by Thomas Otway
And eat and drink, that I may dye in Peace.
A Dance.
THE END
EPILOGUE.
Spoken by Mrs. Mary Lee, when she was out of Humour.
HOW little do you guess what I’m to say?
I’m not to ask you how like Farce or Play;
For you must know, I’ve other bus’ness now:
It is to tell ye, Sparks, how we like you.
How happy were we when in humble guise,
You came with honest Hearts and harmless Eyes:
Sate without Noise and Tumult in the Pit:
Oh what a pretious Iewel then was Wit!
Tho now ’tis grown so common, let me dye,
Gentlemen scorn to keep it company.
Indulgent Nature has too bounteous been,
Your too much Plenty is become your Sin.
Time was ye were as meek as now y’are proud,
Did not in curst Cabals of Criticks croud,
Nor thought it witty to be very loud;
But came to see the Follies you would shun:
Tho now so fondly Antick here y’are grown.
Y-invert the Stages purpose, and its Rules:
Make Spe-tators, whilst you play the Fools.
Equally witty as some valiant are;
The sad defects of both are expos’d here.
For here you’ll Censure, who disdain to write,
As some make Quarrels here, that scorn to fight.
The rugged Souldier that from War returns,
And still wi-th’ heat of former Action burns.
Let him but hither come to see a Play,
Proceeds an Errant Courtier in a day-
Shall steal from th’ Pit, and fly up to the Box,
There hold impertinent chat with Taw-ry Maux:
Till e’re aware the Blust-rer falls in love;
And Hero grows as harmless as a Dove.
With us the kind remembrance yet remains
When we were entertain’d behind our Scenes.
Though now alas we must your absence mourn,
Whilst nought but Quality will serve your turn.
Damn’d Quality! that uses poaching Arts,
And (as ’tis said) comes mask’d to prey on hearts.
The proper use of Vizors once was made,
When only worn by such as own’d the Trade:
Though now all mingle with ’em so together,
That you can hardly know the one from t’other.
But ’tis no matter, on, pursue your Game,
Till we aried you return at last and ta-e;
Know then ‘twill be our turn to be severe,
For when y’ave left your Stings behind you there:
You lazy Drones, ye shan’t have harbour here.
FINIS.
Friendship in Fashion
CONTENTS
FRIENDSHIP IN FASHION.
TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE CHARLES, EARL OF DORSET AND MIDDLESEX, GENTLEMAN OF HIS MAJESTY’S BED-CHAMBER.
PROLOGUE.
DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.
ACT I.
ACT II.
ACT III.
ACT. IV.
ACT V.
EPILOGUE.
FRIENDSHIP IN FASHION.
THIS play, the first specimen of Otway’s powers as a writer of Comedy, whilst it exhibits, though, perhaps, in a less obtrusive manner, the licentiousness of morals which prevailed during the reign of Charles the Second; is no advantageous display of his talents in that species of composition. It appears, however, from Laugbaine, who terms it “a very diverting play,” that those who were the first judges of its merit, and whom it was more immediately his interest to please, entertained a much more favourable opinion of its deserts, and received it with “general applause.” As morality of design and purity of dialogue were regarded as matters of little moment in those days, we may ascribe its success to the bustle and action with which it abounds; some novelty and variety of character; and a few scenes bordering upon buffoonery, which has saved a worse piece from destruction.
The persons of the drama, deficient as they are in those qualities which ought alone to excite interest or admiration, may be dismissed with little notice: for, with the single, exception of Camilla, (who appears too seldom to be known) they are either vicious, or ridiculous, or both. Some of them were supposed to bear an intended analogy to certain living characters, and this opinion raised a prejudice against the author, to which he alludes in the dedication of the play. His readiness, in the Prologue, to disavow any satire, may, perhaps, with some, strengthen the suspicion that it was intended; but to whom it was appropriated, it is impossible now to tell with certainty. This comedy was revived at Drury-lane, in 1749; but rejected on account of its indecency. No modern audience, indeed, would endure the scene in the fourth act, where the grossest and most immoral conduct is supposed to take place, almost under the eyes of the spectators.
