Darn. Not so well as you make your de- tea's ready, what have you to do but to drink fence, Charlotte. it?-but you, I suppose, expect a lover's heart, Char. Lord! I had forgot, he is to teach like your lamp, should be always flaming at me Greek, too. your elbow; and when it's ready to go out, Darn. Trifling tyrant! how long, Charlotte, you indolently supply it with the spirit of you think you can find new evasions for contradiction." what I say unto you? do Char. Lord! you are horrid silly; but since 'tis love that makes you such a dunce-poor Darnley, I forgive you. Enter COLONEL LAMBERT, unobserved. Darn. That's kind, however.-But, to complete my joy, be kinder yet-and Char. Óh! I can't! I can't!-Lord! did you never ride a horse-match? Char. And so you suppose, that your as- Char. That then would complete it. Char. Why then take it, Darnley. Now I presume you are in high triumph, sir. Col. L. No, sister; now you are consistent with that good sense I always thought you mistress of. Char. And now I beg we may separate; Darn. Was ever so wild a question! Char. Because, if you have, it runs in my head you galloped a mile beyond the win- for our being seen together, at this critical ning-post, to make sure on't. juncture, may give that devil, the doctor, susDarn. Now, I understand you. But since picion of a confederacy, and make him set you will have me touch every thing so very some engine at work that we are not aware of. tenderly, Charlotte, how shall I find proper Col. L. It's a very proper caution. Come words to ask you the lover's last necessary along, Darnley; nay, you must leave her now, question? whatever violence you do yourself. Char. Oh! there's a thousand points to be adjusted before that's answered. Col. L. [advances] Name them this moment; for, positively, this is the last time of asking1). Char. Pshaw! who sent for you? Col. L. I only came to teach you to speak plain English, my dear. Char. Lord! mind your own business; can't yon! Char. Ay, ay, take him with you, brother -or stay, Darnley; if you please, you may come along with me. Exeunt. ACT V. SCENE I.—A Parlour at SIR JOHN LAMBERT'S. Enter DARNLEY and CHARLOTTE. Char. But really, will you stand to the agreement though, that I have made with the doctor? you Col. L. So I will; for I will make you do more of yours in two minutes, than would have done without me in a twelvemonth. Darn. Why not? you shall not break your Why, how now!-do you think the man's word upon my account, though he might be lo dangle after your ridiculous airs for ever? a villain you gave it to. Suppose I should Char. This is mighty pretty! talk with sir John myself?-'iis true, he has slighted me of late. Col. L. You'll say so on Thursday se'nnight for (let affairs take what turn they will in the Char. No matter-here he comes-this may family), that's positively your wedding-day-open another scene of action to that I believe Nay, you shan't stir. Char. Was ever such assurance! my brother's preparing for. Enter SIR JOHN and LADY LAMBERT. Sir J. Mr. Darnley, I am glad I have met you here. Darn. I have endeavoured twice to-day, sir, Col. L. Ha! ha! if I was to leave you to to pay my respects to you. yourselves, what a couple of pretty out of Sir J. Sir, I'll be plain with you--I went countenanced figures you would make! hum-out to avoid you; but where the welfare of a ming and hawing 2) upon the vulgar points of child is concerned, you must not take it ill if jointure and pin-money. Come, come, I know we don't stand upon ceremony-However, since what's proper on both sides; you shall leave I have reason now to be more in temper than perhaps I was at that time, I shall be glad to talk with you. it to me. Darn. I had rather Charlotte would name her own terms to me. Col. L. Have you a mind to any thing particular, madam? Char. Why, sure! what do you think I'm only to be filled out as you please, and sweetened and sipped up like a dish of tea? Darn. I take it as a favour, sir. Sir J. You must allow, Mr. Darnley, that conscience is the rule which every honest man ought to walk by. Darn. Tis granted, sir. Sir J. Then give me leave to tell you, sir, Col. L. Why pray, madam, when your that giving you my daughter would be to act 1) The banns of marriage, when the parties have no licenses, think you an ill liver; and consequently the against that conscience I pretend to, while I are given out in the following words: "I publish the banns of marriage between-of-and- of any same tie obliges me to bestow her on a better one knowing any just cause or impediment why man these should not be joined together in holy matri- Darn. Well but, sir, come to the point. mony are now to declare it; and this is the first time of asking;" and so on to the second and third, which Suppose the doctor (whom I presume you design her for) actually consents to give me up his interest? is the last time. 2) Hum and ha interjections, used as verbs. Sir J. But why do you suppose, sir, he fact, and I shall soon accuse myself, and own will give up his interest? Darn. Ionly judge from what your