But. Oh, Sir! here's the rarest news! Lucy. There never was the like, Sir! You'll be over-joyed and amazed! Sir J. What, are ye mad?-What's the matter with ye?-How now ? here's a new face in my family!-What's the meaning of all this? But. Oh, Sir! the family's turned upsidedown! We are almost distracted; the happiest people! Lucy. Ay, my lady, Sir: my lady——— Sir J. What, is she dead? But. Dead! heaven forbid!-O! she's the oest woman; the sweetest lady! Sir J This is astonishing-I must go and inquire into this wonder. If this be true, I shall rejoice indeed. But. 'Tis true, Sir, upon my honour. Long live Sir John and my lady! Huzza! [Exeunt. Re-enter NELL. Sir J. My dear, I am overjoyed to see my family thus transported with ecstacy, which you have occasioned ! Nell. Sir, I shall always be proud to do every thing that may give you delight, or your family satisfaction. Sir J. By heaven I am charmed!-Dear creature, if thou continuest thus, I had rather enjoy thee than the Indies. But can this be real? May I believe my senses? Nell. All that's good above can witness for DUET.-SIR JOHN LOVERULE and NELL. Sir J. Nell. First let me, dear Sir, wipe 'em. Sir J. Nell. Was ever so sweet a wife? [Kisses her Thank you, dear Sir. I vow and protest Sir J. Again, and again, my dearest, Enter LADY LOVERULE. [Exeunt Sirrah, butler, you rogue! But. Why, how now? Who are you? Lady L. Impudent varlet! don't you know your lady? But. Lady!-Here, turn this mad woman out of doors. Lady L. You rascal-take that, Sirrah. [Flings a glass at him. without; we shall cool your courage for you. Foot. Have a care, hussy; there's a good pump Lady L. You, Lucy, have you forgot me too, you minx? life. Lucy. Forgot you, woman! Why, I never re Lady L. Oh, the wicked slut! I'll give you cause to remember me, I will, hussy. [Pulls her head-dress off. Lucy. Murder! murder! help! Nell. I well remember the cunning man warn-membered you; I never saw you before in my ed me to bear all out with confidence, or worse, he said, would follow.-I am ashamed, and know not what to do with all this ceremony! I am amazed and out of my senses!-I looked in the glass, and saw a gay fine thing I knew not!Methought face was not at all like that I have Been at home in a piece of looking-glass fastened upon the cupboard. But great ladies, they say, have flattering glasses, that show them far unlike themselves, whilst poor folks' glasses represent them e'en just as they are. my Re-enter LUCY. Re-enter SIR JOHN LOVERULE and NELL. know me neither? Let. Help! help! Sir J. What 's to do there? But. Why, Sir, here's a mad woman calls herself my lady, and is beating and cuffing us all round. Sir J. Thou my wife? poor creature, I pity thee.-I never saw thee before. [TO LADY LOVERIL. VOL. I.... P 10 Lady L. Then it is in vain to expect redress from thee, thou wicked contriver of all my misery. Nell. How am I amazed? Can that be I there, in my clothes, that have made all this disturbance? And yet I am here, to my thinking, in these fine clothes. How can this be? I am so confounded and affrighted, that I begin to wish I was with Zekel Jobson again. [Aside. Lady L. To whom shall I apply myself, or whither can I fly ?-Heaven! what do I see? Is not that I yonder, in my gown and petticoat I wore yesterday? How can it be? I cannot be in two places at once. Sir J. Poor wretch! She's stark mad. Lady L. What, in the devil's name, was I here before I came? Let me look in the glass. -Oh, heavens! I am astonished! I don't know myself!If this be I that the glass shows me, I never saw myself before. Sir J. What incoherent madness is this? Enter JOBSON. Lady L. There, that's the devil in my likeness, who has robbed me of my countenance.-He here too? Job. Ay, hussy, and here's my strap, you quean! Nell. O dear! I'm afraid my husband will beat me; that man on t'other side the room there. Job. I hope your honours will pardon her; she was drinking with a conjurer last night, and has been mad ever since, and calls herself my Lady Loverule. Sir J. Poor woman! take care of her; do not hurt her; she may be cured of this. Job. Yes, and please your worship, you shall see me cure her presently.