The British Drama: A Collection of the Most Esteemed Tragedies, Comedies ...

O speak-for now my passions wait thy voice: My beating heart grows calm, my blood stands still,

Scarcely I live, or only live to hear thee.

Eudo. If yet but can it be !-I fear-Oh Phocyas,

Let me be silent still!

Pho. Hear then this last,

This only prayer-Heaven will consent to this.
Let me but follow thee, where'er thou goest,
But see thee, hear thy voice; be thou my angel,
To guide and govern my returning steps,
Till long contrition and unwearied duty,
Shall expiate my guilt. Then say, Eudocia,
If like a soul anneal'd in purging fires,
After whole years thou see'st me white again,
When thou, even thou shalt think-

Eudo No more This shakes
My firmest thoughts, and if-

[A cry is heard of persons slaughtered in

the camp.

-What shrieks of death!

I fear a treacherous foe-have now
Begun a fatal harvest !—Haste,
Prevent-O wouldst thou see me more with com-

fort,

Fly, save them, save the threaten'd lives of Christians,

My father and his friends!-I dare not stayHeaven be my guide to shun this gathering ruin!

Enter CALED.

[Exit.

-O Mussulmans, look here! Be

Where, like a broken spear, your arm of war
Is thrown to earth!

Eum. Ha! Caled?

Abu. Dumb and breathless.

Then thus has Heaven chastised us in thy fall,
And thee for violated faith. Farewell,
Thou great, but cruel man!
Eum. This thirst of blood

Caled. [Entering.] So-Slaughter, do thy In his own blood is quench'd.

work!

These hands look well.

[Looking on his hands. The jovial hunter, ere he quits the field, First signs him in the stag's warm vital stream With stains like these, to show 'twas gallant sport.

Phocyas! Thou'rt met-But whether thou art
here
[Comes forward.
A friend or foe I know not; if a friend,
Which is Eumenes' tent?

Pho. Hold-pass no further.
Caled. Say'st thou, not pass?
Pho. No on thy life no further.

Caled. What, dost thou frown too!-sure thou
know'st me not!

Pho. Not know thee !--- Yes, too well, I know thee now.

O murderous fiend! Why all this waste of blood? Didst thou not promise

Caled. Promise!- -Insolence!

'Tis well, 'tis well-for now I know thee too. Perfidious mungrel slave! Thou double traitor! False to thy first and to thy latter vows! Villain!

Pho. That's well-go on-I swear I thank thee.

Speak it again, and strike it through my ear!
A villain! Yes, thou mad'st me so, thou devil!
And mind'st me now what to demand from thee.
Give, give me back my former self, my honour,
My country's fair esteem, my friends, my all-
Thon canst not-0 thou robber!-Give me

then

Revenge, or death! The last I well deserve, That vielded up my soul's best wealth to thee. For which accursed be thou and cursed thy prophet!

Abu. Bear bence his clay

Back to Damascus. Cast a mantle first
O'er this sad sight: so should we hide his faults-
Now hear, ye servants of the prophet, hear!
A greater death than this demands your tears,
For know, your lord the caliph is no more!
Good Abubeker has breathed out his spirit
To him that gave it. Yet your Caliph lives,
Lives now in Omar. See, behold his signet,
Appointing me, such is his will, to lead
His faithful armies warring here in Syria.
Alas!-foreknowledge sure of this event
Guided his choice!-Obey me then your chief.
For you, O christians! know, with speed I came,
On the first notice of this foul design,
Or to prevent it, or repair your wrongs.
Your goods shall be untouch'd, your persons safe,
Nor shall our troops, henceforth, on pain of death
Molest your march. If more you ask, tis
granted.

Eum. Still just and brave! thy virtues would

adorn

A purer faith! Thou, better than thy sect,
That dar'st decline from that to acts of mercy
Pardon, Abudah, if thy honest heart
Makes us even wish thee ours.

Abu. [Aside.] O, Power Supreme! That mad'st my heart, and know'st its inmest frame!

