SCENE VI.--_The Dining-room in Mulberry-garden House.

_Enter_ Sir SIMON ADDLEPLOT, GRIPE, Lady FLIPPANT, Mrs. MARTHA, Mrs. JOYNER, Mrs. CROSSBITE, _and_ LUCY.

_Sir Sim._ 'Tis as I told you, sir, you see.

_Gripe._ Oh, graceless babe! married to a wit! an idle, loitering, slandering, foul-mouthed, beggarly wit! Oh that my child should ever live to marry a wit!

_Mrs. Joyn._ Indeed, your worship had better seen her fairly buried, as they say.

_Mrs. Cros._ If my daughter there should have done so, I would not have given her a groat.

_Gripe._ Marry a wit!

_Sir Sim._ Mrs. Joyner, do not let me lose the widow too:--for if you do, (betwixt friends,) I and my small annuity are both blown up: it will follow my estate. [_Aside to_ Mrs. JOYNER.

_Mrs. Joyn._ I warrant you. [_Aside._

_L. Flip._ Let us make sure of Sir Simon to-night, or--[_Aside to_ Mrs. JOYNER.

_Mrs. Joyn._ You need not fear it.--[_Aside._] Like the lawyers, while my clients endeavour to cheat one another, I in justice cheat 'em both.

_Gripe._ Marry a wit!

_Enter_ DAPPERWIT, RANGER, LYDIA, VALENTINE, CHRISTINA, _and_ VINCENT. DAPPERWIT _stops them, and they stand all behind._

_Dap._ What, is he here! Lucy and her mother! [_Aside._

_Gripe._ Tell me how thou camest to marry a wit.

_Mrs. Mar._ Pray be not angry, sir, and I'll give you a good reason.

_Gripe._ Reason for marrying a wit!

_Mrs. Mar._ Indeed, I found myself six months gone with child, and saw no hopes of your getting me a husband, or else I had not married a wit, sir.

_Mrs. Joyn._ Then you were the wit.

_Gripe._ Had you that reason? nay, then----[_Holding up his hands._

_Dap._ How's that! [_Aside._

_Ran._ Who would have thought, Dapperwit, you would have married a wench?

_Dap._ [_To_ RANGER.]--Well, thirty thousand pounds will make me amends; I have known my betters wink, and fall on for five or six.--[_To_ GRIPE _and the rest._] What! you are come, sir, to give me joy? you Mrs. Lucy, you and you? well, unbid guests are doubly welcome.--Sir Simon, I made bold to invite these ladies and gentlemen.--For you must know, Mr. Ranger, this worthy Sir Simon does not only give me my wedding supper, but my mistress too; and is, as it were, my father.

_Sir Sim._ Then I am, as it were, a grandfather to your new wife's _Hans en kelder_;[49] to which you are but, as it were, a father! there's for you again, sir--ha, ha!--

_Ran._ Ha! ha! ha!--[_To_ VINCENT.

_Dap._ Fools sometimes say unhappy things, if we would mind 'em; but--what! melancholy at your daughter's wedding, sir?

_Gripe._ How deplorable is my condition!

_Dap._ Nay, if you will rob me of my wench, sir, can you blame me for robbing you of your daughter? I cannot be without a woman.

_Gripe._ My daughter, my reputation, and my money gone!--but the last is dearest to me. Yet at once I may retrieve that, and be revenged for the loss of the other: and all this by marrying Lucy here: I shall get my five hundred pounds again, and get heirs to exclude my daughter and frustrate Dapperwit; besides, 'tis agreed on all hands, 'tis cheaper keeping a wife than a wench. [_Aside._

_Dap._ If you are so melancholy, sir, we will have the fiddles and a dance to divert you; come!

_A Dance._

_Gripe._ Indeed, you have put me so upon a merry pin, that I resolve to marry too.

_L. Flip._ Nay, if my brother come to marrying once, I may too; I swore I would, when he did, little thinking--

_Sir Sim._ I take you at your word, madam.

_L. Flip._ Well, but if I had thought you would have been so quick with me--

_Gripe._ Where is your parson?

_Dap._ What! you would not revenge yourself upon the parson?

_Gripe._ No, I would have the parson revenge me upon you; he should marry me.

_Dap._ I am glad you are so frolic, sir; but who would you marry?

_Gripe._ That innocent lady. [_Pointing to_ LUCY.

_Dap._ That innocent lady!

_Gripe._ Nay, I am impatient, Mrs. Joyner; pray fetch him up if he be yet in the house.

_Dap._ We were not married here:--but you cannot be in earnest.

_Gripe._ You'll find it so; since you have robbed me of my housekeeper, I must get another.

_Dap._ Why, she was my wench!

_Gripe._ I'll make her honest then.

_Mrs. Cros._ Upon my repute he never saw her before:--but will your worship marry my daughter then?

_Gripe._ I promise her and you, before all this good company, to-morrow I will make her my wife.

_Dap._ How!

_Ran._ Our ladies, sir, I suppose, expect the same promise from us. [_To_ VALENTINE.

_Val._ They may be sure of us without a promise; but let us (if we can) obtain theirs, to be sure of them.

