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THE AUGUSTAN REPRINT SOCIETY
THE
FEMALE
WITS
(Anonymous)
(1704)
_Introduction by_
LUCYLE HOOK
PUBLICATION NUMBER 124
WILLIAM ANDREWS CLARK MEMORIAL LIBRARY
UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA, LOS ANGELES
1967
GENERAL EDITORS
George Robert Guffey, _University of California, Los Angeles_
Earl Miner, _University of California, Los Angeles_
Maximillian E. Novak, _University of California, Los Angeles_
Robert Vosper, _William Andrews Clark Memorial Library_
ADVISORY EDITORS
Richard C. Boys, _University of Michigan_
James L. Clifford, _Columbia University_
Ralph Cohen, _University of California, Los Angeles_
Vinton A. Dearing, _University of California, Los Angeles_
Arthur Friedman, _University of Chicago_
Louis A. Landa, _Princeton University_
Samuel H. Monk, _University of Minnesota_
Everett T. Moore, _University of California, Los Angeles_
Lawrence Clark Powell, _William Andrews Clark Memorial Library_
James Sutherland, _University College, London_
H. T. Swedenberg, Jr., _University of California, Los Angeles_
CORRESPONDING SECRETARY
Edna C. Davis, _William Andrews Clark Memorial Library_
INTRODUCTION
_The Female Wits; Or, The Triumvirate of Poets at Rehearsal_, published
anonymously in 1704 with "written by Mr. W. M." on the titlepage, was
played at the Theatre Royal in Drury Lane around October, 1696. [1] A
devastating satire in the manner of Buckingham's _The Rehearsal_, it
attacks all plays by women playwrights but Mary de la Riviere Manley's
blood and thunder female tragedy, _The Royal Mischief_ (1696), in
particular. _The Female Wits_ resembles _The Rehearsal_ in that the
satire is directed not only at the subject matter and style of a
particular type of drama but supplies searing portrayals of recognizable
persons--in this case, of Mrs. Manley herself, and to a lesser degree,
of Mary Pix and Catherine Trotter (later Cockburn). It also follows
Buckingham's satire in that the actors play double roles--that of the
characters assigned to them and their own--and in so doing, reveal their
own personalities with astonishing clarity.
Colley Cibber tells the best stories of the chaos that ensued after the
secession of Betterton and most of the veteran actors in 1695 from the
dominance of Christopher Rich at Drury Lane. [2] Since Betterton had
been virtual dictator in London since 1682, he was able to command the
efforts, at least at first, of most of the well-known playwrights who
had written for the company before the establishment of his theatre in
Lincoln's Inn Fields. Young playwrights scrambled to ingratiate
themselves with one or the other of the two London managements. Among
them, there had been three women with four plays in less than a year.
When Mrs. Manley arrived upon the dramatic scene with her first play,
_The Lost Lover; Or, The Jealous Husband_, in March, 1696, she bore the
brunt of a growing criticism against a surfeit of female plays. But when
she protested in the preface of the printed version that "I think my
Treatment much severer than I deserv'd; I am satisfied the bare Name of
being a Woman's Play damn'd it beyond its own want of Merit," she took
upon herself the combined animus of the masculine critics. In the same
preface, she challenged them boldly with "Once more, my Offended Judges,
I am to appear before you, once more in possibility of giving you the
like Damning Satisfaction; there is a Tragedy of mine Rehearsing, which
'tis too late to recall, I consent it meet with the same Fortune." The
other play was _The Royal Mischief_.
One learns from _The Female Wits_ that Mrs. Manley considered herself
privileged at Drury Lane, that _The Royal Mischief_ had gone into
rehearsal, but that her imperious manner had alienated the actors who
laughed at her dramatic pretentions; and that she had stormed out of the
Theatre Royal vowing never again to honor them with her works. After
much bickering among patrons, patentees, players, and playwright, _The
Royal Mischief_ was finally presented by the newly formed Betterton
company at Lincoln's Inn Fields in May, 1696, instead of by the company
of actors led by George Powell at the rival Drury Lane Theatre. At
least, this is what is represented in _The Female Wits_, and although
highly exaggerated, it is essentially true. The time: March or April,
1696.
_The Female Wits_ is correctly compared in its preface to the satiric
masterpiece which had been written as a corrective to the bombastic
tragedy supplied by Dryden, Howard, and others in the early years of the
Restoration. With _The Rehearsal_, Buckingham and his fellow wits had
supposedly succeeded in laughing heroic tragedy into oblivion in the
1670's. By the 1690's, another type of heroic drama, equally unrealistic
but tinged with sentimentality, was enjoying a certain success. The
chief purveyors of this new drama which pleased the Ladies were a group
of women who seemed impervious to masculine criticism. In the 1690's,
therefore, another set of self-appointed critics evidently dedicated
itself to laughing the female authors off the stage. _A Comparison
between the Two Stages_, an anonymous satirical summary of drama from
1695 to 1702, echoes the attitude of the author of _The Female Wits_
toward women playwrights. When _The Lost Lover_, Mrs. Manley's first
play, is brought up for discussion, Critick demands
What occasion had you to name a Lady in the confounded
Work you're about?
Sullen: Here's a Play of hers.
Critick: The Devil there is: I wonder in my Heart we are so lost
to all Sense and Reason: What a Pox have the Women to
do with the Muses? I grant you the Poets call the Nine
Muses by the Names of Women, but why so? not because
the Sex had any thing to do with Poetry, but because in
the Sex they're much fitter for prostitution.
Rambler: Abusive, now you're abusive, Mr. Critick.
Critick: Sir, I tell you we are abus'd: I hate these Petticoat-Authors;
'tis false Grammar, there's no Feminine for the
Latin word, 'tis entirely of the Masculine Gender.... Let
'em scribble on, till they can serve all the Pastry-cooks
in Town, the Tobacconists and Grocers with Waste-paper[3].
* * * * *
Although _The Royal Mischief_ was the immediate pretext for _The Female
Wits_, the true cause of the attack was the surprising success of the
women playwrights with the Ladies in the boxes who were beginning to
enjoy the "Solace of Tears" and to dominate theatrical taste in the
middle 1690's. After Aphra Behn's death in 1689, a shattering blow to
rising feminism, women had not ventured thus far to write for the stage.
Mrs. Behn, however, was still a powerful influence, and her name was
invoked by every woman who put pen to paper.
Mrs. Manley openly aspired to be a second Astrea. Certainly there are
striking similarities. As in Aphra Behn's case, nothing Mrs. Manley ever
wrote as drama or fiction could equal the events of her own life[4]. Her
father died when she was fourteen, leaving her in the care of a cousin
who took her inheritance, went through a sham marriage with her,
abandoned her before their child was born, and left her to starve before
she was sixteen. She was befriended by Barbara Castlemaine, Duchess of
Cleveland, the notorious former mistress of Charles II, whose character
Mrs. Manley draws as Hillaria in _The Adventures of Rivella_ (1714), and
whose lineaments are certainly to be seen in the character of Homais in
the warmer passages of _The Royal Mischief_. After Mrs. Manley's cruel
dismissal by the Duchess, by her own account she spent two years
wandering unknown from place to place in England, and during this time,
she wrote plays for her diversion.
During the 1690's, despite the supposition of some modern critics that
heroic tragedy was out of style, the great classics of the three
preceding decades continued to be played by the Betterton company in
whose stock repertory they had been since their inception: Lee's _The
Rival Queens_, Banks' _The Unhappy_ _Favourite_, Otway's _Venice
Preserv'd_, and many of Dryden's (_The Indian Emperour_, _The Conquest
of Granada_, _All for Love_). In fact, Dryden was still writing and
pleasing audiences with tragicomedies that contained the ingredients of
the old heroic tragedy. Since the same company of actors was presenting
the old plays (indeed, most of the actors were still playing their
original roles), the histrionic magic of the early tragic hero could
still lift an audience to the empyrean heights reached in the heady
first years of the restoration of Charles II. If there is anything
strange in Mrs. Manley's _The Royal Mischief_ in 1696, it is not that it
was an heroic play but that the leading character was a woman, Homais,
who out-hectors and out-loves all of the Restoration Alexanders,
Montezumas, and Drawcansirs written for and by men.
If her own account of _The Royal Mischief_ is true, Mrs. Manley wrote it
after she left the household of the Duchess of Cleveland, some time
between 1692 and 1694. Since there was only one theatre in London from
1682 to 1695, she wrote for Thomas Betterton, Elizabeth Barry, Anne
Bracegirdle, Edward Kynaston, and other veterans in the Betterton
company, who were the prototypes for the characters in the early heroic
plays. She could have known no others. When Betterton seceded from the
Theatre Royal in 1695 and set up the independent theatre in Lincoln's
Inn Fields, Mrs. Manley, already committed to Drury Lane because of her
first play, gave Drury Lane _The Royal Mischief_ even though it had been
written for the Betterton company. Circumstances, then, dictated that
_The Royal Mischief_ was finally played by the actors for whom it had
been written originally.
