[Aside. Charles, but can't find him, and by Whisper's his voice; I shall be beaten again. Sir J. Nothing at all, sir! Why then what business have you in my house, ha? Enter a Servant of SIR JEALOUS TRAFFICK'S to him out of the House. Hark'e, sir, do you belong to this house? Serv. Yes, sir. Mar. Isn't your name Richard? Sero. No, sir; Thomas. Serv. You said you wanted'a gentleman in a Spanish habit. Mar. Why ay, but his name is neither Babinetto nor Meanwell. Sir J. What is his name then, sirrah? Ha! now I look at you again, I believe you are the rogue that threatened me with half a dozen myrmidons Mar. Me, sir! I never saw your face in all Mar. Oh, ay, Thomas - Well, Thomas, my life before. there's a shilling for you. Sero. Thank you, sir. Mar. Pray, Thomas, can you tell if there be a gentleman in it in a Spanish habit? Sero. There's a Spanish gentleman within that is justa-going to marry my young lady, sir. Mar. Are you sure he is à Spanish gentleman? Sero. I'm sure he speaks no English that I hear of. Sir J. Speak, sir; who is it you look for? Mar. Then that can't be him I want, for 'tis Sir J. Did he so? - Not that I know of, I'm an English gentleman that I inquire after; he may be dressed like Spaniard, iard, for aught know. a sure. Pray heaven that this be don DiegoI If I should be trick'd now-Ha! my heart misgives me plaguily - Within there! stop the I'll be satisfied that this is signior Pedro's son ere he has my daughter. Sero. Ha! who knows but this may be an marriage-Run, sirrah, call all my servants! impostor? I'll inform my master, for if he should be impos'd upon, he'll beat us all round, (Aside] Pray come in, sir, and see if this be the person you inquire for. Mar. Ay, I'll follow you-Now for it. [Exeunt. SCENE IV. The Inside of the House. Serv. Sir, please to stay here; I'll send my Mar. Ha! sir George! what have I done now? Enter SIR GEORGE AIRY, with a drawn Sword, between the Scenes. Sir G. Ha! Marplot here-oh, the unlucky dog-What's the matter, sir Jealous? Sir J. Nay, I don't know the matter, Mr. [Going up to Sir George. Sir J. Nay then, I'm betray'd, ruin'd, undone.-Thieves, traitors, rogues! [Offers to go in] Stop the marriage, I say Re-enter Servant and SIR JEALOUS TRAFFICK. Sir J. What is your earnest business, blockhead! that you must speak with me be-tleman: the act and deed were both your fore the ceremony's past? Ha! who's this? Sero. Why this gentleman, sir, wants another gentleman in a Spanish habit, he says. Sir J. In a Spanish habit! 'tis some friend of signior don Diego's, I warrant. Sir, your Sir J. I say, I suppose you would speak with signior Babinetto? Mar. Hey-day! what the devil does he say now? [Aside] Sir, I don't understand you. Sir J. Don't you understand Spanish, sir? Mar. Not I indeed, sir. Sir J. I thought you had known signior Babinetto. Mar. Not I, upon my word, sir. Sir J. What then, you'd speak with his friend, the English merchant, Mr. Meanwell? Mar. Neither, sir, not I; don't mean any such thing. Sir J. Why, who are you then, sir? and what do you want? [In an angry Tone. Mar. Nay, nothing at all, not I, sir. - Pox on him! I wish I were out; he begins to exalt Sir G. I say go on, Mr. Tackum.-Nay, no entering here; I guard this passage, old genown, and I'll see 'em sign'd, or die for't. Charles. Rascals, retire; she's my wife: touch her if you dare; I'll make dogs'-meat of you. Mar. Ay, I'll make dogs'-meat of you, rascals: Sir J. Ah! downright English - Oh, oh, oh, oh! Enter SIR FRANCIS GRIPE and MIRANDA. Sir F. Into the house of joy we enter without knocking-Ha! I think 'tis the house of sorrow, sir Jealous. Mar. Now how the devil could she get those writings, and I know nothing of it? Sir F. What, have you robb'd me too, mistress? Egad, I'll make you restore 'em you come? hussy, I will so. Sir J. Oh, sir Francis, are What! was this your contrivance, to abuse, trick, and chouse me out of my child? Sir J. Take care I don't make you pay the arrears, sir. 