-Hussy, do you see this? Nell. O! pray, Zekel, don't beat me! Sir J. What says my love? Does she infect thee with madness too? Nell. I am not well; pray lead me in. [Exeunt NELL and MAIDS. Job. I beseech your worship don't take it ill of me; she shall never trouble you more. Sir J. Take her home, and use her kindly. Lady L. What will become of me? [Exeunt JOBSON and LADY LOVERULE. Enter FOOTMAN. Foot. Sir, the doctor who called here last night, desires you will give him leave to speak a word or two with you, upon very earnest business. Sir J. What can this mean? Bring him in. Enter DOCTOR. Doc. Lo! on my knees, Sir, I beg forgiveness for what I have done, and put my life into your hands. Sir J. What mean you? Doc. I have exercised my magic art upon your lady; I know you have too much honour to take away my life, since I might still have concealed it, had I pleased. Sir J. You have now brought me to a glimpse of misery too great to bear. Is all my happiness then turned into vision only? Doc. Sir, I beg you, fear not; if any harm comes on it, I freely give you leave to hang me. Sir J. Inform me what you have done. Doc. I have transformed your lady's face so that she seems the cobbler's wife, and have charmed her face into the likeness of my lady's: and last night, when the storm arose, my spirits conveyed them to each other's bed. Sir J. Oh, wretch, thou hast undone me! I am fallen from the height of all my hopes, and must still be cursed with a tempestuous wife, a fury whom I never knew quiet since I had her. Doc. If that be all, I can continue the charm for both their lives. Sir J. Let the event be what it will, I'll hang you, if you do not end the charm this instant. Doc. I will, this minute, Sir: and perhaps you'll find it the luckiest of your life: I can assure you, your lady will prove the better for it. Sir J. Hold, there's one material circumstance I'd know. Doc. Your pleasure, Sir? Sir J. Perhaps the cobbler has-you understand me? Doc. I do assure you, no; for ere she was con veyed to his bed, the cobbler was got up to work, and he has done nought but beat her ever since; and you are like to reap the fruits of his labour. He'll be with you in a minute.-Here he comes, Re-enter JOBSON. Sir J. So, Jobson, where's your wife? Job. An't please your worship, she's here at the door; but indeed I thought I had lost her just now; for as she came into the hall, she fell into such a swoon, that I thought she would never come out on't again; but a tweak or two by the nose, and half a dozen straps, did the business at last.-Here, where are you hussy? Re-enter LADY LoveRule. But. [Holds up the candle, but lets it fall when he sees her.] O heaven and earth! is this my lady? Job. What does he say? My wife changed to my lady? Cook. Ay, I thought the other was too good for our lady. Lady L. Sir, you are the person I have most offended, and here confess I have been the worst of wives in every thing, but that I always kept myself chaste. If you can vouchsafe once more to take me to your bosom, the remainder of my days shall joyfully be spent in duty and observance of your will. Šir J. Rise, Madam; I do forgive you; and if you are sincere in what you say, you'll make me happier than all the enjoyments in the world without you could do. Job. What a plague! am I to lose my wife thus? Re-enter LUCY and LETTICE. Lucy. Oh, Sir, the strangest accident has happened it has amazed us!-My lady was in so great a swoon, we thought she had been dead. Let. And when she came to herself, she proved another woman. Job. Ha, ha, ha! a bull, a bull! Re-enter NELL. Nell. My head turns round; I must go home. O, Zekel, are you there? Job. O lud! is that fine lady my wife? Egad, I'm afraid to come near her. What can be the meaning of this? Sir J. This is a happy change, and I'll have it celebrated with all the joy I proclaimed for my late short-lived vision. Lady L. To me 'tis the happiest day I ever knew. Sir J. Here Jobson, take thy fine wife. Job. But one word, Sir.Did not your worship make a buck of me, under the rose? Sir J. No, upon my honour, nor ever kissed her lips till I came from hunting; but since she has been the means of bringing about this happy change, I'll give thee five hundred pounds home with her, to buy a stock of leather. Job. Brave boys! I'm a prince.