To

my dear Friend Mr. CONGREVE, on his Comedy, called, The DOUBLE DEALER.

WE

ELL then; the promis'd hour is come at laft;
The prefent age of wit obfcures the past:
Strong were our fires, and as they fought they writ,
Conqu❜ring with force of arms, and dint of wit;
Theirs was the giant race, before the flood;
And thus, when Charles return'd, our empire stood,
Like Janus, he the stubborn foil manur'd,
With rules of husbandry the rankness cur'd:
Tam'd us to manners, when the ftage was rude,
And boift'rous English wit with art indu'd.
Our age was cultivated thus at length;
But what we gain'd in skill we loft in ftrength.
Our builders were, with want of genius, curft;
The fecond temple was not like the first :
'Till you the best Vitruvius come at length,
Our beauties equal, but excel our strength.
Firm Doric pillars found your folid base;
The fair Corinthian crowns the higher space;
Thus all below is ftrength, and all above is grace.
In eafy dialogue is Fletcher's praise :

He mov'd the mind, but had no pow'r to raise.
Great Johnfon did by ftrength of judgment please:
Yet doubling Fletcher's force, he wants his ease.
In diff'rent talents both adorn'd their age;
One for the ftudy, t'other for the stage.
But both to Congreve juftly fhall fubmit,
One match'd in judgment, both o'er-match'd in wit.
In him all beauties of this age we fee,
Etherege's courtfhip, Southerne's purity;
The fatire, wit, and strength of manly Wycherley.
All this in blooming youth you have achiev'd;
Nor are your foil'd cotemporaries griev'd;
So much the sweetness of your manners move,
We cannot envy you, because we love.
Fabius might joy with Scipio, when he faw
A beardlefs Conful made against the law,
And join his fuffrage to the votes of Rome;
Though he with Hannibal was overcome.

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Thus old Romano bow'd to Raphael's fame,
And scholar to the youth he taught, became.
Oh, that your brows my laurel had fuftain'd,
Well had I been depos'd, if you had reign'd!
The father had defcended for the fon;
For only you are lineal to the throne.
Thus when the State one Edward did depose,
A greater Edward in his room arose.
But now, not I, but poetry is curs'd,
For Tom the fecond reigns, like Tom the first.
But let them not mistake my patron's part,
Nor call his charity their own defert.
Yet this I prophefy; thou fhalt be seen
(Tho' with fome fhort parenthesis between)
High on the throne of Wit; and seated there,
Not mine (that's little) but thy laurel wear.
Thy first attempt an early promise made,
That early promise this has more than paid,
So bold, yet fo judiciously you dare,
That your leaft praife, is to be regular.

Time, place, and action, may with pains be wrought,
But genius must be born, and never can be taught.
This is your portion; this your native store ;

Heav'n, that but once was prodigal before,

To Shakespeare gave as much; fhe could not give him

more.

Maintain your post; that's all the fame you need ;
For 'tis impoffible you should proceed.

Already I am worn with cares and age,
And just abandoning th' ungrateful stage;
Unprofitably kept at Heaven's expence,
I live a rent-charge on his providence :
But you, whom ev'ry mufe and grace adorn,
Whom I forefee to better fortune born,
Be kind to my remains; and Oh, defend,
Against your judgment, your departed friend!
Let not th' infulting foe my fame purfue;
But fhade thofe laurels which defcend to you:
And take for tribute what thefe lines exprefs:
You merit more; nor could my love do lefs.

JOHN DRYDEN.

PRO

PROLOGU E.
LOG

MOORS have this way (as flory tells) to know

Whether their brats are truly got, or no;

Into the fea the new-born babe is thrown,
There, as infting directs, to swim or drown.
A barbarous device, to try if spouse
Has kept religiously ber nuptial vows.
Such are the trials poets make of plays;
Only they truft to more inconftant feas;
So does our author, this his child commit
To the tempeftuous mercy of the pit,
To know if it be truly born of Wit.

Critics, avaunt; for you are fish of prey,
And feed, like barks, upon an infant play.
Be ev'ry monfter of the deep away;
Let's have fair trial, and a clear fea.

Let Nature work, and do not damn too soon,
For life will fruggle long, ere it fink down :
And will at least rife thrice before it drown.
Let us confider, bad it been our fate,
Thus bardly to be prov'd legitimate!
I will not fay we'd all in danger been,
Were each to fuffer for his mother's fin:
But by my troth I cannot avoid thinking,

How nearly fome good men might have fcap'd finking.
But, Heaven be prais'd, this cufiom is confin'd
Alone to th' offspring of the mufes kind:
Our Chriftian cuckolds are more bent to pity;
I know not one Moor-bufband in the city.
I'th' good man's arms the chopping baftard thrives,

For he thinks all his own that is his wives.
Whatever fate is for this play defign'd,
The poet's fure he shall fome comfort find:
For if his mufe has play'd him falfe, the worst
That can befal bim, is, to be divorced;
You bufbands judge, if that be to be curs'd.

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DRA.

DRAMATIS PERSONE.

ME N.

Mafkwell, a villain; pretended friend
to Mellefont, gallant to Lady Touch-
wood, and in love with Cynthia
Lord Touchwood, uncle to Mellefont
Mellefont, promised to, and in love
with Cynthia
Careless, his friend

Lord Froth, a folemn coxcomb

Brifk

Sir Paul Plyant, an uxorious, foolish, old Knight; brother to Lady Touchwood, and father to Cynthia

WOMEN.

Lady Touchwood, in love with Mellefont Cynthia, daughter to Sir Paul by a former wife, promifed to Mellefont Lady Froth, a great coquet; pretender to poetry, wit, and learning Lady Plyant, infolent to her husband, and eafy to any pretender

Covent Garden.

Mr. Sheridan.
Mr. Clarke.

Mr. Wroughton.
Mr. Lewis.

Mr. Booth.

Mr. Woodward.

Mr. Macklin,

Mrs. Jackfon.

Mifs Dayes.

Mrs. Mattocks.

Mifs Macklin.

Chaplain, Boy, Footmen, and Attendants.

The SCENE, a Gallery in Lord Touchwood's House, with Chambers adjoining.

THE

THE

DOUBLE DEALER.

The lines diftinguished by inverted comas, ‹ thus,' are omitted in the reprefentation.

A C T 1.

SCENE. A Gallery in Lord Touchwood's House, with Chambers adjoining.

Enter Careless, croffing the flage, with his hat, gloves, and favord in his bands, as juft rifen from table; Mellefont following him.

NED

MELLEFONT.

TED, Ned, whither fo faft! What, turn'd flincher! Why, you wo'not leave us?

}

Care. Where are the women? I'm weary of guzzling, and begin to think them the better company.

Mel. Then thy reafon ftaggers, and thou'rt almost drunk.

Care. No, faith, but your fools grow noify; and if

a

man must endure the noife of words without fenfe, I think the women have more musical voices, and become nonfense better.

Mel. Why, they are at the end of the gallery, retired to their tea and scandal, according to their ancient cuftom after dinner.- -But I made a pretence to follow you, because I had fomething to say to you in private, and I am not like to have many opportunities this evening.

Care. And here's this coxcomb most critically come to interrupt you.

Enter