ACT V. SCENE I.

PALAMEDE, STRATO. PALAMEDE _with a letter in his hand._

_Pala._ This evening, sayest thou? will they both be here?

_Stra._ Yes, sir, both my old master, and your mistress's father. The old gentlemen ride hard this journey; they say, it shall be the last time they will see the town; and both of them are so pleased with this marriage, which they have concluded for you, that I am afraid they will live some years longer to trouble you, with the joy of it.

_Pala._ But this is such an unreasonable thing, to impose upon me to be married to-morrow; 'tis hurrying a man to execution, without giving him time to say his prayers.

_Stra._ Yet, if I might advise you, sir, you should not delay it; for your younger brother comes up with them, and is got already into their favours. He has gained much upon my old master, by finding fault with innkeepers' bills, and by starving us, and our horses, to shew his frugality; and he is very well with your mistress's father, by giving him recipes for the spleen, gout and scurvy, and other infirmities of old age.

_Pala._ I'll rout him, and his country education: Pox on him, I remember him before I travelled, he had nothing in him but mere jockey; used to talk loud, and make matches, and was all for the crack of the field: Sense and wit were as much banished from his discourse, as they are when the court goes out of town to a horse race. Go now and provide your master's lodgings.

_Stra._ I go, sir. [_Exit._

_Pala._ It vexes me to the heart, to leave all my designs with Doralice unfinished; to have flown her so often to a mark, and still to be bobbed at retrieve: If I had once enjoyed her, though I could not have satisfied my stomach with the feast, at least I should have relished my mouth a little; but now--

_Enter_ PHILOTIS.

_Phil._ Oh, sir, you are happily met; I was coming to find you.

_Pala._ From your lady. I hope.

_Phil._ Partly from her; but more especially from myself: She has just now received a letter from her father, with an absolute command to dispose herself to marry you to-morrow.

_Pala._ And she takes it to the death?

_Phil._ Quite contrary: The letter could never have come in a more lucky minute; for it found her in an ill-humour with a rival of yours, that shall be nameless, about the pronunciation of a French word.

_Pala._ Count Rhodophil? never disguise it, I know the amour: But I hope you took the occasion to strike in for me?

_Phil._ It was my good fortune to do you some small service in it; for your sake I discommended him all over,--clothes, person, humour, behaviour, every thing; and, to sum up all, told her, it was impossible to find a married man that was otherwise; for they were all so mortified at home with their wives' ill humours, that they could never recover themselves to be company abroad.

_Pala._ Most divinely urged!

_Phil._ Then I took occasion to commend your good qualities; as the sweetness of your humour, the comeliness of your person, your good mein, your valour; but, above all, your liberality.

_Pala._ I vow to Gad I had like to have forgot that good quality in myself, if thou hadst not remembered me of it: Here are five pieces for thee.

_Phil._ Lord, you have the softest hand, sir, it would do a woman good to touch it: Count Rhodophil's is not half so soft; for I remember I felt it once, when he gave me ten pieces for my new-years-gift.

_Pala._ O, I understand you, madam; you shall find my hand as soft again as Count Rhodophil's: There are twenty pieces for you. The former was but a retaining fee; now I hope you'll plead for me.

_Phil._ Your own merits speak enough. Be sure only to ply her with French words, and I'll warrant you'll do your business. Here are a list of her phrases for this day: Use them to her upon all occasions and foil her at her own weapon; for she's like one of the old Amazons, she'll never marry, except it be the man who has first conquered her.

_Pala._ I'll be sure to follow your advice: But you'll forget to further my design.

_Phil._ What, do you think I'll be ungrateful?--But however, if you distrust my memory, put some token on my finger to remember it by: That diamond there would do admirably.

_Pala._ There 'tis; and I ask your pardon heartily for calling your memory into question: I assure you I'll trust it another time, without putting you to the trouble of another token.

_Enter_ PALMYRA _and_ ARTEMIS.

_Art._ Madam, this way the prisoners are to pass; Here you may see Leonidas.

_Palm._ Then here I'll stay, and follow him to death.

_Enter_ MELANTHA, _hastily._

_Mel._ O, here's her highness! Now is my time to introduce myself, and to make my court to her, in my new French phrases. Stay, let me read my catalogue--_Suite_, _figure_, _chagrin_, _naiveté_, and _let me die_, for the parenthesis of all.

_Pala._ [_Aside._] Do, persecute her; and I'll persecute thee as fast in thy own dialect.

_Mel._ Madam, the princess! let me die, but this is a most horrid spectacle, to see a person, who makes so grand a figure in the court, without the _suite_ of a princess, and entertaining your _chagrin_ all alone:--_Naiveté_ should have been there, but the disobedient word would not come in. [_Aside._

_Palm._ What is she, Artemis?

_Art._ An impertinent lady, madam; very ambitious of being known to your highness.

_Pala._ [_To_ MELANTHA.] Let me die, madam, if I have not waited you here these two long hours, without so much as the _suite_ of a single servant to attend me; entertaining myself with my own _chagrin_ till I had the honour of seeing your ladyship, who are a person that makes so considerable a figure in the court.

_Mel._ Truce with your _douceurs_, good servant; you see I am addressing to the princess; pray do not _embarrass_ me--_Embarrass_ me! what a delicious French word do you make me lose upon you too! [_To the Princess._] Your highness, madam, will please to pardon the _beveue_ which I made, in not sooner finding you out to be a princess: But let me die if this _eclaircissement_, which is made this day of your quality, does not ravish me; and give me leave to tell you--

_Pala._ But first give me leave to tell you, madam, that I have so great a _tendre_ for your person, and such a _penchant_ to do you service, that--

_Mel._ What, must I still be troubled with your _sottises_? (There's another word lost, that I meant for the princess, with a mischief to you!) But your highness, madam--

_Pala._ But your ladyship, madam--

_Enter_ LEONIDAS, _guarded and led over the stage._

_Mel._ Out upon him, how he looks, madam! now he's found no prince, he is the strangest figure of a man; how could I make that _coup d'etourdi_ to think him one?

_Palm._ Away, impertinent!--my dear Leonidas!

_Leon._ My dear Palmyra!

