Complete Works of William Congreve

by William Congreve

  These, with false glosses, feed their own ill-nature,

  And turn to libel what was meant a satire.

  May such malicious fops this fortune find,

  To think themselves alone the fools designed:

  If any are so arrogantly vain,

  To think they singly can support a scene,

  And furnish fool enough to entertain.

  For well the learned and the judicious know,

  That satire scorns to stoop so meanly low,

  As any one abstracted fop to show.

  For, as when painters form a matchless face,

  They from each fair one catch some diff’rent grace,

  And shining features in one portrait blend,

  To which no single beauty must pretend:

  So poets oft do in one piece expose

  Whole belles assemblées of coquettes and beaux.

  The Tragedy

  Middle Temple Hall, London — after his graduation, Congreve matriculated in the Middle Temple to study law, but he preferred literature, drama and the fashionable life.

  The Mourning Bride

  Congreve’s only tragedy, The Mourning Bride premiered at Betterton’s Co., Lincoln’s Inn Fields in 1697. It centres on Zara, a queen held captive by Manuel, King of Granada, and a web of love and deception that results in the mistaken murder of Manuel. The drama is notable for two widely known quotations; from the opening to the play: “Music has charms to soothe a savage breast,” and Act III, Scene VIII, when Zara declares,

  Heav’n has no Rage, like Love to Hatred turn’d,

  Nor Hell a Fury, like a Woman scorn’d.

  CONTENTS

  Preface

  Prologue

  Personæ Dramatis

  Act I, Scene 1

  Act I, Scene 2

  Act II, Scene 1

  Act II, Scene 2

  Act II, Scene 3

  Act III, Scene 1

  Act III, Scene 2

  Act IV, Scene 1

  Preface

  TO

  HER ROYAL HIGHNESS

  THE

  PRINCESS-MADAM,

  THAT high Station, which by Your Birth You hold above the People, exacts from every one, as a Duty, whatever Honours they are capable of paying to Your Royal Highness: But that more exalted Place, to which Your Vertues have rais’d You, above the rest of Princes, makes the Tribute of our Admiration and Praise, rather a Choice more immediately preventing that Duty.

  The Publick Gratitude is ever founded on a Publick Benefit; and what is universally bless’d, is always an universal Blessing. Thus from Your self we derive the Offerings which we bring; and the Incense which arises to Your Name, only returns to its Original, and but naturally requires the Parent of its Being.

  From hence it is that this Poem, constituted on a Moral, whose End is to recommend and to encourage Vertue, of consequence has recourse to Your Royal Highness’s Patronage; aspiring to cast it self beneath Your Feet, and declining Approbation, till You shall condescend to own it, and vouchsafe to shine upon it as on a Creature of Your Influence.

  ’Tis from the Example of Princes that Vertue becomes a Fashion in the People, for even they who are averse to Instruction, will yet be fond of Imitation.

  But there are Multitudes, who never can have Means nor Opportunities of so near an Access, as to partake of the Benefit of such Examples. And to these, Tragedy, which distinguishes it self from the Vulgar Poetry by the Dignity of its Characters, may be of Use and Information. For they who are at that distance from Original Greatness, as to be depriv’d of the Happiness of Contemplating the Perfections and real Excellencies of Your Royal Highness’s Person in Your Court, may yet behold some small Sketches and Imagings of the Vertues of Your Mind, abstracted, and represented in the Theatre.

  Thus Poets are instructed, and instruct; not alone by Precepts which persuade, but also by Examples which illustrate. Thus is Delight interwoven with Instruction; when not only Vertue is prescrib’d, but also represented.

  But if we are delighted with the Liveliness of a feign’d Representation of Great and Good Persons and their Actions, how must we be charm’d with beholding the Persons themselves? If one or two excelling Qualities, barely touch’d in the single Action and small Compass of a Play, can warm an Audience, with a Concern and Regard even for the seeming Success and Prosperity of the Actor: With what Zeal must the Hearts of all be fill’d, for the continued and encreasing Happiness of those, who are the true and living Instances of Elevated and Persisting Vertue? Even the Vicious themselves must have a secret Veneration for those peculiar Graces and Endowments, which are daily so eminently conspicuous in Your Royal Highness; and though repining, feel a Pleasure which in spite of Envy they per-force approve.