daughter tells me, sir. Sir J. My daughter! Darn. I appeal to her. my folly equal to his baseness. Lady L. Behind that screen you may easily conceal yourself. Sir J. Be it so. Lady L. Mr. Darnley, shall we beg your Char. And I appeal even to yourself, sir-leave; and you, Charlotte, take the least sus Has not the doctor, just now in the garden, spoke in favour of Mr. Darnley to you? Nay, pray, sir, be plain; because more depends on that than you can easily imagine or believe. Sir J. What senseless insinuation have you got into your head now? Char. Be so kind, sir, first to answer me, that I may be better able to inform you. pected way to send the doctor to me directly. Char. I have a thought will do it, madam. Sir J. Oh, Charlotte! Oh, Mr. Darnley! Darn. Have but resolution, sir, and fear nothing. [Exeunt Durnley and Charlotte. Lady L. Now, 'sir, you are to consider what a desperate disease I have undertaken to cure: therefore, be sure keep close and still; and Sir J. Well, I own he has declined his in- when the proof is full, appear at your discretion. terest in favour of Mr. Darnley; but I must Sir J. Fear not; I will conform myselftell you, madam, he did it in so modest, so Yet, be not angry, my love, if, in a case like friendly, so good natured, so conscientious a this, I have also charity enough to hope you manner, that I now think myself more than ever bound in honour to espouse him. Char. But now, sir, only for argument's sake, suppose I could prove that all this seeming virtue was artificial; that his regard for Mr. Darnley was neither founded upon modesty, friendship, good nature, nor conscience; or in short that he has, like a villain, bartered, bargained to give me to Mr. Darnley, for half the four thousand pounds you valued his consent at; I say, sir, suppose this could be proved, where would be his virtue then? Sir. J. It is impious to suppose it. Char. Then, sir, from what principle must you suppose that I accuse him? Sir J. From an obstinate prejudice to all that's good and virtuous. may yet be deceived in what you charge him with, till the evidence of my own senses assure me of the contrary. Lady L. 'Tis just. Sir J. Hark! I think I hear him coming. Lady L. To your post then. [Sir John goes behind the screen. Enter DOCTOR CANTWELL, with a book. Dr. C. Madam, your woman tells me, that, being here and alone, you desired to speak with me. Dr. C. I have taken care, madam. Lady L. But I am afraid I interrupt your meditation. Lady L. I did, sir-but that we may be sure that we are alone, pray shut the outward door Char. That's too hard, sir. But the worst-another surprise might ruin us—is all safe? your opinion can provoke me to, is to marry Mr. Darnley, without either his consent or yours. Sir J. What, do you brave me, madam? Char. No, sir; but I scorn a lie; and will so far vindicate my integrity, as to insist on your believing me; if not, as a child you abandon, I have a right to throw myself into other arms for protection. Dr. C. No, madam, no; I was only looking over some pious exhortations here, for the use of a society of chosen brethren. Lady L. Ah, doctor, what have you done to me? the trouble of my mind since our last Sir. J. I am confounded. These tears can- unfortunate conference is not to be expressed. not be counterfeit; nor can this be true. You indeed discovered to me what, perhaps, Lady L. Indeed, my dear, I fear it is. Give for my own peace, 'twere better I had never me leave to ask one question. In all our mu- been acquainted with; but I had not sufficient tual course of happiness, have I ever yet de-time to lay my heart open to you. ceived you with a falsehood? Dr. C. Whither, madam, would you lead me? Sir J. Never. Lady L. I have been uneasy too, not knowLady L. Would you then believe me, ing how far you might mistake my behaviour should I accuse him even of crimes which on the last accident that happened, but I was virtue blushes but to mention? really so shocked, so terrified, I knew not Sir J. To what extravagance would you what I was doing: only, had I joined in your drive me! defence against the colonel, it would have been Lady L. I would before have undeceived evident that I was his enemy, and I have uses you, when his late artifice turned the honest for his friendship. Silence, therefore, was my duty of your son into his own reproach and own prudent part: and I knew your credit ruin; but, knowing then your temper was with sir John needed no support. inaccessible, I durst not offer it. Dr. C. Let me presume then to hope, that pose I should be able to let you see his vil- what I did, you judge was self-defence and lany, make him repeat his odious love to me pure necessity. in your own hearing, at once throw off the mask, and show the barefaced traitor? Sir J. Is it possible? But sup Lady L. But then, sir, I must prevail you to descend to the poor shifts we are duced to. Lady L. And perhaps, after all, the accident was lucky; for sir John, in order to obviate any ill constructions that may be put upon it, on insists now that we should be more