_Palm._ Death shall never part us; my destiny is yours. [_He is led off, she follows._

_Mel._ Impertinent! Oh I am the most unfortunate person this day breathing: That the princess should thus _rompre en visiere_, without occasion. Let me die, but I'll follow her to death, till I make my peace.

_Pala._ [_Holding her._] And let me die, but I'll follow you to the infernals, till you pity me.

_Mel._ [_Turning towards him angrily._] Ay, 'tis long of you that this _malheur_ is fallen upon me; your impertinence has put me out of the good graces of the princess, and all that, which has ruined me, and all that, and, therefore, let me die, but I'll be revenged, and all that.

Pala. _Façon, façon,_ you must and shall love me, and all that; for my old man is coming up, and all that; and I am _desesperé au dernier_, and will not be disinherited, and all that.

_Mel._ How durst you interrupt me so _mal apropos_, when you knew I was addressing to the princess?

_Pala._ But why would you address yourself so much _a contretemps_ then?

_Mel._ Ah, _mal peste!_

_Pala._ Ah, _j'enrage!_

Phil. _Radoucissez vous, de grace, madame; vous étes bien en colere pour peu de chose. Vous n'entendez pas la raillerie gallante._

Mel. _Ad autres, ad autres_: He mocks himself of me,[1] he abuses me: Ah me unfortunate! [_Cries._

_Phil._ You mistake him, madam, he does but accommodate his phrase to your refined language. _Ah qu'il est un cavalier accompli!_ Pursue your point, sir-- [_To him._

Pala. _Ah qu'il fait beau dans ces boccages;_ [Singing.] _Ah que le ciet donne un beau jour!_ There I was with you, with a _minuét._

_Mel._ Let me die now, but this singing is fine, and extremely French in him: [_Laughs._] But then, that he should use my own words, as it were in contempt of me, I cannot bear it. [_Crying._

Pala. _Ces beaux sejours, ces doux ramages_-- [Singing.

Mel. _Ces beaux sejours, ces doux ramages._ [Singing after him.] _Ces beaux sejours nous invitent á l'amour!_ Let me die, but he sings _en cavalier_, and so humours the cadence! [_Laughing._

Pala. _Foy, ma Clymene, voy sous ce chene._ [Singing again.] _S'entrebaiser ces oiseaux amoreux!_ Let me die now, but that was fine. Ah, now, for three or four brisk Frenchmen, to be put into masking habits, and to sing it on a theatre, how witty it would be! and then to dance helter skelter to a _chanson a boire: Toute la terre, toute la terre est a moi!_ What's matter though it were made and sung two or three years ago in _cabarets_, how it would attract the admiration, especially of every one that's an _eveillé!_

_Mel._ Well; I begin to have a _tendre_ for you; but yet, upon condition, that--when we are married, you-- [PAL. _sings, while she speaks._

_Phil._ You must drown her voice: If she makes her French conditions, you are a slave for ever.

_Mel._ First, you will engage--that--

_Pala._ Fa, la, la, la, &c. [_Louder._

_Mel._ Will you hear the conditions?

_Pala._ No; I will hear no conditions; I am resolved to win you _en François_: To be very airy, with abundance of noise, and no sense: Fa la, la, la, &c.

_Mel._ Hold, hold: I am vanquished with your _gayeté d'esprit._ I am yours, and will be yours, _sans nulle reserve, ni condition_: And let me die, if I do not think myself the happiest nymph in Sicily--My dear French dear, stay but a _minuite_, till I _raccommode_ myself with the princess; and then I am yours, _jusqu' a la mort. Allons donc._-- [Exeunt MEL. PHIL.

_Palu._ [_Solus, fanning himself with his hat._] I never thought before that wooing was so laborious an exercise; if she were worth a million, I have deserved her; and now, methinks too, with taking all this pains for her, I begin to like her. 'Tis so; I have known many, who never cared for hare nor partridge, but those they caught themselves would eat heartily: The pains, and the story a man tells of the taking them, makes the meat go down more pleasantly. Besides, last night I had a sweet dream of her, and, gad, she I have once dreamed of, I am stark mad till I enjoy her, let her be never so ugly.

_Enter_ DORALICE.

_Dor._ Who's that you are so mad to enjoy, Palamede?

_Pala._ You may easily imagine that, sweet Dorarlice.

_Dor._ More easily than you think I can: I met just now with a certain man, who came to you with letters from a certain old gentleman, y'cleped your father; whereby I am given to understand, that to-morrow you are to take an oath in the church to be grave henceforward, to go ill-dressed and slovenly, to get heirs for your estate, and to dandle them for your diversion; and, in short, that love and courtship are to be no more.

_Pala._ Now have I so much shame to be thus apprehended in the manner, that I can neither speak nor look upon you; I have abundance of grace in me, that I find: But if you have any spark of true friendship in you, retire with me a little into the next room, that hath a couch or bed in it, and bestow your charity upon a dying man! A little comfort from a mistress, before a man is going to give himself in marriage, is as good as a lusty dose of strong-water to a dying malefactor: it takes away the sense of hell and hanging from him.

_Dor._ No, good Palamede, I must not be so injurious to your bride: 'Tis ill drawing from the bank to-day, when all your ready money is payable to-morrow.

_Pala._ A wife is only to have the ripe fruit, that falls of itself; but a wise man will always preserve a shaking for a mistress.

_Dor._ But a wife for the first quarter is a mistress.

_Pala._ But when the second comes--

_Dor._ When it does come, you are so given to variety, that you would make a wife of me in another quarter.

_Pala._ No, never, except I were married to you: married people can never oblige one another; for all they do is duty, and consequently there can be no thanks: But love is more frank and generous than he is honest; he's a liberal giver, but a cursed pay-master.

_Dor._ I declare I will have no gallant; but, if I would, he should never be a married man; a married man is but a mistress's half-servant, as a clergyman is but the king's half-subject: For a man to come to me that smells of the wife! 'Slife, I would as soon wear her old gown after her, as her husband.

_Pala._ Yet 'tis a kind of fashion to wear a princess's cast shoes; you see the country ladies buy them, to be fine in them.

