! SIR SAMPSON. What, have you found your senses at last then? in good time, sir. VALENTINE. You were abused, sir; I never was distracted. 634 FORESIGHT. How, not mad! Mr. Scandal? SCANDAL. No, really, sir. I'm his witness, it was all counterfeit. VALENTINE. I thought I had reasons.— But it was a poor contrivance; the effect has shown it such. 640 SIR SAMPSON. Contrivance! What, to cheat me? to cheat your father? Sirrah, could you hope to prosper? VALENTINE. Indeed, I thought, sir, when the father endeavored to undo the son, it was a reasonable return of nature. 646 VALENTINE. With all my heart, sir. SCANDAL. 'Sdeath, you are not mad indeed, to ruin yourself? VALENTINE. I have been disappointed of my only hope, and he that loses hope may part with anything. I never valued fortune but as it was subservient to my pleasure, and my only pleasure was to please this lady. I have made many vain attempts, and find at last that nothing but my ruin can effect it; which, for that reason, I will sign to.-Give me the paper. 692 BEN. Mess, here's the wind changed again! Father, you and I may make a voyage together now. ANGELICA. Well, Sir Sampson, since I have played you a trick, I'll advise you how you may avoid such another. Learn to be a good father, or you'll never get a second wife. I always loved your son, and hated your unforgiving nature. I was resolved to try him to the utmost; I have tried you too, and know you both. You have not more faults than he has virtues, and 'tis hardly ANGELICA. I have done dissembling now, Valentine, and if that coldness which I have always worn before you should turn to an extreme fondness, you must not suspect it. VALENTINE. I'll prevent that suspicion; for I intend to dote [to] that immoderate degree that your fondness shall never distinguish itself enough to be taken notice of. If ever you seem to love too much, it must be only when I can't love enough. 765 ANGELICA. Have a care of promises; you know you are apt to run more in debt than you are able to pay. VALENTINE. Therefore I yield my body. as your prisoner, and make your best on't. SCANDAL. [To VALENTINE] The music stays for you. [A dance is sounded] [To ANGELICA] Well, madam, you have done ex emplary justice in punishing an inhuman father and rewarding a faithful lover. But there is a third good work which I, in particular, must thank you for; I was an infidel to your sex, and you have converted me.-For now I am convinced that all women are not like Fortune, blind in bestowing favors, either on those who do not merit or who do not want 'em. 782 ANGELICA. 'Tis an unreasonable accusation that you lay upon our sex: you tax us with injustice, only to cover your own want of merit. You would all have the reward of love, but few have the constancy to stay till it becomes your due. Men are generally hypocrites and infidels; they pretend to worship, but have neither zeal nor faith. How few, like Valentine, would persevere even to martyrdom, and sacrifice their interest to their constancy! In admiring me you misplace the novelty:1— The miracle to-day is that we find EPILOGUE 794 Exeunt Omnes SPOKEN AT THE OPENING OF THE NEW Sure Providence at first designed this place But thinking of this change which last befell us, 5 It's like what I have heard our poets tell us: For when behind our scenes their suits are pleading, To help their love sometimes they show their reading; And wanting ready cash to pay for hearts, They top their learning on us and their parts. Once of philosophers they told us stories, 1 consider the normal woman unusual. THE WAY OF THE WORLD A COMEDY BY WILLIAM CONGREVE Audire est operæ pretium, procedere recte even to doubt of it. One who has at any time had the honor of your Lordship's conversation, cannot be supposed to think very meanly of that which he would prefer to your perusal; yet it were to incur the imputation of too much sufficiency, to pretend to such a merit as might abide the test of your Lordship's censure. Whatever value may be wanting to this play while yet it is mine, will be sufficiently made up to it when it is once become your Lordship's; and it is my security that I cannot have overrated it more by my dedication, than your Lordship will dignify it by your patronage. That it succeeded on the stage, was almost beyond my expectation; for but little of it was to be predominant in the palates of our audience. prepared for that general taste which seems now Those characters which are meant to be ridiculed in most of our comedies, are of fools so gross, that, in my humble opinion, they should rather disturb than divert the well-natured and reflecting part of an audience; they are rather objects of charity than contempt; and instead of moving our mirth, they ought very often to excite our compassion. This reflection moved me to design some characters which should appear ridiculous, not so much through a natural folly (which is incorrigible, and therefore not proper for the stage) as through an affected wit; a wit which at the same time that it is affected, is also false. As there is some difficulty in the formation of a character of this nature, so there is some hazard which attends the progress of its success upon the stage; for many come to a play so overcharged with criticism, that they very often let fly their censure, when through their rashness they have mistaken their aim. This I had occasion lately to observe; for this play had been acted two or three days before some of these hasty judges could find the leisure to distinguish betwixt the I must beg your Lordship's pardon for this Terence, the most correct writer in the world, had a Scipio and a Lælius, if not to assist him, at least to support him in his reputation; and notwithstanding his extraordinary merit, it may be their countenance was not more than necessary. The purity of his style, the delicacy of his turns, and the justness of his characters, were all of them beauties which the greater part of his audience were incapable of tasting; some of the coarsest strokes of Plautus, so severely censured by Horace, were more likely to affect the multitude such who come with expectation to laugh at the last act of a play, and are better entertained with two or three unseasonable jests, than with the artful solution of the fable. honor of your Lordship's admitting me into your conversation, and that of a society where everybody else was so well worthy of you, in your retirement last summer from the town; for it was immediately after that this comedy was written. If I have failed in my performance, it is only to be regretted, where there were so many not inferior either to a Scipio or a Lælius, that there should be one wanting equal in capacity to a Terence. If I am not mistaken, poetry is almost the only art which has not yet laid claim to your Lordship's patronage. Architecture and painting, to the great honor of our country, have flourished under your influence and protection. In the meantime, poetry, the eldest sister of all arts, and parent of most, seems to have resigned her birthright, by having neglected to pay her duty to your Lordship, and by permitting others of a later extraction to prepossess that place in your esteem to which none can pretend a better title. Poetry, in its nature, is sacred to the good and great; the relation between them is reciprocal, and they are ever propitious to it. It is the privilege of poetry to address to them, and it is their prerogative alone to give it protection. This received maxim is a general apology for all writers who consecrate their labors to great address were exempted from the common pre- As Terence excelled in his performances, so had he great advantages to encourage his un-men: but I could wish at this time, that this dertakings; for he built most on the foundations of Menander; his plots were generally modelled, and his characters ready drawn to his hand. He copied Menander, and Menander had no less light in the formation of his characters, from the observations of Theophrastus, of whom he was a disciple; and Theophrastus, it is known, was not only the disciple, but the immediate successor, of Aristotle, the first and greatest judge of poetry. These were great models to design by; and the further advantage which Terence possessed, towards giving his plays the due ornaments of purity of style and justness of manners, was not less considerable, from the freedom of conversation which was permitted him with Lælius and Scipio, two of the greatest and most polite men of his age. And indeed the privilege of such a conversation is the only certain means of attaining to the perfection of dialogue. If it has happened in any part of this comedy that I have gained a turn of style or expression more correct, or at least, more corrigible, than in those which I have formerly written, I must, with equal pride and gratitude, ascribe it to PROLOGUE Of those few fools who with ill stars are cursed, Sure scribbling fools, called poets, fare the worst: For they're a sort of fools which Fortune And after she has made 'em fools, forsakes. |