THE CONSTANT COUPLE; OR, A TRIP TO THE JUBILEE. A Comedy. Sive favore tuli, sive hanc ego carmine famam ; OVID. Trist. iv. 10. TO THE HONOURABLE SIR ROGER MOSTYN, BART., OF MOSTYN-HALL IN FLINTSHIRE. SIR,-"Tis no small reflection on pieces of this nature, that panegyric is so much improved, and that dedication is grown more an art than poetry; that authors, to make their patrons more than men, make themselves less; and that persons of honour are forced to decline patronising wit, because their modesty cannot bear the gross strokes of adulation. But give me leave to say, Sir, that I am too young an author to have learned the art of flattery; and, I hope, the same modesty which recommended this play to the world, will also reconcile my addresses to you, of whom I can say nothing but what your merits may warrant, and all that have the honour of your acquaintance will be proud to vindicate. The greatest panegyric upon you, Sir, is the unprejudiced and bare truth of your character, the fire of youth, with the sedateness of a senator, and the modern gaiety of a fine English gentleman, with the noble solidity of the ancient Briton. This is the character, Sir, which all men, but yourself, are proud to publish of you, and which more celebrated pens than mine should transmit to posterity. The play has had some noble appearances to honour its representation; and to complete the success, I have presumed to prefix so noble a name to usher it into the world. A stately frontispiece is the beauty of a building. But here I must transverse Ovid:-materia superabit opus. I am, honourable Sir, your most devoted and humble servant, G. FARQUHAR. PREFACE TO THE READER. AN affected modesty is very often the greatest vanity, and authors are sometimes prouder of their blushes than of the praises that occasioned them. I shan't therefore, like a foolish virgin, fly to be pursued, and deny what I chiefly wish for. I am very willing to acknowledge the beauties of this play, especially those of the third night, which not to be proud of were the height of impudence. Who is ashamed to value himself upon such favours, undervalues those who conferred them. As I freely submit to the criticisms of the judicious, so I cannot call this an ill play, since the town has allowed it such success. When they have pardoned my faults 'twere very ill manners to condemn their indulgence. Some may think (my acquaintance in town being too slender to make a party for the play) that the success must be derived from the pure merits of the cause I am of another opinion: I have not been long enough in town to raise enemies against me; and the English are still kind to strangers. I am below the envy of great wits, and above the malice of little ones. I have not displeased the ladies, nor offended the clergy; both which are now pleased to say, that a comedy may be⠀ diverting without smut and profaneness. Next to those advantages, the beauties of action gave the greatest life to the play, of which the town is so sensible, that all will join with me in commendation of the actors, and allow (without detracting from the merit of others) that the Theatre Royal affords an excellent and complete set of comedians. Mr. Wilks's performance has set him so far above competition in the part of Wildair, that none can pretend to envy the praise due to his merit. That he made the part, will appear from hence, that whenever the stage has the misfortune to lose him, Sir Harry Wildair may go to the Jubilee. A great many quarrel at the Trip to the Jubilee for a misnomer: I must tell them, that perhaps there are greater trips in the play; and when I find that more exact plays have had better success, I'll talk with the critics about decorums, &c. However, if I ever commit another fault of this nature, I'll endeavour to make it more excusable. LL POETS will think nothing so checks their fury No, no, your thoughts, like theirs, lie quite another way. The ladies safe may smile: for here's no slander, No smut, no lewd-tongued beau, no double-entendre. 'Tis true, he has a spark just come from France, But then so far from beau-why, he talks sense! Like coin oft carried out, but-seldom brought from therce. There's yet a gang to whom our spark submits, Your elbow-shaking fool, that lives by's wits, That's only witty though, just as he lives, by fits. Who, lion-like, through bailiffs scours away, Hunts, in the face, a dinner all the day, At night, with empty bowels, grumbles o'er the play. And now the modish prentice he implores, Next to our mounted friends, we humbly move, Snaps rope like thread; but when his fortune's told him, He'll hear perhaps of rope will one day hold him : Well, that's all! Now, gentlemen, for the play, On second thoughts, I've but two words to say; Such as it is for your delight design'd, Hear it, read, try, judge, and speak as you find. ANOTHER "Tis hard, the author of this play in view, 'Twas malice all: no malice like to theirs, PROLOGUE. Our plays are farce, because our house is cramm'd; Their plays all good; for what?