  If in this piece, humbly offer’d to Your Royal Highness, there shall appear the Resemblance of any one of those many Excellencies which You so promiscuously possess, to be drawn so as to merit Your least Approbation, it has the End and Accomplishment of its Design. And however imperfect it may be in the Whole, through the Inexperience or Incapacity of the Author, yet, if there is so much as to convince Your Royal Highness, that a Play may be with Industry so dispos’d (in spight of the licentious Practice of the Modern Theatre) as to become sometimes an innocent, and not unprofitable Entertainment; it will abundantly gratifie the Ambition, and Recompence the Endeavours of,

  Your Royal Highness’s

  Most Obedient, and

  most humbly Devoted Servant,

  WILLIAM CONGREVE. (1697).

  Prologue

  THE Time has been when Plays were not so plenty,

  And a less Number New would well content ye.

  New Plays did then like Almanacks appear;

  And One was thought sufficient for a Year:

  Tho’ they are more like Almanacks of late;

  For in one Year, I think, they’re out of Date.

  Nor were they without Reason join’d together;

  For just as one prognosticates the Weather,

  How plentiful the Crop, or scarce the Grain,

  What Peals of Thunder, and what Show’rs of Rain;

  So t’other can foretel, by certain Rules,

  What Crops of Coxcombs, or what Floods of Fools.

  In such like Prophecies were Poets skill’d,

  Which now they find in their own Tribe fulfill’d:

  The Dearth of Wit they did so long presage,

  Is fall’n on us, and almost starves the Stage.

  Were you not griev’d, as often as you saw

  Poor Actors thresh such empty Sheafs of Straw?

  Toiling and lab’ring, at their Lungs Expence,

  To start a Jest, or force a little Sence.

  Hard Fate for us! still harder in th’ Event;

  Our Authors Sin, but we alone Repent.

  Still they proceed, and, at our Charge, write worse;

  ‘Twere some Amends if they could reimburse:

  But there’s the Devil, tho’ their Cause is lost,

  There’s no recovering Damages or Cost.

  Good Wits, forgive this Liberty we take,

  Since Custom gives the Losers leave to speak.

  But if provok’d, your dreadful Wrath remains,

  Take your Revenge upon the coming Scenes:

  For that damn’d Poet’s spar’d who Damns a Brother,

  As one Thief ‘scapes, that Executes another.

  Thus far alone does to the Wits relate;

  But from the rest we hope a better Fate.

  To please and move has been our Poet’s Theme,

  Art may direct, but Nature is his aim;

  And Nature miss’d, in vain he boasts his Art,

  For only Nature can affect the Heart.

  Then freely judge the Scenes that shall ensue,

  But as with Freedom, judge with Candour too.

  He wou’d not lose thro Prejudice his Cause;

  Nor wou’d obtain precariously Applause.

  Impartial Censure
he requests from all,

  Prepar’d, by just Decrees to stand, or fall.

  Personæ Dramatis

  MEN

  MANUEL, the King of Granada.

  GONSALEZ, his Favourite.

  GARCIA, Son to Gonsalez.

  PEREZ, Captain of the Guards.

  ALONZO, an Officer, Creature to Gonsalez.

  OSMYN, a Noble Prisoner.

  HELI, a Prisoner, his Friend.

  SELIM, an Eunuch -

  WOMEN

  ALMERIA, the Princess of Granada.

  ZARA, a Captive Queen.

  LEONORA, chief Attendant on the Princess.

  Women, Eunuchs, and Mutes attending Zara. Guards, etc...

  The Scene GRANADA.

