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out I must not betray myself. (Aside.)-Well, Sir J. My dear, I am overjoyed to see my fawbich you please, Mr. Butler.
mily thus transported with ecstacy, which you
have occasioned ! Enter COACHMAN.
Nell. Sir, I shall always be proud to do every But. Go, get you in, and be rejoiced, as I am. thing that may give you delight, or your family
(Apart to COACHMAN. satisfaction. Coach. The cook has been making his game Sir J. By heaven I am charmed !-Dear creaI know not how long. What do you banter too? ture, if thou continuest thus, I had rather enjoy
(Apart to BUTLER. thee than the Indies. But can this be real } -Lucy. Madam, the coachman.
May I believe my senses ? Coach. I come to know if your ladyship goes Nell. All that's good above can witness for out to-day, and which you'll have, the coach or me, I am in earnest.
Sir J. Rise, my dearest.-Now am I happy Nell. Good lack-a-day !-I'll ride in the coach, indeed. if you please. Coach. The sky will fall, that's certain. (Exit.
Duet.-Sir John LOVERULE and NELL. Nell. I can hardly think I am awake yet. How Sir J. Was ever man possessid of well-pleased they all seem to wait upon me!-Oh,
So sweet, so kind a wife? notable cunning man !—My head turns round ! Nell. Dear Sir, you make me proud. I am quite giddy with my own happiness.
And you shall find
AU the good I can boast of,
Shall end but with my life.
Sir J. Give me thy lips.
Sir J. Was ever so sweet a wife? [Kisses her
Nell. Thank you, dear Sir.
I vow and protest
I ne'er was so kiss'd.
Sir J. Again, and again, my dearest ,
O may it last for life!
What joy thus to enfold thee !
Nell. What pleasure to behold thee! Lucy. There never was the like, Sir! You'll
Inclin'd again to kiss !
Sir J. How ravishing the bliss ! Ise over-joyed and amazed !
Nell. I little thought this morning Sir J. What, are ye mad ?-What's the matter
Twould ever come to this. (Exeunt with ye?-How now ? here's a new face in my family :- What's the meaning of all this?
Enter Lady LOVERULE. But Oh, Sir! the family's turned upsidedown! We are almost distracted ; the happiest Sirrah, butler, you rogue !
Lady L. Here's a fine rout and rioting! You people! Lucy. Ay, my lady, Sir: my lady —
But. Why, how now? Who are you?
Lady L. Impudent varlet! don't you know Sir J. What, is she dead ? But. Dead! heaven forbid !-0! she's the
But. Lady!—Here, turn this mad woman out oest woman; the sweetest lady!
of doors. Siry. This is astonishing !-I must go and
Lady L. You rascal-take that, Sirrah. inquire into this wonder. If this be true, I shall
(Flings a glass at him. rejoice indeed.
Foot. Have a care, hussy; there's a good pump °But. 'Tis true, Sir, upon my honour. Long without; we shall cool your courage for you. live Sir John and my lady! Hozza ! (Ereunt.
Lady L. You, Lucy, have you forgot me too, Re-enter NELL. Nell. I well remember the cunning man warn- membered you; I never saw you before in my
Lucy. Forgot you, woman! Why, I never reod me to bear all out with confidence, or worse, life. he said, would follow.-I am ashamed, and know not what to do with all this ceremony! I am
Lady L. Oh, the wicked slut! I'll give you
cause to remember me, I will, hussy. amazed and out of my senses !-I looked in the
(Pulls her head-dress off. glass, and saw a gay fine thing I knew not !
Lucy. Murder! murder! help! Methought my face was not at all like that I have been at home in a piece of looking-glass fastened Re-enter Sir John LOVERULE and NELL. apon the cupboard. But great ladies, they say, have flattering glasses, that show them far unlike
Sir J. How now? What uproar 's this? themselves, whilst poor folks glasses represent know me neither ?
Lady L. You, Lettice, you slut! won't you them e'en just as they are.
Let. Help! help!
Sir J. What's to do there? Lucy. Oh, Madam! here's my master just re But. Why, Sir, here's a mad woman calls turned from hunting.
herself my lady, and is beating and cuffing us all
round. Re-enter Sir John LOVERULE.
Sir J. Thou my wife ? poor creature, I pity Nell. O gemini! this fine gentleman my hus- thee. I never saw thee before. pand!