_Dap._ But will you marry her to-morrow?--[_To_ GRIPE.

_Gripe._ I will, verily.

_Dap._ I am undone then! ruined, let me perish!

_Sir Sim._ No, you may hire a little room in Covent Garden, and set up a coffee-house:--you and your wife will be sure of the wits' custom.

_Dap._

Abused by him I have abused!-- Fortune our foe we cannot overwit; By none but thee our projects are cross-bit.

_Val._ Come, dear madam, what, yet angry?--jealousy sure is much more pardonable before marriage than after it; but to-morrow, by the help of the parson, you'll put me out of all my fears.

_Chris._ I am afraid then you would give me my revenge, and make me jealous of you; and I had rather suspect your faith than you should mine.

_Ran._ Cousin Lydia, I had rather suspect your faith too, than you should mine; therefore let us e'en marry to-morrow, that I may have my turn of watching, dogging, standing under the window, at the door, behind the hanging, or--

_Lyd._ But if I could be desperate now and give you up my liberty, could you find in your heart to quit all other engagements, and voluntarily turn yourself over to one woman, and she a wife too? could you away with the insupportable bondage of matrimony?

_Ran._ You talk of matrimony as irreverently as my Lady Flippant: the bondage of matrimony! no--

The end of marriage now is liberty. And two are bound--to set each other free.

EPILOGUE

SPOKEN BY DAPPERWIT.[50]

Now my brisk brothers of the pit, you'll say I'm come to speak a good word for the play; But gallants, let me perish! if I do, For I have wit and judgment, just like you; Wit never partial, judgment free and bold, For fear or friendship never bought or sold, Nor by good-nature e'er to be cajoled. Good-nature in a critic were a crime, Like mercy in a judge, and renders him Guilty of all those faults he does forgive, Besides, if thief from gallows you reprieve, He'll cut your throat; so poet saved from shame, In damned lampoon will murder your good name. Yet in true spite to him and to his play, Good faith, you should not rail at them to-day But to be more his foe, seem most his friend, And so maliciously the play commend; That he may be betrayed to writing on, And poet let him be,--to be undone.

_THE GENTLEMAN DANCING-MASTER._

"Non satis est risu diducere rictum Auditorus: et est quædam tamen his quoque virtus."[51]--HORAT.

If we may trust the author's statement to Pope, this admirable comedy was written when Wycherley was twenty-one years of age, in the year 1661-2. It is impossible to fix with certainty the date of its first performance. The Duke's Company, then under the management of the widow of Sir William Davenant, opened its new theatre in Dorset Gardens, near Salisbury Court, on the 9th of November, 1671, with a performance of Dryden's _Sir Martin Mar-all_, and Wycherley's "Prologue to the City" points to the production of his play in the new theatre shortly after its opening. Genest states, on the authority of Downes, that "_The Gentleman Dancing-Master_ was the third new play acted at this theatre, and that several of the old stock plays were acted between each of the new ones." _Sir Martin Mar-all_, having been three times performed, was succeeded by Etherege's _Love in a Tub_, which, after two representations, gave place to a new piece, Crowne's tragedy of _Charles the Eighth_. This was played six times in succession, and was followed, probably after an interval devoted to stock pieces, by a second novelty, an adaptation by Ravenscroft from Molière, entitled _The Citizen turn'd Gentleman, or Mamamouchi_, which ran for nine days together. _The Gentleman Dancing-Master_ was then acted, probably after another short interval, and must therefore have been produced either in December, 1671, or in January, 1672. Genest, in fact, places it first on his list of plays performed at the Dorset Gardens Theatre during the year 1672, although, in his list for the preceding year, immediately after _The Citizen turn'd Gentleman_, he mentions Lord Orrery's comedy of _Mr. Anthony_ as "nearly certain" to have been brought out in the season of 1671-2. But this, again, was a new piece, making the third produced at Dorset Gardens, without including _The Gentleman Dancing-Master_, and must consequently have been brought forward later than Wycherley's play. Of _The Gentleman Dancing-Master_ Genest observes that "it was not much liked, and was acted only six times."

But it is by no means clear that the first performance at Dorset Gardens was the actual first performance of our comedy. The opening verses of the prologue, indeed, seem to imply a previous and unsuccessful performance, probably by the same company, at their old theatre in Portugal Street, Lincoln's Inn Fields. This, at least, as it seems to me, is the most obvious interpretation of the following lines:

"Our author (like us) finding 'twould scarce do At t'other end o' th' town, is come to you; And, _since 'tis his last trial,_ has that wit To throw himself on a substantial pit."

The presumption, therefore, is strongly in favour of 1671 as the year in which _The Gentleman Dancing-Master_ was first brought upon the stage. It was published, without a dedication or the names of the actors, in 1673. The remarks about "packing to sea" in the epilogue, which, like the prologue, was written for the production, or rather, as we may suppose, the revival of the piece at the theatre in Dorset Gardens, refer, questionless, to the impending war with the Dutch, against whom the formal declaration of war was issued on the 17th of March, 1672.

