall ſtand behind,
And carry her into the Veilel.
Serv. Shall I not help you to diſpatch Don Manuel ?
Rod. I neither doubt my Valour, nor my Fortune:
But if I die, revenge me: Preſently
About your Buſineſs; I muſt to the Rock,
For fear I come too late.
[Exeunt ſeverally.
SCENE

The RIYAL LADIES.
2250
my Maſter.
SCENE III. Through a Rock is diſcover'd a
Navy of Ships Riding at a Diſtance.
Enter Amideo.
Amid. Thus far unſeen by Manuel, I have trac'd him;
He can be gone no farther than the Walk
Behind the Rock: I'll back and tell
Enter Hippolito at the other end.
Hip. This is the place where Rodʻrick muſt expect
His Fulia :---How! Amideo here!
Amid. Hippolito !
Hip. This were ſo fit a time
For my Revenge; had I the Courage, now:
My Heart ſwells at him, and my Breath grows ſhort,
But whether Fear or Anger choaks it up,
I cannot tell.
Amid. He looks ſo Ghaftfully;
Would I were paft him; yet I fear to try it,
Becauſe
my Mind miſgives me he will ſtop me.
B’your leave Hippolito.
Hip. Whither lo faft?
Amid. You'll not preſume to hinder my Lord's Buſineſs?"
He ſhall know it.
Hip. I'll make you ſure, before,
For telling any Tales : Do you remember
Since you defended Angelina's Beauty
Againſt Honoria's ; nay, and would maintain it.
Amid. And ſo I will do ſtill; (I muſt feign Courage
There is no other way.)
[-Aſide.
Hip. I'll fo revenge
That Injury (if my Heart fails me not.)
Amid. Come, confeſs truly, for I know it fails you.
What would you give to avoid fighting now?
Hip. No, 'tis your Heart that fails.
Amid. I ſcorn the Danger;
Yet, what Compaſſion on your Youth might da

226
The RIVAL LADIES,
I cannot tell; and therefore do not work
Upon my Pity; for I feel already
My ſtout Heart melts.
Hip. Oh! Are
you
thereabout?
Now I am ſure you fear; and you
ſhall fight.
Amid. I will not fight.
Hip. Confeſs then Angelina
Is not fo Fair as is Honoria.
Amid. I do confeſs; now are you fatisfied ?
Hip. There's more behind; confeſs her not ſo worthy
To be belov'd, nor to poſleſs Gonſalvo,
As fair Honoria is.
Amid. That's ſomewhat hard.
Hip. But you muſt do’t, or Die.
Amid. Well, Life is ſweet;
She's not ſo worthy: Now let me be gone.
Hip. No, never to my Maſter; ſwear to quit
His Service, and no more to ſee his Face.
Amid. I fain would ſave my Life, but that which you
Propoſe, is but another Name to Die.
I cannot Live without my Maſter's Sight.
Hip. Then you muſt fight with me for him.
Amid. I would
Do any thing with you, but fighting for him.
Hip. Nothing but that will ſerye.
Amid. Lay by our Swords,
And I'll ſcratch with you for him.
Hip. That's not manly.
Amid. Well, ſince it muſt be fo, I'll fight :
-Unbutton.
[Hippolito unbuttons ſlowly.
How many Buttons has he? I'll be one
Behind him ftill.
[-Aſide,
[Unbuttons one by one after him. Hippolito makes
more hafte,
You are fo Prodigal; if you
lov'd
my Maſter,
You would not tear his Doublet fo:
-How's this!
Two fwelling Breaſts! a Woman, and my Rival!
The Stings of Jealouſie, have giv'n me Courage
Which Nature never gave me:
Come

The RIVAL LADIES.
2277
Come on thou vile Diffembler of thy Sex;
Expect no Mercy; either thou or I
Muſt Die upon this ſpot: Now for Gonſalvo
Sa -Sa-
Hip. This Courage is not Counterfeit; ah me!
What ſhall I do? for pity, gentle Boy
Amid. No pity; ſuch a Cauſe as ours
Can neither give nor take it: If thou yield'ſt
I will not ſpare thee; therefore fight it out.
[Tears open his Doublet.
Hip. Death to my Hopes! a Woman! and fo rare
A Beauty that my Lord muſt needs doat on her.
I ſhould my ſelf if I had been a Man:
But as I am, her Eyes ſhoot Death at me.
Amid. Come, have
you
faid
your Pray’rs ?
Hip. For thy Confuſion
Thou Ravenous Harpy, with an Angel's Face;
Thou art diſcover'd, thou too charming Rival;
I'll be reveng'd upon thoſe fatal Eyes.
Amid. I'll tear out thine.
Hip. I'll bite out hungry Morſels
From thoſe plump Cheeks, but I will make 'em thinner.
Amid, I'd beat thee to the Blackneſs of a Moor,
But that the Features of thy Face are ſuch;
Such damnable, invincible good Features,
That as an Ethiop thou would it ſtill be lov'd.
Hip. I'll quite unbend that black Bow o'er thine Eyes;
I'll murther thee, and Julia ſhall have him,
Rather than thou,
Amid. I'll kill both thee and her,
Rather than any one but I ſhall have him.
Hip. Come on, thou Witch,
Amid. Have at thy Heart, thou Syren.
[They draw and fight Awkwardly
, not coming thear
one another
Amid. I think I paid you there.
Hip. O ſtay a little,
And tell me in what Corner of thy Heart
Gonfalio lyes, that I may ſpare that place,

228
The RIVAL Ladies.
Amid. He lyes in the laſt drop of all my Blood, ,
And never will come out, but with my Soul.
Hip. Come, come, we dally;
Would one of us were dead, no matter which.
[They fight nearer.
Enter Don Manuel.
Man. The pretty Boys that ſerve Gonſalvo, fighting!
- I come in time to ſave the Life of one.
[Hippolito gets Amideo down in cloſing : Manuel
takes away the Swords.
Hip. For goodneſs fake hinder not my. Revenge.
Amid. The noble Manuel has fav'd
my
Life:
Heav'ns, how unjuſtly have I hated him! [Aſide.
Man. What is it, gentle Youths, that moves you thus?
I cannot tell what Cauſes you may find;
But truſt me, all the World, in ſo much Sweetneſs,
Would be to ſeek where to begin a Quarrel:
You ſeem the little Cupids in the Song,
Contending for the Honey-bag.
Hip. 'Tis well
You're come; you may prevent a greater Miſchief:
Here 'tis Gonſalvo has appointed Rodorick-
Man. To fight?
Hip. What's worſe; to give your Siſter to him.
Won by her Tears, he means to leave her free,
And to redeem her Miſery with his :
At leaſt I fo Conjecture.
Man. Tis a doubtful
Problem ; either he loves her violently,
Or not at all.
-Amid. You have betray'd my Maſter :-[To Hip. Aides
Hip. If I have injur'd you, I mean to give you
'The Satisfaction of a Gentlewoman
Enter Gonſalyo and Julia.
Man. Oh they are here; now I ſhall be reſolv'd.
ful. My Brother Manuel! what Fortune's this!
Man. I'm glad I have prevented you.
Gonf. With what
Variety my Fate torments me ſtill!
Never

The RIVAL LADIES. 229
you beſtowa
Never was Man ſo dragg’d along by Virtue;
But I muſt follow her.
Ful. Noble Gonſalvo,
Protect me from my Brother.
Gonf. Tell me, Sir,
When
your
Siſter on me, did not
You give her freely up to my diſpoſe ?
Man. 'Tis true, I did; but never with intent
You ſhould reſtore her to my Enemy.
Gonf. 'Tis paſt; ’tis done: She undermind my Soul
With Tears; as Banks are fapp'd away by Streams.
Man. I wonder what ſtrange Bleſling ſhe expects
From the harſh Nature of this Rodorick; .
A Man made up of Malice and Revenge.
Jul. If I poſleſs him, I may be unhappy;
But if I loſe him, I am ſurely fo.
Had you a Friend fo deſperately fick,
That all Phyſicians had forſook his Cure;
All ſcorch'd without, and all parch'd up within,
The Moiſture that maintain’d conſuming Nature
Lick'd up, and in a Feaver fry'd away;
Could
you
behold him beg, with dying Eyes,
A Glaſs of Water, and refuſe it him
Becauſe
you
knew it ill for his Diſeaſe?
When he would die without it, how could you
Deny to make his Death more eaſie to him
Man, Talk not to me of Love, when Honour fuffers z.
The Boys will Hiſs at me.
Gonſ. I ſuffer moít:-
Had there been Choice, what would I not have choſe?
To ſave my Honour I my Love muſt loſe:
But Promiſes once made are paſt debate,
And Truth's of more neceſſity than Fate.
Man. I ſcarce can think your Promiſe abſolute;
There might ſome way be thought on,
if
you
would,
To keep both-her, and it.
Gonf. No, no, my Promiſe was no Trick of State:
I meant to be made truly wretched firſt,
And then to die; and I'll perform them both.

230
The RIVAL LADIES.
Man. Then that Revenge I meant on Roderick
I'll take on you.
[Draws.
Gons.
I draw with ſuch Regret
As Merchants throw their Wealth into the Sea,
To ſave their ſinking Veſſels from a Wreck.
Man. I find I cannot lift my Hand againſt thee:
Do what thou wilt; but let not me beliold it.
[Goes off a little way.
I'll cut this Gordian Knot I cannot looſe:
To keep his Promiſe, Rodorick ſhall have her,
But I'll return and reſcue her by Force;
Then giving back what he ſo frankly gave,
At once my Honour and his Love I'll ſave.
[Exit. Manuel.
Enter Rodorick.
Rod. How! Julia brought by him? Who ſent
Gonf. 'Twas I.
(for me?
Rod. I know your Buſineſs then; 'tis Fighting.
Gonſ. You're miſtaken ; 'tis ſomething that I fear :
Rod. What ist?
Gonſ. Why, twill not out: Here, take her;
And deſerve her; but no Thanks;
For fear I ſhould conſider what I give,
And call it back
Jul. O my dear Rodorick !
Gonſ. O cruel Julia!
For Pity ſhew not all your Joy before me;
Stifle fome part of it one Minute longer
Till I am dead,
Ful. My Rodorick ſhall know
He owes his Julia to you; thank him, Love;
In Faith I take it ill you are fo flow.
Rod. You know he has forbid me; and beſide
He'll take it better from your Mouth than mine;
All that you do muſt needs be pleaſing to him.
Jul. Still fullen and unkind!
Rod, Why then in ſhort,
I do not underſtand the Benefit.
Gouſ. Not, to have Julia in thy free Poffeffion?
Rad,

The RivAL LADIES.
23:1
Rod. Not brought by you; not of another's leaving :
Jul. Speak foftly Rodorick: Let not theſe hear thee;
But ſpare my Shame for the ill Choice I made
In loving thee.
Rod. I will ſpeak loud, and tell thee,
Thou com'ft, all cloy'd and tir'd with his Embraces;
To proffer thy pall’& Love to me: his Kiſſes
Do yet bedew thy Lips; the very
Print
His Arms made round thy Body, yet remains.
Gonſ. O barbarous Jealouſie!
Ful. 'Tis an harſh word:
I am too pure for thee; but yet I love thee.
[Offers to take his Hand.
Rod, Away, foul Impudence.
Gonf. Madam, you wrong
Your Virtue, thus to clear it by Submiſſion.
Ful. Whence grows this Boldneſs, Sir? did I ask
you
To be my Champion?
Rod. He choſe to be your Friend, and not your Husband:
Left that dull part of Dignity to me;
As often the worſt Actors play the Kings.
Jul. This Jealouſie is but exceſs of Paſſion,
Which grows up, wild, in every Lover's Breaſt;
But changes Kind when planted in an Husband.
Rod. Well, what I am, I am; and what I will be,
When you are mine, my Pleaſure ſhall determine.
I will receive no Law from
any
Man.
Ful. This ſtrange Unkindneſs of
my
Rodorick.
I owe to thee, and thy unlucky Love;
Henceforth
go
lock it
it up within thy Breaft;
'Tis only harmleſs while it is conceald,
But open'd ſpreads Infection like a Vault.
Go, and
my
with thee:
Gonf. I cannot go 'till I behold you Happy-
Here, Rodorick, receive her on thy Knees;
Uſe her with that reſpect which thou would'ſt pay
Thy Guardian Angel if he could be ſeen.
-Do not provoke my Anger by refuſing.-
I'll watch thy leait Offence to her; cach Word,
Noy
Curſe go

232
The RIVAL LADIES.
Nay, every ſullen Look:-
And as the Devils, who are damn’d to Torments,
Yet have the Guilty Souls their Slaves to puniſh:
So under me, while I am wretched, thou
Shalt be tormented.
Rod. Would'ſt thou make me the Tenant of thy Luſt;
To Toil, and for my Labour take the Dreggs,
The juicy Vintage being left for thee?
No; ſhe's an infamous, leud Proſtitute;
I loath her at
my
Soul.
Gonf. I can forbear
No longer; ſwallow down thy Lye, foul Villain,
[They fight off the Stage, Exeunt.
Ful. Help, help! you
Amid. Here is that Witch whoſe fatal Beauty
Began the Miſchief; ſhe ſhall pay for all.
[Goes to kill Julia.
Hip. I hate her for it more than thou canſt do;
But cannot ſee her die
my
Maſter loves,
[Goes between with her Sword.
Enter Gonſalvo, following Rodorick; who falls.
Rod. So, now I am at reft:
I feel Death riſing higher ſtill, and higher,
Within my Bofom; every Breath I fetch
Shuts up my Life within a ſhorter compaſs:
And like the vaniſhing Sound of Bells, grows leſs
And leſs each Pulſe, 'till it be loſt in Air: [Swoons away.
Gonf. Down at your Feet, much injur'd Innocence,
I lay that Sword, which
Jul. Take it up again,
It has not done its work 'till I am kill'd:
For ever, ever, thou haſt robb’d me of
That Man, that only Man, whom I could love:
Doft thou thus court thy Miſtreſs? thus oblige her?
All thy Obligements have been fatal
yet,
Yet the moſt fatal now would moſt oblige me.
-yet I am kill'd before in him.
I lie there on the Ground; cold, cold, and pale:
That Death I die in Rodorick is far
More
Kill me:

The RIVAL LADIES. 233
More pleaſant than that Life I live in Julia.-
--See how he ſtands—when he is bid diſpatch me!
How dull! how ſpiritleſs! that Sloth poſſeſt
Thee not, when thou didſt kill my Rodorick.
Gonf. I'm too unlucky to converſe with Men:
I'll pack together all my
Miſchiefs
up,
Gather with care each little Remnant of 'em,
That none of 'em be left behind: Thus loaded;
Fly to fome Defart, and there let them looſe,
Where they may never prey upon Mankind.
But you may make my Journey ſhorter : Take
This Sword; 'twill ſhow
you
how:
Jul. I'll gladly ſet you on your way:-[Takes his Sword.
Enter three of Rodorick's Servants.
1 Serv. Make haſte; he's now unarm’d, we may
with
Revenge my Maſter's Death.
(eaſe
Ful. Now theſe ſhall do it.
Gonf. I'll die by none but you.
Hip. O here, take my Sword, Sir.
Amid. He ſhall have mine.
[Both give their Swords to Gonſalvo.
Enter Manuel,
Man. Think not of Death,
We'll live and conquer, .
[They beat them off
Man. Theſe Fellows, tho' beat off, will ſtrait return
With more; we muſt make haſte to ſave our felves.
Hip. 'Tis far to th' Town,
And e'er you reach it, you will be diſcoverd.
Gonf. My Life's a burden to me, were not Julia's
Concern'd; but as it is, ſhe being pro
preſent
Will be found acceſſary to his Death.
Man. See where a Veſſel lies, not far from Shore;
And near at hand a Boat belonging to her;
Let's haſte aboard, and what with Pray’rs and Gifts
Buy our Concealment there :-Come Fulia.
Gonf. Alas, ſhe ſwoons away upon the Body.
Man. The Night grows on apace; we'll take her in
Our Arms, and bear her hence.
[Exeunt Gonſalyo, and the Boys with Manuel, carrying Julia.
The

234
The RIVAL LADIES.
The Servants enter again.
1 Serv. They are all gone, we may return with Safety:
Help me to bear the Body to the Town.
2 Serv. He ſtirs, and breaths a litile; there may
be
Some hope.
3 Serv. The Town's far off, and th' Evening cold,
Let's
carry
him to the Ship.
1 Serv. Haſte then away:
Things once reſolv'd are ruin'd by Delay. [Exeunt.
ACT
V. SCENE I:
The SCEN E lying in a Carrack.
Enter a Pyrate and the Captain.
Welcome a ship-board, Captain ; you ſtaid long
Capt. No longer that was neceſſary for
ſhifting Trades;
To change me from a Robber to a Pyrate.
Pyr. There's a fair Change wrought in you fince Ye-
ſterday
Morning; then you talk'd of nothing but Repentance, and
Amendment of Life.
Capt. 'Faith I have conſider'd better on't:
For converſing a whole Day together with honeſt Men,
I found 'em all ſo poor and beggarly, that a civil
Perſon would be aſham'd to be ſeen with 'em.
you come from Don Rodorick's Cabin; what
Hopes have you of his Life?
Pyr. No danger of it, only loſs of Blood
Had made him faint away; he call’d for you.
Capt. Well, are his Jewels and his Plate brought in?
Pyr. They are; when hoiſt we Sails ?
Capt. At the firſt break
of Day: When we are got out clear, we'll ſeize
On
But

The RIVAL LADIES.
235
On Rodrick and his Men: They are not many,
But Fear may make 'em Deſp’rate.
Pyr. We may take 'em,
When they are laid to ſleep.
Capt. 'Tis well advis'd,
[Rodrick
Pyr. I forgot to tell you, Sir, that a little before Don
Was brought in, a Company of Gentlemen (purſu'd
It ſeems by Juſtice) procur's our Boat to Row 'em
Hither : Two of 'em carried a very fair Lady betwixt’em,
Who was either dead, or ſwooned.
Capt. We'll fell 'em all together to the Turk,
(At leaſt I'll tell him fo.)
[Aide.
Pyr. Pray, Sir, let us reſerve the Lady to our own Uſes;
It were a ſhame to good Catholicks to give her up
To Infidels.
Capt. Don Rodrick's Door opens, I'll ſpeak to him
The SCENE draws, and diſcovers the Captain's Ca-
bin; Rodorick on a Bed, and two Servants by him.
Capt. How is it with the brave Don Rodorick?
Do you want any thing?
Rod. I have too much
Of that I would not, Love;
And what I would have, that I want, Revenge.
I muſt be ſet Aſhore.
Capt. That you may, Sir;
But our own Safety muſt be thought on firſt.
[One enters, and whiſpers the Captai.
Capt. I come: -Senior, think you are Lord here,
and command
All freely.
[Exit Captain and Pyrate.
Rod. He does well to bid me think fo: I am of Opinion
We are fallen into Huckſters Hands.
I Serv. Indeed he talk'd ſuſpiciouſly enough ;
He half denied to Land us.
Rod. Theſe, Pedro,
Are
your confiding Men
2 Serv. I think 'em ſtill ſo.
Rod.

236
The RIVAL LADIES.
Rod. Would I were from 'em.
2 Serv. 'Tis impoflible
T'attempt it now; you have not Strength enough
To walk.
Rod. That Venture muſt be mine; we're loſt
If we ſtay here to morrow.
2 Serv. I hope better.
Sledge,
i Serv. One whom I ſaw among 'em, to my Know-
Is a notorious Robber.
2 Serv. He look'd ſo 'like a Gentleman, I could not
know him then.
Rod. What became of Julia when I fell?
I Serv. We left her Weeping over you, till we
Were beaten off; but ſhe, and thoſe with her,
Were
gone
when we return'd.
Rod. Too late I find
I wrong'd her in my Thoughts ; I'm every way
A wretched Man:
Something we muſt reſolve on e'er we ſleep;
Draw in the Bed, I feel the Cold. [Bed drawn in, Exeunt.
SCENE II.
Enter Gonſalvo, Manuel, Hippolito, and Amideo.
Hip. Nay, 'tis too true; for peeping through a Chink,
I ſaw Don Rodrick lying on a Bed,
Not dead, as we ſuppos'd, but only hurt;
So waited on as ſpoke him Mafter here.
Man. Was there ever ſo fatal an Adventure?
To fly into that very Ship for Refuge
Where th’only Perſon we would ſhun, Commands!
This Miſchief is ſo ſtrange it could not happen,
But was the Plot and Juggle of our Fate
To free it ſelf, and caſt the Blame on us.
Gons. This is not yet our Fortune's utmoſt Malice;
The Gall remains behind: This Ship was that
Which yeſterday was mine; I can ſee nothing
Round me, but what's familiar to my Eyes,
Only the Perſons now; which makes me think
'Twas

The RIVAL LADIES. 237
Twas feiz'd upon by Rodrick, to reyenge
Himſelf on me.
Man, 'Tis wonderful indeed.
Amid. The only comfort is, we are not known,
For when we enter'd it was dark.
Hip. That Comfort
Is of as ſhort Continuance as the Night,
The Day will ſoon diſcover us.
Man. Some way muſt be invented to get out.
Hip. Fair Julia, fadly pining by her ſelf,
Sits on her Bed; Tears falling from her Eyes
As filently as Dews in dead of Night.
All we conſult of muſt be kept from her:
That moment that ſhe knows of Rodorick's Life
Dooms us to certain Death.
Man. 'Tis well conſider'd.
Gonf. For my Part, were not you and ſhe concernd,
I look on my own Life, like an Eſtate
So charg'd with Debts, it is not worth the keeping,
We cannot long be undiſcover'd by them;
Let us then Ruſh upon them on the ſudden,
(All hope of Safety plac'd in our Deſpair)
And gain quick Victory, or ſpeedy Death.
Man. Conſider firſt th’impoſſibility
Of the Attempt; four Men, and two poor Boys
(Which added to our Number make us weaker)
Againſt ten Villains, more reſoly'd for Death
Than any ten among our Holieſt Prieſts.
Stay but a little longer, till they all
Diſperſe to reſt within their ſeveral Cabins,
Then more ſecurely we may ſet upon them,
And kill them half before the reſt can wake:
By this means too, the Boys are uſeful for us;
For they can cut the Throats of ſleeping Men.
Hip. Now have I the greateſt Temptation in the
World to reveal
Thou art a Woman.
Amid. If 'twere not for thy Beauty, my Maſter ſhould
know
What
[To Amid

238
The RIVAL LADIES.
[70 her.
What a Man he keeps.
Hip. Why ſhould we have recourſe to deſp’rate Ways,
When ſafer may be thought on?
'Tis like giving the extream Unction
In the beginning of a Sickneſs :
Can you imagine to find all aſleep?
The wicked Joy of having ſuch a Booty
In their Poffeffion, will keep fome awake:
And ſome, no doubt, will watch with wounded Rodrick,
Amid. What would your Wiſdom now propoſe?
Hip. To ſay
That ſome of us are Sea-ſick; (your Complexion
Will make th’Excuſe for us who are leſs Fair:)
So by good Words and Promiſes procure
We may be ſet Afhore, e'er Morning comie.
Amid. O the deep Reaſons of the grave Hippolito!
As if 'twere likely in ſo calm a Seafon
We ſhould be fick fo foon; or if we were,
7
Whom ſhould we chuſe among us to go tell it?
For who ere ventures out muſt needs be known;
Or if none knew us, can you think that Pyrates
Will let us go upon ſuch eaſie terms
As promiſing Rewards ?
--Let me adviſe you.
Hip. Now we expect an Oracle.
Amid. Here are Bundles
Of Canvas and of Cloth you ſee lye by us,
In which one of us ſhall fow up the reſt,
Only ſome breathing Place, for Air, and Food;
Then call the Pyrates in, and tell them, we
For fear had drown'd our felves: And when we come
To the next Port, find means to bring us out.
Hip. Pithily ſpoken!
As if you were to bind up Marble Statues,
Which only bore the Shapes of Men without,
And had no need of ever eaſing Nature.
Gonf. There's but one way left, that's this:
You know the Rope by which the Cock-boat's tyd,
Goes down by th’ Stern, and now we are at Anchor,
There fits no Pilot to diſcover us;
My

The RIVAL LADIES.
239
My Counſel is, to go down by the Ladder,
And being once there, unlooſe, and Row to Shore.
Man. This, without doubt, were beſt; but there lyes
Some one or more within the Boat to watch it.
[ever
Gonf. I'll fide down firſt, and run the Venture of it;
You ſhall come after me, if there be need,
To give me Succour.
Man. 'Tis the only way.
Gonſ. Go in to Julia then, and firſt prepare her
With knowledge of the Pyrates, and the danger
Her Honour's in among ſuch barb'rous People.
Man. Leave it to me.
Amid. Hippolito and Julia,
My Rivals, like two pointed Rocks appear ;
And I through both muſt to Gonſalvo fteer. [Aſide
[Exeunt all but Hip.
Hip. As from ſome ſteep and dreadful Precipice,
The frighted Traveller caſts down his Eyes,
And ſees the Ocean at fo great a Diſtance,
It looks as if the Skies were funk below him;
Yet if ſome Neigh’ring Shrub (how weak foe'er)
Peeps up, his willing Eyes ſtop gladly there,
And ſeem to eaſe themſelves, and reft upon it:
So in my deſp'rate State, each little Comfort
Preſerves me from Deſpair : Gonſalvo ftrove not
With greater Care to give away his Julia,
Than I have done to part with my Gonſalvo,
Yet neither brought to paſs our hateful Wiſh:
Then we may meet, ſince different Ways we move,
Chaſing each other in the Maze of Love. [Exit Hip
SCENE III.
Enter Don Rodorick, carried by two Servants.
1 Serv. It was the only way that could be thought on,
To get down by the Ladder to the Boat.
2 Serv. You may thank me for that Invention.
Rod. What a Noiſe is here! when the least Breath's
As dang’rous as a Tempeſt.
2. Serv,

The RIVAL LADIES.
240
go foftly.
2 Serv. If any of thoſe Roues ſhould hear him talk,
In what a Cafe were we?
Rod, O Patience, Patience!
This Aſs brays out for Silence.
Enter at the other end, Manuel, leading Julia; "Gonſalvo,
Hippolito, Amideo.
Gonf. Hark! what Noiſe is that?
[They meet on the middle of the Stage.
Rod, Who's here! I am betray'd; and nothing grieves
But I want ſtrength to die with Honour.
(MC
Jul. Rodrick ?
Is it thy Voice, my Love? Speak and reſolve me
Whether thou liv'ſt, or I am dead with thee?
-Man. Kills him, and force our way.
Rod. Is Manuel there?
Hold up my Arm, that I may make one thruſt
At him before I die.
Gonſ. Since we muſt tall,
We'll ſell our Lives as dearly as we can.
1 Serw. And we'll defend our Maſter to the laſt. [Fight.
Enter Pyrates, without their Captain.
1 Pyr. What's the meaning of this Uproar? Quarrelling
Amongſt your ſelves at Midnight?
2 Pyr. We are come in a fit time to decide the Difference.
Man. Hold Gentlemen, we're equally concern'd,
[TO Rodorick's Servants.
We for our own, you
for
your
Maſter's ſafety
If we join Forces we may then reſiſt 'em,
If not, both Sides are ruin'd.
1 Serv. We agree;
Gonf. Come o'er on our Side then.
[They join.
i Pyr. A Miſchief on our Captain's Drowſineſs;
We're loſt for want of him.
[They fight.
Gonf. Dear Madam, get behind, while
[TO Julia.
We cannot be o'ercome.
[They drive off the Pyrates, and follow them off
Rodorick remains on the Ground.
Rod. I had much rather my own Life were loſt,
Than
you are ſafe

The RivĀL LADIES.
241
Than Manuel's were preſerv’d.
Enter the Pyrates retreating before Gonſalvo, doc.
I Pyr. All's loft; they fight like Devils, and our Captain
Yet ſleeping in his Bed.
2 Serv. Here lies Don Rodorick;
If we muſt die, we'll not leave him hehind.
[Goes to kill him.
Ful. O ſpare my Rodorick's Life, and in exchange
Take mine; I put my ſelf within your Pow'r,
To ſave or kill.
i Pyr. So, here's another Pawn
For all our Safeties. Arti
And
Man, Heay'n! what has ſhe done?
Gonf. Let go the Lady, or expect no Mercy: ::
The leaſt drop of her Blood is worth all yours
And mine together.
I Pyr. I am glad you think ſo:
Either deliver up your Sword, or mine
Shall pierce her Heart this Moment.
Gonf. Here, here, take it.
Man. You are not mad to give away all Hopes
I [ Manuel holds him.
Of Safety and Defence, from us, from her,
And from your ſelf at once!
Gonf. When ſhe is dead
What is there worth defending?
Man. Will you truſt in
A Pyrate's Promiſe ſooner than
your Valour?
Gonf. Any thing, rather than ſee her in Danger.
1 Pyr. Nay, if you diſpute the Matter!
Hortowo [Holds his Sword to her Breaft.
Gonf. I yield, I yield; Reaſon to Love muſt bow:
Love, that gives Courage, can make Cowards too. topit
[Gives his Sword.
Ful. O ſtrange Effect of a moſt generous Paſſion!
Rod. His Enemies themſelves muſt needs admire it.
Man. Nay, if Gonſalvo makes a Faſhion of it, to
'Twill be Valour to die tamely. [Gives his.
Hip. I am for dying too with my dear Maſter.
VOL. I.
L
Amid.
V

242
The RIVAL LADIES.
Amid. My Life will go as cas’ly as a Fly's,
The leaſt Fillip does it in this Fright..
i Pyr. One call our Captain up: Tell him, he deſerves
little of the Booty.
Jul. It has ſo much prevaild upon my Soul,
I ever muſt acknowledge it.
[To Gonſalvo,
Rod. Julia has reaſon, if ſhe love him; yet
I find I cannot bear it.
[ Aſide.
Gonf. Say but you love me; I am more than paid.
Ful. You ask that only thing I cannot give;
Were I not Rodorick's firſt, I ſhould be yours;
My violent Love for him, I know is faulty,
Yet Paſſion never can be plac'd ſo ill,
But that to change it is the greater Crime:
Inconſtancy is ſuch a Guilt, as makes
That very Love ſuſpected which it brings ;
It brings a Gift, but 'tis of ill-got Wealth,
The Spoils of ſome forſaken Lover's Heart:
Love alter'd once, like Blood let out before,
Will loſe its Virtue, and can cure no more.
Gonſ. In thoſe few Minutes which I have to live,
To be call’d yours is all I can enjoy;
Rodorick receives no Prejudice by that;
I would but make ſome ſmall Acquaintance here,
For fear I never ſhould enquire you out
In that new World which we are going to.
Amid. Then I can hold no longer ;---you deſire
In Death to be call'd Hers; and all I wiſh
Is dying to be
yours.
Hip. You'll not diſcover ?
[Aſide.
Amid. See here the moſt unfortunate of Women,
That Angelina, whom you all thought loft;
And loft ſhe was indeed, when ſhe beheld
Gonſalzo firſt.
All. How! Angelina !
Rod. Ha !
My Siſter?
Amid. I thought to have fled Love in flying Manuel,
But Love purſu'd me in Gonſalvo's Shape;
For

The RIVAL LADIES. 243
For him I ventur'd all that Maids hold dear,
Th’Opinion of my Modeſty, and Virtue,
My loſs of Fortune, and my Brother's love.
For him I have expos'd my ſelf to Dangers,
Which, (great themſelves, yet) greater would appear,
If you could ſee them through a Woman's Fear :
But why do I my Right by Dangers prove?
The greateſt Argument for Love, is Love:
That Paſſion, Julia, while he lives, denies,
He ſhould refuſe to give her when he dies :
Yet
grant
he did his Life to her bequeath,
May I not claim my ſhare of him in Death?
I only beg, when all the Glory's gone,
The heatleſs Beams of a departing Sun.
Gonf. Never was Paſſion hid fo modeſtly,
So generouſly reveald.
Man. We're now a Chain of Lovers link'd in Death;
Julia goes firſt
, Gonſalvo hangs on her,
And Angelina holds upon Gonſalvo,
As I on Angelina.?
Hip. Nay, here's Honoria too :-
You look on me with wonder in your Eyes,
To ſee me here, and in this ſtrange Diſguiſe.
Ful. What new Miracle is this? Honoria !
Man. I left you with my Aunt at Bareclona,
And thought e're this you had been married to
The old rich Man, Don Eſtevan de Gama.
Hip. I ever had a ſtrange Averſion for him;
But when Gonſalvo landed there, and made
A kind of Courtſhip, (though it ſeems in Jeſt)
It ſerv'd to conquer me, which Eftevan
Perceiving, preſt my Aunt to haſte the Marriage.
What ſhould I do? my Aunt importun'd me
For the next Day: Gonſalvo, though I lov'd him,
Knew not my Love; nor was I ſure his Courtſhip
Was not th' Effect of a bare Gallantry.
Gonſ. Alas! how griev'd I am, that flight addreſs
Should make ſo deep Impreſſions on your Mind
In three Days time.
L2
Hip.