If yet I err, oh lead me into truth,
Or pardon unknown error !-Now, Eumenes,
Friends as we may be, let us part in peace.
[Exeunt severally

Enter ARTAMON and EUDOCIA,

Eudo. Alas! but is my father safe? Arta. Heaven knows.

To search you out: and let you know this news. I've more; but that—

Arta. Is bad, perhaps, so says

No flattery now. By all my hopes hereafter, For the world's empire I'd not loose this death! Alas! I but keep in my fleeting breath

A few short moments, till I have conjured you

This sudden pause. Well, be it so; let's know That to the world you witness my remorse

it.

Forgetting all thy wrongs, in kind embraces
T'exchange forgiveness thus !

Pho. Moments are few,

And must not now be wasted. Oh, Eumenes,
Lend me thy helping hand a little farther;
O where, where is she?

[They advance. Eum. Look, look here, Eudocia ! Behold a sight that calls for all our tears! Eudo. Phocyas, and wounded!-Oh what cruel hand

Pho. No, 'twas a kind one-Spare thy tears, Eudocia !

For mine are tears of joy.

Eudo. Is't possible?
Pho. 'Tis done-

-the powers supreme have heard my prayer, And prosper'd me with some fair deed this day. I've fought once more, and for my friends, my

country.

By me the treacherous chiefs are slain; a while
I stopp'd the foe; 'till, warn'd by me before
Of this their sudden march, Abudah came;
But first this random shaft had reach'd my breast.
Life's mingled scene is o'er--'tis thus that Hea-

ven

For my past errors, and defend my fame;

For know-Soon as this pointed steel's drawn

out

Life follows through the wound.

Eudo. What dost thou say?

Oh touch not yet the broken springs of life!
A thousand tender thoughts rise in my soul,
How shall I give them words? Oh, 'till this

hour

I scarce have tasted wo!--this is indeed
To part—but, oh !—

Pho. No more— -death is now painful!
But say, my friends, whilst I have breath to ask,
(For still methinks all your concerns are mine)
Whither have you design'd to bend your journey?

Eum. Constantinople is my last retreat,
If Heaven indulge my wish; there I've resolved
To wear out the dark winter of my life,
An old man's stock of days-I hope not many.
Eudo. There will I dedicate myself to Heaven.
Oh, Phocyas, for thy sake, no rival else
Shall e'er possess my heart. My father too
Consents to this my vow. My vital flame
There, like a taper on the holy altar,

Shall waste away; 'till Heaven relenting hears
Incessant prayers for thee and for myself,
And wing my soul to meet with thine in bliss.
For in that thought I find a sudden hope,
As if inspired, springs in my breast, and tells me
That thy repenting frailty is forgiven,
And we shall meet again to part no more.
Pho. [Plucking out the arrow.] Then all is
done-'twas the last pang-at length-
I've given up thee, and the world now is-
thing.

-no

Eum. Alas! he falls. Help, Artamon, support him.

Look how he bleeds! Let's lay him gently down.
Night gathers fast upon him-so-look up,
Or speak, if thou hast life-Nay then-my

daughter!

She faints-Help there, and bear her to her tent.
[EUDOCIA faints away.
Art. [Weeping aside.] I thank ye, eyes!
This is but decent tribute.

My heart was full before.
Eum. O Phocyas, Phocyas!

Alas! he hears not now, nor sees my sorrows!
Yet will I mourn for thee thou gallant youth!
As for a son-so let me call thee now.
A much-wrong'd friend, and an unhappy hero,
A fruitless zeal, yet all I now can show;
Tears vainly flow for errors learnt too late,
When timely caution should prevent our fate.
[Exeunt omnes.

EPILOGUE.

WELL, Sirs; you've seen, his passion to approve,
A desperate lover give up all for love,
All but his faith,-Methinks now I can 'spy,
Among you airy sparks, some who would cry,
Phoo, pox,-for that what need of such a pother?
For one faith left, he would have got another.-
True: 'twas your very case. Just what you say,
Our rebel fools were ripe for, t'other day;
Though disappointed now, they're wiser grown,
And with much grief-are forced to keep their

own.