together, re-to let the world see his confidence in us both. This relieves us from restraint; and I now dare of tell you-but no-I won't Sir J. All; to any thing, to ease me my doubts; make me but a witness of this Dr. C. But why, madam ? let me beseech you me Lady L. No-besides—what need you ask of all my follies, which is it tells you, that if you stay much longer, I shall not be tempted Dr. C. Ah! do not endeavour to decoy my to wrest you out of the hands of the law, and foolish heart, too apt to flatter itself. You can- punish you as you deserve? not sure think kindly of me! Lady L. Well, well, I would have you imagine so. Dr. C. Well; but first let me ask you, sir, who is it you menace? consider your own condition, and where you are? Sir J. What would the villain drive at? my house. Dr. C. Besides, may I not with reason suspect, that this apparent goodness is but arti- leave me. I forgive you but once more I tell fice; a shadow of compliance, meant only to you, seek some other place; out of persuade me from your daughter. This instant be gone, and see my shameful Lady L. Methinks, this doubt of me seems face no more. rather founded on your settled resolution not Dr. C. Nay, then, 'tis my duty to exert myto resign her. I am convinced of it. I can self, and let you know that I am master here. assure you, sir, I should have saved you this Turn you out, sir; this house is mine; and trouble, had I known how deeply you were now, sir, at your peril, dare to insult me. engaged to her. Dr. C. Tears-then I must believe youbut indeed you wrong me. To prove my innocence, it is not an hour since I pressed sir John to give Charlotte to young Darnley. Lady L. Mere artifice. You knew that modest resignation would make sir John warmer in your interest. Sir J. O heavens! 'tis true: whither shall I fly to hide me from the world? Lady L. Whither are you going, sir? Sir J. I know not-but here it seems I am trespasser-the master of the house has warned me hence-and, since the right is now in him, 'tis just I should resign it. a Lady L. You shall not stir. He dares not Dr. C. No, indeed, indeed. I had other act with such abandoned insolence. No, sir, motives, which you may hereafter be made possession still is yours. Ifhe pretends a right, acquainted with, and will convince you- let him by open course of law maintain it. Lady L. Well, sir, now I'll give you reason to guess the reason why, at our last meeting, I pressed you so warmly to resign Charlotte. Dr. C. Ah dear! ah dear! Lady L. You cannot blame me for having opposed your happiness, when my own, perhaps, depended upon it. Dr. C. Spare me, spare me; you kill me with this kindness. Dr. C. Ha! Here! Seyward! [Exit. Enter OLD LADY LAMBERT and MAWWOR M. Sir J. Who is this fellow? what do you want, man? Maw. My lady, come up. Old Lady L. How now! Maw, He wants to know who I be. Old Lady L. The gentleman is a friend of Lady L. But now that I have discovered my mine, son. I was carrying him in a coach to weakness, be secret; for the least imprudence-attend a controversy that's to be held this Dr. C. It is a vain fear. evening, at the Rev. Mr. Scruple's, about an Lady L. Call it not vain; my reputation is affair of simony; and called to take up the dearer to me than life. doctor. But what strange tales are these I hear below? Dr. C. Where can it find so sure a guard? The grave austerities of my life will dumbfound suspicion, and yours may defy detraction. Lady L. VVell, doctor, 'tis you must answer for my folly. Dr. C. I take it all upon myself. Lady L. But there's one thing still to be afraid of. Dr. C. Nothing, nothing. Lady L. My husband, sir John. Dr. C. Alas, poor man! I will answer for him. Between ourselves, madam, your husband is weak; I can lead him by the nose any where. Sir J. [Comes forward.] No, caitiff, I'm to be led no further. Dr. C. Ah! woman. Sir J. Is this your sanctity? this your doctrine? these your meditations? Dr. C. Is then my brother in a conspiracy against me? Sir J. The doctor's a villain, madam; I have detected him; detected him in the horrible design of seducing my wife. Maw. It's unpossible. Sir J. What do you say, man? Maw. I say, it's unpossible. He has been locked up with my wife for hours together, morning, noon, and night, and I never found her the worse for him. Old Lady L. Ah, son! son! Sir. J. What is your ladyship going to say now? Old Lady L. The doctor is not in fault. Old Lady L. Oh, he swears! he swears! years in growing good, we become profligate in a moment. If you swear again, I won't stay in the house. Maw. Nor I neither; aren't you ashamed of Sir J. Your brother! I have been your friend, yourself? have you no commenseration 2) on indeed, to my shame; your dupe; but your your poor soul?-Ah! poor wicked sinner! I spell has lost its hold: no more canting; it pity you. will not serve your turn any longer. Lady L. Now, heaven be praised. Dr. C. It seems you wanted an excuse to part with me. Sir J. Ungrateful wretch! but why do I reproach you! Had I not been the weakest of mankind, you never could have proved so great 3 villain. Get out of my sight; leave my house: Sir J. 