him a box.] Do you dare affront my virtue, you villain! D'ye think the world should bribe me to part with my virtue, my dear virtue? There, take your purse again.

Greg. But where's the gold?

Dor. The gold I'll keep, as an eternal monu. ment of my virtue.

Greg. O what a happy dog am I, to find my wife so virtuous a woman, when I least expected it! Oh my injured dear! behold your Gregory, your own husband.

Dor. Ha!

Enter LEANDER.

Greg. I think I shall be revenged of you now, my dear. So, Sir.

Lean. I think I make a pretty good apothecary

now.

Greg. Yes, faith, you're almost as good an apethecary as I'm a physician, and if you please I'll convey you to the patient.

Lean. If I did but know a few physical hand words

Greg. A few physicical hard words! why, in a few hard words consists the science. Would you know as much as the whole faculty in su instant, Sir? come along, come along.-Hold, let me go first; the doctor must always go before the apothecary. [Exeunt

SCENE III-SIR JASPER's House. SIR JASPER, CHARLOTTE, GREGORY, LEANDER. Sir J. Has she made no attempt to speak yet! Jam. Not in the least, Sir; so far from it, that, as she used to make a sort of a noise before, she is now quite silent.

Sir J. [Looking on his watch.] 'Tis almost the time the doctor promised to return. Oh! he is here. Doctor, your servant.

Greg. Well, Sir, how does my patient?
Sir J. Rather worse, Sir, since your prescrip

tion.

Greg. So much the better, 'tis a sign that it operates.

Sir J. Who is that gentleman, pray, with you? Greg. An apothecary, Sir. Mr. Apothecary, I desire you would immediately apply the remedy

vice.

Greg. Let me feel your pulse.

Hel. Not for myself, good doctor; I am myself, Sir, a brother of the faculty, what the world calls a mad doctor. I have at present under my care, a patient whom I can by no means prevail with to speak.

Greg. I shall make him speak, Sir. Hel. It will add, Sir, to the great reputation you have already acquired: I am happy in finding you. Greg. Sir, I am as happy in finding you. You see that woman there; she is possessed of a more strange sort of madness, and imagines every one she sees to be her husband. Now, Sir, if you will but admit her into your house

Hel. Most willingly, Sir.

Greg The first thing, Sir, you are to do, is to let out thirty ounces of her blood: then, Sir, you are to shave off all her hair, all her hair, Sir; after which you are to make a very severe use of your rod twice a day; and take a particular care that she have not the least allowance beyond bread and water.

Hel. Sir, I shall readily agree to the dictates of so great a man; nor can I help approving of your method, which is exceeding mild and wholesome. Greg. [To his wife.] My dear, that gentleman will conduct you to my lodging. -Sir, I beg you will take a particular care of. the lady.

Sir J. A song, doctor? prescribe a song! Greg. Prescribe a song, Sir! yes, Sir, prescribe a song, Sir. Is there any thing so strange in that? did you never hear of pills to purge melancholy! If you understand these things better than 1, why did you send for me? sbud! Sir, this song would make a a stone speak. But, if you please, Sir, you and I will confer at some distance during the application; for this song will do you as much harm as it will do your daughter good. Be sure, Mr. Apothecary, to pour it down her ears very closely.

Air.-LEANDER.

Thus, lovely patient, Charlotte sees
Her dying patient kneel ;
Soon cured will be your feign'd disease
But what physician e'er can ease

The torments which I feel.

Think, skilful nymph, while I complain,
Ah! think what I endure!

All other remedies are vain;
The lovely cause of all my pain

Can only cause my cure.

Some say,

Hel. You may depend on't, Sir, nothing in my power shall be wanting; you have only to inquire for Dr. Hellebore.

Dor. 'Twon't be long before I see you, husband. Hel. Husband! this is as unaccountable a madness as any I have yet met with.

Dor. No, I'll stay to encourage you at your death; nor will I budge an inch, till I've seen you hanged.

Enter LEANDER and CHARLOTTE.