_Dor._ Yes, a princess's shoes may be worn after her, because they keep their fashion, by being so very little used; but generally a married man is the creature of the world the most out of fashion: his behaviour is dumpish; his discourse, his wife and family; his habit so much neglected, it looks as if that were married too; his hat is married, his peruke is married, his breeches are married,--and, if we could look within his breeches, we should find him married there too.

_Pala._ Am I then to be discarded for ever? pray do but mark how that word sounds: for ever! it has a very damn'd sound, Doralice.

_Dor._ Ay, for ever! it sounds as hellishly to me, as it can do to you, but there's no help for it.

_Pala._ Yet, if we had but once enjoyed one another!--but then once only, is worse than not at all: It leaves a man with such a lingering after it.

_Dor._ For aught I know, 'tis better that we have not; we might upon trial have liked each other less, as many a man and woman, that have loved as desperately as we, and yet, when they came to possession, have sighed and cried to themselves, Is this all?

_Pala._ That is only, if the servant were not found a man of this world; but if, upon trial, we had not liked each other, we had certainly left loving; and faith, that's the greater happiness of the two.

_Dor._ 'Tis better as 'tis; we have drawn off already as much of our love as would run clear; after possessing, the rest is but jealousies, and disquiets, and quarrelling, and piecing.

_Pala._ Nay, after one great quarrel, there's never any sound piecing; the love is apt to break in the same place again.

_Dor._ I declare I would never renew a love; that's like him, who trims an old coach for ten years together; he might buy a new one better cheap.

_Pala._ Well, madam, I am convinced, that 'tis best for us not to have enjoyed; but, gad, the strongest reason is, because I can't help it.

_Dor._ The only way to keep us new to one another is never to enjoy, as they keep grapes, by hanging them upon a line; they must touch nothing, if you would preserve them fresh.

_Pala._ But then they wither, and grow dry in the very keeping; however, I shall have a warmth for you, and an eagerness, every time I see you; and, if I chance to out-live Melantha--

_Dor._ And if I chance to out-live Rhodophil--

_Pala._ Well, I'll cherish my body as much as I can, upon that hope. 'Tis true, I would not directly murder the wife of my bosom; but, to kill her civilly, by the way of kindness, I'll put as fair as another man: I'll begin to-morrow night, and be very wrathful with her; that's resolved on.

_Dor._ Well, Palamede, here's my hand, I'll venture to be your second wife, for all your threatenings.

_Pala._ In the mean time I'll watch you hourly, as I would the ripeness of a melon; and I hope you'll give me leave now and then to look on you, and to see if you are not ready to be cut yet.

_Dor._ No, no, that must not be, Palamede, for fear the gardener should come and catch you taking up the glass.

_Enter_ RHODOPHIL.

_Rho._ [_Aside._] Billing so sweetly! now I am confirmed in my suspicions; I must put an end to this ere it go farther--[_To_ DORALICE.] Cry you mercy, spouse, I fear I have interrupted your recreations.

_Dor._ What recreations?

_Rho._ Nay, no excuses, good spouse; I saw fair hand conveyed to lip, and prest, as though you had been squeezing soft wax together for an indenture. Palamede, you and I must clear this reckoning: why would you have seduced my wife?

_Pala._ Why would you have debauched my mistress?

_Rho._ What do you think of that civil couple, that played at a game, called Hide and Seek, last evening in the grotto?

_Pala._ What do you think of that innocent pair, who made it their pretence to seek for others, but came, indeed, to hide themselves there?

_Rho._ All things considered, I begin vehemently to suspect, that the young gentleman I found in your company last night, was a certain youth of my acquaintance.

_Pala._ And I have an odd imagination, that you could never have suspected my small gallant, if your little villainous Frenchman had not been a false brother.

_Rho._ Further arguments are needless; draw off; I shall speak to you now by the way of _bilbo_. [_Claps his hand to his sword._

_Pala._ And I shall answer you by the way of Dangerfield[2]. [_Claps his hand on his._

_Dor._ Hold, hold; are not you two a couple of mad fighting fools, to cut one another's throats for nothing?

_Pala._ How for nothing? He courts the woman I must marry.

_Rho._ And he courts you, whom I have married.

_Dor._ But you can neither of you be jealous of what you love not.

_Rho._ Faith, I am jealous, and this makes me partly suspect that I love you better than I thought.

_Dor._ Pish! a mere jealousy of honour.

_Rho._ Gad, I am afraid there's something else in't; for Palamede has wit, and, if he loves you, there's something more in ye than I have found: Some rich mine, for aught I know, that I have not yet discovered.

_Pala._ 'Slife, what's this? Here's an argument for me to love Melantha; for he has loved her, and he has wit too, and, for aught I know, there may be a mine; but, if there be, I am resolved I'll dig for it.

_Dor._ [_To_ RHODOPHIL.] Then I have found my account in raising your jealousy. O! 'tis the most delicate sharp sauce to a cloyed stomach; it will give you a new edge, Rhodophil.

_Rho._ And a new point too, Doralice, if I could be sure thou art honest.

_Dor._ If you are wise, believe me for your own sake: Love and religion have but one thing to trust to; that's a good sound faith. Consider, if I have played false, you can never find it out by any experiment you can make upon me.

_Rho._ No? Why, suppose I had a delicate screwed gun; if I left her clean, and found her foul, I should discover, to my cost, she had been shot in.

_Dor._ But if you left her clean, and found her only rusty, you would discover, to your shame, she was only so for want of shooting.

_Pala._ Rhodophil, you know me too well to imagine I speak for fear; and therefore, in consideration of our past friendship, I will tell you, and bind it by all things holy, that Doralice is innocent.

_Rho._ Friend, I will believe you, and vow the same for your Melantha; but the devil on't is, how shall we keep them so?

_Pala._ What dost think of a blessed community betwixt us four, for the solace of the women, and relief of the men? Methinks it would be a pleasant kind of life: Wife and husband for the standing dish, and mistress and gallant for the desert.

_Rho._ But suppose the wife and mistress should both long for the standing dish, how should they be satisfied together?

_Pala._ In such a case they must draw lots; and yet that would not do neither, for they would both be wishing for the longest cut.

_Rho._ Then I think, Palamede, we had as good make a firm league, not to invade each other's propriety.