'Sdeath! and the devil! Maw. If you swear any more, I'll inform against you. Sir. J. Why would you bring this idiot, madam? Maw. Ay, do despise me, I'm the prouder for it; I likes to be despised. 1) God's life. 2) Commiseration. Tip. Yes, sir, for a cheat and impostor. Sir J. Who! when! what is it? Col. L. Only some action of the doctor's, Char. The doctor, sir, and Seyward, were sir, which I have affidavits in my hand here at high words just now in the garden; and, to prove, from more than one creditable witupon a sudden, there was a pistol fired be-ness; and I think it my duty to make the pubtween them. Oh! I'm afraid poor Seyward lic acquainted with: if he can acquit himself is killed. of them, so; if not, he must take the consequence. Dr. C. Well, but stay; let the accusations Sir J. How? you more. conveyance I am still master here; and if I am forced to leave the house myself, I will shut up the doors-nobody shall remain behind. Sir J. There! there! indeed, he stings me Darn. Here, bring in this ruffian; this is to the heart! for that rash act, reproach and villany beyond example. Sir J. What means this outrage? Sey. Don't be alarmed, madam-there is no mischief done: what was intended, the doctor here can best inform you. Sir J. Mr. Darnley, I am ashamed to see you. Maw. So you ought: but this good man is ashamed of nothing. endless shame will haunt me! Char. No, sir!-be comforted. Even there too his wicked hopes must leave him; for know, the fatal deed which you intended to sign is here, even yet unsealed and innocent! Sir J. What mean you? Char. I mean, sir, that this deed by accident falling into this gentleman's hands, his generous concern for our family discovered it to me; Dr. C. Alas! my enemies prevail. and that in concert we procured that other to Sey. In short, gentlemen, the affair is cir- be drawn exactly like it; which, in your imcumstantially this-The doctor called me out patience to execute, passed unsuspected for the into the pavilion in the garden; appeared in original. Their only difference is, that whergreat disorder; told me here was a sudden ever here you read the doctor's name, there storm raised, which he was not sufficiently you'll find my brother's. prepared to weather. He said, his dependance was upon me; and at all events, I must be ready to swear, when he called upon me, I had seen him pay sir John several large sums of money. Dr. C. Come, sir; lead me where you please. [Exeunt Mawworm and old Lady Lambert. He talked confusedly about giving of all this. value for an estate; but I boldly refused to Maw. They'll all go to the devil for what perjure myself; and told him, on the contrary, they are doing-Come away, my lady, and let I was satisfied he had fleeced sir John of se-us see after the good dear doctor. Ay, do veral large sums, under pretence of charitable laugh, you'll go to the devil for all that.— uses, which he secretly converted to his own. Come, my lady, you go first. -This stung him, and he fastened at my throat. Then, indeed, all temper left me; and, disengaging myself from his hold, with a homeblow, I struck him down. At this, grown desperate, he ran with fury to some pistols that hung about the chimney: but in the instant he reached one, I seized upon his wrist; and as we grappled, the pistol, firing to the ceiling, alarmed the family. Char. Now, Darnley, I hope I have made atonement for your jealousy. Darn. You've banished it for ever! this was beyond yourself surprising. Col. L. Sister —、 Char. Come, no set speeches; if I deserve your thanks, return them in friendship to your Old Lady L. This is a lie, young man; I first preserver. see the devil standing at your elbow. Col. L. The business of my life shall be to Maw. So do I, with a great big pitchfork, merit it. pushing him on. Sey. And mine, to speak my sense of ob Dr. C. Well, what have you more against me? ligations. Sir J. Oh! I have seen too much. Enter COLONEL LAMBERT and Attendants. Sir J. Oh, my child! for my deliverance I can only reward you here.-For you, my son, whose filial virtue I have injured, this honest deed shall in every article be ratified.-And for the sake of that hypocritical villain, I declare, that from henceforward I renounce all pious folks; I will have an utter abhorrence for every thing that bears the appearance Char. Nay now, my dear sir, I must take the liberty to tell you, you go from one extreme to another.-What, because a worthless wretch has imposed upon you, under the fal lacious show of austere grimace, will you needs have it every body is like him, confound the good with the bad, and conclude there are no truly religious in the world?-Leave, my dear sir, such rash consequences to fools and liber tines.