244
The RivAL LADIES.
per
Акод
WON OTO
pt in whichris Is bʻruta90 I miel 107
Hip. That Accident in which
You ſav'd my Life, when firſt you ſaw me, caus'a it.dt
Though now the Story be too long to tell to 2101*M
Howe'er it was, hearing that Night you lay! I norid 101
Aboard
your Ship, thus as you ſee diſguised, 073) sbidw
In Cloaths belonging to my youngeſt Nephew, Doy
I roſe e’re Day, reſolv'd to find you out,
on yow jua
And, if I could, procure to wait on you
on You"A ff51n9rg oT
Without diſcovery of my ſelf; but Fortune troinst 10T
Croſt all iny Hopes.
on new 130 evig oj 9191 blood oH
Gonf. It was that diſmal Night
hati zid bib ad asrg 1sY
Which tore my Anchor up, and toſt my Ship
Haneyalla Jon I y M
Paſt hope of Safety, many Days together,
er, w god yino !
Until at length it threw me on this Port.
& glas 9AT
Hip. I will not tell
you
what
my
Sorrows were
To find you gone; but there was now no help. od
Go back again I durft not! But
, in fine
,
Thought best, as faſt as my weak Legs would bear me
,
To come to Alicant, and find my siſter,
Unknown to any elſe: But being near
wilayah to FA
The City, I was ſeiz’d upon by Thieves,
forod vote H
you
reſcu'd the reſt
Gonſ. I know too much indeed for my Repoſe.
Enter Captain wou
you know me?
11 mw poy stol i uni
Gonſ. Now I look better on thee, iris pro deos: bra.
Thou ſeem'ft a greater Villain than I thought thee.
wodT
Ful. 'Tis he. 10 morfiswa Bentti brenova H
Hip. That Bloody Wretch who robb'd us in
nod w su
The Woods.
0129 Toroni) equipo to bud A
Gonf. Slave! dar'ſt thou lift thy Hand againſt me?
Dar'it thou touch any one whom he protects, ayol
Who gave thee Life? But I accuſe my felf, tort sed
Not thee: The Death of all theſe guiltleſs Perfons to
Became my Crime that Minute when I fpar'd thee.
Capt. It is not all your Threats can alter me
3001 2. W
a W
From what I have refolv'd.
von AD
Gorf. Begin then firſt roiloqral goob ót ochora Hissede
With me.
DO 28
Capt.
me
JOY
TOT
YOSO
Capt. Do
Wort

The RivAL LADIES, 245
acre. my Sword.
SE 1979
Capt. I will, by laying here
[Lays his Sword at Gonſalvo's Feet.
All. What means this ſudden Change?
Capt. 'Tis neither new, nor ſudden: Froin that time
You me Life, I watch'd how to repay
Permata OD!
gave
And Rodrick's Servant gave me ſpeedy means o go
T effect my Wiſh: For telling me, his Maſter i bar 1
Meant a Revenge on you, and on Don Manuel,
And then to ſeize on Julia, and depart:
2011:
obnoW
I proffer'd him my Aid to ſeize a Veſſel;
And having by Enquiry found out yours,
0 1
Acquainted firſt the Captain with my purpoſe,
To make a ſeeming Maſtry of the Ship.
Mar. How durft he take your Word or siauvig
Osnom mostu
Capt. That I fecur'd,
I sit
By letting him give notice to the Ships
That lay about: This done, knowing the Place
You were to fight on was behind the Rock;
Not far from thence, I, and ſome choſen Men
Lay out of ſight, that, if foul Play were offer'd,
We might prevent it.
But came not in; becauſe when there was need,
Don Manuel, who was nearer, ſtept before me.
Gonſ. Then the Boat which ſeem'd
To lye by Chance, hulling not far from Shoré,
Was plac'd by your Direction there?
Capt. It was.
Gonf. You're truly noble; and I owe much more
Than my own Life and Fortunes to your Worth,
Capt. 'Tis time I ſhould reſtore their Liberty
To fuch of yours as yet are ſeeming Pris’ners.
I'll wait on you again.
[Exit Captain
Rod. My Enemies are happy, and the Storm
Prepard for them, muſt break upon my Head.
Gonf. So far am I from Happineſs, Heav'n knows
My Griefs are doubled :-
I ſtand ingag'd in hopeleſs Love to Fulia;
In Gratitude to theſe:
Here I have giv'n my Heart, and here I owe it.
Hip.
13

246 The RIVAL LADIES.
-
Hip. Dear Maſter, trouble not your ſelf for me;
I ever made your Happineſs my own;
Let Julia witneſs with what Faith I ſervid yoll,
When
you employ'd me in your Love to her.
I gave your noble Heart away, as if
It had been ſome light Gallant's, little worth:
Not that I lov'd you leſs than Angelina,
But my ſelf leſs than
you.
Gonſ. Wonder of Honour,
Of which my own was but a fainter Shadow,
When I gave Julia, whom I could not keep.
You fed a Fire within, with too rich Fuel,
In giving it your Heart to prey upon;
The ſweeteſt Off'ring that was ever burnt
Since laſt the Phoenix dy’d.
Hip. If Angelina knew like me, the Pride
Of noble Minds, which is to give, not take;
Like me ſhe would be fatisfy'd, her Heart
Was well beſtow'd, and ask for no return.
Amid. Pray let my Heart alone; you'll uſe it as
The Giplies do our Money;
If they once touch it, they have pow'r upon't.
Enter the Servant, who appear'd in the firſt Act with
Gonſalvo.
Serv. O my dear Lord, Gonſalvo de Peralta!
Rod. De Feralta ſaid you? You amaze me!
Gonf. Why, do you know that Family in Sevil?
Rod. I am my ſelf the elder Brother of it,
Gof. Don Rodorick de Peralta!
Rod. I was fo,
Until
my Mother dy'd, whoſe Name de Sylva
I choſe (our Cuſtom not forbidding it)
Three Years ago, when I return'd from Flanders:
I came here to poſſeſs a fair Eſtate
Left by an Aunt, her Siſter; for whoſe fake
I take that Name, and lik’d the place ſo well
,
That never ſince I have return'd to Sevil.
Gons. 'T'was then that change of Name which caus'd
my Letters
All

The RIVAL LADIES. 247
All to miſcarry: What an happy Tempeſt
Was this, which would not let me reſt at Sevil,
But blew me farther on to ſee
you
here.
Amid. Brother, I come to claim a Siſter's ſhare;
But you're too near me, to be nearer now.
Gonſ. In my room let me beg you to receive
Don Manuel.
Amid. I take it half unkindly
You give me from your ſelf ſo ſoon; Don Manuel
I know is worthy, and but Yeſterday
Preſerv'd
my Life; but it will take ſome time
To change my Heart.
Man. I'll watch it patiently, as Chymiſts do
Their golden Birth; and when 'tis chang’d, receive it
With greater Care than they their rich Elixir,
Juſt paſſing from one Vial to another.
Rod. Julia is ſtill my Brother’s, tho' I loſe her.
Gonf. You ſhall not loſe her; Julia was born
For none but you;
And I for none but my Honoria :
Fulia is yours by Inclination;
And I by Conqueſt am Honoria's.
Hon. "Tis the moſt glorious one that e'er was made :
And I no longer will diſpute my Happineſs.
Rod. Julia, you know my peeviſh Jealouſies;
I cannot promiſe you a better Husband
Than you have had a Servant.
Ful. I receive you
With all
Rod. And think, when I am Froward,
My fullen Humour puniſhes it ſelf;
I'm like a Day in March, ſometimes o'er-caſt
With Storms, but then the after Clearneſs is
The greater: The worſt is, where I love moſt,
The Tempeſt falls moſt heavy.
Ful. Ah! what a little time to Love is lent?
Yet half that time is in Unkindneſs ſpent.
Rod. That you may ſee ſome hope of my
Amendment,
I give my Friendſhip to Don Manuel, e're
your Faults.
L 4
My

248 The RIVAL LADIES.
My Brother asks, or he himſelf deſires it.
Man. I'll ever cheriſh it.
Gonf. Since for my fake you become Friends, my care
Shall be to keep you fo: You, Captain, fhall
Command this Carrack, and with her my Fortunes :
You, my Honoria, though you have an Heart
Which Julia left, yet think it not the worſe; mors
'Tis not worn out, but poliſh'd by the wearing.
Your Merit fhall her Beauties pow'r remove;
Beauty but gains, Obligement keeps our Love.
do 5 [Exeunt omnes,
0
V Home The
tips
Oy
ACESOND

Τ Η Ε
INDIAN QUEEN:
A
TRA G E D Y.
Written by the Honourable
Sir ROBERT HOWARD
and Mr. DRYDEN
Printed in the YEAR MDCCXVII.

Cintas
Vla
C.
PROLOGU E.
As the Mufick plays a foft Air, the Curtain riſes ſoftly,
and diſcovers an Indian Boy and Girl ſleeping under
two Plantain-Trees; and when the Curtain is almoſt
up, the Muſick turns into a Tune expreſſing an
Alarm, at which the Boy wakes and ſpeaks.
Boy. WAKT, wake, Quevira; our loft Reft muſt ceaſe,
And fly together with our Country's Peace;
No more muſt we ſleep under Plantain ſhade,
Which neither Heat could pierce, nor Cold invade;
Where bounteous Nature never feels decay,
And op’ning Buds drive falling Fruits away.
Que. Why ſhould Men quarrel here, where all poſleſs
As much as they can hope for by Succeſs ?
None can have moſt, where Nature is ſo kind
As to exceed Man's Uſe, though not his Mind.
Boy. By ancient Prophecies we have been told
Our World ſhall be fubdu'd by one more old;
And ſee that World already's hither come.
Que. If theſe be they, we welcome then our Doom.
Their Looks are ſuch, that Mercy flows from thence;
More gentle than our Native Innocence.
Boy. Why ſhould we then fear theſe are Enemies,
That rather ſeem to us like Deities?
Que. By their Protection let us beg to live;
They came not here to Conquer, but Forgive.
If ſo, your Goodneſs may your Pow'r expreſs;
And we ſhall judge both beſt by our Succeſs.
L 6
Dramatis

Dramatis Perſonæ,
TUDIO TOI
M E N.
The Ynca of Peru. To vše Bites
Montezuma, his General.
Acacis, Son to Zempoalla.
Traxalla, General to Zempoalla.
Garrucca, a faithful Subjeĉ to Amexia.
The God of Dreams
Ifmeron, one of their Prophets, a Conjurer.
Officers and Soldiers.
Peruvians and Mexicans. sant per
Prieſtse
1930 1939
1999
VẬY CÁC HUY SAN XUA
W O M E N. u Tomis
20
Amexia, the lawful Queen of Mexico.
Zempoalla, the Uſurping Indian Queen.
Orazia, Daughter to the Ynca.
Attendants of Ladies..
THE

oor
end
to Wiid T H Eu tenho
Indian Queen.
A CT I. S CE NE I.
Enter Ynca, Orazia, Montezuma, Acacis,
Priſoners, with Peruvians.
Y NCA.
F
HRICE haye the Mexicans before us fled,
Their Armies broke, their Prince in Tri-
umph led;
Both to thy Valour, brave young Man,
CAS
we owe;
Ask thy Reward, but ſuch as it may ſhow
It is a King thou haft oblig'd, whoſe Mind
Is large, and like his Fortune unconfin'd.
Mont. Young and a Stranger to your Court I came,
There by your Fayour rais d. to what I am:
1

254
The INDIAN QUEEN.
I Conquer, but in right of your great Fate,
And ſo your Arms, not mine, are Fortunate.
Ynca I am impatient, till this Debt be paid,
Which ſtill encreaſes on me while delay'd;
A bounteous Monarch to himſelf is kind;
Ask ſuch a Gift as may for ever bind
Thy Service to my Empire, and to me.
Mont. What can this Gift he bids me ask him be!
Perhaps he has perceiv'd our mutual Fires,
And now with ours, wou'd crown his own Deſires;
"Tis ſo, he ſees my Service is above
All other payments but his Daughter's Love. [Aſide
Inca. So quick to Merit, and to take ſo flow?
I firſt prevent ſmall Wiſhes, and beſtow
This Prince, his Sword and Fortunes to thy Hand;
He's thine unask'd; now make thy free Demand.
Mont. Here, Prince, receive this Sword, as only due
[Gives Acacis his Sword,
To that exceſs of Courage ſhown in you. .
When
you without demand, a Prince beſtow,
Leſs than a Prince to ask of you, were low.
Ynca. Then ask a Kingdom; ſay where thou wilt Reign,
Mont. I beg not Empires, thoſe my Sword can gairr;
But for my paſt and future Service too,
What I have done, and what I mean to do;
For this of Mexico which I have won,
And Kingdoms I will Conquer yet unknown;
I only ask from fair Orazia's Eyes
To reap the Fruits of all my Victories.
1 Peru. Our Inca's Colour mounts into his Face:
2 Peru. His Looks ſpeak Death.
Inca. Young Man of unknown Race,
Ask once again, ſo well thy Merits plead;
Thou ſhalt not die for that which thou haſt ſaid:
The price of what thou ask'ſt, thou doſt not know,
That Gift's too high.
Share
Mont. And all beſides too low.
Unca, Once more I bid thee ask..
1
Mont.
&

The INDIAN Queen
255
When he bc fortunes gave thee thy Succeſs in fight;
Mont. Once more I make
The ſame demand.
Inca. The Inca bids thee take
[have.
Thy Choice, what Towns, what Kingdoms thou would'ſt
Mont. Thou giv'ft me only what before I gave.
Give me thy Daughter.
Inca. Thou deſery'ft to die.
O thou great Author of our Progeny,
Thou glorious Sun, doſt thou not bluſh to ſhine,
While ſuch baſe Blood attempts to mix with thine!
Mont. That Sun thou ſpeak'ſt of did not hide his Face,
for Race.
Inca. My
Convey thy boaſted Valour from my Sight;
I can o'ercome without thy feeble Aid.
[Exit Ynca, Orazia and Peruvians.
Mont. And is it thus, my Services are paid?
Not all his Guards - [Offers to go, Acacis holds him,
Aca. Hold, Sir.
Mont. Unhand me.
Aca. No, I muſt your Rage prevent,
From doing what your Realon wou'd repent;
Like the vaſt Seas, your Mind no limits knows,
Like them lyes open to each Wind that blows.
Mont. Can a Revenge that is ſo juſt be ill?
Aca. It is Orazia’s Father you wou'd kill.
Mont. Orazia! how that Name has charm’d my Sword!
Aca, Compoſe theſe wild Diſtempers in your Breaſt;
Anger, like Madneſs, is appeas’d by Reſt.
ke
Mont. Bid Children ſleep, my Spirits boil too high;
But fince Orazia's Father muſt not die,
A nobler Vengeance ſhall my Actions guide,
I'll bear the Conqueſt, to the conquered fide,
Until this Ynca for my Friendſhip ſues,
And proffers what his Pride does now refuſe.
Aca. Your Honour is oblig'd to keep your Truſt.
Mont. He broke that Bond in ceaſing to be juſt.
Aca. Subjects to Kings ſhou'd more Obedience pay.
Mont. Subjects are bound, not Strangers, to obey.
Aca.

256
The INDIAN Queen.
Abſence mourn;
you free
Aca. Can
you ſo little your Orazia prize,
To give the Conqueſt to her Enemies?
Can you ſo eaſily forego her fight?
I that hold Liberty more dear than Light:
Yet to my Freedom, ſhou'd
my
Chains prefers
And think it were well loſt to ſtay with her.
Mont. How unſucceſsfully I ſtill o'ercome!
I brought a Rival, not a Captive home;
Yet I may be deceiv'd; but 'tis too late
To clear thoſe Doubts, my ſtay brings certain Fate,
[-Aide
Come, Prince, you ſhall to Mexico return,
Where your fad Armies do
your
And in one Battel I will gain you more
Than I have made you loſe in three before.
Aca. No, Montezuma, though you change your Side,
I as a Priſoner am by Honour tyd.
Mont. You are my Priſoner, and I ſet .
Aca. "Twere Baſeneſs to accept ſuch Liberty.
Mont. From him that conquer'd you, it ſhould be fought.
Aca. No, but from him, for whom my Conqueror fought.
Mont. Still you are mine, his Gift has made
you
fo.
Aca. He gave me to his General, not his Foe.
Mont. How poorly have you pleaded Honour's Laws?
Yet ſhun the greateſt in your Country's Cauſe.
Aca. What Succour can the Captive give the Free?
Mont. A needleſs Captive is an Enemy.
In painted Honour you wou'd ſeem to ſhine;
But’twou'd be clouded, were your Wrongs like mine,
Aca. When Choler fuch unbridled Power can havey
Thy Virtue feems but thy Revenge's Slave:
If ſuch Injuſtice ſhould my Honour ſtain,
My Aid would prove my Nation's loſs, not gain.
Mont. Be cofend by thy guilty Honeſty,
To make thy ſelf thy Country's Enemy.
Aca. I do not mean in the next Fight to ſtain
My Sword in Blood of
any
Mexican,
But will be preſent in the fatal Strife,
To guard Orazia's and the Inca's Life.
Mont.

The INDIAN Queen. 257
Mont. Orazia's Life, fond Man! Firſt guard thy own,
Her Safety ſhe muſt owe to me alone.
Aca. Your Sword that does ſuch Wonders, cannot be,
In an ill Cauſe, ſecure of Victory.
Mont. Hark, hark.
[Noiſe of transpling
Aca. What Noiſe is this invades
my
Ear
Fly, Montezuma, fly; the Guards are near:
001
To favour your Retreat, I'll freely pay
That Life, which you ſo frankly gave this Day.
Mont. I muſt retire, but thoſe that follow me
Purſue their Deaths, and not their Victory. [Ex, Mont,
Aca. Our Quarrels kinder than our Friendſhips prove:
You for my Country fight, I for your Love.
Enter Ynca and Guards.
Inca. I was to blame, to leave this mad Man free,
Perhaps he may revolt to th’Enemy,
Or ſtay, and raiſe ſome fatal Mutiny.
Aca. Stop your Purſuits, for they muſt paſs thro' me.
Inca. Where is the Slave?
Aca. Gone.
Inca. Whither?
Aca. O'er the Plain
Where he may ſoon the Camp, or City gaini.
Inca. Curſe on my dull Neglect-
And yet I do leſs cauſe of Wonder find,
That he is gone, than that thou ſtayeft behind.
Aca. My Treatment ſince you took me was ſo free,
It wanted but the Name of Liberty.
I with leſs Shame can ſtill your Captive live,
Than take that Freedom which you did not give.
Inca. Thou brave young Man, that haſt thy Years out-
And loſing Liberty haft Honour won,
[done,
I muſt my ſelf thy Honour's Rival make,
And give that Freedom which thou would'ſt not take.
Go and be ſafe.
Aca. But that you may
be fou
Your Dangers muſt be paſt before I go.
Fierce Montezuma will for Fight prepare,
And bend on you the Fury of the War,
Which

258
The INDIAN QU e En.
Which by my Preſence I will turn away,
If Fortune gives my Mexicans the Day.
Ynca. Come then, we are alike to Honour juſt,
Thou to be truſted thus, and I to truſt. [Exeunt omnes.
Enter Zempoalla, Traxalla, and Attendants.
Zemp. O my Acacis !
Does not my Grief, Traxalla, ſeem too rude,
Thus to preſs out before my
Gratitude
Has paid my Debts to you :-—yet it does move
My Rage and Grief, to ſee thoſe Powers above
Puniſh ſuch Men, as if they be Divine,
They know will moſt Adore, and leaſt Repine.
Trax. Thoſe that can only mourn when they are croſt,
May loſe themſelves with grieving for the loſt.
Rather to your retreated Troops appear,
And let them fee a Woman void of Fear:
The Shame of that may call their Spirits home.
Were the Prince fafe, we were not overcome,
Tho' we retir'd: 0 his too youthful Heat,
That thruſt him where the Dangers were ſo great!
Heay'n wanted Power his Perſon to protect,
From that which he had Courage to neglect:
But ſince he's loſt, let us draw forth, and pay
His Fun’ral Rites in Blood; that we are they
May in our Fates perform his Obſequies,
And make Death triumph when Acacis dies.
Zemp. That Courage thou haſt ſhown in Fight ſeems leſs
Than this, amidſt Delpair to have Exceſs:
Let thy great Deeds force Fate to change her Mind;
He that courts Fortune boldly, makes her kind.
Trax. If e'er Traxalla fo ſucceſsful
proves,
May he then ſay he Hopes as well as Loves ;
And that aſpiring Paffion boldly own,
Which
gave my Prince his Fate, and
you
his Throne.
I did not feel Remorſe to ſee his Blood
Flow from the Spring of Life into a Flood;
Nor did it look like Treaſon, ſince to me
You were a Sovereign much more great than he.
Zemp

The INDIAN QUEEN. 2519
Make but my Mexicans ſucceſsful now.hrmly Yow,
Zemp. He was my Brother, yet I ſcorn'd to pay
Nature's mean Debts, but threw thoſe Bonds away;
When his own Iſſue did my Hopes remove,
Not only from his Empire, but his Love.
You that in all my Wrongs then bore a Part,
Now need not doubt a place within my Heart:
I cou'd not offer you my Crown and Bed,
Till Fame and Envy with long time were dead;
But Fortune now does happily preſent
Occaſions fit to ſecond my Intent.
Your Valour may regain the publick Love,
And make the Peoples Choice their Queen's approve.[Shout.
Hark, hark, what noiſe is this that ſtrikes my Ear!
Trax. 'Tis not a Sound that ſhould beget a fear;
Such Shouts as theſe have I heard often fly
From Conquering Armies crown'd with Victory.
Zemp. Great God of Vengeance, here I firmly Vow,
And with a thouſand Feaſts thy flames I'll feed;
And that I take fhall on thy Altars bleed;
Princes themſelves ſhall fall, and make thy Shrine,
Dy'd with their Blood, in glorious Bluſhes ſhine.
Enter Meſſenger.
Trax. How now!
What News is this that makes thy haſte a Flight?
Meſ. Such as brings Victory without a Fight;
The Prince Acacis Lives
Zemp. Oh, I am bleſt
Meſf. Reſerve ſome Joy till I have told the reſt.
He's ſafe, and only wants his Liberty;
But that great Man that carries Victory
Where-e'er he
goes; that mighty Man by whom
In three fet Battels we were overcome;
I'll us d (it ſeems) by his ungrateful King,
Does to our Camp his Fate and Valour bring.
The Troops gaze on him, as if ſome bright Star
Shot to their Aids, call him the God of War:
Whilſt he, as if all Conqueſt did of right
Belong to him, bids them prepare to fight;
Which

260 The INDIAN QUEEN.
Which if they ſhou'd delay one Hour, he fwears cossos
He'll leave them to their Dangers, or their Fears, SA
And Shame, (which is th’ignoble Coward's Choice.) W
At this the Army ſeem'd to have one Voicesit vlno 30/1
United in a Shout, and call'd upon villa mitada 10Y
The God-like Stranger, Lead us, lead usor boon won
Make haſte, great Sir, leſt you ſhould come too late, I
To ſhare with them in Victory or Fate. bna 98T UT
Zemp. My Gen’ral go; the Gods be on our fide; 1 108
Let Valour 'act, but let Diſcretion guide. o: [Exit Trax,
Great God of Vengeance-
legat Ven 01.V DOY
I ſee thou doft begin to hear me now:Todos brA
Make me thy Off'ring if I break my Vow. [Exeunt.
2002 - 1999d bicort serio bruoz $ 100 IT" I
woy, via V 10 bob quan
ACT II. SCENE 1. M
Ora.
Enter Ynca and Orazia, as purſued in a Battle.
Shigh rises
ra. Fly, Sir, Ay; like Torrents your ſwift Foes a
Come rowling on
Inca. The Gods can but deſtroy. ON
The nobleſt way to fly, is that Death ſhows; Kur
I'll court her now, ſince Victory's grown coy:
Oraz. Death's wing’d to your Purſuit, and yet you
To meet her
[wait
Inca. Poor Orazia, Time and Fate
Muſt once o'ertake me, though I now ſhou'd fly:
Oraz. Do not meet Death; but when it comes, then die.
Enter thrce Soldiers.
3 Sold. Stand, Sir, and yield your ſelf, and that fair Prey.
Inca. You ſpeak to one unpractis'd to obey.
Enter Montezuma.
Mont. Hold, Villains, hold, or your rude Lives ſhall be
Loſt in the midſt of
your own Victory:
Theſe I have hunted for; nay do not ſtare,
Be
gone,
and in the common Plunder ſhare.
How
[Ex. Sold.

The INDIAN Queen. 261
LI yas
vas1
Mindfor bua
How different is my Fate, from theirs, whoſe Fame
From Conqueſt grows! from Conqueſt grows my
Shame.
Inca. Why do it thou pauſe ? thou can ft not give me back,
With fruitleſs Grief, what I enjoyed before, voia
IL
No more than Seas repenting of a Wrack,
Can with a Calm our buried Wealth reſtore. 2 klor i
Mont. 'Twere vain to own Repentance, ſince I know
Thy Scorn, which did
my Paſſions once deſpiſe, kol
Once more would make my ſwelling Anger flow; T
Which now Ebbs lower than your Miſeries :
e Tom
The Gods that in my Fortunes were unkind,
Gave me not Scepters, nor fuch gilded things; sisJOY
But whilft I wanted Crowns, inlarg‘d my
To deſpiſe Scepters, and diſpoſe of Kings.
Inca. Thou art but grown a Rebel by Succeſs, KI
And I that ſcorn'd Orazia ſhou'd be ty'd it wiór 97A
To thee
my
Slave, muſt now eſteem thee leſs :
Rebellion is a greater Guilt than Pride, 9 beti uoy sua
Mont. Princes ſee others Faults, but not their
'Twas
you
that broke that Bond, and ſet me free: 1
Yet I attented not to climb your Thrones son los I
And raiſe my felf; but level you
to me.
TUTOT 2 bhw
Oraz. o Montezuma, cou'à thy Love
engage
Thy Soul ſo little, or make Banks ſo low Suit ono bad
About thy Heart, that thy Revenge and Rage,
Mudjud
Like ſudden Floods, ſo foon fhou 'å over-flow.crcił 00T
Ye Gods, how much was I miſtaken here! 29110lO YM
I thought you gentle as the gáulleſs Dove;
ZOT se bo
But
you
as
humorfome as Winds appear,
StoT torom
And ſubject to more Paſſions than your Love. III baA
"Mont. How have I been betray'd by guilty Rage,
Which like a Flame roſe to fo vaft a height"un sud
That nothing cou'd reſiſt, nor yet allwage, an afin 139
Till it
wrapt all things in one cruel Fate. I mid oT
But I'll redeem my felf
, and act ſuch things, I told
That
you ſhall bluſh Orazid was deny'd; n de mort
And yet make Conqueſt, though with wearied Wings,
Take a new Flight to your now fainting fide,
own;
Теса.

262 The INDIAN Queen.
Inca. Vain Man, what fooliſh Thoughts fill thy ſwell’d
It is too late our Ruin to recal;
[Mind?
Thoſe that have once great Buildings undermin’d,
Will prove too weak to prop them in their Fall.
Enter Traxalla with the former Soldiers.
I Sold. See, mighty Sir, where the bold Stranger ſtands,
Who ſnatch'd thefe glorious Priſoners from our Hands.
Trax. 'Tis the great Inca, ſeize him as my Prey,
To crown the Triumphs of this glorious Day.
Mont. Stay your bold Hands from reaching at what's
If any Title ſprings from Victory;
[mine,
You ſafer may attempt to rob a Shrine, 2 v
And hope forgiveneſs from the Deity.
Enter Acacis.
Trax. O my dear Prince, my Joys to ſee you
live
Are more than all that Victory can give.
Aca. How are my beſt Endeavours croft by Fate!
Elfe
you had ne'er been loft, or found ſo late.
Hurried by the wild Fury of the Fight,
Far from your Preſence, and Orazia's Sight,
I could not all that Care and Duty ſhow,
Which as your Captive (mighty Prince) I owe.
Inca. You often have preſerv'd our Lives this Day,
And one ſmall Debt with
pay.
But human Actions hang on ſprings that be
Too ſmall, or too remote for us to ſee.
My Glories freely I to yours Relign,
And am your Priſoner now, that once were mine.
Mont. Theſe Priſoners, Sir, are mine by Right of War ;
And I'll maintain that Right, if any dare.
Trax. Yes, I wou'd ſnatch them from thy weak defence;
But that due Reverence which I owe my Prince,
Permits me not to quarrel in his Sight,
To him I ſhall refer his General's Right.
Mont. I knew too well what juſtice I ſhou'd find
From an arm’d Plaintiff
, and a Judge ſo kind.
Aca. Unkindly urg'd, that I ſou'd uſe thee ſo;
Thy Virtue is my Rival, not my Foe;
The
many Bounties

The INDIAN QUEEN. 263
The Priſoners Fortune gave thee ſhall be thine.
Trax. Would
you
fo great a Prize to him reſign?
Aca. Shou'd he who boldly for his Prey deſign'd
To dive the deepeſt under ſwelling Tides,
Have the leſs Title if he chance to find
The richeſt Jewel that the Ocean hides?
They are his Due-
But in his Virtue I repoſe that Truſt,
That he will be as kind as I am juſt :
Diſpute not my Commands, but go with haſte,
Rally our Men, they may purſue too faſt,
And the Diſorders of the inviting Prey
May turn again the Fortune of the Day.
[Ex. Trax.
Mont. How gentle all this Prince's Actions be!
Virtue is calm in him, but rough in me.
Aca. Can Montezuma place me in his Breaſt ?
Mont. My Heart's not large enough for ſuch a Gueſt.
Aca. See, Montezuma, ſee, Orazia weeps. [Oraz.weeps.
Mont. Acacis, is he deaf, or waking, ſleeps ?
He does not hear me, fees me not, nor moves;
How firm his Eyes are on Orazia fixt!
Gods that take care of Men, let not our Loves
Become divided by their being mixt.
Aca. Weep not, fair Princeſs, nor believe you are
A Priſoner ſubject to the Chance of War;
Why ſhou'd you waſte the Stock of thoſe fair Eyes
That from Mankind can take their Liberties?
And you, great Sir, think not a generous Mind
To virtuous Princes, dares appear unkind,
Becauſe thoſe Princes are Unfortunate,
Since over all Men hangs a doubtful Fate:
One gains by what another is bereft;
The frugal Deities have only left
A common Bank of Happineſs below,
Maintain'd like Nature, by an ebb and flow. [Ex, omnes.
Zempoalla appears ſeated upon a Throne, frowning upon her
Attendants; then comes down and ſpeaks.
Zemp. No more, you that above
your
Princes dare pro-
With
your rebellious Breath a Stranger's Name. [claim
I Peru.

264
The INDIÀN Queen.
i Peru. Dread Emprefstro 7 793077 37
Zemp. Slaves, perhaps you grieve to ſee
Your young Prince glorious, cauſe he ſprang from me;
Had he been one of bafe Amexia's brood, sooviL oT
Your Tongues, though filent now, had then been loud.
Enter Traxalla.ro
Traxalla, welcome, welcomer to me,
Than what thou bring’ft, a Crown and Victory.
Trax, All I have done is nothing, Auttering Fame
Now tells no News, but of the Stranger's Name,
And his great Deeds; 'tis he they cry by whoms
Not Men, but War it ſelf is overcome;
Who bold with his Succeſs, dares think to have 1 SM
A Prince to wear his Chains, and be his Slave, and
Zemp. What Princeton mit nu man en
The great Peruvian Inca, that of late to you
In three ſet Battels was fo Fortunate, H M M
Till this ſtrange Man had Power to turn the Tide, I
And carry Conqueſt unto any ſide. ori che con
Zemp. Wou'd you permita private Man to have of
aid o Wol
The great Peruvian Inca for his Slave!
Shame to all Princes ! was it not juſt now and abou
I made a ſacred, and a ſolemn Vow: bubnzib sossa
To offer up (if bleft with Victory) on 1951 tot
The Priſoners that were took? and they ſhall die.179 A
Trax. I foon had ſnatch'd from this proud Stranger's
Object
Had not the Prince your Son, to whom I owe lovbaA
A kind Obedience, judg'd it ſhou'd be ſo. I notiv OT
Zemp. I'll hear no more; go quickly take my Guards,
And from that Man force thoſe uſurpt Rewards ;
That Prince upon whofe Ruins I muſt riſe, anting 300
Shall be the Gods, but more my Sacrifice: Ingut od'T
They with my Slaves in Triumph ſhall be ty’d,nos A
While my Devotion juſtifies my Pride.isM
Thoſe Deities in whom I place my Truſt, dleoqraias
Shall ſee when they are kind, that I am juſt.[Ex. Zemp.
Trax. How gladly I obey-
oor gror obor
Irota apoiadoz Tio There's

The INDIAN QUEEN. 265
There's ſomething ſhoots thro' my enliven'd Frame,
Like a new Soul, but yet without a Name:
Nor can I tell what the bold Gueſt will
prove,
It muſt be Envy, or it-muſt be Love;
Let it be either, 'tis the greateſt Bliſs
For Man to grant himſelf, all he dares wiſh;
For he that to himſelf, himſelf denies,
Proves meanly wretched, to be counted wiſe. [Ex. Trax,
Enter Montezuma, and Acacis.
Aca. You wrong me, my beſt Friend, not to believe
Your Kindneſs gives me Joy; and when I grieve,
Unwillingly my Sorrows I obey:
Showers fometimes fall upon a ſhining Day.
Mont. Let me then ſhare your Griefs, that in your Fate
Wou'd have took part-
Aca. Why ſhould you ask me that?
Thoſe muſt be mine, tho’ I have ſuch Exceſs;
Divided Griefs increaſe, and not grow leſs.
Mont. It does not leflen Fate, nor ſatisfie
The Grave, 'tis true, when Friends together die;
And yet they are unwilling to divide.
Aca. To ſuch a Friend nothing can be deny'd.
You, when
you hear my Story, will forgive
My Grief, and rather wonder that I live.
Unhappy in my Title to a Throne,
Since Blood made way for my Succeſſion :
Blood of an Uncle too, a Prince fo free
From being Cruel, it taught Cruelty:
His Queen Amexia then was big with Child; style
Nor was he gentler, than his Queen was mild:
Th' impatient People long'd for what ſhould come
From ſuch a Father, bred in ſuch a Womb
When falſe Traxalla, weary to obey,
Took with his Life their Joys and Hopes away.
Amexia by th' aſſiſtance of the Night,
When this dark Deed was acted, took her flight; I
Only with true Garrucca for her aid;
Since when, for all the Searches that were made,
VOL. I.
SOM
The
3

266 The INDIAN QUEEN
14
my haſte!
The Queen was never heard of more: Yet ſtill
This Traytor lives, and profpers by the Ill:
Nor does my Mother ſeem to reign alone,
But with this Monſter ſhares the Guilt and Throne;
Horror choaks up my Words; now you'll believe
ris juft I ſhould do nothing elſe but grieve.
Mont. Excellent Prince:-
How great a proof of Virtue have you ſhown,
To be concern'd for Griefs, tho' not your own!
Aca. Pray fay no more.-
Enter a Meſſenger haſtily.
Mont. How now, whither fo faft?
Mel. O Sir, I come too flow with all
haſte!
The fair Orazia
Mont. Ha, what doſt thou ſay?
Mell. Orazia with the Inca's forc'd away
"Out of your Tent; Traxalla in the head
Of the rude Soldiers, forc'd the Door, and led
Thoſe glorious Captives, who on Thrones once ſhind,
To grace the Triumph that is now deſign'd. [Exit Mej.
Mont. Orazia forc'd away! what Tempeſts roul
About my Thoughts, and toſs my troubled Soul?
Can there be Gods to ſee, and fuffer this?
Or does Mankind make his own Fate or Bliſs;
While every good and bad happens by Chance,
Not from their Orders, but their Ignorance-
But I will pull a Ruin on them all,
And turn their Triumph to a Funeral.
Aca. Be temperate, Friend.
Mont. You may as well adviſe
That I ſhould have leſs Love, as grow more wiſe.
Aca. Yet ſtay--I did not think to have reveald
A Secret which my Heart has ſtill conceald;
But in this Cauſe ſince I muſt ſhare with
you,
*Tis fit you know I love Orazia too:
Delay not then, nor waſte the Time in words,
Orazia's Cauſe calls only for our Swords.
Mont. That ties my Hand, and turns from thee that Rage
Another way, thy Blood fhould elſe afſwage :
The

The INDIAN QUEEN.
267
The Storm on our proud Foes ſhall higher riſe,
And changing, gather Blackneſs as it flies :
So when Winds turn, the wandring Waves obey,
And all the Tempeſt rouls another way.
Aca. Draw then a Rival's Sword, as I draw mine,
And like Friends ſuddenly to part, let's join
In this one Act, to ſeek one Deſtiny;
Rivals with Honour may together die. [Exeunt,
a
ACT III. SCENE I.
Zempoalla appears ſeated upon her Slaves in Tri-
umph, and the Indians as to celebrate the Vieto-
ry, advance in a warlike Dance ; in the midſt of
which Triumph, Acacis and Montezuma fall in
upon them.
Zempoalla deſcends from her Triumphant Throne, and Acacis
and Montezuma are brought in before her.
Zemp. S Hame of my Blood, and Traytor to thy own;
,
Haſt thou with envious Eyes my Triumph ſeen?
Or could'ſt not ſee thy Mother in the Queen ?
Could'ſt thou a Stranger above me prefer?
Aca. It was my Honour made my Duty err;
I could not ſee his Priſoners forc'd away,
To whom I ow'd iny Life, and
you
Zemp. Is that young Man the Warrior fo renown'd?
Mont. Yes, he that made thy Men thrice quit their Ground,
Do, ſmile at Montezuma's Chains; but know,
His Valour gave thee Power to uſe him ſo.
Trax. Grant that it did, what can his Merits be,
That fought his Vengeance, not our Victory?
What has thy brutiſh Fury gain'd us more,
Than only heal’d the Wounds it gave before?
Dis
the Day.
M 2

268 The INDIAN QUEEN.
Die then, for whilſt thou liv'it, Wars cannot ceaſe;
Thou may'ſt bring Victory, but never Peace,
Like a black Storm thou rowl'ſt about us all,
Even to thy ſelf unquiet till thy fall. [Draws to kill him.
Aca. Unthankful Villain, hold,
Trax. You muſt not give
Him Succour, Sir.
Aca. Why then I muſt not live.
Poſterity ſhall ne'er report they had
Such thankleſs Fathers, or a Prince ſo bad.
Zemp. You're both too bold to will or to deny,
On me alone depends his Deſtiny.
Tell me, audacious Stranger, whence could riſe
The Confidence of this raſh Enterprize?
Mont. Firſt tell me how you dar'd to force from me.
The faireſt Spoils of my own Victory ?
Zemp. Kill him—hold, muſt he die?-why let him die;
Whence ſhou'd proceed this ſtrange Diverſity
In my Reſolves
?
Does he command in Chaîns? What would he do,
Proud Slave, if he were free, and I were fo?
But is he bound, ye Gods, or am I free?
Tis Love, 'tis Love, that thus diſorders me.
How Pride and Love tear my divided Suul!
For each too narrow, yet both claim it whole:
Love as the younger muſt be forc'd away;
Hence with the Captives (General) and convey
To feyeral Priſons that
-young Man, and this
---Peruvian Woman
Trax. How concern'd ſhe is!
I muſt know more.
Mont. Fair Princeſs, why ſhould I
Inyolve that Sweetneſs in my Deſtiny?
I could out-brave my Death, were I alone
To ſuffer, but my Fate muſt pull yours on.
My Breaſt is armed againſt all ſenſe of Fear,
But where your Image lies, 'tis tender there.
Inca. Forbear thy faucy Love, ſhe cannot be
So low, but ſtill ſhe is too high for thee.
Zemp

The INDIAN QUEEN. 269
Zemp. Be
gone,
and do as I Command, away.
Mont. I ne'er was truly wretched 'till this Day.
Oraz. Think half your Sorrows on Orazia fall,
And be not ſo unkind to ſuffer all:
Patience in Cowards is tame hopeleſs Fear,
But in brave Minds a Scorn of what they bear.
[Ex. Ynca, Montezuma, Orazia, Traxalla:
Zemp. What Grief is this which in your Face appears?
Aca. The Badge of Sorrow, which my Soul ſtill wears.
Zemp. Tho' thy late Actions did my Anger move,
It cannot rob thee of a Mother's Love.
Why ſhould'At thou grieve?
Grief feldom join'd with blooming Youth is ſeen,
Can Sorrow be where Knowledge ſcarce has been?
Fortune does well for heedleſs Youth provide,
But Wiſdom does unlucky Age miſguide ;
Cares are the Train of preſent Power and State,
But Hope lives beſt that on himſelf does wait:
O happieſt Fortune if well underſtood,
The certain Proſpect of a future Good!
Aca. What Joy can Empire bring me, when I know
That all my Greatneſs to your Crimes I owe?
Zemp. Yours be the Joy, be mine the Puniſhment.
Aca. In vain alas that Wiſh to Heav'n is ſent
For me, if fair Orazia muſt not live.
Zemp. Why ſhou'd you ask me what I cannot give?
She muſt be ſacrific'd: Can I beſtow
What to the Gods by former Vows I owe?
Aca. O plead not Vows; I wiſh you had not ſhown
You ſlighted all things ſacred for a Throne.
Zemp. I love thee fo, that tho' Fear follow ſtill,
And Horror urges, all that have been ill
I could for thee
Act o'er my Crimes again and not repent,
Even when I bore the Shame and Puniſhment.
Aca. Could
you
fo
many ill Acts undertake,
And not perform one good one for my fake?
Zemp. Prudence permits not Pity ſhou'd be ſhown
To thoſe that rais'd the War to ſhake my Throne.
Aca
M 3

270
The INDIAN QUEEN.
Aca. As you are wiſe, permit me to be juſt;
What Prudence will not venture, Honour muſt;
We owe our Conqueſt to the Stranger's Sword,
'Tis juſt his Priſoners be to him reſtor’d.
I love Orazia, but a nobler way
Than for my Love my Honour to betray.
Zemp. Honour is but an itch in youthful Blood,
Of doing Acts extravagantly good;
We call that Virtue, which is only Heat
That reigns in Youth, till Age finds out the Cheat.
Aca. Great Actions firſt did her Affections move,
And I by greater would regain her Love,
Zemp. Urge rot a Suit which I muſt till deny;
Orazia and her Father both fhall die:
Be gone, I'll hear no more
Aca. You ſtop your Ears
But tho' a Mother will not, Heav'n will hear;
Like you I vow, when to the Pow'rs Divine
You
pay her guiltleſs Blood, I'll offer mine. [Ex. Acacis,
Zemp. She dies, this happy Rival, that enjoys
The Stranger's Love, and all my Hopes deſtroys;
Had fhe triumph'd, what could the more have done,
Than robb'd the Mother, and enflay'd the Son?
Nor will I at the name of Cruel ſtay,
Let dull ſucceſſive Monarchs mildly fway:
Their conquering Fathers did the Laws forſake,
And broke the old, e'er they the new could make.
I muſt purſue my Love yet Love enjoy'd,
Will with Eſteem that caus'd it firſt grow leſs;
But Thirſt and Hunger fear not to be cloy'd,
And when they be, are cur'd by their Exceſs.
Enter Traxalla.
Trax. Now I ſhall ſee, what Thoughts her Heart conceals;
For that which Wiſdom covers, Love reveals.
Madam, the Priſoners are diſpos’d.
Zemp. They are
And how fares our Young bluſtering Man of War?
Does he ſupport his Chains with Patience yet?
Trax. He, and the Princeſs, Madam
Zemp.