It is likely, however, that _The Female Wits_ would never have been
written if Thomas Betterton had not aggravated the situation by
producing _The Royal Mischief_ as quickly as possible after Mrs. Manley
had withdrawn it from Drury Lane under such provocative circumstances.
It was played immediately at Lincoln's Inn Fields in April or May, 1696,
seemingly at the insistence of the Duke of Devonshire to whom Mrs.
Manley dedicated it. When it was published in June, the author was
supported by her sister playwrights in commendatory verses included with
the play. Catherine Trotter possibly earned her inclusion in _The Female
Wits_ when she wrote,
You were our Champion, and the Glory ours.
Well you've maintain'd our equal right in Fame,
To which vain Man had quite engrost the claim:
Mary Pix confirmed her place in the satire with her panegyric:
You the unequal'd wonder of the Age,
Pride of our Sex, and Glory of the Age,
Like Sappho Charming, like Afra Eloquent,
Like Chast Orinda, sweetly Innocent.
Mrs. Manley minced no words in the printed version in answer to the
flurry of criticism that had greeted _The Royal Mischief_ when it was
played: "I should not have given my self and the Town the trouble of a
Preface if the aspersions of my Enemies had not made it necessary."
According to her, in spite of "ill nature, Envy, and Detraction," _The
Royal Mischief_ was successful (it had a run of six nights) even though
some of the ladies professed to be shocked at "the warmth of it, as they
are pleas'd to call it.... I do not doubt when the Ladies have given
themselves the trouble of reading, and comparing it with others, they'll
find the prejudice against our Sex, and not refuse me the satisfaction
of entertaining them...." Everything Mrs. Manley wrote, however, simply
added to the ridicule that had been mounting against women playwrights,
and _The Female Wits_ is merely the distillation of the general attitude
of the self-appointed critics and wits at the Rose and the Grecian, at
Maynwaring's and at Will's.
In defending _The Royal Mischief_ and its reception, she said of the
actress who played the unbelievably wicked Homais: "... Mrs. Barry, who
by all that saw her, is concluded to have exceeded that perfection which
before she was justly thought to have arrived at; my Obligations to her
were the greater, since against her own approbation, she excell'd and
made the part of an ill Woman, not only entertaining, but admirable."
Years later in _The Adventures of Rivella_, she was to say, "Mrs. Barry
distinguish'd herself as much as in any Part that ever she play'd. I
have since heard Rivella laugh and wonder that a Man of Mr. Betterton's
grave Sense and Judgment should think well enough of the Productions of
a Woman of Eighteen, to bring it upon the Stage in so handsome a Manner
as he did...." [5]
It is easy to believe Mrs. Manley's high commendation of the actress but
difficult to credit Mrs. Barry's objection to playing a part that was a
natural sequel to all the heroic and sometimes wicked women she had
played throughout her career. Her audience identified her with Lee's
Roxana in _The Rival Queens_, Dryden's Cleopatra in _All for Love_, and
his recent Cassandra in _Cleomenes_. Every playwright since 1680 had
written expressly for her: Otway's Monimia in _The Orphan_ was her first
great part in 1680, followed two years later by Belvidera in _Venice
Preserv'd_. Southerne had given her Isabella in _The Fatal Marriage_ in
1694, Congreve was still to write for her his Zara in _The Mourning
Bride_ in 1697, and Rowe his Calista in _The Fair Penitent_ in 1703.
Cibber, in 1740, remembered her "Presence of elevated Dignity ... her
Voice full, clear, and strong, so that no Violence of Passion could be
too much for her." He emphasized that in "Scenes of Anger, Defiance, or
Resentment, while she was impetuous, and terrible, she pour'd out the
Sentiment with an enchanting Harmony." [6]
Mrs. Barry's ability and her strength of voice in expressing the
passions led to the full development of the rant, which was the test of
the dramatic actress as the aria is the test of the opera singer.
Ordinarily in a tragedy, there were two: one, the melodious expression
of unattainable love in the first part of the play, and the second in
the death scene, usually of raving madness. In _The Royal Mischief_,
there are at least six major rants, each more powerful and surprising
than the one preceding it. If Mrs. Barry's ability was ever tested, it
was with Mrs. Manley's Homais.
The story is that of another Messalina. Homais, married to the unloved
Prince of Libardian, had had many lovers in her progress to the throne
of Phasia: among them, Ismael, who had remained her creature and is
willing to kill the Prince for one more night's favors. Even her eunuch
Acmat is more than a mere pander to her desire for her husband's nephew,
Levan Dadian, whom she has never seen but for whom she writhes nightly
upon her bed in erotic desire, stimulated only by his life size picture
and secondhand descriptions of him. She conspires with Acmat to inflame
Levan Dadian with desire for her (her portrait was enough) and to bring
about a meeting even though that prince was bringing home with him his
virtuous bride, Bassima, princess of Colchis. Her proposal to enslave
Levan Dadian might have been difficult if it had not been for the fact
that years before, during a war between Phasia and Colchis, Osman, great
general and now Chief Vizier to the Prince of Libardian, had captured
Bassima, fallen in love with her (and she with him), but without a word
on either side before and after he had freed her, they had remained
platonically true to each other in spite of the passage of years,
Osman's marriage to Selima, sister of his Prince, the offer (and
rejection) of Homais' love, and of Bassima's recent marriage to Levan
Dadian. When Levan Dadian brings Bassima to court, the recognition
between Osman and Bassima is endured in silence, but the trusting Osman
bares his heart to Homais' creature Ismael, who inflames the hitherto
platonic Osman with unholy desire for the pure Bassima. The wily Acmat
insinuates distrust for Bassima into Levan Dadian's heart at the same
time that he inspires lust for Homais and brings about the promised
meeting. Homais immediately sets about disposing of everyone who stands
in her way. The Prince of Libardian is to be dispatched by Ismael. Osman
is to be accused of infidelity with Bassima, who is to be poisoned by
Ismael. Word of this gets to Osman, who urges Bassima to flee with or
without him, but she refuses because her virtue would be called into
question in either case. But plans go awry, the Prince is not
dispatched, and while Levan Dadian is absent, Homais is seized by her
husband and given the choice of drinking poison or submitting to death
by the bow-string. She charms him out of killing her, and he, overcome
by her beauty, weakly believes her promises and sets her free to pursue
her wickedness.
Bassima, however, has been poisoned and is dying when Osman comes to
her, urging the consumation of their passion then and there, before it
is too late. Her gentle refusal to stray from virtue on her deathbed
awakens him from his unplatonic spell, and he begs forgiveness but is
interrupted in the middle of his contrite speech, led away, crammed
alive into a cannon, and shot off. The soldiers, led by Ismael, revolt
in favor of Homais and declare her queen. For a heady moment, she has
attained her every desire as she stands exulting over the dying Bassima,
whose husband is somewhat disturbed by the turn of events but whose
attention is diverted when Homais takes him in her arms. But at the
height of her triumph, the Prince burst in, sword in hand, and runs
Homais through before she can change his mind. Unrepenting to the end,
she goes to her death and into her final rant with defiance on her
lovely lusty lips as she ticks off the men in her life one by one. In
the last three minutes, Osman's faithful but jealous wife gathers his
smoking remains, Levan Dadian falls on his sword, and the Prince of
Libardian ends the play with
O horrour, horrour, horrour!
What Mischief two fair Guilty Eyes have wrought;
Let Lovers all look here, and shun the Dotage.
To Heaven my dismal Thoughts shall straight be turn'd,
And all these sad Dissasters truly mourn'd.
There is no need to point out that _The Royal Mischief_ invited parody.
Everything was in excess. No woman had ever been so lustfully wicked as
Homais (played by Elizabeth Barry), no heroine so pure as Bassima (Anne
Bracegirdle), no hero so faithfully platonic (Thomas Betterton), no
husband so duped as the Prince of Libardian (Edward Kynaston), no wife
so weakly jealous as Selima (Elizabeth Bowman), no man so easily a prey
to lust as Levan Dadian (John Bowman), so much a creature as Ismael
(John Hodgson), so vile a tool as Acmat (John Freeman). Each character
was a stick figure for a single quality. Incidents happened so rapidly
that continual surprise is the predominant emotion if one discounts the
miasma of hot surging sex that hovers over the entire production. But it
must have been effective when played by the greatest actors in London.
After reading both plays, one can believe that immediately after the
presentation of _The Royal Mischief_, someone began putting together the
parodies of obviously over-written scenes and high-flown language,
burlesques of heroic acting by the acknowledged past-masters of the art,
Thomas Betterton and Elizabeth Barry, as well as the mincing pasquinade
of Anne Bracegirdle, who was as virtuous as the pure role she played.
Since _The Royal Mischief_ was played in May, near the end of the
season, there was ample time to gloat over its absurdities during the
summer months and have _The Female Wits_ ready for the delectation of
the Town early the following season. Like all satires, it had its day
while the original was still fresh in the minds of the theatre-going
public but was immediately forgotten because _The Royal Mischief_ did
not become a stock play.
