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Mrs. Gymp; and I'll match my cousins here at minds will bring you to your senses, and make it against all the world, and I say done first. you renounce foreign vices and follies, and return
Lord M. What is the meaning, Sir John, of with joy to your country and property againall this tumult and consternation? may not Lady read that, my lord, and know your fate. Minikin and I, and the colonel and your niece,
[ Gives a paper. be seen in my house together without your raising Lord M. What an abomination is this! that the family, and making this uproar and confu- a man of fashion, and a nobleman, shall be obrion ?
liged to submit to the laws of his country. Sir J. Come, come, good folks, I see you are Sir J. Thank Heaven, my lord, we are in that all confounded, I'll settle this matter in a mo- country !-You are silent, ladics-if repentance ment—as for you, colonel—though you have not has subdued your tongues, I shall have hopes of deserved plain dealing from me, I will now be you—a little country air might perhaps do wellserious—you imagine this young lady has an in- as you are distressed, I am at your service—what dependent fortune, besides expectations from me say you, my lady? -'tis a mistake, she has no expectations from me,
However appearances have conif she marry you; and if I don't consent to her demned me, give me leave to disavow the submarriage, she will have no fortune at all. stance of those appearances. My mind has been
Col. T. Plain dealing is a jewel; and to show tainted, but not profligate--your kindness and you, Sir John, that I can pay you in kind, I am example may restore me to my former natural most sincerely obliged to you for your intelli- English constitution. gence; and I am, ladies your most obedient, hum Sir J. Will you resign your lady to me, my ble servant-I shall see you, my lord, at the club lord, for a time? to-morrow?
(E.rit. Lord M. For ever, dear Sir John, without a Lord M. Sans doute, mon cher colonel-111 murmur. meet you there, without fail.
Sir J. Well, Miss, and what say you ? Sir J. My lord, you'll have something else Miss T. Guilty, uncle. Courtesying to do.
Sir J. Guilty! the devil you are? of what ? Lord M. Indeed! what is that, good Sir John ? Miss T. Of consenting to marry one whom Sir J. You must meet your lawyers and cre- my heart does not approve; and coquetting with ditors to-morrow, and be told what you have al- another, which friendship, duty, honour, morals, ways turned a deaf ear to—that the dissipation and every thing but fashion, ought to have forbidof your fortune and morals must be followed by den. years of parsimony and repentance--as you are Sir J. Thus then, with the wife of one under fond of going abroad, you may indulge that in this arm, and the mistress of another under this, clination without having it in your power to in- I sally forth a knight-errant, to rescue distressed dulge any other.
damsels from those monsters, foreign vices, and Lord ú. The bumpkin is no fool, and is damned Bon Ton, as they call it; and I trust that every satirical.
(Aside. English hand and heart here will assist me in so Sir J. This kind of quarantine for pestilential desperate an undertaking— You'll excuse me, Sira!
THE UNHAPPY MARRIAGE.
IN FIVE ACTS.
BY THOMAS OTWAY.
To the great merit of Miss O'Neil, in Monimia, we are indebted for the revival of his tragedy, which was originally played at the Duke's Theatre, in 1680; and long kept possession of the stage. The language of this play is poetical and tender, and the incidents affecting; but, amidst many beauties, there is great inconsistency.
Dr. Johnson observes,—" This is one of the few pieces that has pleased for almost a century, through all the vicissitudes of dramatic fashion. Of this play, nothing new can easily be said. It is a domestic tragedy, drawn from middle life ;-its whole power is upon the affections; for it is not written with much comprehension of thought, or elegance of expression. But, if the heart is interested, many other beauties mav he wanting, yet not be missed."
And in his side thought to have lodg'd my spear, SCENE I.-A Garden.