  Act I, Scene 1

  A Room of State. -

  The Curtain rising slowly to soft Musick, discovers ALMERIA in Mourning, LEONORA waiting in Mourning. -

  After the Musick ALMERIA rises from her Chair, and comes forward. -

  ALM. Musick has Charms to sooth a savage Breast,

  To soften Rocks, or bend a knotted Oak.

  I’ve read, that things inanimate have mov’d,

  And, as with living Souls, have been inform’d,

  By Magick Numbers and persuasive Sound.

  What then am I? Am I more senseless grown

  Than Trees, or Flint? O force of constant Woe!

  ’Tis not in Harmony to calm my Griefs.

  Anselmo sleeps, and is at Peace; last Night

  The silent Tomb receiv’d the good Old King;

  He and his Sorrows now are safely lodg’d

  Within its cold, but hospitable Bosom.

  Why am not I at Peace? [Weeps.]

  LEO. For Heaven’s sake, dear Madam, moderate

  Your Griefs, there is no Cause-

  ALM. Peace- No Cause! yes, there is Eternal Cause,

  And Misery Eternal will succeed.

  Thou canst not tell- thou hast indeed no Cause.

  LEO. Believe me, Madam, I lament Anselmo,

  And always did compassionate his Fortune;

  Have often wept, to see how cruelly

  Your Father kept in Chains, his Fellow-King:

  And oft at Night, when all have been retir’d,

  Have stoln from Bed, and to his Prison crept;

  Where, while his Goaler slept, I thro’ the Grate

  Have softly whisper’d, and enquir’d his Health;

  Sent in my Sighs and Pray’rs for his Deliv’rance;

  For Sighs and Pray’rs were all that I could offer.

  ALM. Indeed thou hast a soft and gentle Nature,

  That thus couldst melt to see a Stranger’s Wrongs.

  O Leonora, hadst thou known Anselmo,

  How would thy Heart have bled to see his Suff’rings.

  Thou hadst no Cause, but general Compassion.

  LEO. My Love of you, my Royal Mistress, gave me Cause,

  My Love of you begot my Grief for him;

  For I had heard, that when the Chance of War

  Had bless’d Anselmo’s Arms with Victory,

  And the rich Spoil of all the Field, and you,

  The Glory of the Whole, were made the Prey

  Of his Success; that then, in spite of Hate,

  Revenge, and that Hereditary Feud

  Entail’d between Valentia’s and Granada’a Kings,

  He did endear himself to your Affection,

  By all the worthy and indulgent Ways

  His most industrious Goodness cou’d invent;

  Proposing by a Match between Alphonso

  His Son, the brave Valentia Prince, and you,

  To end the long Dissention, and unite

  The Jarring Crowns.

  ALM. O Alphonso! Alphonso! thou art too

  At Peace; Father and Son are now no more-

  Then why am I? O when shall I have Rest?

  Why do I live to say you are no more?

  Why are all these things thus?-

  Is there necessity I must be miserable?

  Is it of moment to the Peace of Heav’n

  That I should be afflicted thus?- If not,

  Why is it thus contriv’d? Why are all things laid

  By some unseen Hand, so, as of consequence

  They must to me bring Curses, Grief of Heart,

  The last Distress of Life, and sure Despair.

  LEO. Alas, you search too far, and think too deeply.

  ALM. Why was I carried to Anselmo’s Court?

  Or, when there, why was I us’d so tenderly?

  Why did he not use me like an Enemy?

  For so my Father would have us’d his Child.

  O Alphonso, Alphonso!

  Devouring Seas have wash’d thee from my sight,

  But there’s no time shall rase thee from my Memory.

  No, I will live to be thy Monument;

  The cruel Ocean would deprive thee of a Tomb,

  But in my Heart thou art interr’d; there, there,

  Thy dear Resemblance is for ever fix’d;

  My Love, my Lord, my Husband still, though lost.

  LEO. Husband! O Heav’ns!

  ALM. What have I said?

  My Grief has hurry’d me beyond all Thought.

  I would have kept that secret; though I know

  Thy Love and Faith to me deserve all Confidence.

