A Will and No Will or A Bone for the Lawyers. (1746) The New Play Criticiz'd, or the Plague of Envy (1747), by Charles Macklin

Of all good Printing it is hardest sure

To form a perfect Piece in Miniature.

The Genius and the Pencil when confined

Cramp both the Painter's Hand and Poet's Mind.

Let then the Author claim a kinder Fate

Whose Compass little,—yet his Subject great.

Thus for our Petit Piece we crave your Favour,

And if she bear one Sketch of Nature, save her—

Let not your Wrath against the Author rise,

If he to Flight presumes to criticize.

Our humble Wren attempts to mount and sing,

Beneath the Shelter of his Eagle's Wing.

Envy's a general Vice from which we see

No Country, Sex, no Time or Station free;

Not e'en the Stage; for entre nous I fear

Our Emulation is meer Envy here.

Whatever the Pursuits our Thoughts engage,

Envy's the ruling Passion of the Stage.

Yet here our Friends the Poets much surpass us;

Envy's a Weed that almost choaks Parnassus.

And what amazes most is often found

Mixt in the Harvest of the richest Ground.

While Poets railed and ruined in each Page,

We took it all for pure poetick Rage.

While ev'ry little Slip was made the Handle,

And Satire's specious Name concealed the Scandal,

We thought that Virtue did this Warmth impart,

Nor saw low Envy lurking in the Heart.

Our Indignation into Grief was turned,

E'en those, who felt the Smart, admired and mourned.

The scribbling unsuccessful envious Fool

Is the fit Subject for our Ridicule.

Those Sons of Dulness here in Crowds resort,

Tho' Dunces on the Record of this Court.

As they were wounded, so they wish to wound,

And strive to deal their own Damnation round.

To blast young Merit all their Powers they bring,

And set their little Souls upon the thing.

Yet still the wretched Fool comes off a Loser,

Dulness, like Conscience, is its own Accuser.

And Tyrant Envy can at once impart

Sneers to the Face and Vultures to the Heart.

Then from this Subject which tonight we chuse,

At least confess it is an honest Muse.

A Foe to ev'ry Party, ev'ry Faction;

For lo, she draws her Pen against Detraction.

Cank. Pray will you oblige me by letting one of your Servants step to Covent Garden Playhouse to look for him.

Foot. I'll go myself, Sir; for I shan't be wanted 'till my Lady comes from the Play.(Exit)

Cank. Let me see (pulling out his Watch) 'tis now half an hour after Seven. By this time the Fate of the Suspicious Husband is determined; applauded to the Skies; or damned beyond Redemption; its Author crowned with Laurel, or covered with Shame. Sure they can't approve it! And yet the Stings I felt at the reading [of] it give me presaging Pangs of its Success. (Sighs deeply) It has its Beauties I must confess. Why should I thus grieve at a young Author's approaching Fame? His Throes and Pangs lest it should fail have been far short of mine lest it should succeed; nor would the Author's Joy for its kind Reception equal my secret Rapture at its irretrievable Disgrace. What is this that like a slow but infallible Poison corrodes my Vitals and destroys my Peace of Mind? Emulation? (Shakes his head and sighs) I am afraid the World will call it Envy. All Mankind has some, but Authors most; and we can better brook a Rival in our Love than in our Fame. What can detain this Rascal? I am upon the Rack to know how it goes on—let me see, in what Manner would I have it treated? In the first Act I would have them applaud it violently,—in the second and third be coldly attentive,—in the fourth begin to groan, horse laugh and whistle,—and in the fifth just before the Catastrophe, one and all cry aloud, off, off, off! The Epilogue! The Epilogue! O that would be delightful! Exquisite!

So Sir! You Blockhead, how came you to stay so long? But first tell me how the Play was received; whereabouts did they begin to hiss?

Foot. Hiss quotha!—I am zure you have made my Ear hiss—and zing too, I think; why pray Zir, what did'st give me such a Wherrit var?

Cank. How shamefully I expose my weakness to my Servant. I would know the truth, but I cannot bear to hear it. (Aside) Come, Sir, tell me (Sits down in a great Chair) how was it received? But first what made you stay so long? Did I not order you to hearken at the Pit Door and bring me Word at the end of every Act how it went on?

Foot. Yes Zir; you did zo, Zir; but the Vauk zhut the Door, and then I could zee nothing at all o' the Matter.—Zo I begged them to open the door as I might zee through it; but they were zo ztout that they would do no zuch thing, they zaid. Zo then I went up to the Lobby—and there I met with an auld Vellow Zervant out of Zomersetshire. Zo he and I went up to the Footman's Gallery that I might give my Vardie of the matter to your Honour when I came Home.

Foot. Why faith to tell your Honour the truth it made me laugh zo I could not vind in my Heart to leave it.

Foot. No indeed, Zir, it was a mistake of mine; I mean it made me cry zo I could not leave it.

Cank. Leave your blundering, you blockhead, and tell me how it was received; did they hiss it?

Foot. Yes Zir, yes Zir, there was as much hizzing as when your Tragedy was acted.

Foot. Why what the Devil would you have a Man zay. You be'ent pleased when I tell you it was clapt, nor you be'ent pleased when I tell you it was hissed. (Cries) But whether you are pleased or no, I tell you it was clapt very much and was ten times comicaller than your Tragedy, and made the People laugh more.

Cank. How this ignorant Rascal has teized me by his Account! I can't tell whether it was damned or saved; he said it was clapt—but he said afterwards it was hissed—it may be so for it is impossible mere Incidents, which are the chief Merit of this Piece, should make it succeed! Were I sure of that, would I had gone myself! O what a secret Rapture should I have had in the hypocritical Exertion of my seeming good Nature in the Author's behalf. When I was sure it would not serve him, I would have stabbed and wounded his Fame by my pity for his ill Success, 'till I had made both him and his Play as contemptible as Vanity and Dullness, but the Fear of being martyred by its Applause was insupportable. I could never have survived it.

