SCENE V.--_A Room in_ Sir JOLLY JUMBLE'S _House_. _A banquet set out.

_Enter_ Sir JOLLY JUMBLE, BEAUGARD, _and_ Lady DUNCE.

_Sir Jol._ So, are ye come? I am glad on't; odd, you're welcome, very welcome, odd, ye are; here's a small banquet, but I hope 'twill please you; sit ye down, sit ye down both together; nay, both together: a pox o' him that parts ye, I say!

_Beau._ Sir Jolly, this might be an entertainment for Antony and Cleopatra, were they living.

_Sir Jol._ Pish! a pox of Antony and Cleopatra, they are dead and rotten long ago; come, come, time's but short, time's but short, and must be made the best use of; for

Youth's a flower that soon does fade, And life is but a span; Man was for the woman made, And woman made for man.

Why, now we can be bold, and make merry, and frisk and be brisk, rejoice, and make a noise, and--odd, I am pleased, mightily pleased, odd, I am.

_L. Dunce._ Really, Sir Jolly, you are more a philosopher than I thought you were.

_Sir Jol._ Philosopher, madam! yes, madam, I have read books in my times; odd, Aristotle, in some things, had very pretty notions, he was an understanding fellow. Why don't ye eat? odd, an ye don't eat--here, child, here's some ringoes,[54] help, help your neighbour a little; odd, they are very good, very comfortable, very cordial.

_Beau._ Sir Jolly, your health.

_Sir Jol._ With all my heart, old boy.

_L. Dunce._ Dear Sir Jolly, what are these? I never tasted of these before.

_Sir Jol._ That? eat it, eat it, eat it when I bid you; odd, 'tis the root satyrion,[55] a very precious plant, I gather 'em every May myself; odd, they'll make an old fellow of sixty-five cut a caper like a dancing-master. Give me some wine. Madam, here's a health, here's a health, madam, here's a health to honest Sir Davy, faith and troth, ha, ha, ha! [Dance.

_Enter_ BLOODY-BONES.

_Bloody-B._ Sir, sir, sir! what will you do? yonder's the constable and all his watch at the door, and threatens demolishment, if not admitted presently.

_Sir Jol._ Odds so! odds so! the constable and his watch! what's to be done now? get you both into the alcove there, get ye gone quickly, quickly; no noise, no noise, d'ye hear? [_Exeunt_ Lady DUNCE _and_ BEAUGARD.] The constable and his watch! a pox on the constable and his watch! what the devil have the constable and his watch to do here?

_Enter_ Constable, Watch, _and_ Sir DAVY DUNCE.

_Const._ This way, this way, gentlemen; stay one of ye at the door, and let nobody pass, do you hear? Sir Jolly, your servant.

_Sir Jol._ What, this outrage, this disturbance committed upon my house and family! sir, sir, sir! what do you mean by these doings, sweet sir? ho!

_Const._ Sir, having received information that the body of a murdered man is concealed in your house, I am come, according to my duty, to make search and discover the truth.--Stand to my assistance, gentlemen.

_Sir Jol._ A murdered man, sir?

_Sir Dav._ Yes, a murdered man, sir. Sir Jolly, Sir Jolly, I am sorry to see a person of your character and figure in the parish concerned in a murder, I say.

_Sir Jol._ Here's a dog! here's a rogue for you! here's a villain! here's a cuckoldy son of his mother! I never knew a cuckold in my life that was not a false rogue in his heart; there are no honest fellows living but whore-masters. Hark you, sir, what a pox do you mean? you had best play the fool, and spoil all, you had; what's all this for?

_Sir Dav._ When your worship's come to be hanged, you'll find the meaning on't, sir. I say once more, search the house.

_Const._ It shall be done, sir. Come along, friends.

[_Exeunt_ Constable _and_ Watch.

_Sir Jol._ Search my house! O Lord! search my house! what will become of me? I shall lose my reputation with man and woman, and nobody will ever trust me again. O Lord! search my house! all will be discovered, do what I can! I'll sing a song like a dying swan, and try to give them warning.

Go from the window, my love, my love, my love, Go from the window, my dear; The wind and the rain Have brought 'em back again, And thou canst have no lodging here.[56]

O Lord! search my house!