The INDIAN QUE EN, 271
Zemp. Are they met?
Trax. No; but from whence is all this Paſſion grown?
Zemp. 'Twas a Miſtake:
Trax, I find this raſh Unknown
Is dangerous; and if not timely flain;
May plunge your Empire in new Wars again.
Žemp. Thank ye, I ſhall conſider.
Trax. Is that all?
The Army doat on him, already call
You cruel; and for ought I know, they may
By force unchain, and Crown him in a Day.
Zemp. You ſay, I have already had their Curſe
For his bad Uſage; ſhould I uſe him worſe?
Trax. Yet once you fear'd his Reputation might
Obſcure the Prince's in the People's fight.
Zemp. Time will inform us beft, what Courſe to ſteer,
But let us not our facred Vows defer:
The Inca and his Daughter both ſhall die.
Trax. He ſuffers juſtly for the War; but why
Should the ſhare his fad Fate? A poor Pretence,
That Birth ſhould make a Crime of Innocence.
Zemp. Yet we deſtroy the poiſonous Vipers young,
Not for themſelves, but thoſe from whom they ſprung.
Trax. O no, they die not for their Parents fake,
But for the poiſonous Seed which they partake;
Once more behold her, and then let her die,
If in that Face or Perſon you can ſee
But any place to fix a Cruelty.
The Heav'ns have Clouds, and Spots are in the Moon;
But faultleſs Beauty ſhines in her alone.
Zemp. Beauty has wrought Compaſſion in your Mind,
Trax. And you to Valour are become as kind.
To former Services there's ſomething due.
Yet be adviſed-
Zemp. Yes, by my ſelf, not you-
Trax. Princes are facred.
Zemp. True, whilſt they are free;
But Power once loft, farewel their Sanctity
MA
Tis

272
The INDIAN QUE EN.
'Tis Power to which the Gods their Worſhip owe,
Which uncontrould, makes all things juſt below;
Thou doſt the Plea of faucy Rebels uſe,
They will be judge of what their Prince muſt chufe:
Hard Fate of Monarchs, not allow'd to know
When ſafe, but as their Subjects tell them fo.
Then Princes but like publick Pageants move,
And ſeem to ſway becauſe they fit above. [Ex. Zemp.
Trax. She loves him; in one Moment this new Gueſt
Has drove me out from this falſe Woman's Breaſt;
They that would fetter Love with Conſtancy,
Make Bonds to chain themſelves, but leave him free,
With what impatience I her Falfhood bear!
Yet do my ſelf that which I blame in her ;
But Intereſt in my own Cauſe makes me fee
That Act unjuſt in her, but juſt in me.
[Ex. Trax,
Iſineron aſleep in the Scene.
Enter Zempoalla.is
Zemp. Ho, I meron, Ifmeron.
He ſtirs not; ha, in ſuch a diſmal Cell
Can gentle Sleep with his foft Bleſſings dwell?
Muſt I feel Tortures in a human Breaſt,
While Beaſts and Monſters can enjoy their Reſt?
What quiet they poſſeſs in Sleep's calm Bliſs !
The Lions ceaſe to roar, the Snakes to hiſs,
While I am kept awake-
Only to entertain my Miſeries.
Or if a Slumber ſteal upon my Eyes,
Some horrid Dream my lab'ring Soul benums,
And brings Fate to me ſooner than it comes.
Fears molt oppreſs when Sleep has ſeiz’d upon
The outward Parts, and left the Soul alone.
What envy'd Bleſſings theſe curs'd things enjoy!
Next to poſſeſs, 'tis pleaſure to deſtroy.
Iſmeron; ho Ifmeron, iſmeron.
[Stamps.
Ilm. Who's that, that with ſo loud and fierce a Call
Disturbs my Reſt?
Zemp

- The INDIAN QUE EN. 273
Zemp. She that has none at all,
Nor ever muſt, unleſs thy powerful Art
Can charm the Paſſions of a troubled Heart.
Ilm. How can you have a diſcontented Mind,
To whom the Gods have lately been ſo kind?
Zemp. Their envious Kindneſs how can I enjoy,
When they give Bleſſings, and the Uſe deſtroy?
Ilm. Dread Empreſs, tell the Cauſe of all your Grief;
If Art can help, be ſure of quick Relief.
Zemp. I dream'd before the Altar that I led
A mighty Lyon in a twiſted Thread;
I ſhook to hold him in ſo flight a Tie,
Yet had not Power to ſeek a Remedy:
When in the midſt of all my Fears, a Dove
With hovering Wings, deſcended from above,
Flew to the Lyon, and Embraces ſpread,
With Wings, like claſping Arms, about his Head,
Making that murin’ring Noiſe that cooing Doves
Uſe in the ſoft Expreſſion of their Loves.
While I, fix'd by my Wonder, gaz'd to ſee
So mild a Creature with fo fierce
At laſt the gentle Dove turn’d from his Head,
And pecking try'd to break the ſlender Thread,
Which inſtantly ſhe fever'd, and releas'd
From that ſmall Bond the fierce and mighty Beaſt,
Who preſently turn'd all his Rage on me,
And with his Freedom brought my Deſtiny.
Ilm. Dread Empreſs, this ſtrange Viſion you relate
Is big with Wonder, and too full of Fate
Without the Gods Afiftance to expound.
In thoſe low Regions where fad Night hangs round
The drowſie Vaults, and where moiſt Vapors ſteep
The God's dull Brows that fways the Realm of Sleep
There all th' informing Elements repair,
Swift Meſſengers of Water, Fire, and Air,
To give account of Actions whence they came,
And how they govern every mortal Frame;
How from their various Mixture, or their Strife,
Are known the Calms and Tempeſts of our Life:
Thence
agree:
M5

274
The INDIAN QUEEN.
Thence Souls, when Sleep their Bodies overcome,
Have fome imperfect Knowledge of their Doom.
From thoſe dark Caves thoſe Powers ſhall ſtrait appear;
Be not afraid whatever Shapes they wear.
Zemp. There's nothing thou canſt raiſe can make me ſtart;
A living Form can only ſhake my Heart.
Ifm. You twice ten hundred Deities,
To whom we daily facrifice;
You Powers that dwell with Fate below,
And ſee what Men are doom'd to do;
Where Elements in Diſcord dwell;
Thou God of sleep, ariſe and tell
Great Zempoalla what ſtrange Fate
Muſt on her diſmal Viſion wait.
Zemp. How flow thefe Spirits are! Call, make them riſe,
Or they ſhall faſt from Flame and Sacrifice.
Ilm. Great Empreſs-
Let not your Rage offend what we adore,
And vainly threaten, when we muſt implore.
Sit and filently attend-
While my powerful Charms I end.
By the croaking of the Toad,
In their Caves that make abond,
Earthy Dun that pants for Breath,
With her ſwelld fides full of Death;
By the Creſted Adders Pride
That along the Clifts do glide;
By thy Viſage fierce and black;
By the Deaths-head on thy Back;
By the twiſted Serpents plac'd
For a Girdle round thy Wafte;
Ву
the Hearts of Gold that deck
Thy Breaſt, thy shoulders, and thy Neck:
From thy Neepy Manſion riſe,
Mad open thy unwilling Eyes,

The INDIAN QUEEN. 275
While bubling Springs their Muſick keep,
That uſe to lull thee in thy ſleep.
салата
God of Dreams riſes.
God. Seek not to know what muſt not be reveald,
Joys only flow where Fate is moſt conceald:
Too buſie Man wou'd find his Sorrows more,
If future Fortunes he ſhou'd know before;
For by that Knowledge of his Deſtiny
He wou'd not live at all, but always die.
Enquire not then who ſhall from Bonds be freed,
Who 'tis ſhall wear a Crown, and who ſhall bleed:
All muſt ſubmit to their appointed doom;
Fate and Misfortune will too quickly come:
Let me no more with powerful Charms be preſt,
I am forbid by Fate to tell the reſt. [The God defcends,
Zemp. Stay Coz’ner, thou that hat'ſt clear Truth like light,
And uſeſt words dark as thy own dull Night.
You Tyrant Gods, do you refuſe to free
The Soul you gave from its perplexity?
Why ſhou'd we in your Mercies ſtill believe,
When you can never pity though we grieve ?
For you have bound your felves by harth decrees;
And thoſe, not you, are now the Deities. [Sits down fad.
Iſm. She droops under the weight of Rage and Care :
You Spirits that inhabit in the Air,
With all your powerful Charms of Muſick try
To bring her Soul back to its Harmony.
SON G is ſuppos'd ſung by Aerial Spirits.
Poor
OR Mortals that are clog'd with Earth below:
Sink under Love and Care,
While we that dwell in Air
Such heavy Paffions never know.
Why then ſhould Mortals be
Umwilling to be free
From Blood, that ſullen Cloud,
Which Shining Souls does ſhroud
Then

776
The INDIAN QUEEN.
Then they'll Mew bright,
And like us light,
When leaving Bodies with their Care,
They ſlide to his and Air.
Zemp. Death on theſe Trifles! Cannot your Art find
Some means to eaſe the Paſſions of the Mind
Or if you cannot give a Lover reſt,
Can you force Love into a ſcornful Breaſt?
Ifm. 'Tis Reaſon only can make Paſſions leſs;
Art gives not new, but may the old encreaſe;
Nor can it alter Love in any Breaſt
That is with other Flames before poſſeſs’d.
Zemp. If this be all your flighted Art can do,
I'll be a Fate both to your Gods and you;
I'll kindle other Flames, ſince I muſt burn,
And all their Temples into Aſhes turn.
Ilm. Great Queen
Zemp. If you wou'd have this Sentence ſtaid,
Summon their Godheads quickly to your Aid,
And preſently compoſe a Charm that may
Loyes Flames into the Stranger's Breaſt convey,
The Captive Stranger, he whoſe Sword and Eyes
Where-e'er they ſtrike, meet ready Victories:
Make him but burn for me in flames like mine,
Victims ſhall bleed, and feafted Altars ſhine:
If not
Down go your Temples, and your Gods ſhall fee
They have ſmall uſe of their Divinity. [Exewat
ACT

The INDIAN Queen.
277
wees
A ST IV.
SCENE I.
The SCENE opens and diſcovers Montezuma
ſleeping in Priſon.
Enter Traxalla leading in Orazia.
Trax.
OW take
N your
To both
>Tis
you that muſt condemn, I'll only act;
Your Sentence is more cruel than my Fact.
Oraz. You are moſt cruel, to diſturb a Mind
Which to approaching Fate was ſo reſign'd.
Trax. Reward my Paffions, and you'll quickly prove
There's none dare Sacrifice what I dare Love
Next to thee, Stranger ; wake, and now reſign
The bold Pretences of thy Love to mine,
Or in this fatal Minute thou ſhalt find-
Mont. Death, Fool; in that thou may'ſt be juſt and kind:
'Twas I that lov'd Orazia, yet did raiſe
The Storm in which ſhe ſinks: Why doft thou gaze,
Or ſtay thy Hand from giving that juſt Stroke,
Which rather than prevent, I wou'd provoke?
When I am dead, Orazia may forgive;
She never muſt, if I dare wiſh to live.
Oraz. Hold, hold -O Montezuma, can you be
So careleſs of your ſelf, but more of me?
Though you have brought me to this Miſery,
I bluſh to ſay I cannot ſee you
die.
Mont. Can my approaching Fate ſuch Pity move?
The Gods and you at once forgive and love.
Trax. Fond Fool, thus to miſ-ſpend that little Breath
I lent thee to prevent, not haſten Death:
Let her thank
you ſhe was Unfortunate,
And
you
thank her for pulling on your Fate;
Prov

278
The INDIAN QUEEN.
Prove to each other your own Deſtinies. [Draws:
Enter Zempoalla haftily, and fers a Dagger to Orazia's
Breaft.
Zemp. Hold, hold, Traxalla, or Orazia dies.
O, is’t Orazia's
Name that makes you ſtay?
"Tis her great Power, not mine, that you obey.
Inhumane Wretch, dar'ít thou the Murtherer be
Of him that is not yet condemnd by me?
Trax. The Wretch that gave you all the Pow'r you have,
May venture ſure to execute a Slave;
And quench a Flame your Fondneſs would have burn,
Which may this City into Aſhes turn,
The Nation in your guilty Paſſion loft,
To me ungrateful, to your Country moſt:
But this Ahall be their Offering, I their Prieſt.
Zemp. The Wounds thou giy't I'll copy on her Breaſt .
Strike, and I'll open here a Spring of Blood,
Shall add new Rivers to the crimfon Flood.
How his pale Looks are fix'd on her! 'tis fo.
Oh, does Amazement on your Spirit grow?
What, is your publick Love Orazia's grown?
Could'At thou ſee mine, and yet not hide thy own?
Suppoſe I ſhould ſtrike firſt
, would it not breed
Grief in your publick Heart to ſee her bleed?
Trax. She mocks my Paſſions, in her ſparkling Eyes
Death and a cloſe diſſembled Fury lies :
I dare not truſt her thus,
If ſhe muſt die,
The
way
to her loy'd Life through mine ſhall lie.
[He pests her by, and ſteps before Orazia, and ſhe runs
before Montezuma.
Zemp. And he that does this Stranger's Fate deſign,
Muſt to his Heart a Paſſage force through mine.
Trax. Can fair Orazia yet no Pity have?
'Tis juſt ſhe ſhould her own Preſeryer fave.
Zemp. Can Montezuma ſo ungrateful proye
To her that gave him Life, and offers Love?
Oraz, Can Montezuma liye, and live to be
Juſt to another, and unjuſt to me?
You

The INDIAN Queen. 279
You need not be ungrateful; can ſhe give
A Life to you, if you refuſe to live?
Forgive me Paſſion, I had rather fee
You dead, than kind to any thing, but me.
Mont. O my Orazia !
To what new Joys and Knowledge am I brought!
Are Death's hard Leſſons by a Woman taught?
How to deſpiſe my Fate I always knew;
But ne'er durſt think at once of Death and you:
Yet ſince you teach this generous Jealouſie,
I dare not wiſh your Life, if I muſt die..
How much your Love my Courage does exceed!
Courage alone would ſhrink to ſee
you
bleed.
Zemp. Ungrateful Stranger, thou ſhalt pleaſe thy Eyes;
And gaze upon Orazia while ſhe dies.
I'll keep my Vow: It is ſome joy to ſee
That my Revenge will prove my Piety.
Trax. Then both ſhalldie; we have too long withſtood,
By private Paſlions urg'd, the publick good.
Zemp: Sure he difſembles, and perhaps may prove
My Ruin with his new ambitious Love:
Were but this Stranger kind, I'd croſs his Art,
And give my Empire where I gave my Heart. [Aſide
Yet thou ungrateful Man,
Let thy approaching Ruin make thee wiſe.
Mont. Thee and thy Love and Miſchief I deſpiſe.
Zemp. What ſhall I do?-ſome way muſt yet be try'd.
What Reaſons can ſhe uſe whom Pallions guide ?
Trax. Some black Deſigns are hatching now; falſe Eyes
Are quick to ſee another's Treacheries.
Zemp. Raſh Stranger, thus to pull down thy own Fate;
Mont. You, and that Life you offer me, I hate.
Enter Faylor."
Zemp. Here Jaylor-take-what Title muſt he have?
Slave-Slave-Am I then Captive to a Slave!
Why art thou thus unwilling to be free?
Mont. Death will releaſe me from theſe Chains and thee,
Zemp. Here, Jaylor, take this Monſter from my Sights
And keep him where it may be always Night;
Let

280 The INDIAN Queen.
Let none come near him; if thou doſt, expect
To pay thy Life the price of the Neglecto
Mont. I ſcorn thy Pity and thy Cruelty,
And ſhould deſpiſe a Bleſſing ſent from thee.
Zemp. Oh Horror to my Soul! take him away;
My Rage like dam'd up Streams fwell’d by fome ſtay
Shall from this Oppoſition get new force,
And leave the Bound of its old eaſie Courſe,
Come, my Traxalla, let us both forgive,
And in theſe Wretches Fates begin to live.
The Altars ſhall be crownd with fun’ral Boughs,
Peace-offerings pay'd, but with unquiet Vows.com
[Ex. Zemp. Trax.
Oraz. How are things order'd, that the wicked ſhould
Appear more kind and gentle than the good!
Her Paſſion ſeems to make her kinder prove,
And I ſeem cruel thro' exceſs of Love:
She loves, and would prevent his Death; but I
That love him better, fear he ſhould not die.wg
My Jealouſie, immortal as my Love,
Would rob my Grave below, and me above,
Of Reft.Ye Gods, if I repine, forgive; duru
You neither let me die in Peace, nor live.
Enter Acacis, Faylor, and Indians.
Fayl. They are juſt gone, Sir.
Aca. 'Tis well: Be faithful to my juſt Deſign,
And all thy Prince's Fortune fhall be thine. [Exit Acacis.
Ind. This ſhall to the Empreſs.
[Exit Indian
Oraz. What can this mean!
Twas Prince Acacis, if I durft believe 5) lapathy
My Sight; but Sorrow
may like Joy deceive:
Each Object different from it ſelf
appears, ,
That comes not to the Eyes, but through their Tears,
53 Enter Acacis bringing in Montezuma.
Ha!
Aca. Here, Sir, wear this again; do
Now follow me.
Mont, So, very good ;-
hu

The INDIAN Queen. 281
I dare not think, for I may gueſs amiſs;
None can deceive me while I truſt in this. [Exe, ommes.
Enter Orazia, conducted by two Indians with their Swords
drawn: Montezuma, Acacis, whiſpering another Indian.
Aca. Think what a weight upon thy Faith I lay.
Ind. I ne'er did more unwillingly obey.
Aca. Firſt, Montezuma, take thy Liberty;
Thou gav'ſt me Freedom, here I ſet thee free:
We're equal now. Madam, the Danger's great
Of cloſe purſuit; to favour your Retreat
Permit we two a little while remain
Behind, while you go foftly o’er the Plain.
.
Oraz. Why ſhould I go
before? what's your Intent?
Where is my Father? whither am I ſent ?
Aca. Your Doubts ſhall ſoon be clear'd. Conduct her on
So, Montezuma, we are now alone: [Exit Orazia.
That which my Honour ow'd thee I have paid;
As Honour was, ſo Love muſt be obey'd.
I ſet Orazia as thy Captive free,
But as my Miſtreſs ask her back from thee.
Mont. Thou haſt performd what Honour bid thee do;
But Friendſhip bars what Honour prompts me to,
Friends ſhould not fight.
Aca. If Friendſhip we profeſs,
Let us fecure each others Happineſs;
One needs muſt die, and he ſhall happy prove
In her Remembrance, t'other in her Love.
My Guards wait near, and if I fail, they muſt
Give up Orazia, or betray their Truft.
Mont. Suppoſe thou conquer'ſt, would'ſt thou wander o'er
The South-Sea Sands, or the rough Northern Shore,
That parts thy ſpacious Kingdom from Peru;
And leaving Empire, hopeleſs Love purſue?
Aca. By which of all my Actions could you gueſs,
Tho' more your Merit, that my Love was leſs ?
What prize can Empire with Orazia bear?
Or where Love fills the Breaſt, what room for Fear?
Mont. Let fair Orazia then the Sentence give,
Elſe he may die whom ſhe deſires to live.
Aca.

183 The INDIAN Queen.
Aca. Your greater Merits bribe her to your ſide ;
My weaker Title muſt by Arms be try'd.
Mont. Oh Tyrant Love, how cruel are thy Laws!!
I forfeit Friendſhip, or betray thy Cauſe :
That Perſon whom I would defend from all
The World, that Perſon by my Hand muſt fall
.
Aca. Our Lives we to each others Friendſhip owe;
But Love calls back what Friendſhip did beſtow:
Love has its Cruelties, but Friendſhip none;
And we now fight in Quarrels not our own. [Fight..
Enter Orazia.
Oraz. What Noiſe is this?
Hold, hold; what Cauſe could be ſo great, to move :
This furious hatred ?
Mont. 'Twas our furious Love.
Aca. Love which I hid till I had ſet you free,
And bought your Pardon with my Liberty:
That done, I thought I leſs unjuſtly might
With Montezuma for Orazia fight;
He has prevaild, and I muſt now confeſs
His Fortune greater, not my Paſſion leſs ;
Yet cannot yield you, till h's Sword remove :
A dying Rival, that holds faſt his Love.
Oraz. Who ever falls, 'tis
my
Protector ſtille
And then the Crime's as great to die as kill.
Acacis, do not hopeleſs Love purſue,
But live, and this ſoft Malady fubduc.
Aca. You bid me live, and yet command me die,
I am not worth your Care; fly, Madam, fly,
COM
(While I fall here unpitied) o'er this Plain,
Free from purſuit, the faithleſs Mountains gain ;
And theſe i Charge,
As they would have me think their Friendſhip true,
Leave me alone to ſerve and follow you:
Make haſte, fair Princeſs, to avoid that Fate,
Which does for your unhappy Father wait.
Ora. Is he then left to die, and ſhall he fee
Himſelf forſaken, e'er his Death, by me?
Mont. What would you
do?

The INDIAN Queen. 282
your Life
go alone,
Oraz. To Priſon I'll return,
And there in Fetters with my Father mourn.
Mont. That ſaves not his, but throws
away.
Oraz. Duty ſhall give what Nature once muſt
pay.
Aca. Life is the Gift, which Heav'n and Parents give,
And Duty beſt preſerves it, if you live.
Oraz. Í fhould but further from my Fountain fly,
And like an unfed Stream run on and die :
Urge me no more, and do not grieve to ſee
Your Honour rival'd by my Piety.
[Exit. She goes ſoftly off, and often looks back.
Mont. If Honour wou'd not, Shame wou'd lead the
I'll back with her.
[way.
Aca. Stay, Montezuma, ſtay-
Thy Rival cannot let thee
My Love will bear me, though my Blood is gone.
[As they are going off
Enter Zempoalla, Traxalla, the Indian that went to tell her,
and the reſt, and ſeize them.
Zemp. Seize them-
Aca. Oh, Montezuma, thou art loſt.
Mont. No more, proud Heart, thy uſeleſs Courage boaſt,
Courage thou Curſe of the unfortunate,
That canſt encounter, not reſiſt ill Fate.
Zemp. Acacis bleeds.
What barbarous Hand has wounded thus my Son?
Mont. 'Twas I, by my unhapppy Sword 'twas done.
Thou bleed'ft, poor Prince, and I am left to grieve
My Rival's Fall
.
Trax. He bleeds, but yet may live.
Aca. Friendſhip and Love my failing Strength renew,
I dare not die when I ſhould live for you;
My Death were now my Crime, as it would be
My Guilt to live when I have ſet
you
free:
Thus I muſt ſtill remain unfortunate,
Your Life and Death are equally my Fate.
Orazia comes back.
Oraz. A Noiſe again! alas what do I ſce!
Love thou didſt once give place to Piety:
Novo

284 The INDIAN Queen.
Now Piety, let Love triumph awhile;
· Here, bind my Hands: Come, Montezuma, ſmile
At Fortunė, ſince thou ſuffer'ſt for my fake,
Orazia will her Captive's Chains partake.
Mont. Now, Fate, thy worſt.
Zemp. Lead to the Temple ſtraight,
A Prieſt, and Altar for theſe Lovers wait:
They ſhall be join'd, they ſhall.
Trax. And I will prove-
Thoſe joys in Vengeance which I want in Love.
Aca. I'll quench your Thirſt with Blood, and will deſtroy
My ſelf, and with my ſelf, your cruel Joy.
Now, Montezuma, ſince Orazia dies,
I'll fall before thee, the firſt Sacrifice;
My Title in her Death ſhall exceed thine,
As much as in her Life, thy Hopes did mine:
And when with our mixt Blood the Altar's dy'd,
Then our new Title let the Gods decide.
EExeunt.
5
ACT V. SCENE I.
The SCENE opens, and diſcovers the Temple
of the Sun all of Gold, and four Prieſts in Ha-
bits of white and red Feathers, attending by a
bloody Altar, as ready for Sacrifice.
Then Enter the Guards, and Zempoalla, and Traxalla
Ynca, Orazia, and Montezuma bonnd; as ſoon as they
are plac'd, the Prieſt fings.
S O N G.
You
O.U to whom Victory we owe,
Whole Glories riſe
By Sacrifice,
And from our Fates below;
Never

The INDIAN QUEEN. 285
Never did yet your Altars ſhine
Feaſted with Blood ſo near divine;
Princes to whom we bow,
As they to you,
Thus you can Raviſh from a Throne,
And by their Loſs of Power declare your Own,
Zemp. Now to inflict thoſe Puniſhments that are
Due to the Authors of invaſive War;
Who to deceive th' oppreſſed World, like you,
Invent falſe Quarrels to conceal the true.
Ynca. My Quarrel was the ſame that all the Gods
Muſt have to thee, if there be
any
odds
Betwixt thoſe Titles that are bad or good,
To Crowns deſcended, or uſurpt by Blood:
Swell not with this Succeſs, 'twas not to thee,
But to this Man the Gods gave Victory.
Mont. Since I muſt periſh by my own Succeſs,
Think my Misfortunes more, my Crimes the leſs;
And ſo forgiving make me pleas'd to die,
Thus puniſh'd for this guilty Victory.
Ynca. Death can make Virtue cafie; I forgive :
That word wou'd prove too hard were I to live;
The Honour of a Prince wou'd then deny,
But in the Grave all our Diſtinctions die.
Mont. Forgive me one thing yet; to ſay I love,
Let it no more your Scorn and Anger move,
Since dying in one flame, my Aſhes muſt
Embrace and mingle with Orazia's Duſt.
Inca. Name thy bold Love no more, leſt that laſt Breath
Which ſhou'd forgive, I ſtifle with my
Death.
Oraz. Oh my dear Father! Oh, why may not I,
Since you gave Life to me,
for
Mont. 'Tis I that wrought this Miſchief, ought to fall
A juſt and willing Sacrifice for all.
Now, Zempoalla, be both juſt and kind,
And in my Fate let me thy Mercy find:
Be grateful then, and grant me that Eſteem,
That as I live, ſo dead I may redeem,
Oraz
you now die?

287
The INDIAN QUẾen.
Oraz. O do not for her cruel Mercy move;
None ſhou'd ask Pity but from thoſe they love. [Weeps,
Inca. Fond Girl, to let thy diſobedient Eyes
Show a Concern for him whom I defpiſe.
Oraz. How Love and Nature may divide a Breaſt,
At once by both their Pow'rs ſeverely preſt!
Yet, Sir, ſince Love ſeems leſs, you may forgive
I wou'd not have you die, nor have him live;
Yet if he dies, alas what ſhall I do?
I cannot die with him, and live with you.
Mont. How vainly we purſue this generous ſtrife,
Parting in death more cruel than in Life!
Weep not, we both ſhall have one Deſtiny,
As in one Flame we liv'd, in one we'll die.
Trax. Why do we waſte in vain theſe precious Hours ?
Each Minute of his Life may hazard ours:
The Nation does not live whilft he enjoys
His Life, it is his Safety that deſtroys.
He ſhall fall firſt, and teach the reſt to die.
Zemp. Hold-
Who is it that conimands. -ha, you or I?
Your Zeal grows ſaucy; fure you may allow
Your Empreſs freedom firſt to pay her Vow.
Trax. She may allow a juſtice to be done
By him that rais'd his Empreſs to her Throne.
Zemp. You are too bold
Traz. And you too paſſionate,
Zemp. Take heed with his, you urge not your own Fatin
For all this pity is now due to me.
Mont. I hate thy offer'd Mercy more than thee.
Trax. Why will not then the fair Orazia give
Life to her ſelf, and let Traxalla live?
Mont. Orazia will not live, and let me die;
She taught me firſt this cruel Jealouſie.
Oraz. I joy that you have learn'd it-
That Alamé not like immortal Love appears
Where Death can cool its warmth, or kill its fears.
Zemp. What ſhall I do? am I ſo quite forlorn,
No help from my own Pride, nor from his Scorn!
My

The INDIAN QUE E N.
286
My Rival's Death may more effectual prove,
He that is robb’d of Hope, may ceaſe to love:
Here, lead theſe Offerings to their Deaths.
Trax. Let none
Obey, but he that will pull on his own.
Zemp. Tempt me not thus, falſe and ungrateful too.
Trax. Juſt as ungrateful, and as falſe as you.
Zemp. "Tis thy falſe love that fears her Deſtiny.
Trax. And your falſe love that fears to have him die,
Zemp. Seize the bold Traytor.
Trax. What a flighted frown
Troubles your Brow? fear'd nor obey'd by none;
Come, prepare
for Sacrifice,
Enter Acacis weakly.
ACA. Hold, hold, fuch Sacrifices cannot be,
Devotion's but a folemn Cruelty:
How can the Gods delight in human-Blood ?
Think 'em not cruel; if you think 'em good.
In vain we ask that Mercy, which they want,
And hope that Pity, which they hate to grant,
Zemp. Retire, Acacis
Preſerve thy felf, for 'tis in vain to waſte
Thy Breath for them: The fatal Vow is paſt.
Aca. To break that Vow is juſter than commit
A greater Crime, by your preſerving it.
Zemp. The Gods themſelves their own Will beſt expreſs
To like the Vow, by giving the Succeſs.
Aca. If all things by Succeſs are underſtood,
Men that make War, grow wicked to be good:
But did you Vow, thoſe that were overcome,
And he that conquer'd both, ſhou'd ſhare one Doom?
There's no Excuſe; for one of theſe muſt be
Not
your
Devotion, but
your Cruelty.
Trax. To that raſh Stranger, Sir, we nothing owe;
What he had rais'd, he ſtrove to overthrow:
That Duty loít, which ſhould our Actions guide,
Courage proves Guilt, when Merits fwell to Pride.
Aca. Dar'lt thou, who didſt thy Prince's Life betray,
Once name that Duty, thou haſt thrown away?
Like

288 The INDIAN QUEEN, .
2
Like thy Injuſtice to this Stranger ſhown,
To tax him with a Guilt, that is thy own?
Can you,
brave Soldiers, ſuffer him to die,
That gave you Life, in giving Victory?
Look but upon this Stranger, fee thoſe Hands,
That brought you Freedom, fetter'd up in Bands.
Not one looks up:
Left ſudden pity ſhould their Hearts ſurprize,
And ſteal into their Boſoms, thro' their Eyes.
Zemp. Why thus, in vain, are thy weak Spirits preſt ?
Reſtore thy ſelf to thy more needful Reſt.
Aca. And leave Orazia
Zemp. Go, you muſt reſign-
For ſhe muſt be the Gods; not yours, nor mine.
Aca. You are my Mother, and my Tongue is ty'd
So much by Duty, that I dare not chide,
Divine Orazia
Can
you
have ſo much Mercy to forgive ?
I do not ask it, with deſign to Live,
But in my Death, to have my Torments ceaſe:
Death is not Death, when it can bring no Peace.
Oraz. I both Forgive, and Pity-
Aca. O fay no more, leſt Words leſs kind deſtroy,
What theſe have raisd in me of Peace and Joy;
You ſaid, you did both Pity, and Forgive;
You would do neither, ſhould Acacis live.
By Death alone, the certain way appears,
Thus to hope Mercy, and deſerve your Tears.
[Stabs himſelf.
Zemp. O my Acacis!
What cruel Cauſe could urge this fatal Deed? [Weeps.
He Faints, help, help, ſome help, or he will bleed
His Life and mine away:
Some Water there-Not one ſtirs from his Place;
I'll uſe my Tears, to ſprinkle on his Face.
Aca. Orazia
a dote
Zemp. Fond Child, why do'ſt thou call upon her Name?
I am thy Mother,
Aca. No, you are my Shame.
That

The INDIAN Queen. 289
may it end
That Blood is ſhed that you had Title in,
And with
your
Title
your
Sin:
Unhappy Prince, you may forgive me now,
Thus bleeding for my Mother's cruel Vow.
Inca. Be not concern'd for me
Death's eaſier than the Changes I have ſeen,
I would not live to truſt the World again.
Mont. Into my Eyes Sorrow begins to creep,
When Hands are tyd it is no ſhame to weep.
*
Aca. Dear Montezuma,
I
may be ſtill
your
Friend, tho' I muſt die
Your Rival in her Love; Eternity
Has room enough for both, there's no deſire,
Where to enjoy is only to admire:
There we'll meet Friends, when this ſhort Storm is paſt,
Mont. Why muſt I tamely wait to periſh laſt?
Aca. Orazia weeps, and my parch'd Soul appears
Refreſh'd by that kind Shower of pitying Tears;
Forgive thoſe Faults my Pallion did commit,
'Tis punifh'd with the Life that nouriſh'd it:
I had no Power in this extremity
To ſave your Life, and leſs to ſee you
die.
My Eyes would ever on this Object ſtay,
But ſinking Nature takes the Props away.
-Kind Death
To end with Pleaſures all
niy
Miſeries
Shuts up your Image in my cloſing Eyes. [Dies.
Enter a Meſſenger.
Mel: To Arms, to Arms.
Trax. From whence this ſudden Fear?
Meff. Stand to your Guard, my Lord, the Danger's near :
From every quarter Crowds of People meet,
And leaving Houſes empty, fill the Street. [Exit Mej:
Trax. Fond Queen, thy fruitleſs Tears a while defer.
Riſe, we muſt join again-Not ſpeak, nor ſtir!
I hear the Peoples Voice like Winds that roar,
When they purſue the flying Waves to ſhore.
2. VOL. I.
N
Entey

The INDIAN QUEEN.
Enter ſecond Meſſenger.
2 Meſl. Prepare to fight, my Lord; the baniſh'd Queen,
With old Garrucca, in the Streets are ſeen.
Trax. We muſt go meet them e'er it be too late;
Yet, Madam, riſe ; have you no Senſe of Fate?
Enter third Meſſenger.
3 Mel. King Montezuma their Lord Shouts proclaim,
The City rings with their new Sovereign's Name;
The baniſh'd Queen declares he is her Son,
And to his Succour all the People run. [Zempoalla riſes.
Zemp. Can this be true? O Love! O Fate! have I
Thus doated on my mortal Enemy?
Trax. To my new Prince I thus my Homage pay;
Your Reign is ſhort, young King.
Zemp. Traxalla, ftay
Tis to my Hand that he muſt owe his Fate,
I will revenge at once my Love and Hate.
[She ſets a Dagger 10 Montezuma's Breaft.
Trax. Strike, ſtrike, the conquering Enemy is near.
My Guards are preſs’d, while you detain me here.
Zemp. Die then, ungrateful, die; Amexin's Son
Shall never Triumph on Acacis' Throne:
Thy Death muſt my unhappy Flames remove:
Now where is thy Defence againſt my Love?
[She cuts the Cords, and gives him the Dagger.
Trax. Am I betray'd ?
[He draws and thruſts at Montezuma, he puts
it by and kills him.
Mont. So may all Rebels die:
This end has Treofon join'd with Cruelty.
Zemp. Live thou whom I muſt love, and yet muſt hate;
She gave thee Life, who knows it brings her Fate.
Mont. Life is a Trifle which I would not take,
But for Orazia's and her father's fake:
Now, Inca, hate me, if thou canſt; for he
Whom thou haſt ſcorn'd, will die or reſcue thee.