Heart. No, Sir, I had some Business of Consequence which prevented me. I hear there were prodigious Crowds there and that the House was full by four o'clock.

Cank. I am surprized at that, for I think that this Author has never writ for the Stage before.

Heart. That may be the Reason why he excites such Curiosity now; for the People look upon every new Author as a Candidate for publick Fame or Disgrace; and as the Right of Election is vested in them, each Man's Friendship, Vanity, or Envy prompts him to exert his Authority the first Night, lest he should never have an Opportunity afterwards.

Cank. Well I wish this Gentleman well of his Election. I knew him at School and College, and have some small Acquaintance with him now; a—a—as a Man I like him extremely, but—as—an—a—a—a—a—an Author, a, um,—I wish he had not writ, that's all.

Heart. Why so Sir, I think there is not a Gentleman in Britain but might be proud of being the Author of a well wrote Play.

Cank. Ha, ha, Lord, Mr.—sure you can't call his a Play. It is rather a Pantomime, a thing stuffed with Escapes, Pursuits, Ladders of Ropes and Scenes in the Dark, all a parcel of Pantomimical Finesses such as you see every Night at Rich's Entertainments. Ranger is really the Harlequin and Mr. Strictland Colombine's Husband; though the Author is an Acquaintance and a Man whom I respect, notwithstanding I have so contemptible an Opinion of the Play, I heartily wish he may succeed.

Cank. Sir, I assure you my Censure of the Piece arises from my Esteem of the Author. I would have him exploded now, that he may not expose himself by writing again. Besides I have some Concern for the Publick; it should not be overrun with every Fool who mistakes Inclination for Genius.

Heart. Nor plagued with every invidious Wretch who mistakes Envy for Judgment and Assurance for Parts. If the Suspicious Husband has Merit, the Publick will reward it; if not they will condemn it.

Cank. The Publick! ha, ha, ha, Mr. Heartly, ask any Man of real Taste and Learning what he thinks of publick Judgment.

Heart. 'Tis true they have been often in the wrong, but then it is always on the good Natured Side. They have sometimes applauded where perhaps they should have censured, but there never was an Instance where they condemned unjustly.

Cank. Yes Sir, they condemned several of my pieces unjustly and shamefully, and if they applaud such a piece as the Suspicious Husband, I say they have lost all Taste of good Writing and true Comedy.

Heart. O here is my Lady's Woman, Mrs. Chatter: she has been at the Play and can give us the whole Account of it.

Chat. Gentlemen, I beg ten thousand Pardons, but I must sit down a bit, I am so immensely fatigued.

Chat. Matter! The Devil fetch the new Play for me, and the Play-House, and the Players, and all of them together, for I was never so chagrinned since I was born.

Cank. What you did not like the Play, I suppose, Mrs. Chatter, nor the Acting.

Chat. O quite the contrary, Sir, I never saw a prettier Play in all my Life, and I think Mr. Ranger the Templer is a charming Fellow! O lud! I protest I should not care to trust myself with him in his Chambers—well he made me laugh a thousand times tonight, with his going up the Ladder of Ropes, and then into the Lady's Chamber, and his dropping his Hat, and his going to ravish Jacyntha, and a thousand comical things—but he brings all off at last. (Enter Footman with a Glass of Water) O Mr. Thomas, I thank you. (Drinks, gives him the Glass, Footman is going off) O Mr. Thomas.

Chat. I vow I am over Shoes and Boots with walking home from the Playhouse; there was neither Chair nor Coach to be had for Love or Money; pray will you tell the Chambermaid to leave out some clean things for me in my Lady's dressing Room.

Chat. O one thing more—pray Mr. Thomas, let the Monkey and the Parrot be removed out of my Lady's dressing Room, for I know she won't care to converse with them tonight.—The new Comedy I suppose will engross our Chat for one week at least.

Foot. A pox on these Monkeys and Parrots and these second hand Quality; they require more Attendance than our Ladies. (Exit)

Heart. Pray Mrs. Chatter, if you were pleased with the Play and the Acting, from whence arises your Distress?

Chat. From the oddest Accident in the World, Mr. Heartly. You must know, Mr. Canker, that I am a vast Admirer of the Belles Lettres as my Lady calls 'em, and never miss the first Night of a new thing—I am as fond of a new thing as my Lady is and I assure you she often takes my Judgment upon any new Play or Opera, and the Actors and Actresses. For you must know, Mr. Canker, I am thought a very tolerable Judge.

Chat. No to be sure, Mr. Canker, I know nothing of the Matter because I did not like your Play; but I would have you to know, Sir, that my Lady and I know a good Play when we see or read it as well as you for all your Aristotle and your Cook upon Littleton, and all your great Criticks.(Exit)

Cank. Psha! an ignorant Creature, Mr. Heartly, your Servant; I'll go and see for the Ladies.

Chat. O hang him, he can't abide me upon your Account and Miss Harriet's; a conceited envious Wretch; he will allow nobody to have Judgment but himself.

Chat. Why as soon as I had dropped my Lady, away went I to the Play, and so, Sir, I mobbed it into the Pit—for you must know I admire the Humour of the Savages in the Pit upon these Occasions of all things; so, so, Sir, as I was saying my Lady Ramble's Woman who is the most ignorant Animal in the Creation of the Belles Lettres [and] knows no more of them than a Welch Attorney, well she and I and my Lord Pride's Gentleman went together and we had immense fun, ha, ha, ha; we made the Musick play twenty comical Tunes, and a hundred things besides. I saw all our Ladies in the side Box and we pantomimed all Night long at one another, and were immensely merry, and liked the Play vastly well. There was an infinite [ly] pretty Dance at the End of it—and the sweetest Epilogue—We encored the Dance—but they begged they might speak the Epilogue first, so then we clapt immensely, ha, ha.

Heart. But I thought, Mrs. Chatter, you were going to give me an Account of your Distress.

