LADIES, this Play in too much haste was writ, To be o'ercharged with either plot or wit; 'Twas got, conceived, and born in six weeks' space,

And wit, you know, 's as slow in growth as

grace.

Sure it can ne'er be ripen'd to your taste;

I doubt 'twill prove, our author bred too fast :
For mark 'em well, who with the Muses marry,
They rarely do conceive, but they miscarry.
'Tis the hard fate of those who are big with rhyme,
Still to be brought to bed before their time.
Of our late poets Nature few has made;
The greatest part are-only so by trade.
Still want of something brings the scribbling fit;
For want of money some of 'em have writ,
And others do't, you see, for-want of wit.
Honour, they fancy, summons 'em to write,

CROSS.

So out they lug in wresty Nature's spite,
As some of you spruce beaux do-when you fight.
Yet let the ebb of wit be ne'er so low,
Some glimpse of it a man may hope to show,
Upon a theme so ample as-a beau.
So, howsoe'er true courage may decay,
Perhaps there's not one smock-face here to-day,
But's bold as Cæsar-to attack a play.
Nay, what's yet more, with an undaunted face,
To do the thing with more heroic grace.
'Tis six to four ye attack the strongest place.
You are such Hotspurs in this kind of venture,
Where there's no breach, just there you needs must

enter:

But be advised

E'en give the hero and the critic o'er,

For Nature sent you on another score ;

She form'd her beau, for nothing but her whore.

APOLOGIES for Plays, experience shows,
Are things almost as useless as-the beaux.
Whate'er we say (like them) we neither move
Your friendship, pity, anger, nor your love.
'Tis interest turns the globe; let us but find
The way to please you, and you'll soon be kind.
But to expect, you'd for our sakes approve,
Is just as though you for their sakes should love;
And that, we do confess, we think a task
Which (though they may impose) we never ought
to ask.

This is an age, where all things we improve
But, most of all, the art of making love.
In former days, women were only won
By merit, truth, and constant service done;
But lovers now are much more expert grown;
They seldom wait, to approach by tedious form;
They're for despatch, for taking you by storm.
Quick are their sieges, furious are their fires,
Fierce their attacks, and boundless their desires.
Before the Play's half ended, I'll engage
To show you beaux come crowding on the stage,
Who with so little pains have always sped,
They'll undertake to look a lady dead.

How have I shook, and trembling stood with

awe,

When here, behind the scenes, I've seen 'em draw

-A comb; that dead-doing weapon to the heart,
And turn each powder'd hair into a dart!
When I have seen 'em sally on the stage,
Dress'd to the war, and ready to engage,
I've mourn'd your destiny-yet more their fate,
To think, that after victories so great,
It should so often prove their hard mishap
To sneak into a lane, and get—a clap.
But, hush they're here already; I'll retire,
And leave 'em to the ladies to admire.
They'll show you twenty thousand arts and graces,
They'll entertain you with their soft grimaces,
Their snuff box, awkward bows, and-ugly faces.
In short, they're after all so much your friends,
That lest the Play should fail, the author ends ;
They have resolved to make you some amends.
Between each act (perform'd by nicest rules)
They'll treat you with-an Interlude of fools:
Of which that you may have the deeper sense,
The entertainment's-at their own expense.

SCENE I.-A Room in LoVELESS's CountryHouse.

Enter LOVELESS, reading.

Love. How true is that philosophy, which says Our heaven is seated in our minds ! Through all the roving pleasures of my youth, (Where nights and days seem all consumed in joy, Where the false face of luxury Display'd such charms,

As might have shaken the most holy hermit,
And made him totter at his altar,)

I never knew one moment's peace like this.
Here, in this little soft retreat,

My thoughts unbent from all the cares of life,
Content with fortune,

Eased from the grating duties of dependence,
From envy free, ambition under foot,
The raging flame of wild destructive lust
Reduced to a warm pleasing fire of lawful love,
My life glides on, and all is well within.

You find me musing on my happy state,
And full of grateful thoughts to Heaven, and you.
Aman. Those grateful offerings Heaven can't
receive

With more delight than I do :

Would I could share with it as well
The dispensations of its bliss!

That I might search its choicest favours out,
And shower 'em on your head for ever.

