THE DRAMATIC WORKS OF WILLIAM WYCHERLEY. As long as men are false and women vain, EVELYN. LOVE IN A WOOD; OR, ST. JAMES'S PARK. A Comedy. Excludit sanos Helicone poetas TO HER GRACE THE DUCHESS OF CLEVELAND. MADAM.-All authors whatever in their dedication are poets; but I am now to write to a lady who stands as little in need of flattery, as her beauty of art; otherwise I should prove as ill a poet to her in my dedication, as to my reader Any play. I can do your Grace no honour, nor make you more admirers than you have already; yet I can do myself the honour to let the world know I am the greatest you have. You will pardon me, Madam, for you know it is very hard fra new author, and poet too, to govern his ambition: for poets, let them pass in the world ever so much for modest, Inest men, but begin praise to others which concludes in themselves; and are like rooks, who lend people money but to win it back again, and so leave them in debt to 'em for nothing; they offer laurel and incense to their heroes, but wear it themselves, and perfume themselves. This is true, Madam, upon the honest word of an author who never yet writ dedication. Yet though I cannot lie like them, I am as vain as they; and cannot but publicly give your Grace my bumble acknowledgments for the favours I have received from you:-this, I say, is the poet's gratitude, which, in pain English, is only pride and ambition; and that the world might know your Grace did me the honour to see my Play twice together. Yet, perhaps, my enviers of your favour will suggest 'twas in Lent, and therefore for your Fortification. Then, as a jealous author, I am concerned not to have your Grace's favours lessened, or rather my reputation; and to let them know, you were pleased, after that, to command a copy from me of this play;-the only way, without beauty and wit, to win a poor poet's heart. "Tis a sign your Grace understands nothing better than obliging all the world after the best and most proper manner. But, Madam, to be obliging to that excess as you are (pardon te. if I tell you, out of my extreme concern and service for your Grace) is a dangerous quality, and may be very emcode to you; for civility makes poets as troublesome, as charity makes beggars; and your Grace will be hereafter as much pestered with such scurvy offerings as this, poems, panegyrics, and the like, as you are now with petitions: ad. Madam, take it from me, no man with papers in 's hand is more dreadful than a poet; no, not a lawyer with his declarations. Your Grace sure did not well consider what ye did, in sending for my play: you little thought I would Lave had the confidence to send you a dedication too. But, Madam, you find I am as unreasonable, and have as little escience, as if I had driven the poetic trade longer than I have, and ne'er consider you had enough of the play. But having suffered now so severely) I beseech your Grace, have a care for the future; take my counsel, and be (if you can pssible) as proud and ill-natured as other people of quality, since your quiet is so much concerned, and since you have more reason than any to value yourself:-for you have that perfection of beauty (without thinking it so) which others of your sex but think they have; that generosity in your actions which others of your quality have only in their promises; that spirit, wit and judgment, and all other qualifications which fit heroes to command, and would make any but your Grace proud. I begin now, elevated by my subject, to write with the emotion and fury of a et, yet the integrity of an historian; and I could never be weary-nay, sure this were my only way to make my readers never weary too, though they were a more impatient generation of people than they are. In fine, speaking thus of your Grace, I should please all the world but you; therefore I must once observe and obey you against my will, and say no more, than that I am, Madam, your Grace's most obliged, and most humble servant, PROLOGUE. CUSTOM, which bids the thief from cart harangue Not having fear of critic 'fore his eyes, son: You he does mean who, for the selfsame fault, Treat rhyming poets worse than Turk would do, But vent your heathenish rage,—hang, draw, quarter, His Muse will die to-day a fleering martyr ; are. Well then, who nothing hopes, needs nothing fe ACT I. SCENE I.-GRIPE'S House, in the Evening. Enter my Lady FLIPPANT and Mrs. JOYNER. Flip. Not a husband to be had for money!— Come, come, I might have been a better housewife for myself, as the world goes now, if I had dealt for an heir with his guardian, uncle, or mother-in-law; and you are no better than a chouse, a cheat. Joyn. I a cheat, madam! Flip. I am out of my money, and patience too. Joyn. Do not run out of your patience, whatever you do 'tis a necessary virtue for a widow without a jointure, in truly. Flip. Vile woman! though my fortune be something wasted, my person's in good repair. If I had not depended on you, I had had a husband before this time. When I gave you the last five pounds Joyn. And I had kept my promise if you had co-operated. Flip. Co-operated! what should I have done? 'Tis well known no woman breathing could use more industry to get her a husband than I have. Has not my husband's 'scutcheon walked as much ground as the citizens' signs since the Fire ?-that no quarter of the town might be ignorant of the widow Flippant. Joyn. "Tis well known, madam, indeed. Flip. Have I not owned myself (against my stomach) the relict of a citizen, to credit my fortune? Joyn. 'Tis confessed, madam. Flip. Have I not constantly kept Covent-Garden church, St. Martin's, the playhouses, Hydepark, Mulberry-garden, and all other the public marts where widows and maids are exposed? Joyn. Far be it from me to think you have an aversion to a husband. But why, madam, have you refused so many good offers ? Flip. Good offers, Mrs. Joyner! I'll be swo I never had an offer since my late husband's.I had an offer, Mrs. Joyner!-there's the thin Mrs. Joyner. Joyn. Then your frequent and public detestatio of marriage is thought real; and if you have ha no offer, there's the thing, madam. Flip. I cannot deny but I always rail again marriage; which is the widow's way to it ce tainly. Joyn. 'Tis the desperate way of the desperat widows, in truly. Flip. Would you have us as tractable as th wenches that eat oatmeal, and fooled like ther too? Joyn. If nobody were wiser than I, I shoul think, since the widow wants the natural allure ment which the virgin has, you ought to give me all other encouragements, in truly. Flip. Therefore, on the contrary, because the widow's fortune (whether supposed or real) is he chiefest bait, the more chary she seems of it, and the more she withdraws it, the more eagerly the busy gaping fry will bite. With us widows, hus bands are got like bishopricks, by saying No: and I tell you, a young heir is as shy of a widow as of a rook, to my knowledge. Joyn. I can allege nothing against your practice -but your ill success; and indeed you must use another method with sir Simon Addleplot. Flip. Will he be at your house at the hour? Joyn. He'll be there by ten:-'tis now nine. I'll warrant you he will not fail. Flip. I'll warrant you then I will not fail:--for 'tis more than time I were sped. Joyn. Mr. Dapperwit has not been too busy with you, I hope?-Your experience has taught you to prevent a mischance. Flip. No, no, my mischance (as you call it) is greater than that. I have but three months to reckon, ere I lie down with my port and equipage; |