your friend reflects upon you when absent, because 'tis good manners; rallies you when present, because 'tis witty; cheats you at piquet, to show he has been in France; and lies with your wife, to show he's a man of quality. Lord Bel. Very well, sir. Sir Har. In short, my lord, you have a wrong notion of things. Should a man with a handsome wife revenge all affronts done to his honour, poor White, Chaves, Morris, Locket, Pawlet, and Pontack, were utterly ruined. Lord Bel. How, so, sir? Sir Har. Because, my lord, you must run all their customers quite through the body. Were it not for abusing your men of honour, taverns and chocolate-houses could not subsist; and were there but a round tax laid upon scandal, and false politics, we men of figure would find it much heavier than four shillings in the pound.-Come, come, my lord; no more on't, for shame; your honour is safe enough, for I have the key of its back-door in my pocket. [Runs off. Lord Bel. Sir, I shall meet you another time. [Exit. SCENE V.-The Fields. Enter Marquis with a Footman carrying his fighting equipage, pumps, caps, &c. He dresses himself accordingly, and flourishes about the stage. Marq. Sa! sa! sa! fient à la tête !-Sa-embaracade ;-quart sur redouble! Hey! Enter Sir HARRY WILDAIR, Sir Har. Ha! ha! ha! the devil! must I fight with a tumbler? These French are as great fops in their quarrels as in their amours. Marq. Allons! allons! Stripe, stripe. Sir Har. No, no, sir; I never strip to engage a man; I fight as I dance.-Come, sir, down with the money. Marq, Dere it is, pardie !-[Lays down the bag between them.] Allons! Enter DICKY, and gives Sir HARRY a gun. Morbleu que ça ? Sir Har. Now, Monsieur, if you offer to stir, I'll shoot you through the head.-Dicky, take up the money, and carry it home. Dick. [Aside.] Here it is, faith and if my master be killed, the money's my own. [Takes up the bag, and exit with Footman. Marq. Oh morbleu! de Anglisman be one coward. Sir Har. Ha ha ha! Where's your France politique now? Come, Monsieur ; you must know I scorn to fight any man for my own; but now we're upon the level; and since you have been at the trouble of putting on your habiliments, I must requite your pains. So come on, sir. [Lays down the gun, and uses his sword. Marq. Come on! for wat? wen de money is gone! de Franceman fight where dere is no profit! Pardonnez-moi, pardie! [Sits down to pull off his pumps. Sir Har. Hold, hold, sir; you must fight. Tell me how you came by this picture? Marq. [Starting up.] Wy den, begar, monsieur chevalier, since de money be gone, me will speak de vérité.-Pardie, monsieur, me did make de cuckle of you, and your vife send me de picture for my pain. Sir Har. Look ye, sir, if I thought you had merit enough to gain a lady's heart from me, I would shake hands immediately, and be friends: but as I believe you to be a vain scandalous liar, I'll cut your throat. [They fight. Enter Colonel STANDARD and Captain FIREBALL, who part them. Stand. Hold, hold, gentlemen !-Brother, secure the marquis.-Come, sir Harry, put up; I have something to say to you very serious. Sir Har. Say it quickly then; for I'm a little out of humour, and want something to make me laugh. [As they talk Marquis dresses, and Captain FIREBALL helps him. Stand. Will what's very serious make you laugh? Sir Har. Most of all. Stand. Psha! Pray, sir Harry, tell me what made you leave your wife? Sir Har. Ha! ha ha! I knew it.-Pray, colonel, what makes you stay with your wife? Stand. Nay, but pray answer me directly; I beg it as a favour. Sir Har. Why then, colonel, you must know we were a pair of the most happy, toying, foolish people in the world, till she got, I don't know how, a crotchet of jealousy in her head. This made her frumpish; but we had ne'er an angry word: she only fell a-crying over night, and I went for Italy next morning. But pray no more on't.-Are you hurt, monsieur? Stand. But, sir Harry, you'll be serious when I tell you that her ghost appears. Sir Har. Her ghost! ha! ha ha! That's pleasant, faith. Stand. As sure as fate, it walks in my house. Sir Har. In your house!—Come along, colonel! By the Lard I'll kiss it. [Exit with Colonel STANDARD. Marq. Monsieur le capitaine, adieu! Fire. Adieu! no, sir, you shall follow sir Harry. Marq. For wat? Fire. For what! why, d'ye think I'm such a rogue as to part a couple of gentlemen when they're fighting, and not see 'em make an end on't! I think it a less sin to part man and wife.-Come along, sir. [Exit, pulling Marquis. SCENE VI.-A Room in Colonel STANDARD'S House. Enter Sir HARRY WILDAIR and Colonel STANDARD. Sir Har. Well then; this, it seems, is the enchanted chamber. The ghost has pitched upon a handsome apartment however. Well, colonel, when do you intend to begin? Stand. What, sir? Sir Har. To laugh at me; I know you design it. Stand. Ha! by all that's powerful, there it is. Enter Ghost and walks across the stage. Sir Har. The devil it is!-Hem! Blood, I'll speak to't.-Vous, mademoiselle Ghost, parlezvous Français ?-No-Hark ye, Mrs. Ghost, will your ladyship be pleased to inform us who you are, that we may pay you the respect due to your quality? Ghost. I am the spirit of thy departed wife. Sir Har. Are you, faith! why then here's the body of thy living husband, and stand me if you dare.