Part 1

PLAYS,

WRITTEN BY

Sir =John Vanbrugh=.

IN TWO VOLUMES.

=Volume= the =First=.

CONTAINING,

The =Relapse=; Or, =Virtue= in =Danger=.

The =Provok'd Wife=, with a new Scene.

=Æsop=, in two =Parts=.

The =False Friend=.

* * * * *

LONDON:

Printed for =J. Rivington=, =T. Longman=, =T. Lowndes=, =S. Caslon=, =C. Corbett=, =S. Bladon=, =W. Nicoll=, =T. Evans=, and =M. Waller=.

MDCCLXXVI.

AN

ACCOUNT

OF THE

LIFE and WRITINGS

OF THE

AUTHOR.

Sir _John Vanbrugh_, an eminent dramatic Writer, Son of Mr. _Giles Vanbrugh_, of _London_, Merchant, was born in the Parish of _St. Stephen_'s, _Wallbrook_, in 1666. The Family of _Vanbrugh_ were for many Years Merchants of great Credit and Reputation, at _Antwerp_, and came into _England_ in the reign of Queen _Elizabeth_, on account of the Persecution for Religion.

Sir _John_ received a very liberal Education, and at the Age of nineteen, was sent by his Father to _France_, where he continued some Years: He became very eminent for his Poetry, to which he discovered an early propension. And, pity it is, that this agreeable Writer had not discovered his Wit, without any Mixture of that Licentiousness, which, tho' it pleased, tended to corrupt the Audience.

_The Relapse_ was the first Play our Author produced, but not the first he had written; for he had at that Time by him, all the Scenes of _The Provok'd Wife_; but being then doubtful whether he should ever trust it to the Stage, he flung it by, and thought no more of it: Why the last written Play was first acted, and for what Reason they were given to different Stages, what follows will explain.

Upon our Author's first Step into public Life, when he was but an Ensign in the Army, and had a Heart greatly above his Income, he happened somewhere at his Winter Quarters, upon a slender Acquaintance with Sir _Thomas Skipwith_, to receive a particular Obligation from him; and many Years afterwards, when Sir _Thomas_'s Interest in a Theatrical Patent (which he had a large Share in, though he little concerned himself in the Conduct of it) was rising but very slowly, Sir _John_ thought that to give it a lift by a new Comedy, might be the handsomest Return he could make to those his former Favours; accordingly he soon after finished _The Relapse, or, Virtue in Danger_, which was acted at the Theatre in _Drury-Lane_, in 1696, with universal Applause.

Upon the Success of _The Relapse_, the late Lord _Hallifax_, who was a favourer of _Betterton_'s Company, having formerly heard some Scenes of _The Provok'd Wife_ read to him, engaged Sir _John Vanbrugh_ to revise it, and give it to that Company. This was a Request not to be refused to so eminent a Patron of the Muses as Lord _Hallifax_, who was equally a Friend and Admirer of Sir _John_ himself; nor was Sir _Thomas Skipwith_ in the least disobliged by so reasonable a Compliance. _The Provok'd Wife_ was accordingly acted at the Theatre in _Lincoln's Inn-Fields_ in 1697, with great Success.

Tho' this Play met with so favourable a Reception, yet it was not without its Enemies: People of the graver Sort blamed the looseness of the Scenes, and the unguarded freedom of the Dialect; and indeed Sir _John_ himself appears to have been sensible of the immorality of his Scenes; for in the Year 1725, when this Play was revived, he thought proper to substitute a new Scene in the fourth Act, in place of another, in which, in the wantonness of his Wit, he had made a Rake talk like a Rake, in the Habit of a Clergyman; to avoid which Offence, he put the same Debauchee into the Undress of a Woman of Quality; by which means the Follies he exposed in the Petticoat, appeared to the Audience innocent and entertaining; which new Scene is now for the first Time printed at the End of the Play.

Soon after the Success of _The Provok'd Wife_, Sir _John_ produced the Comedy of _Esop_, in two Parts, which was acted at the Theatre-Royal in _Drury Lane_, in 1697. This was originally written in _French_ by Mr. _Boursaut_, about six Years before; but the Scenes of Sir _Polydorus Hogstye_, the Players, and the Beau, were added by our Author. This Play contains a great deal of general Satire, and useful Morality; notwithstanding which, it met with but a cold Reception from the Audience, and its run ended in about nine Days. This seemed the more surprizing, as the _French_ Comedy was played to crowded Audiences for a Month together. The little Success this Piece met with on the _English_ Stage, cannot be better accounted for than in the Words of Mr. _Cibber_, who, speaking of this Play, makes the following Observation: "The Character that delivers Precepts of Wisdom, is in some sort severe upon the Auditor, for shewing him one wiser than himself; but when Folly is his Object, he applauds himself for being wiser than the Coxcomb he laughs at; and who is not more pleased with an Occasion to commend, than to accuse himself?"