'Tis well 'tis no worse, since 'tis Sir F. My contrivance! what do you mean? no better. Come, young man, seeing thou Sir J. No, you don't know your son there in a Spanish habit? Sir F. How! my son in a Spanish habit! Sirrah, you'll come to be hang'd. Get out of my sight, ye dog! get out of my sight. Sir J. Get out of your sight, sir! get out with your bags. Let's see what you'll give him now to maintain my daughter on. [Exit. hast outwitted me, take her, and bless you both! Charles. I hope, sir, you'll bestow your [Kneels. blessing too; 'tis all I ask. Mar. Do, Gardy, do. Sir F. Confound you all! Mar. Mercy upon us, how he looks! Sir G. Ha, ha, ha! ne'er mind his curses, Charles; thou'lt thrive not one jot the worse Sir F. Give him! he shall never be the for 'em. Since this gentleman is reconcil'd better for a penny of mine-and you might we are all made happy. Sir J. I always lov'd precaution, and took have look'd after your daughter better, sir Jealous. Trick'd, quotha! Egad, I think you de- care to avoid dangers; but whert a thing was sign'd to trick me: but lookye, gentlemen, 1 past, I ever had philosophy to be easy. believe I shall trick you both. This lady is my wife, do you see, and my estate shall descend only to her children. Sir G. I shall be extremely obliged to you, sir Francis. Sir F. Ha, ha, ha, ha! poor sir George! does not your hundred pounds stick in your stomach? ha, ha, ha! Sir G. No, faith, sir Francis, this lady has given me a cordial for that. [Takes her by the Hand. Sir F. Hold, sir, you have nothing to say Mir. Ay, really, guardian, 'tis even so. hope you'll forgive my first offence. I Sir F. What, have you chous'd me out of my consent and your writings then, mistress, ha? Mir. Out of nothing but my own, guardian. Sir J. Ha, ha, ha! 'tis some comfort at least to see you are over-reach'd as well as myself. Will you settle your estate upon your son now? Sir F. He shall starve first. Mir. That I have taken care to prevent. There, sir, are the writings of your uncle's estate, which have been your due these three [Gives Charles Papers. years. Charles. I shall study to deserve this favour. Charles. Which is the true sign of a great soul. I lov'd your daughter, and she me, and you shall have no reason to repent her choice. Isa. You will not blame me, sir, for loving my own country best. Mar. So here's every body happy, I find, but poor Pilgarlick. I wonder what satisfaction I shall have for being cuff'd, kick'd, and beaten in your service! Sir J. I have been a little too familiar with you as things are fallen out; but since there's no help for't, you must forgive me. Mar. Egad, I think so-but provided that you be not so familiar for the future. Sir G. Thou hast been an unlucky rogue. Charles. That I'll vouch for, and freely forgive thee. Sir G. And I'll do you one piece of service more, Marplot; I'll take care that sir Francis makes you master of your estate. Mar. That will make me as happy as any of you. Sir J. Now let us in, and refresh ourselves with a cheerful glass, in which we'll bury all animosities; and By my example let all parents move, COLLEY CIBBER. On CIEBER was born on the 6th of November, O. S. 1671. His father, Cajus Gabriel Cibber, was a native of Hol stein, and came into England, to follow his profession of a statuary, some time before the restoration of King Charles 11. His mother was the daughter, of William Colley, Esq. of Glaiston in Rutlandshire. In 1682 he was sent to the freeschool of Grantham in Lincolnshire, where he stayed till he got through it, from the lowest form to the uppermost; arms there among the forces which the and such learning as that school could give him is, as he himself acknowledges, the most he could pretend to, leaving the school, our author came to Nottingham, and found his father in Earl of Devonshire had raised to aid the Prince of Orange, afterwards King William 111. who had landed in the west. Tise old man, considering this a very proper season for a young fellow to distinguish himself in, entreated the Earl of Devenshire to accept of his son in his room, which his Lordship not only consented to, but even promised, that, when affairs were settled, he would further provide for him. During his period of attendance on this nobleman, however, a Isequent application to the amusements of the theatre awakened in him his passion for the stage, which he seemed now determined on pursuing as his summum bonum, and, in spite of father, mother, or friends, to fix on as his ne plus ulira. From 1689 to 1711 we find him working through the difficulties of a poor salary at the theatre and the supporting by ade help of his pen a numerous family of children. In 1711 he became united, as joint-patentee with Collier, Wilks, and Dogget, in