PROLOGUE.

THE husbandman in vain renews his toil,
To cultivate each year a hungry soil;

And fondly hopes for rich and generous fruit,
When what should feed the tree devours the root:
Th' unladen boughs, he sees, bode certain dearth,
Unless transplanted to more kindly earth.
So, the poor husbands of the stage, who found
Their labours lost upon ungrateful ground,
This last and only remedy have prov'd;

And hope new fruit from ancient stocks remov'd.
Well may they hope, when you so kindly aid,
Well plant a soil, which you so rich have made.
As Nature gave the world to man's first age,
o from your bounty we receive this stage;
The freedom man was born to, you've restor'd,
And to our world such plenty you afford,
It seems, like Eden, fruitful of its own accord.
But since in Paradise frail flesh gave way,
And when but two were made, both went astray;
Forbear your wonder, and the fault forgive,
If, in our larger family, we grieve

One falling Adam, and one tempted Eve.
We who remain would gratefully repay,

What our endeavours can, and bring this day,
The first-fruit offering of a virgin play:

We hope there's something that may please each taste,

And though of homely fare we make the feast,
Yet you will find variety at least.

There's humour, which for cheerful friends we got,
And for the thinking party there's a plot.
We've something too, to gratify ill-nature
(If there be any here)-and that is satire.

) Though satire scarce dares grin, 'tis grown so mild, Or only shews its teeth, as if it smil'd.

Vol. X.

B

As afses thistles, poets mumble wit,

And dare not bite, for fear of being bit.

They hold their pens, as swords are held by fools,
And are afraid to use their own edge-tools.
Since the Plain Dealer's scenes of manly rage,
Not one has dar'd to lash this crying age.
This time, the poet owns the bold essay,
Yet hopes there's no ill-manners in his play:
And he declares by me, he has design'd
Affront to none; but frankly speaks his mind.
And should th' ensuing scenes not chance to hit,
He offers but this one excuse-'twas writ
Before your late encouragement of wit.

}

DRAMATIS PERSONE.

Sir Sampson Legend, an old Knight.
Valentine, his Son.

Scandal, his Friend.

Tattle, a Coxcomb.

Ben, a blunt Tar, Brother to Valentine.

Foresight, an old Dotard.

Jeremy, Valentine's Valet.

Trapland, an Usurer.

Buckram, a Lawyer.

Angelica, attached to Valentine.
Mrs. Foresight.

Mrs. Frail.

Miss Prue, a Country Hoyden.

Nurse.

Jenny.

A Steward, Officers, Sailors, and several Servants.

SCENE, London.

LOVE FOR LOVE.

ACT I.

SCENE I.

VALENTINE, in his Chamber, reading; JEREMY waiting. Several Books upon the Table.

Val. JEREMY!

Jer. Sir.

Val. Here, take away; I'll walk a turn, and digest what I have read.

Jer. You'll grow devilish fat upon this paper diet! [Aside, and taking away the Books." Val. And, d'ye hear? go you to breakfast-There's a page doubled down in Epictetus, that is a feast for an emperor.

Jer. Was Epictetus a real cook, or did he only. write receipts?

Val. Read, read, sirrah, and réfine your appetite; learn to live upon instruction; feast your mind, and mortify your flesh. Read and take your nourishment in at your eyes; shut up your mouth, and chew the cud of understanding. So Epictetus advises.

Jer. O Lord! I have heard much of him, when I waited upon a gentleman at Cambridge. Pray what was that Epictetus ?

Val. A very rich man-not worth a groat.

Jer. Humph! and so he has made a very fine feast, where there is nothing to be eaten?

Val. Yes..

Jer. Sir, you're a gentleman, and probably un derstand this fine feeding: but, if you please, I had rather be at board-wages. Does your Epictetus, or your Seneca here, or any of these poor rich rogues, teach you how to pay your debts without money? Will they shut up the mouths of your creditors? Will Plato be bail for you? or Diogenes, because he understands confinement, and lived in a tub, go to prison for you? 'Slife, sir, what do you mean, to mew yourself up here with three or four musty books, in commendation of starving and poverty?

Val. Why, sirrah, I have no money, you know it; and therefore resolve to rail at all that have: and in that I but follow the examples of the wisest and wittiest men in all ages-these poets and philosophers, whom you naturally hate, for just such another reason; because they abound in sense, and you are a fool.

Jer. Ay, sir, I am a fool, I know it: and yet, Heaven help me, I'm poor enough to be a wit.But I was always a fool, when I told you what your expences would bring you to; your coaches and your liveries; your treats and your balls; your being in love with a lady that did not care a farthing for you in your prosperity; and keeping company with wits, that cared for nothing but your prosperity, and now when you are poor, hate you as much as they do one another.

Val. Well! and now I am poor, I have an opportunity to be revenged on them all; I'll pursue Angelica with more love than ever, and appear more notoriously her admirer in this restraint, than when I openly rivaled the rich fops that made court to her. So shall my poverty be a mortification to her pride, and perhaps make her compassionate the love, which has principally reduced me to this lownefs of fortune. And for the wits, I'm sure I am in a condition to be even with them.

Jer. Nay, your condition is pretty even with theirs, that's the truth on't.

Val. I'll take some of their trade out of their Lands.

Jer. Now Heaven of mercy continue the tax upon ter!-You don't mean to write?