--because they're damn'd. Because we pleasure you, you call us tools; By their good-nature, they are wits, true blue; good; The fair are better pleased with flesh and blood. What is't to them, to mind the ancients' taste? But the poor folks are mad, and I'm in haste. [Runs off. SCENE I.-The Park. ACT I. Enter VIZARD with a letter, Footman following. Viz. Angelica, send it back unopened! say you? Foot. As you see, sir. Viz. The pride of these virtuous women is more insufferable than the immodesty of prostitutes! After all my encouragement, to slight me thus ! Foot. She said, sir, that imagining your morals sincere, she gave you access to her conversation; but that your late behaviour in her company has convinced her, that your love and religion are both hypocrisy, and that she believes your letter like yourself, fair on the outside, foul within; so sent it back unopened. Viz. May obstinacy guard her beauty till wrinkles bury it! Then may desire prevail to make her curse that untimely pride her disappointed age repents --I'll be revenged the very first opportunity.-Saw you the old lady Darling, her mother? Foot. Yes, sir, and she was pleased to say much in your commendation. Vis. That's my cue.-. -An esteem grafted in old age is hardly rooted out, years stiffen their opinions with their bodies, and old zeal is only to be cozened by young hypocrisy.-Run to the lady Lurewell's, and know of her maid whether her ladyship will be at home this evening.-[Exit Footman.] Her beauty is sufficient cure for Angelica's [Pulls out a book, reads, and walks about. scorn. Enter Alderman SMUGGler. Smug. Ay, there's a pattern for the young men o'th' times-At his meditation so early, some book of pious ejaculations, I'm sure. Viz. [Aside.] This Hobbes is an excellent fellow!-[Aloud.] O uncle Smuggler! To find you in this end o'th' town is a miracle. Smug. I have seen a miracle this morning indeed, cousin Vizard. Viz. What is it, pray, sir? Smug. A man at his devotion so near the court. -I'm very glad, boy, that you keep your sanctity untainted in this infectious place; the very air of this park is heathenish, and every man's breath I meet scents of atheism. Viz. Surely, sir, some great concern must bring you to this unsanctified end of the town. Smug. A very unsanctified concern truly, cousin. Smug. A lawsuit, boy.-shall I tell you?-My ship the Swan is newly arrived from St. Sebastian, laden with Portugal wines : now the impudent rogue of a tidewaiter has the face to affirm, 'tis French wines in Spanish casks, and has indicted me upon the statute.-O conscience! conscience ! these tidewaiters and surveyors plague us more with the French wines, than the war did with French privateers. Enter Colonel STANDARD. Ay, there's another plague of the nation-a red coat and feather. Vix. Colonel Standard, I'm your humble ser vant. Stand. Maybe not, sir. Stand. Because-I'm disbanded. Stand. This very morning, in Hyde Park, my brave regiment, a thousand men that looked like lions yesterday were scattered, and looked as poor and simple as the herd of deer that grazed beside 'em. Smug. [Singing.] Tal, al, deral !—I'll have a bonfire this night as high as the Monument. Stand. A bonfire! thou dry, withered, ill nature! had not these brave fellows' swords defended you, your house had been a bonfire erev this about your ears.-Did we not venture our lives, sir? Smug. And did not we pay you for your lives, sir?-Venture your lives! I'm sure we ventured our money, and that's life and soul to me.-Sir, we'll maintain you no longer. Stand. Then your wives shall, old Actæon. There are five-and-thirty strapping officers gone this morning to live upon free quarter in the city. Smug. O Lord! O Lord! I shall have a son within these nine months born with a leading staff in his hand.-Sir, you are Stand. What, sir? Smug. Sir, I say that you are- Smug. Disbanded, sir, that's all.-I see my lawyer yonder. [Exit. Vis. Sir, I'm very sorry for your misfortune. Stand. Why so? I don't come to borrow money of you; if you're my friend, meet me this evening at the Rummer, I'll pay my way, drink a health to my king, prosperity to my country; and away for Hungary to-morrow morning. Vix. What! you won't leave us? Stand. What! a soldier stay here! to look like an old pair of colours in Westminster-hall, ragged and rusty! no, no.-I met yesterday a broken lieutenant, he was ashamed to own that he wanted a dinner, but begged eighteenpence of me to buy a new sheath for his sword. Viz. Oh! but you have good friends, colonel! Stand. Oh, very good friends! my father's a lord, and my elder brother a beau. Viz. But your country may perhaps want your sword again. Stand. Nay, for that matter, let but a single drum beat up for volunteers between Ludgate and Charing Cross, and I shall undoubtedly hear it at the walls of Buda. Viz. Come, come, colonel, there are ways of making your fortune at home.-Make your addresses to the fair, you're a man of honour and courage. Stand. Ay, my courage is like to do me wondrous service with the fair. This pretty cross cut over my eye will attract a duchess. I warrant 'twill be a mighty grace to my ogling.