Lean. Behold, Sir, that Leander, whom you had forbid your house, restores your daughter to your power, even when he had her in his. I have received letters, by which I have learnt the death of an uncle, whose estate far exceeds that of your intended son-in-law.

Sir J. Sir, your virtue is beyond all estates, and I give you my daughter with all the pleasure in

the world.

Lean. Now my fortune makes me happy indeed, my dearest Charlotte. And, doctor, I'll make thy fortune too.

Greg. If you would be so kind to make me a physician in earnest, I should desire no other for

tune.

Lean. Faith, doctor, I wish I could do that it return for your having made me an apothecary; but I'll do as well for thee, I warrant.

Dor. So, so, our physician, I find, has brought about fine matters. And is it not owing to me, sirrah, that you have been a physician at all?

And for

Sir J. May I beg to know whether you are a physician or not, or what the devil you are? Greg. I think, Sir, after the miraculous cure you have seen me perform, you have no reason to ask, whether I am a physician or no. you, wife, I'll henceforth have you behave with all deference to my greatness; for a faggot-maker can only thrash your jacket, but a physician, he

Dor. Can pick your pocket. Why, thou puffed up fool! I could have made as good a physician myself; the cure was owing to the apothecary, not the doctor.

[Exeunt

PROLOGUE.

THE time has been when plays were not so plenty,

And a less number, new, would well content ye.
New plays did then like almanacks appear,
And one was thought sufficient for a year:
Though they are more like almanacks of late;
For in one year, I think, they're out of date.
Nor were they, without reason, joined together;
For just as one prognosticates the weather,
How plentiful the crop, or scarce the grain,
What peals of thunder, or what showers of
rain;

So t'other can foretell, by certain rules,
What crops of coxcombs, or what floods of fools.
In such like prophecies were poets skill'd,
Which now they find in their own tribe fulfill'd.
The dearth of wit they did so long presage,
Is fallen on us, and almost starves the stage.
Were you not griev'd, as often as you saw
Poor actors thrash such empty sheafs of straw?
Toiling and labouring at their lungs' expense,
To start a jest, or force a little sense?
Hard fate for us, still harder in the event:
Our authors sin, but we alone repent.

Still they proceed, and, at our charge, write

worse;

'Twere some amends, if they could reimburse;
But there's the devil, though their cause is lost,
There's no recovering damages or cost.
Good wits, forgive this liberty we take,
Since custom gives the losers leave to speak.
But, if provok'd, your dreadful wrath remains,
Take your revenge upon the coming scenes:
60

For that damn'd poet's spar'd, who damns a brother,

As one thief 'scapes that executes another.
Thus far alone does to the wits relate;
But from the rest we hope a better fate.
To please, and move, has been our poet's theme,
Art may direct, but nature is his aim;
And nature miss'd, in vain he boasts his art,
For only nature can affect the heart.

Then freely judge the scenes that shall ensue;
But as with freedom, judge with candour too.
He would not lose, through prejudice, his

What then am I? Am I more senseless grown
Than trees or flint? O, force of constant wo,
'Tis not in harmony to calm my griefs.
Anselmo sleeps, and is at peace;
last night
The silent tomb receiv'd the good old king;
He and his sorrows now are safely lodg'd
Within its cold, but hospitable bosom.
Why am not I at peace?

Leon. Dear Madam, cease,

Or moderate your grief; there is no causeAlm. No cause! Peace, peace! there is eternal cause,

And misery eternal will succeed.

Thou canst not tell-thou hast indeed no cause.
Leon. Believe me, Madam, I lament Anselmo,
And always did compassionate his fortune;
Have often wept, to see how cruelly
Your father kept in chains his fellow-king:
And oft, at night, when all have been retir'd,
Have stolen from bed, and to his prison crept;
Where, while his gaoler slept, I through the
grate

Have softly whisper'd, and inquir'd his health;
Sent in my sighs and pray'rs for his deliverance;
For sighs and pray'rs were all that I could offer.
Alm. Indeed thou hast a soft and gentle
nature,

That thus could melt to see a stranger's wrongs.
Oh, Leonora, hadst thou known Anselmo,
How would thy heart have bled to see his suf-
ferings!

