Had her feet but been taught the right manner to tread,
Gad’s curse! ‘twould have put better things in her head,
Than his Down, down, &c.
QUAVER. Had she learnt like fine ladies, instead of her prayers,
To languish and die at Italian soft airs,
A footman had never thus tickled her ears,
With his Down, down, &c.
LUCY. You may physic, and music, and dancing enhance,
In one I have got them all three by good chance,
My doctor he’ll be, and he’ll teach me to dance,
With his Down, down, &c.
And though soft Italians the ladies control,
He swears he can charm a fine lady, by Gole!
More than an Italian can do for his soul,
With a Down, down, &c.
My fate, then, spectators, hangs on your decree;
I have brought kind papa here at last to agree;
If you’ll pardon the poet, he will pardon me,
With my Down, down, &c.
Let not a poor farce then nice critics pursue,
But like honest-hearted good-natured men do,
And clap to please us, who have sweat to please you,
With our Down, down, &c.
CHORUS.
Let not a poor farce then, &c.
THE UNIVERSAL GALLAN T
OR, THE DIFFERENT HUSBANDS
CONTENTS
ADVERTISEMENT
PROLOGUE
DRAMATIS PERSONÆ
ACT I.
ACT II.
ACT III.
ACT IV.
ACT V.
EPILOGUE
TO HIS GRACE
CHARLES, DUKE OF MARLBOROUGH
My LORD,
The unhappy fate which these scenes have met with may to some make my presumption in offering them to your protection appear extravagant; but distress puts on a different face in your Grace’s eye, with whom I know it will plead in their favour, that though they do not merit so great a patron, they at least want him.
To join the torrent of success, to smile with fortune, and applaud with the world, are within the limits of an inferior name, and narrower capacity. It has been the glory of a Duke of Marlborough to support the falling, to protect the distressed, to raise a sinking cause, and (I will venture on the expression) to direct Fortune, instead of being directed by her.
But these are laurels, my Lord, which will to latest ages flourish in the historian, and the epic poet. Comedy looks no farther than private life, where we see you acting with the same spirit of humanity that fired your noble ancestor in public. Poverty has imposed chains on mankind equal with tyranny; and your Grace has shown as great an eagerness to deliver men from the former, as your illustrious grandfather did to rescue them from the latter.
Those who are happier than myself in your intimacy will celebrate your other virtues; the fame of your humanity, my Lord, reaches at a distance, and it is a virtue which never reigns alone; nay, which seldom enters into a breast that is not rich in all other.
I am sure I give a convincing proof in how high a degree I am persuaded you possess this virtue, when I hope your pardon for this presumption. But I will trespass no farther on it, than to assure you that I am with great respect,
My Lord,
Your Grace’s most obedient,
Most devoted humble servant,
HENRY FIELDING.
BUCKINGHAM; STREET, February 12.
ADVERTISEMENT
THE cruel usage this poor play hath met with, may justly surprise the Author, who in his whole life never did an injury to any one person living. What could incense a number of people to attack it with such an inveterate prejudice, is not easy to determine; for prejudice must be allowed, be the play good or bad, when it is condemned unheard.
I have heard that there are some young gentlemen about this town who make a jest of damning plays — but did they seriously consider the cruelty they are guilty of by such a practice, I believe it would prevent them. Every man who produces a play on the stage must propose to himself some acquisition either of pleasure, reputation, or profit, in its success: for though perhaps he may receive some pleasure from the first indulgence of the itch of scribbling, yet the labour and trouble he must undergo before his play comes on the stage, must set the prospect of some future reward before him, or I believe he would decline the undertaking. If pleasure or reputation be the reward he proposes, it is sure an inexcusable barbarity in any uninjured or unprovoked person to defeat the happiness of another: but if his views be of the last kind, if he be so unfortunate to depend on the success of his labours for his bread, he must be an inhuman creature, indeed, who would out of sport and wantonness prevent a man from getting a livelihood in an honest and inoffensive way, and make a jest of starving him and his family.
Authors, whose works have been rejected at the theatres, are of all persons, they say, the most inveterate; but of all persons, I am the last they should attack, as I have often endeavoured to procure the success of others, but never assisted at the condemnation of any one.
PROLOGUE
SPOKEN BY MR. QUIN
BOLD is th’ attempt in this nice-judging age,
To try at fame, by pleasing on the stage.
So eager to condemn as you are grown,
Writing seems war declared against the town.
Which ever way the Poet seeks applause,
The Critic’s ready still to damn his cause.
If for new characters he hunts abroad,
And boldly deviates from the beaten road,
In monsters then unnatural he deals;
And if they are known and common, then he steals.
If wit he aims at, you the traps can show;
If serious, he is dull; if humourous, low.
Some would maintain one laugh throughout a play,
Some would be grave, and bear fine things away.
How is it possible at once to please
Tastes so directly opposite as these?
Nor be offended with us if we fear,
From us — some seek not entertainment here.
‘Tis not the Poet’s wit affords the jest,
But who can catcall, hiss, or whistle best!
Can then another’s anguish give you joy?
Or is it such a triumph to destroy?