_Pala._ Content, say I. From henceforth let all acts of hostility cease betwixt us; and that, in the usual form of treaties, as well by sea as land, and in all fresh waters.

_Dor._ I will add but one _proviso_, that whoever breaks the league, either by war abroad, or neglect at home, both the women shall revenge themselves by the help of the other party.

_Rho._ That's but reasonable. Come away, Doralice; I have a great temptation to be sealing articles in private.

_Pala._ Hast thou so? [_Claps him on the shoulder._

"Fall on, Macduff, And cursed be he that first cries, Hold, enough."

_Enter_ POLYDAMAS, PALMYRA, ARTEMIS, ARGALEON: _After them_ EUBULUS _and_ HERMOGENES, guarded.

_Palm._ Sir, on my knees I beg you--

_Poly._ Away, I'll hear no more.

_Palm._ For my dead mother's sake; you say you loved her, And tell me I resemble her. Thus she Had begged.

_Poly._ And thus I had denied her.

_Palm._ You must be merciful.

_Arga._ You must be constant.

_Poly._ Go, bear them to the torture; you have boasted You have a king to head you; I would know To whom I must resign.

_Eub._ This is our recompence For serving thy dead queen.

_Herm._ And education Of thy daughter.

_Arga._ You are too modest, in not naming all His obligations to you: Why did you Omit his son, the prince Leonidas?

_Poly._ That imposture I had forgot; their tortures shall be doubled.

_Herm._ You please me; I shall die the sooner.

_Eub._ No; could I live an age, and still be racked, I still would keep the secret. [_As they are going off,_

_Enter_ LEONIDAS, _guarded._

_Leon._ Oh, whither do you hurry innocence! If you have any justice, spare their lives; Or, if I cannot make you just, at least I'll teach you to more purpose to be cruel.

_Palm._ Alas, what does he seek!

_Leon._ Make me the object of your hate and vengeance: Are these decrepid bodies, worn to ruin, Just ready of themselves to fall asunder. And to let drop the soul,-- Are these fit subjects for a rack and tortures? Where would you fasten any hold upon them? Place pains on me,--united fix them here,-- I have both youth, and strength, and soul to bear them; And, if they merit death, then I much more, Since 'tis for me they suffer.

_Herm._ Heaven forbid We should redeem our pains, or worthless lives, By our exposing yours.

_Eub._ Away with us. Farewell, sir: I only suffer in my fears for you.

_Arga._ So much concerned for him! Then my [_Aside._ Suspicion's true. [_Whispers the King._

_Palm._ Hear yet my last request for poor Leonidas, Or take my life with his.

_Arga._ Rest satisfied, Leonidas is he. [_To the King._

_Poly._ I am amazed: What must be done?

_Arga._ Command his execution instantly: Give him not leisure to discover it; He may corrupt the soldiers.

_Poly._ Hence with that traitor, bear him to his death: Haste there, and see my will performed.

_Leon._ Nay, then, I'll die like him the gods have made me. Hold, gentlemen, I am-- [ARGALEON _stops his mouth._

_Arga._ Thou art a traitor; 'tis not fit to hear thee.

_Leon._ I say, I am the-- [_Getting loose a little._

_Arga._ So; gag him, and lead him off. [_Again stopping his mouth._ [LEONIDAS, HERMOGENES, EUBULUS, _led off;_ POLYDAMAS _and_ ARGALEON _follow._

_Palm._ Duty and love, by turns, possess my soul And struggle for a fatal victory. I will discover he's the king:--Ah, no! That will perhaps save him; But then I'm guilty of a father's ruin. What shall I do, or not do? Either way I must destroy a parent, or a lover. Break heart; for that's the least of ills to me, And death the only cure. [_Swoons._

_Arte._ Help, help the princess.

_Rho._ Bear her gently hence, where she may Have more succour. [_She is borne off;_ ARTE. _follows her._ [_Shouts within, and clashing of swords._

_Pala._ What noise is that?

_Enter_ AMALTHEA, _running._

_Amal._ Oh, gentlemen, if you have loyalty, Or courage, show it now! Leonidas, Broke on the sudden from his guards, and snatching A sword from one, his back against the scaffold, Bravely defends himself, and owns aloud He is our long-lost king; found for this moment, But, if your valour helps not, lost for ever. Two of his guards, moved by the sense of virtue, Are turned for him, and there they stand at bay Against an host of foes.

_Rho._ Madam, no more; We lose time; my command, or my example, May move the soldiers to the better cause. You'll second me? [_To_ PALA.

_Pala._ Or die with you: No subject e'er can meet A nobler fate, than at his sovereign's feet. [_Exeunt._ [_Clashing of swords within, and shouts._

_Enter_ LEONIDAS, RHODOPHIL, PALAMEDE, EUBULUS, HERMOGENES, _and their Party, victorious;_ POLYDAMAS _and_ ARGALEON, _disarmed._

_Leon._ That I survive the dangers of this day, Next to the gods, brave friends, be yours the honour; And, let heaven witness for me, that my joy Is not more great for this my right restored, Than 'tis, that I have power to recompense Your loyalty and valour. Let mean princes, Of abject souls, fear to reward great actions; I mean to shew, That whatsoe'er subjects, like you, dare merit, A king, like me, dares give.

_Rho._ You make us blush, we have deserved so little.

_Pala._ And yet instruct us how to merit more.

_Leon._ And as I would be just in my rewards, So should I in my punishments; these two, This, the usurper of my crown, the other, Of my Palmyra's love, deserve that death, Which both designed for me.

_Poly._ And we expect it.

_Arga._ I have too long been happy, to live wretched.

_Poly._ And I too long have governed, to desire A life without an empire.

_Leon._ You are Palmyra's father; and as such, Though not a king, shall have obedience paid From him who is one. Father, in that name All injuries forgot, and duty owned. [_Embraces him._

_Poly._ O, had I known you could have been this king, Thus god-like, great and good, I should have wished To have been dethroned before. 'Tis now I live, And more than reign; now all my joys flow pure, Unmixed with cares, and undisturbed by conscience.

_Enter_ PALMYRA, AMALTHEA, ARTEMIS, DORALICE, _and_ MELANTHA.