-Had I used the stratagem of a certain brother colonel of mine, I might succeed. Viz. What was it, pray? Stand. Why, to save his pretty face for the women, he always turned his back upon the enemy. He was a man of honour-for the ladies. Viz. Come, come, the loves of Mars and Venus will never fail; you must get a mistress. Stand. Prithee, no more on't.-You have awakened a thought, from which, and the kingdom, I would have stolen away at once.-To be plain, I have a mistress. Viz. And she's cruel. Stand. No. Viz. Her parents prevent your happiness. Viz. Then she has no fortune. Stand. A large one; beauty to tempt all mankind, and virtue to beat off their assaults. O Vizard! such a creature! Enter Sir HARRY WILDAIR, crosses the stage singing with Footmen after him. Heyday! who the devil have we here? Viz. The joy of the playhouse, and life of the Park; Sir Harry Wildair newly come from Paris. Stand. Sir Harry Wildair! Did not he make a campaign in Flanders some three or four years ago? Viz. The same. Stand. Why, he behaved himself very bravely. Viz. Why not? dost think bravery and gaiety are inconsistent? He's a gentleman of most happy circumstances, born to a plentiful estate; has had a genteel and easy education, free from the rigidness of teachers and pedantry of schools. His florid constitution being never ruffled by misfortune, nor stinted in its pleasures, has rendered him entertaining to others, and easy to himself :-turning all passion into gaiety of humour, by which he chooses rather to rejoice his friends than be hated by any; as you shall see. Re-enter Sir HARRY WILDAIR, Footman attending. Sir Har. Who thought to find you out of the rubric so long? I thought thy hypocrisy had been wedded to a pulpit-cushion long ago.-Sir, if I mistake not your face, your name is Standard. Stand. Sir Harry, I'm your humble servant. Sir Har. Come, gentlemen, the news! the news o' th' town! for I'm just arrived. Viz. Why, in the city-end o' th' town we're playing the knave, to get estates. Stand. And in the court-end playing the fool, in spending 'em. Sir Har. Just so in Paris; I'm glad we're grown so modish. Viz. We are all so reformed, that gallantry is taken for vice. Stand. And hypocrisy for religion. Sir Har. A la mode de Paris, again. Viz. Not one whore between Ludgate and Aldgate. Stand. But ten times more cuckolds than ever. Stand. That's a mistake; for my major swore a hundred and fifty last night to a merchant's wife in her bedchamber. Sir Har. Psha! this is trifling; tell me news, gentlemen, what lord has lately broke his fortune at the Groom-porter's? or his heart at Newmarket, for the loss of a race? What wife has been lately suing in Doctors' Commons for alimony? or, what daughter run away with her father's valet? What beau gave the noblest ball at the Bath, or had the finest coach in the ring? I want news, gentlemen. Stand. Faith, sir, these are no news at all. Viz. But pray, sir Harry, tell us some news of your travels. Sir Har. With all my heart. You must know then, I went over to Amsterdam in a Dutch ship; I there had a Dutch whore for five stivers : I went from thence to Landen, where I was heartily drubbed in the battle with the butt-end of a Swiss musket. I thence went to Paris, where I had halfa-dozen intrigues, bought half-a-dozen new suits, fought a couple of duels, and here I am again in statu quo. Viz. But we heard that you designed to make the tour of Italy; what brought you back so soon? Sir Har. That which brought you into the world, and may perhaps carry you out of it; a woman. Stand. What! quit the pleasures of travel for a woman! Sir Har. Ay, colonel, for such a woman! I had rather see her ruelle than the palace of Louis le Grand. There's more glory in her smile than in the Jubilee at Rome; and I would rather kiss her hand than the pope's toe. Viz. You, colonel, have been very lavish in the beauty and virtue of your mistress; and sir Harry here has been no less eloquent in the praise of his : now will I lay you both ten guineas a piece, that neither of them is so pretty, so witty, or so virtuous, as mine. Stand. "Tis done! Sir Har. I'll double the stakes.-But, gentlemen, now I think on't, how shall we be resolved? for I know not where my mistress may be found; she left Paris about a month before me, and I had an account Stand. How, sir! left Paris about a month before you! Sir Har. Ay, but I know not where, and perhaps mayn't find her this fortnight. Stand. Her name, pray, sir Harry? Viz. Ay, ay, her name; perhaps we know her. Sir Har. Her name! Ay,-she has the softest, whitest hand that ever was made of flesh and blood, her lips so balmy sweet! Stand. But her name, sir! Sir Har. Then her neck and breast; - her breasts do so heave! so heave! [Singing. Viz. But her name, sir, her quality! Sir Har. Then her shape, colonel ! Stand. But her name I want, sir! Sir Har. Then her eyes, Vizard! Stand. Psha, sir Harry, her name or nothing! Sir Har. Then, if you must have it, she's called the lady - But then her foot, gentlemen! she dances to a miracle.