Chat. I was so, but I protest I quite forgot it—hark! is not that our Coach stopped! Yes 'tis they—then—I beg pardon, Mr. Heartly, but I can't possibly stay to tell you the Story now, for I must run to my Lady.(Exit)

Har. O Mr. Candid, your Servant; you're a gallant Gentleman not to come to us. O you Clown! You have lost such a Night, such Diversion——

Heart. I am glad you were so well entertained, Madam, but you know it was impossible for me to have the Pleasure of waiting upon you, as I was obliged to attend my Uncle. Besides, Madam, I had your leave to be absent. I am glad to hear the Play had such Success; pray how does my Lady like it?

Har. O Canker did insinuate a most villainous character of it to us all, that's the truth on't; but Sir Charles Stanza who is a great Friend of the Author's came into our Box and sat there all Night with us; and what with his Encomiums and the Merit of the Piece, we are all become most Violent Converts; and now my Lady like a true Proselyte is for persecuting everybody with the Brand of Idiotism who is out of the Pale of her Ladyship's Judgment.

Har. You know she is as fond of a New Wit, as a City Esquire who is setting up to be one himself; so she begged Sir Charles would introduce her to the Author, and he was so very obliging as to promise to bring him here to sup this very Night.

Heart. That was a high Compliment indeed to a Lady of her Fondness for Authors.

Heart. But dear Harriet, now to our Affairs. You see there is no getting the better of this Fellow Canker; he has got the entire Possession of your Aunt, and she is resolved by Marriage Contract to give you to him this very Night. What's to be done?

Har. What's to be done? Why twenty things; I'll have the Vapours, Hystericks, Cholick and Madness rather than consent, and at last if my Aunt does persist, as I am afraid she will, why, like Jacyntha in the new Play, it is but providing a Ladder of Ropes and a pair of Breeches, and then the Business is done.

Heart. Dear Girl, you have eased my anxious Heart; thus let me pay my soft Acknowledgment.

Har. Thus let me pay my soft Acknowledgment. Ha, ha, ha! (Mimicking him) Upon my Word and Honour you make as ridiculous a Figure as a whining Lover in a Farce. Prithee let us have done with this theatrical Cant.

Har. Why I don't desire you to have done loving me; I only bid you have done telling me so—if you would please me, love me more and tell me less.

Heart. Dear kind Creature! (Kissing her Hand) Pray what's become of my Lady?

Har. Apropos, do you know that the Irish Beau that we laughed at so immoderately the other Night at the Opera, came into our Box and set there all the Play?

Har. The same. The Rogue has plagued me to Death with his Civilities, his Compliments and his Blunders; he is the most fulsome Fellow sure that ever pretended to Politeness.

Heart. Yes but the best Jest is that the Rogue is ashamed of his Country and says he was born in France.

Har. Well after sighing and making doux yeux at me all play time, he would hand me to the Coach; but the Fellow squeezed me so as we went along, that I was obliged to cry out and pull my hand away; when we were in the Coach, I thought we had got rid of him, but the Instant the Footman knocked at our Door, to our great Surprize who should we find at the Coach side ready to hand us out but our Irish Gallant. We could not avoid asking him in; he made a Million of Apologies for his Assurance, but his chief one was that he observed two suspicious Fellows dogging the Coach, so he followed us home to prevent our being insulted.

Heart. Ha, ha, ha, I think it was a good Irish Excuse; and pray where is he now?

Har. I left him below with my Lady overwhelming her with Civilities—See here they both come.

Lady. Sir Patrick, we are immensely obliged to you for the Trouble you have taken, and be assured, Sir, we shall languish to perpetuity 'till time shall produce a favourable opportunity of my making a suitable Return.

Sir Pat. O dear Madam, every Man of Gallantry must esteem the bare Serving of your Ladyship an unmentionable Honour, which ought to be held in the highest Estimation; and I protest to you, if this Accident happens to be productive of a Friendly Intimation betwixt a Personage of your Ladyship's Wit and Politeness and your humble Slave, I shall from thence date the Era of my past and future happiness tho' I was to live an Age of Misery afterwards.

Sir Pat. O Lord, Madam, not in the least—You are only pleased to compliment. (They compliment in dumbshew apart)

Har. See, see, Sir Patrick and my Lady what pains they take to shew their Politeness.

Lady. And I shall be proud of the Honour of a Visit whenever it suits the Inclination and Conveniency of Sir Patrick Bashfull.

Lady. O dear Sir Patrick, you are infinitely polite. (Turning about to Heartly and Harriet) O Mr. Heartly, I am sorry you did not come to us; I pity you, you have lost such a Night.

Sir Pat. By my Integrity, Madam, I have the Honour to be of your Ladyship's Opinion. It is the prettiest Entertainment I have seen upon the English Theatre, except Orpheus and Eurydice, where the Serpent is—(Going up to Heartly) Sir, I have not the Pleasure of being known to you—but I should be proud to have the Honour of an Intimacy with a Gentleman of your polite Parts and Understanding.

Sir Pat. You must know, Sir, I am but just come into the Kingdom of London, and as I am an entire Stranger here, I should be glad to be acquainted with everybody in the Beau Monde, but with none so soon as a Gentleman of Mr.—pray Sir, what's your Name?

Sir Pat. Sir, I am your most obedient humble Servant, and your sincere Friend and Acquaintance likewise—tho' I have the Honour only to be a Stranger to you as yet.

Heart. O dear Sir, your Modesty I dare answer for it will never stand in need of any Excuse.

Sir Pat. O your very—Sir, I hope you will likewise pardon my Neglect of not introducing myself sooner to your Acquaintance, but I assure you, Sir, the Reason was because I never saw you before.

Sir Pat. No Sir, I am originally descended from the Fitz-Bashfulls of France—tho' indeed our Family was of Irish Distraction first of all.

Sir Pat. And most Courts of Europe, Sir; I have an intimate Interest with them all, and should be proud to do you any Service with any of them from the Court of Versailles down to the distressed State of Genoa.