The INDIAN QUEEN. 201
As he goes to attack the Guards with Traxalla's Sword, Enter
Amexia, Garrucca, Indians, driving ſome of the other
Party before them.
Gar. He lives; ye Gods, he lives ; great Queen, ſee here
Your coming Joys, and your departing Fear.
Amex. Wonder and Joy ſo faſt together flow,
Their haſte to paſs has made their Paſſage flow;
Like ſtruggling Waters in a Veſſel pent,
Whoſe crowding Drops choak up the narrow Vent.
My Son.-
[She imbraces human
Mont. I am amaz'd, it cannot be
That Fate has ſuch a Joy in ſtore for me.
Amex. Can I not gain Belief, that this is true?
Mont. It is my Fortune I ſuſpect, not you.
Gar. Firſt ask him if he old Garrucca know.
Mont. My honour'd Father, let me fall thus low.
Gar. Forbear, great Prince, 'tis I muſt pay to you
That Adoration, as my Sovereign's due:
For from my humble Race you did not ſpring,
You are the Iſſue of our murther'd King,
Sent by that Traytor to his bleſt Abode,
Whom, to be made a King, he made a God:
The Story is too full of Fate to tell,
Or what ſtrange Fortune our loft Queen befel.
Amex. That fad Relation longer time will crave;
I liv'd obſcure, he bred you in a Cave,
But kept the mighty Secret from your Ear,
Left heat of Blood to ſome ſtrange Courſe ſhou'd ſteer
Your Youth
Mont. I owe him all that now I am,
He taught me firſt the noble thirſt of Fame,
Shew'd me the baſeneſs of unmanly Fear,
Till th' unlick'd Whelp I pluck'd from the rough Bear,
And made the Ounce and Tyger give me way,
While from their hungry Jaws I ſnatch d the Prey:
'Twas he that charg'd my young Arms firſt with Toils
And dreſt me glorious in my Salvage Spoils.
Gar. You ſpent in ſhady Foreſt all the Day,
And joy'd returning to ſhow me the Prey.
N 2
TO

292
The INDIAN QUEEN.
To tell the Story, to deſcribe the Place,
With all the Pleaſures of the boaſted Chaſe;
"Till fit for Arms, I reav'd you from your Sport,
To train your Youth in the Peruvian Court:
I left you there, and ever ſince have been
The fad Attendant of my exild Queen.
Zemp. My fatal Dream comes to my Memory;
That Lion whom I held in Bonds was he,
Amexia was the Dove that broke his Chains;
What now but Zempoalla's Death remains?
Mont. Pardon, fair Princeſs, if I muſt delay
My Love a while, my Gratitude to pay.
Live Zempoalla-free from Dangers live,
For preſent Merits I paſt Crimes forgive :
Oh might ſhe hope Orazia's Pardon too.
Oraz. I would have none condemn’d for loving you;
In me her Merit much her Fault o'erpowers,
She fought my Life, but the preſerv'd me yours.
Amex. Taught by my own, I pity her Eſtate,
And wiſh her Penitence, but not her Fate.
Ynca. I would not be the laſt to bid her live;
Kings beſt revenge their Wrongs when they forgive.
Zemp. I cannot yet forget what I have been :
Would you give Life to her that was a Queen?
Muſt
you then give, and muſt I take? there's yet
One way, that's by refuſing to be great:
You bid me live -bid me be wretched too,
Think, think, what Pride unthron'd muſt undergo:
Look on this Youth, Amexia, look, and then
Suppoſe him yours, and bid me live again;
A greater Sweetneſs on theſe Lips there grows,
Than Breath ſhut out from a new folded Roſe:
What lovely Charms on theſe cold Cheeks appear,
Could
any one hate Death, and ſee it here?
But thou art gone-
Mont. O that you would believe,
Acacis lives in me, and ceaſe to grieve.
Zemp. Yes, I will ceaſe to grieve, and ceaſe to be,
His Soul ſtays watching in his Wound for me;
All
.

The INDIAN QUEEN. 293
All that could render Life deſir'd is
gone,
Orazia has my Love, and you my Throne:
And Death Acacis-
-yet I need not die,
You leave me Miſtreſs of my Deſtiny:
In ſpight of Dreams, how am I pleas'd to ſee,
Heav'ns Truth or Falfhood ſhould depend on me;
But I will help the Gods;
The greateſt proof of Courage we can give,
Is then to die when we have power to live.
(Kills her ſelf.
Mont How fatally that Inſtrument of Death
Was hid
Amex, She has expir'd her lateſt Breath.
Mont. But there lies one to whom all Grief is due.
Oraz. None e'er was ſo unhappy and ſo true.
Mont. Your Pardon, Royal Sir.
Inca. You have
my
Love,
[Gives him Orazia.
Amex. The Gods, my Son, your happy Choice approve.
Mont. Come, my Orazia, then, and pay with me,
[Leads her to Acacis.
Some Tears to poor Acacis' Memory;
So ſtrange a Fate for Men the Gods ordain,
Our cleareſt Sun-fhine ſhould be mixt with Rain;
How equally our Joys and Sorrows move!
Death's fatal Triumphs join'd with thoſe of Love.
Love Crowns the dead, and Death Crowns him that lives,
Each gains the Conqueſt which the other gives.
[Exeunt omnes.
N 3
EPI-

5
EPILOGUE,
Spoken by Montezuma.
Saito
YOU
OU ſee what Shifts we are inforc'd to try,
To help out Wit with ſome Variery;
Shows
may be found that never yet were ſeen,
Tis hard to find fuch W it as ne'er has been:
You have ſeen all that this old World cou'd do,
We therefore try the Fortune of the new,
And hope it is below your Aim to hit
At untaught Nature with your practis'd Wit:
Our naked Indians then, when Wits appear,
Wox'd as ſoon chufe to have the Spaniards here.
'Tis true, y have Marks enough, the Plot, the show,
The Poet's Scenes, nay, more, the Painter's too ;
If all this fail, conſidering the Coft,
*T is a true Voyage to the Indies loſt:
But if you ſmile on all, then theſe Deſigns,
Like the imperfect Treaſure of our Minds,
I will paſs for currant wherefoe'er they go,
When to your bounteous Hands their Stamps they owe.
AT
20 MATTIT

Τ Η Ε
Indian Emperor :
O R, THE
CON QUEST
OF
M E X 1 CO
BY THE
SP ANI ARD S.
Being the Sequel of the Indian Queen.
Dum relego, ſcripiſe pudet, quia plurima cerno
Me quoque, qui feci, judice, digna lini.
Ovid.
Printed in the YEAR. MDCCXVII.

ha
To the moft Excellent and moſt Illuftri-
ous PRINCESS
N N
E,
Dutcheſs of Monmouth and Bucclugh,
Wife to the moſt Illuſtrious and
High-born Prince AMES
Duke of Monmouth.
T
May it pleaſe your Grace,
HE Favour which Heroick Plays
have lately found upon our Thea-
ters, has been wholly deriv'd to
them from the Countenance and
ng Approbation they have receiv'd at
Court. The moſt Eminent Per-
ſons for Wit and Honour in the Royal Circle
having ſo far owned them, that they have judg'd
NS
10

The Epifite Dedicatory:
no way ſo fit as Verſe to entertain a Noble Au--
dience, or to expreſs a noble Paſſion. And a-
mongſt the reſt which have been written in this
kind, they have been ſo indulgent to this Poem,
as to allow it no inconſiderable Place. Since,
therefore, to the Court I owe its Fortune on the
Stage ; fo, being now more publickly expos'd in
Print, I humbly recommend it to your Grace's
Protection, who by all knowing Perſons are
eſteem'd a principal Ornament of the Court. But
though the Rank which you hold in the Royal
Family, might direct the Eyes of a Poet to you,
yet your Beauty and Goodneſs detain and fix
them. High Objects, 'tis true, attract the Sight;
but it looks up with pain on Craggy Rocks and
Barren Mountains, and continues not intent on
any Object, which is wanting in Shades and
Greens to entertain it. Beauty, in Courts, is ſo
neceſſary to the young, that thoſe who are with-
out it, ſeem to be there to no other purpoſe than
to wait on the Triumphs of the Fair; to attend
their Motions in obſcurity, as the Moon and
Stars do the Sun by Day : Or, at beſt, to be the
Refuge of thoſe Hearts which others have de-
fpis’d; and, by the unworthineſs of both, to give
and take a miſerable Comfort. But as needful
as Beauty is, Virtue and Honour are yet more :
The reign of it without their Support is unſafe.
and ſhort, like that of Tyrants. Every Sun which
looks on Beauty, waſtes it; and, when once it:
is decaying, the repairs of Art are of as ſhort:
Continuance, as the after Spring, when the Sun
is going farther off. This, Madam, is its ordi-
nary Fate ; but yours which is accompanied by
Virtue, is not ſubject to that common Deſtiny.
Your

The Epiſtle Dedicatory.
Your Grace has not only a long time of Youth
in which to flouriſh, but you have likewiſe found
the way by an untainted Preſervation of your
Honour, to make that periſhable Good more laſt-
ing. And if Beauty, like Wines, could be pre-
ferv'd by being mix'd and embodied with others
of their own Natures, then your Grace's-would
be immortal, fince no part of Europe can afford
a Parallel to your Noble Lord, 'in maſculine
Beauty, and in goodlineſs of Shape. To receive
the Bleſſings and Prayers of Mankind, you need
only to be ſeen together: We are ready to con-
clude that you are a pair of Angels ſent below
to make Virtue amiable in your Perſons, or to
ſit to Poets when they would pleaſantly inſtruct
the Age, by drawing Goodneſs in the moſt per-
fect and alluring Shape of Nature. But though
Beauty be the Îheme, on which Poets love to
dwell, I muſt be forc'd to quit it as a private
Praiſe, ſince you have deſerv'd thoſe which are
more Publick. For Goodneſs and Humanity,
which ſhine in you, are Virtues which concern
Mankind : And by a certain Kind of Intereſt all
People agree in their commendation, becauſe
the profit of them may extend to many. Tis
ſo much your Inclination to do Good, that
you ſtay not to be ask'd; which is an approach
ſo nigh the Deity, that humane Nature is not
capable of a nearer. 'Tis my Happineſs that I
can teſtifie this Virtue of your Grace's by my
own Experience; ſince I have ſo great an Aver-
fion from ſolliciting Court-Favours, that I am
ready to look on thoſe as very bold, who dare
grow rich there without Deſert. But I beg your
Grace's Pardon for aſſuming this Virtue of Mo-
deſty

The Epiſtle Dedicatory.
deſty to my ſelf, which the ſequel of this Dif
courſe will no way juſtifie. For in this Addreſs
I have already quitted the Charaéter of a modeſt
Man, by preſenting you this Poem as an Ac-
knowledgment, which ſtands in need of your
Protection; and which ought no more to be
efteem'd a Preſent, than it is accounted Bounty
in the Poor, when they beſtow a Child on ſome
wealthy Friend, who will better breed it up.
Off-ſprings of this Nature are like to be ſo nu-
merous with me, that I muſt be forc'd to ſend
ſome of them abroad; only this is like to be more
fortunate than his Brothers, becauſe I have landed
him on a Hoſpitable Shore. Under your Patro-
nage Montezuma hopes he is more ſafe than in
his Native Indies : And therefore comes to throw
himſelf at your Grace's Feet; paying that Ho-
mage to your Beauty, which he refusd to the Vi-
olence of his Conquerors. He begs only that
when he ſhall relate his Sufferings, you will con-
fider him as an Indian Prince, and not expect any
other Eloquence from his Simplicity, than what
his Griefs have furniſh'd him withal. His Story
is, perhaps, the greateſt, which was ever repre-
ſented in a Poem of this Nature; (the Action of
it including the Diſcovery and Conqueſt of a
New World.) In it I have neither wholly follow'd
the Truth of the Hiſtory, nor altogether left it :
But have taken all the Liberty of a Poet, to add,
alter, or diminiſh, as I thought might beſt con-
duce to the Beautifying of my Work : It being
not the Buſineſs of a Poet to repreſent Hiſtori-
cal Truth, but Probability. But I am not to
make the Juſtification of this Poem, which I
wholly leave to your Grace's Mercy. 'Tis an
irregu-

The Epiflle Dedicatory.
irregular Piece, if compar’d with many of Cor-
neille’s, and, if I may make a Judgment of it,
Written with more Flame than Art; in which it
repreſents the Mind and Intentions of the Au-
thor, who is with much more Zeal and Integri-
ty, than Defign and Artifice,
MADAM,
October 12,
1667
Your Grace's moſt Obedient
and moſt Obliged Servant,
JOHN DRYDEN
VOL. 1.
IN 01

A
D E F E N C E
OF AN
Eſſay of DRAMATICK POESIE,
Being an Anſwer to the Preface of the
Great Favourite, or the Duke of Lerma,
T
RE
HE former Edition of the Indian Emperor
being full of Faults which had eſcaped the
Printer, I have been willing to over-look
this ſecond with more Care: and though
I could not allow my ſelf ſo much Time
as was neceſſary, yet by that little I have
done, the Preſs is freed from ſome Errors which it had
to anſwer for before. As for the more material Faults
of writing, which are properly mine, though I ſee ma-
ny of them, I want Leiſure to amend them. Tis es
nough for thoſe who make one Poem the Buſineſs of
their Lives, to leave that correct: yet, excepting Virgil,
I never met with any which was fo in any Language.
But while I was thus employ'd about this Impreſſion,
there came to my Hands a new printed Play, called, The
Great Favourite, or the Duke of Lerma. The Author of
which, a noble and moſt ingenious Perfon, has done me
the Favour to inake fome Obfervations and Animadver-
ſions upon my Dramatick EjJay. I muſt confeſs he might
have better conſulted his Reputation, than by matching
himſelt with ſo weak an Adverſary. But if his Honour
be diminiſhed in the Choice of his Antagoniſt, it is ſuf-
[NO 2]
ficienrly

Defence of an Elay
ficiently recompens'd in the Election of his Cauſe:which
being the weaker, in all Appearance, as combating the
received Opinions of the beſt Ancient and Modern Au-
thors, will add to his Glory, if he overcome; and to the
Opinion of his Generoſity, if he be vanquiſhed, ſince he
ingages at ſo great cdds; and, ſo like a Cavalier, under-
takes the Protection of the weaker Party. I have only -
to fear on my own behalf, that ſo good a Cauſe as mine
may not ſuffer by my ill Management, or weak Defence;
yet I cannot in Honour but take the Glove when ’tis of
fer'd me: though I am only a Champion by Succeſſion;
and no more able to defend the right of Ariſtotle and Ho -
race, than an Infant Dimock to maintain the Title of a King
For ny own Concernment in the Controverſie, it is
lo ſmall, that I can eaſily be contented to be driven from
a few Notions of Dramatick Poeſie; eſpecially by one,
who has the Reputation of underſtanding all Things: and
I might juſtly make that Excuſe for my yielding to him,
which the Philoſopher made to the Emperor ; why
frou'd I offer to contend with him who is Maſter of
more than twenty Legions of Arts and Sciences? But I
2m forc'd to fight, and therefore it will be no Shame to
be overcome.
Yet I am ſo much his Servant as not to meddle with
any thing which does not concern me in his Preface:
therefore I leave the good Senſe and other Excellencies
of the firſt twenty Lines, to be conſider'd by the Criticks.
As for the Play of the Duke of Lerma, having ſo much
älter'd and beautify'd it, as he has done, it can juftly be
long to none but him. Indeed they muſt be extream ig-
norant as well as envious, who would rob him of that
Honour; for you ſee him putting in his Claim to it, e-
win in the first two Lines.
them
7 5901
mo Repulſe upor Repulſe, like Waves thrown back,
Yenibo
ut That ſlide to hang upon obdurate Rocks.
There
After this let Detraction do its worſt; for if this be
not his, it deſerves to be. For my Part I declare for di-
Stributive Juſtice, and from this and what follows he cer-
tainly

of Dramatick Poeſie.
fainly deſerves thoſe Advantages, which he acknowledges to
have received from the Opinion of fober Men.
-- In the next Place I maſt beg Leave to obſerve his great
Addreſs in courting the Reader to his Party. For intend-
ing to aſſault all Poets, both Ancient and Modern, hediſ-
covers not his whole Deſign at once, but ſeems only to
aim at me, and attacks me on my weakeſt fide, my De-
fence of Verſe, boca
To begin with me, he gives me the Compellation of
The Author of a Dramatick Ejay; which is a little Dif-
courſe in Dialogue, for the moſt part borrowed from the
Obſervations of others: therefore, that I may not be
wanting to him in Civility, I return his Compliment by
calling him The Author of the Duke of Lerma.
But (that I may paſs over his Salute) he takes notice of
my great Pains to prove Rhyme as natural in a ſerious
Play, and more effectual than Blank Verſe. Thus indeed
I did ſtate the Queſtion; but he tells me, I purſue that
which I call Natural in a wrong Application: For 'tis not the
Queſtion whether Rhyme or not Rhyme be beſt or moſt natu-
ral for a ſerious Subject, but what is neareſt the Nature of
that it repreſents
.
If I have formerly miſtaken the Queſtion, I muſt con-
fefs my Ignorance ſo far, as to ſay I continue ſtill in my
Miſtake: But he ought to have prov'd that I miſtook it;
for 'tis yet but gratis dictum; I ſtill ſhall think I have
gain'd my Point, if I can prove that Rhyme is beſt or
moſt natural for a ſerious Subject. As for the Queſtion as
he ſtates it, whether Rhyme be neareſt the Nature of
what it repreſents, I wonder he ſhould think me fo ri-
diculous as to diſpute whether Profe or Verſe be neareſt to
ordinary Converſation.
It ſtill remains for him to prove his Inference; that,
fince Verſe is granted to be more remote than Proſe from
ordinary Converſation, therefore no ſerious Plays oughe
to be writ in Verſe: and when he clearly makes that
good, I will acknowledge his Victory as abſolute as he
can delire it.
The Queſtion now is, which of us two has miſtaken
it; and if it appear I have not, the World will fuspect
(NO 3]
what

Defence of an Ellay
mhat Genileman that mas, who was allowed to ſpeak twice in
Parliament, becauſe he had not yet ſpoken to the Queſtion ;
and perhaps conclude it to be the ſame, who, as 'tis re-
ported, maintain'd a Contradiction in terminis, in the
Face of three hundred Perſons.
But to return to Verfe, whether it be natural or not in
Plays, is a Problem which is not demonſtrable of either
fide: 'Tis enough for me that he acknowledges he híd
father read good Verſe than Profe: for if all the Enemies
of Verſe will confefs as much, I ſhall not need to prove
that it is natural. I am ſatisfied if it cauſe Delight for
Delight is the chief, if not the only end of Poeſie; In-
fruction can be admitted but in the ſecond Place, for
Poefie only inſtructs as it delights: 'Tis true that to imi.
tate well is a Poet's Work; but to affect the Soul, and
excite the Paſſions, and above all to move Admiratiori
(which is the Delight of ſerious Plays) a bare Imitation
will not ſerve. The Converſe therefore which a Pcet
is to imitate, muſt be heighten'd with all the Arts and
Ornaments of Poeſie; and muſt be ſuch, as, ſtrictly con-
ſider'd, cou'd never be ſuppoſed ſpoken by any without
Premeditation.
As for what he urges, that a Play will ſtill be ſuppoſed
to be a Compoſition of ſeveral Perſons ſpeaking ex tempore;
and that good Verſes are the hardeſt things which car be ima-
gin'd to be ſo spoken. I muſt crave leave to difſent from his
Opinion, as to the former Part of it: For, if I am not de-
ceiy’d, a Play is ſuppos'd to be the Work of the Poet,
imitating, or reprelenting the Converſation of ſeveral
Perſons: and this I think to be as clear, as he thinks the
23
contrary,
But I will be bolder, and do not doubt to make it good,
though a Paradox, that one great Reaſon why Proſe is
not to be us’d in ſerious Plays, is becauſe it is too near
the Nature of Converſe: There may be too great a Like-
neſs; as the moſt skilful Painters affirm, that there may
be too near a Reſemblance in a Picture: to take every
Lineament and Feature is not to make an excellent Piece,
but to take ſo much only as will make a beautiful Re-
femblance of the whole; and, with an ingenious Flattery
of

of Dramatick Poeſie.
of Nature, to heighten the Beauties of ſome parts, and
hide the Deformities of the reſt. For ſo ſays Horace,
Ut pictura Poeſis erit, e66.
Hac amat obfcurum, vult hæc ſub luce videri,
Fudicis argutum que non formidat acumen.
-Et qu&
bii Deſperat, tractara nitefcere poffe, relinquit.
2013
In Bartholomew-Fair, or the loweſt kind of Comedy,
that degree of heightning is uſed, which is proper to ſet
off that Subject: 'Tis true the Author was not there to
go out of Proſe, as he does in his higher Arguments of
Comedy, The Fox and Alchymiſt; yet he does ſo raiſe his
Matter in that Proſe, as to render it delightful; which
hé could never have performed, had he only ſaid or done
thoſe very things that are daily ſpoken or practiſed in the
Fair: for then the Fair it ſelf would be as full of Pleaſure
to an ingenious Perſon as the Play; which we manifeſt-
ly ſee it is not. But he hath made an excellent Lazar of
it; the Copy is of Price, though the Original be vile.
You ſee in Catiline and Sejanus, where the Argument is
great, he ſometimes afcends to Verſe, which ſhews lie
thought it not unnatural in ſerious Plays: and had his Ge-
nius been as proper for Rhyme, as it was for Humour; or
had the Age in which he liv’d; attain'd to as much
Knowledge in Verſe, as ours, 'tis probable he would have
adorn'd thoſe Subjects with that kind of Writing.
Thus Proſe, though the rightful Prince, yet is by com-
mon Conſent depos’d, as too weak for the Government
of ſerious Plays; and he failing, there now ſtart up two
Competitors; one the nearer in Blood, which is Blank
Verſe; the other more fit for the Ends of Government,
which is Rhyme. Blank Verſe is, indeed, the nearer
Profe, but he is blemifh'd with the Weakneſs of his Pre-
deceffor. Rhyme (for I will deal clearly) has ſomewhat
of the Uſurper in him, but he is brave, and generous,
and his Dominion pleaſing: For this Reaſon of Delight
the Ancients (whom I will ſtill believe as wife as thoſe
who fo confidently correct them) wrote all their Trage-
įNO 4]
dies

Defence of an Elan
dies in Verſe, though they knew it moſt remote from
Converſation,
But I perceive I am falling into the Danger of another
Rebuke from my Opponent: For when I plead that the
Ancients uſed Verſe, I prove not that they would have
admitted Rhyme, had it then been written: all I can fay
is only this, That it ſeems to have ſucceeded Verſe by
the general Conſent of Poets in all Modern Languages:
-For almoſt all their ſerious Plays are written in it: which,
tho' it be no Demonſtration that therefore they ought
to be fo, yet, at leaſt the Practice firſt, and then the Con-
tinuation of it, ſhews that it attain'd the End, which
was to pleaſe; and if that cannot be compafs’d here, I
will be the firſt who ſhall lay it down. For I confeſs
my chief Endeavours are to delight the Age in which
I live. If the Humour of this, be for low Comedy,
ſmall Accidents, and Raillery, I will force my Genius to
obey it, though with more Reputation I could write in
Verſe. I know I am not ſo fitted by Nature to write
Comedy: I want that Gaiety of Humour which is requi-
red to it. My Converſation is flow and dull, my Hu-
mour Saturnine and reſery'd: In fhort, I am none of
thoſe who endeavour to break Jefts in Company, or
make Reparties. So that thoſe who decry my Come-
dies, do me no Injury, except it be in point of Profit:
Reputation in them is the laſt thing to which I ſhall pre-
tend. I beg Pardon for entertaining the Reader with fo
il a Subject; but before I quit that Argument, which
was the Cauſe of this Digreſſion, I cannot but take No-
tice how I am corrected for my Quotation of Seneca, in
my
Defence of Plays in Verſe. My Words are theſe.
Our Language is Noble, Full, and Significant, and I know
not why he who is Maſter of it, may not cloath ordina-
ry things in it as decently as in the Latine, if he uſe the ſame
Diligence in his Choice of Words. One would think Un-
lock a Door was a thing as vulgar as could be ſpoken; yet
Seneca could make it ſound high and lofty in his Latine.
Referate cluſos Regii poſtes Laris.
But he ſays of me, That being filld with the Precedents
of the Ancients who writ their Plays in Verſe, I commend the
thing,

of Dramatick Poeſie.
thing, declaring our Language to be Full, Noble, and Signifi-
cant, and charging all Defects upon the ill placing of Words,
which I prove by quoting Seneca loftily expreſſing fuch an ore
dinary thing as fhutting a Door,
Here he manifeſtly miſtakes; for I ſpoke not of the pla-
cing, but of the Choice of Words: for which I. quoted
that Aphoriſm of Julius Cafar, Delectus verborum eft oris
go Eloquentiæ: But delectus verborum is no more Latine for
the placing of Words, than Referate is Latine for fhut
the Door, as he interprets it, which I ignorantly conſtru-
ed unlock or open it.
He fuppofes I was highly affected with the Sound of
thoſe Words; and I ſuppoſe I may more juſtly imagine
it of him: For if he had not been extreamly ſatisfied
with the Sound, he would have minded the Senſe a lit-
tle better.
But theſe are now to be no Faults; for ten Days af-
ter his Book is publiſh'd, and that his Miſtakes are grown
ſo famous, that they are come back to him, he ſends his
Errata to be printed, and annexed to his Play, and de-
fires that inſtead of futting you would read opening; which
it ſeems, was the Printer's Fault. I wonder at his Mo-
deſty, that he did not rather fay it was Seneca's or mine,
and that in fome Authors Referare was to ſhut as well as
to open, as the Word Barach, fay the Learned, is both to
bleſs and curſe.
Well, ſince it was the Printer, he was a naughty Man
to commit the fame Miſtake twice in fix Lines: I war-
rant you dele£tus verborum for placing of Words was his
Miſtake too, though the Author forgot to tell him of it:
If it were my Book, I aſſure you I ſhould. For thoſe
Raſcals ought to be the Proxies of every Gentleman Au-
thor, and to be chaſtis'd for him, when he is not pleas'd to -
own an Error. Yet ſince he has given the Errata, I wiſh
he would have inlarg'd them only a few Sheets more, ard
then he would have fpar'd me the Labour oftan Anſwer":
For this curſed Printer is ſo given to Miſtakes, that there
is ſcarce a Sentence in the Preface, without ſome falſe
Grammar, or hard Senſe in it: which will all be charg'd
upon the Poet, becauſe he is ſo good-natur'd as to lay
[NOS
as but

Defence of an Eſjag
but three Errors to the Printer's Account, and to take the
reſt upon himſelf, who is better able to ſupport them.
But he needs not apprehend that I ſhould ſtrictly exa-
mine thoſe little Faults, except I am call'd upon to do
it: I ſhall return therefore to that Quotation of Seneca,
and anſwer, not to what he writes, but to what he means.
I never intended it as an Argument, but only as an il-
Juſtration of what I had faid before concerning the Ele-
Etion of Words; and all he can charge me with is only
this, that if Seneca could make an ordinary thing found
well in Latine by the Choice of Words, the ſame with
the like Care might be perform'd in Engliſh: If it can-
not, I have committed an Error on the right Hand, by
commending too much the Copiouſneſs and well found
ing of our Language, which I hope my Country-men
will pardon me. At leaſt the Words which follow in my
Dramatick Effay will plead ſomewhat in my Behalf; for
I ſay there, that this Objection happens but ſeldom in a
Play, and then too either the Meanneſs of the Expreſſion
may be avoided, or ſhut out from the Verſe by break-
ing it in the midt.
But I have ſaid too much in the Defence of Verſe; for
after all 'tis a very indifferent thing to me, whether it
obtain or not. I am content hereafter to be order'd by
his Rule, that is, to write it ſometimes becauſe it pleaſes
me, and ſo much the rather, becauſe he has declared that
it pleaſes him. But he has taken his laſt Farewel of the
Muſes, and he has done it civilly, by honouring them
with the Name of his long Acquaintances, which is a Com-
plement they have ſcarce deſerv'd from him. For my
own part I bear a Share in the publick Loſs, and how
emulous foever I may be of his Fame and Reputation, I can-
not but give this Teſtimony of his Style, that it'is extream
poctical, even in Oratory; 'his Thoughts elevated ſome-
times above common Apprehenſion; his Norions poli-
tick and grave, and tending to the Inſtruction of Princes,
and Reformation of States; that they are abundantly in-
terlac'd with Variety of Fancies, Tropes, and Figures,
which the Criticks have enviouſly branded with the Name
of Obfcurity and falſe Grammar.
Well

of Dramatick Poeſie.
Well he is now fetter'd in Buſineſs of more unpleaſant Na-
ture: The Muſes have loſt him, but the Commonwealth
gains by its the Corruption of a Poet is the Generation
of a Statefman.
He will not venture again into the civil Wurs of Cenfure,
ubi nullos habitura triumphos: If he had not told us
he had left the Muſes, we might have half fufpected it
by that Word, ubi, which does not any way belong to
them in that Place; the reſt of the Verſe is indeed Lucan's.
but that ubi, I will anſwer for it, is his own. Yet he
has another Reaſon for this Diſguſt of Poeſie; for he ſays
immediately after, that the mamer of Plays which are now
in moft Eſteem, is beyond his power to perform: to perforno
the manner of a thing I confeſs is new Engliſh to me.
However, he condemns not the Satisfaction of others, but i'eta
ther their unneceſſary Underſtanding, who, like Sancho Panca's
Doctor, preſcribe too ſtrictly to our
Appetites; for, fays he, in
the difference of Tragedy and Comedy, and of Farce is jelt,
there can be no determination but by the Taſte, nor in the man-
ner of their Compoſure.
We ſhall ſee him now as great a Critick as he was a
Poet, and the Reaſon why he excelld ſo much in Poetry
will be evident, for it will appear to have pror
ceeded from the Exactneſs of his Judgment. In
the Difference of Tragedy, Comedy, and Farce it ſelf, ibere
can be no determination but by the Taſte. I will not quarrel
with the Obſcurity of his Phraſe, though I juſtly might ;
but beg his Pardon if I do not rightly underſtand him:
If he means that there is no effential Difference betwixt
Comedy, Tragedy, and Farce, but what is only made by
the Peoples Tafte, which diſtinguiſhes one of them from
the other, that is ſo manifeſt an Error, that I need not
loſe Time to contradict it. Were there neither Judge,
Taſte, nor Opinion in the World, yet they would dif-
fer in their Natures; for the Action, Character, and Lan-
guage of Tragedy, would ſtill be great and high; that of
Comedy lower and more familiar. Admiration would be
the Delight of one, and Satyr of the other.
I have but briefly touch'd upon theſe Things, becauſe,
whatever his Words are, I can ſcarce imagine, that he
who

Defence of an Elay
who is always concern'd for the true Honour of Reafon, and
wou'd have
no ſpurious iſſue father'd upon her, ſhould mean
any thing fo abſurd as to affirm, that there is no difference
betwixt Comedy and Tragedy but what is made by the
Taſte only: Unleſs he would have us underſtand the Co-
medies of my Lord L. where the firſt Act fhould be Pot-
tages, the ſecond Fricaſſes, done, and the Fifth a Chere Ex-
tjere of Women,
I rather gueſs he means, that betwixt one Comedy or
Tragedy and another, there is no other Difference but
what is made by the liking or diſliking of the Audience.
This is indeed a leſs Error than the former, but yet it is
a great one. The liking or diſliking of the People gives
the Play the Denomination of good or bad, but does not
really make, or conſtitute it ſuch. To pleaſe the People
ought to be the Poet's Aim, becauſe Plays are made for
their Delight: but it does not follow that they are always
pleasd with good Plays, or that the Plays which pleaſethem
are always good. The Humour of the People is now for Co-
medy, therefore in hope to pleaſe them, I writeComedies rather
than ferious Plays:and ſo far their Taſte preſcribes to me:
but it does not follow from that Reaſon, that Comedy
is to be prefer'd before Tragedy in its own Nature: for
that which is fo in its own Nature, cannot be otherwiſe;
as a Man cannot but be a rational Creature: But the Opi-
nion of the People may alter, and in another Age, or per-
haps in this, ſerious Plays may be ſet up above Comedies,
This I think a ſufficient Anſwer; if it be not, he has
provided me of an Excuſe; it ſeems in his Wiſdom, he fore,
law my Weakneſs, and has frund out this Expedient
for me, That it is not neceſſary for Poets to ſtudy ſtrict Rea-
fon, ſince they are ſo uſed to a greater Latitude than is allowed
By that ſevere Inquiſition; that they muſt infringe their owna.
Furiſdiction to profeſs themſelves oblig'd to argue well.
I am obliged to him for diſcovering to me this back
Door; but I am not yet reſolv'd on my Retreat: For I am
of Opinion that they cannot be good' Poets who are not
accuſtomed to argue well. Falſe Reaſonings and Colours
of Speech, are the certain Marks of one who does not un-
derſtand the Stage: For Moral Truth is the Miſtreſs of
the

of Dramatick Poeſie.
the Poet as much as of the Philofopher : Poeſie muſt rea
femble natural Truth, but it muſt be Ethical. Indeed the
Poet dreſſes Truth, and adorns Nature, but does not al-
ter them :
Fitta Voluptatis causa fint proxima veris.
Therefore that is not the beſt Poeſie which reſembles
Notions of Things that are not, to Things that are:
Though the Fancy may be great and the Words flowing,
yet the Soul is but half fatisfied when there is not Truth
in the Foundation. This is that which makes Virgil be
preferred before the reſt of Poets. In Variety of Fancy
and Sweetneſs of Expreſlion, you fee Ovid far above him:
for Virgil rejected many of thoſe Things which Ovid
wrote. A great Wit's great Work is to refuſe, as my wor-
thy Friend Sir John Berkenhead has ingeniouſly expreſsa
it: you rarely meet with any thing in Virgil but Truth,
which therefore leaves the ſtrongeſt Impreſſion of Pleau-
fure in the Soul. This I thought my felf oblig'd to ſay
in behalf of Poeſie: and to declare, though it be against
my ſelf, that when Poets do not argue well, the Defect
is in the Work-men, not in the Art.
And now I come to the boldeſt Part of his Diſcourſes
wherein he attacks not me, but all the Ancients and Mo-
derns; and undermines, as he thinks, the very Foundan,
tions on which Dramatick Poeſie is built. I could with
he would have declin'd that Envy which muſt of necef-
fity follow ſuch an Undertaking, and contented himſelf
with triumphing over me in my opinions of Verſe,
which I will never hereafter diſpute with him ; but he
muſt pardon me if I have that Veneration for Ariſtotle,
Horace, Ben. Fobnfon, and Corneille, that I dare not ſerye
him in ſuch a Cauſe, and againſt ſuch Heroes, but ra-
ther fight under their Protection, as Homer reports of lit-
tle Teucer, who ſhot the Trojans from under the large
Buckler of Ajax Telamon.
Στη ' άρ' α' 'Αίανθο σακί Τελαμωνιάδαω,
He ſtood beneath his Brother's ample Shield;
And, cover'd there, ſhot Death through all the Field,
The

