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

W

ELL then; the promis'd hour is come at last
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 stage was rude,
And boist'rous English wit with art indu’d.
Our age was cultivated thus at length;
But what we gain'd in skill we loft in strength.
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 study, 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 see,
Etherege's courtship, Southerne's purity;
The fatire, wit, and ftrength 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.

Thus

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 depofe,
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 parenthefis between)
High on the throne of Wit; and feated there,
Not mine (that's little) but thy laurel wear.
Thy first attempt an early promife made,
That early promife 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.

you need ;

Maintain your poft; that's all the fame
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 foresee 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 shade thofe laurels which defcend to you:
And take for tribute what these lines exprefs:
You merit more ;, nor could my love do lefs.

JOHN DRYDEN.

PRO

MOORS

PROLOGU E.

OORS have this way (as ftory tells) to know
Whether their brats are truly got, or no;
Into the fea the new-born babe is thrown,
There, as inftinet directs, to fwim or drown.
A barbarous device, to try if spouse
Has kept religiously her 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 Sharks, 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 foon,
For life will fruggle long, cre it fink down :
And will at leaf rife thrice before it drown.
Let us confider, had it been our fate,
Thus hardly 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 bave fcap'd finking.
But, Heaven be prais'd, this cuftom 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 bafiard 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 bim falfe, the worst
That can befal him, is, to be divorced;
You bufbands judge, if that be to be curs'd.

}

DRA.

1

DRAMATIS PERSON Æ.

MEN.

Mafkwell, a villain; pretended friend to Mellefont, gallant to Lady Touchvood, 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 Touch-
wood, 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; prêtender 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 Houfe, with Chambers adjoining.

THE

[ ]

THE

DOUBLE DEALER.

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

reprefentation.

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

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

MELLEFONT,

ED, Ned, whither fo faft! What, turn'd flin cher! Why, you wo'not leave us ?

NE

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

Mel. Then thy reafon staggers, and thou'rt almoft drunk.

Care. No, faith, but your fools grow noify; and if a man must endure the noise of words without fenfe, I think the women have more mufical voices, and become nonfense better.

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

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

Enter