-Vizard, you have certainly lost your Sir Har. Canst tell where she lodges? Tell me, dear colonel. Stand. Your humble servant, sir. [Exit. Sir Har. Nay, hold, colonel, I'll follow you, and will know. [Runs out. Viz. The lady Lurewell his mistress!-He loves her, but she loves me.-But he's a baronet, and I plain Vizard; he has a coach-and-six, and I walk a-foot; I was bred in London, and he in Paris.— That very circumstance has murdered me.-Then, some stratagem must be laid to divert his pretensions. Re-enter Sir HARRY WILDAIR, Sir Har. Prithee, Dick, what makes the colonel so out of humour? Viz. Because he's out of pay, I suppose. Sir Har. 'Slife, that's true! I was beginning to mistrust some rivalship in the case. Viz. And suppose there were, you know the colonel can fight, sir Harry. 'Slife, Sir Har. Fight! psha! but he can't dance, ha! We contend for a woman, Vizard! man, if ladies were to be gained by sword and pistol only, what the devil should all the beaux do? Viz. [Aside.] I'll try him farther.-[Aloud.] But would not you, sir Harry, fight for this woman you so much admire? Sir Har. Fight !-Let me consider. I love her, that's true;-but, then, I love honest sir Harry Wildair better. The lady Lurewell is divinely charming-right-but, then, a thrust i'th' guts, or a Middlesex jury, is as ugly as the devil. Viz. Ay, sir Harry, 'twere a dangerous cast for a beau baronet to be tried by a parcel of greasy, grumbling, bartering boobies, who would hang you purely because you're a gentleman. Sir Har. Ay, but on t'other hand, I have money enough to bribe the rogues with: so, upon mature deliberation, I would fight for her.-But no more of her. Prithee, Vizard, can't you recommend a friend to a pretty mistress by-the-by, till I can find my own? You have store, I'm sure; you cunning poaching dogs make surer game than we that hunt open and fair. Prithee now, good Vizard! Viz. Let me consider a little.-[Aside.] Now love and revenge inspire my politics. [Pauses, whilst Sir HARRY WILDAIR walks about singing. Sir Har. Psha! thou'rt as long studying for a new mistress as a drawer is piercing a new pipe. Viz. I design a new pipe for you, and wholesome wine; you'll therefore bear a little expecta tion. Sir Har. Ha! sayest thou, dear Vizard. Sir Har. Now sixteen thousand blessings light on thee! Viz. Pretty and witty. Sir Har. Ay, ay, but her name, Vizard? Viz. Her name! yes, she has the softest, whitest hand that ever was made of flesh and blood, her lips so balmy sweet! Sir Har. Well, well, but where shall I find her, man? Viz. Find her!-but, then, her foot, sir Harry! -she dances to a miracle. Sir Har. Prithee, don't distract me. Viz. Well, then, you must know that this lady is the curiosity and ambition of the town; her name's Angelica. She that passes for her mother is a private bawd, and called the lady Darling; she goes for a baronet's lady, (no disparagement to your honour, sir Harry,) I assure you. Sir Har. Psha, hang my honour! But what street, what house? Viz. Not so fast, sir Harry; you must have my passport for your admittance, and you'll find my recommendation, in a line or two, will procure you very civil entertainment; I suppose twenty or thirty pieces handsomely placed will gain the point; I'll ensure her sound. Sir Har. Thou dearest friend to a man in necessity!-[To Footman.] Here, sirrah, order my coach about to St. James's; I'll walk across the Park. [Exit Footman. Enter CLINCHER Senior. Clinch. Sen. Here, sirrah, order my coach about to St. James's, I'll walk across the Park too.-Mr. Vizard, your most devoted.-Sir, [To Sir HARRY WILDAIR.] I admire the mode of your shoulderknot; methinks it hangs very emphatically, and carries an air of travel in it; your sword-knot too is most ornamentally modish, and bears a foreign mien. Gentlemen, my brother is just arrived in town, so that, being upon the wing to kiss his hands, I hope you'll pardon this abrupt departure of, gentlemen, your most devoted and most faithful, humble servant. [Exit. Sir Har. Prithee, dost know him? Viz. Know him! why, 'tis Clincher, who was apprentice to my uncle Smuggler, the merchant in the city. Sir Har. What makes him so gay? Viz. Why, he's in mourning for his father; the kind old man, in Hertfordshire t'other day, broke his neck a fox-hunting; the son, upon the news, has broke his indentures, whipped from behind the counter into the side-box, forswears merchandise,] gentility, where he may die by raking. He keeps his coach and liveries, brace of geldings, leash of mistresses, talks of nothing but wines, intrigues, plays, fashions, and going to the Jubilee. Sir Har. Ha ha! ha! how many pound of pulvil must the fellow use in sweetening himself from the smell of hops and tobacco? Faugh!— I'my conscience methought, like Olivia's lover, he stunk of Thames-street. But now for Angelica, that's her name.-We'll to the Princess's chocolate-house, where you shall write my passport. Allons ! [Exeunt. |