Thou hadst no cause but general compassion. Leon. Love of my royal mistress gave me cause,

My love of you begot my grief for him;
For I heard that when the chance of war
Had bless'd Anselmo's arms with victory,
And the rich spoil of all the field, and you,
The glory of the whole, were made the prey
Of his success; that then, in spite of hate,
Revenge, and that hereditary feud
Between Valentia's and Granada's kings,
He did endear himself to your affection,
By all the worthy and indulgent ways
His most industrious goodness could invent;
Proposing, by a match between Alphonso
His son, the brave Valentian prince, and you,
To end the long dissension, and unite
The jarring crowns.

Aim. Alphonso! O, Alphonso!
Thou too art quiet-long hast been at peace-
Both, both-father and son are now no more.
Then why am I? Oh, when shall I have rest?
Why do I live to say you are no more?
Why are all these things thus ?-Is it of force?
Is there necessity I must be miserable?
Is it of moment to the peace of Heaven,
That I should be afflicted thus ?-If not,
Why is it thus contriv'd? Why are things laid
By some unseen hand, so, as of sure conse-
quence,

They must to me bring curses, grief of heart,
The last distress of life, and sure despair?
Leon. Alas! you search too far, and think too
deeply.

Alm. Why was I carried to Anselmo's court?
Or there, why was I used so tenderly ?
Why not ill treated like an enemy?
For so my father would have used his child.

Oh, Alphonso, Alphonso!

Devouring seas have wash'd thee from my sight. No time shall raze thee from my memory;

No, I will live to be thy monument:
The cruel ocean is no more thy tomb:
But in my heart thou art interr'd; there, there,
Thy dear resemblance is for ever fix'd;
My love, my lord, my husband still, though lost.
Leon. Husband! Oh, Heavens!

Alm. Alas! what have I said?

My grief has hurried me beyond all thought.
I would have kept that secret; though I know
Thy love and faith to me deserve all confidence.
But 'tis the wretch's comfort still to have
Some small reserve of near and inward wo,
Some unsuspected hoard of darling grief,
Which they unseen may wail, and weep, and

Alm. Oh, no, thou know'st not half,
Know'st nothing of my sorrows-if thou didst-
If I should tell thee, wouldst thou pity me?
Tell me I know thou wouldst; thou art com-
passionate.

Leon. Witness these tears-
Alm. I thank thee, Leonora-
Indeed I do, for pitying thy sad mistress:
For 'tis, alas! the poor prerogative

Of greatness, to be wretched, and unpitied—
But I did promise I would tell thee-What?
My miseries! Thou dost already know 'em:
And when I told thee thou didst nothing know,
It was because thou didst not know Alphonse:
For to have known my loss, thou must have
known

His worth, his truth, and tenderness of love. Leon. The memory of that brave prince stands fair

I was a welcome captive in Valentia,
E'en on the day when Manuel, my father,
Led on his conquering troops high as the gates
Of king Anselmo's palace; which, in rage,
And heat of war, and dire revenge, he fir'd.
The good king, flying to avoid the flames,
Started amidst his foes, and made captivity
His fatal refuge-Would that I had fallen
Amidst those flames-but 'twas not so decreed.
Alphonso, who foresaw my father's cruelty,
Had borne the queen and me on board a ship
Ready to sail; and when this news was brought
We put to sea; but being betray'd by some
Who knew our flight, we closely were pursu'd,
And almost taken, when a sudden storm
Drove us, and those that follow'd on the coast
Of Afric: there our vessel struck the shore
And bulging 'gainst a rock, was dash'd in pieces;
But Heaven spar'd me for yet much more afflic
tion:

Conducting them who follow'd us, to shun
The shore, and save me floating on the waves,
While the good queen and my Alphonso perish'd
Leon. Alas! were you then wedded to Al-
phonso?

Alm. That day, that fatal day, our hands were join'd.

For when my lord beheld the ship pursuing,
And saw her rate so far exceeding ours,