We, like the fabled frogs, consider thus:
This may be sport to you, but it is death to ns.
If any base ill-nature we disclose,
If private characters these scenes expose,
Then we expect — for then we merit foes.
But if our strokes be general and nice,
If tenderly we laugh you out of vice,
Do not your native entertainments leave;
Let us, at least, our share of smiles receive,
Nor, while you censure us, keep all your boons
For soft ITALIAN airs, and FRENCH buffoons.
DRAMATIS PERSONÆ
MEN
MR. MONDISH — Mr. Quin.
MR. GAYLOVE — Mr. W. Mills.
CAPTAIN SPARK — Mr. Cibber.
SIR SIMON RAFFLER — Mr. Griffin.
COLONEL RAFFLER — Mr. Harper.
WOMEN
LADY RAFFLER — Mrs. Butler.
MRS. RAFFLER — Mrs. Heron.
CLARINDA — Miss Holliday.
SCENE. — LONDON
ACT I.
SCENE I.
Mr. Mondish’s Apartment.
MR. Mondish, with a Utter in his hand, speaking to a
Servant.
MR. MONDISH. Here, carry this letter to Mrs. Raffler.
SERVANT. Must I bring an answer, sir?
MR. MONDISH. Yes, sir, if you receive any — [Exit Servant.] And now let me read thee again, thou picture of womankind. [Reads.
“Sir, — I suppose you will be surprised that a woman, who hath been guilty of so imprudent a passion, should so suddenly and calm
ly reclaim it — but I am at length happily convinced, that you are the falsest of mankind. Be assured, it is not in your power to persuade me any longer to the contrary — wherefore I desire that henceforth all familiarity may cease between us. — And as you know me sensible how good a friend you are to Mrs. Raffler, you may easily believe the fewest visits in the world, at this house, will be welcome to me. Farewell for ever.”
This coldness is not the resentment of an incensed mistress, but the slight of an indifferent one. — I am supplanted by some other in her favour. Rare woman, faith! the sex grow so purely inconstant, that a gallant will shortly be as little able to keep a woman to himself as a husband.
Enter another SERVANT.
SERVANT. Sir, Colonel Raffler has sent to know whether you are at home.
MR. MONDISH. Yes, yes, — his visit is opportune enough. I may likely learn from him who this successful rival is, by knowing who has visited his wife most lately; nay, or by finding who is his chief favourite, — for he is one of those wise men, to whose friendship you must have his wife’s recommendation; and so far from being jealous of your lying with her, that he is always suspicious you don’t like her.
Enter COLONEL RAFFLER.
Dear Colonel, good-morrow.
COLONEL RAFFLER. Oh, you’re a fine gentleman; a very fine gentleman, indeed! when we had sent after you all over the town, not to leave your bottle for a party at quadrille with the ladies —— you have a rare reputation among ‘em, I assure you; there is an irreconcilable quarrel with my wife. I have strict orders never to mention your name to her.
MR. MONDISH. Ha, ha, ha! that is pleasant enough, Colonel; your wife’s orders to you, who have the most obedient wife in Christendom.
COLONEL RAFFLER. Yes, I thank Heaven, I am master of my own house.
MR. MONDISH. Then I hope you will lay your commands on her to forgive me.
COLONEL RAFFLER. Well, well, I don’t know but I may since you ask it. I am glad I have brought you to that. — I believe I have made up a hundred quarrels between you, and could never bring you to it before.
MR. MONDISH. And yet I had reason on my side; had you been with us yourself, you would not have left us for cards.
COLONEL RAFFLER. No, I hate ‘em of all things in the world — that’s half my quarrel to you, for I was forced to supply your place.
MR. MONDISH. I pity you heartily.
COLONEL RAFFLER. Ay, and with my wife.
MR. MONDISH. True, a wife often makes one’s pleasure distasteful! what is in itself disagreeable she must make very damnable indeed. But I wonder you, who are master of your own house, Colonel, don’t banish cards out of it, since you dislike ‘em so much.
COLONEL RAFFLER. Why, that I have attempted to do, but then it puts my wife so plaguily out of humour, and that I can’t bear — besides, Mr. Mondish, let me tell you a matrimonial secret — Let a man be never so much the master of his house, if his wife be continually in an ill humour, he leads but an uneasy life in’t.
MR. MONDISH. But methinks so good a lady as yours should now and then give in to the sentiments of her husband.
COLONEL RAFFLER. Oh, no one readier; but then, you know, she can’t help her temper: and if she complies against her will, you know it is the more obliging in her; and then you know, if her complaisance makes her unhappy, and out of humour, and in the vapours, a man must be the greatest of brutes to persist — Besides, my wife is the most unfortunate person in the world: for though she loves me of all things, and knows that seeing her in the vapours makes me miserable, yet I never denied her any one thing in the world but, slap, it immediately threw her into ‘em — If it was not for those cursed vapours we should be the happiest couple living.
MR. MONDISH. Nay, faith, I believe you are.
COLONEL RAFFLER. Truly, I believe you may; at least we have such a picture of the contrary before our eyes.
MR. MONDISH. Who, Sir Simon and his lady?