Love. The largest boons that Heaven thinks fit to grant,

To things it has decreed shall crawl on earth,
Are in the gift of woman form'd like you.
Perhaps when time shall be no more,
When the aspiring soul shall take its flight,
And drop this ponderous lump of clay behind it,
It may have appetites we know not of,
And pleasures as refined as its desires-
But till that day of knowledge shall instruct me,
The utmost blessing that my thought can reach,
[Taking her in his arms.
Is folded in my arms, and rooted in my heart,
Aman. There let it grow for ever!
Lore. Well said, Amanda-let it be for ever—
Would Heaven grant that—

Aman.
'Twere all the heaven I'd ask.
But we are clad in black mortality,
And the dark curtain of eternal night
At last must drop between us.
Love.

It must.

That mournful separation we must see,

A bitter pill it is to all; but doubles its ungrateful

taste,

When lovers are to swallow it.

Aman. Perhaps that pain may only be my lot,
You possibly may be exempted from it.
Men find out softer ways to quench their fires.
Love. Can you then doubt my constancy,
Amanda ?

You'll find 'tis built upon a steady basis-
The rock of reason now supports my love,
On which it stands so fix'd,

The rudest hurricane of wild desire

Would, like the breath of a soft slumbering babe, Pass by, and never shake it.

Aman. Yet still 'tis safer to avoid the storm; The strongest vessels, if they put to sea, May possibly be lost.

Would I could keep you here in this calm port for

ever!

Forgive the weakness of a woman,

I am uneasy at your going to stay so long in town; I know its false insinuating pleasures;

I know the force of its delusions;

I know the strength of its attacks;

I know the weak defence of nature;

I know you are a man-and I-a wife.

Love. You know then all that needs to give you rest,

For wife's the strongest claim that you can urge.
When you would plead your title to my heart,
On this you may depend. Therefore be calm,
Banish your fears, for they

Are traitors to your peace: beware of them,
They are insinuating busy things

That gossip to and fro,

And do a world of mischief where they come. But you shall soon be mistress of 'em all; I'll aid you with such arms for their destruction, They never shall erect their heads again. You know the business is indispensable, that obliges me to go for London; and you have no reason, that I know of, to believe that I'm glad of the occasion. For my honest conscience is my witness, I have found a due succession of such charms In my retirement here with you,

I have never thrown one roving thought that way.
But since, against my will, I'm dragg'd once more
To that uneasy theatre of noise,

I am resolved to make such use on't,
As shall convince you 'tis an old cast mistress,
Who has been so lavish of her favours,
She's now grown bankrupt of her charms,
And has not one allurement left to move me.

Aman. Her bow, I do believe, is grown so weak
Her arrows (at this distance) cannot hurt you;
But in approaching 'em, you give 'em strength.
The dart that has not far to fly, will put
The best of armour to a dangerous trial.

Love. That trial past, and you're at ease for ever; When you have seen the helmet proved, You'll apprehend no more for him that wears it. Therefore, to put a lasting period to your fears, Iam resolved, this once, to launch into temptation: I'll give you an essay of all my virtues, My former boon companions of the bottle Shall fairly try what charms are left in wine: I'll take my place amongst them,

They shall hem me in,

courage.

Love. Fy, fy, Amanda! it is not kind thus to distrust me.

Aman. And yet my fears are founded on my love.

Love. Your love then is not founded as it ought; For if you can believe 'tis possible

I should again relapse to my past follies,

I must appear to you a thing

Of such an undigested composition,
That but to think of me with inclination,
Would be a weakness in your taste
Your virtue scarce could answer.

Aman. 'Twould be a weakness in my tongue; My prudence could not answer,

If I should press you farther with my fears;
I'l therefore trouble you no longer with 'em.

Love. Nor shall they trouble you much longer, A little time shall show you they were groundless: This winter shall be the fiery trial of my virtue ;

Enter TOM FASHION, LORY, and TUG.

Fash. Come, pay the waterman, and take the portmantle.

Lory. Faith, sir, I think the waterman had as good take the portmantle, and pay himself.

Fash. Why, sure there's something left in't! Lory. But a solitary old waistcoat, upon my honour, sir.

Fash. Why, what's become of the blue coat, sirrah?

Lory. Sir, 'twas eaten at Gravesend; the reckoning came to thirty shillings, and your privy purse was worth but two half-crowns.

Fash. 'Tis very well.

Tug. Pray, master, will you please to despatch 'me?

Fash. Ay, here a-canst thou change me a guinea?

Lory. [Aside. ] Good!

Tug. Change a guinea, master! Ha! ha! honour's pleased to compliment.

r

Fash. Egad, I don't know how I shall pay thee then, for I have nothing but gold about me. Lory. [Aside.] Hum, hum!

Fash. What dost thou expect, friend?

Tug. Why, master, so far against wind and tide is richly worth half a piece.