-[Runs to her and embraces her.] Ha! 'tis substance, I'm sure.-But hold, lady Ghost, stand off a little, and tell me in good earnest now, whether you are alive or dead? Angel. [Throwing off her shroud.] Alive! alive![Runs and throws her arms about his neck] and never lived so much as in this moment. Sir Har. What d'ye think of the ghost now, colonel?-[She hangs upon him.] Is it not a very loving ghost? Stand. Amazement ! Sir Har. Ay, 'tis amazement, truly.-Look ye, madam, I hate to converse so familiarly with spirits: pray keep your distance. Angel. I am alive, indeed I am. Sir Har. I don't believe a word on't. [Moving away. Stand. Sir Harry, you're more afraid now than before. Sir Har. Ay, most men are more afraid of a living wife than a dead one. however. Stand. 'Tis good manners to leave you together, [Exit. Angel. 'Tis unkind, my dear, after so long and tedious an absence, to act the stranger so. I now shall die in earnest, and must for ever vanish from your sight. [Weeping and going. Sir Har. Hold, hold, madam! Don't be angry, my dear; you took me unprovided: had you but sent me word of your coming, I had got three or four speeches out of Oroonoko and the Mourning Bride upon this occasion, that would have charmed your very heart. But we'll do as well as we can; I'll have the music from both houses; Pawlet and Locket shall contrive for our taste; we'll charm our ears with Abel's voice; feast our eyes with one another; and thus, with all our senses tuned to love, we'll hurl off our clothes, leap into bed, and there-look ye, madam, if I don't welcome you home with raptures more natural and more moving than all the plays in Christendom-I'll say no more. Angel. As mad as ever! Sir Har. But ease my wonder first, and let me know the riddle of your death. Angel. Your unkind departure hence, and your avoiding me abroad, made me resolve, since I could not live with you, to die to all the world besides ; I fancied that though it exceeded the force of love, yet the power of grief perhaps might change your humour, and therefore had it given out that I died in France; my sickness at Montpelier, which indeed was next to death, and the affront offered to the body of our ambassador's chaplain at Paris, conduced to have my burial private. This deceived my retinue; and by the assistance of my woman, and your faithful servant, I got into man's clothes, came home into England, and sent him to observe your motions abroad, with orders not to undeceive you till your return.-Here I met you in the quality of beau Banter, your busy brother, under which disguise I have disappointed your design upon my lady Lurewell; and in the form of a ghost, have revenged the scandal she this day threw upon me, and have frighted her sufficiently from lying alone. I did resolve to have frighted you likewise, but you were too hard for me. | Sir Har. How weak, how squeamish, and how fearful, are women when they want to be humoured! and how extravagant, how daring, and how provoking, when they get the impertinent maggot in their head !-But by what means, my dear, could you purchase this double disguise? How came you by my letter to my brother? Angel. By intercepting all your letters since I came home. But for my ghostly contrivance, good Mrs. Parly (moved by the justness of my cause, and a bribe) was my chief engineer. Enter Captain FIREBALL and Marquis. Fire. Sir Harry, if you have a mind to fight it out, there's your man; if not, I have discharged my trust. Sir Har. Oh, monsieur! won't you salute your mistress, sir? Marq. Oh, morbleu! Begar, me must run to some oder country now for my religion. Angel. Oh! what the French marquis! I know him. Sir Har. Ay, ay, my dear, you do know him, and I can't be angry, because 'tis the fashion for ladies to know everybody. But methinks, madam, that picture now !-hang it, considering 'twas my gift, you might have kept it.-But no matter; my neighbours shall pay for 't. Angel. Picture, my dear! could you think I e'er would part with that? No, of all my jewels, this alone I kept, 'cause 'twas given by you. [Shoes the picture. Sir Har. Eh! wonderful!—And what's this? [Pulling out the other picture. Ang. They are very much alike. Sir Har. So like, that one might fairly pass for t'other.-Monsieur marquis, écoute. You did lie vid my vife, and she did give you de picture for your pain. Eh! come, sir, add to your France politique a little of your native impudence, and tell us plainly how you came by't. Marq. Begar, monsieur chevalier, wen de Franceman can tell no more lie, den vill he tell trute.-I was acquaint wid de paintre dat draw your lady's picture, an' I give him ten pistole for de copy.-An so me have de picture of all de beauty in London; and by dis politique, me have de reputation to lie wid dem all. Sir Har. When perhaps your pleasure never reached above a pit-mask in your life. Marq. An' begar, for dat matre, de natre of women, a pit-mask is as good as de best. De pleasure is noting, de glory is all; à la mode de France. [Struts out. Sir Har. Go thy ways for a true pattern of the vanity, impertinence, subtlety, and ostentation of thy country.