The incident upon which the plot turns is borrowed from Calderon's comedy, _El Maestro de Danzar_, but a brief review of the corresponding scenes in that drama will prove how trifling was Wycherley's obligation to the great Spanish poet. Leonor, the heroine of the piece, is enjoying a stolen interview with her lover, Don Enrique, in an apartment of her father's house in Valencia. Meanwhile, lest their voices should be overheard, Ines, Leonor's maid, stations herself without the chamber, singing and accompanying herself with the guitar. She presently enters, declaring that an instrument so out of tune will attract suspicion, and Don Enrique takes up the guitar for the purpose of tuning it. At this juncture the father, Don Diego, appears suddenly upon the scene. In reply to his questioning, Leonor explains that, dancing being little in fashion at the Court, she had formerly neglected that accomplishment; but that, finding herself, on that account, looked down upon in Valencia, where dancing was all the mode, she had engaged a master, who had but just taken up the guitar which her maid had brought him, when her father entered. This explanation proving satisfactory to Don Diego, he seats himself, and desires that the lesson may proceed. But here a new difficulty arises, for Don Enrique owns, in an "aside" to his mistress, that he understands little or nothing of dancing. The lady, however, is equal to the occasion, and, affecting diffidence, tells her father that he must wait until she has taken a few lessons. He, nevertheless, insisting, Don Enrique takes again the guitar, and, under pretence of tuning it, screws up the string until it snaps, declaring then that the strings are worn, and that the instrument is broken. Leonor now suggests that the maestro shall carry away the guitar, to get it set in order, and shall come again on the morrow or in the evening; and Don Diego, acquiescing, bids him neglect not to return, trusting him for the payment. Don Enrique responding that he will not fail, although he has many lessons to give, the old cavalier dismisses him with a "Vaya con Dios." In a later scene Don Enrique is again with Leonor, of whom he has conceived unjust suspicions, and is bestowing upon her the full benefit of his jealousy, when Ines announces the approach of Don Diego, and the lover, at his mistress's earnest appeal, again takes up the guitar, and pretends to be giving her a lesson. The father inquires after his daughter's improvement, and again insists on seeing her dance, a mock performance this time actually ensuing. And again, in another scene, the lovers, similarly interrupted, have recourse to a similar method of diverting Don Diego's suspicions.

In these few incidents, and in the name of Don Diego, which our author has employed as the adopted appellation of his Spain-loving Englishman, are to be found the only points of resemblance between the two plays. The merits of the one lie in a direction totally diverse from that in which the excellencies of the other are to be sought. Wycherley's play is fairly overflowing with wit and mirth, qualities in which the Spanish drama is somewhat deficient. On the other hand, the English play affords no counterpart to the high moral tone and exalted passion which are distinguishing characteristics of Calderon's comedy.

_The Gentleman Dancing-Master_ is constructed with greater simplicity and unity of action than _Love in a Wood_, and, although less powerfully written than _The Country Wife_, it is also far less exceptionable, and more uniformly pleasing.

PROLOGUE TO THE CITY

NEWLY AFTER THE REMOVAL OF THE DUKE'S COMPANY FROM LINCOLN'S-INN-FIELDS TO THEIR NEW THEATRE NEAR SALISBURY-COURT.

Our author (like us) finding 'twould scarce do At t'other end o' th' town, is come to you; And, since 'tis his last trial, has that wit To throw himself on a substantial pit; Where needy wit or critic dare not come, Lest neighbour i' the cloak, with looks so grum, Should prove a dun; Where punk in vizor dare not rant and tear To put us out, since Bridewell is so near: In short, we shall be heard, be understood, If not, shall be admired, and that's as good. For you to senseless plays have still been kind, Nay, where no sense was, you a jest would find: And never was it heard of, that the city Did ever take occasion to be witty Upon dull poet, or stiff player's action, But still with claps opposed the hissing faction. But if you hissed, 'twas at the pit, not stage; So, with the poet, damned the damning age, And still, we know, are ready to engage Against the flouting, ticking gentry, who Citizen, player, poet, would undo:-- The poet! no, unless by commendation, For on the 'Change wits have no reputation: And rather than be branded for a wit, He with you able men would credit get.

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ

Mr. GERRARD, Mr. MARTIN, Young Gentlemen of the town, and friends.

Mr. PARIS, or Monsieur de PARIS, a vain coxcomb, and rich city heir, newly returned from France, and mightily affected with the French language and fashions.

Mr. JAMES FORMAL, or Don DIEGO, an old rich Spanish merchant, newly returned home, much affected with the habit and customs of Spain, and Uncle to PARIS.

A little Blackamoor, Lackey to FORMAL.

A Parson.

A French Scullion.

HIPPOLITA, FORMAL'S Daughter.

Mrs. CAUTION, FORMAL'S Sister, an impertinent precise old woman.

PRUE, HIPPOLITA'S Maid.

A Lady.

Mrs. FLIRT, Mrs. FLOUNCE, Two common Women of the town.

Servants, Waiter, and Attendants.

SCENE--LONDON.

_THE GENTLEMAN DANCING-MASTER._

ACT THE FIRST.