Fash. Why, faith, I think thou art a good conscionable fellow. Egad, I begin to have so good an opinion of thy honesty, I care not if I leave my portmantle with thee, till I send thee thy money.

Tug. Ha! God bless your honour; I should be as willing to trust you, master, but that you are, as a man may say, a stranger to me, and these are nimble times; there are a great many sharpers stirring. [Taking up the portmantle.] Well, master, when your worship sends the money, your portmantle shall be forthcoming; my name's Tug, my wife keeps a brandy-shop in Drab-Alley, at Wapping. Fash. Very well; I'll send for't to-morrow.

[Exit Tvo. Lory. So.-Now, sir, I hope you'll own yourself a happy man, you have outlived all your cares. Fash. How so, sir?

Lory. Why you have nothing left to take care of. Fash. Yes, sirrah, I have myself and you to take care of still.

Lory. Sir, if you could but prevail with somebody else to do that for you, I fancy we might both fare the better for't.

Fash. Why, if thou canst tell me where to apply myself, I have at present so little money, and so much humility about me, I don't know but I may follow a fool's advice.

Lory. Why then, sir, your fool advises you to lay aside all animosity, and apply to sir Novelty, your elder brother.

Fash. Damn my elder brother!

Lory. With all my heart; but get him to redeem vour annuity however.

Fash. My annuity! 'Sdeath, he's such a dog, he would not give his powder-puff to redeem my soul.

Lory. Look you, sir, you must wheedle him, or you must starve.

Fash. Look you, sir, I will neither wheedle him,

nor starve.

Lory. Why, what will you do then?

Fash. I'll go into the army.

Lory. You can't take the oaths; you are a Jacobite.

Fash. Thou mayst as well say I can't take orders because I'm an atheist.

Lory. Sir, I ask your pardon; I find I did not know the strength of your conscience so well as I did the weakness of your purse.

Fash. Methinks, sir, a person of your experience should have known that the strength of the conscience proceeds from the weakness of the purse.

Lory. Sir, I am very glad to find you have a conscience able to take care of us, let it proceed from what it will; but I desire you'll please to consider, that the army alone will be but a scanty maintenance for a person of your generosity (at least as rents now are paid). I shall see you stand in damnable need of some auxiliary guineas for your menus plaisirs; I will therefore turn fool once more for your service, and advise you to go directly to your brother.

Fash. Art thou then so impregnable a block. head, to believe he'll help me with a farthing? Lory. Not if you treat him de haut en bas, as you use to do.

Fash. Why, how wouldst have me treat him? Lory. Like a trout-tickle him.

[Going.

Lory. I can't.-Good-by t'ye, sirFash. Stay; thou wilt distract me! What wouldst thou have me say to him?

Lory. Say nothing to him, apply yourself to his favourites, speak to his periwig, his cravat, his feather, his snuff box, and when you are well with them, desire him to lend you a thousand pounds. I'll engage you prosper.

Fash. 'Sdeath and furies! why was that coxcomb thrust into the world before me? O Fortune! Fortune!-thou art a bitch by Gad! [Exeunt.

Lord Fop. Sir!-Pray, sir, do me the favour to teach your tongue the title the king has thought fit to honour me with.

Page. I ask your lordship's pardon, my lord. Lord Fop. O, you can pronounce the word then? I thought it would have choked you.-D'ye hear ? Page. My lord!

Lord Fop. Call La Verole; I'would dress.[Exit Page.]-Well, 'tis an unspeakable pleasure to be a man of quality, strike me dumb !—My lord,

-your lordship! My lord Foppington!-Ah! c'est quelque chose de beau, que le diable m'emporte !— Why the ladies were ready to puke at me whilst I had nothing but sir Navelty to recommend me to 'em. Sure, whilst I was but a knight, I was a very nauseous fellow.-Well, 'tis ten thousand pawnd well given, stap my vitals!

Enter LA Verole.

La Ver Me lord, de shoemaker, de tailor, de hosier, de semstress, de barber, be all ready, if your lordship please to dress.

Lord Fop. 'Tis well, admit 'em.
La Ver. Hey, messieurs, entrez.

Enter Tailor, Shoemaker, MENDLEGS, FORETOP, and
Mrs. CALICO.

Lord Fop. So, gentlemen, I hope you have all taken pains to show yourselves masters in your professions.

Tailor. I think I may presume to say, sir-
La Ver. My lord-you clawn, you!

Tailor. Why, is he made a lord?-My lord, I ask your lordship's pardon, my lord; I hope, my lord, your lordship will please to own I have brought your lordship as accomplished a suit of clothes as ever peer of England trod the stage in, my lord. Will your lordship please to try 'em now?