COLONEL RAFFLER. Ay, Sir Simon; call him any thing but my brother, he’s not a-kin to me, I am sure: for next to mine, he has the best wife in the world; and yet he never suffers her to have an easy hour from his cursed jealousy. I intend to part families, for there is no possibility of living together any longer — He affronted a gentleman t’other day, for taking up his lady’s glove; and it was no longer ago than yesterday that my wife and she were gone only to an auction (where, by the bye, they did not go to throw away their money neither, for they bought nothing), when this cursed brother of mine finds ‘em out, exposes ‘em both, and forced ‘em away home — My house is an arrant garrison in time-of war, no one enters or goes out, without being searched; and if a laced coat passes by the window, his eye is never off him, till he is out of the street.
Enter SERVANT.
SERVANT. Sir Simon Raffler, sir.
COLONEL RAFFLER. Oh, the devil! I’ll be gone.
MR. MONDISH. No, Colonel, that’s unkind.
Enter SIR SIMON RAFFLER.
Sir Simon, your most obedient servant.
SIR SIMON RAFFLER. Mr. Mondish, good-morrow! Oh, brother, are you here?
COLONEL RAFFLER. How do you, brother? I hope your lady’s well this morning?
SIR SIMON RAFFLER. Must you always ask impertinent questions? A husband is a proper person indeed to inquire of about his wife — If you ask your own, when you see her next, she will inform you, for I suppose they are gadding together.
COLONEL RAFFLER. Sir Simon, you may behave to your own lady as you please; but I desire you not to reflect on mine.
SIR SIMON RAFFLER. And you may let your wife behave as she pleases; but I desire she may be no pattern to mine. I think one enough in a family.
COLONEL RAFFLER. One! I don’t know what you mean. I don’t understand you.
MR. MONDISH. Oh, dear gentlemen, let me beg there may be none of this misunderstanding in my house. You are both too hot, indeed.
COLONEL RAFFLER. I am appeased — But let me tell you, brother —
MR. MONDISH. Dear Colonel, no more. — Well, Sir Simon, what news have you in town?
SIR SIMON RAFFLER. Nothing but cuckoldom, sir — cuckoldom everywhere. Women run away from their husbands — Actions brought in Westminster Hall. I expect, shortly, to see it made an article in the newspapers, and “Cuckolds since our last list” as regularly inserted as bankrupts are now.
COLONEL RAFFLER. Oh lud, oh lud! poor man! poor man! You make me sick, brother, indeed you do.
SIR SIMON RAFFLER. And you’ll make me mad, brother, indeed you will.
MR. MONDISH. Come, come, gentlemen, let me reconcile this thing between you — Colonel, you know the excessive jealousy of Sir Simon’s temper, and I wonder a man of your excellent sense will think it worth your while to argue with him. [Aside to Colonel Raffler.
COLONEL RAFFLER. Mondish is certainly a fellow of the best sense in the world. [Aside.
MR. MONDISH. Sir Simon, you know the colonel’s easy temper so well, that I am surprised one of your good understanding will reason with a man who will defend his wife’s running about this town every day. [Aside to Sir Simon.
SIR SIMON RAFFLER. This man has a most excellent understanding. [Aside.
MR. MONDISH. Come, come, gentlemen, shake hands and be friends, and let us have no more animosities.
COLONEL RAFFLER. With all my heart.
SIR SIMON RAFFLER. And mine. — And now, gentlemen, we are amongst ourselves, I believe I have my honour, I am sure of it, I don’t suspect I have it not, but I think it ought to be valued.
MR. MONDISH. Doubtless, doubtless, Sir Simon.
SIR SIMON RAFFLER. I am not one of those jealous people that are afraid of every wind that blows. A woman may sit by a man once at a play, without any design, and once a year may go to court, or an assembly, nay, and may speak to one of her husband’s he-friends there: if he be a relation, indeed, I should like it better. But why all those courtesies to every fellow she knows? Why always running to that church where the youngest parson is?
&nbs
p; MR. MONDISH. Why fond of operas, masquerades?
SIR SIMON RAFFLER. I almost swoon at the name.
COLONEL RAFFLER. I shall, I’m sure, if I stay any longer — so your servant. [Exit.
MR. MONDISH. Then that cursed rendezvous of the sexes, which are called auctions.
SIR SIMON RAFFLER. I thank Heaven there are none today; I have searched all the advertisements.
MR. MONDISH. But there are shops, shops, Sir Simon.
SIR SIMON RAFFLER. I wish they were shut up with all my heart! especially those brothels the milliners’ shops, in which cuckoldom is the chief trade that is carried on.
MR. MONDISH. Heyday! is the colonel gone?
SIR SIMON RAFFLER. I am glad of it, for truly I take no pleasure in his company. Mr. Mondish, you are a man of honour, and my friend, and as you are intimate in the family, must, I dare swear, have observed with concern the multitude of idle young fellows that swarm at our house. There is one particularly, who almost lives there continually, and has, no doubt, behaved before this like a thorough fine gentleman, and a man of gallantry.
Complete Fictional Works of Henry Fielding Page 321