the management of Drury Lane theatre; and afterwards in a like partnership with Booth, Wilks, and Str Rachard Steele. During this latter period, which did not entirely end till 1751, the English stage was perhaps in the most flourishing state it ever enjoyed. After a number of years, passed in the utmost ease, gaiety, and good-humour, departed this life, at Islington, on the 19th of December 1757; his man-servant (whom he had talked to by his bed 32 side at six in the morning, in seeming good health) finding him dead at nine, lying on his pillow, just as he left him. He had recently completed his 86th year. "I was vain enough to think," says he, "that I had more ways than one to come at applause and that, in the variety of characters I acted, the chances to win it were the strongest on my side. That, if the multitude were not in a roar to see me in Cardinal Wolsey, I could be sure of them in Alderman Fondlewife, If they hated me in Jago, in Sir Fopling they took me for a fine gentleman. If they were silent at Syphax, no Italian eunuch was more applauded than I when I sung in Sir Courtly. H the morals of Aesop were too grave for them, Justice Shallow was as simple and as merry an old rake as the wisest of our young ones could wish me. And thought the terror and detestation raised by King Richard might be too severe a delight for them, yet the more gentle and modern vanities of a Poet Bayes, or the well-bred vices of a Lord Foppington, were not at all more than their merry hearts, or nicer morals, could bear." In answer to Pope's attack upon him for plagiarism, Mr. Cibber candidly declares, that whenever he took upon him to make some dormant play of an old author fit for the stage, it was honestly not to be idle that set him to work, as a good housewife will mend old linen when se has no better employment; but that, when he was more warmly engaged by a subject entirely new he only thought it a good subject, when it seemed worthy of an abler pen than his own, and might prove as useful to the hearer as profitable to himself. And, indeed, this essential piece of merit must be granted to his own original plays, that they always tend to the improvement of the mind as well as the entertainment of the eye; and that vice and folly, however pleasingly habited, are constantly lashed, ridiculed, or reclaimed in them, and virtue as constantly rewarded. There is an argument, indeed, which might be pleaded in favour of this author, were his plays possessed of a much smaller share of merit than is to be found in them; which is, that he wrote, at least in the early part of his life, through necessity, for the support of his increasing family: his precarious income as an actor being then too scanty to supply it with even the necessaries of life: and with great pleasantry he acquaints us, that his muse and his spouse were equally prolific; that the one was seldom mother of a child, but in the same year the other made him the father of a play; and that they had had a dozen of each sort between them, of both which kinds some died in their infancy, and near an equal number of each were alive when he quitted the theatre. No wonder then, when the Muse is only called upon by family duty, that she should not always rejoice in the fruit of her labour. This excuse, we say, might be pleaded in Mr, Čibber's favour: but we must confess ourselves of the opinion, that there is no occasion for the plea; and that his plays have merit enough to speak in their own cause, without the necessity of begging indulgence. His plots, whether original or borrowed, are lively and full of business; yet not confused in the action, nor hungled in the catastrophe. His characters are well drawn, and his dialogue easy, genteel, and natural. And if he has not the intrinsic wit of a Congreve or a Vanburgh, yet there is a luxuriance of fancy in his thoughts, which gives an almost equal pleasure, and a purity in his sentiments and morals, the want of which, in the above named authors, has so frequently and so justly been censured. In a word, we think the English stage as much obliged to Mr. Cibber, for a fund of rational entertainment, as to any dramatic writer this nation has produced, Shakspeare only excepted; and one unanswerable evidence has been borne to the satisfaction the public have received from his plays, and such a one as no author besides