_Sir Dav._ Break down that door, I'll have that door broke open; break down that door, I say. [_Knocking within._

_Sir Jol._ Very well done; break down my doors, break down my walls, gentlemen! plunder my house! ravish my maids! Ah, cursed be cuckolds, cuckolds, constables, and cuckolds!

_A door is opened and discovers_ BEAUGARD _and_ Lady DUNCE. _Re-enter_ Constable _and_ Watch.

_Beau._ Stand off! by Heaven, the first that comes here comes upon his death.

_Sir Dav._ Sir, your humble servant; I'm glad to see you are alive again with all my heart. Gentlemen, here's no harm done, gentlemen; here's nobody murdered, gentlemen; the man's alive, again, gentlemen; but here's my wife, gentlemen, and a fine gentleman with her, gentlemen; and Master Constable, I hope you'll bear me witness, Master Constable.

_Sir Jol._ That he's a cuckold, Master Constable.

[_Aside._

_Beau._ Hark ye, ye curs, keep off from snapping at my heels, or I shall so feague[57] ye.

_Sir Jol._ Get ye gone, ye dogs, ye rogues, ye night-toads of the parish dungeon; disturb my house at these unseasonable hours! get ye out of my doors, get ye gone, or I'll brain ye, dogs, rogues, villains! [_Exeunt_ Constable _and_ Watch.

_Beau._ And next for you, Sir Coxcomb, you see I am not murdered, though you paid well for the performance; what think you of bribing my own man to butcher me?

_Enter_ FOURBIN.

Look ye, sir, he can cut a throat upon occasion, and here's another dresses a man's heart with oil and pepper, better than any cook in Christendom.

_Four._ Will your worship please to have one for your breakfast this morning?

_Sir Dav._ With all my heart, sweetheart, anything in the world, faith and troth, ha, ha, ha! this is the purest sport, ha, ha, ha!

_Re-enter_ VERMIN.

_Ver._ Oh, sir, the most unhappy and most unfortunate news! There has been a gentleman in Madam Sylvia's chamber all this night, who, just as you went out of doors, carried her away, and whither they are gone nobody knows.

_Sir Dav._ With all my heart, I am glad on't, child, I would not care if he had carried away my house and all, man. Unhappy news, quoth-a! poor fool, he does not know I am a cuckold, and that anybody may make bold with what belongs to me, ha, ha, ha! I am so pleased, ha, ha, ha; I think I was never so pleased in all my life before, ha, ha, ha!

_Beau._ Nay, sir, I have a hank[58] upon you; there are laws for cut-throats, sir; and as you tender your future credit, take this wronged lady home, and use her handsomely, use her like my mistress, sir, do you mark me? that when we think fit to meet again, I hear no complaint of you; this must be done, friend.

_Sir Jol._ In troth, and it is but reasonable, very reasonable in troth.

_L. Dunce._ Can you, my dear, forgive me one misfortune?

_Sir Dav._ Madam, in one word, I am thy ladyship's most humble servant and cuckold, Sir Davy Dunce, knight, living in Covent-garden; ha, ha, ha! well, this is mighty pretty, ha, ha, ha!

_Enter_ SYLVIA, _followed by_ COURTINE.

_Sylv._ Sir Jolly, ah, Sir Jolly, protect me or I'm ruined.

_Sir Jol._ My little minikin, is it thy squeak?

_Beau._ My dear Courtine, welcome.

_Sir Jol._ Well, child, and what would that wicked fellow do to thee, child? Ha! child, child, what would he do to thee?

_Sylv._ Oh, sir, he has most inhumanly seduced me out of my uncle's house, and threatens to marry me.

_Cour._ Nay, sir, and she having no more grace before her eyes neither, has e'en taken me at my word.

_Sir Jol._ In troth, and that's very uncivilly done: I don't like these marriages, I'll have no marriages in my house, and there's an end on't.

_Sir Dav._ And do you intend to marry my niece, friend?

_Cour._ Yes, sir, and never ask your consent neither.

_Sir Dav._ In troth, and that's very well said: I am glad on't with all my heart, man, because she has five thousand pounds to her portion, and my estate's bound to pay it. Well, this is the happiest day, ha, ha, ha!

Here, take thy bride, like man and wife agree, And may she prove as true--as mine to me.

Ha, ha, ha!

