FOOTNOTES:

[69] A reward or gratuity given to one that brings good news.—Stevens's "Spanish Dictionary."

[70] All the copies have it so long ago, but Reed followed Dodsley in the absurd error of substituting some days ago.—Collier.

[71] Here the play ended until the third edition which, as has been already noticed, varies materially from those that preceded it. The third edition also omits the original epilogues at the theatre and at court, which, as they are worth preserving, are now inserted in a note.—Collier.

THE EPILOGUE.

Diego comes stealing in, and is followed by Henrique, who stays at the door and listens.

Diego. Come, gentlemen!
Let the Dons and Monsieurs say what they will,
For our parts, we are for Old England still.
Here's a fine Play indeed, to lay the scene
In three houses of the same town, O mean!
Why, we have several plays, where I defy
The devil to tell where the scene does lie:
Sometimes in Greece, and then they make a step
To Transylvania, thence at one leap
To Greece again: this shows a ranging brain,
Which scorns to be confined t' a town in Spain.

Then for the Plot.

The possible Adventures of Five Hours!
A copious design! why, in some of ours
Many of the adventures are impossible,
Or, if to be achiev'd, no man can tell
Within what time: this shows a rare invention,
When the design's above your comprehension;
Whilst here y' are treated with a romance-tale.
And a plot cover'd with a Spanish veil.

As for the Style.

It is as easy as a proclamation,
As if the play were penn'd for the whole nation.
None of those thund'ring lines, which used to crack
Our breaths, and set your wits upon the rack.
Who can admire this piece, or think it good?
There's not one line but may be understood.

The Raillery.

As innocent as if't had pass'd the test
Of a full synod: not one bawdy jest!
Nor any of those words of double sense,
Which make the ladies, to show their innocence,
Look so demure, whilst by a simp'ring smile
The gallant shows he understands the style.
But here you have a piece so subtly writ,
Men must have wit themselves to find the wit.
Faith, that's too much; therefore by my consent,
We'll damn the play.

Henrique. Think'st thou, impertinent,
That these, who know the pangs of bringing forth

[Pointing to the Pit.

A living scene, should e'er destroy this birth?
You ne'er can want such writers, who aspire
To please the judges of that upper tier.
The knowing are his peers, and for the rest
Of the illiterate crowd (though finely dress'd),
The author hopes he never gave them cause
To think he'd waste his time for their applause.
You then (most equal judges) freely give
Your votes, whether this play should die or live.

THE EPILOGUE AT COURT.

We've pass'd the lords and commons, and are come
At length, dread sir, to hear your final doom.
'Tis true your vassals, sir, may vote the laws.
Their sanction comes from your divine applause.
This shining circle then will all sit mute
'Till one pronounce from you Le Roi le veut.[72]

[72] These are the words still used by ancient usage whenever the royal assent is given to any bill that has passed through both Houses of Parliament.—Collier.

[EPILOGUE.]
BY MR SMITH.

Our poet, gentlemen, thought to steal away,
Hoping those wretched rhymes, i' th' end o' th' play,
Might serve for epilogue; for truly he
Takes epilogues for arrant bribery.
H' observes your poet in our modern plays,
Humbly showeth, and then as humbly prays;
So that it can't be said, what they have writ
Was without fear, though often without wit.
He trusts (as ye say papists do) to merit;
Leaves you (like quakers) to be mov'd by th' spirit.
But since that epilogues are so much in vogue,
Take this as prologue to the epilogue.

BY MR HARRIS.

Some, as soon as th' enter, we wish 'em gone,
Taking their visit as a visitation:
Yet when they go, there are certain grimaces
(Which in plain English, is but making faces)
That we, for manners' sake, to all allow.
The poet's parting; don't rise, but smile and bow;
And's back being turn'd, ye may take the liberty
To turn him, and all h' has writ to raillery.
Now, as I shall be sav'd, were I as you,
I'd make no bones on't—why, 'tis but his due.
A fop! in this brave, licentious age,
To bring his musty morals on the stage?
Rhyme us to reason, and our lives redress
In metre, as Druids did the savages?
Affront the freeborn vices of the nation?
And bring dull virtue into reputation?
Virtue! would any man of common sense
Pretend to't? why, virtue now is impudence;
And such another modest play would blast
Our new stage, and put your palates out of taste.
We told him, Sir, 'tis whisper'd in the pit
This may be common sense, but 'tis not wit;
That has a flaming spirit, and stirs the blood
That's bawdry, said he, if rightly understood;
Which our late poets make their chiefest tasks,
As if they writ only to th' vizard-masks.
Nor that poetic rage, which hectors heaven,
Your writer's style, like's temper, 's grown more even;
And he's afraid to shock their tender ears.
Whose God, say they, 's the fiction of their fears;
Your moral's to no purpose. He replied,
Some men talk'd idly just before they died,
And yet we heard them with respect. 'Twas all he said.
Well, we may count him now as good as dead;
And since ghosts have left walking, if you please,
We'll let our virtuous poet rest in peace.