Lord Fop. Ay; but let my people dispose the glasses so that I may see myself before and behind, for I love to see myself all raund.

Whilst he puts on his clothes, TOM FASHION and LORY enter and converse apart.

Fash Heyday, what the devil have we here? Sure my gentleman's grown a favourite at court, he has got so many people at his levee.

Lory. Sir, these people come in order to make him a favourite at court; they are to establish him with the ladies.

Fash. Good God! to what an ebb of taste are women fallen, that it should be in the power of a laced coat to recommend a gallant to 'em!

Lory. Sir, tailors and periwig-makers are now become the bawds of the nation; 'tis they debauch all the women.

Fash. Thou sayest true; for there's that fop now has not by nature wherewithal to move a cook-maid, and by that time these fellows have done with him, egad he shall melt down a countess! But now for my reception; I'll engage it shall be as cold a one as a courtier's to his friend, who comes to put him in mind of his promise.

Lord Fop. [To his Tailor.] Death and eternal tartures!-Sir, I say the packet's too high by a foot. Tailor. My lord, if it had been an inch lower, it would not have held your lordship's pocket-handkerchief.

Lord Fop. Rat my pocket-handkerchief! have not I a page to carry it? You may make him a packet up to his chin a purpose for it; but I will not have mine come so near my face.

Tailor. 'Tis not for me to dispute your lordship's fancy.

Fash. [To LORY.] His lordship! Lory, did you observe that?

Lory. Yes, sir; I always thought 'twould end there. Now, I hope, you'll have a little more respect for him.

Fash. Respect!-Dama him for a coxcomb!

now has he ruined his estate to buy a title, that he may be a fool of the first rate ;-but let's accost him. [To Lord FOPPINGTON.] Brother. I'm vour humble servant.

Lord Fop. O Lard, Tam! I did not expect you in England.-Brother, I am glad to see you.[Turning to his Tailor] Look you, sir; I shall never be reconciled to this nauseous packet; therefore pray get me another suit, with all manner of expedition, for this is my eternal aversion. Mrs. Calico, are not you of my mind?

Mrs. Cal. O, directly, my lord! it can never be too low.

Lord Fop. You are passitively in the right on't, for the packet becomes no part of the body but the knee. [Exit Tailor. Mrs. Cal. I hope your lordship is pleased with your steenkirk.

Lord Fop. In love with it, stap my vitals!-Bring your bill, you shall be paid to-marrow.

Mrs. Cal. I humbly thank your honour. [Exit. Lord Fop. Hark thee, shoemaker! these shoes an't ugly, but they don't fit me.

Shoemaker. My lord, my thinks they fit you very

well.

Lord Fop. They hurt me just below the instep. Shoe. [Feeling his foot.] My lord, they don't hurt you there.

Lord Fop. I tell thee, they pinch me execrably. e. My lord, if they pinch you, I'll be bound to hanged, that's all.

Lord Fop. Why, wilt thou undertake to persuade me I cannot feel?

Shoe. Your lordship may please to feel what you think fit; but that shoe does not hurt you-I think I understand my trade.

Lord Fop. Now by all that's great and powerful, thou art an incomprehensible coxcomb! but thou makest good shoes, and so I'll bear with thee.

Shoe. My lord, I have worked for half the people of quality in town these twenty years; and 'twere very hard I should not know when a shoe hurts. and when it don't.

Lord Fop. Well, prithee be gone about thy business.-[Exit Shoemaker.] Mr. Mendlegs, a word with you: the calves of these stockings are thickened a little too much. They make my legs look like a chairman's

Mend. My lord, my thinks they look mighty well. Lord Fop. Ay, but you are not so good a judge of those things as I am, I have studied 'em all my life; therefore pray let the next be the thickness of a crawn-piece less.-[Aside.] If the town takes notice my legs are fallen away, 'twill be attributed to the violence of some new intrigue.-[Exit MENDLEGS.] Come, Mr. Foretop, let me see what you have done, and then the fatigue of the morning will be over.

Fore. My lord, I have done what I defy any prince in Europe to outdo; I have made you a periwig so long, and so full of hair, it will serve you for a hat and cloak in all weathers.

Lord Fop. Then thou hast made me thy friend to eternity. Come, comb it out.

Fash. [Aside to LORY.] Well, Lory, what dost think on't? A very friendly reception from a brother after three years' absence!

Iory. Why, sir, 'tis your own fault; we seldom care for those that don't love what we love: if you would creep into his heart, you must enter

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