_The Female Wits_ is a continuous hilarious romp of scenes from _The
Royal Mischief_ and an entire gallery of burlesqued portraits of the
famous actors who were as much under fire as Mrs. Manley herself.
Elizabeth Barry's histrionic style of acting is held up to derision when
Frances Maria Knight, who was playing the character satirizing Homais as
well as a caricature of Mrs. Barry, is told to "stamp like Queen Statira
does ... that always gets a Clap. No Stamp, and Hug yourself: Oh the
strong Exstasie!" When Homais is stabbed, Marsilia gives the order,
"D'ye hear, Property Man, be sure some red Ink is handsomely convey'd to
Mrs. Knight." Penkethman, a short, slap-stick comedian mimicking
six-foot Betterton as the faithful Osman is told to "Fetch long Strides;
walk thus; your Arms strutting, your voice big, and your Eyes terrible";
and later, "Louder ... strain your Voice: I tell you, Mr. Pinkethman,
this speaking Loud gets the Clap." Mrs. Bracegirdle's famous "pathetic"
style of acting is parodied when Marsilia instructs Miss Cross how to
speak a line: "Give me leave to instruct you in a moving Cry. Oh!
there's a great deal of Art in crying: Hold your Handkerchief thus; let
it meet your Eyes, thus; your Head declin'd, thus; now, in a perfect
whine, crying out these words,
By these Tears, which never cease to Flow."
Reverse situations are used as comic devices. Possibly the climax of
absurdity is reached when Miss Cross and Penkethman, instead of dying
horrible deaths, find themselves on the roof-top (instead of in the
dungeon) climbing into a celestial chariot that the Prince had been
building for fifty years. They escape their pursuing enemies, thus
making merry with the tragic conclusion of _The Royal Mischief_ and
using the same theatrical machinery that was being employed in _Brutus
of Alba_. Marsilia caps this scene by describing in detail the events
which were played seriously in _The Royal Mischief_:
You must know, my Lord, at first I design'd this for a Tragedy;
and they were both taken; She was Poyson'd, and dy'd, like an
Innocent Lamb, as she was indeed: I was studying a Death for
him; once I thought Boys shou'd shoot him to Death with
Pot-Guns; ... and that wou'd have been Disgrace enough, you
know: But at length I resolv'd to ram him into a great Gun, and
scatter him o're the sturdy Plain: This, I say, was my first
resolve. But I consider'd, 'twou'd break the Lady's Heart; so
there is nothing in their Parts Tragical; but as your Lordship
shall see miraculously I turn'd it into an Opera.
The continual interruptions in the rehearsal by Marsilia giving orders
to the increasingly irritated actors, their hostile asides as they come
out of their roles to ask bewildered questions, object to her
directions, or attempt to resign their parts keep the stage in an
uproar. The asinine remarks of her sycophantic followers, her own
erratic behavior which culminates in her rage and her stalking out,
vowing to take her play to Lincoln's Inn Fields, while George Powell,
Mrs. Knight, and Miss Cross double up with laughter--all make _The
Female Wits_ an hilarious piece of dramatic satire as well as a valuable
theatrical document.
All but forgotten, as it was when it was published in 1704, the played
version of _The Female Wits_ had its impact on women playwrights in
1696. Mrs. Manley did not produce another play until _Almyna_ was acted
in Lincoln's Inn Fields in 1706, ten years later. As a result of the
unjustified attack upon her, Mrs. Pix thereafter wrote for Lincoln's Inn
Fields, and at the beginning of the 1697-98 season was engaged in a
name-calling dispute with Drury Lane over the flagrant plagiarism of one
of her plays by George Powell, the actor who figures prominently in _The
Female Wits_. Mrs. Trotter gave her plays to the Betterton group until
1700 when a new management regulated affairs at Drury Lane.
Whether Mrs. Manley was driven from the stage for ten years by the jeers
of the Town is a matter of debate. She became one of the leading Tory
pamphleteers, political editors, and literary hacks in London, employed
for years and respected in an odd way by such people as Richard Steele
and Dean Swift. Her most famous work, _The Secret Memoirs and Manners
of Several Persons of Quality ... by the New Atalanta_ (1709) and her
semi-autobiographical _The Adventures of Rivella_ (1714) caused
government inquiries, and she never ceased to be a controversial figure.
Up to the present time, no one has ventured to say who wrote _The Female
Wits_. The titlepage gives "Mr. W. M." as the author, but this
information is immediately refuted by the preface signed "W. M." which
gives most of the facts of composition, performance, and publication.
According to the preface, the satire was written by a friend (now dead),
and the "Quality" had insisted it be played at Drury Lane, where it had
enjoyed a run of six nights and could have continued longer "had the
Company thought fit to oblige the Taste of the Town in General rather
than that of some particular Persons." _The Female Wits_ was published
in 1704 even though "the Town has almost lost the Remembrance of it,"
but unless the taste of the critics today is different from what it was
in 1696, readers cannot fail to have as much satisfaction as the earlier
audience had in seeing it. W. M.'s identification of Mrs. Manley as
Marsilia, Mrs. Pix as Mrs. Wellfed, and Mrs. Trotter as Calista as well
as his commendation of the acting of Mr. and Mrs. Powell, and his praise
of Mrs. Verbruggen (now deceased also) are expressions of nostalgia from
a man whose duty to his dead friend is now accomplished. He ends his
laconic preface with a reference to the reformers led by Jeremy Collier,
"a Fig for their Censures, which can neither affect him that Wrote this
Play, nor him that Publishes it." [7]
It is evident that the anonymous author knew all of the actors at Drury
Lane intimately: "honest" George Powell, who "regards neither Times nor
Seasons in Drinking," Mrs. Lucas, the dancer, and her coffee habit,
hoydenish Letitia Cross with her sassy aside of "now have I such a mind
to kick him i'th'chops" about some show-off fop who wished to kiss the
strap of her shoe in homage, Frances Marie Knight's haughty withdrawal
from any complication with Mrs. Manley or the other playwrights. His
knowledge of Mrs. Manley's colossal arrogance, of Mrs. Pix's easy-going
acceptance of her great bulk and lack of charm, of beautiful Mrs.
Trotter's considerable learning in the classics and her early tendency
toward critical writing--all are sharply etched from observation and
intimate knowledge.
_The Female Wits_ has all the remarks of having been put together by
group effort, and the evidence points to the actors at Drury Lane, a
number of whom had already shown writing ability: Joseph Haynes, Colley
Cibber, Hildebrand Horden, and George Powell. Especially George Powell
had been active with four plays and two operas already to his credit,
one of which, _Brutus of Alba_, must have been running concurrently with
_The Female Wits_ in October, 1696. Because _The Female Wits_ is
episodic in character, loosely strung together with songs and dances, it
may well have come from various sources recognizable to the audience.
For example, Letitia Cross is asked to sing "her dialogue," readily
consents, and Mr. Leveridge, a frequent partner, is called to sing the
second part. It may or may not be a coincidence that _Brutus of Alba_
contains a dialogue between a flirtatious young girl and an impotent old
man featuring Miss Cross [8]. The song achieved a certain notoriety
because of its frankness, was re-issued as a separate piece, and is the
type of entertainment that would have been repeated in a burlesque like
_The Female Wits_. Other members of the company contribute their
specialities: Miss Cross also performs "her dance," Mr. Pate sings an
Italian Song. The only song that can be identified positively is "A
Scotch Song Sung by Mrs. Lucas at the Theatre," the chorus of which one
of the characters sings when he asks her to favor them with her "Last
Dance." [9]
Perhaps Joe Haynes, the famous comedian, best fills the role of chief
author, as Buckingham was credited with the authorship of _The
Rehearsal_, although it was known that every wit in Town had a hand in
it. For over twenty years, Haynes had played the part of Bayes, which
satirized Dryden, and was recognized as the zany of the London
theatrical world with special licence to burlesque any person or
institution that came under his critical eye. The same sort of mad
inventiveness peculiar to his elaborate hoaxes upon the public, the
incisive satire in his written or ad-libbed prologues and epilogues, and
the special touches added to the character parts written for him are
present in _The Female_ _Wits_. He had published a mock heroic tragedy
(no record of performance) in 1692 which significantly enjoyed a second
printing in 1696. Because of his scatological language and outrageous
pranks, he was in and out of trouble with the authorities, both public
and theatrical, throughout his career. He was one of the principal
comedians through the period under consideration, had been in Mrs.
Manley's first play (as indeed had all of the principal players in _The
Female Wits_), and would have been one of the first to resent Mrs.
Manley's haughty manner; since he had nothing to lose, he would have
been the logical ring-leader in satirizing both the playwright and the
veteran actors at Lincoln's Inn Fields.
