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Our sun declines, and with what anxious strife,
What pain we tug that galling load, a wife?

This moral is uncourtly, and vicious; it encourages lewdness and agrees extremely well with the fable. Love for Love may

have somewhat a better farewell, but would do a man little service should he remember it to his dying day. Here Angelica, after a fit of profane vanity in prose, takes her leave as follows:

The miracle to-day is that we find

A lover true: not that a woman's kind.

This last word is somewhat ambiguous, and with a little help may strike off into a light sense. But take it at the best, 'tis not overladen with weight and apothegme. A ballad is every jot as sententious.

3ly. Supposing the moral grave and unexceptionable, it amounts to little in the present case. Alas! the doctor comes too late for the disease, and the antidote is much too weak for the poison. When a poet has flourished on an ill subject for some hours, when he has larded his scenes with smut, and played his jests on religion, and exhausted himself upon vice: what can a dry line or two of good counsel signify? The tincture is taken, the fancy is preëngaged, and the man is gone off into another interest. Profane wit, luscious expressions, and the handsome appearance of a libertine solicit strongly for debauchery. These things are mighty recruits to folly and make the will too hard for the understanding. A taste of philosophy has a very flat relish after so full an entertainment. An agreeable impression is not easily defaced by a single stroke, especially when 'tis worn deep by force and repetition. And as the audience are not secured, so neither are the poets this way. A moral sentence at the close of a lewd play is much like a pious expression in the mouth of a aying man who has been wicked all his lifetime. This, sorae ignorant people call making a good end, as if one wise word would atone for an age of folly. To return to the stage. I suppose other parts of a discourse, besides the conclusion, cught to be free from infection. If a man was sound only at his fingers' ends, he would have little comfort in his constitution. Bonum fit ex integra causa; a good action must have nothing bad. The quality must be uniform, and reach to every circumstance. In short, this expedient of Mr. Congreve's, as 'tis insignificant to the purpose 'tis

brought, so it looks very like a piece of formal hypocrisy, and seems to be made use of to conceal the immorality of the play and cover the poet from censure.

Mr. Congreve, in the Double Dealer, makes three of his ladies strumpets. This I thought an odd compliment to quality. But my reflection it seems is over-severe. However, by his favor, the characters in a play ought to be drawn by Nature to write otherwise is to make a farce. The stage, therefore, must be supposed an image of the world, and quality in fiction resemble quality in life. This resemblance should likewise hold in number, as well as in other respects, though not to a mathematical strictness. Thus in Plautus and Terence, the slaves are generally represented false, and the old men easy and over-credulous. Now, if the majority in these divisions should not answer to the world; if the drama should cross upon conversation, the poets would be to blame, as I believe they are in the later instance. Thus when the greatest part of quality are debauched on the stage, 'tis a broad innuendo they are no better in the boxes.

This argument he pretends proves too much, and would make us believe that by this way of reasoning, if four women were shown upon the stage, and three of them were vicious, it is as much as to say that three parts in four of the whole sex are stark naught. I answer, the case is not parallel. The representation of the play turns more upon condition than sex. 'Tis the quality which makes the appearance, marks the character, and points out to the comparison abroad.

Mr. Congreve drops the defense of Fondle wife, and makes merry with the entertainment. His excuse is, he was very much a boy when this comedy was written. Not unlikely. He and his muse might probably be minors; but the libertines there are full grown. But why should the man laugh at the mischief of the boy, why should he publish the disorders of his nonage, and make them his own by an after approbation? He wrote it, it seems, to amuse himself in a slow recovery from a fit of sickness. What his disease was, I am not to inquire; but it must be a very ill one to be worse than the remedy. The writing of that play is a very dangerous amusement either for sickness or health, or I'm much mistaken.

ALDERMAN SMUGGLER TRAPPED.

BY GEORGE FARQUHAR.

(From "The Constant Couple.")

[GEORGE FARQUHAR, one of the four great comic dramatists of the Restoration, was a clergyman's son, born in Londonderry, Ireland, in 1678; attended Trinity College, Dublin, as a "poor scholar," but left in disgust at the humiliations, and became an actor in Dublin; nearly killing a fellow-actor by accident, left the stage, and became by favor a lieutenant in the army; at twenty wrote "Love and a Bottle," whose remarkable success turned him into a playwright for good. He next produced "The Constant Couple" (1700); its sequel, “Sir Harry Wildair" (1701); a volume of poems, letters, and an essay on Comedy (1702); "The Inconstant" (1703); "The Stage Coach" (with Motteux; an adaptation: 1704); "The Twin Rivals" (1705); "The Recruiting Officer " (1706); "The Beaux' Stratagem" (the last two his masterpieces), written when dying in 1707, at twenty-nine. He was a shy man, free only with his pen; and was entrapped, to his disaster, into a penniless marriage in 1703.]