[ALL MISTAKEN;]
OR,
THE MAD COUPLE

[EDITION.]

All Mistaken; Or The Mad Couple. A Comedy, Acted by His Majestyes Servants, at the Theatre Royal. Written by the Honorable James Howard, Esq.; London, Printed by H. Brugis, for James Magnes in Russel-street, neer the Piazza, in Covent-garden, 1672. 4o.

This play formed part of the collection as originally published by Dodsley in 1744, but was excluded from the second and third editions. In the copies of 1672 and 1744, the arrangement of the lines was found very irregular, and the metre correspondingly corrupt. In the present reprint the text has been, to a large extent, reconstructed.

[DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.]

The Duke.
Ortellus, next of kin to the Duke; of an ambitious and treacherous nature.
Arbatus, supposed brother to Artabella.
Philidor, a mad kinsman of the Duke's, in love with Mirida.
Zoranzo, the Duke's prisoner of war, in love with Amarissa.
Pinguister, two ridiculous lovers of Mirida.
Lean-man,
Doctor to Pinguister.
Tailor to Lean-man.
Jailor.
Servant to Philidor.
Boy.
Clown.
Guard and attendances.

Amphelia, in love with the Duke.
Artabella, the Duke's sister, but taken for the sister of Arbatus.
Mirida, Philador's mad mistress.
Amarissa, in love with Zoranzo.
Six Ladies.
Three Nurses with children.

Scene, Italy.

ALL MISTAKEN.

[ACT I., SCENE I.]

Enter Duke from war, in triumph, leading in his hand Artabella, a woman of that country from whence he came, with Arbatus her brother, and Zoranzo prisoner; and on the other side Amphelia, Ortellus, and Guard.

Duke. Madam, I need not say y'are welcome to this
Country, since 'tis mine.

Art. Sir, leaving my own for yours
Speaks my belief of that, and all things else
You say.

Duke. The same unto your worthy brother,
Besides, my thanks to you, sir, for letting
Your sister take this journey.

Arb. Your highness hath so nobly express'd
Yourself unto my sister, that I
Consented to her coming with you; so
Highly I esteem'd your princely word,
That I have let her trespass on the
Bound of common modesty in this
Adventure: for when this hasty judging
World shall see you have brought a woman
From her own country, and not your
Wife, how soon will every tongue give her
Another title!

Duke. Sir, my sudden actions shall prevent all
Tongues or thoughts either to name or think her
Anything but my duchess; therefore
All that owe duty or respect to me, pay it
To her. What, Amphelia, did you believe
The world so barren of good faces, that
Yours only does enrich it? or did you think
It was men's fates only to doat on yours?
Look on this lady, and you'll see your error;
Mark well her face, and you will find
In every line beauty sits empress there.
These are the eyes, Amphelia, now, that dart
Obedience through my heart; are not you vex'd
To see I am no constant fool, and love
You still?

Amph. Vexed at what? to see a man I hate
Love another? a very great vexation!
Know, sir, this breast has only room for joy
And love to brave Ortellus—
Forgive my heart that 'twas not yours before,
Since you have long deserv'd it.

Ort. Madam, no time was long enough to wait
This blessed hour.

Amph. Alas, great duke! instead
Of pining for your change, you find me midst
A thousand joys in this new choice.

Duke. So you do me, Amphelia, amidst
Ten thousand; not all the glories that
Attend a conquering soldier can create
One joy so great in me,
As being conquer'd here in my own triumphs.
I am but a slave;
Nor does my victory over thousands please
Me so much, as being overcome by
One—by this fair one, whose eyes, by shining
On my triumph only, make it glorious.

Amph. Well, sir, we will not change our happy states;
You cannot brag of happiness so great
To make me envy: I am only sorry for
This lady, that had nothing else to do
With her heart but to give it you. Madam,
If your breast had been crowded with some twenty
Or thirty hearts, and amongst these one very
Ill, you might have
Made present of that to this mighty duke.

Duke. Madam, does not this lady's discourse make you
Afraid of me.

Art. Not in the least, sir.

Duke. Where's this bold prisoner?

Guard. Here, and [it] please your highness.

Duke. Well, sir, tho' you did attempt to kill me
In our camp, after you were our prisoner,
You shall not die, since you are of the same
Country this lady is; therefore thank her
And fortune for your life.

Zor. I'd sooner curse them both.
Shall I thank any for my life, but heaven
That gave it me? I'd rather give it to
A cat. A noble death were far more welcome
To me, than a mean life at second hand.
My being here I owe unto the gods.
When they think fit to lend it me no longer,
They know the way to take it from me. I scorn
To run in debt unto a mortal duke for two
Or three days' breath.

Amph. Brave captive! [Aside.

Duke. You're
Very high, considering you are in chains.

Zor. Why, sir, think you these fetters can confine
My mind as they do my legs, or that my
Tongue is your prisoner, and dares only say:
May it please your highness? How much are you
Mistaken? Know, sir, my soul is
Prompter to my tongue, and gives it courage to say
Anything that heaven will not frown at. We
Should detract from those great pow'rs above,
If we pay fears to any here below.
Perhaps you think I'll beg my life now upon
A pair of bent petitioning knees? No, sir;
Had I a hundred lives, I'd give them all
To sharpest deaths, rather than beg for one.