With so much writing and acting talent among the hungry, ambitious
player-authors at Drury Lane, there is little need to look far afield,
but Haynes does qualify in another special way for authorship. W. M.
states that the author was dead before 1704. Haynes died in June, 1701,
and Tobyas Thomas,[10] the author of _The Life of the Late Famous
Comedian, Jo. Hayns_, a picaresque, jest-book type of biography
published the same year, reveals the interesting information in the
dedicatory epistle to William Mann that Haynes had been a friend and
visitor in Mann's home at Charnham in Kent, and that Mann had encouraged
Thomas to write the biography. Whether William Mann is Mr. W. M. and the
comedian is the friend in the preface to _The Female Wits_ may never be
known, but Joe Haynes, aided and abetted by fellow actors, patrons,
friends, and self-appointed critics, all of them with a reason to
satirize the female writers and the too-successful actors at Lincoln's
Inn Fields, could easily have headed up the group effort that resulted
in the _commedia del arte_ concoction that finally saw print in 1704.
The prologue and epilogue were added at the time of publication. Topical
allusions range from the Collier Controversy, which began in 1698 and
continued actively for more than a decade, to John Tutchin,
controversial editor of _The Observator_ (which began in 1702), to a
mention of the great storm of November 26, 1703, which Collier and his
followers believed to be a punishment for England's wickedness, to the
proclamation early in 1704 by Queen Anne prohibiting the wearing of
masks at the playhouses. More important, however, is the fact that the
tone of the prologue and epilogue is entirely different from that found
in the play. The tempered language of a decade later than the play is
not in keeping with the raucous satire directed at the three women
playwrights and the rival actors at Lincoln's Inn Fields that must have
kept the audience in a roar of laughter.
_The Female Wits_ is an important document to historians of the theatre,
coming as it did at the very end of the Restoration period and just
preceding the changes brought about by Collier's attacks upon the
theatre which accelerated the establishment of sentimental comedy and
tragedy. The play illuminates at least four areas about which we know
very little: the personalities of the three women playwrights at the
beginning of their careers, the excellent portraits of some of the
little known players, the acting techniques that are parodied so broadly
that it is possible to recognize the original practice, and the
rehearsal customs and stage directions employed which give new light or
confirm what is already known. Granted, all are outrageously
exaggerated, but a discerning eye can detect the truth that lurks behind
any satire, parody, or lampoon. That kernel of truth must be there, or
there is nothing to laugh about.
Columbia University
NOTES TO THE INTRODUCTION
[1] See the entry under Unknown Authors, Allardyce Nicoll, _A History of
English Drama, 1660-1900_ (Cambridge, 1955), I, 441. Also see William
van Lennep, _The London Stage, 1660-1800_ (Carbondale, 1965), Part I,
1660-1700, pp. 467-468.
Wing notes a 1697 edition, but an examination of the severely cropped
copy of the 1704 edition at the Huntington Library gives the first clue
for the creation of a ghost: the imprint was sacrificed to the
Kemble-Devonshire insistence on uniformity in size, and a later hand
supplied the conjectured date of presentation, not the date of
publication. Noted as a questioned publication date in Woodward-McManaway,
_Check List_ (no. 374), the date of 1697 was next cautiously recorded
in Nicoll (_Ibidem_) as a possible date for a first edition. It then
entered the Wing Catalogue as the first edition, mistakenly making the
1704 the second edition.
[2] Colley Cibber, _An Apology for the Life_ (London, 1740), chaps.
IV-VII.
[3] _A Comparison between the Two Stages_, ed. Staring B. Wells
(Princeton, 1942), p. 17.
[4] See _DNB_; Paul Bunyan Anderson, "Mistress Manley's Biography,"
_Modern Philology_, XXXIII (1936), 261-278; Gwendolyn B. Needham, "Mary
de la Riviere, Tory Defender," _HLQ_, XII (1948-49), 253-288; Needham,
"Mrs. Manley, an Eighteenth-Century Wife of Bath," _HLQ_, XIV (1950-51),
259-284.
[5] Mary de la Riviere Manley, _The Adventures of Rivella_ (London,
1714), p. 41.
[6] Cibber, p. 95.
[7] There was at least one avid reader of _The Female Wits_. The
Reverend Arthur Bedford of Bristol, one of Collier's followers who spent
his entire career attacking the theatres, mentions it forty times in
_The Evil and Danger of Stage-Plays_ (1706). He used it as an example in
all the categories of wickedness that Collier had set up in _A Short
View of the Prophaneness and Immorality of the English Stage_, the
original attack in 1698.
[8] "Why dost thou fly me, pretty Maid," from _The Single Songs, with
the Dialogue, Sung in ... Brutus of Alba_. Composed by Daniel Purcell
(London, 1696). Henry E. Huntington Library _Devonshire Plays_, vol. 8
(131929-35).
[9] "By Moonlight on the Green," Henry E. Huntington Library _Collection
of Broadsides_, vol. 5 (Huth 81013).
[10] Tobyas Thomas has been thought to be a pen-name for Tom Brown, but
there is no reason to question that he was one of Haynes' fellow-actors
who never rose higher than secondary roles. He played a part in _The
Female Wits_.
BIBLIOGRAPHICAL NOTE
The text of this edition of _The Female Wits_ is reproduced from a copy
in the William Andrews Clark Memorial Library.
THE
FEMALE WITS:
OR, THE
Triumvirate of Poets
At _REHEARSAL_.
A
COMEDY.
As it was Acted several Days successively with great Applause
AT THE
Theatre-Royal
In _DRURY-LANE_.
By Her MAJESTY'S Servants.
Written by Mr. _W. M._
_Ita Astutim sibi Arrogat Hominem Ingenia
Ut Homines credas._ Cic.
_LONDON_, Printed for _William Turner_, at the _Angel_ at
_Lincolns-Inn_ Back-Gate, _William Davis_, at the _Black Bull_ in
_Cornhil_, _Bernard Lintott_, at the _Middle-Temple-Gate_, and _Tho.
Brown_, at the _Blackamoors Head_ near the _Savoy_. 1704.
_Price 1s. 6d._
THE PREFACE.
Though the Success of this Play has been such, as to need no Apology for
the Publication of it; it having been Acted six Days running without
intermission; and being likely to have continued much longer, had the
Company thought fit to oblige the Taste of the Town in General, rather
than that of some particular Persons; yet the lateness of its appearance
abroad, after its being Acted some Years since with great Applause,
seems to require that the Reader should be satisfied why it should fall
under his Censure at a time when the Town has almost lost the
Remembrance of it. In order to this, I take it for necessary to Premise,
that the Author of it, a Man of more Modesty than the Generality of our
present Writers, tho' not of less Merit than the best of 'em, was
neither fond of his own Performances, nor desirous others should fall in
love with them. What he writ was for his own Diversion; and he could
hardly be persuaded by the Quality to make it theirs, till his good
Temper got the better of his Aversion to write himself among the List of
the Poets; and he was prevail'd upon to put it into the Hands of the
Gentlemen belonging to the Theatre in _Drury-Lane_, who did him the same
Justice, as was done by him to Dramatick Poetry and the Stage. Among the
rest, Mr. _Powel_ and his Wife excell'd in the Characters they
represented, as did Mrs. _Verbruggen_, who play'd the Chief Character,
and whose Loss we must ever regret, as the Chief Actress in her Kind,
who never had any one that exceeded her, or ever will have one that can
come up to her, unless a Miracle intervenes for the support of the
_English_ Stage. It is written in imitation of the Rehearsal; and though
we must not presume to say it comes up to the Character of the Duke of
_Buckingham_'s Works, yet it does not fall short of it, so much as many
of our Modern Performances, that please more for the sake of their
Patrons than the real Worth of those that Writ 'em. And to let those
that shall give it their Perusal, into the Knowledge of the Female Wits,
who are here hinted at, they are to understand; the Lady whose Play is
rehears'd, personates one Mrs. _M--ly_, a Gentlewoman sufficiently known
for a Correspondence with the Muses some time since, though she has of
late discontinu'd it, (I presume for some more profitable Employ) and
those that go under the Names of Mrs. _Welfed_, and _Calista_, are Mrs.
_P--x_ and Mrs. _T----r_, two Gentlewomen that have made no small
struggle in the World to get into Print; and who are now in such a State
of Wedlock to Pen and Ink, that it will be very difficult for 'em to get
out of it. Whether the Characters are just or no, that is left to the
Reader's determination: But the Auditors thought the Pictures were true,
or they would have condemn'd the Person that drew 'em, in less than six
Days. What remains is, to justifie the Publication of it, and to
acquaint the World, that the Author being deceas'd, I got a Copy of it;
and out of my desire to divert the Publick, I thought it might not be
unacceptable if it saw the Light. In short, if it pleases as much in the
Reading, as it did in the Acting, the Reader cannot fail of his
Satisfaction; if not, the Taste of the Criticks is different from what
it was some Years since: And so, a Fig for their Censures, which can
neither affect him that Wrote this Play, nor him that Publishes it.
THE PROLOGUE.
_While Sinners took upon 'em to reform,
And on the Stage laid the late dreadful Storm,
Occasionally coming from the Crimes
Of us, whose Drama's would instruct the Times.