Lady. I have taken a Box for twenty Night; don't you think it will run so long, Sir Patrick?

Sir Pat. Indeed I believe it will, my Lady, and twenty days too—for it is a charming thing. Pray Madam, is it not one of Shakespear's?

Sir Pat. I protest, Madam, it is so very fine I took it for one of Shakespear's—for you must know, Madam, that I am a great Admirer of Shakespear and Milton's Comedies—they are very diverting. O they have fine long Soliloquies in them—to be or not to be, that's the Dispute—Don't you think, Madam, that's a charming fine Play—that Hamlet Prince of Dunkirk, and Othello Moor of Venus they say is a very deep Comedy, but I never saw it acted.

Lady. To be sure Shakespear was a very tolerable Author for the time, Sir Patrick, he writ in, but—a—he was excessively incorrect. Don't you think he was, Mr. Heartly?

Lady. Well this Comedy is quite Aristotelian, with an infinity of Plot—quite tip top—You will like it immensely; it is quite a high thing.

Heart. To be sure nobody has a more elegant Taste of Works of Genius than your Ladyship, particularly of the Drama.

Lady. Why really, Mr. Heartly, I think I have some tolerable Ideas of the finer Arts. Mr. Canker, who is allowed to have more critical Learning than any man since Zoilus, says I have an Exquisite Taste of Dramatick Rules—I have given him several hints in his Plays—and have sometimes writ an Entire Scene for him.

Heart. To be sure, Madam, your Knowledge is indisputable—but I am afraid Mr. Canker will call your Judgment in question about this New Play, for he rails at it excessively.

Lady. He did abuse it to an infinite Degree before it came out; but he will soon be convinced when he hears my Judgment of it, and to tell you a Secret, Mr. Heartly, I am a little picqued at him for speaking so ill of it—for I have a great Regard for the Author. Sir Charles Stanza is to bring him to sup tonight, and we are to be immensely intimate, and there is nothing I like so much as an Acquaintance with a new Author.

Lady. O he has brought the Marriage Articles; Harriet, I hope all your Objections to Mr. Canker are removed, for this Night he is to declare his Passion either for you or your Sister, and if you should be his Choice, I desire as you have any regard for me that you will receive him with Respect and Esteem. He has an immense deal of Wit, and a most refined Understanding; as you are at my disposal, I expect an implicit Acceptance of the Person I shall recommend.

Sir Pat. Upon my Honour, my Lady, tho' I know nothing at all of the Matter, I think you talk very reasonably. Shall I have the Honour of your Ladyship's Hand? (Exit Sir Patrick and Lady Critick)

Har. What, running away? No, no, Sir, I don't think that quite so necessary to our Plot as it was to theirs; it will be time enough to put that Scheme in Execution when every thing else fails.

Heart. But dear Harriet, what's to be done? You see that Canker pretends a Passion for you, and your Aunt is fully determined on the Match—I will openly avow my Love——

Har. Not for your Life. That would infallibly ruin us. Let my Lady and Canker still imagine you are fond of my Sister. You and she have dissembled it so well hitherto, that they are convinced of it; let them continue in their Error, for if Canker gets the least Suspicion of your Tendre for me, so inveterate is his Envy, that he would though he loved another, infallibly make me his Choice.

Har. The Wretch loves me, his Behaviour at least makes me think so; if he does, I will probe his Heart and raise such a Conflict in it between Love and Envy as shall soon decide which is his most predominant Passion. See here [he] comes; be gone. [Exit Heartly] He must not see us together.

Har. O Mr. Canker, your Servant; we are infinitely obliged to you for your Company at the New Play.

Cank. Madam, I beg a Million of Pardons for disappointing you. I had an intolerable Head Ache which rendered me incapable of the Happiness of waiting on you.

Har. Nay that won't pass for an Excuse; being there would have cured your Head Ache; the clapping and laughing would have diverted and drove it away.

Cank. Yes into my Heart. (Aside) Madam, I have often tried and found that kind of Noise increased my Disorder.

Har. I fancy, Mr. Canker, because you are sure of my Aunt's Consent that you begin to exert the Husband already and are ashamed to be seen with me in Publick.

Cank. Madam, you wrong me; the Husband shall be lost in the Lover. My Heart knows no Sensation but from your heavenly Image.

Har. O dear Mr. Canker, you had better keep this Poetic Nonsense 'till you write a Tragedy—It may pass then—But in such a Scene as ours your Brother Criticks will certainly laugh at it; besides, you have said all these fine things to me a thousand times; it is now time to drop them, and instead of Fustian speak plain Common Sense. My Aunt has promised and vowed in my Name, and this Night by Contract resolved to make up a Conjugal Match between you and I, but before we play for so large a Stake as Matrimony, is it not proper to have a good Opinion and a thorough Knowledge of the Skill and Integrity of our Partners that we are to play with?

Har. Um—why you Men are a kind of Sharpers in Love; you lose trifles to us in Courtship in order to make us the greater Bubbles in Marriage; therefore, like fair Gamesters, let us play upon the Square by letting each other know what they have to trust to.

Har. If you will let me write them in my Marriage Articles, Sir, I shall think my Obligation to you much greater.

Cank. With all my Heart, Madam. Name your own Conditions; I will subscribe to them.

Har. Generous indeed, Mr. Canker; know then that I shall insist upon an entire Change not only in your Conduct but even in your way of thinking which will make you more agreeable to yourself and less hateful to everybody else.

Har. It is a general Observation behind your back, however complaisant People may be to your Face, that Envy is your predominant Passion and directs in all you say or do. "As ill natured and as Envious as Canker" is a common Simile among your Friends; and may in time grow into a Proverb, Sir, unless you change your Conduct.

Har. Sir, your Satire is ill Nature—and your Judgment Envy. Therefore if you have any hopes of me, you must reverse your Temper and come into the following Treaty: In the first place instead of making it the Business of your Life to wound the Reputation of your Scribblers on all Occasions and explode their Plays, you must endeavour to support them; what if you think their Productions bad, good or bad, you must approve.—Item, I insist that you look upon me as your Minerva, and that for the future you never presume to Scribble, Applaud, or Condemn without first consulting me.