[ To LADY LOVERILI. Vol. I. ... P
Lady L. Then it is in vain to expect redress , her face into the likeness of my lady's : and last from thee, thou wicked contriver of all my misery. night, when the storm arose, my spirits conveyed
Nel. How am I amazed ? Can that be I there, them to each other's bed. in my clothes, that have made all this disturbance ? Sir J. Oh, wretch, thou hast undone me! I And yet I am here, to my thinking, in these fine am fallen from the height of all my hopes, and clothes. How can this be? I am so confounded must still be cursed with a tempestuous wife, and affrighted, that I begin to wish I was with fury whom I never knew quiet since I had her. Zekel Jobson again.
(Aside. Doc. If that be all, I can continue the charm Lady L. To whom shall I apply myself, or for both their lives. whither can I fy?--Heaven! what do I see ? Is Sir J. Let the event be what it will, I'll hang not that I yonder, in my gown and petticoat I wore you, if you do not end the charm this instant. yesterday How can it be? I cannot be in two Doc. 'I will, this minute, Sir: and perhaps places at once.
you'll find it the luckiest of your life : I can assure Sir J. Poor wretch! She's stark mad. you, your lady will prove the better for it.
Lady L. What, in the devil's name, was I Sir J. Hold, there's one material circumstance bere before I came? Let me look in the glass. I'd know. -Oh, heavens! I am astonished! I don't know Doc. Your pleasure, Sir ? myself !- If this be I that the glass shows me, I Sir J. Perhaps the cobbler has you undernever saw myself before.
stand me? Sir J. What incoherent madness is this? Doc. I do assure you, no; for ere she was con
veyed to his bed, the cobbler was got up to work, Enter Jobson.
and he has done nought but beat her ever since; Lady L. There, that's the devil in my likeness, and you are like to reap the fruits of his labour. who has robbed me of my countenance. He He'll be with you in a minute.—Here he comes, here too ? Job. Ay, hussy, and here's my strap, you
Re-enter Jobson. quean!
Sir J. So, Jobson, where's your wife? Nell. O dear! I'm afraid my husband will beat
Job. An't please your worship, she's here at me; that man on t'other side the room there.
the door ; but indeed I thought I had lost her Job. I hope your honours will pardon her; she just now; for as she came into the hall, she fel! was drinking with a conjurer last night, and has into such 'a swoon, that I thought she would never been mad ever since, and calls herself my Lady come out on't again; but a tweak or two by the Loverule.
nose, and half a dozen straps, did the business a: Sir J. Poor woman! take care of her; do not last. —Here, where are you hussy ? hurt her; she may be cured of this. Job. Yes, and please your worship, you shall
Re-enter LADY LOVERULE. see me cure her presently.- Hussy, do you see Eut. (Holds up the candle, but lets it fall when this?
he sees her.] O heaven and earth! is this my Nell. O! pray, Zekel, don't beat me! lady?
Sir J. What says my love ? Does she infect Job. What does he say? My wife changed to thee with madness too } Nell. I am not well; pray lead me in.
Cook. Ay, I thought the other was too good for (Ereunt Nell and MAIDS. our lady. Job. I beseech your worship don't take it ill Lady L. Sir, you are the person I have most of me; she shall never trouble you more. offended, and here confess I have been the worst
Sir J. Take her home, and use her kindly. of wives in every thing, but that I always kept Lady L. What will become of me?
myself chaste. If you can vouchsafe once more (Exeunt Jobson and LADY LOVERULE. to take me to your bosom, the remainder of my
days shall joyfully be spent in duty and observance Enter Footman.
of your will Foot. Sir, the doctor who called here last night, Sir J. Rise, Madam ; I do forgive you ; and if desires you will give him leave to speak a word or you are sincere in what you say, you'll make me two with you, upon very earnest business. happier than all the enjoyments in the world Sir J. What can this mean? Bring him in. without you could do.
Job. What a plague ! am I to lose my wife Enter DOCTOR.
thus? Doc. Lo! on my knees, Sir, I beg forgiveness for what I have done, and put my life into your
Re-enter Lucy and LETTICE. hands.
Lucy. Oh, Sir, the strangest accident has lapSir J. What mean you ?
pened-it has amazed us !-My lady was in so Doc. I have exercised my magic art upon your great a swoon, we thought she had been dead. lady; I know you have too much honour to take Let. And when she came to herself, she proved away my life, since I might still have concealed another woman. it, had I pleased.
Job. Ha, ha, ha! a bull, a bull ! Sir J. You have now brought me to a glimpse of misery too great to bear. Is all my happiness
Re-enter NELL. then turned into vision only?
Nell. My head turns round; I must go home. Doc. Sir, I beg you, fear not; if any harm 0, Zekel, are you there? connes on it, I freely give you leave to hang me. 'Job. O'lud! is that fine lady my wife ? Egad, Sir J. Inform me what vou have done.