We wonder'd Rebels who against the Crown,
Justly draw all these heavy Judgments down,
Should pass uncensur'd, unmolested stand,
And be a heavy Judgment to the Land.
But they, Heav'ns bless 'em for their daily care,
Have reconcil'd us now to Ale and Air:
For Wine we know not, while the luckless Hit,
Has taught us want of Laugh, and want of Wit.
But when the Observator's Wrath withdraws,
And wanting Law instructs us in the Laws;
How happy are we made, who well agree,
To be laugh'd at by such a Fool as he.
Thanks to the Strumpets that would mask'd appear,
We now in their True Colours see 'em here:
False, I should say, for who e're saw before,
A Woman in True Colours and a Whore?_
_But it is not our Business to be rude
With Woman for the sake of Muffled Hood;
We lik'd 'em not with Masks or with their Paints,
Nor ever thought to baulk informing Saints.
They're welcome to us, when we're Peccant found,
Their Understanding's safe as well as sound.
All that we strive to please are Good and Just;
For Goodness ever we have ta'ne on Trust:
But when we to true Virtue would appear,
The Real Saints and not the False are here.
We're Regulary true to Royal Laws,
We admire th' Effect and we adore the Cause.
All that we're proud of is, that we have seen,_
_Our_ Reformation _center in the Queen._
THE EPILOGUE.
_The Sermon ended, 'tis the Preacher's way
For Blessings on the Auditors to pray,
And Supplicate what Doctrines have been said,
May thro' their Ears into their Hearts be laid.
So does our Poet in this sinful Age,
(Not that the Pulpit's likened to the Stage)
Fall to Petition after Application,
And beg that he may work a Reformation;
May turn the side of Follies now in Course,
And touch the guilty Scribe with due Remorse:
That every Fool his Errors may reclaim,
And take the Road of Pen and Ink to Fame._
_What here he writes to quash the Womens Pride,
May to the Men with Justice be apply'd.
Each Sex is now so self-conceited grown,
None can digest a Treat that's not their own.
So_ AEsop'_s Monkey that his Off-spring brought,
It's own the fairest of the Rivals thought;
As it preferr'd deformity of Face
To all the Beauties of the Bestial Race._
_But Manners might have hinder'd him, you'll say,
From Ridiculing Women in his Play,
When his own Sex so very open lay.
Troth so he might, but as I said before,
Wits do themselves, as Beaux, themselves adore;
Your Man of Dress, your Dressing Female Apes,
And doats upon their several Aires and Shapes:
Fearful that what upon the Sex is cast,
May on themselves stick scandalously fast._
_Not that the Good he'd with the Bad abuse,
Or lessen the true value of a Muse;
Since every Soul with Rapture must admire
The tuneful Motions of the skilful Lyre.
But as the Shade adds Beauty to the Light,
And helps to make it strike upon the Sight:
So those whom he has made his Present Theme,
Assist to make us Poetry esteem,
As we from what they are, distinctly see,
And learn, what other Poets ought to be._
DRAMATIS PERSONAE.
Mr. _Awdwell_, A Gentleman of Sense } Mr Mills.
and Education, in Love with _Marsilia_, }
Mr. _Praiseall_, A conceited, cowardly Coxcomb; }
a Pretender likewise to _Marsilia_'s } Mr. Cibber.
Affections, }
_Fastin_, Son to Lord _Whimsical_, Husband }
to _Isabella_, and in Love with his Father's } Mr. Powell.
Wife, }
_Amorous_, Steward to Lord _Whimsical_, and }
in Love with _Isabella_, } Mr. Pinkethman.
Lord _Whiffle_, An empty Piece of Noise, }
that always shews himself at Rehearsals } Mr. Thomas.
and in publick Places, }
Lord _Whimsicall_, Husband to Lady _Loveall_, Mr. Verbruggen.
WOMEN
_Marsilia_, A Poetess, that admires her own }
Works, and a great Lover of Flattery, } Mrs. Verbruggen.
_Patience_, her Maid, } Mrs. Essex.
Mrs. _Wellfed_, One that represents a fat Female }
Author, a good sociable well-natur'd }
Companion, that will not suffer } Mrs. Powell.
Martyrdom rather than take off three }
Bumpers in a Hand, }
_Calista_, A Lady that pretends to the learned }
Languages, and assumes to her self } Mrs. Temple.
the Name of a Critick, }
_Isabella_, Wife to Fastin, and in Love with }
_Amorous_, } Mrs. Cross.
Lady _Loveall_, Wife to Lord _Whimsical_, }
and in Love with _Fastin_, } Mrs. Knight.
_Betty Useful_, A necessary Convenience of }
a Maid to Lady _Loveall_, } Mrs. Kent.
ACT I.
SCENE a Dressing-Room, Table and Toylet Furnish'd, &c.
_Enter_ Marsilia _in a Night-Gown, followed by_ Patience.
_Mar._ Why, thou thoughtless inconsiderable Animal! Thou driv'ling
dreaming Lump! Is it not past Nine o'Clock? Must not I be at the
Rehearsal by Ten, Brainless? And here's a Toylet scarce half furnish'd!
_Pat._ I am about it, Madam.
_Mar._ Yes, like a Snail!----. Mount, my aspiring Spirit! Mount! Hit yon
azure Roof, and justle Gods! [_Repeats._
_Pat._ Madam, your things are ready.
_Mar._ Abominable! Intollerable! past enduring! [_Stamps._ Speak to me
whilst I'm Repeating! Interrupting Wretch! What, a Thought more worth
Than worlds of thee!----what a Thought have I lost!--Ay, ay, 'tis gone,
'tis gone beyond the Clouds. [_Cries._ Whither now, Mischievous? Do I
use to Dress without Attendance? So, finely prepar'd, Mrs. Negligence! I
never wear any Patches!
_Pat._ Madam.
_Mar._ I ask you if ever you saw me wear any Patches? Whose Cook maid
wert thou prithee? The Barbarous Noise of thy Heels is enough to put the
Melody of the Muses out of ones Head.----Almond Milk for my
Hands.----Sower! By Heav'n this Monster designs to Poyson me.
_Pat._ Indeed, Madam; 'tis but just made; I wou'd not offer such an
affront to those charming Hands for the World.
_Mar._ Commended by thee! I shall grow sick of 'em.----Well, but
_Patty_, are not you vain enough to hope from the fragments of my
Discourse you may pick up a Play? Come, be diligent, it might pass
amongst a Crowd, And do as well as some of its Predecessors.
_Pat._ Nothing but flattery brings my Lady into a good humour. [_Aside._
With your Ladyship's directions I might aim at something.
_Mar._ My Necklace.
_Pat._ Here's a Neck! such a Shape! such a Skin!----[_Tying it on._ Oh!
if I were a Man, I shoud run Mad!
_Mar._ Humph! The Girl has more Sense than I imagin'd, She finds out
those Perfections all the Beau-mond have admired.--Well, _Patty_, after
my Third day I'll give you this Gown and Pettycoat.
_Pat._ Your Ladyship will make one of Velvet, I suppose.
_Mar._ I guess I may; see who knocks. [_Goes out, and returns._
_Pat._ Madam, 'tis Mrs. _Wellfed_.
_Mar._ That ill-bred, ill shap'd Creature! Let her come up, she's
foolish and open-hearted, I shall pick something out of her that may do
her Mischief, or serve me to Laugh at.
_Pat._ Madam, you invited her to the Rehearsal this Morning.
_Mar._ What if I did? she might have attended me at the
Play-house.----Go, fetch her up.
_Enter Mrs._ Wellfed _and_ Patty.
Mrs. _Wellfed_. Good morrow, Madam.
_Mar._ Your Servant, dear Mrs. _Wellfed_, I have been longing for you
this Half-hour.
Mrs. _Wellf._ 'Tis near Ten.
_Mar._ Ay, my Impertinence is such a Trifle--But, Madam, are we not to
expect some more of your Works?
Mrs. _Wellf._ Yes; I am playing the Fool again.----The story is----
_Mar._ Nay, for a Story, Madam, you must give me leave to say, there's
none like mine; The turns are so surprizing, the Love so passionate, the
Lines so strong. 'Gad I'm afraid there's not a Female Actress in
_England_ can reach 'em.
Mrs. _Wellf._ My Language!
_Mar._ Now you talk of Language, what do you think a Lord said to me
t'other day? That he had heard I was a Traveller, and he believ'd my
Voyage had been to the Poets Elyzium, for mortal Fires cou'd never
inspire such words! Was not this fine?
Mrs. _Wellf._ Extravagantly fine! But, as I was saying----
_Mar._ Mark but these two Lines.
Mrs. _Wellf._ Madam, I have heard 'em already; you know you repeated
every word of your Play last Night.
_Mar._ I hope, Mrs. _Wellfed_, the Lines will bear the being heard twice
and twice, else 'twou'd be bad for the Sparks who are never absent from
the Play-house, and must hear 'em Seventeen or Eighteen Nights together.