Cank. Madam, I have a better Opinion of your Understanding than to think you mean all this seriously.

Har. Upon my Honour, then you are mistaken; I shall not marry any Man who dares refuse to comply with these Articles—So, Sir, if you think well of them, I desire you will give me an Instance of your Obedience and Sincerity by going with me to the new Comedy tomorrow Night, and publickly expressing the highest Applause at it.

Cank. Madam, you may with as much Justice ask me to reverse my Affections, to love what I loath, and detest what I admire. No Madam, Posterity shall never say such a wretched Performance as the Suspicious Husband had the sanction of Francis Canker.

Har. Then, Sir, your humble Servant—I am glad I know your Mind. Our Treaty ends here. (Going, he holds her)

Cank. Dear Harriet, stay! Why will you urge me to a Behaviour so contrary to my Nature? Consider, Madam, how ridiculous it will make me appear to the World. Why People will think me mad.

Har. You are mistaken, Sir; they will only think that your good Nature has at last got the better of your Envy.

Har. Well but Sir, I insist that you clap and laugh, nay and that you cry too.

Har. Ay, cry, Sir—as soon as you see Mr. Strictland acknowledge his Error and sue to be reconciled to his Wife; if you have one humane particle in your Composition, I insist upon your Sympathizing with his conscious Heart by dropping a manly Tear along with him.

Cank. Madam, I can't come into all you command but what I can I will. When other People laugh, I'll cry, and when they cry, I'll laugh. Will that content you?

Har. O mighty well, Sir! Mighty well! I see you turn my Proposals into ridicule.(Exit Harriet)

Cank. What shall I do? Was ever Man laid under such a Restraint by a trifling Woman! The Bawble and Gewgaw of the Creation! Made for Man's Conveniency, his Slave not his Tyrant! To part with my right of Censuring, my Judgment, my Understanding! S'Death, I would as soon part with my——

Cank. Dear Grubwit, how came you to stay so long? You need not tell me of the Success! I have been sufficiently mortified with it already! Where is Plagiary?

Grub. Um—why faith, I am sorry to say it—but it is—generally liked; there is Trifle and a few more of his Size of Understanding in Rapture about it; he avers Antiquity never produced so correct nor so entertaining a Piece, and in his extravagant Manner, returns Jupiter thanks for his having lived in a time when such a Comedy was written.

Cank. Blockheads! Fools! Idiots! what signifies Taste or Learning if such Wretches are suffered to have Sway in the Commonwealth of Letters!

Plag. Why there's that staring Irish Baronet blundering out such fulsome Praise upon the New Play as is enough to make a sensible Man sick—I did but offer an Objection or two and my Lady Critick and the whole Knot opened upon me like a Pack of Hounds—I was forced to quit the Room.

Cank. I am amazed at my Lady Critick's liking it but I will soon convince her of her Error. But dear Plagiary, was there no Opportunity, nor no Attempt to hinder its Success?

Plag. Not after it begun; before indeed, there was as promising a Spirit in the Pit as ever made an Author's Heart ache. They whistled, hollowed and catcalled and interrupted the Prologue for above ten Minutes.

Plag. O delightful!—I would not have given Sixpence to have secured its Destruction—everybody around me concluded it a gone Play.

Plag. If they had been possessed with the Spirit of Zoilus, they could not have behaved better before the Prologue was spoke; but the Instant the Curtain was drawn up, their Clamour changed to a fixed Attention, and their Prejudice to burst of Applause which made the Ring.

Plag. I pulled out my Handkerchief and blowed—and coughed—and hawked—and spit, a hundred times I believe, (Makes a noise by blowing in his Handkerchief) but was constantly interrupted with "Silence—pray, Sir, be silent—let us hear."

Grub. I heard you from the other side of the Pit and did the same but was interrupted too by the Fools about me.

Cank. To see the partiality of Audiences—Idiots—damn 'em, they never would attend to a Play of mine.

Cank. They always begun with me in the first Act by calling for the Epilogue. Dear Plagiary, do you think this thing will run?

Cank. Isn't it monstrous that the Publick must be deprived of such an excellent performance as your Mask is, which is preferable to anything Milton ever wrote for such a wretched flimsy piece of Stuff?

Grub. Upon my word, Sir, I think the Publick is much worse used in respect of your Comedy, which has the Art and Character of Johnson, the Ease and Elegance of Etheridge, the Wit of Congreve, and the happy ridiculum of Moliere; and is indisputably the best that has been written in our Language.

Plag. Was there ever such Injustice shewn in a Theatre as the setting aside my Tragedy which has the Approbation of all the Judges in England?

Cank. It is severe Treatment no Doubt on't for your Piece stands in the first Class of Tragedy; it is written according to the strictest French Rules, and for the true Sublime as far beyond Shakespear as Banks is beneath him. But what signifies the Excellence of a Piece? Neither your Tragedy, my Comedy, nor your Mask can come on. The Stage is quite monopolized for this Year if this Thing, I can't call it a Play, is suffered to run.

Plag. Ay, and what is worse, if some means is not found out to check it, ten to one but we shall be plagued with another next year.

Cank. Why Gentlemen, it is a Common Cause, and requires an active Opposition. We must try fairly to hunt it down by Journals, Epigrams and Pamphlets;—you must attack the Characters,—you the Sentiments and Dialogue, while I expose the Moral and the Fable.