_Leon._ See, my Palmyra comes! the frighted blood Scarce yet recalled to her pale cheeks, Like the first streaks of light broke loose from darkness, And dawning into blushes.--Sir, you said [_To_ POLY. Your joys were full; Oh, would you make mine so! I am but half restored without this blessing.

_Poly._ The gods, and my Palmyra, make you happy, As you make me! [_Gives her hand to_ LEONIDAS.

_Palm._ Now all my prayers are heard: I may be dutiful, and yet may love. Virtue and patience have at length unravelled The knots, which fortune tyed.

_Mel._ Let me die, but I'll congratulate his majesty: How admirably well his royalty becomes him! Becomes! that is _lui sied_, but our damned language expresses nothing.

_Pala._ How? Does it become him already? 'Twas but just now you said, he was such a figure of a man.

_Mel_ True, my dear, when he was a private man he was a figure; but since he is a king, methinks he has assumed another figure: He looks so grand, and so august! [_Going to the King._

_Pala._ Stay, stay; I'll present you when it is more convenient. I find I must get her a place at court; and when she is once there, she can be no longer ridiculous; for she is young enough, and pretty enough, and fool enough, and French enough, to bring up a fashion there to be affected.

_Leon._ [_To_ RHODOPHIL.] Did she then lead you to this brave attempt? [_To_ AMALTHEA.] To you, fair Amalthea, what I am, And what all these, from me, we jointly owe: First, therefore, to your great desert we give Your brother's life; but keep him under guard Till our new power be settled. What more grace He may receive, shall from his future carriage Be given, as he deserves.

_Arga._ I neither now desire, nor will deserve it; My loss is such as cannot be repaired, And, to the wretched, life can be no mercy.

_Leon._ Then be a prisoner always: Thy ill fate And pride will have it so: But since in this I cannot, Instruct me, generous Amalthea, how A king may serve you.

_Amal._ I have all I hope, And all I now must wish; I see you happy. Those hours I have to live, which heaven in pity Will make but few, I vow to spend with vestals: The greatest part in prayers for you; the rest In mourning my unworthiness. Press me not farther to explain myself; 'Twill not become me, and may cause your trouble.

_Leon._ Too well I understand her secret grief, [_Aside._ But dare not seem to know it.--Come, my fairest; [_To_ PALMYRA. Beyond my crown I have one joy in store, To give that crown to her whom I adore. [_Exeunt._

EPILOGUE.

Thus have my spouse and I informed the nation, And led you all the way to reformation; Not with dull morals, gravely writ, like those, Which men of easy phlegm with care compose,-- Your poets, of stiff words and limber sense, Born on the confines of indifference; But by examples drawn, I dare to say, From most of you who hear and see the play. There are more Rhodophils in this theatre, More Palamedes, and some few wives, I fear: But yet too far our poet would not run; Though 'twas well offered, there was nothing done. He would not quite the women's frailty bare, But stript them to the waist, and left them there: And the men's faults are less severely shown, For he considers that himself is one.-- Some stabbing wits, to bloody satire bent, Would treat both sexes with less compliment; Would lay the scene at home; of husbands tell, For wenches, taking up their wives i' the Mall; And a brisk bout, which each of them did want, Made by mistake of mistress and gallant. Our modest author thought it was enough To cut you off a sample of the stuff: He spared my shame, which you, I'm sure, would not, For you were all for driving on the plot: You sighed when I came in to break the sport, And set your teeth when each design fell short. To wives and servants all good wishes lend, But the poor cuckold seldom finds a friend. Since, therefore, court and town will take no pity, I humbly cast myself upon the city.

Footnotes: 1. _He mocks himself of me_.] Melantha, like some modern coxcombs, uses the idiom as well as the words of the French language.

2. _Dangerfield._] A dramatic bully, whose sword and habit became proverbial. "This gentleman, appearing with his mustaccios, according to the Turkish manner, Cordubee hat, and strange out-of-the-way clothes, just as if one had been dressed up to act Captain Dangerfield in the play, &c." _Life of Sir Dudley North._

* * * * *

THE

ASSIGNATION;

OR,

LOVE IN A NUNNERY.

A

COMEDY.

_Successum dea dira negat_ VIRG.

THE ASSIGNATION.

This play was unfortunate in the representation. It is needless, at the distance of more than a century, to investigate the grounds of the dislike of an audience, who, perhaps, could at the very time have given no good reason for their capricious condemnation of a play, not worse than many others which they received with applause. The author, in the dedication, hints at the "lameness of the action;" but, as the poet and performers are nearly equally involved in the disgrace of a condemned piece, it is a very natural desire on either side to assign the cause of its failure to the imperfections of the other; of which there is a ludicrous representation in a dialogue betwixt the player and the poet in "Joseph Andrews." Another cause of its unfavourable reception seems to have been, its second title of "Love in a Nunnery." Dryden certainly could, last of any man, have been justly suspected of an intention to ridicule the Duke of York and the Catholic religion; yet, as he fell under the same censure for the "Spanish Friar," it seems probable that such suspicions were actually entertained. The play certainly contains, in the present instance, nothing to justify them. In point of merit, "The Assignation" seems pretty much on a level with Dryden's other comedies; and certainly the spectators, who had received the blunders of Sir Martin Mar-all with such unbounded applause, might have taken some interest in those of poor Benito. Perhaps the absurd and vulgar scene, in which the prince pretends a fit of the cholic, had some share in occasioning the fall of the piece. This inelegant _jeu de theatre_ is severely ridiculed in the "Rehearsal."