Defence of an Elay
The Words of my noble Adverſary are theſe:
But if we examine the general Rules laid down for Plays by
frigt Renfon, we ſhall find the Errors equally groſs ; for the great
Foundation which is laid to build upon, is nothing as it is ge-
nerally ſtated, as will appear upon the Examination of the Par-
ticulars.
Theſe Particulars in due Time ſhall be examin'd: In the
mean while let us conſider what this great Foundation is,
which he ſays is nothing, as it is generally ſtated. I ne-
ver heard of any other Foundation of Dramatick Poeſie
than the Imitation of Nature; neither was there ever
pretended any other by the Ancients or Moderns, or me,
who endeavour to follow them in that Rule. This I have
plainly faid in my Definition of a Play; that it is a juſt
and lively Image of Humane Nature, doc. Thus the
Foundation, as it is generally ſtated, will ſtand fure, if
this Definition of a Play be true; if it be not, he ought
to have made his Exception againſt it, by proving that a
Play is not an Imitation of Nature, but ſomewhat elſe
which he is pleas'd to think it.
But 'tis very plain, that he has miſtaken the Foundati-
on for that which is built upon it, though not immedi-
ately: For the direct and immediate Conſequence is this ;
if Nature be to be imitated, then there is a Rule for imi-
tating Nature rightly, otherwiſe there may be an End,
and no Means conducing to it. Hitherto I have proceed-
ed by Demonſtration, but as our Divines, when they have
prov'd a Deity, becauſe there is Order, and have inferr'd
that this Deity ought to be worſhipped, differ afterwards
in the Manner of the Worſhip; ſo having laid down, that
Nature is to be imitated, and that Propoſition proving
the next, that then there are Means which conduce to the
imitating of Nature, I dare proceed no farther poſitively:
but have only laid down fome Opinions of the Ancients
and Moderns, and of my own, as Means which they uſed, and
which I thought probable for the attaining of that End.
Thoſe Means are the ſame which my Antagoniſt calls the
Foundations, how properly, the World may judge; and
to prove that this is his Meaning, he cleans it immedi-
ately

of Dramatick Poeſie.
ately to you, by enumerating thoſe Rules or Propofi-
tions againſt which he makes his particular Ex-
ceptions; as namely, thoſe of Time and Place, in theſe
Words: Firſt we are told the Plot ſhould not be ſo ridicu-
louſly contrived, as to crowd two ſeveral Countries into one Stage;
ſecondly, to cramp the Accidents of many years or Days into
the Repreſentation of two Hours and an half; and laſtly, a Con-
cluſion drawn, that the only remaining Diſpute is, concerning
Time, whether it Mhould be contained in 1 2 OF 24 Hours; and
the Place to be limited to that Spot of Ground where the Play
is ſuppoſed to begin: and this is called neareſt Nature; for
that is concluded moſt natural, which is moſt probable, and
neareſt to that which it preſents.
Thus he has only made a ſmall Miſtake of the Means
conducing to the End, for the End it ſelf, and of the Su-
perſtructure for the Foundation: But he -proceeds. TO
Shem therefore upon what ill Grounds they dičtate Laws for
Dramarick Poeſie, &c. He is here pleaſed to charge me
with being Magiſterial, as he has done in many other places
of his Preface. Therefore in Vindication of my ſelf, I
muſt crave leave to ſay, that my whole Diſcourſe was
Sceptical
, according to that way of reaſoning which was
uſed by Socrates, Plate, and all the Academicks of old,
which Tully and the beſt of the Ancients followed, and
which is imitated by the modeſt Inquiſitions of the Roy-
al Society. That it is ſo, not only the Name will fhew,
which is an Elay, but the Frame and Compoſition of the
Work. You lee it is a Dialogue ſuſtain’d by Perſons of
ſeveral Opinions, all of them left doubtful, to be deter-
mind by the Readers in general; and more particularly
defer'd to the accurate Judgment of my Lord Brckharji,
to whom I made a Dedication of my Book. Theſe are
my Words in my Epiſtle, ſpeaking of the Perſons whom
I introduc'd in my Dialogue. "Tis true they differed in
their Opinions, as "tis probable they would; neither do
I take upon me to reconcile, but to relate them, leaving
your Lordſhip to decide it in favour of that part which
you ſhall judge moſt reaſonable. And after that in my
Advertiſement to the Reader I ſaid this; The Drift of
the enſuing Diſcourſe is chiefly to vindicate the Honour
of

Defence of an Elcy
of our Engliſh Writers from the Cenfure of thoſe who
unjuſtly prefer the French before them. This I intimate,
leſt
any
hould think me ſo exceeding vain, as to teach
others an Art which they underſtand much better than
my felf. But this is more than neceſſary to clear my Mo-
deſty in that Point: And I am very confident that there
is ſcarce any Man who has loſt ſo much Time, as to read
that Trifle, but will be my Compurgator as to that Ar-
rogance whereof I am accus'd. The Truth is, if I had
been naturally guilty of ſo much Vanity as to dictate
my
Opinions; yet I do not find that the Character of a po-
ſitive or ſelf-conceited Perſon is of ſuch Advantage to any
in this Age, that I ſhould labour to be publickly admit-
ted of that Order.
But I am not now to defend my own Cauſe, when
that of all the Ancients and Moderns is in Queſtion: For
this Gentleman who accuſes me of Arrogance, has taken
a Courſe not to be taxed with the other Extream of Mo-
deſty. Thoſe Propoſitions which are laid down in my Di-
fcourſe as helps to the better Imitation of Nature, are not
mine (as I have ſaid) nor were ever pretended fo to be,
but derived from the Authority of Ariſtotle and Horace,
and from the Rules and Examples of Ben. Johnſon and Corn
meille. Theſe are the Men with whom properly he con-
tends, and againſt whom he will endeavour to make it evident,
that there is no ſuch thing as what they All pretend.
His Argument againſt the Unities of Place and Time,
is this; That 'tis as impoſſible for one Stage to preſent two
Rooms or Houſes truly, as two Countries or Kingdoms, and as
impoſſible that five Hours or twenty four Hours ſhould be two
Hours, as that a thouſand Hours or Years ſhould be leſs than
what they are, or the greateſt Part of Time to be comprehend-
ed in the leſs: For all of them being impoſſible, they are none
of them neareſt the Truth or Nature of what they preſent ; for
Impoffibilities are all equal, and admit of no Degree.
This Argument is fo ſcattered into Parts, that it can
ſcarce be united into a Syllogiſm; yet, in Obedience to him,
I will abbreviate and comprehend as much of it as I can
in few Words, that my Anſwer to it may be more per-
fpicuous. I conceive his Meaning to be what follows as
to.

of Dramatick Poeſie.
to the Unity of Place: (if I miſtake, I beg his Pardon,
profeſſing it is not out of any Deſign to play the Argu-
mentative Poet.) If one Stage cannot properly preſent two
Rooms or Houſes, much leſs two Countries or King-
doms, then there can be no Unity of Place. But one
Stage cannot properly perform this; therefore there can
be no Unity of Place.
I plainly deny his minor Propoſition; the force of which,
if I miſtake not, depends on this; that the Stage being one
Place cannot be two. This indeed is as great a Secret, as that
we are all mortal; but to requite it with another, I muſt
crave leave to tell him, that though the Stage cannot be
two Places, yet it may properly repreſent them, fuccel-
fively, or at ſeveral Times. His Argument is indeed no
more than a meer Fallacy, which will evidently appear
when we diſtinguiſh Place, as it relates to Plays, into re-
al and imaginary. The real Place is that Theatre, or
Piece of Ground on which the Play is acted. The ima-
ginary, that Houſe, Town, or Country where the Action
of the Drama is ſuppoſed to be; or more plainly, where
the Scene of the Play is laid. Let us now apply this to
that Herculean Argument, which if ſtrictly and duely weigh
ed, is to make it evident, that there is no ſuch thing as whas
they all pretend. 'Tis impoſſible, he ſays, for one Stage
to preſent two Rooms or Houſes: I anſwer, 'tis neither
impoſſible, nor improper, for one real Place to repreſent
two or more imaginary Places, ſo it be done fucceſſively;
which in other Words is no more than this; That the
Imagination of the Audience, aided by the Words of the
Poet, and painted Scenes, may ſuppoſe the Stage to be
ſometimes one Place, ſometimes another; now a Gar-
den, or Wood, and immediately a Camp: Which I ap-
peal to every Man's Imagination, if it be not true. Nei-
ther the Ancients nor Moderns, as much Fools as he is
pleaſed to think them, ever aſſerted that they could make
one Place two; but they might hope by the good leave
of this Author, that the Change of a Scene might lead
the Imagination to ſuppoſe the Place alter'd: so that he
cannot faſten thoſe Abſurdities upon this Scene of a Play,
or imaginary place of Action, that it is one place and
yet

Defence of an Effay
yot two. And this being fo clearly proved, that "tis part
any
ſhew of a reaſonable Denial, it will not be hard to de
ftroy that other Part of his Argument which depends up-
on it, namely, that 'tis as impoſſible for a Stage to repre-
ſent two Rooms or Houſes, as two Countries or King-
doms: For his Reaſon is already overthrown, which was,
becauſe both were alike impoſſible. This is manifeſtly
otherwiſe; for 'tis proved, that a Stage may properly re-
preſent two Rooms or Houſes; for the Imagination be-
ing Judge of what is repreſented, will in Reaſon be lefs
choak'd with the Appearance of two Rooms in the fame
Houſe, or two Houſes in the ſame City, than with two di-
ſtant Cities in the ſame Country, or tworemote Countries
in the fame Univerſe. Imagination in a Man, or reaſonable
Creature, is ſuppoſed to participate of Reaſon, and when
that governs, as it does in the belief of Fiction, Reaſon
is not deſtroyed, but miſ-led, or blinded; that can preſcribe
to the Reafon, during the Time of the Repreſentation,
fomewhat like a weak belief of what it fees and hears;
and Reaſon ſuffers it ſelf to be ſo hood-wink'd, that it
may better enjoy the Pleaſures of the Fiction: But it is re--
ver fo wholly made a Captive, as to be drawn head-long
into a Perſwafion of thoſe things which are moſt remote
from Probability: 'Tis in ihat Cale a Free-born Subject,
not a Slave; it will contribute willingly its Aflent, as far
as it ſees Convenient, but will not be forcd. Now there
is a greater Vicinity in Nature, betwixt two Rooms than
betwixt two Houſes, betwixt two Houſes than betwixt
two: Cities, and ſo of the reſt : Reaſon therefore can
fooner be led by Imagination to ſtep from one Rcom in-
to another, than to walk to two diſtant Houſes, and yet ra-
ther to go thither, than to fly like a Witch through the Air,
and be hurried from one Region to another. Fancy and React
fon
go
hand in hand, the firſt cannot leave the laſt be-
hind; and though Fancy, when it fees the wide Gulph,
would venture over, as the nimbler; vet it is with-held
by Reaſon, which will refuſe to take the Leap, when
the Diſtance over it appears too large. If Ben. Fohnfor
himſelf will remove the Scene from Rome into Tuſcany in
the.

of Dramatick Poefie.
the fame Act, and from thence return to Rome, in the
Scene which immediately follows; Reaſon will conſider
there is no proportionable Allowance of Time to perform
the Journey, and therefore will chufe to ſtay at home.
So then the leſs change of Place there is, the leſs time is
taken up in tranſporting the Perſons of the Drama, with
Analogy to Reaſon; and in that Analogy, or Reſemblance
of Fiction to Truth, confifts the Excellency of the Play:
For what elſe concerns the Unity of Place, I have al-.
ready given my Opinion of it in my Ejay, that there is
a Latitude to be allow'd to it, as ſeveral Places in the fame
Town or City, or Places adjacent to each other in the
fame Country; which may all te comprehended under
the larger Denomination of one Place; yet with this re-
ftriétion, that the nearer and fewer thoſe imaginary Places
are, the greater Reſemblance they will have to Truth:
and Reaſon, which cannot make ihem one, will be more
eaſily led to ſuppoſe them fo.
What has been ſaid of the Unity of Place, may eaſily be
applyed to that of Time: I grant it to be impoſſible, that
the greater Part of Time ſhould be comprehended in the
leſs, that twenty four Hours ſhould be crowded into
three: But there is no Neceflity of that Suppoſition. For as
Place, fo Time relating to a Play, is either imaginary or
real: The real is comprehended in thoſe three Hours,
more or leſs, in the Space of which the Play is repre-
fented: The Imaginary is that which is ſuppoſed to be
taken up in the Repreſentation, as twenty four Hours
moreor leſs. Now no Man ever could ſuppoſe that twen-
ty four real Hours could be included in the Space of three :
but where is the Abſurdity of affirming that the feigned
Buſineſs of twenty four imagin'd Hours, may not more
naturally be repreſented in the Compaſs of three real Hours,
than the like feigned Buſineſs of twenty four Years in the
fame Proportion of real Time? For the Proportions are
always real
, and much nearer, by his Permillion, of twenty
four to three, than of four thouſand to it.
I am almoſt fearful of illuſtrating any thing by Simili-
tude, leſt he fhould confute it for an Argument; yet I
think

Defence of an Elay
the Sight.
think the Compariſon of a Glaſs will diſcover very apt-
ly the Fallacy of his Argument, both concerning Time
and Place. The Strength of his Reaſon depends on this,
That the leſs cannot comprehend the greater. I have al-
ready anſwer'd, that we need not ſuppoſe it does; I ſay
not that the leſs can comprehend the greater, but only
that it may repreſent it: As in a Glaſs or Mirrour of half
a.Yard Diameter, a whole Room and many Perſons in
it may be ſeen at once: not that it can comprehend that
Room or thoſe Perſons, but that it repreſents them to
0720
But the Author of the Duke of Lerma is to be excus'd
for his declaring againſt the Unity of Time: For if I be not
much miſtaken, he isan intereſted Perſon; the Time of that
Play taking up ſo many Years as the Favour of the Dukeof
Lerma continued; nay, the ſecond and third Act includ-
ing all the Time of his Proſperity, which was a great
Part of the Reign of Philip the Third: For in the te-
ginning of the ſecond Act he was not yer a Favourite,
and before the end of the third, was in Diſgrace. I fay
not this with the leaſt Deſign of limiting the Stage too
ſervilely to 24 Hours, however he be pleaſed to tax me
with dogmatizing in that Point. In my Dialogue, as I
before hinted, ſeveral Perfons maintained their ſeveral O.
pinions: One of them, indeed, who ſupported the Cauſe
of the French Poeſie, faid how ſtrict they were in that
Particular: But he who anſwer'd in Behalf of our Nati-
on, was willing to give more Latitude to the Rule; and,
cites the Words of Corneille himſelf, complaining againſt
the Severity of it, and obſerving what Beauties it banifh'd
from the Stage, pag. 44. of my Ejay. In few Words,
my own Opinion is this, (and I willingly ſubmit it to
my Adverſary, when he will pleaſe impartially to confi-
der it,) that the imaginary Time of every Play ought to
be contrived into as narrow a Compaſs, as the Nature of the
Plot, the Quality of the Perſons, and Variety of Acci-
dents will allow. In Comedy I would not exceed 24
or 30 Hours: For the Plot, Accidents, and Perſons
of Comedy are ſmall, and may be naturally turn'd in a
little

of Dramatick Poeſie.
24
fåttle Compaſs : But in Tragedy the Deſign is weighty,
and the Perſons great, therefore there will naturally be
required a greater ſpace of Time in which to move them.
And this, though Ben. Johnſon has not told us, yet ’tis man
nifeſtly his Opinion: For you ſee that to his Comedies he
allows generally but Hours; to his two Tragedies, Se-
janus and Catiline, a much larger time : though he draws
both of them into as narrow a Compaſs as he can : For
he ſhews you only the latter End of Sejanus his Favour,
and the Conſpiracy of Catiline already ripe, and juſt break-
in out into Action.
But as it is an Errour on the one ſide, to make too
great a Diſproportion betwixt the imaginary Time of the
Play, and the real Time of its Repreſentation; fo on the
other ſide, 'tis an Over-light to compreſs the Accidents of
a Play into a narrower Compafs than that in which they
could naturally be produc'd. Of this laſt Errour the French
are ſeldom guilty, becauſe the thinneſs of their Plots pre-
vents them from it : but few Engliſhmen, except Ben.
Fohnſon, have ever made a Plot with variety of Deſign in
it
, included in 24 Hours, which was altogether natural.
For this Reaſon, I prefer the Silent Woman before all other
Plays, I think juſtly, as I do its Author in Judgment, a-
bove all other Poets. Yet of the two, I think that Er-
rour the moſt pardonable, which in too ſtraight a Com-
paſs crowds together many Accidents, ſince it produces
more Variety, and conſequently more Pleaſure to the
Audience : And becauſe the Nearneſs of Proportion be-
twixt the imaginary and real Time, does ſpeciouſly co-
ver the Compreſſion of the Accidents.
Thus I have endeavoured to anſwer the Meaning of his
Argument ; for as he drew it, I humbly conceive that it
was none : As will appear by his Propoſition, and the
Proof of it. His Propoſition was this.
If ſtrictly and duly weighed, 'tis as impoſſible for one Stage
to preſent two Rooms or Houſes, as two Countries or Kingdoms,
doc. And his Proof this: For all being impoſſible, they
are none of them neareſt the Truth or Nature of what they
prefent.
Here

Defence of an Elay
Here you ſee, inſtead of Proof or Reaſon, there is only
Petitio principii : For in plain Words, his Senſe is this ;
Two things are as impoſſible as one another, becauſe
they are both equally impoſſible : But he takes thoſe two
things to be granted as impoſſible, which he ought to have
prov'd fuch, before he had proceeeded to prove them e-
qually impoflible : He ſhould have made out firſt that it
was impoſſible for one Stage to repreſent two Houſes,
and then have gone forward to prove that it was as em
qually impoſſible for a Stage to preſent two Houſes, as
two Countries.
After all this, the very Abfurdity to which he would re-
duce me, is none at all: 'For heonly drives at this, That if
his Argument be true, I muſt then acknowledge that there
are Degrees in Impoſſibilities, which I eaſily grant him
without Diſpute : And if I miſtake not, Ariſtotle and the
School are of my Opinion. For there are ſome things
which are abſolutelyimpoflible, and others which are only
ſo ex parte; as ʼtis abſolutely impoſſible for a thing to be, and
not be at the ſame time; but for a Stone to move naturally
upward, is only impoffible ex parte materia ; but it is not
impoſſible for the firſt Mover, to alter the Nature of it.
His laſt Aſſault, like that of a Frenchman, is moſt feeble:
for whereas I haye obſerved, that none have been violent
againſt Verſe, but ſuch only as have not attempted it, or have
fucceeded ill in their Attempt, he will needs, according to
his uſual Cuſtom, improve my Obſervation to an Argu-
ment, that he might have the Glory to confute it. But I
lay my Obſervation at his Feet, as I do my Pen, which I
have often employ'd willingly in his deſerved Commenda-
tions, and now moſt unwillingly againſt his Judgment:
For his Perſon and Parts I honour them as much as any
Man living, and have had ſo many particular Obligations to
him, that I ſhould be very ungrateful, if I did not ac-
knowledge them to the World. But I gave not the firſt
Occaſion of this Difference in Opinions. In my Epiſtle
Dedicatory, before my Rival Ladies, I had ſaid ſomewhat
in Behalf of Verſe, which he was pleaſed to anſwer in his
Preface to his Plays: That occafioned my Reply in my
Eflay

of Dramatick Poefie.
Eſſay, and that Reply begot this Rejoynder of his in his
Preface to the Duke of Lerma. But as I was the laſt who
took
up Arms, I will be the firſt to lay them down. For
what I have here written, I ſubmit it wholly to him
and if I do not hereafter anſwer what may be objected
againſt this Paper, I hope the World will not impute it to
any other Reaſon, than only the due Reſpect which I have
for fo noble an Opponent.
;
38
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Conncdios

Connection of The Indian Emperor
si to The Indian Queen.
HE Concluſion of The Indian Queen, (part of which
Poem was writ by me) left little matter for another
Story to be built on, there remaining but two of the
conſiderable Characters alive, (viz.) Montezuma and Ora-
zia: Thereupon the Author of this
, thought it neceſſa-
ry to produce new Perſons from the old Ones; and con-
ſidering the late Indian Oueen, before she lov'd Montezu-
ma, liv’d in clandeſtine Marriage with her General Traxalla;
from thoſe two, he has rais’d a Son and two Daughters, Jup-
poſed to be left young Orphans at their Death: on the other
fide, he has given to Montezuma and Orazia, two Sons and
a Daughter; all now ſuppoſed to be grown up to Mens and
Womens Eftate; and their Mother Orazia (for whom there
was no further uſe in the Story) lately dead.
So that
you are to imagine about twenty Years elapſed ſince
the Coronation of Montezuma; who, in the Truth of the
Hiftory, was a great and glorious Prince; and in whole time
hapned the Diſcovery and Invaſion of Mexico by the Spa-
niards; under the Conduct of Hernando Cortez, who join-
ing with the Taxallan-Indians, the inveterate Enemies of
Montezuma, wholly ſubverted that flouriſhing Empire; the
Conqueſt of which is the Subject of this Dramatic Poem.
I have neither wholly followed the Story, nor varied from
st; and, as near as I could, have traced the Native Simpli-
city and Ignorance of the Indians, in relation to Europäan
zour, HorſesSwordsand Guns
of the Spaniards, being as new to them, as their Habits and
their Language were to the Chriſtians.
The Difference of their Religion from ours, I have taken
from the Story it felf; and that which you find of it in the
forft and fifth Acts touching the Sufferings and Conſtancy of
Montezuma in his Opinions, I have only illuſtrated, not al-
ter'd from thoſe who have written of is.
PRO-

PROLOGUE.
A Imighty Criticks ! whom our Indians here
Worſhip, juſt as they do the Devil, for Fear;
In reverence to your Pow'r, I come this Day
To give you timely warning of our Play.
The Scenes are old, the Habits are the ſame
We wore laſt year, before the Spaniards came.
, Ovo
Now if you ſtay, the Blood that shall be thed boto
From this poor Play, be all upon your Head.. It
We neither promiſe you one Dance, or Show,
Then Plot and Language they are wanting too:
But you, kind Wits, will thoſe light Faults excuſe:
Thoſe are the common Frailties of the Muſe;
which who obſerves, he buys his place too dear:
För 'tis your Buſineſs to be cozined here. 12
Theſe wretched Spies of Wit muft then confeſs,
They take more Pains to pleaſe themſelves the leſs.
Grant us fuch Judges, Phoebus, we requeſt,
As ſtill miſtake themſelves into a Feft;
Such eaſie Judges, that our Poet may
Himſelf admire the Fortune of his Play:
And arrogantly, as his Fellows do,
Think he writes well, becauſe he pleaſes you.
This he conceives not hard to bring about;
all of you would join to help him out.
Would each Man take but what he underſtands,
And leave the reſt upon the Poet's Hands,
Dramatis

Dramatis Perſonæ.
INDIAN ME N.
Montezuma, Emperor of Mexico.
Odmar, his eldeſt Son.
Guyomar, his younger Son.
Orbellan, Son of the late Indian Queen by
Traxalla.
High Prieſt of the Sun,
W O M E N.
Cydaria, Montezuma's Daughter.
Almeria, Siſters; and Daughters to the late
Alibech, 3 Indian Queen.
SPANIARDS.
Cortez, the Spaniſh General.
Vaſquez,
Pizarro,
Commanders under him.
zao
Scene Mexico, and two Leagues about it.
THE

THE
Indian Emperor.
A CT I.
S CE N E I.
SCEN E a Pleaſant Indian Country.
Enter Cortez, Vaſquez, Pizarro, with Spaniards
and Indians of their Party.
CORTEZ.
N what new happy Climate are we thrown,
So long kept ſecret, and ſo lately known;
As if our old World modeſtly withdrew,
And here, in private, had brought forth
a new!
[this Ground,
Denis Valg. Corn, Wine, and Oil are wanting to
In which our Countries fruitfully abound:
As if this Infant World, yet unarray'd,
Naked and bare, in Nature's Lap were laid.
No

306
The INDIAN EMPEROR.
No uſeful Arts have yet found footing here;
But all untaught and ſalvage does appear.
Cort. Wild and untaught are Terms which we alone
Invent, for Faſhions differing from our own:
For all their Cuſtoms are by Nature wrought,
But we, by Art, unteach what Nature taught.
Piz. In Spain our Springs, like old Mens Children be
Decay'd and wither'd from their Infancy:
No kindly Showers fall on our barren Earth,
To hatch'the Seaſons in a timely Birth.
Our Summer ſuch a Ruſſet Livery wears,
As in a Garment often dy'd appears.
Cort. Here Nature ſpreads her fruitful Sweetneſs round,
Breaths on the Air, and broods upon the Ground.
Here Days and Nights the only Seaſons be,
The Sun no Climate does ſo gladly fee:
When forc'd from hence, to view our Parts, he mourns;
Takes little Journeys, and makes quick returns.
Vaſq. Methinks we walk in Dreams on Fairy Land,
Where golden Ore lyes mixt with common Sand;
Each downfal of a Flood the Mountains pour
From their rich Bowels, rolls a Silver Shower.
Cort. Heaven from all Ages wiſely did provide
This Wealth, and for the braveſt Nation hide,
Who with four hundred Foot and forty Horſe,
Dare boldly go a new found World to force.
Piz. Our Men, though Valiant, we ſhould find too few,
But Indians join the Indians to ſubdue;
Taxallan, fhook by Montezuma's Powers,
Has, to reſiſt his Forces, call'd in ours.
Vaſq. Rafhly to arm againſt ſo great a King
I hold not ſafe, nor is it juſt to bring
A War, without a fair Defiance made.
Piz. Declare we firſt our Quarrel: Then invade.
Cort. My felf, my King's Ambaſſador, will go ;
Speak. Indian Guide, how far to Mexico ?
Ind. Your Eyes can ſcarce ſo far a Proſpect make,
As to diſcern the City on the Lake,
But

The INDIAN EMPEROR. 307
But that broad Cauſe-way will direct your way,
And you may reach the Town by Noon of Day.
Cort. Command a Party of our Indians out;,
With a ſtrict Charge not to engage, but ſcout;
By noble Ways we Conqueſt will prepare,
Firſt offer Peace, and that refus'd make War. [Exeunt.
SCENE II. A Temple.
The High Prieſt with other Prieſts. To them an Indian.
Ind. Hafte Holy Prieſt, it is the King's Command.
High Pr. When ſets he forward?
Ind. -He is near at Hand.
High Pr. The Incenſe is upon the Altar plac'd, ki
The bloody Sacrifice already paſt.
Five hundred Captives ſaw the riſing Sun,
Who loſt their Light ere half his Race was run,
That which remains we here muſt celebrate;
Where far from Noiſe, without the City Gate,
The peaceful Power that governs Love repairs,
To feaſt upon ſoft Vows and filent Pray’rs,
We for his Royal Preſence only ſtay,
To end the Rites of this ſo folemn Day. [Exit Indian.
Enter Montezuma; his eldeſt son Odmar; his Daughter
Cydaria ; Almeria, Alibech, Orbellan, and Train. They
place themſelves.
High Pr. On your Birth-day, while we ſing
To our Gods and to our King,
Her, among this beauteous Quire,
Whoſe Perfections
Her, who faireſt does appear,
Crown her Queen of all the Year,
Of the Year and of the Day,
And at her Feet your Garland lay.
Odm. My Father this way does his Looks direct,
Heav'n grant he give it not where I ſuſpect.
[Montezuma viſes, goes about the Ladies, and at
length ſtays at Almeria, and bows.
Mont.
you admire,

308 The INDIAN Emperor.
Mont. Since my Orazia's Death, I have not ſeen
A Beauty fo deſerving to be Queen
As fair Ameria,
Alm. - Sure he will not know
[To her Brother and siſter, aſide.
My Birth I to that injur'd Princeſs owe,
Whom his hard Heart not only Love deny'd,
But in her Sufferings took unmanly Pride.
Alib. Since Montezuma will his Choice renew,
In dead Orazia's Room electing you,
"Twill pleaſe our Mother's Ghoſt that you
ſucceed
To all the Glories of her Rival's Bed.
Alm. If News be carried to the Shades below,
The Indian Queen will be more pleas'd, to know
That I his Scorns on him, who fcorn'd her, pay.
Orb. Would you could right her ſome more noble Way.
[She turns to him who is kneeling all this while.
Mont.Madam,this Poſture is for Heav'n deſign’d[Kneeling.
And what moves Heav'n, I hope may make you kind.lang
Alm. Heav'n may be kind, the Gods uninjur'd live,
And Crimes below coſt little to forgive.
By thee, inhuman, both my Parents dy'd;
One by thy Sword, the other by thy Pride.
Mont. My haughty Mind no Fate could ever bow,
Yet I muſt ſtoop to one who ſcorns me now:
Is there no Pity to my Sufferings due ?
Alm. As much as what my Mother found from you.
Mont. Your Mother's Wrongs a Recompence ſhall meet,
I lay my Scepter at her Daughter's Feet.
Alm. He, who does now my leaſt Commands obey,
Would call me Queen, and take my Pow'r away.
Odm. Can he hear this, and not his Fetters break?
Is Love ſo pow'rful, or his Soul ſo weak?
I'll fright her from it. Madam, though you
fce
The King is kind, I hope your Modeſty
Will know, what diſtance to the Crown is due.
Alm. Diſtance and Modeſty preſcrib'd by you?
Odm. Almeria dares not think ſuch Thoughts as theſe.
Alm. She dares both think and act what Thoughts ſhe
pleaſe.
"Tis

The INDIAN EMPEROR. 309
"Tis much below me on his Throne to fit; non
But when I do, you ſhall Petition it.
Odm. If, Sir, Almeria does
your
Bed partake,
I mourn for my forgotten Mother's fake. .
Mont. When Parents Loves are order'd by a Son,
Let Streams preſcribe their Fountains where to run.
Odm. In all I urge, I keep my Duty ſtill,
Not rule your Reaſon, but inſtruct your Will.
Mont. Small uſe of Reaſon in that Prince is ſhown,
Who follows others, and neglects his own. :
Sa
[Almeria to Orbellan and Alibech, who are this while
or whiſpering to her.
Alm. No, he ſhall ever love, and always be
The ſubject of my Scorn and Cruelty.
Orb. To prove the laſting Torment of his Life,
You muſt not be his Miſtreſs, but his Wife.
Few know what Care an Husband's Peace deſtroys,
His real Griefs, and his diſſembled Joys.
Alm. What mark of pleaſing Vengeance could be ſhown,
If I to break his Quiet loſe
my
own!
Orb. A Brother's Life upon your Love relies,
Since I do homage to Cydaria's Eyes :
How can her Father to my Hopes be kind,
If in your Heart, he no Example find?
Alm. To ſave your Life I'll ſuffer any thing,
Yet I'll not flatter this tempeſtuous King;
But work his ſtubborn Soul a nobler way,
And, if he love, I'll force him to obey.
I take this Garland, not as given by you,
[To Mont.
But as my Merit, and my Beauties due.
As for the Crown that
you, my Slave, poſſeſs,
To ſhare it with you would but make me leſs.
Enter Guyomar haſtily.
Odm. My Brother Guyomar! methinks I ſpy
Haſte in his Steps, and Wonder in his Eye.
Mont. I ſent thee to the Frontiers, quickly tello
The Cauſe of thy Return, are all things well ?
Guy. I went, in order, Sir, to your Command,
To view the utmoſt Limits of the Land:
TO

310
The INDIAN EMPEROR.
To that Sea-ſhore where no more World is found,
But foaming Billows breaking on the Ground,
Where, for a while, my Eyes no Object met
But diſtant Skies that in the Ocean fet :
And low hung Clouds that dipt themſelves in Rain,
To ſhake their Fleeces on the Earth again.
At laſt, as far as I could caſt my Eyes
Upon the Sea, fomewhat methought did riſe
Like blewiſh Miſts, which ſtill appearing more,
Took dreadful Shapes, and moy'd towards the Shore,
Mont. What forms did theſe new Wonders repreſent?
Guy. More ſtrange than what your Wonder can invent.
The Object I could firſt diſtinetly view
Was tall ſtraight Trees which on the Waters flew,
Wings on their Sides inſtead of Leaves did grow,
Which gather'd all the Breath the Winds could blow:
And at their Roots grew floating Palaces,
Whoſe out-blow'd Bellies cut the yielding Seas.
Mont. What divine Monſters, Oye Gods, were theſe
That float in Air, and fly upon the Seas!
Came they alive or dead upon the Shore?
Guy, Alas, they liv’d too fure, I heard them roar:
All turn'd their Sides, and to each other ſpoke,
I ſaw their Words break out in fire and ſmoke.
Sure'tis their Voice that thunders from on high,
Or theſe the younger Brothers of the Sky.
Deaf with the Noile I took my hafty Flight,
No mortal Courage can ſupport the Fright.
High Pr. Old Prophecies foretel our Fall at hand,
When bearded Men in floating Caſtles land.
I fear it is of dire portent.
Mont.
Go fee
What it fore-ſhows, and what the Gods decree.
Mean time proceed we to what Rites remain.
Odmar, of all this Preſence does contain, 3
Give her your Wreath whom you eſteem moſt fair.
Odm. Above the reſt I judge one Beauty rare,
And

The INDIAN EMPEROR. 311
And may
that Beauty prove as kind to me
[He gives Alibech the Wreath.
As I am fure fair Alibech is the.
Mont. You Guyomar nuſt next perform your Part.
Guy. I want a Garland, but I'll give a Heart:
My Brother's Pardon I muſt firſt implore,
Since I with him fair Alibech adore,
Odm. That all ſhould Alibech adore, 'tis true;
But ſome reſpect is to my Birth-right due.
My Claim to her by Elderſhip I prove.
Guy. Age is a Plea in Empire, not in Love.
Odm. I long have ſtaid for this Solemnity
To make my Paſſion publick,
Guy.
So have I.
Odm. But from her Birth my Soul has been her Slave,
My Heart receiv'd the firſt Wounds which ſhe gave:
:
I watcht the early Glories of her Eyes,
As Men for Day-break watch the Eaſtern Skies.
Guy. It ſeems my Soul then mov'd the quicker Pace,
Yours firſt ſet out, mine reach'd her in the Race.
Mont. Odmar, your Choice I cannot diſapprove;
Nor juſtly, Guyomar, can blame your Love.
To Alibech alone refer
And let her Sentence finiſh
your Diſpute.
Alib. You think me, Şir, a Miſtreſs quickly won,
So foon to finiſh what is fcarce begun:
In this Surpriſe ſhould I a Judgment make,
'Tis anſwering Riddles ere I'm well awake:
If
you oblige me ſuddenly to chuſe,
The Choice is made, for I muſt both refuſe.
For to my ſelf I owe this due regard
Not to make Love my Gift, but my Reward.
Time beſt will ſhow whoſe Services will laſt.
Odm. Then judge my future Service by my paſt.
What I ſhall be by what I was, you know:
That Love took deepeſt Root, which firſt did
grow.
Guy. That Love which firſt was ſet, will firſt decay,
Mine of a freſher Date will longer ſtay..:) o
Odm. Still you forget my Birth.
Guy. But you, I ſee,
345 9W
Take care ſtill to refreſh my Memory.
Mont.
your Suit,

312
The INDIAN EMPEROR.
Mont. My Sons, let your unſeemly Diſcord ceaſe,
If not in Friendſhip, live at leaſt in Peace.
Orbellan, where you love, beſtow your Wreath.
Orb. My Love I dare not, ey’n in whiſpers, breath.
Mont. A vertuous Love may venture any thing.
Orb. Not to attempt the Daughter of my King
Mont. Whither is all my former Fury gone ?
Once more I have Traxalla's Chains put on,
And by his Children am in triumph led :
Too well the living have reveng'd the dead!
Alm. You think my Brother born your Enemy,
He's of Traxalla's Blood, and ſo am I.
Mont. In vain I ſtrive,
My Lyon-heart is with Love's Toils beſet,
Strugling I fall ſtill deeper in the Net.
Cydaria, your new Lover's Garland take,
And uſe him kindly for your Father's fake.
Cyd. So ſtrong an Hatred does my Nature ſway,
That ſpight of Duty I muſt diſobey.
Beſides you warn’d me ſtill of loving two,
Can I love him, already loving you?
Enter a Guard haſtily.
Mont. You look amaz'd, as if fome ſudden Fear
Had ſeiz'd your Hearts; is any Danger near?
I Guard. Behind the Covert where this Temple ſtands,
Thick as the Shades, there iſſue ſwarming Bandstorm
Of ambuſh'd Men, whom, by their Arms and Dreſs,
To be Taxallan Enemies I gueſs.
2 Guard. The Temple, Sir, is almoſt compaſt round.
Mont. Some ſpeedy way for paſſage muſt be found.
Make to the City by the Poſtern Gate,
I'll either force my Victory, or Fate;
A glorious Death in Arms I'll rather prove,
Than ſtay to periſh tamely by my Love.
An Alarm within. Enter Montezuma, Odmar, Guyomar,
Alibech, Orbellan, Cydaria, Almeria, as purſued by Tax-
allans.
Mont. No fuccour from the Town?
Odm. None, none is nigh.
Guy. We are inclos'd, and muſt refolye to die, 1
Mont.