It was performed, and printed in 4to. 167s.
TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE CHARLES, EARL OF DORSET AND MIDDLESEX, GENTLEMAN OF HIS MAJESTY’S BED-CHAMBER.
MY LORD,
YOUR lordship has so often and so highly obliged me, that I cannot but condemn myself for giving you a trouble so impertinent as this is: considering how remiss I have been in my respects to your lordship, in that I have not waited on you so frequently as the duty I owe your lordship, and my own inclinations required; but the circumstances of my condition, whose daily business must be daily bread, have not, nor will allow me that happiness. Be pleased then, ray lord, to accept this humble dedication as an instance of his gratitude, who in a high measure owes his well-being to you I cannot doubt but your lordship will protect it, for nothing ever flew to you for succour unsuccessfully: I am sure I have reason to acknowledge it. As for the unlucky censures some have past on me for this play, I hope your lordship will believe I hardly deserve them. For to my best remembrance, when I first was accused of the thing by some people of the world, who had perhaps as little reason to think I could be guilty of it, as to believe themselves deserved it, I made it my business to clear myself to your lordship, whose good opinion is dearer to me than any thing which my worst enemies can wrong me of else: I hope I convinced your lordship of my innocence in the matter, which I would not have endeavoured, had it not been just. For I thank my stars I know myself better than (for all the threats some have been pleased to bestow upon me) to tell a lie to save my throat. Forgive me, my lord, this trouble, continue me in your lordship’s favour and good opinion, and accept of the prayers and well-wishes of
Your most humble, and
Most obliged Servant,
THO. OTWAY.
PROLOGUE.
How hard a task hath that poor drudge of stage,
That strives to please in this fantastic age.
It is a thing so difficult to hit,
That he’s a fool that thinks to do’t by wit;
Therefore our author bid me plainly say,
You must not look for any in his play.
I’ th’ next place, ladies, there’s no bawdy in’t,
No, not so much as one well-meaning hint;
Nay more, ’twas written every word, he says,
On strictest vigils, and on fasting days,
When he his flesh to penance did enjoin,
Nay, took such care to work it chaste and fine,
He disciplin’d himself at ev’ry line.
Then, gentlemen, no libel he intends,
Tho’ some have strove to wrong him with his friends;
And poets have so very few of those,
They’d need take care whose favour ’tis they lose.
Who’d be a poet? Parents all beware,
Cherish and educate your sons with care:
Breed ’em to wholesome law, or give ’em trades;
Let ’em not follow th’ Muses, they are jades.
How many very hopeful rising Cits
Have we of late known spoil’d by turning wits!<
br />
Poets by critics are worse treated here
Than on the Bankside butchers do a bear.
Faith, sirs, be kind, since now his time is come,
When he must stand or fall as you shall doom:
Give him bear-garden law, that’s fair play for’t,
And he’s content for once, to make you sport.
DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.
GOODVILE.
TRUMAN.
VALENTINE, in love with Camilla.
SIR NOBLE CLUMSEY, a Country Knight, aiming at politeness
MALAGENE.
Two affected Coxcombs:
CAPER, GAUNTER.
PAGE.
BOY.
MRS. GOODVILE.
VICTORIA.
CAMILLA.
LADY SQUEAMISH.
LETTICE, Servant to Mrs. Goodvile.
BRIDGET, Servant to Lady Squeamish.
ACT I.
SCENE I. — The Mall.
TRUMAN, reading a Billet, and Servant.
Tru. In a vizor, say you?
Serv. Yes, sir, and as soon as she had delivered it, without any thing more, gave the word to the coachman, drew up the tin lattice, and away she hurried.
Tru. The meaning of a billet of this nature, without a name, is a riddle to me. [Reads.
“You know me, and see me often; I wish I may never see you more, except you know better where to place your love, or I were abler to govern mine: as you are a gentleman, burn this so soon as it comes to your hands. Adieu.”