The desperate savage rush'd within my force,
And bore me headlong with him down the roca. Enter CastalIO, POLYDORE, and PAGE. Pol. But thenCas. Polydore, our sport
Cas. Ay, then, my brother, my friend, PolyHas been to-day much better for the danger:
dore, When on the brink the foaming boar I met, Like Perseus mounted on his winged steed,
Many readers will, probably, exclaim with the critic, when he first saw it," On! what an infinite deal of mischier would a farthing rush-light have prevented "
Came on, and down the dangerous precipice Cas. Yes. leap'a
. And you would kill me, To save Castalio.—'Twas a godlike act! If I'm your rival ?
Pol. But when I came, I found you conqueror. Cas. No;- sure we're such friends,
Pol. I dote upon Monimia.
Win, and enjoy her. Rush on together; thou shouldst be my guard, Pol. Both of us cannot. And I be thine. What is't could hurt us then ? Cas. No matter Now half the youth of Europe are in arms, Whose chance it prove; but let's not quarrel for't. How fulsome must it be to stay behind,
Pol. You would not wed Monimia, would you ? And die of rank diseases here at home!
Cas. Wed her! Pol. No, let me purchase in my youth renown, No-were she all desire could wish, as fair To make me loved and valued when I'm old; As would the vainest of her sex be thought, I would be busy in the world, and learn, With wealth beyond what woman's pride could Not like a coarse and useless dunghill weed,
waste, Fix'd to one spot, and rot just as I grow. She should not cheat me of my freedom.-Marry! Cas. Our father
When I am old and weary of the world,
I may grow desperate,
Pol. It is an elder brother's duty, so
you ? Pol. Castalio, I have doubts within my heart, No, let me live
at large, and when I die
Cas. Mere vanity, and silly dotage, all :Which you, and only you, can satisfy. Will you be free and candid to your friend? Pol. Who shall possess th' estate you leave ? Cas. Have I a thought my Polydore should not Cas. My friend, know?
If he survive me; if not, my king, What can this mean?
Who may bestow't again on some brave man, Pol. Nay, I'll conjure you too,
Whose honesty and services deserve one., 1-4
Cas. As calmly as the wounded patient bears Pol. And, by that heaven, eternally I swear
Cas. No matter whose.
night? Cas. Suppose I should ?
Cas. I was; and should have met her here Pol. Suppose you should not, brother ? The opportunity shall now be thine ? again Cas. You'd say, I must not.
But have a care, by friendship I conjure thee, Pol. That would sound too roughly
That no false play be offer'd to thy brother. Twixt friends and brothers, as we two are. Urge all thy powers to make thy passion prosper ? Cas. Is love a fault?
But wrong not mine. Pd. In one of us it may be
Pol. By Heaven, I will not. What, if I love her?
Cas. Išt prove thy fortune, Polydore, to conCas. Then I must inform you
quer I lov'd her first, and cannot quit the claim; (For thou hast all the arts of soft persuasion;) But will preserve the birthright of my passion.
Trust me, and let me know thy love's success, Pol. You will ?
That I may ever after stifle mine. Cas. I will.
Pol. Though she be dearer to my soul than Pol. No more; I've done.
To weary pilgrims, or to miser's gold, [rest Cas. Why not?
To great men power, or wealthy cities' pride; Pol. I told you, I had done.
Rather than wrong Castalio, I'd forget her. But you, Castalio, would dispute it.
[Exeunt Castalio and POLYDORE. Cas. No;
Enter MONIMIA. Not with my Polydore :-though I must own My nature obstinate, and void of sufferance; Mon. Pass'd not Castalio and Polydore inis I could not bear a rival in my friendship,
way? I am so much in love, and fond of thee.
Page. Madam, just now. Pol. Yet you will break this friendship!
Mon. Sure, some ill fate 's upon me Cas. Not for crowns.
Distrust and heaviness sit round my heart, Pd. But for a toy you would, a woman's toy, And apprehension shocks my tim'rous soul Unjust Castalio!
Why was I not laid in my peaceful grave Cas. Pry'thee, where 's my fault ?
With my poor parents, and at rest as they are Pol. You love Moninia.