Grub. Agreed. And now let us join the Company and try if we can't bring them over to our Party; for tho' the most of them are Idiots, yet they will serve to fill up the Cry, which you know is the present Test of Right and Wrong.(Exit)

Plag. It is the vilest Thing sure that ever dullness produced. And yet the Fools are as fond of it as if Apollo and the Nine had approved it. Amazing that Men can be so blind to their own Foibles. (Exit)

Cank. I am sure if you were not as great a Stranger to your own Dullness as you are to Apollo and the Nine, as you quaintly call them, you would never think of writing a Tragedy. But most Writers are such vain, envious Coxcombs, and busy themselves so continually in the pleasing Search of other People's Faults, that they never have time to look into their own. For this Blockhead now, who has no more Imagination than a Dutch Burgomaster, because he can common place Corneille and Racine, sets up for the Euripides of the Age, and has the Vanity to prefer his sleepy, lumpish Tragedy to my Comedy which has that Viscomica, that fine Ridiculum of Human Nature which Caesar so lauded in the Greek and so regretted the Want of in the Roman Poet. (Exit)

Heart. And I have praised the Play and flattered my Lady's Judgment to such a Degree of Pride and Obstinancy as will never bear Contradiction again. No successful Poet after his Ninth Night was ever so brimfull of Vanity as I have made her Ladyship. She run[s] over with folly.

Har. Let me tell you, Sir, Trifle makes a pretty ridiculous Figure upon this Occasion.

Heart. And indeed upon any Occasion; he never departs from his Character. I left him, and that other Coxcomb Nibble, in the most ridiculous dispute about the Rules of Criticism, and what was high, and what was low Comedy, and what was Farce, that ever was heard. Sir Patrick, he got into the Squabble with them, and did so contradict himself and them, and did so flounder and blunder that they had all gone to Loggerheads if my Lady hadn't stepped in and pre-emptorily decided the point.

Har. O delightful! I should have liked that of all things. See here the Knight comes; let us play him off a little.

Heart. Sir Patrick, your humble Servant, have you settled the Argument between Nibble and Trifle at last?

Sir Pat. Why I told them they were both wrong and knew nothing at all of the Matter, but they did not believe me so they went to it again, and there I left them.—(Seeing Harriet, addresses her) Madam, I am your most obedient Slave and humble Servant! 'Till death do us part.

Har. O Sir Patrick, you are superlatively obliging. (Curtzying very low) I am afraid, Sir Patrick, that is more than my short Acquaintance with you can merit.

Sir Pat. O Madam, you merit more than human Nature can bestow upon you. You are all perfection, beautiful as Venus, and as wise as Medusa.

Sir Pat. Faith I believe so too; but one may easily mistake; you know they are so very much alike, especially as they are both Heathen Gods too.

Sir Pat. Upon my Honour, Madam, I have travelled over several of the Terrestial Globes both by Land and Sea and I never saw so fair a Creature as your Ladyship, but one, and she was an Indian Queen and black as a Raven.

Sir Pat. I was in Paris, Madam; I lived there all my Life. Parlez vous Francois?

Sir Pat. Oui, Madamoiselle, je le parle Francois, but I cannot speak a word of Irish tho' I was often taken for an Irish Gentleman when I was abroad—because you must know I used to converse very much with them.

Har. And pray, Sir, in all your Travels through the Terrestial Globes by Land and Sea, are you sure you never were in Ireland?

Sir Pat. No, Madam, I can't say positively—Stay—let me remember if I can—Ireland—Ireland—tho' to tell you the Truth, Madam, I have a very bad Memorandum.

Sir Pat. Faith, Madam, I can't find by my Brain that ever I was so happy as to visit that Kingdom.

Har. I wonder at that, Sir, for all Gentlemen of Taste visit Ireland in their Travels. It's famous for not having venemous Creatures in it, I think.

Sir Pat. Not one, Madam, from the beginning of the World to the Creation. For I remember there was a Toad brought over there once, and as soon as ever he died. Madam, upon my Honour, they could not bring it to Life again.

Sir Pat. Upon my Word and Honour, Madam, 'tis as true as the Alcorn, for I stood there with these two Eyes and saw it.

Sir Pat. In Ireland, Madam. (Aside—What the Devil have I said. Now I am afraid I have committed a Blunder here.) Yes, Madam, now I remember I was there once about two or three Months ago—I went over with a Lady for my Diversion—She went there to travel so I went to shew her the Country because we were both Strangers in it. But really, Madam, it was so long ago that I quite forgot it, and as I told you before, Madam, I have a very treacherous Heart at remembering Things when once I forgot them.

Har. You are to be excused, Sir, for to be sure a Gentleman that has travelled so much as you have done must have a very treacherous Heart at remembering things. For it is common Observation that Travellers always have bad Memories.

Sir Pat. O the worst in the World, Madam, for they go into so many Inns and Taverns upon the Road, and into so many Towns and Villages and Steeples and Churches, that it is impossible to Memorandum all the Kingdoms a Man travels through.

Heart. Ha, ha, ha. Pray Sir, in your Travels in Ireland, if your heart will let you recollect it, what sort of usage did you meet with?

Sir Pat. O the best behaved usage that ever I met with in all the born days of my Life, Sir—I'll tell you what, Madam, now if you were a strange Gentleman and travelling there and happened to come within a Mile of a Gentleman's House when you were benighted so that you could not find your way to it, upon my Honour you might lie there all Night and not cost you a halfpenny, tho' you had never a farthing of Money in your Pocket.

Heart. That is very hospitable, I must confess, to let one lie within a Mile of their House.

Sir Pat. Lord, Madam, there are not so hospitable and good natured People in the World.

Sir Pat. O dear, Madam, yes indeed, very great Scholars. They play Back Gammon the best of any Men in the World, better than all the Bishops in England.

Sir Pat. Yes to be sure, Sir, there is hardly a Gentleman there but knows every one of the Ninety Nine Muses, and can speak all the Mechanical Sciences by Heart, and most of the liberal Languages except Irish and Welch.

Sir Pat. Because, Madam, they are ashamed of it; it has such a rumbling Sound with it. Now when I was upon my Travels I liked the Language so well that I learned it. Madam, if it won't be over and above encumbersome to your sweet Ladyship, I will sing you an Irish Song I learnt there—it was made upon a beautiful young Creature that I was in Love wi[th] there, one Mrs. Gilgifferaghing.