SCENE. A Room in LADY LUREWELL'S House. Present: LADY LUREWELL and PARLY, her maid.

Lady Lurewell Has my servant brought me the money from my merchant?

Parly-No, madam, he met Alderman Smuggler at Charing-cross, who has promised to wait on you himself immediately. Lady Lurewell - 'Tis odd that this old rogue should pretend to love me, and at the same time cheat me of my money. Parly 'Tis well, madam, if he don't cheat you of your estate; for you say the writings are in his hands.

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Lady Lurewell - But what satisfaction can I get of him?

Enter ALDERMAN SMUGGLER.

Mr. Alderman, your servant: have you brought me my money, sir?

Smuggler-Faith, madam, trading is very dead; what with paying the taxes, raising the customs, losses at sea abroad, and maintaining our wives at home, the bank is reduced very low.

Lady Lurewell - Come, come, sir, these evasions won't serve your turn; I must have money, sir; I hope you don't design to cheat me.

Smuggler-Cheat you, madam! have a care what you say: I'm an alderman, madam. Cheat you, madam! I have been an honest citizen these five-and-thirty years!

Lady Lurewell- An honest citizen! bear witness, Parly! I shall trap him in more lies presently. - Come, sir, though I am a woman I can take a course.

Smuggler-What course, madam? You'll go to law, will ye? I can maintain a suit of law, be it right or wrong, these forty years, I'm sure that, thanks to the honest practice of the

courts.

Lady Lurewell-Sir, I'll blast your reputation, and so ruin your credit.

Smuggler - Blast my reputation! he he! he! - Why, I'm a religious man, madam! I have been very instrumental in the reformation of manners. Ruin my credit! ah, poor woman. There is but one way, madam. You have a sweet, leering eye!

Lady Lurewell- Here's a religious rogue for you now! As I hope to be saved, I have a good mind to beat the old monster. [Aside to PARLY. Smuggler - Madam, I have brought you about a hundred and fifty guineas (a great deal of money as times go),

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Smuggler-Ah, that hand! that hand! that pretty, soft, white — I have brought it, you see; but the condition of the obligation is such, that whereas that leering eye, that pouting lip, that pretty, soft hand, that you understand me; you understand, I'm sure you do, you little rogue

Lady Lurewell [aside to PARLY] - Here's a villain now, so covetous that he won't wench upon his own cost, but would bribe me with my own money! I will be revenged. — [Aloud] Upon my word, Mr. Alderman, you make me blush: what d'ye mean, pray?

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Smuggler-See here, madam. [Puts a piece of money in his mouth.] Buss and guinea, buss and guinea, buss and guinea.

Lady Lurewell-Well, Mr. Alderman, you have such pretty yellow teeth, and green gums, that I will, ha! ha! ha!

Smuggler Will you, indeed? he he he! my little cocket; and when? and where? and how?

Lady Lurewell-'Twill be a difficult point, sir, to secure both our honors; you must therefore be disguised, Mr. Alder

man.

Enter Footman, whispers LADY LUREWELL.

Lady Lurewell-Oh! Mr. Alderman, shall I beg you to walk into the next room? here are some strangers coming up. Smuggler-Buss and guinea first; ah, my little cocket! [Exit with Footman.

Enter SIR HARRY WILDAIR, Footman attending.

Sir Harry-My life, my soul, my all that heaven can give! Lady Lurewell - Death's life with thee, without thee death to live. Welcome, my dear Sir Harry, I see you got my directions.

Sir Harry-Directions! in the most charming manner, thou dear Machiavel of intrigue!

Lady Lurewell - Still brisk and airy, I find, Sir Harry.

Sir Harry-The sight of you, madam, exalts my air, and makes joy lighten in my face.

Lady Lurewell—I have a thousand questions to ask you, Sir Harry. How d'ye like France?

Sir Harry-Ah! est le plus beau pays du monde.

Lady Lurewell - Then what made you leave it so soon? Sir Harry-Madame, vous voyez que je vous suis partout. Lady Lurewell-0, monsieur, je vous suis fort obligée. But where's the court now?

Sir Harry-At Marli, madam.

Lady Lurewell - And where my count Le Valier?

-

Sir Harry - His body's in the church of Notre Dame; I don't know where his soul is.

Lady Lurewell- What disease did he die of?
Sir Harry - A duel, madam; I was his doctor.
Lady Lurewell - How d'ye mean?

Sir Harry As most doctors do, I killed him.

Lady Lurewell - En chevalier, my dear knight-errant? well, and how? And now, what intrigues, what gallantries are carrying on in the beau monde?

Sir Harry-I should ask you that question, madam, since your ladyship makes the beau monde wherever you come.

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