Instead of that, I'm wandering into cares.VOL. I. ...3H 36
Castalio! O Castalio! hast thou caught Be a true woman, rail, protest my wrongs,
Re-enter Castalio and POLYDURE. Come near, Cordelio; I must chide you, Sir.
He comes. Page. Why, Madam, have 1 done you any Cas. Madam, my brother begs he may have wrong?
leave Mon. I never see you now; you have been To tell you something that concerns you nearly. kinder;
I leave you, as becomes me, and withdraw. Perhaps I've been ungrateful. Here 's money for Mon. My lord Castalio ! you.
Cas. Madam! Page. Madam, I'd serve you with all my soul. Mon. Have you purpos'd Mon. Tell me, Cordelio (for thou oft hast To abuse me palpably? What means this usage ? heard
Why am I left with Polydore alone ? Their friendly converse, and their bosom secrets,) Cas. He best can tell you. Business of imSometimes, at least, have they not talk'd of me?'
portance Page. Ó Madam! very wickedly they have Calls me away: I must attend my father. talk'd:
Mon. Will you then leave me thus ? But I am afraid to name it: for, they say,
Cas. But for a moment. Boys must be whipp'd, that tell their masters' se- Mon. It has been otherwise : the time has been, crets.
When business might have stay'd, and I been Mon. Fear not, Cordelio; it shall ne'er be
Cas. I could for ever hear thee; but this time For I'll preserve the secret as 'twere mine. Matters of such odd circumstances press me, Polydore cannot be so kind as I.
That I must go.
[Ezi. I'll furnish thee with all thy harmless sports, Mon. Then go, and ift be possible, for ever. With pretty toys, and thou shalt be my page. Well, my lord Polydore, I guess your business,
Page. And truly, Madam, I had rather be so. And read th' ill-natur'd purpose in your eyes.
If softest wishes, and a heart more true
Than ever suffer'd yet for love disdain'd, Castalio and his brother use my name.
Speak an ill-nature; you accuse me justly. Page. With all the tenderness of love,
Mon. Talk not of love, my lord, I must not You were the subject of their last discourse.
hear it. At first I thought it would have fatal prov'd; Pol. Who can behold such beauty and be siBut, as the one grew hot, the other coolid,
(ated, And yielded to the frailty of his friend; Desire first taught us words. Man, when creaAt last, after much struggling, 'twas resolv'd—At first alone long wander'd up and down Mon. What, good Cordelio ?
Forlorn, and silent as his vassal beasts : Page. Not to quarrel for you.
But when a heaven-born maid, like you, appear'd, Mon. I would not have 'em, by my dearest Strange pleasures filld his eyes and fir'd his hopes;
heart, I would not be the argument of strife.
Unloos'd his tongue, and his first talk was love. But surely my Castalio wont forsake me,
Mon. The first created pair indeed were bless'd; And make a mockery of my easy love!
They were the only objects of each other, Went they together?
Therefore he courted her, and her alone; Page. Yes, to seek you, Madam.
But in this peopled world of beauty, where Castalio promised Polydore to bring him, There 's roving room, where you may court, and Where he alone might meet you,
ruin And fairly try the fortune of his wishes. A thousand more, why need you talk to me? Mon. Am I then grown so cheap, just to be Pol. Oh! I could talk to thee for ever. Thus made
Eternally admiring, fix, and gaze, A common stake, a prize for love in jest? On those dear eyes; for every glance they send Was not Castalio very loth to yield it?
Darts through my soul. Or was it Polydore's unruly passion,
Mon. How can you labour thus for my unThat heighten'd the debate ?
doing? Page. The fault was Polydore's.
I must confess, indeed, I owe you more Castalio play'd with love, and smiling show'd Than ever I can hope, or think, to pay. The pleasure, not the pangs of his desire. There always was a friendship 'twixt our families He said, no woman's smiles should buy his free- And therefore when my tender parents died, dom;
Whose ruin'd fortunes too expir'd with them, And marriage is a mortifying thing. (Erit. Your father's pity and his bounty took me,
Mon. Then I am ruin'd! if Castalio 's false, A poor and helpless orphan, to his care.
happy. The weak, protect and take me to your care. Hence with this peevish virtue, "tis a cheat ; O, but I love him! There 's the rock will wreck And those who taught it first were hypocrites. nie!