-Look ye, captain, give me thy hand ; once I was a friend to France; but henceforth I promise to sacrifice my fashions, coaches, wigs, and vanity, to horses, arms, and equipage, and serve my king in propria persona, to promote a vigorous war, if there be occasion. Fire. Bravely said, sir Harry! And if all the beaux in the side-boxes were of your mind, we would send 'em back their L'Abbé, and Balon, and show 'em a new dance to the tune of Harry the Fifth. Re-enter Colonel STANDARD with Lady LUREWELL, DICKY, and PARLY. Sir Har. O colonel! such discoveries! Stand. Sir, I have heard all from your servant; honest Dicky has told me the whole story. Sir Har. Why then, let Dicky run for the fiddles immediately. Dick. Oh, sir; I knew what it would come to ; they're here already, sir. [Goes to the door and brings in Musicians. Sir Har. Then, colonel, we'll have a new wedding, and begin it with a dance.-Strike up. [A Dance. Stand. Now, sir Harry, we have retrieved our wives; yours from death, and mine from the devil; and they are at present very honest. But how shall we keep 'em so? Angel. By being good husbands, sir; and the great secret for keeping matters right in wedlock, is never to quarrel with your wives for trifles. For we are but babies at best, and must have our playthings, our longings, our vapours, our frights, our monkeys, our china, our fashions, our washes, our patches, our waters, our tattle and impertinence; therefore, I say, 'tis better to let a woman play the fool, than provoke her to play the devil. Lady Lure. And another rule, gentlemen, let me advise you to observe, never to be jealous; or if you should, be sure never to let your wife think you suspect her; for we are more restrained by the scandal of the lewdness, than by the wickedness of the fact; when once a woman has borne the shame of a whore, she'll despatch you the sin in a moment. Sir Har. We're obliged to you, ladies, for your advice; and in return, give me leave to give you the definition of a good wife, in the character of my own. The wit of her conversation never outstrips the conduct of her behaviour: she's affable to all men, free with no man, and only kind to me: often cheerful, sometimes gay, and always pleased, but when I am angry; then sorry, not sullen. The Park, playhouse, and cards, she frequents in compliance with custom; but her diversions of inclination are at home: she's more cautious of a remarkable woman than of a noted wit, well knowing than the infection of her own sex is more catching than the temptation of ours. To all this, she is beautiful to a wonder, scorns all devices that engage a gallant, and uses all arts to please her husband. So spite of satire 'gainst a married life, [Exeunt omnes. VENTRE bleu ! vere is dis dam poet? vere? own? Vat have you of grand plaisir in dis towne, Cost him five pistole, dat is sheap enough, Her gown, her complexion, doux-yeux, her lovere; De short muff, wit her vite elbow bare; Tre tousand réfugiés (Parbleu c'est vrai) Sall all come here, and damn him upon his tird day. SIR, Dedications are the only fashions in the world that are more disliked for being universal; and the reason is, that they very seldom fit the persons they were made for; but I hope to avoid the common obloquy in this address, by laying aside the poet in everything but the dramatic decorum of suiting my character to the person. From the part of Mirabel in this play, and another character in one of my former, people are willing to compliment my performance in drawing a gay, splendid, generous, easy, fine young gentleman. My genius, I must confess, has a bent to that kind of description; and my veneration for you, Sir, may pass for unquestionable, since in all these happy accomplishments, you come so near to my darling character, abating his inconstancy. What an unspeakable blessing is youth and fortune, when a happy understanding comes in, to moderate the desires of the first, and to refine upon the advantages of the latter; when a gentleman is master of all pleasures, but a slave to none; who has travelled, not for the curiosity of the sight, but for the improvement of the mind's eye; and who returns full of everything but himself!--An author might say a great deal more, but a friend, Sir, nay an enemy, must allow you this. I shall here, Sir, meet with two obstacles, your modesty and your sense; the first as a censor upon the subject, the second as a critic upon the style. But I am obstinate in my purpose, and will maintain what I say to the last drop of my pen; which I may the more boldly undertake, having all the world on my side; nay, I have your very self against you; for by declining to hear your own merit, your friends are authorised the more to proclaim it. Your generosity and easiness of temper is not only obvious in your common affairs and conversation, but more plainly evident in your darling amusement, that opener and dilater of the mind, music;-from your affection for this delightful study, we may deduce the pleasing harmony that is apparent in all your actions: and be assured, Sir, that a person must be possessed of a very divine soul, who is so much in love with the entertainment of angels. From your encouragement of music, if there be