himself can boast, viz. that although the number of his dramatic pieces is very extensive, a considerable part are now, and seem likely to continue, on the list of asting and favourite plays. THE PROVOKED HUSBAND; Or, a Journey to London, Acted at Drury Lane 1728. This comedy was begun by Sir John Vanburgh, but left by him imperfect at his death; when Mr. Cibber took it in hand, and finished it. It met with very great success, being acted twenty-eight nights without interruption; yet such is the power of prejudice and personal pique in biassing the judgment, that Mr. Cibber's enemies, ignorant of what share he had in the writing of the piece, bestowed the highest applause on the part which related to Lord Townly's provocations from his wife, which was mostly Cibber's, at the same time that they condemned and opposed the Journey to London part, for no other apparent reason but because they imagined it to be Mr. Cibber's. their mistake, by publishing all the scenes which Sir John had left behind him, single title of The Journey to London. which was almost entirely Vanburgh's, He soon, however, convinced them of exactly from his own MS. under the thinks it a greater merit still, in her chastity, not to care for her husband; and, while she herself is solacing in one continual round of cards and good company, he, poor wretch, is Lord T. WHY did I marry?-Was it not left at large, to take care of his own contentevident, my plain, rational scheme of life was ment-'Tis time, indeed, some care were taimpracticable with a woman of so different a ken, and speedily there shall be-Yet, let me way of thinking? Is there one article of it not be rash-Perhaps this disappointment of that she has not broke in upon?-Yes-let me my heart may make me too impatient; and do her justice-her reputation-That-I have some tempers, when reproached, grow more no reason to believe, is in question-But then, untractable-Here she comes-Let me be calm how long her profligate course of pleasures awhile. a Enter LADY TOWNLY. may make her able to keep it-is shocking consideration! and her presumption, while she keeps it, insupportable! for, on the pride of Going out so soon after dinner, madam? Lady T. Lord, my lord! what can I pos that single virtue, she seems to lay it down Lord T. What does my sister, lady Grace, gence of every other vice this fertile town Lady T. Why, that is to me amazing! Have you ever any pleasure at home? Lord T. It might be in your power, madam, I confess, to make it a little more comfortable to me a some Lady T. Comfortable! And so, my good table-throw familiar levant upon lord, you would really have a woman of my sharp, lurching man of quality, and if he derank and spirit stay at home to comfort her mands his money, turn it off with a loud husband!-Lord, what notions of life some laugh, and cry you'll owe it him, to vex him, men have! Lord T. Don't you think, madam, some ladies' notions are full as extravagant? ha, ha! Lord T. Prodigious! [Aside. Lady T. These now, my lord, are some few of the many modish amusements that Lady T. Yes, my lord, when the tame doves live cooped within the pen of your precepts, distinguish the privilege of a wife from that I do think them prodigious indeed! Lord T. And when they fly wild about this town, madam, pray what must the world think of them then? Lady T. Oh, this world is not so ill bred, as to quarrel with any woman for liking it. Lord T. Nor am I, madam, a husband so well bred, as to hear my wife's being so fond of it; in short, the life you lead, madam Lady T. Is to me the pleasantest life in the world. Lord T. I should not dispute your taste, madam, if a woman had a right to please nobody but herself. Lady T. Why, whom would you have her please? Lord T. Sometimes her husband. Lady T. And don't you think a husband under the same obligation? Lord T. Certainly. Lady T. Why then we are agreed, my lord-For if I never go abroad till I am weary of being at home-(which you know is the case) -is it not equally reasonable, not to come home till one is weary of being abroad? Lord T. If this be your rule of life, madam, 'tis time to ask you one serious question. Lady T. Don't let it be long a coming then, for I am in haste. Lord T. Madam, when I am serious, I expect a serious answer. Lady T. Before I know the question? Lord T. Pshaw!