_Beau._ Courtine, I wish thee joy: thou art come opportunely to be a witness of a perfect reconcilement between me and that worthy knight, Sir Davy Dunce; which to preserve inviolate, you must, sir, before we part, enter into such covenants for performance as I shall think fit.

_Sir Dav._ No more to be said; it shall be done, sweetheart: but don't be too hard upon me; use me gently, as thou didst my wife; gently, ha, ha, ha! a very good jest, i' faith, ha, ha, ha! or if he should be cruel to me, gentlemen, and take this advantage over a poor cornuto, to lay me in a prison, or throw me in a dungeon, at least--

I hope amongst all you, sirs, I shan't fail To find one brother-cuckold out for bail. [_Exeunt._

FOOTNOTES:

[48] Getting bespattered while roving about.

[49] Whipping.

[50] Truly.

[51] A strong inclination.

[52] Strong new wine.

[53] A writ in common law, penalty, difficulty.

[54] Eringoes, the holly plant, which was considered to be an aphrodisiac.

[55] Another aphrodisiac.

[56] This ballad often occurs in the plays of Beaumont and Fletcher, and particularly in _Monsieur Thomas_.

[57] Whip.

[58] Hold.

EPILOGUE

With the discharge of passions much oppressed, Disturbed in brain, and pensive in his breast, Full of those thoughts which make the unhappy sad, And by imagination half grown mad, The poet led abroad his mourning muse, And let her range, to see what sport she'd choose. Straight, like a bird got loose, and on the wing, Pleased with her freedom she began to sing; Each note was echoed all the vale along, And this was what she uttered in her song:-- Wretch, write no more for an uncertain fame, Nor call thy muse, when thou art dull, to blame: Consider with thyself how thou'rt unfit To make that monster of mankind, a wit: A wit's a toad, who, swelled with silly pride, Full of himself, scorns all the world beside; Civil would seem, though he good manners lacks, Smiles on all faces, rails behind all backs. If e'er good-natured, nought to ridicule, Good-nature melts a wit into a fool: Placed high like some jack-pudding in a hall, At Christmas revels, he makes sport for all. So much in little praises he delights, But when he's angry, draws his pen, and writes. A wit to no man will his dues allow; Wits will not part with a good word that's due: So whoe'er ventures on the ragged coast Of starving poets, certainly is lost; They rail like porters at the penny-post. At a new author's play see one but sit, Making his snarling froward face of wit, The merit he allows, and praise he grants, Comes like a tax from a poor wretch that wants. O poets, have a care of one another, There's hardly one amongst ye true to t'other: Like Trinculos and Stephanos, ye play The lewdest tricks each other to betray.[59] Like foes detract, yet flattering, friend-like smile, And all is one another to beguile Of praise, the monster of your barren isle. Enjoy the prostitute ye so admire, Enjoy her to the full of your desire; Whilst this poor scribbler wishes to retire, Where he may ne'er repeat his follies more, But curse the fate that wrecked him on your shore.

Now you, who this day as his judges sit, After you've heard what he has said of wit, Ought for your own sakes not to be severe, But show so much to think he meant none here.

VENICE PRESERVED;

OR,

A PLOT DISCOVERED.

Venice Preserved was written and acted in 1682, when the terrors of the alleged Popish Plot had nearly subsided, and probably receives its second title from that atrocious and equivocal scare. It is founded on the historical novel of Saint-Réal, _Conjuration des Espagnols contre la Venise en 1618_, though Sir Henry Wotton, who was our ambassador to Venice at the time, calls it a French conspiracy. The whole thing was kept as dark as possible by the Republic, and its exact character is not easy to determine. Mr. Horatio Brown, however, by original researches in the Venetian archives, has thrown much light upon it in his recent charming volume of _Venetian Sketches_. Needy French adventurers, like Pierre and Renault, appear to have inflamed the ambition of Spanish grandees, like Osorio, Viceroy of Naples, and Bedamar, the ambassador at Venice, to compass the ruin of the Republic by taking advantage of gross internal corruption, the glaring contrast between social luxury and poverty, and consequent political discontent. But it was a rat-like hole-and-corner plot, as devoid of civic virtue or dignity, as any Rye House plot of Otway's time, or any American-Irish assassination club of our own.