Mrs. _Wellf._ How Madam_!_ that's Three or Four more than the _Old
Batchelour_ held out.
_Mar._ Madam, I dare affirm there's not two such Lines in the Play you
nam'd: Madam, I'm sorry I am forc'd to tell you, Interruption is the
rudest thing in the World.
Mrs. _Wellf._ I am dumb. Pray proceed.
_Mar._ Pray observe.----
_My Scorching Raptures make a Boy of Jove,
That Ramping God shall learn of me to Love._
_My Scorching_----
Mrs. _Wellf._ Won't the Ladies think some of those Expressions indecent?
_Mar._ Interrupting again, by Heav'n!----Sure, Madam, I understand the
Ladies better than you. To my knowledge they love words that have
warmth, and fire, _&c._ in 'em.--Here, _Patty_, give me a Glass of
_Sherry_; my Spirits are gone.----No Manchet Sot! Ah! the Glass [_Brings
a Glass._ not clean! She takes this opportunity, because she knows I
never fret before Company, I! do I use to Drink a Thimble full at a
time?--Take that to wash your Face. [_Throws it in her Face._
_Pat._ These are Poetical Ladies with a Pox to 'em. (_Aside._
_Mar._ My Service to you Madam, I think you drink in a Morning.
Mrs. _Wellf._ Yes, else I had never come to this bigness, Madam, to the
encreasing that inexhausted spring of Poetry: that it may swell,
o'erflow, and bless the barren Land.
_Mar._ Incomparable, I protest_!_
_Pat._ Madam _Calista_ to wait upon your Ladyship.
_Mar._ Do you know her Child?
Mrs. _Wellf._ No.
_Mar._ Oh! 'Tis the vainest; proudest, senseless Thing, she pretends
to Grammar, writes in Mood and Figure; does every thing
methodically.----Poor Creature! She shews me her Works first; I always
commend 'em, with a Design she shou'd expose 'em, and the Town be so
kind to laugh her out of her Follies.
Mr. _Wellf._ That's hard in a Friend.
_Mar._ But 'tis very usual.----Dunce! Why do you let her stay so long?
[_Exit Pat. Re-enter with_ Calista. My best _Calista_! The charming'st
Nymph of all _Apollo_'s Train, let me Embrace thee!
Mr. _Wellf._ So, I suppose my Reception was preceeded like this.
[_Aside._]
_Mar._ Pray know this Lady, she is a Sister of ours.
_Calista._ She's big enough to be the Mother of the Muses. [_Aside._
Madam, your Servant.
Mrs. _Wellf_. Madam, yours. [_Salute._
_Mar._ Now here's the Female Triumvirate; methinks 'twou'd be but civil
of the Men to lay down their Pens for one Year, and let us divert the
Town, but if we shou'd, they'd certainly be asham'd ever to take 'em up
again.
_Calis._ From yours we expect Wonders.
_Mar._ Has any Celebrated Poet of the Age been lately to look over any
of your Scenes, Madam?
_Calis._ Yes, yes, one that you know, and who makes that his pretence
for daily Visits.
_Mar._ But I had rather see one dear Player than all the Poets in the
Kingdom.
_Calis._ Good Gad! That you shou'd be in Love with an Old Man!
_Mar._ He is so with me; and you'll grant 'tis a harder Task to
Re-kindle dying Coals, than set Tinder on a Blaze.
Mr. _Wellf._ I guess the Spark. But why then is your Play at this House?
_Mar._ I thought you had known 't had been an _Opera_; and such an
_Opera_! But I wont talk on't, 'till you see it. Mrs. _Wellfed_, is not
your Lodgings often fill'd with the Cabals of Poets and Judges?
Mr. _Wellf._ Faith, Madam, I'll not tell a Lye for the matter; they
never do me the Honour.
_Mar._ I thought so, when I ask'd her. [_Aside to_ Calista.
Mr. _Wellf._ My Brats are forc'd to appear of my own raising.
_Mar._ Nay, Mrs. _Wellfed_, they don't come to others to assist, but
admire.
_Pat._ Madam, Mr. _Aw'dwell_ and Mr. _Praiseall_ are below.
_Mar._ Dear Ladies, step in with me, whilst I put on my Mantua: Bring
'em up, and then come to me.----What does that _Aw'dwell_ here again to
Day? Did not I do him the Honour to go abroad with him yesterday? Sure
that's enough for his Trifle of a Scarf. Come Ladies. _That Ramping God
shall learn of me to Love._ [Exeunt.
_Enter Mr._ Aw'dwell _and Mr._ Praiseall.
Mr. _Aw'dw._ So, Mr. _Praiseall_, you are come, I suppose, to pay your
Tribute of Encomiums to the Fair Lady and her Works.
Mr. _Prais._ The Lady sometimes does me the Honour to Communicate; my
poor Abilities are at her Service, tho' I own my self weak.
_Aw'dw._ Then you are not fit for the Ladies Service, to my Knowledge.
_Prais._ Why, Sir? I was long an _Oxonion_, 'till a good Estate and the
Practice of the Law, tempted me from my studies.
_Aw'dw._ Sir, I'll tell you my Opinion of the University Students: They
are commonly as dull as they are dirty, and their Conversation is as
wretched as their Feeding; yet every Man thinks his Parts
unquestionable, if he has been at _Oxford_.----Now all the Observation I
have made of _Oxford_, is, it's a good Place to improve Beggars, and to
spoil Gentlemen, to make young Master vain, and think no Body has Wit
but himself.
_Prais._ While the Lady has more complaisant Sentiments, yours shan't
disturb me, Sir, I assure you.
_Aw'dw._ What is't bewitches me to _Marsilia_! I know her a Coquet; I
know her vain and ungrateful; yet, wise as _Almanzor_, knowing all this,
I still love on! [_Aside._
_Prais._ I wish _Marsilia_ wou'd come! That fellow looks as if he had a
Mind to quarrel. I hate the sight of a bent Brow in a Morning; I am
always unlucky the whole Day after.
_Aw'dw._ Oh, one thing more of your Darling _Oxford_. You know, if you
get Learning, it robs Man of his noblest Part, Courage. This your mighty
Bard, by Experience owns, the Learned are Cowards by Profession. Do you
feel any of your Martial Heat returns?
_Prais._ Ay, he will quarrel, I find.----[_Aside._ Sir, I was never
taught to practice Feats of Arms in a Lady's Anti-Chamber.
_Aw'dw._ The Fool's afraid: Yet shall I have the Pleasure to see
_Marsilia_ prefer this Fop to me before my Face. [_Exit._
_Enter_ Marsilia, Calista, _and Mrs._ Wellfed.
_Mars._ I must beg your Learned Ladyship's Pardon. _Aristotle_ never
said such a Word, upon my Credit.----_Patty_, What an Air these Pinners
have_?_ Pull 'em more behind.----Oh my Stars, she has pull'd my
Head-cloaths off!
_Calist._ I cannot but re-mind you, Madam, you are mistaken; for I read
_Aristotle_ in his own Language: The Translation may alter the
Expression.
_Aw'dw._ Oh that I cou'd but Conjure up the Old Philosopher, to hear
these Women pull him in pieces!
_Mar._ Nay, Madam, if you are resolv'd to have the last Word, I ha'
done; for I am no lover of Words, upon my Credit.
_Prais._ I am glad to hear her say sh'as done, for I dare not interrupt
her.--Madam, your Ladyship's most humble.----
_Mars._ Mr. _Praiseall_, Yours.
_Prais._ Charming _Calista_, I kiss those enchanting Fingers.
_Mars._ Humph! That might ha' been said to me more properly. [_Aside._
_Prais._ Mrs. _Wellfed_, tho' last, not least.
Mrs. _Wellf._ That's right, Mr. _Praiseall_.
_Prais._ In Love, I meant, Mrs. _Wellfed_.
Mr. _Wellf._ Prethee, add _Good Tribonus_, don't steal by halves, Mr.
_Praiseall_.
_Prais._ Lord, you are so quick!
_Mar._ Well, you are come to go with us to the Rehearsal.
_Prais._ 'Tis a pleasing Duty, Madam, to wait on your Ladyship: But then
to hear the wondrous Product of your Brain, is such a Happiness, I only
want some of _Marsilia_'s Eloquence to express it.
_Aw'dw._ How this Flattery transports her! Swells her Pride almost to
bursting. [_Aside._
_Mars._ I do avow, Mr. _Praiseall_, you are the most complaisant Man of
the Age.
_Aw'dw._ Are you yet at Leisure, Madam, to tell me how you do?
_Mars._ You see my Engagements, and have chosen a very busie Time to ask
such an insignificant Question.
_Aw'dw._ What, it wants a Courtly Phrase?
_Mars._ Must I meet with nothing but interruption? Mr. _Praiseall_!
_Prais._ Madam?
_Mars._ I think I have not seen you these two Days.
_Prais._ So long I've liv'd in _Greenland_, seen no Sun, not felt no
warmth.