These generous madmen gratis sought their ruin, And set nc price, not they-on their undoing.

For gain, indeed, we've others would not dally,
Or with stale principles, stand shilly shalli-
You'll find all their religion in 'Change-Alley,
There all pursue, or better means or worse,
Iago's rule" Put money in your purse,"
For though you differ still in speculation,
For why-each head is wiser than the nation
The points of faith for ever will divide you
And bravely you declare-none e'er shall ri

you.

In practice all agree, and every man
Devoutly strives to get what wealth he can:
All parties at this golden altar bow,
Gain, powerful gain's the new religion now.

But leave we this-Since in the circle smile
So many shining beauties of our isle,
Who to more generous ends direct their aim,
And show us virtue in its fairest frame;
To these, with pride, the author bids me say,
'Twas chiefly for your sex he wrote this play;
And if in one bright character you find
Superior honour, and a noble mind,
Know from the life Eudocia's charms he drew,
And hopes the piece shall live, that copies you
Sure of success, he cannot miss his end,
If every British heroine prove his friend.

THE PROVOKED WIFE:

A COMEDY,

IN FIVE ACTS.

BY SIR JOHN VANBRUG H.

REMARKS.

THIS play has abundance of whimsical situation, although the characters are not very powerfully discriminated. Sir John was sensible of the grossness of making cuckoldom familiar, and thus left the point doubtful to the ob ject, at the close of the play.

Through the whole Drama, the dialogue is excessively smart, and frequently witty. The manners are so far valuable to us, as they exhibit what was thought a Rake in the time of Vanbrugh. To say the truth, however, the character has suffered little change; the whole consists in abusing an unfortunate class of females, and assaulting the nightly guardians of the Peace.

It was as a full atonement for the licentiousness of the Provoked Wife, that he conceived and began the Provoked Husband.

PROLOGUE.

SINCE 'tis the intent and business of the stage,
To copy out the follies of the age;
To hold to every man a faithful glass,
And show him of what species he's an ass:
I hope the next that teaches in the school,
Will show our author he's a scribbling fool.
And that the satire may be sure to bite,
Kind Heaven! inspire some venom'd priest to
And grant some ugly lady may indite. [write,
For I would have him lash'd, By Heaven! I would,
Till his presumption swam away in blood.
Three plays at once proclaim a face of brass,
No matter what they are; that's not the case,
To write three plays, e'en that 's to be an ass.
But what I least forgive, he knows it too,
For to his cost he lately has known you.
63*

Experience shows, to many a writer's smart,
You hold a court, where mercy ne'er had
part;

So much of the old serpent's sting you have,
You love to damn, as Heaven delights to save.
In foreign parts, let a bold volunteer,
For public good, upon the stage appear,
He meets ten thousand smiles to dissipate his
fear.

All tickle on th' adventuring young beginner,
And only scourge th' incorrigible sinner;
They touch indeed his faults, but with a hand
So gentle, that his merits still may stand :
Kindly they buoy the follies of his pen,
That he may shun 'em when he writes again
But 'tis not so in this good natured town:
All's one, an ox, a poet, or a crown:
Old England's play was always knocked down.

749

ACT I.
SCENE I-SIR JOHN BRUTE's House.

Enter SIR JOHN.

'twould be: but I thought I had charms enough to govern him; and that where there was an es tate, a woman must needs be happy; so my va nity has deceived me, and my ambition has made me uneasy. But there's some comfort still; if one would be revenged of him, these are good Sir J. What cloying meat is love-when ina- times; a woman may have a gallant, and a sepatrimony's the sauce to it! Two years marriage rate maintenance too-The surly puppy—yet nas debauched my five senses-Every thing I he's a fool for't: for hitherto he has been ne see, every thing I hear, every thing I feel, every monster: but who knows how far he may provoke thing I smell, and every thing I taste-methinks me? I never loved him, yet I have been ever has wife in't No boy was ever so weary of his true to him; and that, in spite of all the attacks tutor, no girl of her bib, no nun of doing penance, of art and nature upon a poor weak woman's or old maid of being chaste, as I am of being heart, in favour of a tempting lover. Methinks married. Sure there's a secret curse entailed so noble a defence as I have made, should be reupon the very name of wife. My lady is a youngwarded with a better usage-Or who can tell lady, a fine lady, a witty lady, a virtuous lady -and yet I hate her. There is but one thing on earth I loath beyond her: that's fighting.Would my courage come up to a fourth part of my ill-nature, I'd stand buff to her relations, and thrust her out of doors. But marriage has sunk me down to such an ebb of resolution, I dare not draw my sword, though even to get rid of my wife. But here she comes.