any poetry here, it has a claim, by the right of kindred, to your favour and affection. You were pleased to honour the representation of this play with your appearance at several times, which flattered my hopes that there might be something in it which your good-nature might excuse. With the honour I here intend for myself, I likewise consult the interest of my nation, by showing a person that is so much a reputation and credit to my country. Besides all this, I was willing to make a handsome compliment to the place of my pupilage; by informing the world that so fine a gentleman had the seeds of his education in the same university, and at the same time with, Sir, your most faithful, and most humble servant, G. FARQUHAR. PREFACE. To give you the history of this play would but cause the reader and the writer a trouble to no purpose; I shall only say that I took the hint from Fletcher's" Wild-Goose Chase;" and to those who say, that I have spoiled the original, I wish no other injury, but that they would say it again. As to the success of it, I think 'tis but a kind of Cremona business, I have neither lost nor won. I pushed fairly, but the French were prepossessed, and the charms of Gallic heels were too hard for an English brain; but I am proud to own, that I have laid my head at the ladies' feet. The favour was unavoidable, for we are a nation so very fond of improving our understanding, that the instructions of a play does no good, when it comes in competition with the moral of minuet. Pliny tells us in his "Natural History," of elephants that were taught to dance on the ropes; if this could be made practicable now, what a number of subscriptions might be had to bring the Great Mogul out of Fleet-street, and make him dance between the acts! I remember, that about two years ago, I had a gentleman from France that brought the playhouse some fifty audiences in five months; then why should I be surprised to find a Freneh lady do as much? 'Tis the prettiest way in THE INCONSTANT; OR, the world of despising the French king, to let him see that we can afford money to bribe away his dancers, when he, poor man, has exhausted all his stock, in buying of some pitiful towns and principalities: cum multis aliis. What can be a greater compliment to our generous nation, than to have the lady, upon her retour to Paris, boast of their splendid entertainment in England, of the complaisance, liberality, and good-nature of a people, that thronged her house so full that she had not room to stick a pin; and left a poor fellow, that had the misfortune of being one of themselves, without one farthing, for half a year's pains that he had taken for their entertainment! There were some gentlemen in the pit the first night, that took the hint from the prologue to damn the play; but they made such a noise in the execution, that the people took the outcry for a reprieve; so that the darling mischief was overlaid by their over-fondness of the changeling. 'Tis somewhat hard, that gentlemen should debase themselves into a faction of a dozen, to stab a single person, who never had the resolution to face two men at a time; if he has had the misfortune of any misunderstanding with a particular person, he has had a particular person to answer it. these sparks would be remarkable in their resentment; and if anybody falls under their displeasure, they scorn to call him to a particular account, but will very honourably burn his house, or pick his pocket. But The New-house has perfectly made me a convert by their civility on my sixth night; for, to be friends, and revenged at the same time, I must give them a play, that is,-when I write another. For faction runs so high, that I could wish the senate would suppress the houses, or put in force the act against bribing elections; that house which has the most favours to bestow, will certainly carry it, spite of all poetical justice that would support t'other. I have heard some people so extravagantly angry at this play, that one would think they had no reason to be displeased at all; whilst some (otherwise men of good sense) have commended it so much, that I was afraid they ridiculed me; so that between both, I am absolutely at a loss what to think on't; for though the cause has come on six days successively, yet the trial, I fancy, is not determined. When our devotion to Lent, and our lady, is over, the business will be brought on again, and then shall we have fair play for our money. There is a gentleman of the first understanding, and a very good critic, who said of Mr. Wilks, that in this part he out-acted himself, and all men that he ever saw. I would not rob Mr. Wilks, by a worse expression of mine, of a compliment that he so much deserves. I had almost forgot to tell you, that the turn of plot in the last act, is an adventure of Chevalier de Chastillon in Paris, and matter of fact; but the thing is so universally known, that I think this advice might have been spared, as well as all the rest of the preface, for any good it will do either to me or the play. WRITTEN BY MR. MOTTEUX. LIKE hungry guests, a sitting audience looks: Your rakes love hauts-goûts, like your damn'd Your rarity for the fair guest to gape on, |