The INDIAN EMPEROR. 313
Mont. Fight for Revenge, now hope of Life is paſt;
But one Stroak more, and that will be my laſt, .
Enter Cortez, Vaſquez, Pizarro, to the Taxallans: Cortez
ſians them, juſt falling on.
Cort. Contemn’d? my Orders broke even in my fight!
Did I not ſtrictly charge you ſhould not fight?
[To his Indians.
Ind. Your Choler, General, does unjuſtly riſe,
To ſee your Friends purſue your Enemies;
The greateſt and moſt cruel Foes we have
Are theſe, whom you would ignorantly fave.
By ambuſh'd Men, behind their Temple laid,
We have the King of Mexico betray'd.
Cort. Where, baniſh'd Virtue, wilt thou ſhew thy Face,
If Treachery infects thy Indian Race?
Diſmiſs your Rage, and lay your Weapons by:
Know I protect them, and they ſhall not die.
Ind. O wondrous Mercy ſhown to Foes diſtreſt !
Cort, Call them not ſo, when once with Odds oppreſt,
Nor are they Foes my Clemency defends,
Untill they have refus d the name of Friends :
Draw up our Spaniards by themſelves, then fire
Our Guns on all who do not ſtraight retire. [To Vaſq.
Ind. O Mercy, Mercy, at thy Feet we fall,
[Ind, kneeling
Before thy roaring Gods deſtroy us all:
See we retreat without the leaſt reply,
Keep thy Gods ſilent, if they ſpeak we die..
[The Taxallans retire,
Mont. The fierce Taxallans lay their Weapons down,
Some Miracle in our Relief is ſhown.
Guy. Theſe bearded Men, in Shape and Colour be
Like thoſe I ſaw come floating on the Sea.
[Mont, kneels to Cort.
Mont. Patron of Mexico and God of Wars,
Son of the Sun, and Brother of the Stars.
Cort. Great Monarch, your Devotion you miſplace.
Mont. Thy Actions ſhow thee born of heav'nly Race.
If then thou art that cruel God, whoſe Eyes
Delight in Blood, and human Sacrifice,
VOL. I.
Thy

314
The INDIAN EMPEROR.
Thy dreadful Altars I with Slaves will ſtore,
And feed thy Noftrils with hot reeking Gore;
Or if that mild and gentle God thou be,
Who doft Mankind below with Pity fee,
With Breath of Incenſe I will glad thy Heart;
But if like us, of mortal Seed thou art,
Preſents of choiceſt Fowls, and Fruits I'll bring,
And in my Realms thou ſhalt be more than King.
Cort. Monarch of Empires, and deſerving more
Than the Sun fees upon your Weſtern Shore;
Like you a Man, and hither led by Fame,
Not by Conſtraint but by my Choice I came;
Ambaſſador of Peace, if Peace you chuſe,
Or-Herald of a War, if you refuſe.
[bring?
Mont. Whence or from whom doſt thou theſe Offers
Cort. From Charles the Fifth, the World's moſt
potent
King
Mont. Some petty Prince, and one of little Fame,
For to this Hour I never heard his Name:
The two great.Empires of the World I know,
That of Pers, and this of Mexico;
And ſince the Earth none larger does afford,
This Charles is fome poor Tributary Lord.
Cort. You ſpeak of that ſmall part of Earth you know,
But betwixt us and you wide Oceans flow,
And watry Deſarts of fo vaſt Extent,
That paſſing hither, four full Moons we ſpent.
Mont. But ſay, what News, what Offers doft thou bring
From ſo remote, and ſo unknown a King?
[While Vaſq. speaks, Cort. Spies the Ladies and goes to them,
entertaining Cydaria wish Courtſhip in dumb ſhow.
Vafq. Spain's mighty Monarch, to whom Heav'n thinks
"That all the Nations of the Earth ſubmit,
[fit
In gracious Clemency, does condeſcend
On theſe Conditions to become your Friend.
Firſt, that of him you ſhall your Scepter hold;
Next, you preſent him with your uſeleſs Gold:
Laſt, that you leave thoſe Idols you implore,
And one true Deity with bim adore.
Mont.

The INDIAN EMPEROR.
315.
Mont. You ſpeak your Prince a mighty Emperor,
But his Demands have ſpoke him Proud and Poor;
He proudly at my
free-born Scepter flies,
Yet poorly begs à Metal I deſpiſe.
Gold thou may'ſt take, whatever thou canſt find,
Save what for facred Uſes is deſign'd:
But, by what Right pretends your King to be
The Soverign Lord of all the World and me?
Piz. The Sovereign Prieſt,
Who repreſents on Earth the Pow'r of Heav'n,
Has this your Empire to our Monarch given.
Mont. Ill does he repreſent the Powers above,
Who nouriſhes Debate, not preaches Love;
Beſides, what greater Folly can be ſhown?
He gives another what is not his own.
Vaq. His Pow'r muſt needs unqueſtion'd be below,
For he in Heav'n an Empire can beſtow.
Mont. Empires in Heav’n he with more eaſe may give,
And you perhaps would with leſs Thanks receive;
But Heav'n has need of no ſuch Vice-roy here,
It ſelf beſtows the Crowns that Monarchs wear.
Piz. You wrong his Power as you miſtake our End,
Who came thus far Religion to extend.
Mont. He who Religion truly underſtands,
Knows its Extent muſt be in Men, not Lands.
Odm. But who are thoſe that Truth muſt propagate
Within the Confines of my Father's State?
Vaſq. Religious Men, who hither muſt be ſent
As awful Guides of heavenly Government;
To teach you Penance, Faſts, and Abſtinence,
To puniſh Bodies for the Souls Offence.
Mont. Cheaply you Sin, and puniſh Crimes with eale,
Not as th’ Offended, but th' Offenders pleaſe.
Firſt injure Heav'n, and when its Wrath is due,
Your felves preſcribe it how to puniſh you.
Odm. What numbers of theſe Holy Men muſt come?
Piz You ſhall not want, each Village ſhall have ſome;
Who, tho' the Royal Dignity they own,
Are equal to it, and depend on none,
02
Guy.

316
The INDIAN EMPEROR.
Guy. Depend on none! you treat them ſure in State,
For 'tis their Plenty does their Pride create.
Mont. Thoſe ghoſtly Kings would parcel out my Pow'r,
And all the Fatneſs of my Land devour;
That Monarch fits not ſafely on his Throne,
Who bears, within, a Power that ſhocks his own.
They teach Obedience to Imperial Sway,
But think it Sin if they themſelves obey.
Vaſq. It ſeems then our Religion you accuſe,
And peaceful Homage to our King refuſe.
Mont. Your Gods I flight not, but will keep my own.
My Crown is abſolute and holds of none;
I cannot in a baſe Subjection live,
Nor fuffer you to take, tho' I would give.
Cort. Is this your Anſwer, Sir?
Mont. This as a Prince,
Bound to my People's and my Crown's defence,
I muſt return; but, as a Man by you
Redeem'd from Death, all Gratitude is due.
Cort. It was an Azt my Honour bound me to:
But what I did, were I again to do,
I could not do it on my Honour's ſcore,
For Love would now oblige me to do more.
Is no way left that we may yet agree?
Muſt I have War, yet have no Enemy?
Vaſq. He has refus'd all Terms of Peace to take.
Mont. Since we muſt fight, hear Heav'ns, what Prayers
I make,
Firſt, to preſerve this ancient State and me,
But if your Doom the Fall of both decree,
Grant only he who has ſuch Honour ſhown,
When I am Duſt, may fill my empty Throne.
Cort. To make me happier than that Wiſh can do,
Lies not in all your Gods to grant,
but
you;
Let this fair Princeſs but one Minute ſtay,
A Look from her will your Obligements pay.
[Exeunt Montezuma, Odmar, Guyomar, Orbellan,
Almeria, and Alibech.
Mont.

The INDIAN EMPEROR.
317
Mont. to Cyd. Your Duty in your quick Return be ſhown.
Stay you, and wait my Daughter to the Town. .
[To his Guards.
[Cydaria is going, but turns and looks back upon
Cortez, who is looking on her all this while.
Cyd. My Father's gone and yet I cannot go,
Sure I have ſomething loſt or left behind! [Aide.
Cort. Like Travellers who wander in the Snow,
I on her Beauty gaze 'till I am blind. [Aſide.
Cyd. Thick Breath, quick Pulſe, and heaving of my Heart,
All Signs of ſome unwonted Change appear:
I find my ſelf unwilling to depart,
And
yet I know not why I would be here.
Stranger, you raiſe ſuch Torments in my Breaſt,
That when I go, if I muſt go again;
I'll tell my Father you have robbd my Reſt,
And to him of your Injuries complain.
Cort. Unknown, I ſwear, thoſe Wrongs were which
I wrought,
But my Complaints will much more juſt appear,
Who from another World my Freedom brought,
And to your conquering Eyes have loſt it here.
Cyd. Where is that other World from whence you came?
Cort. Beyond the Ocean, far from hence it lies.
Cyd. Your other World, I fear, is then the ſame
That Souls muſt go to when the Body dies.
But what's the Cauſe that keeps you here with me?
That I may know what keeps me here with you?
Cort. Mine is a Love which muſt perpetual be,
If you can be ſo juſt as I am true,
Enter Orbellan.
Orb. Your Father wonders much at your delay.
Cyd. So great a wonder for ſo ſmall á ſtay!
Órb. He has commanded you with me to go.
Cyd. Has he not ſent to bring the Stranger too?
Orb. If he to-Morrow dares in Fight appear,
His high plac'd Love perhaps may coſt him dear.
Cort. Dares---that Word was never ſpoke to Spaniard yet,
But forfeited his Life who gave him it;
Hafte
O 3

318
The INDIAN EMPEROR.
Haſte quickly with thy Pledge of Safety hence,
Thy Guilt's protected by her Innocence.
Cyd. Sure in ſome fatal Hour my Love was born,
So foon o'ercaſt with Abſence in the Morn!
Cort. Turn hence thoſe pointed Glories of your Eyes,
For if more Charms beneath thoſe Circles riſe,
So weak my Virtue, they ſo ſtrong appear,
I ſhall turn Rayiſher to keep you here: [Exeunt onmes.
ACT II.
SCENE I.
SCENE the Magician's Cave.
Enter Montezuma, and High Prieſt,
Mont. N Comte at the event of doubtful War to know,
For Life and Death are things indifferent,
Each to be choſe as either brings Content;
My Motive from a nobler Cauſe does ſpring,
Love rules my Heart, and is your
Monarch's King;
I more deſire to know Almeria's Mind,
Than all that Heav'n has for my State deſign d.
High Pr. By powerful Charms which nothing can
withſtand,
I'll force the Gods to tell what
you
demand.
CH A R M.
Thou Moon, that aid'ſt us with thy Magick Might,
'And
ye ſmall Stars, the ſcatter'd Seeds of Light,
Dart your pale Beams into this gloomy Place,
That the ſad Powers of the infernal Race
May read above what's hid from human Eyes,
And in your Walks, ſee Empires fall and riſe.
And
ye
immortal Souls, who once were Men,
And now reſoly'd to Elements again,
Who wait for mortal Frames in Depths below,
And did before what we are doom'd to do;
Once

The INDIAN EMPEROR 319
Once, twice, and thrice, I wave my facred Wand,
Aſcend, aſcend, afcend at my Command.
[ An earthy Spirit riſes:
Spir. In vain, O mortal Men, your Prayers implore
The Aid of Powers below, which want it more:
A God more ſtrong, who all the Gods commands,
Drives us to exile from our Native Lands;
The Air ſwarms thick with wandring Deities,
Which drowſily like humming Beetles riſe
From our loy'd Earth, where peacefully we flept,
And far from Heaven a long Poſſeſſion kept.
The frighted Satyrs that in Woods delight,
Now into Plains with prick’d-up Ears take flight;
And ſcudding thence, while they their Horn-feet ply,
About their Sires the little Silvans cry:
A Nation loving Gold muſt rule this place,
Our Temples ruin, and our Rites deface :
To them, o King, is thy loft Scepter giv'n,
Now mourn thy fatal Search, for ſince wiſe Heav'n
More Ill than Good to Mortals does diſpenſe,
It is not ſafe to have too quick a Senſe. [Deſcendse
Mont. Mourn they who think repining can remove
The firm Decrees of thoſe who rule above;
The brave are ſafe within, who ſtill dare die:
When e'er I fall, I'll ſcorn my Deſtiny.
Doom as they pleaſe my Empire not to ſtand,
I'll graſp my Scepter with my dying Hand.
High Pr. Thoſe Earthy Spirits black and envious are
I'll call up other gods of form more fair:
Who Viſions dreſs in pleaſing Colour ſtill,
Set all the Good to ſhow, and hide the Ill.
Kalib aſcend, my fair-ſpoke Servant riſe,
And footh my Heart with pleaſing Prophecies.
Kalib aſcends all in white, in ſhape of a Woman, and
Sings.
Kal. I look'd and ſaw within the Book of Fate,
Where many Days did lowr,
When lo-one happy Hour
Leapt up, and ſmil'd to ſave thy ſinking State;
O4
A

320
The INDIAN EMPEROR.
A Day ſmall come when in thy Power
Thy cruel Foes Mall be;
Then all thy Land be free,
And thou in peace Malt reign.
But take, O take that opportunity,
Which once refus’d will never come again. [Defcends.
Mont. I ſhall deſerve my Fate, if I refuſe
That happy Hour which Heaven allots to uſe;
But of my Crown thou too much care do'ſt take,
That which I value more, my Love's at ſtake.
High Pr. Ariſe ye ſubtle Spirits that can ſpy,
When Love is enter'd in a Female's Eye;
You that can read it in the midſt of Doubt,
And in the midſt of Frowns can find it out;
You that can ſearch thoſe many corner'd Minds,
Where Woman's crooked Fancy turns, and winds;
You that can Love explore, and Truth impart,
Where both lie deepeſt hid in Woman's Heart,
Arife
[The Glofts of Traxalla and Acacis ariſe, they ſtand
ſtill and point at Montezuma.
High Pr. I did not for theſe ghaſtly Viſions ſend,
Their ſudden coming does fome Ill portend.
Begone-begone, they will not diſappear,
My Soul is feiz'd with an unuſual Fear.
Mont. Point on, point on, and ſee whom you can fright,
Shame and Confuſion ſeize theſe Shades of Night;
Ye thin and empty Forms, am I your Sport? [They ſmile.
If you were Fleth
You know you durft not uſe me in this fort.
[The Ghoſt of the Indian Queen riſes betwixt the
Ghoſts, with a Dagger in her Breaſt.
Mont. Ha!
I feel
my
Hair
my Eye-balls rowl,
This is the only Form could ſhake my Soul. .
Ghoſt. The Hopes of thy ſucceſsleſs Love reſigns
Know Montezuma thou art only mine ;
For thoſe who here on Earth their Paſſion show
By Death for Love, receive their Right below.
Why
grow ſtiff,

The INDIAN EMPEROR. 321
Why doſt thou then delay my longing Arms ?
Have Cares, and Age, and mortal Life fuch Charms!
The Moon grows fickly at the sight of Day,
And early Cocks have fummon’d me away :
Yet r'll appoint a meeting Place below,
For there fierce Winds o'er dusky Vallies blow,
Whoſe every puff bears empty Shades away,
Which guideleſs in thoſe dark Dominions ſtray.
Fuſt at the Entrance of the Fields below,
Thou ſhalt bebold a tall black Poplar grow,
Safe in its hollow Trunk I will attend,
And ſeize thy Spirit when thou doſt deſcend. [Deſcends.
Mont. I'll ſeize thee there, thou Meſſenger of Fate :
Would my ſhort Life had yet a ſhorter Date!
I'm weary of this fleſh which holds us here,
And daftards manly Souls with hope and fear;
Theſe heats and colds ſtill in our Breaſts make War,
Agues and Feavers all our Paſſions are, [Exeunt.
SCENE II.
Cydaria and Alibech, betwixt the two Armies.
Alib. Bleſſings will crown your Name if you prevent
That Blood, which in this Battel will be ſpent;
Nor need you fear fo juſt a Sute to move,
Which both becomes your Duty and your Love. .
Cyd. But think you he will come? their Camp is near,
And he already knows I wait him here.
Alib. You are too young your Power to underſtand,
Lovers take wing upon the leaſt command;
Already he is here.
Enter Cortez and Vaſquez to them.
Cort. Methinks like two black Storms on either Hand,
Our Spaniſh Army and your Indians ſtand;
This only ſpace betwixt the Clouds is clear,
Where you, like Day, broke loſe from both appear.
Cyd. Thoſe cloſing Skies might ſtill continue bright,
But who can help it if you'll make it Night?
The Gods have given you Power of Life
and Death,
Like them to ſave or ruin with a Breath.
Cort.

322
The INDIAN EMPEROR.
You may
Cort. That Power they to your Father did difpofes
Twas in his Choice to make us Friends or Foes.
Alib. Injurious Strength would Rapine ſtill excuſe,
By off'ring Terms the weaker muſt refuſe;
And ſuch as theſe your hard Conditions are,
You threaten Peace, and you invite a War.
Cort. If for my ſelf to Conquer here I came,
You might perhaps my Actions juſtly blame:
Now I am ſent, and am not to diſpute
My Prince's Orders, but to execute.
Alib. He, who his Prince ſo blindly does obey,
To keep his Faith his Virtue throws
away
Cort. Monarchs may err, but ſhould each private Breaſt
Judge their ill Acts, they would diſpute their beſt.
Cyd. Then all your Care is for your Prince I fee,
Your Truth to him out-weighs your Love to me;
fo cruel to deny me prove,
But never after that pretend to Love,
Cort. Command my Life, and I will ſoon obey,
To ſave my Honour I my Blood will pay.
Cyd. What is this Honour which does Love controul?
Cort. A raging Fit of Virtue in the Soul;
A painful Burden which great Minds muſt bear,
Obtaind with Danger, and poſſeft with Fear.
Cyd. Lay down that Burden if it painful grow,
You'll find, without it, Love will lighter go.
Cort, Honour once loſt is never to be found.
Alib. Perhaps he looks to have both Paſſions crown'd.
Firſt die his Honour in a purple Flood,
Then Court the Daughter in the Father's Blood.
Cort. The edge of War I'll from the Battel takes
And ſpare her Father's Subjects for her fake.
Cyd. I cannot love you leſs when I'm refus ds.
But I can dię to be unkindly us'd;
Where ſhall a Maid's diſtracted Heart find Reſt,
If the can miſs it in her Lover's Breaſt?
Cort. I till to morrow will the Fight delay,
Remember you have conquer'd me to Day.
Alib. This Grant deſtroys all you have urg'd before,
Honour could not give this, or can give more;
Our

The INDIAN EMPEROR. 323
go
Our Women in the foremoſt Ranks appear,
March to the Fight, and meet your Miſtreſs there:
Into the thickeſt Squadrons ſhe muſt run,
Kill her, and ſee what Honour will be won.
Cyd. I muſt be in the Battel, but I'll
With empty Quiver, and unbended Bow;
Not draw an Arrow in this fatal Strife,
For fear its Point ſhould reach your noble Life.
Enter Pizarro.
Cort. No more, your Kindneſs wounds me to the Death:
Honour be gone, what art thou but a Breath?
I'll live, proud of my Infamy and Shame,
Grac'd with no Triumph but a Lover's Name;
Men can but fay, Love did his Reaſon blind,
And Love's the nobleſt Frailty of the Mind.
Draw off my Men, the War's already done.
Piz. Your Orders come too late, the Fight's begun,
The Enemy gives on with fury led,
And fierce Orbellan combats in their Head.
Cort. He juſtly fears a Peace with me would prove
Of ill Concernment to his haughty Love;
Retire, fair Excellence, I go to meet
New Honour, but to lay it at your Feet.
[Exeunt Cortez, Vaſquez and Pizarro,
Enter Odmar and Guyomar to: Alibech-and Cydaria.
Odm. Now, Madam, ſince a danger does appear
Worthy my. Courage, though below
my
Fear,
Give leave to him who may in Battel die,
Before his Death to ask his Deſtiny.
Guy. He cannot die whom you command to live,
Before the Fight you can the Conqueſt give;
Speak where you'll place it?
Alib. Briefly then to both,
One I in ſecret Love, the other loath;
But where I hate, my Hate I will not ſhow,
And he I love, my Love fhall never know;
True Worth ſhall gain me, that it may be ſaid,
Deſert, not Fancy, once a Woman led.
He wbo in fight his Courage ſhall oppoſe
With moſt succeſs againſt his Country's Foes,
From

324
The INDIAN EMPEROR.
1
From me ſhall all that Recompence receive
That Valour merits, or that Love can give :
"Tis true my Hopes and Fears are all for one,
But Hopes and Fears are to my ſelf alone.
Let him not ſhun the Danger of the Strife,
I but his Love, his Country claims his Life.
Odm. All Obſtacles my Courage ſhall remove.
Guy. Fall on, fall on.
Odm.
-For Liberty
Guy. For Love, [Exeunt, the Women following
SCENE ckanges to the Indian Country.
Enter Montezuma attended by the Indians.
Mont. Charge, charge, their Ground the faint Taxallans
Bold in cloſe Åmbuſh, baſe in open Field: [yield,
The envious Devil did my Fortune wrong:
Thus Fought, thus Conquer'd I when I was young [Exit.
Alarm, Enter Cortez Bloody.
Cort. Furies purſue theſe falſe Taxallans Flight,
Dare they be Friends to us, and dare not Fight?
What Friends can Cowards be, what hopes appear
Of help from ſuch, who where they hate ſhow Fear !
Enter Pizarro and Vaſquez.
Piz. The Field grows thin, and thoſe that now remain,
Appear but like the Shadows of the Slain.
Vaſq. The fierce old King is vaniſh'd from the Place,
And in a Cloud of duſt purſues the Chaſe.
Cort. Their eager Chaſe diſorder'd does appear,
Command our Horſe to charge them in the rear ;[To Piz.
You to our old Caſtillian Foot retire,
[To Vaſq.
Who ſtand firm, and at their backs give Fire.
(Exeunt feverally:
Enter Odmar and Guyomar meeting each other in the Battel.
Odm. Where haft thou been fince firſt the Fight began,
Thou leſs than Woman in the Shape of Man?
Guy. Where I have done what may thy Envy move,
Things worthy of my Birth, and of my Love.
Odm. Two bold Taxallans with one Dart I flew,
And left it ſticking e're my Sword I drew.
Guy.
yet

The INDIAN EMPEROR. 325
Guy. I ſought not Honour on fo baſe a Train,
Such Cowards by our Women may be ſlain;
I felld along a Man of bearded Face,
His Limbs all cover'd with a ſhining Caſe:
So wondrous hard, and ſo fecure of wound,
It made my Sword, tho' edg’d with Flint, rebound.
Odm. I kill'd a double Man, the one half lay
Upon the Ground, the other ran away.
(Guns go off within
Enter Montezuma out of Breath, with him Alibech and
an Indian.
Mont. All's loſt
Our Foes with Lightning and with Thunder fight,
My Men in vain ſhun Death by ſhameful Flight;
For Deaths inviſible come wing'd with Fire,
They hear a dreadful Noiſe, and ſtraight expire.
Take, Gods, that Soul ye did in ſpight create,
And made it Great to be unfortunate:
Ill Fate for me unjuſtly you provide,
Great Souls are Sparks of your own heav'nly Pride :
That Luſt of Power we from your God-heads have,
You're bound to pleaſe thoſe Appetites you gave.
Enter Vafquez and Pizarro with Spaniards.
Vafq. Pizarro, I have hunted hard to Day
Into our Toils the nobleſt of the Prey;
Seize on the King, and him your Priſoner make,
While I in kind Revenge my Taker take.
[Pizarro with two goes to attack the King, Vaſquez.
with another to ſeize Alibech.
Guy. Their Danger is alike, whom ſhall I free?
Odm. I'll follow Love.
Guy.
I'll follow Piety.
[Odmar retreats from Valquez with Alibech off the
Stage, Guyomar fights for his Father.
Guy. Fly, Sir, while I give back that Life you gave,
Mine is well loſt, if I your Life can ſave.
[Montezuma fights off, Guyomar making his retreat, ſtays.
Guy. 'Tis more than Man can do to ſcape them all,
Stay, let me ſee where nobleſt I may fall.
[He runs at Vaſquez, is ſeiz’d behind and taken.
Vaſa.

326
The INDIAN EMPEROR.
Vafq. Conduct him off,
And give Command he ſtrictly guarded be.
Guy. In vain are Guards, Death ſets the Valiant free.
[Exit Guyomar with Guards.
Vafq. A glorious Day! and bravely was it fought,
Great Fame our General in great Dangers fought ;
From his ſtrong Arm I ſaw his Rival run,
And in a Croud th' unequal Combat fhun.
Enter Cortez leading Cydaria, who ſeems crying, and
begging of him.
Cort. Man's Force is fruitleſs, and your Gods would fait
To ſave the City, but your Tears prevail;
I'll of my Fortune no Advantage make,
Thoſe Terms they had once giv’n, they ſtill may take.
Cyd. Heav'n has of Right all Victory deſign'd,
Where boundleſs Power dwells in a Will confind;
Your Spaniſh Honour does the World excel.
Cort. Our greateſt Honour is in loving well.
Cyd. Strange ways you practiſe there to win a Heart,
Here Love is Nature, but with
you
'tis Art.
Cort. Love is with us, as natural as here,
But fetter'd up with Cuſtoms more ſevere.
In tedious Courtſhip we declare our Pain,
And e'er we Kindneſs find, firſt meet Diſdain.
Cyd. If Women love, they needleſs Pains endure,
Their Pride and Folly but delay their Cure.
Cort. What you mif-call their Folly, is their Care,
They know how fickle common Lovers are:
Their Oaths and Vows are cautiouſly believ'd,
For few there are but have been once deceiv'd.
Cyd. But if they are not truſted when they Vow,
What other Marks of Paffion can they ſhow?
Cort. With Feafts, and Muſick, all that brings Delight,
Men treat their Ears, their Palates, and their Sight.
Cyd. Your Gallants fure have little Eloquence,
Failing to move the Soul, they court the Senſe:
With Pomp, and Trains, and in a crowd they Wooe,
When true Felicity is but in two;
But can fuch Toys your Womens Paſſion move?
This is but Noiſe and Tumult, 'tis not Love.
Cort.

The INDIAN EMPEROR. 327
Thoſe ways
Cort. I have no reaſon, Madam, to excuſe
of Gallantry I did not uſe;
My Love was true and on a nobler Score.
Cyd. Your Love! alas! then have you lov'd before !
Cort.' 'Tis true I lov'd, but ſhe is dead, ſhe's dead,
And I ſhould think with her all Beauty fled,
Did not her fair Reſemblance live in you,
And by that Image, my firſt Flames renew.
Cyd. Ah happy Beauty whoſoe'er thou art!
Tho' dead thou keep'ſt Poſſeſſion of his Heart;
Thou mak'ſt me jealous to the laſt degree,
And art my Rival in his Memory;
Within his Memory, ah, more than ſo,
Thou liv'ſt and triumph'ft o'er Cydaria too.
Cort. What ſtrange diſquiet has uncalm'd your Breaſt,
Inhuman Fair, to rob the Dead of Reſt!
Poor Heart! fhe ſlumbers in her filent Tomb,
Let her poffefs in Peace that narrow room,
Cyd. Poor Heart! he pities and bewails her Death!
Some God, much hated Soul; reſtore thy Breath,
That I may kill thee; but ſome eaſe 'twill be,
I'll kill my ſelf for but reſembling thee.
Cort. I dread your Anger, your Diſquiet fear,
But Blows from Hands ſo ſoft who would not bear
So kind a Paſſion why ſhould I remove?
Since Jealouſie but ſhows how well we love,
Yet Jealouſie ſo ſtrange I never knew,
Can ſhe who Loves me not, diſquiet you?
For in the Grave no Paffions fill the Breaſt,
Tis all we gain by Death to be at reſt,
Cyd. That ſhe no longer
. Loves, brings no Relief,
Your Love to her ſtill lives, and that's
Cort. The Object of Deſire once ta’en away,
'Tis then not Love but Pity which we pay.
Cyd, 'Tis ſuch a Pity I ſhould never have,
When I muſt lie forgotten in the Grave;
I meant to have oblig'd you when I dy'd,
That after me you ſhould Love none beſide,
But you are falle already,
my Grief.

328
The INDIAN EMPEROR.
your Grief.
Cyd. If
Cort.
If untrue,
By Heay'n my Falfhood is to her, not you.
Cyd. Obſerve ſweet Heav'n how falſly he does ſwear,
You ſaid you loy'd me for reſembling her.
Cort. That Love was in me by Reſemblance bred,
But ſhows
you
chear'd
my
Sorrows for the Dead.
Cyd. You ſtill repeat the Greatneſs of
Cort. If that was great, how great was the Relief?
Cyd. The firſt Love ſtill the ſtrongeſt we account.
Cort. That ſeems more ſtrong which could the firſt
But if you ſtill continue thus unkind, [furmount:
Whom I love beſt, you by my Death ſhall find.
you ſhould die,
my
Death ſhould yours purſue,
But yet I am not ſatisfied you're true.
Cort. Hear me, ye Gods, and puniſh him you hear,
If ought within the World I hold ſo dear.
Cyd. You would deceive the Gods and me, ſhe's dead,
And is not in the World, whoſe Love I dread.
Name not the World, ſay nothing is fo dear.
Cort. Then nothing is, let that fecure your Fear.
Cyd. 'Tis Time muft wear it off, but I muſt
Can you your Conftancy in Abſence ſhow?
Cort. Mif-doubt my Conſtancy, and do not try,
But ſtay and keep me ever in your Eye.
Cyd. If as a Priſoner I were here, you might
Have then inſiſted on a Conqu’ror's Right,
And ſtay'd me here; but now my Love would be
Th' effect of Force, and I would give it free.
Cort. To doubt your Virtue or your Love were fin!
Call for the Captive Prince, and bring him in.
Enter Guyomar bound and ſad.
You look, Sir, as your
Fate
you
could not bear.
[To Guyomar.
Are Spaniſh Fetters then ſo hard to wear ?
Fortune's unjuſt, ſhe ruins oft the Brave,
And him who would be Victor, makes the Slave.
Guy. Son of the Sun, my Fetters cannot be
But Glorious for me, fince put on by thee;
The Ills of Love, not thoſe of Fate, I fear,
Theſe can I braye, but thoſe I cannot bear;
My

The INDIAN EMPEKOR. 320
My Rival Brother, while I'm held in Chains,
In freedom reaps the Fruit of all my Pains.
Cort. Let it be never ſaid, that he whoſe Breaſt
Is fill'd with Love, ſhould break a Lover's Reſt;
Hafte, loſe no time, your Siſter ſets you
free.
And tell the King, my generous Enemy,
I offer ſtill thoſe Terms he had before,
Only ask leave his Daughter to adore.
Guy. Brother (that Name my Breaſt ſhall ever own,
[He embraces him.
The Name of Foe be but in Battels known;)
For ſome few Days all Hoſtile Acts forbear,
That if the King conſents, it ſeem not Fear:
His Heart is Noble, and great Souls muſt be
Moſt ſought and courted in Adverſity.
Three Days I hope the with'd Succeſs will tell..
Cyd. 'Till that long time-
Cort. Till that long time, farewel. [Exe. ſeverally.
A C T III. S CE NE I
SCENE a Chamber Royal..
Enter Odmar and Alibech.
Odm. T Hor could my Valour againſt Fate fucceed ;
HE Gods, fair Alibech, had ſo decreed,
Yet though our Army brought not Conqueſt home,
I did not from the fight inglorious come:
If as a Victor you the brave regard,
Succeſsleſs Courage then may hope Reward:
And I returning lafe, may juſtly boaſt
To win the Prize which my dead Brother loft.
Enter Guyomar behind him.
Guy. No, no, thy Brother lives, and lives to be
A Witneſs, both againſt himſelf and thee;
Tho' both in Safety are return'd again,
I bluſh to ask her Love for vanquiſh'd Men.
Odm.

330 The INDIAN EMPEROR,
you fled;
Odm. Brother I'll not diſpute, but you are brave,
Yet I was free, and you it ſeems a Slave.
Guy, Odmar, 'tis true, that I was Captive led
As publickly is known, as that
But of two Shames if the muſt one partake,
I think the Choice will not be hard to make.
Odm. Freedom and Bondage in her Choice remain,
Dar'ſt thou expect ſhe will put on thy Chain ?
Guy. No, no, fair Alibech give him the Crown,
My Brother is return'd with high Renown.
He thinks by Flight his Miſtreſs muſt be won,
And claims the Prize becauſe he beſt did run.
Alib. Your Chains were glorious, and your Flight was
But neither have o'ercome
your
Enemies : [wiſe,
My ſecret Wiſhes would my Choice decide,
But open Juſtice bends to neither ſide.
Odm. Juſtice already does my Right approve,
If him who loves you moſt, you moſt ſhould love.
My Brother poorly from your Aid withdrew,
But I my Father left to fuccour you.
Guy. Her Country ſhe did to her ſelf prefer,
Him who fought beſt, not who defended her;
Since ſhe her Intereſt for the Nation's wavid,
Then I who ſav'd the King, the Nation favid;
Your aiding her, your Country did betray,
I aiding hin, did her Commands obey.
Odm. Name it no more, in Love there is a time
When dull Obedience is the greateſt Crime;
She to her Country's uſe reſign'd your Sword,
And
you
kind Lover took her at her word;
You did your Duty to your Love prefer,
Seek your reward from Duty, not from her.
Guy. In acting what my Duty did require,
'Twas hard for me to quit my own Delire,
That fought for her which when I did fubdue,
'Twas much the eaſier Task I left for you.
Alib. Odmar a more than common Love has ſhown,
And Guyomar's was greater, or was none;
Which I ſhould chule fome God direct
my
Breaſt,
The certain Good, or the uncertain Bet:
I

The INDIAN EMPEROR. 331-
Go, go,
I cannot chuſe, you both diſpute in vain,
Time and your future Acts muſt make it plain ;
Firſt raiſe the Seige, and ſet
your Country free,
I not the Judge but the Reward will be.
To them, Enter Montezuma talking with Almeria and
Orbellan.
Mont. Madam, I think with reaſon I extol
The Virtue of the Spaniſh General;
When all the Gods our Ruin have fore-told,
Yet generouſly he does his Arms with-hold,
And offering Peace the firſt Conditions make.
Alm. When Peace is offer'd 'tis too late to take;
For one poor Loſs to ſtoop to Terms like thoſe,
Were we o'ercome, what could they worſe impoſe?
with Homage your proud Victors meet,
Go lye like Dogs beneath your Maiters Feet,
Go and beget them Slaves to dig their Mines,
And groan for Gold which now in Temples ſhines;
Your ſhameful Story ſhall record of me,
The Men all crouch'd, and left a Woman free.
Guy. Had I not Fough-, or durſt not Fight again,
I my ſuſpected Counſel ſhould refrain:
For I wiſh Peace, and any Terms prefer
Before the laſt Extremities of War.
We but exaſp'rate thoſe we cannot harm,
And Fighting gains us but to die more warm:
If that be Cowardiſe, which dares not ſee
The infolent Effects of Victory,
The
rape of Matrons, and their Childrens cries;
Then I am fearful, let the Brave adviſe.
Odm. Keen cutting Swords, and Engines killing far,
Have proſperouſly begun a doubtful War:
But now our Foes with leſs advantage Fight,
Their Strength decreaſes with our Indians fright.
Mont. This noble Vote does with my Wiſh comply,
I am for War.
Alm.
And ſo am I.
Orb.
And I.
Mont. Then ſend to break the Truce, and I'll take care
To chear the Soldiers, and for fight prepare.
[Exeunt Montezuma, Odinar, Guyomar and Alibech,
Am.