-Let us be careful to distinguish between character in life, greater or more valuable than virtue and the appearance of it. Guard if pos- that of the truly devout-nor any thing more sible against doing honour to hypocrisy-But, noble or more beautiful, than the fervor of a at the same time, let us allow there is no sincere piety. [Exeunt. SUSANNA CENTLIVRE. This lady was daughter of one Mr. Freeman, of Holbeach, in Lincolnshire. It is not decided whether she was born in Ireland or England; but it must have been in the year 1680. Be it as it may, we find her left to the wide world, by the death of her parents, before she had completed her twelfth year. There is a romantie story told of her having been met on her journey to London on foot, whither she went to avoid the tyranny of her stepmother, by a young gentleman from the university of Cambridge, (the afterwards well-known Anthony Hammoud), who was so extremely struck with her youth and beauty, and so affected with the distress which her circumstances naturally declared is her countenance, that he fell instantly in love with her; and, inquiring into the particulars of her story soon prevailed on her inexperienced innocence to seize on the protection he offered her, and go with him to Cambridge, where, equipping her in boy's clothes, he introduced her to his intimates at college as a relation, who was come down to se the university, and pass some time with him there. If this story is true, it must have happened when she was extreme) ly young; Whincop, as well as the other writers, acknowledging that she was married in her sixteenth year, to an phew of Sir Stephen Fox. But that gentleman not living with her above a twelvemonth, her wit and beauty so procured her a second husband, whose name was Carrol, and who was an officer in the army; but he having the vid, fortune to be killed in a duel, within about a year and a half after their marriage, she became a second time a v Sach an attachment she seems to have had to the theatre, that she even became herself a performer in 1706 ar make forming the part of Alexander the Great, in Lee's Rival Queens, at Windsor, where the court then was, she w the heart of one Mr. Joseph Centlivre, yeoman of the mouth to Her Majesty, who soon married her; and after several years happily together, she died at his house in Spring-Gardens, Charing Cross, on the first of Decembe el so -That Mrs. Centlivre was perfectly acquainted with life, and closely read the minds and manners of mankind, n we think, can doubt who reads her comedies; but what appears to us the most extraordinary is, when we conside you history, the disadvantages she must have laboured under, by being so early left to bustle with the world, and that the education she could have had, must have been owing to her own application and assiduity; when, we say, consider her as an absolutely self-cultivated genius, it is astonishing to find the traces of so much reading and learning as we meet with in many of her pieces; since, for the drawing of the various characters she has presented us with, she must have perfectly well understood the French, Dutch, and Spanish languages, all the provincial dialects of her own, and somewhat even of the Latin, since all these she occasionally makes use of, and whenever she does so, it is cou~ stantly with the utmost propriety and the greatest accuracy. A BOLD STROKE FOR A WIFE, Was produced at Lincoln's-inn Fields in the year 1718. Mrs. Centlivre was indebted to Mr. Mottley for two scenes of this comedy. Notwithstanding this piece has been accused by some for its numerous violations of all rule, nature, or probability, the business is so extremely active, in the course of the whole, that we are not stopped by ennui at any one scene of the play; but laughingly get on to the very end. It does not very materially tend to correct any particular vice; but seems to invite us for once to lay aside all our gravity, and open our hearts to playful gaiety and cheerfulness. DRAMATIS PERSONAE. COLONEL FEIGNWELL. SIR PHILIP MODELOVE. PERIWINKLE. TRADELOVE. ACT I. SCENE I.—COLONEL FEIGNWELL and FREEMAN Stockbrokers, Col. F. Why, faith 2), Freeman, there is Something in't: I have seen a lady at Bath, who has kindled such a flame in me, that all the waters there can't quench. Free. Is she not to be had, colonel? Col. F. That's a difficult question to answer; however, I resolve to try; perhaps you may 1) The seasons, in England, are generally managed by the be able to serve me; you merchants know great people, so as to produce their different pleasures: one another.-The lady told me herself she for instance, London is overflowing in the Spring, till the month of June; then all the families whirl off to was under the charge of four Brighton, Weymouth, or other watering-places till the summer is passed. In autumn the gentlemen shoot away their time at their country-seats, while their ladies are employed yawning over the last novels, rusticating; persons. Free. Odso!) 'tis miss Ann Lovely. Winter comes to enliven them once more and then condition is more desperate than you imagine: the quiet good-natured people of Bath, are pestered why, she is the talk and pity of the whole with their routing and disturbance, tile the Spring sends them off to London again. This, of course, means in War-time. 2) In faith. 3) From God. |