To one person, the damnation of this play seems to have afforded exquisite pleasure. This was Edward Ravenscroft, once a member of the Middle Temple,--an ingenious gentleman, of whose taste it may be held a satisfactory instance, that he deemed the tragedy of "Titus Andronicus" too mild for representation, and generously added a few more murders, rapes, and parricides, to that charnel-house of horrors[1]. His turn for comedy being at least equal to his success in the blood-stained buskin, Mr Ravenscroft translated and mangled several of the more farcical French comedies, which he decorated with the lustre of his own great name. Amongst others which he thus appropriated, were the most extravagant and buffoon scenes in Moliere's "_Bourgeois Gentilhomme_;" in which Monsieur Jourdain is, with much absurd ceremony, created a Turkish Paladin; and where Moliere took the opportunity to introduce an _entrée de ballet_, danced and sung by the Mufti, dervises, and others, in eastern habits. Ravenscroft's translation, entitled "The Citizen turned Gentleman," was acted in 1672, and printed in the same year; the jargon of the songs, like similar nonsense of our own day, seems to have been well received on the stage. Dryden, who was not always above feeling indignation at the bad taste and unjust preferences of the age, attacked Ravenscroft in the prologue to "The Assignation," as he had before, though less directly, in that of "Marriage a-la-Mode." Hence the exuberant and unrepressed joy of that miserable scribbler broke forth upon the damnation of Dryden's performance, in the following passage of a prologue to another of his pilfered performances, called "The Careless Lovers," acted, according to Langbaine, in the vacation succeeding the fall of "The Assignation," in 1673:

An author did, to please you, let his wit run, Of late, much on a serving man and cittern; And yet, you would not like the serenade,-- Nay, and you damned his nuns in masquerade: You did his Spanish sing-song too abhor; _Ah! que locura con tanto rigor!_ In fine, the whole by you so much was blamed, To act their parts, the players were ashamed[2]. Ah, how severe your malice was that day! To damn, at once, the poet and his play[3]: But why was your rage just at that time shown, When what the author writ was all his own? Till then, he borrowed from romance, and did translate[4]; And those plays found a more indulgent fate.

Ravenscroft, however, seems to have given the first offence; for, in the prologue to "The Citizen turned Gentleman," licensed 9th August 1672, we find the following lines, obviously levelled at "The Conquest of Granada," and other heroic dramas of our author:

Then shall the knight, that had a knock in's cradle, Such as Sir Martin and Sir Arthur Addle[5], Be flocked unto, as the great heroes now In plays of rhyme and noise, with wondrous show:-- Then shall the house, to see these Hectors kill and slay, That bravely fight out the whole plot of the play, Be for at least six months full every day.

Langbaine, who quotes the lines from the prologue to Ravenscroft's "Careless Lovers," is of opinion, that he paid Dryden too great a compliment in admitting the originality of "The Assignation," and labours to shew, that the characters are imitated from the "Romance Comique" of Scarron, and other novels of the time. But Langbaine seems to have been unable to comprehend, that originality consists in the mode of treating a subject, more than in the subject itself.

"The Assignation" was acted in 1672, and printed in 1673.

Footnotes:

1. In the prologue to this beautified edition, Ravenscroft modestly tells us:

Like other poets, he'll not proudly scorn To own, that he but winnowed Shakespeare's corn: So far was he from robbing him of's treasure, That he did add his own, to make full measure.

2. This looks as if there had been some ground for Dryden's censure upon the actors.

3. A flat parody on the lines in Dryden's prologue, referring to Mamamouchi:

Grimace and habit sent you pleased away: You damned the poet, but cried up the play.

4. It is somewhat remarkable, that the censure contained in what is above printed like verses, recoils upon the head of the author, who never wrote a single original performance. Langbaine, the persecutor of all plagiarism, though he did not know very well in what it consisted, threatens to "pull off Ravenscroft's disguise, and discover the politic plagiary that lurks under it. I know," continues the biographer, "he has endeavoured to shew himself master of the art of swift writing, and would persuade the world, that what he writes is _extempore_ wit, and written _currente calamo_. But I doubt not to shew, that though he would be thought to imitate the silk-worm, that spins its web from its own bowels, yet I shall make him appear like the leech, that lives upon the blood of other men, drawn from the gums; and, when he is rubbed with salt, spews it up again."

5. Sir Martin Mar-all we are acquainted with. Sir Arthur Addle is a similar character, in a play called "Sir Solomon, or, The Cautious Coxcomb," attributed to one John Caryll.

TO

MY MOST HONOURED FRIEND,

SIR CHARLES SEDLEY, BART[1].

SIR,

The design of dedicating plays is as common and unjust, as that of desiring seconds in a duel. It is engaging our friends, it may be, in a senseless quarrel where they have much to venture, without any concernment of their own[2]. I have declared thus much beforehand, to prevent you from suspicion, that I intend to interest either your judgment or your kindness, in defending the errors of this comedy. It succeeded ill in the representation, against the opinion of many of the best judges of our age, to whom you know I read it, ere it was presented publicly. Whether the fault was in the play itself, or in the lameness of the action, or in the number of its enemies, who came resolved to damn it for the title, I will not now dispute. That would be too like the little satisfaction which an unlucky gamester finds in the relation of every cast by which he came to lose his money. I have had formerly so much success, that the miscarriage of this play was only my giving Fortune her revenge; I owed it her, and she was indulgent that she exacted not the payment long before. I will therefore deal more reasonably with you, than any poet has ever done with any patron: I do not so much as oblige you for my sake, to pass two ill hours in reading of my play. Think, if you please, that this dedication is only an occasion I have taken, to do myself the greatest honour imaginable with posterity; that is, to be recorded in the number of those men whom you have favoured with your friendship and esteem. For I am well assured, that, besides the present satisfaction I have, it will gain me the greatest part of my reputation with after ages, when they shall find me valuing myself on your kindness to me; I may have reason to suspect my own credit with them, but I have none to doubt of yours. And they who, perhaps, would forget me in my poems, would remember me in this epistle.

This was the course which has formerly been practised by the poets of that nation, who were masters of the universe. Horace and Ovid, who had little reason to distrust their immortality, yet took occasion to speak with honour of Virgil, Varius, Tibullus, and Propertius, their contemporaries; as if they sought, in the testimony of their friendship, a farther evidence of their fame. For my own part, I, who am the least amongst the poets, have yet the fortune to be honoured with the best patron, and the best friend. For, (to omit some great persons of our court, to whom I am many ways obliged, and who have taken care of me even amidst the exigencies of a war[3]) I can make my boast to have found a better Mæcenas in the person of my Lord Treasurer Clifford[4], and a more elegant Tibullus in that of Sir Charles Sedley. I have chosen that poet to whom I would resemble you, not only because I think him at least equal, if not superior, to Ovid in his elegies; nor because of his quality, for he was, you know, a Roman knight, as well as Ovid; but for his candour, his wealth, his way of living, and particularly because of this testimony which is given him by Horace, which I have a thousand times in my mind applied to you:

_Non tu corpus eras sine pectore: Dii tibi formam, Dii tibi divitias dederant, artemque fruendi. Quid voveat dulci nutricula majus alumno, Quam sapere, et fari possit quæ sentiat, et cui Gratia, forma, valetudo contingat abunde; Et mundus victus, non deficiente crumena?_

Certainly the poets of that age enjoyed much happiness in the conversation and friendship of one another. They imitated the best way of living, which was, to pursue an innocent and inoffensive pleasure, that which one of the ancients called _eruditam voluptatem_. We have, like them, our genial nights, where our discourse is neither too serious nor too light, but always pleasant, and, for the most part, instructive; the raillery, neither too sharp upon the present, nor too censorious on the absent; and the cups only such as will raise the conversation of the night, without disturbing the business of the morrow[5]. And thus far not only the philosophers, but the fathers of the church, have gone, without lessening their reputation of good manners, or of piety. For this reason, I have often laughed at the ignorant and ridiculous descriptions which some pedants have given of the wits, as they are pleased to call them; which are a generation of men as unknown to them, as the people of Tartary, or the Terra Australia, are to us. And therefore as we draw giants and anthropophagi in those vacancies of our maps, where we have not travelled to discover better; so those wretches paint lewdness, atheism, folly, ill-reasoning, and all manner of extravagancies amongst us, for want of understanding what we are. Oftentimes it so falls out, that they have a particular pique to some one amongst us, and then they immediately interest heaven in their quarrel; as it is an usual trick in courts, when one designs the ruin of his enemy, to disguise his malice with some concernment of the kings; and to revenge his own cause, with pretence of vindicating the honour of his master. Such wits as they describe, I have never been so unfortunate as to meet in your company; but have often heard much better reasoning at your table, than I have encountered in their books. The wits they describe, are the fops we banish: For blasphemy and atheism, if they were neither sin nor ill manners, are subjects so very common, and worn so threadbare, that people, who have sense, avoid them, for fear of being suspected to have none. It calls the good name of their wit in question as it does the credit of a citizen when his shop is filled with trumperies and painted titles, instead of wares: We conclude them bankrupt to all manner of understanding; and that to use blasphemy, is a kind of applying pigeons to the soles of the feet; it proclaims their fancy, as well as judgment, to be in a desperate condition. I am sure, for your own particular, if any of these judges had once the happiness to converse with you,--to hear the candour of your opinions; how freely you commend that wit in others of which you have, so large a portion yourself; how unapt you are to be censorious; with how much easiness you speak so many things, and those so pointed, that no other man is able to excel, or perhaps to reach by study;--they would, instead of your accusers, become your proselytes. They would reverence so much sense, and so much good nature in the same person; and come, like the satyr, to warm themselves at that fire, of which they were ignorantly afraid when they stood at a distance. But you have too great a reputation to be wholly free from censure: it is a fine which fortune sets upon all extraordinary persons, and from which you should not wish to be delivered until you are dead. I have been used by my critics much more severely, and have more reason to complain, because I am deeper taxed for a less estate. I am, ridiculously enough, accused to be a contemner of universities; that is, in other words, an enemy of learning; without the foundation of which, I am sure, no man can pretend to be a poet. And if this be not enough, I am made a detractor from my predecessors, whom I confess to have been my masters in the art. But this latter was the accusation of the best judge, and almost the best poet, in the Latin tongue. You find Horace complaining, that, for taxing some verses in Lucilius, he himself was blamed by others, though his design was no other than mine now, to improve the knowledge of poetry; and it was no defence to him, amongst his enemies, any more than it is for me, that he praised Lucilius where he deserved it; _paginâ laudatur eâdem_. It is for this reason I will be no more mistaken for my good meaning: I know I honour Ben Jonson more than my little critics, because, without vanity I may own, I understand him better[6]. As for the errors they pretend to find in me, I could easily show them, that the greatest part of them are beauties; and for the rest, I could recriminate upon the best poets of our nation, if I could resolve to accuse another of little faults, whom, at the same time, I admire for greater excellencies. But I have neither concernment enough upon me to write any thing in my own defence, neither will I gratify the ambition of two wretched scribblers, who desire nothing more than to be answered. I have not wanted friends, even among strangers, who have defended me more strongly, than my contemptible pedant could attack me[7]. For the other, he is only like Fungoso in the play, who follows the fashion at a distance, and adores the Fastidious Brisk of Oxford[8]. You can bear me witness, that I have not consideration enough for either of them to be angry. Let Mævius and Bavius admire each other; I wish to be hated by them and their fellows, by the same reason for which I desire to be loved by you. And I leave it to the world, whether their judgment of my poetry ought to be preferred to yours; though they are as much prejudiced by their malice, as I desire you should be led by your kindness, to be partial to,

SIR,

Your most humble, And most faithful servant, JOHN DRYDEN.

Footnotes:

1. Sir Charles Sedley, noted among "the mob of gentlemen who wrote with ease," was so highly applauded for his taste and judgment, that Charles said, "Nature had given him a patent to be Apollo's viceroy." Some account has been given of this celebrated courtier, in the introduction to the Essay on Dramatic Poetry. Dryden was at this time particularly induced to appeal to the taste of the first among the gay world, by the repeated censures which had been launched against him from the groves of Academe. Mr Malone gives the titles of three pamphlets which had appeared against Dryden. 1. The Censure of the Rota, on Mr Dryden's Conquest of Granada, printed at Oxford. 2. A Description of the Academy of the Athenian Virtuoso, with a discourse held there in vindication of Mr Dryden's Conquest of Granada, against the Author of the Censure of the Rota. 3. A Friendly Vindication of Mr Dryden, from the Author of the Censure of the Rota, printed at Cambridge. Thus assailed by the grave and the learned, censured for the irregularities of his gay patrons, which he countenanced although he did not partake, and stigmatized as a detractor of his predecessors, and a defamer of classical learning, it was natural for Dryden to appeal to the most accomplished of those amongst whom he lived, and to whose taste he was but too strongly compelled to adapt his productions. Sedley, therefore, as a man of wit and gallantry, is called upon to support our author against the censures of pedantic severity. Whatever may be thought of the subject, the appeal is made with all Dryden's spirit and elegance, and his description of the attic evenings spent with Sedley and his gay associates, glosses over, and almost justifies, their occasional irregularities. We have but too often occasion to notice, with censure, the licentious manners of the giddy court of Charles; let us not omit its merited commendation. If the talents of the men of parts of that period were often ill-directed, and ill-rewarded, let not us, from whom that gratitude is justly due, forget that they were called forth and stimulated to exertion, by the countenance and applause of the great. We, at least, who enjoy the fruit of these exertions, ought to rejoice, that the courtiers of Charles possessed the taste to countenance and applaud the genius which was too often perverted by the profligacy of their example, and left unrewarded amid their selfish prodigality.