-Have I power, madam, to make you serious by entreaty ? Lady T. You have. Lord T. And you promise to answer me sincerely? Lady T. Sincerely. Lord T. Now then, recollect your thoughts, and tell me seriously why you married me. Lady T. You insist upon truth, you say? Lord T. I think I have a right to it. of a single woman. Lord T. Death, madam! what law has made these liberties less scandalous in a wife than in an unmarried woman? Lady T. Why, the strongest law in the world, custom-custom, time out of mind, my lord. Lord T. Custom, madam, is the law of fools; but it shall never govern me. Lady T. Nay then, my lord, 'tis time for me to observe the laws of prudence. Lord T. I wish I could see an instance of it. Lady T. You shall have one this moment, my lord; for I think when a man begins to lose his temper at home, if a woman has any prudence, why she'll go abroad till he comes to himself again. [Going. Lord T. Hold, madam; I am amazed you are not more uneasy at the life we lead. You don't want sense, and yet seem void of all humanity; for, with a blush I say it, I think I have not wanted love. Lady T. Oh, don't say that, my lord, if you suppose I have my senses. Lord T. What is it I have done to you? What can you complain of? Lady T. Oh, nothing, in the least! 'Tis true you have heard me say I have owed my lord Lurcher a hundred pounds these three weeks; but what then? a husband is not liable to his wife's debts of honour, you know; and if a silly woman will be uneasy about money she can't be sued for, what's that to him? As long as he loves her, to be sure, she can have nothing to complain of. Lord T. By heaven, if my whole fortune, thrown into your lap, could make you delight in the cheerful duties of a wife, I should think myself a gainer by the purchase. Lady 1. That is, my lord, I might receive your whole estate, provided you were sure I would not spend a shilling of it. Lady T. Why then, my lord, to give you Lord T. No, madam; were I master of your at once a proof of my obedience and sincer- heart, your pleasures would be mine; but, difity-I think I married to take off that re-ferent as they are, I'll feed even your follies straint that lay upon my pleasures while I to deserve it-Perhaps you may have some was a single woman. other trifling debts of honour abroad, that Lord T. How, madam! is any woman un- keep you out of humour at home-at least it der less restraint after marriage than before it? shall not be my fault if I have not more of Lady T. Oh, my lord, my lord! they are your company-There, there's a bill of five quite different creatures! Wives have infinite hundred-and now, madamliberties in life, that would be terrible in an unmarried woman to take. Lord T. Name one. Lady T. And now, my lord, down to the ground, I thank you. Lady T. Fifty, if you please - To begin, Lady T. Say what you please, my lord; I then-in the morning-A married woman may am in that harmony of spirits, it is impossible have men at her toilet-invite them to dinner to put me out of humour. -appoint them a party in the stage-box at Lord T. How long, in reason then, do you the play-engross the conversation there-call think that sum ought to last you? them by their christian names - talk louder Lady T. Oh, my dear, dear lord, now you than the players: from thence, clatter again to have spoiled all aga again! how is it possible I this end of the town - break, with the mor- should answer for an event that so utterly ning, into an assembly-crowd to the hazard- depends upon fortune? But to show you that I am more inclined to get money than to throw it away, I have a strong prepossession that with this five hundred I shall win five thousand. Lord T. Madam, if you were to win ten thousand, it would be no satisfaction to me. flat simplicity of that reply was admirable. Lady G. Pooh, you tease one, brother! Lord T. Come, I beg pardon, child-this is not a point, I grant you, to trifle upon; therefore I hope you'll give me leave to be serious. Lady G. If you desire it, brother; though, Lady T. Oh, the churl! ten thousand: what! upon my word, as to Mr. Manly's having any not so much as wish I might win ten thou-serious thoughts of me-I know nothing of it. sand!