The last time the play was performed without the omission of the comic scenes, in which Antonio so degradingly figures, was at the special command of George II.; but they were condemned by the audience in spite of royal influence. The satire upon Shaftesbury, designed in the character of Antonio, is said to have been introduced at the instigation of Charles II. (Derrick, _Dramatic Censor_, p. 2). In the prologue to the play, Shaftesbury's ambition to be elected King of Poland, which procured for him the nick-name of "Count Tapsky," and was ridiculed by Dryden in _The Medal_, is openly referred to. Antonio's name and age also correspond to those of Shaftesbury. But the parody of his style of speaking is poor. The audience on the occasion just referred to bestowed vehement applause on Leigh and Mrs. Currer, who acted the parts of Antonio and Aquilina. So fond were people of buffoonery in those days that, according to Davies (_Dramatic Miscellany_), when Pierre, defying the conspirators (Act III.), exclaims--"Thou die! Thou kill my friend! or thou, or thou, or thou with that lean, withered, wretched face!"--an actor, selected for the purpose, of a most unfortunate figure and meagre visage, presented himself, and converted this fine passage into burlesque.

The play of _Venice Preserved_ has been several times translated into French. Hallam observes that the _Manlius Capitolinus_ of Antoine de la Fosse, published in 1698, and imitated from _Venice Preserved_, shows the influence which Otway exercised abroad. Upon himself the influence of contemporary French dramatists was in turn very marked. Lord Byron was certainly indebted to this play in his _Marino Faliero_. An old French critic finds fault with the tolling of the bell in Act V. "This shocking extravagance, which in Paris would excite only contempt and derision, strikes the English with awe." How fashions change! Think of Victor Hugo and _Lucrezia Borgia_!

Hallam remarked that _Venice Preserved_ had been more frequently seen on the stage than any other play, except those of Shakespeare. He relates that when he saw it he was affected almost to agony. According to Mr. Archer (_Reign of Victoria. Drama_), _Venice Preserved_ was performed under Macready at Covent Garden between 1837 and 1839. It was revived at Sadler's Wells in 1845, with Phelps as Jaffier, and Mrs. Warner as Belvidera.

TO HER GRACE THE DUCHESS OF PORTSMOUTH.[60]

Madam,

Were it possible for me to let the world know how entirely your Grace's goodness has devoted a poor man to your service; were there words enough in speech to express the mighty sense I have of your great bounty towards me, surely I should write and talk of it for ever: but your Grace has given me so large a theme, and laid so very vast a foundation, that imagination wants stock to build upon it. I am as one dumb when I would speak of it; and when I strive to write, I want a scale of thought sufficient to comprehend the height of it.

Forgive me, then, madam, if (as a poor peasant once made a present of an apple to an emperor) I bring this small tribute, the humble growth of my little garden, and lay it at your feet. Believe it is paid you with the utmost gratitude; believe that so long as I have thought to remember how very much I owe your generous nature, I will ever have a heart that shall be grateful for it too: your Grace, next Heaven, deserves it amply from me; that gave me life, but on a hard condition--till your extended favour taught me to prize the gift, and took the heavy burthen it was clogged with from me; I mean hard fortune. When I had enemies, that with malicious power kept back and shaded me from those royal beams whose warmth is all I have, or hope to live by, your noble pity and compassion found me, where I was far cast backward from my blessing, down in the rear of fortune; called me up, placed me in the shine, and I have felt its comfort. You have in that restored me to my native right; for a steady faith, and loyalty to my prince, was all the inheritance my father left me: and however hardly my ill fortune deal with me, 'tis what I prize so well that I ne'er pawned it yet, and hope I ne'er shall part with it.