-The prince of coblers! Come hither and kiss me, Nell; I'll never strap thee more. Nell. Indeed, Zekel, I have been in such a dream that I'm quite weary of it. Forsooth, Madam, will you please to take your clothes, and let me have mine again. [TO LADY LOVERULE. Job. Hold your tongue, you fool, they'll serve you to go to church. [Apart to NELL. Lady L. No; thou shalt keep them, and I'll preserve thine as relics. Job. And can your ladyship forgive my strapping your honour so very much? Lady L. Most freely. The joy of this blessed change sets all things right again. Sir J. Let us forget every thing that is past, and think of nothing now but joy and pleasure. SPOKEN BY MR. THEOPHILUS CIBBER. IN ancient Greece the comic muse appear'd, How hard the fate of wives in those sad times, Link'd to a patient lord, this night behold The devil only could reclaim like you: A merry wag, to mend vexatious brides, These scenes begun, which shook your father's sides: And we obsequious to your taste, prolong And by your pleasures shall compute our gain. THE FAIR PENITENT: A TRAGEDY, IN FIVE ACTS. BY NICHOLAS ROWE. REMARKS. THIS tragedy, founded on the Fatal Dowry of Massinger, was produced in 1703, at the theatre in Lincoln: -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 Lotharin 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 have 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 him many places of honour and emolument, in all which, it is said, he justified their choice; but alone acquired fame by his dramatic productions. SCENE.-Sciolto's Palace and the Garden, with some part of the Street near it, in Genoa. ACT 1. Sciolto's noble hand, that rais'd thee first, SCENE I-A Garden belonging to SCIOLTO's Completes its bounty, and restores thy name Palace. Enter ALTAMONT and HORATIO. Alt. Let this auspicious day be ever sacred, No mourning, no misfortunes, happen on it: Let it be mark'd for triumphs and rejoicings; Let happy lovers ever make it holy, Choose it to bless their hopes, and crown their wishes. This happy day, that gives me my Calista. Hor Yes, Altamont; to-day thy better stars Are join'd to shed their kindest influence on thee; To that high rank and lustre which it boasted, And made their court to factions by his ruin. Alt. Oh, great Sciolto! Oh, my more than Let me not live, but at thy very name When I forget the vast, vast debt I owe thee- To be the scorn of earth, and curse of heaven! 'That nothing but a miracle could raise 'em: I had no wealth to bring, nothing to succour him, [tors, Hor. Yet what thou couldst thou did'st, And did'st it like a son; when his hard crediUrg'd and assisted by Lothario's father, (Foe to thy house, and rival of thy greatness,) By sentence of the cruel law forbade His venerable corpse to rest in earth, Thou gav'st thyself a ransom for his bones; Heaven, who beheld the pious act, approv'd it. And bade Sciolto's bounty be its proxy, To bless thy filial virtue with abundance. Alt. But see, he comes, the author of my happiness, The man who sav'd my life from deadly sorrow, Who bids my days be bless'd with peace and plenty, And satisfies my soul with love and beauty. Enter SCIOLTO; he embraces ALTAMONT. Sei. Joy to thee, Altamont! joy to myself! Joy to this happy morn, that makes thee mine; That kindly grants what nature had denied me, And makes me father of a son like thee. Alt. My father! Oh, let me unlade my breast, And utterance all is vile; since I can only Even from that day of sorrow when I saw thee [Embraces HOR. pass: [ing, Thy waiting bride even chides thee for delayAnd swears thou com'st not with a bridegroom's haste. Alt. Oh! could I hope there was one thought of Altamont, One kind remembrance in Calista's breast, The winds, with all their wings, would be too slow, To bear me to her feet. For, oh, my father! Amidst the stream of joy that bears me on, Bless'd as I am, and honour'd in your friendship, There is one pain that hangs upon my heart. Scio. What means my son? Alt. When, at your intercession, Last night, Calista yielded to my happiness, Just ere we parted, as I seal'd my vows With rapture on her lips, I found her cold, As a dead lover's statue on his tomb: A rising storm of passion shook her breast, Her eyes a piteous shower of tears let fall, And then she sigh'd as if her heart was breaking. With all the tend'rest eloquence of love I begg'd to be a sharer in her grief: But she, with looks averse, and eyes that froze me, Sadly replied, her sorrows were her own, Sci. Away! it is the coz'nage of their sex; Enter LOTHARIO and ROSSANO. Loth. The father, and the husband! Ros. Let them pass. They saw us not. Loth. I care not if they did; [Exeunt. Ere long I mean to meet 'em face to face, Loth. I lik'd her, would have married her, Loth. She was, and oft in private gave me hearing; Till, by long list'ning to the soothing tale, Loth. Hear then, I'll tell thee: Ros. That minute sure was lucky. I found the fond, believing, love-sick maid, |