_Mars._ Heav'ns! Mr. _Praiseall_, why don't you write? Words like those
ought to be preserv'd in Characters indelible, not lost in Air.
_Aw'dw._ 'Tis pity your Ladyship does not carry a Commonplace Book.
_Mars._ For your self 'twou'd be more useful.----But, as I was going to
tell you, Mr. _Praiseall_, since I saw you, I have laid a Design to
alter _Cateline's Conspiracy_.
_Prais._ An Undertaking fit for so great a Hand.
_Mars._ Nay, I intend to make use only of the first Speech.
_Aw'dw._ That will be an Alteration indeed!
_Mars._ Your Opinion was not ask'd. Nor wou'd I meddle with that, but to
let the World, that is so partial to those old Fellows, see the
difference of a modern Genius.----You know that Speech, Mr. _Praiseall_,
and the Ladies too, I presume.
_Calista._ I know it so well, as to have turn'd it into _Latin_.
_Prais._ That was extraordinary. But let me tell you, Madam _Calista_,
'tis a harder Task to mend it in _English_.
_Mars._ True, true, Mr. _Praiseall_; That all the Universe must
own.----Patty. Give me another Glass of Sherry, that I may speak loud
and clear.----Mr. _Praiseall_, my Service to you.
_Prais._ I kiss your unequall'd Hand.
Mrs. _Wellfed._ This drinking is the best part of the Entertainment in
my Opinion. [_Aside._
_Mars._ Now, Mr. _Praiseall_.
_Prais._ I am all Ear.
_Mars._ I wou'd you were----I was just beginning to speak.
_Prais._ Mum, I ha' done a Fault.
_Aw'dw._ Sure this Scene will chace her from my Soul. [_Aside._
_Mars._ Thy Head! Thy Head! Proud City!--I'll say no more of his; I
don't love to repeat other Peoples Works;--now my own.--Thy solid
Stones, and thy cemented Walls, this Arm shall scatter into Atoms; then
on thy Ruins will I mount! Mount my aspiring Spirit mount! Hit yon Azure
Roof, and justle Gods;--[_Ex._ Patty. My Fan, my Fan, _Patty_.--[_All
clap._
_Prais._ Ah! Poor _Ben_! Poor _Ben_! You know, Madam, there was a famous
Poet pick'd many a Hole in his Coat in several Prefaces.--He found
fault, but never mended the Matter--Your Ladyship has lay'd his Honour
in the Dust.--Poor _Ben_! 'Tis well thou art dead; this News had broke
thy Heart.
_Mars._ Then in the _Conspiracy_, I make _Fulvia_ a Woman of the nicest
Honour; and such Scenes!
Mrs. _Wellf._ Madam, you forget the Rehearsal.
_Mars._ Oh Gods! That I could live in a Cave! Ecchoes wou'd repeat, but
not interrupt me; Madam, if you are beholden to those Creatures, I am
not; let 'em wait, let 'em wait, or live without me if they can.
_Enter_ Patty.
_Pat._ Madam, your Chair Men are come.
_Mars._ Let them wait, they are paid for't.
_Pat._ Not yet to my Knowledge, what ever they be after the third Day;
there's a long Bill I'm sure.--[_Aside._
_Mars._ How do you think to go Mrs. _Wellfed_? Shall _Pat._ call you
another Chair?
Mrs. _Wellf._ I have no Inclination to break poor Mens Backs; I thank
you, Madam, I'll go a Foot.
_Calist._ A Foot!
Mrs. _Wellf._ Ay, a Foot, 'tis not far, 'twill make me leaner. Your
Servant Ladies. [_Exit._
_Mars._ Your Servant.
_Prais._ A bouncing Dame! But she has done some things well enough.
_Mars._ Fye, Mr. _Praiseall_! That you shou'd wrong your Judgment thus!
Don't do it, because you think her my Friend: I profess, I can't forbear
saying, her Heroicks want Beautiful Uniformity as much as her Person;
and her Comedies are as void of Jests as her Conversation.
_Prais._ I submit to your Ladyship.
_Aw'dw._ Madam, shall I crave leave to speak a few Words with you before
you go?
_Mars._ I must gratify you, tho' 'tis to my Prejudice.--My Dear
_Calista_, be pleas'd to take my Chair to the Play-House, and I'll
follow you presently.
_Calist._ I will; but make haste.
_Mars._ Fear not, yours waits below, I suppose, Sir.
_Prais._ Yes Madam.
_Mars._ Pray take Care of the Lady 'till I come.
_Prais._ Most willingly. [_Exit._
_Mars._ What a ridiculous conceited thing it is!--A witty Woman
conceited, looks like a handsome Woman set out with Frippery:
_Aw'dw._ Railing shou'd be my part: But, _Marsilia_, I'll give it a
genteeler Name, and call it complaining.
_Mars._ Pshaw! You are always a complaining I think. Don't put me out of
Humour, now I am just going to the Rehearsal.
_Aw'dw._ Why are you so ungrateful? Is it from your Lands water'd by
_Helicon_, or my honest dirty Acres, your maintenance proceeds? Yet I
must stand like a Foot-boy, unregarded, whilst a noisy Fool takes up
your Eyes, your Ears, your every Sense.
_Mars._ Now, Mr. _Aw'dwell_, I'll tell you a strange thing: The
difference between you and I, shall create a Peace.--As thus: You have a
mind to quarrel, I have not; so that there must be a Peace, or only War
on your side. Then again, you have a mind to stay here, I have a mind to
go, which will be a Truce at least.--[_Is going._
_Aw'dw._ Hold, Madam, do not teaze me thus; tho' you know my Follies and
your Power, yet the ill-us'd Slave may break his Chain.
_Mars._ What wou'd the Man have? If you'll be good humour'd, and go to
the Play-house, do; if not, stay here. Ask my Maid Questions, increase
your Jealousie, be dogged and be damn'd.
_Aw'dw._ Obliging? If I shou'd go, I know my Fate; 'twou'd be like
standing on the Rack.
_Mars._ While my Play's Rehearsing! That's an Affront I shall never
forgive whilst I breath.
_Aw'dw._ Tho' I thought not of your Play?
_Mars._ That's worse.
_Aw'dw._ Your Carriage, your cruel Carriage, was the thing I meant. If
there shou'd be a Man of Quality, as you call 'em, I must not dare to
own I know you.
_Mars._ And well remembred. My Lord Duke promis'd he'd be there.--Oh
Heav'ns! I wou'd not stay another moment, No, not to finish a Speech in
_Catiline_. What a Monster was I to forget it! Oh Jehu! My Lord Duke,
and Sir _Thomas_! _Pat._ another Chair, Sir _Thomas_ and my Lord Duke
both stay.--[_Exit running._
_Aw'dw._ Follow, follow. Fool, be gorg'd and glutted with Abuses, then
throw up them and Love together.--[_Exit._
SCENE the Play-House.
_Enter Mr._ Johnson, _Mr._ Pinkethman, _Mrs._ Lucas, _and Miss_ Cross.
Mrs. _Cross_. Good morrow Mrs. _Lucas_; why what's the Whim, that we
must be all dress'd at Rehearsal, as if we play'd?
Mrs. _Lucas_, 'Tis by the Desire of Madam _Maggot_ the Poetess, I
suppose.
Mrs. _Cross_. She is a little whimsical, I think, indeed; for this is
the most incomprehensible Part I ever had in my Life; and when I
complain, all the Answer I get is, 'tis New, and 'tis odd; and nothing
but new things and odd things will do--Where's Mr. _Powell_, that we may
try a little before she comes.
Mr. _Johnson_. At the Tavern, Madam.
Mrs. _Cross_. At the Tavern in a Morning?
Mr. _Johns._ Why, how long have you been a Member of this Congregation,
pretty _Miss_, and not know honest _George_ regards neither Times nor
Seasons in Drinking?
_Enter Mrs._ Wellfed.
Mrs. _Cross_. O! Here comes Mrs. _Wellfed_. Your Servant Madam.
Mrs. _Wellf._ Your Servant Gentlemen and Ladies.
Mrs. _Lucas_. Sit down, Mrs. _Wellfed_, you are out of Breath.
Mrs. _Wellf._ Walking a Pace, and this ugly Cough--[_Coughs._ Well the
Lady's a coming, and a couple of Beaus, but I perceive you need not care
who comes, you are all dress'd.
Mrs. _Cross_. So it seems. I think they talk she expects a Duke.
Mrs. _Wellf._ Here's two of the Company.
_Enter Mr._ Praiseall _and_ Calista.
_Prais._ Dear Mrs. _Cross_, your Beauties Slave.
Mrs. _Cross_. Upon Condition, 'tis then, if I have no Beauty, you are no
Slave; and the matter is just as 'twas.
_Prais._ Sharp, Sharp.--Charming _Isabella_, let me kiss the Strap of
your Shoe, or the Tongue of your Buckle.
Mrs. _Cross_. Now have I such a mind to kick him i'th' Chops.--
[_Aside._ Oh fye, Sir, What d'ye mean?