Come, these soft tender limbs were made fa Why was I made with all my sex's fondness,
yielding Yet want the cunning to conceal its follies ? Mon. Here, on my knees, by Heaven's bless'd I'll see Castalio, tax him with his falsehoods,
power I swear,
If you persist, I ne'er henceforth will see you, Acas. Blessings on my child !
news; My mother's virtues, and my father's honour. The young Chamont, whom you've so often Pol. Intolerable vanity! your sex
wish'd Was never in the right! y'are always false, Is just arriv'd, and entering. Or silly; even your dresses are not more
Acas. By my soul, Fantastic than your appetites: you think And all my honours, he 's most dearly welcome; Of nothing twice; opinion you have none. Let me receive him like his father's friend. To-day y'are nice, to-morrow not so free; Now smile, then frown; now sorrowful, then
Enter CHAMONT. glad;
(why! Welcome, thou relic of the best lov'd man! Now pleas'd, now not: and all, you know not Welcome, from all the turmoils and the hazards Mon. Indeed, my lord,
Of certain danger and uncertain fortune! I own my sex's tollies; I have 'em all;
Welcome, as happy tidings after fears.
I owe you!
That I should talk of nothing else all day.
Mon. My brother! So I might still enjoy my honour safe,
Cham. Ó my sister, let me hold thee From the destroying wiles of faithless men.
Long in my arms. I've not beheld thy face
[Erit. These many days; by night I've often seen thee Pol. Who'd be that sordid thing call'd man? In gentle dreams, and satisfied my soul I'll yet possess my love; it shall be so. (Ereunt. With fancied joys, till morning cares awak'd me. ACT II.
Another sister! 'sure, it must be so;
Though I remember well I had but one:
But I feel something in my heart that prompts, Enter Acasto, Castalio, POLYDORE, and At- And tells me, she has claim and interest there. tendants.
Acas. Young soldier, you've not only studied Acas. To-day has been a day of glorious sport; When you, Castalio, and your brother, left me, Courtship, I see, has been your practice too, Forth from the thickets rush'd another boar,
prove unwelcome to my daughter. So large, he seem'd the tyrant of the woods, Cham. Is she your daughter ? then my heart With all his dreadful bristles rais'd
high, They seem'd a grove of spears upon his back; And I'm at least her brother by adoption; Foaming he came at me, where I was posted For you have made yourself to me a father, Best to observe which way he'd lead the chase, And by that patent have leave to love her. Whetting his huge, large tusks, and gaping wide, Ser. Monímia, thou hast told me men are As if he already had me for his prey!
false, Till, brandishing my well-pois'd'javelin high, Will flatter, feign, and make an art of love : With this bold executing arm 1 struck
Is Chamont so? no, sure, he 's more than man; The ugly brindled monster to the heart.
Something that's near divine, and truth dwells in Cas. The actions of your life were always
Acas. Thus happy, who would envy pompons Acas. No flattery, boy! an honest man can't
power, live byt;
The luxury of courts, or wealth of cities?
In every room let plenty flow at large!
Cas. Your lordship’s wrongs have been Since your return?
idle. Methinks, I would be busy.
Acas. This you could do. [To his Sons. Pol. So would I,
Cas. I'd serve my prince. Not loiter out my life at home, and know
Acas. Who'd serve him? No further than one prospect gives me leave. Cas. I would, my lord. Acas. Busy your minds then, study arts and Pol. And I; both would. men;
Acas. Away! Learn how to value merit, though in rags,
He needs not any servants such as you. And scorn a proud, ill-manner'd knave in office. Serve him! he merits more than man can du'
He is so good, praise cannot speak his worth; Enter SERINA.
So merciful, sure he ne'er slept in wrath! Ser. My lord, my father!
So just, that, were he but a private man,