332
The INDIAN EMPEROR.
Alm. to Orb. 'Tis now the Hour which allto reſt allow,
[Almeria ſtays Orbellan,
And Sleep fits heayy upon every Brow;
In this dark Silence ſoftly leave the Town,
[Guyomar returns and hears them.
And to the General's Tent, 'tis quickly known,
Direct your Steps: You may diſpatch him ſtrait,
Drown'd in his Sleep, and eaſie for his Fate:
Beſides, the Truce will make the Guards more ſlack.
Orb. Courage which leads me on, will bring me back:
But I more fear the Baſeneſs of the thing:
Remorſe, you know, bears a perpetual Sting:
Alm. For mean Remorſe no room the Valiant finds,
Repentance is the Virtue of weak Minds;
For want of Judgment keeps then doubtful ſtill,
They may repent of Good who can of Ill;
But daring Courage makes ill Actions good,
"Tis fooliſh pity fpares a Rival's Blood;
You ſhall about it ſtraight [Exeunt Alm. and Orb.
Guy. -Would they betray
His ſleeping Virtue, by ſo mean a way!
And yet this Spaniard is our Nation's Foe,
I wiſh him dead but cannot wiſh it fo ;
Either my Country never muſt be freed,
Or I conſenting to ſo black a Deed.
Would Chance had never led my Steps this way,
Now if he dies, I murther him, not they;
Something muſt be reſoly'd e'er 'tis too late,
He gave me freedom, I'll prevent his Fate. [Exit Guy
SCENE II. A Camp.
Enter Cortez alone in a Night-gown.
Cort. All things are huſh'd, as Nature's ſelf lay dead,
The Mountains ſeem to nod their drowfie Head;
The little Birds in Dreams their Songs repeat,
And ſleeping Flowers beneath the Night-dew ſweat;
Ev'n Luſt and Envy fleep, yet Love denies
Reft to my Soul, and Slumber to my Eyes,
Three

The INDIAN ENPEROR. 333
Three Days I promis’d-to attend my Doom, ,
And two long Days and Nights are yet to come:
'Tis ſure the Noiſe of ſome tumultuous Fight, [Noiſe within.
They break the Truce, and fally out by Night.
Enter Orbellan flying in the dark, his Sword drawn.
Orb. Betray'd! purſu'd! Oh whither ſhall I fly?
See, ſee, the juſt Reward of Treachery;
I'm ſure among the Tents, but know not where,
Even Night wants Darkneſs to ſecure my Fear.
[Comes near Cortez who hears him.
Cort. Stand, who
goes
there?
Orb. - Alas, what ſhall I ſay!
[Aide.
A poor Taxallan that miſtook his way,
[To him.
And wanders in the Terrors of the Night.
Cort. Soldier thou ſeem'ſt afraid, whence comes thy fright?
Orb. The Inſolence of Spaniards caus'd my
Fear,
Who in the dark purſu'd me entring here.
Cort. Their Crimes ſhall meet immediate Puniſhment,
But ſtay thou ſafe within the General's Tert.
Orb. Still worſe and worſe.
Cort. - Fear not but follow me,
Upon my Life I'll ſet thee ſafe and free.
[Cortez leads him in, and returns.
To him Vaſquez, Pizarro and Spaniards with Torches.
Vaſq. O Sir, thank Heaven, and your brave Indian Friend
That you are ſafe, Orbellan did intend
This Night to kill you ſleeping in your Tent:
But Guyomar his truſty Slave has ſent,
Who following cloſe his ſilent Steps by Night
Till in our Camp they both approach'd the Light,
Cry'd ſeize the Traytor, ſeize the Murtherer.
The cruel Villain fled I know not where,
But far he is not, for he this way bent.
Piz. Th'inraged Soldiers ſeek, from Tent to Tent,
With lighted Torches, and in Love to you,
With bloody Vows his hated Life purſue.
Vafq. This Meſſenger does ſince he came relate,
That the old King, after a long debate,
By his imperious Miſtreſs blindly led,
Has given Cydaria to Orbellan's Bed,

334
The INDIAN EMPEROR:
back again.
Cort. Vaſquez, the truſty Slave with you retain,
Retire a while, I'll call
you
[Exeunt Vaſq. and Piz.
Cortez at his Tent Door.
Cort. Indian come forth, your Enemies are gone,
And I, who fav'd you from them, here alone.
Enter Orbellan holding his Face aſide.
You hide your Face, as you were ftill afraid,
Dare you not look on him who gave you aid?
Orb. Moon ſlip behind ſome Cloud, ſome Tempelt rife
And blow out all the Stars that light the Skies,
To'fhrowd
my
Shame.
Cort.
In vain
you
turn aſide,
And hide your Face, your Name you cannot hide;
I know my Rival and his black Deſign.
Orb. Forgive it as my Paſſion's Fault, not mine.
Cort. In your Excuſe your Love does little ſay,
You might howe'er have took a fairer way.
Orb. Tis true my Paſſion ſmall defence can make,
Yet you muſt ſpare me for your Honour's fake;
That was engag’d to ſet me ſafe and free.
*Cort. 'Twas to a Strânger, not an Enemy:
Nor is it prudence to prolong thy Breath,
When all my Hopes depend upon thy Death
Yet none ſhall taxºme with baſe Perjury,
Something I'll do, both for my ſelf and thee;
With vow'd Revenge my Soldiers ſearch each Tent,
If thou art feen, none can thy Death prevent;
Follow my ſteps with filenee and with haſte.
They go out, the Scene changes to the Indian Country,
they return.
Cort. Now you are ſafe, you have my Out-guards paſt.
Orb. Then here I take my Leave.
Cort.
-Orbellan, no,
When you return, you to Cydaria go,
I'll ſend a Meſſage.
Orb.
Let it be expreft,
I am in haſte.
Cort. - I'll write it in your Breaſt [Draws.
Orb. What means my Rival?
Corr.

The INDIAN EMPEROR.
335
Cort. - Either fight or die,
I'll not ſtrain Honour to a Point too high;
I ſav'd your Life, and keep it if
you can,
Cydaria ſhall be for the braveſt Man;
On equal Terms you
ſhall
your
Fortune try,
Take this, and lay your flint-edg’d Weapon by;
[Gives him a Sword.
I'll arm you for my Glory, and purſue
No Palm, but what's to manly Virtue due.
Fame with my Conqueſt, fhall my Courage tell,
This
you ſhall gain by placing Love ſo well.
Orh. Fighting with you ungrateful I appear.
Cort. Under that ſhadow thou would'ſt hide thy Fear :
Thou would'ſt poſſeſs thy Love at thy return,
And in her Arms my eaſie Virtue ſcorn.
Orb. Since we muſt Fight, no longer let's delay,
The Moon ſhines clear, and makes a paler Day.
[They fight, Orbellan is wounded in the Hand,
his Sword falls out of it.
Cort. To Courage, even of Foes, there's Pity due,
It was not I, but Fortune vanquiſh'd you;
[Throws his Sword again.
Thank me with that, and ſo diſpute the Prize,
you fought before Cydaria's Eyes.
Orb. I would not poorly ſuch a Gift requite,
You gave me not this Sword to yield, but fight;
[He ſtrives to hold it, but cannot.
But ſee where yours has forc'd its bloody way,
My wounded Hand my Heart does ill obey.
Cort. Unlucky Honour that controulft my Will!
Why have I vanquiſh'd, ſince I muſt not kill?
Fate ſees thy Life lodg’d in a brittle Glaſs,
And looks it through, but to it cannot paſs.
Orb. All I can do is frankly to confeſs,
I wiſh I could, but cannot love her lefs;
To ſwear I would reſign her, were but vain,
Love would recall that perjur'd Breath again ;
And in my wretched Caſetwill be more juſt
Not to have promis'd, than deceive
Know
As if
your Truſt,

336
The INDIAN EMPEROR.
Know, if I live once more to ſee the Town,
In bright Cydaria's Arms my Love I'll crown.
Cort. In ſpight of that I give thee Liberty,
And with thy Perſon leave thy Honour free,
But to thy Wiſhes move a ſpeedy pace,
Or Death will ſoon o'ertake thee in the Chaſe.
To Arms, to Arms, Fate ſhows my Love the way,
I'll force the City on thy Nuptial Day. [Exeunt ſeverally.
SCENE III. Mexico.
Enter Montezuma, Odmiar, Guyomar, Almeria.
Mont. It moves my wonder that in two Days fpace,
This early Famine ſpreads ſo ſwift a pace.
Odm. "Tis, Sir, the general Cry, nor ſeems it ſtrange,
The face of Plenty ſhould ſo ſwiftly change;
1 his City never felt a Siege before,
But from the Lake receiv'd its daily Store,
Which now ſhut up, and Millions crowded here,
Famine will ſoon in multitudes appear.
Mont. The more the Number, ſtill the greater Shame.
Alm. What if ſome one ſhould ſeek immortal Fame,
By ending of the Siege at one brave Blow?
Mont. That were too happy!
Alm.
Yet it may be fo,
What if the Spaniſh General ſhould be flain?
Guy. Juſt Heav'n I hope does other
ways
ordain.
[Aſide.
Mont. If flain by Treaſon, I lament his Death,
Enter Orbellan and whiſpers his Siſter.
Odm. Orbellan feems in haſte, and out of Breath.
Mont. Orbellan welcome, you are early hear,
A Bridegroom's hafte does in your Looks appear.
[Almeria aſide to her Brother
Alm. Betray'd! no, 'twas thy Cowardiſe, and Fear,
He had not ſcap'd with Life, had I been there;
But ſince ſo ill you act a brave Deſign,
Keep cloſe your Shame, Fate makes the next turn- mine.
Enter

The INDIAN EMPEROR. 337
Enter Alibech, and Cydaria.
Alib. O Sir, if ever Pity touch'd your Breaſt,
Let it be now to your own Blood expreſt:
In Tears your beauteous Daughter drowns her Sight,
Silent as Dews that fall in dead of Night.
Cyd. To your Commands I ſtrict Obedience owe,
And my laſt Act of it I come to ſhow;
I want the Heart to die before your Eyes,
But Grief will finiſh that which Fear denies,
Alm. Your Will ſhould by your Father's Precept move.
Cyd. When he was young he taught me truth in Love.
Álm. He found more Love than he deſery'd, 'tis true,
And that it ſeems is lucky too to you;
Your Father's Folly took a head-ſtrong Courſe,
But I'll rule yours, and teach you Love by force.
Enter Meſſenger.
Meff
. Arm, Arm, O King, the Enemy comes on,
A ſharp Affault already is begun;
Their murdering Guns play fiercely on the Walls.
Odm. Now Rival, let us run where Honour calls.
Guy. I have diſcharg'd what Gratitude did owe,
And the brave Spaniard is again my Foe.
Exeunt Odmar and Guyomar.
Mont. Our Walls are high, and multitudes defend:
Their vain Attempt muſt in their Ruin end;
The Nuptials with my Preſence ſhall be grac'd.
Alib. At leaſt but ſtay 'till the Aſſault be paſt.
Alm. Siſter, in vain you urge him to delay,
The King has promis'd, and he fall obey.
Enter ſecond Meſſenger.
2 Meff. From feveral Parts the Enemy's repell’d,
One only Quarter to th' Affault does yield.
Enter third Meffenger.
3 Meſ. Some Foes are enter'd, but they are ſo few,
They only Death, not Victory purſue.
Orb. Hark, hark, they ſhout!
From Virtue's Rules I do too meanly ſwerve,
I by my Courage will your Love deſerve.
[Exit.
Mont. Here in the heart of all the Town I'll ſtay:
And timely Succour where it wants convey.
Vol. I.
P

838
The INDIAN EMPEROR.
A Noiſe within. Enter Orbellan, Indians driven in, Cortez
after them, and one or two Spaniards.
Cort. He's found, he's found, degenerate Coward, ftay:
Night ſav'd thee once, thou ſhalt not ſcape by Day.
[Kills Orbellan.
Orý. O I am kill'd-
[Dies.
Enter Guyomar and Odmar.
Guy. Yield generous Stranger, and preſerve your Life,
W liy chuſe you Death in this unequal Strife? [He is befet.
[Almeria and Alibech fall on Orbellan's Body.
Cort. What nobler Fate could any Lover meet?
I fall neveng'd, and at my Miſtreſs Feet,
[They fall on him and bear him down, Guyomar
takes his Sword.
Aiib. He's paſt recovery; my dear Brother's ſlain,
Fate's Hand was in it, and my Care is vain.
Alm. In weak Complaints you vainly waſte your Breath:
They are not Tears that can revenge his Death,
Diſpatch the Villain ſtraight.
Cort.
The Villain's dead.
Alm. Give me a Sword, and let me take his Head.
Mont. Though, Madam, for your Brother's Loſs I grieve,
Yet let me bes-
Alm. His Murderer
Syd. 'Twas his Misfortune, and the Chance of War.
Cort. It was-my purpoſe, and I killd lim fair;
How could you to unjuſt and cruel prove,
To call that Chance, which was the Act of Love?
Cyd. I call'd it any thing to fave your Life:
Would he were living ſtill, and I his Wife.
That With was once my greateſt Mifery:
But ’ris a greater to behold you die.
Alm. Either command his Death upon the place,
Gr never more tehold Almeria's l'ace."
Guy. You by his Valour, once from Death were freed:
Can you forget ſo generous a Deed? [To Montezuma.
Mont. How Gr:titude and Love divide my Breaſt!
Both ways alike ny Soul is robb’d of Reft.
Butlet him d'e can I his Sentence give?
Ungrateful muſt he die by whom I live?
But
may live?

The INDIAN EMPEROR. 339
you ſpill,
But can I then Almeria's Tears deny!
Should any live whom the commands to die?
Guy. Approach who dares: He yielded on my word;
And as my Pris ner, I reſtore his Sword; [Gives his Sword
His Life concerns the Safety of the State,
And I'll preſerve it for a calm Debate.
Mont. Dar'ſt thou rebel, falſe and degenerate Boy ?
That Being which I gave, I thus deſtroy.
[Offers to kill him, Odmar ſteps between.
Odm. My Brother's Blood I cannot fee
Since he prevents you but from doing Ill.
He is my Rival, but his Death would be
For him too glorious, and too baſe for me.
Guy. Thou ſhalt not Conquer in this noble Strife:
Alas, I meant not to defend my Life:
Strike, Sir, you never pierc'd a Breaſt more true :
'Tis the laſt Wound I e'er can take for you,
You ſee I live but to diſpute your Will:
Kill me, and then you may my Pris'ner kill.
Cort. You ſhall not, gen'rous Youths, contend for me:
It is enough that I your Honour fee:
But that
your Duty may no blemiſh take,
I will
my
ſelf your Father's Captive make:
[Gives his Sword to Montezuma.
When he dares ſtrike, I am prepar'd to fall:
The Spaniards will revenge their General.
Cyd. Ah you too haſtily your Life reſign,
You more would love it, if you valued mine!
Cort. Diſpatch me quickly, I my Death forgive,
I ſhall grow tender elle, and wiſh to live;
Such an infectious Face her Sorrow wears,
I can bear Death, but not Cydaria's Tears.
Alm. Make haſte, make haſte, they merit Death all three :
Th
у for Rebellion, and for Murder he.
See, ſee, my Brother's Ghoſt hangs hovering there
O'er his warm Blood, that ſteams into the Air,
Revenge, Revenge it cries,
Mont.
And it ſhall have;
But two Days reſpite for his Life I crave:
P 2
If

340
The INDIAN EMPEROR.
If in that ſpace you not more gentle prove,
I'll give a fatal Proof how well I love.
'Till when, you Guyomar, your Pris’ner take;
Beſtow him in the Caſtle on the Lake:
in that ſmall time I ſhall the Conqueſt gain
Of theſe few Sparks of Virtue which remain;
Then all who ſhall my head-long Paſſion fee,
Shall curſe my Crimes, and yet ſhall pity me.[Exe.ommes.
NOR
A CT IV. SCENE
1.
SCENE A Priſon.
Enter Almeria and an Indian, they ſpeak entring.
Ind.
A
Dangerous Proof of my Reſpect I ſhow,
Alm. Fear, not, Prince Guyomar ſhall never know:
While he is abſent let us not delay,
Remember 'tis the King thou doft obey.
Ind. See where he ſleeps.
[Cortez appears chain'd and laid aſleep.
Alm. Without my coming wait:
And on thy Life ſecure the Priſon Gate- [Exit Indian.
[She plucks out a Dagger, and approaches him.
Spaniard awake: thy fatal Hour is come:
Thou ſhalt not at ſuch eaſe receive thy Doom.
Revenge is ſure, though ſometimes ſlowly pac'd:
Awake, awake, or Neeping Beep thy laſt.
Cort. Who names Revenge?
Alm. Look up, and thou ſhalt fec.
Cort. I cannot fear ſo fair an Enemy.
Alm. No aid is nigh, nor can'ſt thou make defence:
Whence can thy Courage come?
Cort.
From Innocence.
Alm. From Innocence ? let that then take thy Part.
Still are thy Looks allur'da have at thy Heart!
[Holds up the Dagger.
I

The INDIAN EMPEROR. 341
I cannot kill thee ; ſure thou bear'ſt fome Charm, [Goes back.
Or fome Divinity holds back my Arm.
Why do I thus delay to make him Bleed? [Aſide:
Can I want Courage for ſo brave a Deed?
I've ſhook it off; my Soul is free from fear, [Comes again.
And I can now ſtrike any where but here:
His Scorn of Death how ſtrangely does it move!
A Mind fo haughty who could chuſe but love! [Goes of
Plead not a Charm, or any Gods command,
Alas, it is thy Heart that holds thy Hand:
In ſpight of me I love, and ſee too late:
My Mother's Pride muſt find
my
Mother's Fate.
- Thy Country's Foe, thy Brother's Murtherer,
For ſhame, Almeria, ſuch mad Thoughts forbear:
It wonnot be, if I once more come on: [Coming on again.
I fhall miſtake the Breaſt, and pierce my own.
[Comes with her Dagger down.
Cort. Does your Revenge maliciouſly forbear
To give me Death, till 'tis prepard by Fear?
If you delay for that, forbear or ſtrike,
Fore-ſeen and ſudden Death are both alike.
Alm. To ſhow my Love, would but increaſe his Pride;
They have moſt Power who moſt their Paſſions hide.[4fide:
Spaniard, I muſt confeſs I did expect
You could not meet your Death with ſuch neglect;
I will defer it now, and give you time:
You may Repent, and I forget your Crime.
Cort. Thoſe who repent, acknowledge they did ill:
I did not unprovok'd your Brother kill.
Alm. Petition me, perhaps I may forgive.
Cort, Who begs his Life, does not deſerve to live.
Alm. But if 'tis given, you'll not refuſe to take?
Cort. I can live gladly for Cydaria's fake.
Alm. Does ſhe fo wholly then poſſeſs your Mind 3
What if you ſhould another Lady find,
Equal to her in Birth, and far above
In all that can attract, or keep your Love,
ſo doat upon your firſt Deſire,
As not to entertain a nobler Fire?
Would you
P 3

342
The INDIAN EMPEROR.
Cort. I think that Perſon hardly will be found,
With gracious Form and equal Virtue crown'd:
Yet if another could Precedence claim,
My fixt Deſires could find no fairer Aim.
Alm. Dull Ignorance ! he cannot yet conceive :
To ſpeak more plain, Shame will not give me leave. [ Aſide.
-Suppoſe ono lov'd you whomeven Kings adore : [To him.
Who with
your
Life,
your
Freedom would reſtore,
And add to that the Crown of Mexico :
Would
you for her, Cydaria's Love fore-go?
Cort. Though ſhe could offer all you can invent,
I could not of my Faith, once vow'd, repent.
Alm. A bui ning Bluſh has cover'd all my Face;
Why am I fore’d to publiſh my Diſgrace?
What if I love, you know it cannot be,
And
yet I bluſh to put the Cafe 'twere me. ,
If I could love you, with a flame fo true,
I could forget what Hand my Brother ſlew ?
Make out the reſt, I am diſorder'd ſo,
I know not farther what to ſay or do:
But anſwer me to what you think I meant.
Cort. Reaſon or Wit no Anſwer can invent:
Of words confus'd who can the Meaning find?
Alm. Diſorder'd Words ſhow a diſtemper'd Mind.
Cort. She has oblig'd me ſo, that could I chuſe,
I would not anſwer what I muſt refuſe.
[-4fide.
Alm. --His Mind is ſhook;—fuppoſe I lov'd you, ſpeak,
Would you for me Cydaria's Fetters break?
Cort. Things meant in Jeft, no ſerious Anſwer need.
Alm. But put the caſe that it were ſo indeed.
Cort. If it were fo, which but to think were Pride,
My conſtant Love would dangerouſly be try'd:
For fince you could a Brother's Death forgive,
He whom you ſave, for you alone ſhould live:
But I the moſt unhappy of Mankind,
E’er I knew yours, have all my Love reſign'd:
'Tis my own Loſs I grieve, who have no more;
You go a begging to a Bankrupt's Door.
Yet could I change, as ſure I never can,
How could you love fo infamous a Man?
For
-

The INDIAN EMPEROR'. 343
For Love once given from her, and plac'd in yoll,
Would leave no Ground I ever could be true.
Alm. You conſtrued me aright was in Jeſt;
And by that Offer meant to found your Breaſt;
Which ſince I find fo conſtant to your Love,
Will much
my
Value of
your Worth improve,
Spaniard aſſure
your
felf
you
ſhall not be
Oblig'd to quit Cydaria for me:
'Tis dangerous though to treat me in this fort,
And to refuſe my Offers, though in ſport. Exit Alm.
Cort. In what a ſtrange Condition am I left? [Cort.folus.-
More than I wiſh I have, of all I wiſh bereft!
In wiſhing nothing, we enjoy ſtill moſt;
For even our Wiſh is, in poſſeſſion, loſt:
Reſtleſs we wander to a new Deſire,
And burn our felves by blowing up the Fire:
We toſs and turn about our Feaverith Will,
When all our Eafe muſt come by lying ſtill:
For all the happineſs Mankind can gain
Is not in Pleaſure, but in reſt from Pain.
[Goes in, and the Scene cloſes upon him.
SCENE II. Chamber Royal.
Enter Montezuma, Odmar, Guyomar and Alibech.
Mont. My Ears are deaf with this impatient Crowd.
Odm. Their Wants are now grown mutinous and loud:
The General's taken, but the Siege remains;
And their laſt Food our dying Men ſuſtains.
Guy. One means is only left, I to this Hour
Have kept the Captive from Almeria's Power;
And though by your Command the often ſent
To urge his Doom, do ftill his Death prevent. -
Mont. That hope is paſt: Him I have oft aſia Pd,
But neither Threats nor Kindneſs have prevaild;
Hiding our Wants, I offer'd to releaſe
His Chains, and equally conclude a Peace:
He fiercely anſwer'd, I had now no way,
But to ſubmit, and without terms obey:
P4
they

344
The INDIAN EMPEROR.
I told him, he in Chains demanded more
Than he impos'd in Victory before:
He fullenly reply'd, he could not make
Theſe Offers now; Honour muſt give, not take.
Odm. Twice have I ſally'd, and was twice beat back,
What defp'rate Courſe remains for us to take!
Mont. If either Death or Bondage I muſt chuſe,
I'll keep my Freedom, though my Life I loſe.
Guy. I'll not upbraid you
that
you once refus'd
Thoſe means, you might have then with Honour us'd:
T'll lead your Men, perhaps bring Victory:
They know to Conquer beſt, who know to die.
[Exeunt Mont. and Odm.
Alib. Ah me, what have I heard! ſtay Guyomar,
What hope you from this Sally you prepare ?
Guy. A Death, with Honour for my Country's good
A Death, to which your ſelf deſign’d my Blood.
Alib. You heard, and I well know the Town's Diſtreſs,
Which Sword and Famine both at once oppreſs:
Famine fo fierce, that what's deny'd Man's Uſe,
Even deadly Plants, and Herbs of pois’nous Juice
Wild Hunger ſeeks; and to prolong our Breath,
We greedily devour our certain Death:
Tie Soldier in th' Affault of Famine falls :
And Ghoſts, not Men, are watching on the Walls.
As Callow Birds-
Whofe Mother's killd in ſeeking of the Prey,
Cry in their Neft, and think her long away;
And at each Leaf that ſtirs, each blaft of Wind,
Gape for the Food which they muſt never find :
So cry the People in their Miſery.
Guy. And what Relief can they expect from me?
Alib. While Montezuma ſleeps, call in the Foe:
The Captive General your Deſign may know:
His noble Heart, to Honour ever true,
Knows how to ſpare as well as to ſubdue.
Guy. What I have heard I bluſh to hear: And grieve
Thoſe words you ſpoke I muſt your Words believe;
I to do this! Í, whom you once thought brave,
To ſell my Country, and my King enſlave?

The INDIAN EMPEROR. 345
my Soul.
All I have done by one foul Act deface,
And yield my Right to you by turning Baſe ?
What more could Odmar wiſh that I ſhould do
To loſe your Love, than you perſuade me to?
No, Madam, no, I never can commit
A Deed ſo ill, nor can you ſuffer it:
'Tis but to try what Virtue you can find
Lodg'd in
Alib. I plainly ſpeak my Mind;
Dear as my Life my Virtue I'll preſerye:
But Virtue you too ſcrupulouſly ſerve:
I loy'd not more than now my country's good,
When for its Service I employ'd your Blood:
But things are alter'd, I am ſtill the ſame,
By different Ways ſtill moving to one Famez
And by dif-arming you, I now do more
To ſave the Town, than arming you before.
Guy. Things good or ill by Circumſtances be;
In you 'tis Virtue, what is Vice in me.
Alib. That Ill is pardon'd which does Good procure,
Guy. The Good's uncertain, but the Ill is ſure.
Alib. When Kings grow ſtubborn, ſlothful, or unwiſe,
Each private Man for publick Good ſhould riſe.
Guy. Take heed, fair Maid, how Monarchs
you
accuſe:
Such Reaſons none but impious Rebels uſe:
Thoſe who to Empire by dark Paths aſpire,
Still plead a Call to what they moſt deſire;
But Kings by free Conſent their Kingdoms take;
Strict as thoſe ſacred Ties which Nuptials make;
And whate'er Faults in Princes time reveal,
None can be Judge where can be no Appeal.
Alib. In all Debates you plainly let me ſee
You love your Virtue beſt, but Odmar me:
Go, your miſtaken Piety purſue :
I ll have from him what is deny'd by you;
With my Commands
you
ſhall no more be graf'd,"
Remember, Sir, this trial was your laſt.
Guy. The Gods inſpire you with a better Mind;
Make you more Juſt, and make you then more Kind:
P5
But

346
The INDIAN EMPEROR,
But though from Virtue's Rules I cannot part,
Think I deny you with a bleediing Heart:
Tis hard with me whatever Choice I make;
I muſt not merit you, or muſt forſake:
But in this ſtrait, to Honour I'll be true,
And leave my Fortune to the Gods and you.
Enter Meſſenger privately.
Mell. Now is the time; be aiding to your Fate;
From the Watch-Tower, above the Weſtern Gate,
I have diſcern'd the Foe ſecurely lye,
Too proud to fear a beaten Enemy:
Their careleſs Chiefs to the cool Grottoes run,
The Bowers of Kings, to fhade them from the Sun.
Guy. Upon thy Life diſcloſe thy News to none;
Pll make the Conqueſt or the Shame my own.
[Ex. Guy. and Mejl:
Enter Odmar.
Alib. I read ſome welcome Meſſage in his Eye:
Prince Olmar comes : I'll ſee if he'll deny.
Odmar, I come to tell you pleaſing News,
I beg'd a thing your Brother did refuſe.
odm. The News both pleaſes me, and grieves me teo;
For nothing, fure, ſhould be deny'd to you:
But he was bleſt who might commanded be;
You never meant that Happineſs to me.
Alib. What he refus'd, your Kindneſs might beſtow,
But my Commands, perhaps, your Burden grow.
Odm. Could I but live till burdenſome they prove,
My Life would be immortal as my Love.
Your Wiſh, e'er it receive a Nane, I grant.
Alib. 'Tis to relieve your dying Country's want;
All hopes of Succour from your Arms is paſt,
To ſave us now you muſt our Ruin haſte;
Give up the Town, and to oblige him more,
The Captive General's Liberty reſtore.
Odm. You ſpeak to try my Love; can you forgive
So foon, to let your Brother's Murderer live?
Alib. Orbella”, though my Brother, did diſgrace,
With treacherous Deeds, our mighty Mother's Race;
And

The INDIAN EMPEROR: 347
And to revenge his Blood, fo juftly ſpilt,
What is it lels than to partake his Guilt?
Tho'my proud Siſter to Revenge incline,
I to my Country's good my own reſign.
Odlm. To ſave our Lives, our Freedom I betray-
-Yet ſince I promis'd it, I will obey;
I'll not my Shame nor your Commands diſpute:
You ſhall behold your Empire's abfolute. [Exit Odmar,
Alib. I ſhould have thank'd him for his ſpeedy Grant;
And
yet
I know not how, fit words I want:
Sure I am grown diſtracted in
my
Mind,
That Joy this Grant fhould bring I cannot find:
The one, denying, vex'd my Soul before;
And this, obeying, has diſturbid me more:
The one, with Grief, and ſlowly did refuſe,
The other, in his Grant, much haſte did uſe:
He us'd too much—and granting me ſo ſooni,
He has the Merit of the Gift undone:
Methought with wondrous caſe, he ſwallowed down
His forfeit Honour, to betray the Town:
My inward Choice was Guyomar before,
But now his Virtue has confirm'd me more-
----I rave, I rave, for Odmar will obey,
And then my Promiſe muſt my Choice betray.
Fantaſtick Honour, thou haſt fram'd a Toil
Thy felf, to make thy Love thy Virtue's Spoil.
[Exit Alibech.
SCENE III:
A pleaſant Grotto diſcover'd: In it a Fountain ſpouting;
round about it Vaſquez, Pizarro, and other Spaniards ly-
ing careleſly unarm'd, and by them many Indian Momen,
one of which fings the following Song.
SONG.
Ah fading Foy! how quickly art thou paſt?
Yet we thy Ruin haſte.
As if the Cares of human Life were few,
We ſeek out new :
And follow Fate, which would too faft pruer we,
See

348
The INDIAN EMPEROR.
See how on every Bough the Birds expreſs,
In their ſweet Notes, their Happineſs.
They all enjoy, and nothing ſpare ;
But on their Mother Nature lay their Care :
Why then ſhould Man, the Lord of all below,
Such troubles chuſe to know,
As none of all his Subjects undergo ?
Hark, hark, the Waters fall, fall, fall,
And with a murmuring ſound
Daſh, daſh, upon the Ground,
To gentle Slumbers call.
After the song two Spaniards ariſe and dance a Saraband
pith Caſtanieta's: At the end of which, Guyomar and
his Indians enter, and e're the Spaniards can recover their
Swords, ſeize them.
Guy. Thoſe whom you took without, in Triumph bring,
But ſee theſe ſtraight conducted to the King.
Piz. Vaſquez, what now remains in theſe Extreams?
Vaſq. Only to wake us from our golden Dreams.
Piz. Since by our ſhameful Conduct, we have loſt
Freedom, Wealth, Honour, which we value moſt,
I wiſh they would our Lives a period give:
They live too long, who Happineſs out-live.
[Spaniards are led out.
1 Ind. See, Sir, how quickly your Succeſs is ſpread:
The King comes marching in the Armies head.
Enter Montezuma, Alibech, Odmar diſcontented.
Mont. Now all the Gods reward and bleſs
my Son:
[Embracing
Thou haſt this Day thy Father's Youth out-done.
Alih. Juſt Heav'n all Happineſs upon him fhower,
Till it confeſs its: Will beyond its Power.
Guy. The Heav'ns are kind, the Gods propitious be,
I only doubt a mortal Deity:
I neither fought for Conqueſt, nor for Fame,
Your Love alone can recompence my Flame.
Alib.

The INDIAN EMPEROR. 349
Alib. I gave my Love to the moſt brave in War;
But that the King muſt judge.
Mont.
'Tis Guyomar.
[Soldiers ſout, A Guyomar, donc
Mont. This Day your Nuptials we will celebrate;
But guard thefe haughty Captives 'till their Fate:
Odmar, this Night to keep them be your Care,
To Morrow for their Sacrifice prepare.
Alib. Blot not your ConqueỂ with your Cruelty.
Mont. Fate ſays we are not ſafe unleſs they die:
The Spirit that foretold this happy Day,
Bid me uſe Caution and avoid Delay :
Poſterity be juſter to my Fame;
Nor call it Murder, when each private Man
In his Defence may juſtly do the ſame:
But private Perſons more than Monarchs can:
All weigh our Acts, and whate’er ſeems unjuſt,
Impute not to Neceſſity, but Luft.
[Exeunt Montezuma, Guyomar, and Alibech.
Odm. Loft and undone! he had my Father's Voice,
And Alibech ſeem'a pleas'd with her new Choice:
Alas, it was not new! too late I fee,
Since one ſhe hated, that it muſt be me.
I feel a ſtrange Temptation in my Will
To do an Action, great at once and ill:
Virtue ill treated from my Soul is fled;
I by Revenge and Love am wholly led:
Yet Conſcience would againſt my Rage rebel
-Conſcience, the fooliſh Pride of doing well!
Sink Empire, Father periſh, Brother fall,
Revenge does more than recompence you all.
-Conduct the Pris'ners in
Enter Vaſquez, and Pizarro.
Spaniards, you
ſee your own deplor'd Eſtate:
What dare you do to reconcile your Fate?
Vaſq. All that Deſpair, with Courage join'd, can do
Olm. An eaſie way to Victory I'll Thow:
When all are buried in their Sleep or Joy,
I'll give you Arms, burn, ravish and deſtroy ;
For

350
The INDIAN EMPEROR.
For my own ſhare one Beauty. I deſign,
Engage your Honour that ſhe ſhall be mine.
Piz. I gladly Swear.
Vaja.
- And I; but I requeſt
That, in return, one who has touch'd my Breaſt,
Whoſe Name I know not, may be given to me.
Odm. Spaniard ʼtis juſt; ſhe's yours whoe'er ſhe be.
Vafq. The Night comes on: If Fortune bleſs the bold,
I ſhall poſſeſs the Beauty.
Piz. I the Gold,
[Exeunt omnes.
SCENE IV. A Priſon.
Cortez diſcovered bound : Almeria talking with him.
Alm. I come not now your Conſtancy to prove,
You may believe me when I ſay I Love.
Cort. You have too well inſtructed me before
In your Intentions, to believe you more.
Alm. I'm juſtly plagu'd by this your Unbelief,
And am my ſelf the Cauſe of my own Grief:
But to beg Love, I cannot ſtoop ſo low;
It is enough that you my Paſſion know;
'Tis in your Choice; love me, or love me not;
I have not yet my Brother's Death forgot.
[Lays hold on the Dagger.
Cort. You menace me and court me in a Breath:
Your Cupid looks as dreadfully as Death.
Alm. Your Hopes, without, are vaniſh'd into Smoak:
Your Captains taken, and your Armies broke.
Cort. In vain you urge me with my Miſeries:-
When Fortune falls, high Courages can riſe.
Now ſhould I change my Love, it would appear
Not the effect of Gratitude, but Fear.
Alm. I'll to the King, and make it my Requeſt,
Or my Command, that you may be releaſt;
And make you judge, when I have ſet you free,
Who beſt deſerves your Paſſion, I, or ſhe.
Cort. You tempt my Faith fo generous a way,
As without Guilt might Conftancy betray:
But

The INDIAN EMPEROR.
351
But I'm ſo far from meriting Efteem,
That if I judge, I muſt my ſelf condemn;
Yet having given my worthleſs Heart before,
What I muſt ne'er poſſeſs, I will adore;
Take my Devotion then this humbler way;
Devotion is the Love which Heav'n we pay.
[Kiſſes her Hand.
Enter Cydaria.
Cyd. May I believe my Eyes! what do I ſee!
Is this her Hate to him, his Love to me!
'Tis in my Breaſt ſhe ſheaths her Dagger now,
Falſe Man, is this the Faith? is this the Vow? [To him.
Cort. What words, dear Saint, are theſe I hear you
uſe?
What Faith, what Vows are thoſe which
you
accuſe;
Cyd. More cruel than the Tyger o'er his Spoil;
And falſer than the weeping Crocodile:
Can
you add Vanity to Guilt
, and take
A Pride to hear the Conqueſts which you make ?
Go publiſh your Renown, let it be ſaid
You have a Woman, and that lov'd, betray'd.
Cort. With what Injuſtice is my Faith accus’d?
Life, Freedom, Empire, I at once refus’d;
And would again ten thouſand times for you:
Alm. She'll have too great Content to find him true;
And therefore ſince his Love is not for me.
P'll help to make my Rival's Miſery.
[-Aide.
Spaniard, I never thought you falfe before:
Can you at once two Miſtreſſes adore?
Keep the poor Soul no longer in Suſpence,
Your Change is ſuch as does not need defence.
Cort. Riddles like theſe I cannot underſtand!
Alm. Why ſhould you bluſh? ſhe ſaw you kiſs my Hand.
Cyd. Fear not, I will, while
your
firſt Love's deny'd,
Favour your Shame, and turn my Eyes aſide;
My feeble Hopes in her Deſerts are loſt:
I neither can ſuch Power nor Beauty boaſt :
I have no tie upon you to be true,
But that which looſen'd yours, my Love to you,
Cort. Could you have heard my words!
Cd.
[To him.