Har. I protest, Sir, you have a great deal of very diverting Humour; and upon my Word you sing extremely well. For my part, I think Irish singing is as diverting as Italian.

Har. I am surprized the Directors of the Opera do not send over to Ireland for a Set of Irish Singers.

Sir Pat. O no, Madam, it would never do; the Irishmen would never make good Singers.

Sir Pat. Lord, Madam, as soon as ever they would come to England, the English Ladies would be so very fond of them that it would spoil their Voices—besides, Madam, they are not so well qualified for it as the Italians.

Har. We are generally speaking very fond of the Irish Gentlemen to be sure, but there is no avoiding it,—they have so much Wit and Assurance and are such agreeable handsome Fellows.

Sir Pat. O Lord, Madam, we Gentlemen of Ireland look upon ourselves to be the handsomest men in England.

Sir Pat. An Irish Man,—poh, what the Devil shall I say now? (Aside) No my Life, I am no Irishman at all, not I upon my Honour—but my Mother was one—and so I call that my Country sometimes out of a Joke—that's all—I an Irishman—no, no—no, I'faith you may know by my Tongue that I am no Irishman.

Sir Pat. Yes, Madam, she was born and bred in Ireland all the Days of her Life, but she was educated in England.

Heart. Ha, ha, ha, this is more than one in Reason could have expected. This Fellow is more diverting and more blundering than his Countryman in the Committee. [Aside]

Har. See, here come Mr. Nibble and Mr. Trifle in warm debate; prithee let us leave them to themselves and go see how my Lady and Canker have agreed in their Judgments about this New Play.

Sir Pat. With all my Heart, Madam; for really I am tired with these two Gentlemen before they come near us, they are so very silly—(Pushing between Harriet and Heartly) I beg Pardon, Mr. Heartly, but I must do the Lady the Honour to give her the Acceptation of my Hand. I hope you will excuse my bashfullness, Madam, that I did not do it sooner.

Har. Sir Patrick, you are the most courteous well bred Knight that ever broke Spear in a Lady's Defence.

Sir Pat. Faith I am of your Opinion in that, Madam, for I think I am a clever loose Fellow.(Exeunt)

Trif. Dear Nibble, don't let you and I quarrel which we certainly must if you persist in crying down so admired a Piece. For Dullness seize me if I don't defend it to the last Extremity of critical Obstinancy.

Nib. Dear Tim: don't call it critical, but fashionable Obstinancy, for you know very well that Judgment and you are old Antagonists.

Trif. Ha, ha, ha, give me your Hand for that, Nibble; faith that was not said amiss—But as I have some regard for you, don't persist in shewing your weakness lest you oblige me to draw my parts upon you, and if I do, expect no Quarter; by all that's witty, I'll pink the Midriff of your Ignorance as a friendly cure to your sickly Understanding.

Nib. Tim Trifle, I defy your Parts; they are as blunt and as dull as a Welch Pedant's. I do and shall persist in, asserting to the last Extremity of my critical Judgment that the Piece has glaring Faults—monstrous.

Nib. Why in the first place I insist upon it, and I will prove it up to mathematical Demonstration, that the Title of it is quite expotic.

Nib. Ay, immensely expotic! so expotic that the Play ought to have been hissed for it. The Suspicious Husband! Is not that an egregious Error? I am sure every Person who has the least Taste of the Drama must allow it to be an unpardonable Fault—quite a Misnomer—absolutely expotic.

Trif. Now by Aristotle's Beard, I think there could not have been so happy a Title found out of the Alphabet.

Nib. Nay prithee now, Tim [7] Trifle, what do you understand by the word Suspicion?

Trif. Dear Nick, every Mortal knows what Suspicion means; Suspicion comes from Suspicio, that is when any Person suspects another.

Nib. Well I won't dispute your Definition but upon my Honour I think it should have been the Jealous Husband.

Trif. He, he, lud, Nibble, that would have been the most absurd Title in the Creation. Well Nick, have you anything else in the Play to find fault with?

Trif. Nay don't say that, Nick—because if you do I must laugh at you. Why all the World admires his Dress. That is thought one of the best things in the Play.

Nib. Well now I will mention a Criticism which I defy the warmest of Words to defend.

Nib. Why you know Ranger's hat is laced; that I think you must allow; that is obvious to everybody.

Nib. Why then I aver by all the Rules of Criticism to make the improbability out of imposing upon Mr. Strickland, that Jacyntha's Hat ought to be laced too, and by all that is absurd it is a plain one.

Trif. Well come, there is something in that; that is a Fault I must confess, that is a Fault by gad.

Nib. O an unpardonable one; I assure you Jack Wagwit and a parcel of us was going to hiss the whole Scene upon that Account.

Trif. No, no, that would have been cruel; you know Homer himself sometimes nodded. Don't take any Notice of it to anybody, and it shall be altered tomorrow Night. I'll speak to the Author about it—O here's my Lady and Mr. Canker—now for a thorough Criticism upon it.

Lady. Well, I protest Mr. Canker, I am surprized at your Judgment. You will certainly be laughed at by all the Polite part of the World.

Cank. Madam, I hold the Vulgar in as much Contempt as I do the Rabble in the Shilling Gallery; both Herds are ignorant, and praise and condemn, or censure or applau[d], not from a Judgment in the Art, which should be the Director, but from the ignorant Dictates of Nature: mere Affection, like Moliere's old Woman.

Heart. Well, for my Part, I shall always prefer the irregular Genius who from mere Affection compels me to laugh or cry, to the regular Blockhead who makes me sleep according to Rule.

Heart. Nor none but the ill natured or the envious ever judged by the Extremity of Rules. And the laws of Criticism like the Penal Laws should be explained in a favourable Sense lest the Critick like the Judge should be suspected of Cruelty or Malice against the Criminal.

Sir Pat. Upon my Honour, Sir, I think you talk mighty reasonably. I think there should be no Law [at] all, and then everybody might do what they please.