The next Play our Author wrote, was _The False Friend_, a Comedy, which was acted at the Theatre-Royal in _Drury Lane_, in 1702.

In 1703, Sir _John_ formed a Project of building a stately Theatre in the _Haymarket_, for which he had interest enough to get a Subscription of thirty Persons of Quality, at one hundred Pounds each, in consideration whereof, every Subscriber was for his own Life to be admitted to whatever Entertainments should be publicly performed there, without any farther Payment for Entrance.

In 1706, when this House was finished, Mr. _Betterton_ and his Co-partners, who then acted at the Theatre in _Lincoln's Inn-Fields_, dissolved their Agreement, and put themselves under the direction of Sir _John Vanbrugh_ and Mr. _Congreve_, imagining, perhaps, that the Conduct of two such eminent Authors might give a more prosperous turn to their Affairs; that the Plays it would now be their interest to write for them, would soon recover the Town to a true Taste, and be an Advantage that no other Company could hope for; and that till such Plays could be written, the Grandeur of their House, as it was a new spectacle, might allure the Crowd to support them: But, if these were their Views, they soon found their Dependance upon them was too sanguine; for though Sir _John_ was a very expeditious Writer, yet Mr. _Congreve_ was too judicious to let any Thing come unfinished from his Pen. Besides, every proper Convenience of a good Theatre had been sacrificed to shew the Audience a vast triumphal Piece of Architecture, in which, by Means of the spaciousness of the Dome, plays could not be successfully represented, because the Actors could not be distinctly heard.

Not long before this Time, the _Italian_ Opera began to steal into _England_, but in as rude a Disguise as possible: notwithstanding which, the new Monster pleased, though it had neither Grace, Melody, nor Action, to recommend it. To strike in therefore with the prevailing Fashion, Sir _John_ and Mr. _Congreve_ opened their New Theatre with a translated Opera, set to _Italian_ Music, called _The Triumph of Love_; but it met with a very cool Reception, being performed only three Times--to thin Houses.

Immediately upon the Failure of this Opera, Sir _John Vanbrugh_ brought on his Comedy, called _The Confederacy_, taken, but very greatly improved, from _Les Bourgeoises à la Mode_, of Monsieur _D'Ancourt_. The Success of this Play was not equal to its Merit; for it is written with an uncommon Vein of Wit and Humour; which plainly shews that the difficulty of hearing, distinctly, in that large Theatre, was no small Impediment to the Applause that might have followed the same Actors on any other Stage; and indeed every Play acted there before the House was altered, seemed to suffer greatly from the same Inconvenience; for what few could plainly hear, it was not likely many could applaud. In a Word, the Prospect of Profits from this Theatre was so very barren, that Mr. _Congreve_, in a few Months, gave up his Share in it wholly to Sir _John Vanbrugh_; who, as he had a happier Talent of throwing the _English_ Spirit into his Translations, than any other Author who had borrowed from them, he in the same Season produced _The Mistake_, a Comedy, taken from _Le D'epit Amoureux_, of _Moliere_; and _The Country House_, a Farce, translated from _The French_, which has been acted at all the Theatres with general Applause.

Sir _John_ soon afterwards, thoroughly tired of Theatrical Affairs, determined to get rid of his Patent on the best Terms he could; he accordingly made an Offer to Mr. _Owen Swiney_ of his House, Clothes, and Scenes, with the Queen's Licence to employ them, upon Payment of the Rent of five Pounds upon every acting Day, and not to exceed 700 _l._ in the Year; with which Proposal Mr. _Swiney_ soon complied, and managed that Stage for some Time after.