2. At this period, seconds in a duel fought, as well as principals.

3. The second Dutch war, then raging.

4. To whom the tragedy of "Amboyna" is dedicated.

5. It is impossible to avoid contrasting this beautiful account of elegant dissipation with the noted freak of Sir Charles Sedley, to whom it is addressed. In June 1663, being in company with Lord Buckhurst and Sir Thomas Ogle, in a tavern in Bowstreet, and having become furious with intoxication, they not only exposed themselves, by committing the grossest indecencies in the balcony, in the sight of the passengers; but, a mob being thus collected, Sedley stripped himself naked, and proceeded to harangue them in the grossest and most impious language. The indignation of the populace being excited, they attempted to burst into the house, and a desperate riot ensued, in which the orator and his companions had nearly paid for their frolic with their lives. For this riot they were indicted in the Court of Common Pleas, and heavily fined; Sedley in the sum of L. 500. When the Lord Chief Justice, Sir Robert Hyde, to repress his insolence, asked him if he had ever read the "Complete Gentleman?" Sedley answered, that he had read more books than his lordship; a repartee which exhibits more effrontery than wit. The culprits employed Killigrew and another courtier to solicit a mitigation of the fine; but, in the true spirit of court friendship, they begged it for themselves, and extorted every farthing.

6. Our author here shortly repeats what he has said at more length in his Defence of the Epilogue to the second part of the Conquest of Granada.

7. The pedant Mr Malone conjectures to be Matthew Clifford, Master of the Charter-house, one of the Duke of Buckingham's colleagues in writing "The Rehearsal." But the _pedant_ is obviously the same with the Fastidious Brisk _of Oxford_, mentioned in the following sentence, which can hardly apply to Clifford, who was educated at Cambridge. One Leigh is said by Wood to have written the Censure of the Rota; and as he was educated at Oxford and the book printed there, he may be "the contemptible pedant," though his profession was that of a player in the duke's company.

8. Fungoso and Sir Fastidious Brisk are two characters in "Every Man Out of his Humour;" the former of whom is represented as copying the dress and manners of the latter. Dryden seems only to mean, that one of those pamphleteers was the servile imitator of the other.

PROLOGUE.

Prologues, like bells to churches, toll you in With chiming verse, till the dull plays begin; With this sad difference though, of pit and pew, You damn the poet, but the priest damns you: But priests can treat you at your own expence, And gravely call you fools without offence. Poets, poor devils, have ne'er your folly shown, But, to their cost, you proved it was their own: For, when a fop's presented on the stage, Straight all the coxcombs in the town engage; For his deliverance and revenge they join, And grunt, like hogs, about their captive swine. Your poets daily split upon this shelf,-- You must have fools, yet none will have himself. Or if, in kindness, you that leave would give, No man could write you at that rate you live: For some of you grow fops with so much haste, Riot in nonsense, and commit such waste, 'Twould ruin poets should they spend so fast. He, who made this, observed what farces hit, And durst not disoblige you now with wit. But, gentlemen, you over-do the mode; You must have fools out of the common road. Th' unnatural strained buffoon is only taking; No fop can please you now of God's own making. Pardon our poet, if he speaks his mind; You come to plays with your own follies lined: Small fools fall on you, like small showers, in vain; Your own oiled coats keep out all common rain. You must have Mamamouchi[1], such a fop As would appear a monster in a shop; He'll fill your pit and boxes to the brim, Where, rain'd in crowds, you see yourselves in him. Sure there's some spell, our poet never knew, In _Hullibabilah de_, and _Chu, chu, chu_; But _Marababah sahem_[2] most did touch you; That is, Oh how we love the Mamamouchi! Grimace and habit sent you pleased away: You damned the poet, and cried up the play. This thought had made our author more uneasy, But that he hopes I'm fool enough to please ye. But here's my grief,--though nature, joined with art, Have cut me out to act a fooling part, Yet, to your praise, the few wits here will say, 'Twas imitating you taught Haynes to play.

Footnotes: 1. See the introductory remarks on the "Citizen turned Gentleman," of Ravenscroft, where the jest turns on Jorden's being created a _Mamamouchi_, or Turkish paladin, as it is interpreted.

2. _Trickman._ I told him she was woundrous beautiful. Then said he, _Marababa sahem_, Ah how much in love am I!

_Jorden._ Marababa sahem, means, how much in love am I?

_Trick._ Yes.

_Jorden._ I am beholden to you for telling me, for I ne'er could have thought that Marababa sahem, should signify, Ah how much in love am I. Ah this Turkish is an admirable language! _Citizen turned Gentleman_, Act. IV.

In the same piece, we are presented with a grand chorus of Turks and Dervises, who sing, "_Hu la baba la chou ba la baba la da._"

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.

_Duke of Mantua._ _Prince_ FREDERICK, _his son._ AURELIAN, _a Roman Gentleman._ CAMILLO, _his friend._ MARIO, _Governor of Rome._ ASCANIO, _page of honour to the Prince._ BENITO, _Servant to_ AURELIAN. VALERIO, _confidant to the Duke._ FABIO, _Servant to_ MARIO.

SOPHRONIA, _Abbess of the Torr' di Specchì._ LUCRETIA, _a Lady designed to be a Nun._ HIPPOLITA, _a Nun._ LAURA, } VIOLETTA } _Sisters, nieces to_ MARIO. FRONTONA, _lets Lodgings._

_SCENE--Rome._

THE

ASSIGNATION;

OR,

LOVE IN A NUNNERY.