Enter LADY BRUTE.

Lady B. Do you dine at home to-day, Sir John?

Sir J. Why, do you expect I should tell you what I don't know myself?

Lady B. I thought there was no harm in ask ing you.

Sir J. If thinking wrong were an excuse for impertinence, women might be justified in most things they say or do.

Lady B. I'm sorry I have said any thing to displease you.

-Perhaps a good part of what I suffer from my husband, may be a judgment upon me for my cruelty to my lover-But hold-let me go no further-I think I have a right to alarm this surly brute of mine-but if I know my heart-it will never let me go so far as to injure him. Enter BELINDA.

Lady B. Good morrow, dear cousin. Bel. Good morrow, Madam, you look pleased this morning.

Lady B. I am so.

Bel. With what, pray?

Lady B. With my husband.

Bel. Drown husbands! for yours is a provoking fellow as he went out just now, I prayed him to tell me what time of day 'twas; and he asked me if I took him for the church-clock, that was obliged to tell all the parish.

Lady B. He has been saying some good obliging things to me too. In short, Belinda, he has used me so barbarously of late, that Í could almost resolve to play the downright wife

Sir J. Sorry for things past, is of as little im--and cuckold him. portance to me, as my dining at home or abroad ought to be to you.

Lady B. My inquiry was only that I might have provided what you liked.

Sir J. Six to four you had been in the wrong there again; for what I liked yesterday I don't like to-day, and what I like to-day 'tis odds I mayn't like to-morrow.

Lady B. But if I had asked you what you liked?

Sir J. Why then there would be more asking about it than the thing is worth.

Lady B. I wish I did but know how I might please you.

Sir. Ay, but that sort of knowledge is not a wife's talent.

Lady B. Whate'er my talent is, I'm sure my will has ever been to make you easy.

Sir J. If women were to have their wills, the world would be finely governed.

Lady B. What reason have I given you to use me as you do of late? It once was otherwise; you married me for love.

Sir J. And you me for money; so you have your reward, and I have mine.

Lady B. What is't that disturbs you?
Sir J. A parson.

Lady B. Why, what has he done to you' Sir J. He has married me, and be damned to him. [Exit. Lady B. The devil is in the fellow, I think. I was told before I married him, that thus

Bel. That would be downright indeed. Lady B. Why, after, all, there's more to be said for't than you'd imagine, child. He is the first aggressor, not I.

Bel. Ah, but you know we must return good for evil.

Lady B. That may be a mistake in the translation. Pr'ythee, be of my opinion, Belinda; for I'm positive I'm in the right; and if you'll keep up the prerogative of a woman, you'll likewise be positive you are in the right, whenever you do any thing you have a mind to-But I shall play the fool and jest on, till I make you begin to think I'm in earnest.

Bel. Isha'n't take the liberty, Madam, to think of any thing that you desire to keep a secret from me.

Lady B. Alas, my dear, I have no secrets.— My heart could ne'er yet confine my tongue.

Bel. Your eyes, you mean; for I am sure I have seen them gadding, when your tongue has been locked up safe enough.

Lady B. My eyes gadding! Pr'ythee, after who, child?

Bel. Why, after one that thinks you hate him, as much as I know you love him. Lady B. Constant, you mean.

Bel. I do so.

Lady B. Lord, what should put such a thing into your head?

Bel. That which puts things into most people's heads, observation.

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