  But ’tis the Wretches Comfort still to have

  Some small Reserve of near and inward Woe,

  Some unsuspected Hoard of darling Grief,

  Which they unseen my wail, and weep, and mourn,

  And Glutton-like alone devour.

  LEO. Indeed I knew not this.

  ALM. O no, thou know’st not half- thou know’st nothing-

  -If thou didst!-

  If I should tell thee, wouldst thou pity me?

  Tell me: I know thou wou’dst, thou art compassionate.

  LEO. Witness these Tears.-

  ALM. I thank thee- indeed I do-

  I thank thee, that thou’lt pity thy sad Mistress;

  For ’tis the poor Prerogative of Greatness,

  To be wretched and unpitied-

  But I did promise I would tell thee- What?

  My Griefs? Thou do’st already know ’em:

  And when I said thou didst know nothing,

  It was because thou didst not know Alphonso:

  For to have known my Loss, thou must have known

  His Worth, his Truth, and Tenderness of Love.

  LEO. The Memory of that brave Prince stands fair

  In all Report-

  And I have heard imperfectly his Loss;

  But fearful to renew your Troubles past,

  I never did presume to ask the Story.

  ALM. If for my swelling Heart I can, I’ll tell thee.

  I was a welcome Captive in Valentia,

  Ev’n on the Day when Manuel, my Father,

  Led on his conqu’ring Troops, high as the Gates

  Of King Anselmo’s Pallace; which in Rage,

  And Heat of War, and dire Revenge, he fir’d.

  Whilst the good King, to shun approaching Flames,

  Started amidst his Foes, and made Captivity his Refuge.

  Would I had perish’d in those Flames-

  But ’twas not so decreed.

  Alphonso, who foresaw my Father’s Cruelty,

  Had born the Queen and me, on board a Ship

  Ready to sail, and when this News was brought

  We put to Sea; but being betray’d by some

  Who knew our Flight, we closely were pursu’d,

  And almost taken; when a sudden Storm

  Drove us, and those that follow’d, on the Coast

  of Africk: There our Vessel struck the Shore,

  And bulging ‘gainst a Rock was dash’d in pieces.

  But Heaven spared me for yet more Affliction!

  Conducting them who follow’d us, to shun

  The Shoal, and save me floating on the Waves,

 
; While the good Queen and my Alphonso perish’d.

  LEO. Alas! were you then wedded to Alphonso?

  ALM. That Day, that fatal Day, our Hands were join’d;

  For when my Lord beheld the Ship pursuing,

  And saw her Rate so far exceeding ours;

  He came to me, and beg’d me by my Love,

  I would consent the Priest might make us one;

  That whether Death, or Victory ensu’d,

  I might be his, beyond the Power of future Fate:

  The Queen too did assist his Suit- I granted,

  And in one Day, was wedded, and a Widow.

  LEO. Indeed ’twas mournful-

  ALM. ’Twas that,

  For which, I mourn, and will for ever mourn;

  Nor will I change these black and dismal Robes,

  Or ever dry these swoll’n and watry Eyes;

  Or ever taste Content, or peace of Heart,

  While I have Life, or Memory of my Alphonso.

  LEO. Look down, good Heav’n, with Pity on her Sorrows,

  And grant, that Time my bring her some Relief.

  ALM. O no! Time gives Encrease to my Afflictions.

  The circling Hours, that father all the Woes,

  Which are diffus’d thro’ the revolving Year,

  Come, heavy-laden with the oppressing Weight,

  To me; with me, successively, they leave

  The Sighs, the Tears, the Groans, the restless Cares,

  And all the Damps of Grief, that did retard their Flight;

  They shake their downy Wings, and scatter all

  The dire collected Dews on my poor Head;

  Then fly with Joy and Swiftness from me.

  LEO. Hark!

  The distant Shouts proclaim your Father’s Triumph; -

  [Shouts at a distance.]

  O cease, for Heaven’s sake, asswage a little

  This Torrent of your Grief; for, much I fear

  It will incense him, thus to see you drown’d