Well, this can be no other than some stanch virtue of thirty-five, that is just now fallen under the temptation; or, what is as bad, one of those cautious dealers that never venture but in masquerade, where they are sure to be wondrous kind, though they discover no more to the lover than he has just occasion to make use of.
Enter GOODVILE and VALENTINE.
Val. Truman, good-morrow; just out of your lodging! but that I know thee better, I should swear thou hadst resolved to spend this day in humiliation and repentance for the sins of the last.
Good. I beg your pardon! some lady has taken up your time. Thou canst no more rise in a morning without a wench, than thou canst go to bed at night without a bottle. Truman, wilt thou never leave whoring?
Tru. Peace, matrimony, peace — speak more reverently of your dearly-beloved whoring. Valentine, he is the mere spirit of hypocrisy — he had hardly been married ten days, but he left his wife to go home from the play alone in her coach, whilst he debauched me with two vizors in an hackney to supper.
Val. Truly, Goodvile, that was very civil, and may come to something — But, gentlemen, it begins to grow late. Where shall we dine?
Tru. Where you will, I am indifferent.
Good. And I.
Val. I had appointed to meet at Chatolin’s, but —
Tru. With whom?
Val. Why, your cousin Malagene, Goodvile.
Good. Valentine, thou art too much with that fellow. ’Tis true, indeed, he is some relation to me, but ’tis such a lying varlet, there is no enduring of him.
Val. But rogues and fools are so very plenty, ’tis hard always to escape ’em.
Tru. Besides, he dares be no more a friend than a foe: he never spoke well of any man behind his back, nor ill before his face: he is a general disperser of nauseous scandal, though it be of his own mother or sister; pr’ythee let’s avoid him, if we can, to-day.
Good. ‘Twill be almost impossible, for he is as impudent as he is troublesome: as there is no company so ill but he’ll keep, so there’s none so good but he’ll pretend to. If he has ever seen you once, he’ll be sure of you: and if he knows where you are, he’s no more to be kept out of your room, than you can keep him out of your debt.
Val. He came where I was last night, roaring drunk; swore Damn him, he had been with my lord such-a-one, and had swallowed three quarts of champaigne for his share. Said he had much ado to get away, but came then particularly to drink a bottle with me: I was forced to promise him I would meet him to-day, to get rid of him.
Good. Faith, gentlemen, let us all go dine at my house: I have snubbed him of late, and he’ll hardly venture that way so soon again: at night I’ll promise you good company; my wife (for I allow her for my own sake what freedom she pleases), has sent for the fiddles to come.
Tru. Goodvile, if there be any such thing as ease in matrimony, thou hast it: but methinks, there’s as it were a mark upon married men, that makes them as distinguishable from one of us, as your Jews are from the rest of mankind.
Good. Oh there are pleasures you dream not of; he is only confined by it that will be so; a man may make his condition as easy as he pleases. — Mine is such a fond, wanton ape, I never come home, but she entertains me with fresh kindness: and Jack, when I have been hunting for game with you, and missed of an opportunity, stops a gap well enough.
Tru. There’s no condition so wretched but has it’s reserve: your spaniel, turned out of doors, goes contentedly to his kennel; your beggar, when he can get no better lodging, knows his own warm bush; and your married whore-master that misses of his wench, goes honestly home, and there’s madam wife. — But, Goodvile, who are to be the company at night?
Good. In the first place, my cousin Victoria, your idol, Jack Truman; then, Mr. Valentine, there will be the charming Camilla: and another that never fails upon such an occasion, the inimitable lady Squeamish.
Tru. That indeed is a worthy person, a great critic forsooth: one that censures plays, and takes it very ill she has none dedicated to her yet; a constant frequenter of all masquerades and public meetings, a perfect coquette, very affected, and something old.
Val. Discourses readily of all the love-intrigues of the court and town, a strange admirer of accomplishments and good-breeding, as she calls it; a restless dancer: one that by her good-will would never be out of motion.