Sir _John_ is not a little to be admired for his Spirit, and readiness in producing Plays so fast upon the Neck of one another; for, notwithstanding his quick Dispatch, there is a clear and lively Simplicity in his Wit, that neither wants the Ornaments of Learning, nor has the least Smell of the Lamp, as the Face of a fine Woman, with her Locks loose about her, may then be in its greatest Beauty; such were his Productions, only adorned by Nature. And there is, besides, something so catching to the Ear, and so easy to the Memory, in all he writ, that it has been observed by all the Actors of those Times, the Stile of no Author whatsoever gave their Memory less Trouble, than that of Sir _John Vanbrugh_. And indeed his Wit and Humour was so little laboured, that his most entertaining Scenes seem to be no more than his common Conversation committed to Paper. As his Conceptions were so full of Life and Humour, it is not much to be wondered at, if his Muse should be sometimes too warm to wait the slow Pace of Judgment, or to endure the Drudgery of forming a regular Fable to them.

Besides the Plays already mentioned, Sir _John_ left behind him Part of a Comedy, called _A Journey to London_, which has since been made an entire Play of by Mr. _Cibber_, and called _The Provoked Husband_, and was acted at the Theatre-Royal, in _Drury Lane_, in 1727, for twenty-eight Nights successively, with universal Applause.

In 1703, he was appointed Clarencieux King of Arms, and in 1706 was commissioned by Queen _Anne_ to carry the Habit and Ensigns of the Order of the Garter to King _George_ the First, then at _Hanover_; he was likewise Comptroller-General of the Board of Works, and Surveyor of the Gardens and Waters. In the Year 1714, he received the Order of Knighthood; and in 1719 he married _Henrietta Maria_, Daughter of Colonel _Yarborough_, of _Haslington_, near _York_, by whom he had three Children; _Charles_ the eldest was killed at the Battle of _Fontenoy_, the other two died young.

Sir _John_ died at his House in _Scotland-Yard_, the 26th of _March_, 1726, and is interred in the Family Vault, under the Church of _St. Stephen_'s, _Wallbrook_.

THE

RELAPSE:

OR,

VIRTUE in DANGER:

A

COMEDY.

Being the Sequel of _The Fool in Fashion_.

THE

PREFACE.

To go about to excuse half the Defects this abortive Brat is come into the World with, would be to provoke the Town with a long useless Preface, when it is, I doubt, sufficiently soured already by a tedious Play.

I do therefore (with all the Humility of a repenting Sinner) confess, it wants every thing----but length; and in that, I hope, the severest Critick will be pleas'd to acknowledge I have not been wanting. But my Modesty will sure atone for every thing, when the World shall know it is so great, I am even to this Day insensible of those two shining Graces in the Play (which some part of the Town is pleas'd to compliment me with) Blasphemy and Bawdy.

For my part, I cannot find them out: If there were any obscene Expressions upon the Stage, here they are in the Print; for I have dealt fairly, I have not sunk a Syllable, that cou'd (though by racking of Mysteries) be rang'd under that Head; and yet I believe with a steady Faith, there is not one Woman of a real Reputation in Town, but when she has read it impartially over in her Closet, will find it so innocent, she will think it no Affront to her Prayer-Book, to lay it upon the same Shelf. So to them (with all manner of Deference) I entirely refer my cause; and I am confident they will justify me against those Pretenders to Good-manners, who at the same time have so little Respect for the Ladies, they wou'd extract a bawdy Jest from an Ejaculation, to put them out of countenance. But I expect to have these well-bred Persons always my Enemies, since I am sure I shall never write any thing lewd enough to make them my Friends.

As for the Saints (your thorough-pac'd ones, I mean, with skrew'd Faces and wry Mouths) I despair of them; for they are Friends to nobody: They love nothing but their Altars and themselves; they have too much Zeal to have any Charity; they make Debauches in Piety, as Sinners do in Wine; and are as quarrelsome in their Religion, as other People are in their Drink: so I hope nobody will mind what they say. But if any Man (with flat plod Shoes, a little Band, greasy Hair, and a dirty Face, who is wiser than I, at the Expence of being forty Years older), happens to be offended at a Story of a Cock and a Bull, and a Priest and a Bull-dog, I beg his pardon with all my Heart; which, I hope, I shall obtain, by eating my Words, and making this publick Recantation. I do therefore, for his Satisfaction, acknowledge I lyed, when I said, they never quit their hold; for in that little time I have liv'd in the World, I thank God I have seen them forc'd to it more than once; but next time I will speak with more Caution and Truth, and only say, they have very good Teeth.

If I have offended any honest Gentleman of the Town, whose Friendship or good Word is worth the having, I am very sorry for it; I hope they will correct me as gently as they can, when they consider I have had no other Design, in running a very great Risk, than to divert (if possible) some part of their Spleen, in spite of their Wives and their Taxes.