-Ten thousand! Oh, the charming sum! Lord T. Well-there's nothing wrong in what infinite pretty things might a woman of your making a doubt of it-But, in short, I spirit do with ten thousand guineas! O'my find by his conversation of late, he has been conscience, if she were a woman of true spirit looking round the world for a wife; and if -she-she might lose them all again. Lord T. And I had rather it should be so, madam, provided I could be sure that were the last you would lose. you were to look round the world for a husband, he is the first man I would give to you. Lady G. Then whenever he makes me any offer, brother, I will certainly tell you of it. Lord T. Oh, that's the last thing he'll do! he'll never make you an offer till he's pretty sure it won't be refused. Lady T. Well, my lord, to let you see I design to play all the good housewife I can, I am now going to a party at quadrille, only to trifle with a little of it, at poor two guineas Lady G. Now you make me curious. Pray a fish, with the duchess of Quiteright. [Exit. did he ever make any offer of that kind to you? Lord T. Insensible creature! neither re- Lord T. Not directly but that imports proaches nor indulgence, kindness nor sever- nothing; he is a man too well acquainted with ity, can wake her to the least reflection! the female world to be brought into a high Continual licence has lull'd her into such a opinion of any one woman, without some lethargy of care, that she speaks of her exces- well-examined proof of her merit; yet I have ses with the same easy confidence as if they reason to believe that your good sense, your were so many virtues. What a turn has her turn of mind, and your way of life, have head taken!-But how to cure it-take my brought him to so favourable a one of you, friend's opinion-Manly will speak freely-my that a few days will reduce him to talk plainly sister with tenderness to both sides. They to me, which, as yet, notwithstanding our know my case-I'll talk with them. friendship, I have neither declined nor encouraged him to do. Enter WILLIAMS. Lady G. I am mighty glad we are so near Wil. Mr. Manly, my lord, has sent to know in our way of thinking; for, to tell you the if your lordship was at home. Lord T. They did not deny me? Wil. No, my lord. Enter LADY GRACE. sister, truth, he is much upon the same terms with me: you know he has a satirical turn; but never lashes any folly, without giving due encomiums to its opposite virtue; and, upon. such occasions, he is sometimes particular in [Exit. turning his compliments upon me, which I don't receive with any reserve, lest he should imagine I take them to myself. Lord T. So, lady fair, what pretty weapon have you been killing your time with? Lady G. A hug huge folio, that has almost killed me-I think I have half read my eyes out. Lord T. Oh! you should not pore so much just after dinner, child. Lady G. That's true; but any body's thoughts are better than always one's own, you know. Lord T. Who's there? Re-enter WILLIAMS. Lady G. And why is he excepted, pray, my lord? Lord T. You are right, child; when a man of merit makes his addresses, good sense may give him an answer without scorn or coquetry. Lady G. Hush! he's here Enter MANLY. Man. My lord, your most obedient. Lord T. Dear Manly, yours-I was thinking to send to you. Man. Then I am glad I am here, my lord -Lady Grace, I kiss your hands-What, only Leave word at the door I am at home to you two? - How many visits may a man make nobody but Mr. Manly. [Exit Williams. before he falls into such unfashionable company! A brother and sister, soberly sitting at home, when the whole town is a gadding; I question if there is so particular a tête-à-tête again in the whole parish of St. James's. Lord T. I hope, madam, you have no objection to his company? Lady G. Your particular orders, upon my being here, look indeed as if you thought I had not. Lord T. And your ladyship's inquiry into the reason of those orders shows, at least, it was not a matter indifferent to you, Lady G. Lord, you make the oddest constructions, brother! Lord T. Look you, my grave lady Grace -in one serious word-I wish you had him. Lady G. I can't help that. Lady G. Fie, fie, Mr. Manly, how censorious you are! Man. I had not made the reflection, madam, but that I saw you an exception to it-Where's my lady? Lord T. That, I believe, is impossible to guess. Lord T. But 'tis probable I may hear of her by that time I have been four or five hours in bed. Man. Now if that were my case-I believe Lord T. Ha! you can't help it, ha, ha! The I-But I beg pardon, my lord. |