_Calista._ So, now he's got among the Players, I may hang my self for a
Spark.
Mr. _Pink._ Prithee _Johnson_, who is that?
Mr. _Johns._ He belongs to one of the Inns of Chancery.
Mr. _Pink._ A Lawyer?
Mr. _Johns._ I can't say that of the Man neither, tho' he sweats hard in
Term-time, and always is as much at _Westminster_, as he that has most
to do.
Mr. _Pink._ Does he practice?
Mr. _Johns._ Walking there, much.
Mr. _Pink._ But I mean, the Laws?
Mr. _Johns._ How to avoid its Penalty only. The Men are quite tir'd with
him, for you shall generally see him oagling after the Women. He makes a
shift to saunter away his Hours till the Play begins; after you shall be
sure to behold his ill-favour'd Phyz, peeping out behind the Scenes, at
both Houses.
Mr. _Pink._ What, at one time?
Mr. _Johns._ No, Faith, 'tis his moving from one House to 'tother takes
up his time, which is the Commodity sticks of his Hands, for he has
neither Sense nor Patience to hear a Play out.
Mr. _Pink._ I have enough of him, I thank you Sir.
_Calista._ How d'ye Madam? [_To Mrs._ Wellfed.
Mrs. _Wellf._ At your Service, Madam.
_Calista._ _Marsilia_ committed me to the Care of Mr. _Praiseall_; but
more powerful Charms have robb'd me of my Gallant.
Mrs. _Wellf._ I thank Heav'n, I'm big enough to take care of myself.
Indeed to neglect a young pretty Lady, expose her unmask'd amongst a
Company of wild Players, is very dangerous.
_Calist._ Unmask'd! Humph! I'll be ev'n with you for that. [_Aside._
Madam, I have read all your excellent Works, and I dare say, by the
regular Correction, you are a Latinist, tho' _Marsilia_ laught at it.
Mrs. _Wellf._ _Marsilia_ shews her Folly, in laughing at what she don't
understand. Faith, Madam, I must own my ignorance, I can go no further
than the eight Parts of Speech.
_Calist._ Then I cannot but take the Freedom to say, you, or whoever
writes, imposes upon the Town.
Mrs. _Wellf._ 'Tis no imposition, Madam, when ev'ry Body's inclination's
free to like, or dislike a thing.
_Calist._ Your Pardon, Madam.
_Prais._ How's this? Whilst I am making Love, I shall have my two
Heroines wage War. Ladies, what's your Dispute?
Mrs. _Wellf._ Not worth appealing to a Judge, in my Opinion.
_Calista._ I'll maintain it with my Life. Learning is absolutely
necessary to all who pretend to Poetry.
Mrs. _Wellf._ We'll adjourn the Argument, _Marsilia_ shall hear the
Cause.
_Prais._ Ay, if you can perswade her to hold her Tongue so long.
Mrs. _Wellf._ I wish I cou'd engage you two in a _Latin_ Dispute, Mr.
_Praiseall_, and you shou'd tell how often the Lady breaks
_Pris_--_Pris_--What's his Name? His Head, you know.
_Prais._ _Priscian_, you mean; Hush! Hush!
Mrs. _Wellf._ He cares not for entring the Lists neither. Come, Mr.
_Praiseall_, I'll put you upon a more pleasing Task. Try to prevail with
that Fair Lady, to give us her New Dialogue.
_Prais._ What, my Angel?
Mrs. _Wellf._ Mrs. _Cross_, I mean.
_Prais._ There is no other She, Madam.
Mrs. _Cross_. Sir!
_Prais._ Will you be so good, to charm our Ears, and feast our Eyes; let
us see and hear you in Perfection.
Mrs. _Cross_. This Complement is a Note above _Ela_. If _Marsilia_
shou'd catch me anticipating her Song, she'd chide sadly.
Mrs. _Wellf._ Oh, we'll watch. I'll call Mr. _Leveridge_.
_Song by Mrs._ Cross.----_A Dialogue._
_Prais._ Thank you Ten thousand times, my Dear.
_Calista._ I'm almost weary of this illiterate Company.
Mrs. _Wellf._ Now, Mr. _Praiseall_, get but Mrs. _Lucas_'s New Dance, by
that time sure the Lady will come.
_Prais._ I'll warrant ye my little _Lucas_.
SINGS.
With a Trip and a Gim,
And a Whey and a Jerk at Parting.
Where art thou, my little Girl?
_Little Boy._ She is but drinking a Dish of Coffee, and will come
presently.
_Prais._ Pshaw! Coffee! What does she drink Coffee for? She's lean
enough without drinking Coffee.
Mr. _Pink._ Ay, but 'tis good to dry up Humours.
_Prais._ That's well, I Faith! Players dry up their Humours_!_ Why what
are they good for then? Let her exert her Humours in Dancing, that will
do her most good, and become her best.----Oh, here she comes!----You
little Rogue, what do you drink Coffee for?
Mrs. _Lucas_. For the same Reason you drink Claret; because I love it.
_Prais._ Ha, Pert_!_ Come, your last Dance, I will not be deny'd.
_Lucas._ I don't intend you shall; I love to Dance, as well as you do to
see me.
_Prais._ Say'st thou so? Come on then; and when thou hast done, I'll
treat you all in the Green Room with Chocolate; Chocolate, Huzzy; that's
better by half than Coffee. _All_ agreed.
_A Dance by Mrs._ Lucas.
_Prais._ Titely done, I Faith, little Girl.
_Enter Mrs._ Knight.
Mrs. _Cross_. Good morrow Mrs. _Knight_. Pray, dear Mrs. _Knight_, tell
me your Opinion of this Play; you read much, and are a Judge.
Mrs. _Knight_. Oh your Servant, Madam! Why truly, my Understanding is so
very small, I can't find the Ladies meaning out.
Mrs. _Cross_. Why, the Masters admire it.
Mrs. _Knight_. So much the worse. What they censure, most times
prospers; and commonly, what they admire, miscarries: Pshaw! They know
nothing. They have Power, and are positive; but have no more a right
Notion of things, Mrs. _Cross_, than you can have of the Pleasures of
Wedlock, that are unmarry'd.
Mrs. _Cross_. I submit to better Judgment in that, Madam. I am sure the
Authoress is very proud and impertinent, as indeed most Authors
are.----She's a Favourite, and has put 'em to a world of Expence in
Cloaths. A Play well-dress'd, you know, is half in half, as a great
Writer says; The _Morocco_ Dresses, when new formerly for _Sebastian_,
they say enliven'd the Play as much as the Pudding and Dumpling Song
did _Merlin_.
Mrs. _Knight_. This Play must be dress'd if there's any Credit remains,
tho' they are so cursedly in debt already.
Mrs. _Cross_. It wants it, Madam, it wants it.
Mr. _Wellf._ Well, Ladies, after this Play's over, I hope you'll think
of mine; I have two excellent Parts for ye.
_But_, We are at your Service.
Mrs. _Wellf._ Mr. _Pinkethman_! Mr. _Pinkethman_! What, d'ye run away
from a Body?
Mr. _Pink._ Who!? I beg your Pardon, Madam.
Mrs. _Wellf._ Well, Mr. _Pinkethman_, you shall see what I have done for
you in my next.
Mr. _Pink._ Thank ye, Madam; I'll do my best for you too.
Mrs. _Wellf._ Mr. _Johnson_!
Mr. _Pink._ So, now she's going her Rounds.
Mrs. _Wellf._ Mr. _Johnson_!--Duce on him, he's gone! Well, I shall see
him by and by.
_Enter Mr._ Praiseall.
_Prais._ Ladies, the Chocolate is ready, and longs to be conducted by
your white Hands to your Rosie Lips!
Mrs. _Wellf._ Rarely express'd! Come, Ladies.
[_Exeunt._
_Manent Mrs._ Knight _and Mrs._ Wellfed.
Mrs _Knight_. I believe our People wou'd dance after any Tom-Dingle for
a pen'orth of Sugar-plums.
Mrs. _Wellf._ Come Mrs. _Knight_, let you and I have a Bottle of
Sherry.
Mrs. _Knight_. No, I thank you, I never drink Wine in a Morning.
Mrs. _Wellf._ Then you'll never write Plays, I promise you.
Mrs. _Knight_. I don't desire it.
Mrs. _Wellf._ If you please, Madam, to pass the time away, I'll repeat
one of my best Scenes.
Mrs. _Knight_. Oh Heav'ns! No Rest!----[_Aside._ Madam, I doubt the
Company will take it amiss. I am your very humble Servant. [_Exit
hastily._
Mrs. _Wellf._ What! Fled so hastily! I find Poets had need be a little
conceited, for they meet with many a Bauk. However, scribling brings
this Satisfaction, that like our Children, we are generally pleas'd with
it our selves.
_So the fond Mother's rapt with her pratling Boys,
Whilst the free Stranger flies th' ungrateful Noise._
[_Exit._
_The End of the First ACT._