Trif. Right, right, Sir Patrick! Liberty and Property, I say—demme I am not for Criticks—your Homers and your Virgils—and your Coke upon Littleton, and a parcel of Fellows—who talk of Nothing but Gods and Goddesses—and a Story of a Cock and a Bull—as hard to be understood as a Welch Pedigree.

Sir Pat. Upon my Honour, so they are very hard! And that Milton's a strange Fellow too—he has got a devilish sight of Devils along with him that nobody knows any thing of but himself—the Devil a one of 'em all I know but one—and that was old Belzebub—you know we have often heard of him, for he was Lucifer's Wife.

Sir Pat. Nor I, upon my Honour, Mr. Trifle—tho' I admire him greatly, him and Shakespear are my Favourites, but I could never understand them.

Trif. O Shakespear—old Shakespear—O Shakespear is a clever Fellow, ay, ay,—I admire Shakespear to the Skies—I understand him very well, Sir Patrick.

Cank. Madam, if you will hear me, I will come to particulars and if I don't convince you, and all the Company that it is void of Plot, Character, Wit, Humour, Manners, and Moral, I will ever after submit to be thought as ignorant as I now think those Criticks are who so much admire it.

Nib. As to his want of Manners, that I think is as obvious as Mathematical Demonstration—was there ever anything so rude as to bring the Character of our Friend Jack Maggot on the Stage, who is a young Fellow of Family and Fortune, and as well known about Town as I am, and is as good natured and as inoffensive a Creature as ever travelled. I vow as soon as ever I saw him come upon the Stage, I was shocked.—It was vastly unpolite to introduce a young Fellow of his Figure in Life upon a publick Theatre—I suppose he will bring some of our Characters on the Stage in his next Play—if he does I protest I'll make a party to hiss it.

Lady. You may be mistaken, Mr. Nibble, i[t] may be a general and not a particular Character that is meant by Mr. Maggot.

Cank. Madam, Mr. Nibble's Observation is just, and it is impossible he can be mistaken. For my part, I know Jack Maggot as well as I do myself, or as I do who is meant by Mr. Strictland.

Heart. Mr. Canker, this is most invidious Criticism and what the best Writers from Fools and Knaves are most liable to. But instead of injuring, it serves an Author with the Judicious; for it only proves the Copies to be so highly finished that Ignorance and Malice compliment them as known Originals.

Lady. I protest, Mr. Heartly, I think you quite right in your Answer, and if Mr. Canker has nothing more Material to offer against the Play, he will be very Singular in his Censure.

Lady. Why lookee, Mr. Canker, he may have transgressed probability by it, I grant you—but I will forgive an Author such Transgressions at any time when it is productive of so much Mirth.

Nib. Well, I vow I think they are vastly absurd. Pray what do you think, Miss Harriet?

Har. I think it is a very simple and a very probable Machine, and productive of many happy Incidents, every one of which naturall[y] arise[s] out of each other, and have this peculiar Beauty, which other Incidents upon the Stage have not, that each of them begins with a Surprize that raises your Anxiety and ends with a turn the least unexpected, which could you have foreseen, would have been what you would have wished.

Lady. Very nicely distinguished, Harriet; I protest that is the greatest Encomium I have heard of the Play yet.

Cank. O intolerable! Monstrous! Shocking! Such Ignorance! (Aside) Pray Madam, not to mention the improbability, where was the Necessity for a Ladder of Ropes?

Sir Pat. What Necessity? Arra why do you ask such a foolish Question? I'll tell you what Necessity—Why it was put there for the young Man, the Templer, to go up Stairs into the House.

Cank. But pray, Ladies—I speak to you in particular, who best know the Nature of the Question I am going to ask—how can you justify the impoliteness of making Clarinda, a Lady of Fashion and Fortune, in full dress trudge the streets at twelve o'Clock at Night in Contradiction to all Reason, Probability, and Politeness?

Sir Pat. Poo, poo! That's foolish now. Why what has a Stage Play to do with Reason and Probability? If a Tragedy makes you laugh and a Comedy makes you cry, as Mr. Heartly said just now, what would you have more?

Sir Pat. And as to the young Lady's going home a Foot, that is easily answered. You are to suppose it was a rainy Night and that she walked home to save Chair hire, because there was never a Coach to be had.

Sir Pat. I am sure it is very natural to walk. I have done so a hundred times.

Trif. My dear Sir Patrick, give me your Hand! Thou art the top Critick of the Age, let me perish.

Cank. Was ever Man so tortured with such Fools! (Aside)—I hope, Mr. Heartly, you will not offer to vindicate the Dialogue. There is not one Attempt to Wit all through the Play, but that about the Gravestone; the Characters all speak like People in common Conversation.

Cank. Yes just as barrenness is in Land. Don't you see, Sir, what Whicherly and Congreve have done in their Comedies?

Heart. Yes Sir, and I know what their Masters, Terence, Plautus, Moliere, and our own Johnson have done, who thought themselves most excellent in their Dialogue when they could make their Characters speak, not what was most witty, but what was most proper to Time, Place, Character, and Circumstance.

Lady. Upon my Word, Mr. Heartly, you are a very accurate Critick, and I am entirely of your Judgment.

Cank. Well, but allowing it all [it] deserves, why must it be praised so very much?

Heart. Because, Sir, Praise is the food, and too often the only Reward of Merit; and none deny it but the ill natured and the envious.

Heart. Sir, that is not very Complaisant—pray Sir, who do you mean by the Ignorant?

Cank. You, and all of you who like this Piece—You are Men, Fops in Understanding, catch your Judgments from each other as you do your Dress, not because they are right, but that they are the Fashion, and you make as ridiculous a Figure in Criticism as an Ape in human Cloathing.

CANKER	LADY CRITICK
HEARTLY	HARRIET
SIR PATRICK BASHFULL	MRS. CHATTER
NIBBLE
TRIFLE
PLAGIARY
GRUBWIT
BUMPKIN
FOOTMAN