I'm afraid to come near her. What can be the Doc. I have transformed vour lady's face so meaning of this? that she seems the cobbler's wife, and have charmed Sir I. This is a happy change, and I'll have it
celebrated with all the joy I proclaimed for my | Job. I hope you'll give me leave to speak, late short-lived vision.
If I may be so bold: Lady L. To me 'tis the happiest day I ever
Nought but the devil, and this good strap, knew.
Could ever lame a scold. (Exeunt Sir J. Here Jobson, take thy fine wife.
Job. But one word, Sir.--Did not your worship make a back of me, under the rose ? Sir J. No, upon my honour, nor ever kissed
PROLOGUE. her lips till I came from hunting ; but since she has been the means of bringing about this happy
SPOKEN BY MR. THEOPHILUS CIBBER. change, l'll give thee five hundred pounds home with her, to buy a stock of leather.
In ancient Greece the comic muse appear'd, Job. Brave boys! I'm a prince.—The prince Sworn foe to vice, by virtue's friends rever'd; of coblers! Come hither and kiss me, Nell; I'll Impartial she indulg'd her noble rage, never strap thee more.
And satire was the business of the stage. Nell. Indeed, Zekel, I have been in such a No reigning ill was from her censure free, dream that I'm quite weary of it. Forsooth, No sex, no age of man, and no degree; Madam, will you please to take your clothes, and Whoe'er by passion was, or folly, led, let me have mine again.
The laureli'd chief, or sacerdotal head, [TO LADY LOVERULE. The pedant sophist, or imperious dame, Job. Hold your tongue, you fool, they'll serve She lash'd the evil, nor conceald the name. you to go to church.
(Apart to Nell. How hard the fate of wives in those sad times, Lady L. No; thou shalt keep them, and I'll When saucy poets would chastise their crimes ! preserve thine as relics.
When each cornuting mate, each rampant jilt, Job. And can your ladyship forgive my strap- Had her name branded, on the stage, with guilt! ping your honour so very much?
Each fair may now the comic muse endure, Lady L. Most freely. The joy of this blessed And join the laugh, though at herself, secure. change sets all things right again.
Link'd to a patient lord, this night behold Sir J. Let us forget every thing that is past, A wilful headstrong termagant, and scold : and think of nothing now but joy and pleasure.
Whom, though her husband did what man could
The devil only could reclaim like you :
Like you, whose virtues bright embellish life,
And add a blessing to the name of wife.
A merry wag, to mend vexatious brides,
These scenes begun, which shook your father's
And we obsequious to your taste, prolong
Your mirth, by courting the supplies of song:
And by your pleasures shall compute our gain.
THE FAIR PENITENT:
IN FIVE ACTS.
BY NICHOLAS ROWE.
REMARKS. This tragedy, founded on the Fatal Dovory of Massinger, was produced in 1703, at the theatre in Lincoln i .Fields ; and is considered by Dr. Johnson, one of the most pleasing tragedies on the stage.
The story is domestic, and assimilated to common life ; and the diction harmonious. The character of Lotharta is supposed to have been expanded into Lovelace, by Richardson, in his inimitable romance of Clarissa Harlowe' but the British fair will scarcely sympathise with Calista, for the loss of so unworthy a lover. Some critics bave observed, that the title of the play does not correspond with the behaviour of Calista, who at last shows no marks of real contrition, (best testified by amendment,) but is still enamoured of the villanous and vain boaster, who is the cause of her guilt.
Originally intended for the legal profession, and even called to the bar, the success of Rowe in the drama rendered the toils of practice unnecessary; as his noble patrons conferred on hin many places of honou and emolumen, in all which, it is said, he justified their choice; but alone acquired fame by his dramatic productions
Servants to Sciolto, &c.
Sciolto's noble hand, that rais’d thee first,
Half dead and drooping o'er thy father's grave, SCENE I.–A Garden belonging to Sciolto's Completes its bounty, and restores thy name Palace.
To that high rank and lustre which it boasted,
Before ungrateful Genoa had forgot
The merit of thy god-like father's arms;
ness, Choose it to bless their hopes, and crown their And made their court to factions by his ruin. wishes.
Alt. On, great Sciolto! Oh, my more than This happy day, that gives me my Calista.
father! Hor Yee, Altamont; to-day thy better stars Let me not live, but at thy very name Are join'd to shed their kindest influence on thee; My eager heart springs up, and leaps with joy.
When I forget the vast, vast debt I owe thee The winds, with all their wings, would be tou
To bear me to her feet. For, oh, my father! Be driven from the commerce of mankind, Amidst the stream of joy that bears me on, To wander in the desert among brutes,
Bless'd as I am, and honour'd in your friendship, To be the scorn of earth, and curse of heaven! There is one pain that hangs upon my heart.