Tru. How, Valentine! you were once a great admirer there; have a care how you speak too harshly of your mistress, though the business be over. You stand well with the ladies yet, and are held a man of principles.
Good. That indeed is a fine creature. Your old harassed stager has always some such resty whore-master or another, whom she makes the best of her despair withal; and after being forsaken by half the town besides, comforts herself in her man of principles. But now I think on’t, we delay too long. I’ll go before and prepare: gentlemen, you’ll be sure to follow!
Tru. Sir, we’ll not fail to wait on you.
[Exit Goodvile.
Boy! is the coach ready? Valentine! I have had the oddest adventure this morning — ha — Malagene!
Enter MALAGENE.
How came he hither?
Mal. Jack Truman, Monsieur Valentine, bon jour. — Was not that Goodvile I met coming in — ha?
Val. Yes, he parted hence but now.
Mal. Faith, I’ll tell ye what, gentlemen, Goodvile’s a very honest fellow as can be, but he and I are fallen out of late, though faith ’twas nothing of my seeking.
Tru. No, I’ll be sworn for thee, thou lov’st thyself better.
Val. Pray what was the matter, Malagene?
Mal. Why I was advising him to look after things better at home; the fellow has married a young wife, and there he lets her make balls and give entertainments. I was very free with him, and told him of it to the purpose; for faith I should be sorry to see any ill come on’t, very sorry.
Tru. But hark ye, Malagene, Goodvile’s a sort of a surly companion, and apt to have so good an opinion of himself, that he is able to manage affairs without your advice: he might have been very severe with you upon this occasion.
Mal. Severe with met I thank you for that with all my heart; that had been the way to have made a fine piece of work on’t, indeed; hark ye, (under the rose) he’s sweetly fitted with my cousin though.
Val. Pray, sir, speak with more respect: we are his friends, and not prepared to relish any of your satire at present.
Mal. O lord, sir, I beg your pardon; you are a new acqua
intance there, I remember, and may design an interest. Faith, Ned, if thou dost, I’ll never be thy hindrance, for all she’s ray kinswoman.
Tru. The rascal, if he had an opportunity, would pimp for his sister, though but for the bare pleasure of telling it himself.
Mal. Now when he comes home, will she be hanging about his neck, with O Lord, dear! where have you been this morning? I can’t abide you should go abroad so soon, that I can’t: you are never well but when you are with that wicked lewd Truman, and his debauched companion, young Valentine: but that I know you are a good dear, I should be apt to be jealous of you, that I should, — ha, ha.
Tru. Sir, you are very bold with our characters, methinks.
Mal. I, shaw! your servant; sure, we, that know one another may be free: you may say as much of me, if you please. But no matter for that, did you hear nothing of my business last night? ha.
Tru. Not a word I assure you, sir. Pray how was it? pr’ythee let him alone a little, Valentine.
Mal. Why, coming out of Chatolin’s last night, (where it had cost me a guinea club, with a right honourable or two of this kingdom, which shall be nameless) just as I was getting into a coach, who should come by but a blustering fellow with a woman in his hand, and swore, damn him, the coach was for him; we had some words, and he drew; with that I put by his pass, closed with him, and threw up his heels, took away his toledo, gave him two or three good cuts over the face, seized upon Damozel, carried her away with me to my chamber, managed her all night, and just now sent her off; — faith, amongst friends, she was a person of quality, I’ll tell you that.
Tru. What! a person of quality at that time o’the night, and on foot too?
Mal. Ay, and one that you both know very well, but take no notice on’t.
Val. Oh, sir, you may be sure we shall be very cautious of spreading any secrets of your’s of this nature — lying Rakehell; the highest he ever arrived at was a bawd, and she too banished him at last, because he boasted of her favours. [Aside.
Mal. Nay, not that I care very much neither: you may tell it if you will: for I think it was no more than any one would have done upon! the same occasion — ha!