One Word more about the Bawdy, and I have done. I own the first Night this thing was acted, some Indecencies had like to have happened; but it was not my Fault.

The fine Gentleman of the Play, drinking his Mistress's Health in _Nants_ Brandy, from six in the Morning to the time he waddled on upon the Stage in the Evening, had toasted himself up to such a pitch of Vigour, I confess I once gave _Amanda_ for gone, and am since (with all due respect to Mrs. _Rogers_) very sorry she escaped; for I am confident a certain Lady (let no one take it to herself that is handsome) who highly blames the Play, for the Barrenness of the Conclusion, would then have allowed it a very natural Close.

PROLOGUE.

Spoken by _Miss_ =Cross=.

_Ladies, this Play in too much haste was writ, To be o'ercharg'd with either Plot or Wit; 'Twas got, conceiv'd, 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, So out they lug in resty Nature's spight, 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 heroick Grace, } 'Tis six to four y' 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 advis'd---- E'en give the Hero and the Critique o'er, } For Nature sent you on another score; } She formed her ~Beau~, for nothing but her Whore._ }

Dramatis Personæ.

MEN.

Sir _Novelty Fashion_, newly created } Lord _Foppington_, } Mr. _Cibber_. Young _Fashion_, his Brother, Mr. _Kent_. _Loveless_, Husband to _Amanda_, Mr. _Verbruggen_. _Worthy_, a Gentleman of the Town, Mr. _Powel_. Sir _Tunbelly Clumsey_, a Country Gentleman, Mr. _Bullock_. Sir _John Friendly_, his Neighbour, Mr. _Mills_. _Coupler_, a Matchmaker, Mr. _Johnson_. _Bull_, Chaplain to Sir _Tunbelly_, Mr. _Simpson_. _Syringe_, a Surgeon, Mr. _Haynes_. _Lory_, Servant to Young _Fashion_, Mr. _Dogget_. Shoemaker, Taylor, Perriwig-maker, &c.

WOMEN.

_Amanda_, Wife to _Loveless_, Mrs. _Rogers_. _Berinthia_, her Cousin, a young Widow, Mrs. _Verbruggen_. Miss _Hoyden_, a great Fortune, Daughter } to Sir _Tunbelly_, } Mrs. _Cross_. Nurse, her Governant, Mrs. _Powel_.

THE

RELAPSE;

OR,

VIRTUE in DANGER.

+ACT+ I. +SCENE+ I.

_Enter ~Loveless~, reading._

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 consum'd 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, Eas'd from the grating Duties of Dependence, From Envy free, Ambition under foot, The raging Flame of wild destructive Lust Reduc'd to a warm pleasing Fire of lawful Love, My Life glides on, and all is well within.

_Enter ~Amanda~._

Lov. _meeting her kindly._

How does the happy Cause of my Content, my dear _Amanda_? 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 cou'd 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.

_Lov._ 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 pond'rous Lump of Clay behind it, It may have Appetites we know not of, And Pleasures as refin'd 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.

_Lov._ Well said, _Amanda_--let it be for ever.-- Wou'd 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.

_Lov._ 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.

_Lov._ 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 Wou'd, 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. Wou'd I cou'd 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.

_Lov._ 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 indispensible, that obliges Me to go to _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 resolv'd 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.

_Lov._ That Trial past, and y'are at ease for ever; When you have seen the Helmet prov'd, You'll apprehend no more for him that wears it: Therefore to put a lasting Period to your Fears, I am resolv'd, 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, Sing Praises to their God, and drink his Glory; Turn wild Enthusiasts for his sake, And Beasts to do him Honour: Whilst I, a stubborn Atheist, Sullenly look on, Without one reverend Glass to his Divinity. That for my Temperance, Then for my Constancy----

_Aman._ Ay, there take heed.

_Lov._ Indeed the Danger's small.

_Aman._ And yet my Fears are great.

_Lov._ Why are you so timorous?

_Aman._ Because you are so bold.

_Lov._ My Courage should disperse your Apprehensions.

_Aman._ My Apprehensions should alarm your Courage.

_Lov._ Fy, fy, _Amanda_, it is not kind thus to distrust me.

_Aman._ And yet my Fears are founded on my Love.

_Lov._ For if you can believe 'tis possible I shou'd 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, Wou'd be a Weakness in your Taste, Your Virtue scarce cou'd answer.