Hor. So open, so unbounded was his goodness, Scio. What means my son ? It reach'd even me, because I was thy friend. Alt. When, at your intercession, When that great man I lov'd, thy noble father, Last night, Calista yielded to my happiness, Bequeath
d thy gentle sister to my arms, Just ere we parted, as I seal'd my vows His last dear pledge and legacy of friendship, With rapture on her lips, I found her cold, That happy tie made me Sciolto's son;
As a dead lover's statue on his tomb: He call'd us his, and, with a parent's fondness, A rising storm of passion shook her breast, Indulg'd us in his wealth, bless'd us with plenty, Her eyes a piteous shower of tears let fall, Heal'd all our cares, and sweeten'd love itself. And then she sigh'd as if her heart was breaking. Alt. By heaven, he found my fortunes so With all the tend'rest eloquence of love abandon'd,
begg'd to be a sharer in her grief: That nothing but a miracle could raise 'em: But she, with looks averse, and eyes that froze My father's bounty, and the state's ingratitude,
me, Had stripp'd him bare, nor left him even a grave. Sadly replied, her sorrows were her own, Undone myself, and sinking with his ruin, Nor in a father's power to dispose of. I had no wealth to bring, nothing to succour him, Sci. Away ! it is the coz’nage of their sex; But fruitless tears.
One of their common arts they practise on us : Hor. Yet what thou couldst thou did'st, To sigh and weep then when their hearts beat And did’st it like a son ; when his hard credi high Urg'd and assisted by Lothario's father, (tors, With expectation of the coming joy. [bred, (Foe to thy house, and rival of thy greatness,) Thou hast in camps and fighting fields been By sentence of the cruel law forbade
Unknowing in the subtleties of women; His venerable corpse to rest in earth,
The virgin bride, who swoons with deadly fear, Thou gav'st thyself a ransom for his bones; To see the end of all her wishes near, Heaven, who beheld the pious act, approv'd it.
When, blushing, from the light and public eyes, And bade Sciolto's bounty be its proxy,
To the kind covert of the night she flies, To bless thy filial virtue with abundance. With equal fires to meet the bridegroom moves, Alt. But see, he comes, the author of my hap Melts in his arms, and with a loose she loves. piness,
[Ereunt. The man who sav'd my life from deadly sorrow,
Enter LOTHARIO and Rossano. Who bids my days be bless’d with peace and Loth. The father, and the husband ! plenty,
Ros. Let them pass. And satisfies my soul with love and beauty. They saw us not. Enter Sciolto; he embraces ALTAMONT.
Loth. I care not if they did;
Ere long I mean to meet 'em face to face, Sci. Joy to thee, Altamont! joy to myself! And gall 'em with my triumph o'er Calista. Joy to this happy morn, that makes thee mine; Ros. You lov'd her once. That kindly grants what nature had denied me, Loth. I lik'd her, would have married her, And makes me father of a son like thee.
But that it pleas'd her father to refuse me, Alt. My father! Oh, let me unlade my breast, To make this honourable fool her husband, Pour out the fulness of my soul before you : For which, if I forget him, may the shame Show every tender, every grateful thought, I mean to brand his name with, stick on mine. This wondrous goodness stirs. But 'tis im Ros. She, gentle soul, was kinder than her possible,
father. And utterance all is vile; since I can only
Loth. She was, and oft in private gave me Swear you reign here, but never tell how much. hearing; Sci. O, noble youth! I swear, since first I Till, by long list’ning to the soothing tale, knew thee,
At length her easy heart was wholly mine. Even from that day of sorrow when I saw thee Ros. I've heard you oft describe her, haughty, Adorn'd and lovely in thy filial tears,
(wonder, The mourner and redeemer of thy father, And fierce with high disdain: it moves my I set thee down and seal'd thee for my own: That virtue, thus defended, should be yielded Thou art my son, even near me as Calista.
A prey to loose desires. Horatio and Lavinia too are mine:
Loth. Hear then, I'll tell thee:
[Embraces Hor. Once, in a lone and secret hour of night, All are my children, and shall share my heart. When every eye was closed, and the pale moon But wherefore waste we thus this happy day ? And stars alone shone conscious of the theft, The laughing minutes summon thee to joy, Hot with the Tuscan grape, and high in blood, And with new pleasures court thee as they Hap’ly I stole unheeded to her chamber. pass :
Ros. That minute sure was lucky.
Loose, unattir'd, warm, tender, full of wishes; Alt. Oh! could I hope there was one thought Fierceness and pride, the guardians of her of Altamont,
waking. One kind remembrance in Calista's breast, Were charm'd to rest and love a.one was