Nature and fortune were certainly in league when you were born; and as the first took care to give you beauty enough to enslave the hearts of all the world, so the other resolved, to do its merit justice, that none but a monarch, fit to rule that world, should e'er possess it; and in it he had an empire. The young prince[61] you have given him, by his blooming virtues, early declares the mighty stock he came from; and as you have taken all the pious care of a dear mother and a prudent guardian to give him a noble and generous education, may it succeed according to his merits and your wishes: may he grow up to be a bulwark to his illustrious father, and a patron to his loyal subjects; with wisdom and learning to assist him, whenever called to his councils; to defend his right against the encroachments of republicans in his senates; to cherish such men as shall be able to vindicate the royal cause; that good and fit servants to the crown may never be lost for want of a protector. May he have courage and conduct, fit to fight his battles abroad, and terrify his rebels at home; and that all these may be yet more sure, may he never, during the spring-time of his years, when those growing virtues ought with care to be cherished, in order to their ripening;--may he never meet with vicious natures, or the tongues of faithless, sordid, insipid flatterers, to blast them. To conclude, may he be as great as the hand of fortune (with his honour) shall be able to make him; and may your Grace, who are so good a mistress, and so noble a patroness, never meet with a less grateful servant than,

Madam, Your Grace's entirely devoted Creature, THOMAS OTWAY.

FOOTNOTES:

[59] In the alteration of Shakespeare's _Tempest_, by Dryden and Davenant.

[60] Louise de Kerouaille, Charles II.'s well-known mistress, who was sent over by Louis XIV., and who supplanted all Charles's other mistresses, except Nell Gwyn. Wealth and honours were heaped upon her, and her apartments at Whitehall were far more splendid, Evelyn tells us, than the queen's. She had, of course, many enemies, one of whom, in the same year in which Otway wrote this dedication, placed the following lines beneath her portrait:--

"Lowly born and meanly bred, Yet of this nation is the head; For half Whitehall make her their court, Though the other half make her their sport. Monmouth's tower, Jeffery's advance, Foe to England, spy to France, False and foolish, proud and bold, Ugly, as you see, and old; In a word, her mighty Grace Is whore in all things but her face."

She was, however, at this time not more than thirty-seven, and survived the king for fifty years.

[61] Charles Lennox, created Duke of Richmond in 1675, and an ancestor of the present Duke.

PROLOGUE.

In these distracted times, when each man dreads The bloody stratagems of busy heads; When we have feared, three years, we know not what, Till witnesses[62] begin to die o' the rot, What made our poet meddle with a plot? Was't that he fancied, for the very sake And name of plot, his trifling play might take? For there's not in't one inch-board evidence, But 'tis, he says, to reason plain, and sense, And that he thinks a plausible defence. Were truth by sense and reason to be tried, Sure all our swearers might be laid aside: No, of such tools our author has no need, To make his plot, or make his play succeed; He of black bills has no prodigious tales, Or Spanish pilgrims cast ashore in Wales; Here's not one murdered magistrate at least, Kept rank, like venison for a city feast; Grown four days stiff, the better to prepare And fit his pliant limbs to ride in chair: Yet here's an army raised, though under ground, But no man seen, nor one commission found; Here is a traitor too that's very old, Turbulent, subtle, mischievous, and bold; Bloody, revengeful, and, to crown his part, Loves fumbling with a wench with all his heart; Till after having many changes past, In spite of age (thanks Heaven) is hanged at last. Next is a senator that keeps a whore, In Venice none a higher office bore; To lewdness every night the lecher ran: Show me, all London, such another man, Match him at Mother Creswold's[63] if you can. O Poland, Poland! had it been thy lot, T'have heard in time of this Venetian plot, Thou surely chosen hadst one king from thence, And honoured them, as thou hast England since.

FOOTNOTES:

[62] _i.e._ Titus Oates and others. The prologue is full of allusions to events of the time.

[63] The well-known Mother Creswell, a notorious procuress, who kept up an extensive correspondence with spies and emissaries, by whom she was informed of "the rising beauties in different parts of the kingdom."

Duke of VENICE. PRIULI, Father of Belvidera, a Senator. ANTONIO, a fine speaker in the Senate. BEDAMAR, the Spanish Ambassador. JAFFIER, } PIERRE, } RENAULT, } SPINOSA, } THEODORE, } ELIOT, } REVILLIDO, } Conspirators. DURAND, } MEZZANA, } BRAINVILLE, } TERNON, } RETROSI, } BRABE, } BELVIDERA. AQUILINA, a Greek Courtesan. Two Women, Attendants on Belvidera. Two Women, Servants to Aquilina. The Council of Ten. Officer, Guard, Friar, Executioner, and Rabble.

SCENE--VENICE.

_VENICE PRESERVED_;

_OR_,

_A PLOT DISCOVERED._

ACT THE FIRST.