352
The INDIAN EMPEROR.
Your Care.
,
Cyd. --Alas, what needs
To hear your Words, when I beheld your Deeds ?
Cort. What ſhall I fay! the Fate of Love is ſuch,
That ſtill it fees too little or too much.
That act of mine, which does
your
Paſſion move,
Was but a Mark of my Reſpect, not Love.
Alm. Vex not your ſelf Excuſes to prepare:
For one you love not, is not worth
Cort. Cruel Almeria, take that Life you gave;
Since you but worſe deſtroy me, while you ſave.
Cyd. No, let me die, and I'll
my
Claim reſign;
For while I live, methinks you ſhould be mine.
Cort. The bloodieſt Vengeance which ſhe could purſue,
Would be a trifle to my Loſs of you.
Cyd. Your Change was wiſe: For had the been deny’d,
A ſwift Revenge had follow'd from her Príde:
You from my gentle Nature had no Fears,
All my Revenge is only in my Tears.
Cort. Can you imagine I ſo mean could prove,
To ſave my Life by changing of my
Love?
Cyd. Since Death is that which nat’rally we ſhun,
You did no more than I, perhaps, had done.
Cort. Make me not doubt, fair Soul, your Conſtancy;
You would have dy'd for Love, and ſo would I.
Alm. You may believe him; you have ſeen it prov'd.
Cort. Can I not gain belief how I have lov'd ?
What can thy ends, malicious Beauty, be:
Can he who kill'd thy Brother, live for thee?
[ A Noiſe of Claſing of Swords.
(Vaſquez within, Indians againſt him.
Vafq. Yield Slaves or die; our Swords ſhall force our way.
[Within.
Ind. We cannot, though o'er-power'd, our Truſt betray.
[Within.
Cort. 'Tis Vaſquez Voice, he brings me Liberty,
Vaſq. In ſpight of Fate I'll ſet my General free:[Within.
Now Victory for us, the Town's our own.
Alm. All Hopes of Safety, and of Love are gone:
As when ſome dreadful Thunder-clap is nigh,
The winged Fire Moots ſwiftly through the sky,
-Strikes

The INDIAN EMPEROR. 353
Strikes and conſumes, e'er ſcarce it does appear,
And by the ſudden ill, prevents the fear:
Such is my State in this amazing Woe,
It leaves no Pow'r to think, much leſs to do.
But ſhall my Rival live, ſhall ſhe enjoy
That Love in Peace I labour'd to deſtroy ? [Aſide.
Cort. Her Looks grow black as a tempeſtuous Wind;
Some raging Thoughts are rowling in her Mind.
Alm. Rival
, I muſt your Jealouſie remove,
You ſhall, hereafter, be at reſt for Love.
Cyd. Now you are kind.
Alm, - He whom you love is true :
But he ſhall never be poffeſt by you.
[Draws her Dagger, and runs towards her?
Cort. Hold, hold, ah barbarous Woman! Alie, oh flie!
Cyd. Ah pity, pity, is no ſuccour nigh!
Ćort. Run, run behind me, there you may be ſure,
While I have Life, I will your Life fecure.
[Cydaria gets behind him.
Alm. On him or thee light Vengeance any where:
[She ſtabs and hurts hing.
What have I done? I ſee his Blood appear !
Cyd. It ſtreams, it ſtreams from every vital Part:
Was there no way but this to find his Heart?
Alm. Ah! curſed Woman, what was my Deſign!
This Weapon's point fhall mix that Blood with mine!
[Goes to ſtab her ſelf, and being within his reach
he ſnatches the Dagger.
Cort. Now neither Life nor Death are in your Power.
Alm. Then fullenly I'll wait my fatal Hour.
Enter Vaſquez and Pizarro with drawn Swords.
Vaſq. He Lives, he Lives.
Cort. - Unfetter me with ſpeed,
Vaſquez, I ſee you troubled that I bleed:
But 'tis not deep, our Army I can head.
Vafq. You to a certain Victory are led;
Your Men all arm’d, ſtand ſilently within:
I with your Freedom, did the work begin.
Piz. What Friends we have, and how we came ſo ſtrong,
We'll ſoftly tell you as we march along.
Cort

354
The INDIAN EMPEROR.
Cort. In this fafe Place let me ſecure your Fear:
[To Cydaria.
No claſhing Swords, no Noiſe can enter here.
Amidſt our Arms as quiet you ſhall be,
As Halcyons brooding on a Winter Sea.
Cyd. Leave me not here alone, and full of frights
Amidſt the Terrors of a dreadful Night:
You judge, alas, my Courage by your own,
I never durft in darkneſs be alone :
I beg, I throw me humbly at your Feet.
Cort. You muſt not go where you may Dangers meet.
Th’unruly Sword will no Diſtinction make:
And Beauty will not there give Wounds, but take.
Alm. Then ſtay and take me with you; tho' to be
A Slave to wait upon your Victory.
My Heart unmoy'd, can Noiſe and Horror bear:
Parting from
you
is all the Death I fear.
Cort. Almeria, 'tis enough I leave you
free:
You neither muſt ſtay here, nor go with me.
Alm. Then take my Life, that will ny Reſt reſtore:
"Tis all I ask, for ſaving yours before.
Cort. That were a barbarous return of Love.
Alm. Yet, leaving it, you more inhuman prove.
In both Extreams I fome Relief ſhould find:
Oh either hate me more, or be more kind.
Cort. Life of my Soul, do not my Abſence mourn:
But chear your Heart in hopes of my return. [To Cyd.
Your noble Father's Life ſhall be my Care;
And both your Brothers I'm oblig'd to ſpare.
Cyd. Fate makes you deaf, while I in vain implore,
My Heart forebodes I ne'er ſhall ſee you more:
I have but one Requeſt, when I am dead,
Let not my Rival to your Love fucceed.
Cort. Fate will be kinder than
your
Fears fore-tell;
Farewel
my
Dear.
Cyd. -A long and laſt Farewel:
-So eager to imploy the cruel Sword;
Can you not one, not one laſt Look afford!
Cort. I melt to womaniſh Tears, and if I ſtay,
I find my Love my Courage will betray;
Yon

The INDIAN EMPEROR. 355
Yon Tower will keep you fafe, but be ſo kind
To your own Life, that none may entrance find.
Cyd. Then lead me there-
[He leads her.
For this one Minute of your Company,
I go methinks, with ſome content to die.
[Exeunt Cortez, Vaſquez, Pizarro and Cydaria.
Alm. Farewel, O too much lov’d, ſince lov'd in vain ![Sola.
What diſmal Fortune does for me remain!
Night and Deſpair my fatal Foot-ſteps guide;
That Chance may give the Death which he deny’d. [Exit.
[Cortez, Vaſquez, Pizarro, and Spaniards return again.
Cort. All I hold dear, I truſt to your Defence; [To Piz.
Guard her, and on your Life, remove not hence.
[Exeunt Cortez and Vaſquez.
Piz. I'll venture that
The Gods are good; I'll leave her to their Care,
Steal from my Poft, and in the Plunder ſhare. [Exit.
A CT V.
S CE NE I.
SCENE A Chamber Royal, an Indian Hamock
diſcover'd' in it.
Enter Odmar with Soldiers, Guyomar and Alibech bound.
Odm. Ate is more juſt than you to my Deſert,
And in this Act you blame, Heav'n takes my Part,
Guy. Can there be Gods, and no Revenge provide ?
odm. The Gods are ever of the Conquering lide:
She's now my Queen, the Spaniards have agreed
I to my Father's Empire ſhall ſucceed.
Alib. How much I Crowns contemn, I let thee ſee,
Chuſing the younger, and refuſing thee.
Guy. Were ſhe Ambitious, ſhe'd diſdain to own
The Pageant Pomp of ſuch a ſervile Throne;
A Throne which thou by Parricide do'ſt gain,
And by a baſe Submiſſion muſt retain..
Alib,

350
The INDIAN EMPEROR.
Alib. I lov'd thee not before; but, Odmar, know,
That now I hate thee, and deſpiſe thee too.
Odm. With too much Violence you Crimes purſue,
Which if I acted, 'was for Love of you:
This, if it teach not Love, may teach
you
Fear:
I brought not Sin ſo far, to ſtop it here.
Death in a Lover's Mouth would found but ill:
But know, I either muſt enjoy, or kill
.
Alib. Beftow, baſe Man, thy idle Threats elſewhere,
My Mother's Daughter knows not how to fear.
Since, Guyomar, I muſt not be thy Bride,
Death ſhall enjoy what is to thee deny'd.
Odm. Then take thy Wiſh-
Guy. Hold, Odmar, hold:
My Right in Alibech I will reſign;
Rather than fee her Die, I'll ſee her thine.
Alib. In vain thou would'ſt reſign, for I will be,
Ev'n when thou leav'ft me, Conſtant ſtill to thee:
That ſhall not ſave my Life: Wilt thou appear
Fearful for her, who for her ſelf wants Fear?
Odm. Her Love to him ſhows me a ſurer way:
I by her Love, her Virtue muſt betray: [Aſide.
Since, Alibech, you are ſo true a Wife;
[To her.
"Tis in your Power to ſave your Husband's Life:
The Gods, by me, your Love and Virtue try:
For both will ſuffer if you let him die.
Alib. I never can believe
you
To ſuch a black and execrable Deed.
Odm. I only threatn’d you; but could not prove
So much a Fool to murder what I love:
But in his Death, I ſome advantage ſee:
Worſe than it is I'm ſure it cannot be.
If you conſent, you with that gentle Breath
Preſerve his Life: If not, behold his Death.
[Holds his Sword to his Breaft.
Alib. What fhall I do!
Guy. -
-What, are your Thoughts at ſtrife
About a Ranſom to preſerve my Life?
Though to ſave yours I did my Intereſt give,
Think not when you were his, I meant to live.
will proceed
Alib.

The INDIAN EMPEROR.
357
Alib. O let him be preſerv'd by any way:
But name not the foul Price which I muſt pay.[To Odm.
Odm. You would, and would not, I'll no longer ſtay.
[Offers again to kill him.
Alib. I yield, I yield; but yet e'er I am ill, ,
An innocent Deſire I would fulfil:
With Guyomar I one chaſt Kiſs would leave,
The firſt and laſt he ever can receive.
Odm. Have what you ask: That Minute you agree
To my Deſires, your Husband ſhall be free.
[They unbind her, ſhe goes to her Husband.
Guy. No, Alibech, we never muſt Embrace :
[He turns from her.
Your guilty Kindneſs why do you
miſ-place?
'Tis meant to him, he is your private Choice:
I was made yours but by the publick Voice.
And now you leave me with a poor Pretence,
That your ill Act is for my Life's Defence.
Alib. Since there remains no other means to try,
Think I am falſe; I cannot ſee
you
die.
Guy. To give for me both Life and Honour too,
Is more, perhaps, than I could give for
you.
You have done much to cure my Jealouſie,
But cannot perfect it unleſs both die:
For ſince both cannot live, who ſtays behind
Muſt be thought fearful, or what's worſe, unkind.
Alib. I never could propoſe that Death
But am, like you, too jealous to refuſe. [Embracing him.
Together dying, we together ſhow
That both did pay that Faith which both did owe.
Odm. It then remains I act my own Deſign:
Have you your Wills, but I will firſt have mine.
Afiſt me, Soldiers
[They go to bind her : She cries out.
Enter Vaſquez, and two Spaniards.
Vaſq. Hold, Odmar, hold, I come in happy time
To hinder my Misfortune, and your Crime.
Odm. You ill return the Kindneſs I have ſhown,
Vafq. Indian, I ſay defift.
Odm.
-Spaniard, be
gone,
you chuſe;
Vafa.

358
The INDIAN EMPEROR,
Vaſq. This Lady I did for my ſelf deſign:
Dare you attempt her Honour who is mine?
Odm. You're much miſtaken; this is the whom I
Did with my Father's Loſs, and Country's buy:
She whom your Promiſe did to me convey,
When all things elſe were made your common Prey.
Vafq. That Promiſe made, excepted one for me;
One whom I ſtill reſery'd, and this is ſhe.
Odm. This is not ſhe, you cannot be ſo baſe.
Vafq. I love too deeply to miſtake the Face :
The Vanquiſh'd muſt receive the Victor's Laws.
Odm. If I am Vanquiſh'd, I my ſelf am Cauſe.
Vafq. Then thank your ſelf for what you undergo.
Odm. Thus lawleſs Might does Juſtice overthrow.
Vafq. Traytors, like you, ſtould never Juſtice name.
Odm. You owe your Triumphs to that Traytor's ſhame.
But to your General, I'll my Right refer.
Vafq. He never will protect a Raviſher :
His
generous Heart will ſoon decide our Striſe;
He to your Brother will reſtore his Wife.
It reſts we two our Claim in Combat
try,
And that with this fair Prize, the Victor fly.
Odm. Make haſte,
I cannot fuffer to be long perplext:
Conqueſt is my firſt Wiſh, and Death my next. .
[They Fight, the Spaniards and Indians Fight.
Alib. The Gods the Wicked by themſelves o’erthrow:
All Fight againſt us now, and for us too!
[Unbinds her Husband.
[The two Spaniards, and three Indians, kill each other, Vaſquez
kills Odmar, Guyomar runs to his Brother's Sword.
Vaſq. Now you are mine; my greateſt Foe is flain. [To Alib.
Guy. A greater ſtill to Vanquiſh does remain.
Vaſq. Another yet!
The Wounds I make, but fow new Enemies :
Which from their Blood, like Earth-born-brethren riſe.
Guy. Spaniard take Breath: Some reſpite I'll afford,
My Caule is more Advantage than your Sword.
Vaſq. Thou art fo brave--could it with Honour be,
I'd ſeek thy Friendfhip, more than Victory.
Guy.

The INDIAN EMPEROR. 359
Guy. Friendſhip with him whoſe Hand did @dmar kill !
Bafe as he was, he was my Brother ftill:
And ſince his Blood has wafh'd away his Guilt,
Nature asks thine for that which thou haſt ſpilt.
[They fight a little and breathe, Alibech takes sep
a Sword and comes on.
Alib. My weakneſs may help ſomething in the Strife.
Guy. Kill not my Honour, to preſerve my Life:
[Staying her.
Rather than by thy Aid I'll Conqueſt gain,
Without defence I poorly will be ſlain.
[She goes back, they fight again, Vaſquez falls,
Guy. Now, Spaniard, beg thy Life, and thou ſhalt live.
Vaſq. 'Twere vain to ask thee what thou canſt not give:
My Breath goes out, and I am now no more;
Yet her I lov’d, in Death I will adore.
[Dies.
Guy. Come, Aibech, let us from hence remove,
This is a Night of Horror, not of Love.
From every part I hear a dreadful Noiſe:
The Vanquiſh'd Crying, and the Viétors Joys.
I'll to my Father's Aid and Country's flie;
And ſuccour both, or in their ruin die.
[Exeunt.
SCENE II. A Prifon.
Montezuma, Indian High Prieſt, bound; Pizarro, Spaniards
with Swords drawn, a Chriſtian Prieſt.
Piz. Thou haſt not yet diſcover'd all thy Store.
Mont. I neither can nor will diſcover more:
"The Gods will puniſh you, if they be juſt;
The Gods will plague your facrilegious Luſt.
Chr. Prieſt. Mark how this impious Heathen juſtifies
His own falſe Gods, and our true God denies :
How wickedly he has refus'd his Wealth,
And hid his Gold, from Chriſtian Hands, by ſtealth:
Down with him, kill him, merit Heav'n thereby.
Ind. High Pr. Can Heav'n be Author of ſuch Cruelty?
Piz. Since neither Threats nor Kindneſs will prevail,
We muſt by other means your Minds allail;
Faſten

360 The INDIAN EMPEROR.
Faſten the Engines; ſtretch 'em at their length,
And pull the ſtraitned Cords with all your ſtrength.
[They faſten them to the Rack, and then pull them.
Mont. The Gods, who made me once a King, ſhall
I ſtill am worthy to continue fo:
(know
Tho' now the ſubject of your Tyranny,
I'll plague you worſe than you can puniſh me.
Know I have Gold, which you ſhall never find,
No Pains, no Tortures ſhall unlock
my
Mind.
Chr. Pr. Pull harder yet; he does not feel the Rack.
Mont. Pull 'till my Veins break, and my Sinews crack.
Ind. High Pr. When will you end your barb'rous Cruelty?
I beg not to eſcape, I beg to die.
Mont. Shame on thy Prieſthood that ſuch Pray’rs can
Is it not brave to ſuffer with thy King ? [bring:
When Monarchs ſuffer, Gods themſelves bear part;
"Then well may'ſt thou, who but my Vaſſal art:
I charge thee, dare not groan, nor ſhew one ſign,
Thou at thy Torments doſt the leaſt repine.
Ind. High Pr. You took an Oath, when you receiy'd
your Crown,
The Heav'ns ſhould pour their uſual Bleſſings down;
The Sun ſhould ſhine, the Earth its Fruits produce,
And nought be wanting to your Subjects uſe:
Yet we with Famine were oppreſt, and now
Muſt to the Yoke of cruel Maſters bow.
Mont. If thoſe above, who made the World, could be
Forgetful of it, why then blam'ſt thou me?
Chr. Pr. Thoſe Pains, O Prince, thou ſuffereſt now,
are light
Compar'd to thoſe, which when thy Soul takes flight,
Immortal, endleſs, thou muſt then endure,
Which Death begins, and Time can never cure.
Mont. Thou art deceiv'd: for whenfoe'er I die,
The Sun, my Father, bears my Soul on high :
He lets me down a Beam, and mounted there,
He draws it back, and pulls me through the Air:
I in the Eaſtern Parts, and riſing Sky,
You in Heav'n's downfal, and the Weft muſt lie.
Chr. 18.


The INDIAN EMPEROR.
361
you:
Chr. Pr. Fond Man, by Heathen Ignorance miſ-led,
Thy Soul deſtroying when thy Body's dead:
Change yet thy Faith, and buy eternal Reſt.
Ind. High Pr. Die in your own, for our Belief is beſt.
Mont. In ſeeking Happineſs you both agree,
But in the Search, the Paths ſo different be,
*That all Religions with each other fight,
While only one can lead us in the Right.
But till that one hath ſome more certain mark,
Poor human Kind muft wander in the Dark;
And ſuffer Pains eternally below,
For that, which here we cannot come to know.
Gh.Pr. That which we worſhip, and which you believe,
From Nature's common Hand we both receive:
All under various Names, Adore and Love
One Power Immenſe, which ever Rules above.
Vice to abhor, and Virtue to purſue,
Is both believ'd and taught by us and
But here our Worſhip takes another way--
Mont. Where both agree, 'tis there moſt ſafe to ſtay?
For what's more vain than publick Light to ſhun,
And ſet up Tapers while we ſee the Sun?
Chr.Pr. Though Nature teaches whom we ſhould adore,
By Heav'nly Beams we ſtill diſcover more.
Mont. Or this muſt be enough, or to Mankind
One equal way to Bliſs is not deſign’d.
For though ſome more may know, and ſome know leſs,
Yet all muſt know enough for Happineſs.
Chr. Pr. If in this middle
way you ſtill
To ſtay, your Journey never will have end.
Mont. Howe'er ’tis better in the midſt to ſtay,
"Than wander farther in uncertain
way.
Chr.Pr. But we by Martyrdom our Faith ayow.
Mont. You do no more than I for ours do now,
To prove Religion true
If either Wit or Sufferings would ſuffice,
All Faiths afford the Conſtant and the Wiſe:
And yet ev'n they, by Education fway'd,
In Age defend what Infancy obey'd.
VOL. I.
Q
Chr,
pretend

302 The INDIAN EMPEROR.
Chr. Pr. Since Age by erring Child-hood is miſ-led,
Refer your ſelf to our un-erring Head.
Mont. Man, and not Err! what Reaſon can you give?
Chr.Pr. Renounce that carnal Reaſon, and believe.
Mont. The Light of Nature fhould I thus betray,
'Twere to wink hard that I might ſee the Day.
Chr. Pr. Condemn not yet the way you do not know;
I'll make
your Reaſon judge what way to go.
Mont, 'řis much too late for me new Ways to take,
Who have but one ſhort Step of Life to make.
Piz. Increaſe their Pains, the Cords are yet too ſlack.
Chr.Pr. I muſt by force convert him on the Rack.
Ind. High Pr. I faint away, and find I can no more:
Give leave, O King, I may reveal thy Store,
And free my ſelf from Pains I cannot bear.
Mont. Think'ſt thou I lye on Beds of Rofes here,
Or in a wanton Bath ſtretch'd at my Eaſe ?
Die, Slave, and with thee, die ſuch Thoughts as theſe.
[High Prieſt turns aſide and dies.
Enter Cortez attended by Spaniards, he ſpeaks entring.
Cort. On Pain of Death, kill none but thoſe who fight;
I much repent me of this bloody Night:
Slaughter grows Murder when it goes too far,
And makes a Mafſacre what was a War:
Sheath all your Weapons, and in Silence move,
"Tis facred here to Beauty, and to Love.
Ha-
[Sees Mont.
What diſmal Sight is this, which takes from me
All the Delight that waits on Victory!
[Runs to take him off the Rack.
Make haſte: How now, Religion, do you
frown?
Hafte, holy Avarice, and help him down.
Ah Father, Father, what do I endure [Embracing Mont.
To ſee theſe Wounds my Pity cannot cure!
Mont. Am I ſo low that you ſhould Pity bring,
And give an Infant's Comfort to a King
Ask theſe, if I have once unmanly groan'd;
Or ought have done deſerying to be moan'd.
Cort.

The INDIAN EMPEROR 363
[TO Piz.
And yous
Cort. Did I not charge thou ſhould't not ftir from
hence?
But Martial Law ſhall puniſh thy Offence.
[To the Chriſtian Prieſt,
Who ſawcily teach Monarchs to obey,
And the wide World in narrow Cloyſters ſway,
Set up by Kings as humble Aids of Power,
You that which bred you, Viper-like devour,
You Enemies of Crowns:
Chr. Pr.
Come, let's away,
We but provoke his Fury by our Stay.
Cort. If this go free, farewel that Diſcipline
Which did in Spaniſh Camps ſeverely ſhine:
Accurfed Gold, 'tis thou haſt caus’d theſe Crimes;
Thou turn'ſt our Steel againſt thy parent Climes!
And into Spain wilt fatally be brought,
Since with the Price of Blood thou here art bought.
[Exeunt Prieſt and Pizarro.
[Cortez kneels by Montezuma, and weeps.
Gort. Can you forget thoſe Crimes they did commit?
Mont. I'll do what for my Dignity is fit:.
Riſe, Sir, I'm fatisfy'd the Fault was theirs:
Truſt me you make me weep to ſee your Tears:
Muſt I chear you?
Cort. Ah Heav'ns!
Mont. You're much to blame;
Your Grief is cruel, for it ſhews my Shame,
Does
my loſt Crown to my Remembrance bring:
But weep not you, and I'll be ſtill a King.
You have forgot, that I your Death deſign d,
To ſatisfie the Proud Almeria's Mind :
You, who preſerv'd my Life, I doom'd to die.
Cort. Your Love did that, and not your Cruelty.
Enter a Spaniard.
Span. Prince Guyomar the Combat ſtill maintains,
Our Men retreat, and he their Ground regains:
But once incourag'd by our General's fight,
We boldly ſhould renew the doubtful Fight.
Q2
Cort.

364
The INDIAN EMPEROR.
Cort. Remove not hence, you ſhall not long attend:
[To Montezuma.
I'll aid my Soldiers, yet preferve my Friend.
Mont. Excellent Man!
[Exit Cortez, donc.
But I, by living, poorly take the Way
To injure Goodneſs, which I cannot pay.
Enter Almeria.
Alm. Ruin and Dearth run arm'd through every Street ;
And yet that Fate I ſeek, I cannot meet:
What Guards Misfortunes are and Miſery!
Death that ſtrikes all, yet ſeems afraid of me.
Mont. Almeria's here: Oh turn away your Face!
Muſt you be Witneſs too of my Diſgrace?
Alm. I am not that Almeria whom you knew,
But want that Pity I deny'd to you:
Your Conqueror, alas, has vanquiſh'd me;
But he refuſes his own Victory:
While all are Captives in your conquer'd State,
I find a wretched Freedom in his Hate.
[loſe ?
Mont. Could' it thou thy Love on one who fcorn'd thee
He ſaw not with my Eyes who could refuſe:
Him who could prove ſo much unkind to thee,
I ne'er will ſuffer to be kind to me.
Alm. I am content in Death to ſhare your Fate;
And die for him I love with him I hate.
Mont. What ſhall I do in this perplexing Streight!
My tortur'd Limbs refuſe to bear my Weight:
[Endeavouring to walk, not being able.
I cannot go to Death to ſet me free:
Dear h muſt be kind, and come himſelf to me.
Alm. I've thought upon't: I have Affairs below,
[Alm. muling
Which I muſt needs diſpatch before I go:
Sir, I have found a place where you may be,
(Though not preſerv’d) yet like a King die free:
The General left your Daughter in the Tower,
We may a while reſiſt the Spaniards Power,
It Guyomar prevail.--
Mont. Make haſte and call;
She'll hear your Voice, and anſwer from the Wall.
Alm.

[To him.


The INDIAN EMPEROR. 305
Louder yet.
Alm. My Voice ſhe knows and fears, but uſe your own.
And to gain Entrance, feign you are alone. [Alm.ſteps behind.
Mont. Cydaria !
Alm.
Louder.
Mont.
-Daughter !
Alm.
Mont. Thou canſt not, fure, thy Father's Voice forget.
[He knocks at the Door, at laſt Cydaria looks over
the Balcony.
Cyd. Since my Love went, I have been frighted fo,
With diſmal Groans, and Noiſes from below;
I durft not ſend my Eyes abroad, for fear
Of ſeeing Dangers, which I
yet
but hear.
Mont, Cydaria !
Cyd. -Sure, ’tis my Father calls.
Mont. — -Dear Child, make haſte;
All Hope of Succour, but from thee, is paſt:
As when upon the Sands, the Traveller
Sees the high Sea come rolling from afar,
The Land grow ſhort, he mends his weary Pace,
While Death behind him covers all the Place:
So I by ſwift Misfortunes am purſu'd,
Which on each other, are like Wavęs renew'd...
you
alone ?
Mont.
Cyd. I'll ſtreight deſcend;
Heav'n did
you
here for both our Safeties ſend.
[Cydaria deſcends and opens the Door, Almeria ruſhes
betwixt with Montezuma.:
Cyd. Almeria here! then I am loſt again. [Both thruſt.
Álm. Yield to my Strength, you ſtruggle but in vain.
Make haſte and ſhut, our Enemies appear.
[Cortez and Spaniards appear at the other ond.
Cyd. Then do you enter, and let me ſtay here.
[As ſhe ſpeaks, Almeria over-powers her, thruſts
her in, and Nuts.
Cort, Sure I both heard her Voice, and ſaw her Face,
She's like a Viſion vaniſh'd from the Place,
Cyd. Are
I am.
Q3
T003

366 The INDIAN EMPEROR.
Too late I find my Abſence was too long;
My Hopes grow fickly, and
ту
Fears
grow ſtrong
[He knocks a little, then Montezuma, Cydaria and
Almeria appear above.
Alm. Look
up
look
up; and ſee if you can know
Thoſe, whom in vain you think to find below.
Cyd. Look up, and fee Cydarid's loſt Eſtate,
Mont. And caſt one look on Montezuma's Fate.
Cort. Speak not ſuch diſmal Words, as wound my Ear:
Nor name Death to me, when Cydaria's there.
Deſpair not, Sir; who knows but Conquering Spain
May part of what you loft reſtore again?
Mont. No, Spaniard; know, he who to Empire born,
Lives to be leſs, deſerves the Victor's Scorn:
Kings and their Crowns have but one Deſtiny:
Power is their Life; when that expires, they die,
Cyd. What dreadful Words are theſe!
Mont. - Name Life no more;
'Tis now a Torture worſe than all I bore:
I'll not be brib'd to ſuffer Life, but die.
In ſpight of your miſtaken Clemency.
I was your Slave, and I was us'd like one;
The Shame continues, when the Pain is gone:
But I'm a King while this is in my Hand—- [His Sword.
He wants no Subjects, who can Death command:
You ſhould have tyd him up, t' have conquer'd me,
But he's ſtill mine, and thus he fets me free. [Stabs himſelf.
Cyd. Oh my dear Father !
Cort. Haſte, break ope the Door.
Alm. When that is forc'd, there yet remain two more.
[The Soldiers break open the firſt Door, and go in.
We ſhall have time enough to take our Way,
Ere any can our fatal Journey ſtay.
Mont. Already mine is paft: o Pow'rs divine
Take my laſt Thanks; no longer I repine:
I might have liv'd my own Miſ-haps to mourn,
While ſome would Pity me, but more would Scorn!
For Pity only on freſh Objects ſtays:
But with the tedious Sight of Woes decays.
Still

The INDIAN EMPEROR. 367
Still leſs and leſs my boiling Spirits flow;
And I grow ſtiff as cooling Metals do:
Farewel Almeria-
[Dies.
Cyd. He's gone, he's gone,
And leaves poor me defenceleſs here alone.
Alm. You ſhall not long be fo: Prepare to die,
That you may bear your Father Company,
Cyd. Oh name not Death to me; you fright me fo,
That with the Fear I ſhall prevent the Blow:
I know your Mercy's more than to deſtroy
A thing ſo young, fo innocent, as I.
Cort. Whence can proceed thy cruel thirſt of Blood,
Ah barb'rous Woman? Woman! that's too good,
Too mild for thee: There's Pity in that Name,
But thou haſt loft thy Pity, with thy Shame.
Alm. Your cruel Words have pierc'd me to the Heart;
But on my Rival I'll revenge my Smart.
Cort. Oh ſtay your Hand, and to redeem my Fault,
I'll ſpeak the kindeſt Words-
That Tongue e'er utter'd, or that Heart e'er thought.
Dear - Lovely
Sweet
Alm. This but offends me more;
You act your Kindneſs on Cydaria's Score.
Com
Cyd. For his dear fake let me my Life receive.
Álm. Fool, for his fake alone you muſt not live:
Revenge is now my Joy; he's not for me,
And I'll make ſure he ne'er ſhall be for thee.
Cyd. But what's my Crime?
Álm. - 'Tis loving where I love.
Cyd. Your own Example does my
Act
approve.
Alm. 'Tis ſuch a Fault I never can forgive.
Cyd. How can I mend, unleſs you let me live?
I yet am tender, young, and full of Fear,
And dare not die, but fain would tarry here.
Cort. If Blood you feek, I will my own reſign:
O ſpare her Life, and in exchange take mine.
Alm. The Love you fhew but haftes her Death the more.
Cort. I'll run, and help to force the inner Door.
[Is going in hafte.
Alma

368
The INDIAN EMPEROR.
Alm. Stay, Spaniard, ſtay, depart not from my Eyes:
That Moment that I loſe your fight, ſhe dies.
To look on you I'll grant a ſhort Reprieve.
Cort. O make your Gift more full, and let her live:
I dare not go; and yet how dare I ſtay!
Her I would ſave, I murder either way:
Cyd. Can you be ſo hard-hearted, to deſtroy, :
My ripening Hopes, that are ſo near to Joy?
I juſt approach to all I would poſſeſs:
Death only ſtands ’twixt me and Happineſs.
Alm. Your Father, with his Life, has loſt his. Throne: -
Your Country's Freedom and Renown is
gone.
Honour requires your Death: You muſt obey.
Cyd. Do you die firſt; and fhew me then the way.
Álm. Should you not follow, my Revenge were loft.
Cyd. Then riſe again, and fright me with your Ghoſt.
Alm. I will not truſt to that, ſince Death I chuſe,
I'll not leave you that Life which I refuſe:
If Death's a pain, it is not leſs to me;
And if ’tis nothing, 'tis no more to thee.
But hark! the Noiſe increaſes from behind,
They're near, and may prevent what I deſign'd:
Take there a Rival's gift.-
[Stabs her.
Cort. Perdition ſeize thee for fo black a Deed.
Alm. Blame not an Act which did from Love proceed:
I'll thus Revenge thee with this fatal Blow;
[Stabs
. her ſelf.
Stand fair, and let my Heart-blood on thee flow.
Cyd. Stay Life, and keep me in the chearful Light;
Death is too black, and dwells in too much Night,
Thou leav'ſt me, Life, but Love ſupplies thy Part,
And keeps me warm by lingring in my Heart :
Yet dying for him, I thy Claim remove;
How dear it Coſts to conquer in
my Love!
Now ſtrike: That Thought, I hope, will arm my Breaft.
Alm. Ah with what differing Paffions am I preſt!
Cyd. Death, when far off, did, terrible
appear;
But looks leſs dreadful as he comes more near.
Alm. O Rival, I have loſt the Power to kill;
Strength hath forſook my Arm, and Rage my Will:
]

The INDIAN EMPEROR. 309
my Mind:
my Offence:
I muſt ſurmount that Love which thou haſt ſhown:
Dying for him is due to me alone.
Thy Weakneſs ſhall not boaſt the Victory,
Now thou ſhalt live, and dead I'll conquer
thee:
Soldiers, affiſt me down.
[Exeunt from above led by Soldiers, and enter both
led by Cortez.
Cort. Is there no Danger then? [To Cydaria.
Cyd. —You need not fear
My Wound, I cannot die when you are near.
Cort. You for my fake, Life to Cydaria give; [To Alnı.
And I could die for you, if you might live.
Alm. Enough, I die content, now you are kind;
Kill'd in my Limbs, reviving in
Come near, Cydaria, and forgive my Crime.
[Cydaria ſtarts back.
You need not fear my Rage a fecond time:
I'll bath your Wounds in Tears for
That Hand which made it makes, this Recompence.
[Ready to join their Hands.
I would have join'd you, but my Heart's too high:
You will, too ſoon, poffefs him when I die.
Cort. She faints, O foftly fet her down.
Alm. -
'Tis paſt!
In thy lov'd Boſom let me breath niy laſt
.
Here in this one ſhort Moment that I live,
I have whate'er the longeſt Life could give [Dies.
Cort. Farewel, thou generous Maid: Ev'n Victory,
Glad as it is, muft lend fome Tears to thee:
Many I dare not ſhed, leaſt
you
believe [To Cydaria.
I Joy in you leſs than for her I Grieve.
Cyd. But are you ſure ſhe's dead?
I muſt embrace you faſt, before I know
Whether my Life be yet fecure or no:
Some other Hour I will to Tears allow';
But having you, can fhew no Sorrow now.
Enter Guyomar and Alibech bound, with Soldiers.
Cort, Prince Guyomar in Bonds! O Friendſhip’s Shame!
It makes me bluſh to own a Victor's Name.
[Unbinds him, Cydaria, Alibech.
Cyd.

370 The INDIAN EMPEROR.
.
Cyd, See, Alibech, Almeria lies there:
But do not think 'twas I that murder'd her.
[Alibech kneels and kiſſes her dead Siſter.
Cort. Live, and enjoy more than your Conqueror:
[To Guyomar.
Take all my Love, and ſhare in all my
Power.
Guy. Think me not proudly rude, if I forſake
Thoſe Gifts I cannot with my Honour take:
I for my Country fought, and would again,
Had I yet left a Country to maintain:
But ſince the Gods decreed it otherwiſe,
I never will on its dear Ruins riſe.
Alib. Of all your Goodneſs leaves to our diſpoſe,
Our Liberty's the only Gift we chuſe:
Abſence alone can make our Sorrows leſs;
And not to ſee what we can ne'er redreſs.
Guy. Northward, beyond the Mountains we will go,
Where Rocks lie cover'd with eternal Snow,
Thin Herbage in the Plains and fruitleſs Fields,
The Sand no Gold, the Mine no Silver yields:
There Love and Freedom we'll in Peace enjoy;
No Spaniards will that Colony deſtroy.
We to our felves will all our Wiſhes grant;
And nothing coveting can nothing want.
Cort. Firſt your great Father's Funeral Pomp provide ::
That done, in Peace your generous Exiles guide;
While I loud Thanks pay to the Powers above,
Thus doubly Bleſt, with Conqueſt, and with Love.
[Exeunt.
EPI-

23
E PILOGUE,
By a MeRCUR Y.
TO
O all and ſingular in this full Meeting,
Ladies and Gallants, Phoebus fends me greeting.
To all his Sons by whate'er Title known,
Whether of Court, of coffee-houſe, or Town;
From his moſt mighty Sons, whoſe Confidence
Is plac'd in lofty Sound, and humble Senſe,
Ev'n to his little Infants of the Time,
Who write new Songs, and truſt in Tune and Rhyme.
Be't known that Phoebus (being daily griev'd
To ſee good Plays condemn'd, and bad receiv’d,)
Ordains your fudgment upon every cauſe,
Henceforth be limited by wholeſome Laws.
He firſt thinks fit no Sonnetteer advance
His Cenfure, farther than the song or Dance.
Your Wit Burleſque may one Step higher climb,
And in his Sphere may judge all Doggrel Rhyme :
All Proves, and Moves, and Loves, and Honours too:
All that appears high Senſe, and ſcarce is low.
As for the Coffee-wits he says not much,
Their proper Bus'neſs is to Darin the Dutch:
For the great Dons of Wit
Phoebus gives them full Privilege alone
To Damn all others, and cry up their own.
Laſt, for the Ladies, 'tis Apollo's Will,
They Nould have power to ſave, but not to kill:
For Love and he long ſince have thought it fit,
Wit live by Beauty, Beauty reign by Wit.
The End of the Firſt Volume.
CRONE
1 : PC:
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN
3 9015 02104 0053
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