Duke. You're well resolv'd; perhaps your mind may alter,
When you see the axe. In the meantime commit him
To the closest prison where, if you have any
Accounts with heaven, you will have time to cast
Them up before your death.

Zor. Your sentence brings me
Joy. Welcome the keenest axe that can be set!
'Twill cut my head and chains both off together.
Welcome, most happy stroke, since it will bring
Rest to my eyes, and make a slave a king. [Exit with a Guard.

Duke. Madam, I suppose this journey has so wearied
You, that it is time to show you the way
To your lodgings, and leave you to your
Repose.

Guard. Make way there for the duke!

Amph. My lord, you had best attend the duke, because
'Tis a respect due to him.

Ort. I shall, madam,
At your command. [Exeunt.

Amph. How has my tongue belied my too true heart,
In speaking hate unto
The duke, and love to Ortellus! I hate the duke?
So eyes do sleep, that long have known no rest.
How could my lips give passage to such words,
And not have clos'd for ever?
Not by my heart's direction, I am sure; for that
So swell'd, being injured by my mouth, as, had
Not pride and reason kept it here from this
Unquiet feat, it would have forc'd away
To Archimedes' breast, and there have whisper'd to
His heart my tongue's untruth. Why should I love
This man, that shows me nothing but contempt
And hate? Rouse, drooping heart, and think
Of that; think of it always, so by degrees
'Twill bring a winter round thee, that in time
Shall chill the heat of thy undone and lost
Affections. O, it is not true that all
Our sex love change, then I might find one path
That leads to it;
That womanish vice were virtue now in me,
'Twould free my heart, and that were charity.

Enter Duke.

See, where he comes again; O, how I love
And hate that man! Now help me, pride, and fill
My breast with scorn; and pr'ythee, tongue, take heed
You do not falter: hear not, my heart, that will
Distract thy speech, and so betray my feign'd
Unkindness.

Duke. What, Amphelia all alone?
Weary of your new love already? can't
You pass away the time with him one hour?

Amph. Were he
No finer man than yourself, to be with him
A minute, I should think a
Seven years' penance.
Good heart, lie still, and let my tongue alone. [Aside.
I wonder what a woman can see in you,
Or hear from you, to make her love you.
(I was just going to have said, hate him.) [Aside.
O, what a task is this! therefore let me
Advise you to have a mean opinion
Of yourself.

Duke. Methinks that advice might serve
For yourself. Ha, ha, ha!

Amph. Have patience, heart, I know I lie: thou need'st
Not tell me so—I had better then confess
My love. [Aside.] Do you laugh, duke? [i']faith
So could I at you, till the tears ran down
My cheeks—that they would quickly do, for grief
Would fain unload my eyes.
I must begone,
I cannot longer act this part, unless
I had a heart as hard as his. [Aside.

Duke. What, you are going
Now to your love Ortellus?

Amph. I am so,
And going from you to him, is pleasure double,
Not only pain, to quit, but joy to meet.

Duke. Make haste then, for your departure will oblige
Me too, so we shall be all pleas'd!

Amph. Haste I will make, but with unwilling feet:
For every step from him my grief repeats. [Aside. Exit.

Duke. She's gone, and after her my heart is flown,
'Tis well it has no tongue to make its moan;
Then 'twould discover what my pride conceals,
A heart in love (though slighted) love reveals.
Yet though I love her still, she shall not know;
Her hate shall seem my joy, which is my woe.
My constancy I'll outwardly disguise,
Though here within I am not half so wise.
Yet rather than disclose my doating fate,
I'll wound my heart by counterfeiting hate.
To whine, it wou'd the worst of follies prove,
Since women only pity when they love.
With how much scorn she gave me welcome home,
Ortellus in her hand, to show my doom!
Me and my triumphs she did so despise,
As if they'd been unworthy of her eyes.
'Tis well to her I show'd as much disdain;
I'd rather perish than she guess my pain.
But O, the horrid act she makes me do,
To fool a woman that is young and true!
So damn'd a sin, that hell could not invent,
It is too foul for any punishment;
To question those above I am afraid,
Else I would ask them, why they woman made.

Enter Philidor.

O my mad cousin, your servant.
Whither so fast?

Phil. So fast, sir? why,
I have been hunted by a pack of hounds
This three hours,
And damn'd deep-mouth'd hounds too, [sir] no less than
Three couple of nurses, three couple
Of plaguy hunting bitches, and with them
Three couple of whelps, alias children, sir.
They have rung me such a ring this morning
Through every by-turning that leads to a bawdy
House, I wish'd myself earth'd a thousand
Times, as a fox does when he is hard-run,
But that they wou'd have presently digged me
Out with their tongues.

Duke. Faith, Philidor,
'Tis no news to me; for I have known thee
From sixteen at this course of life. What, and these
Children were all your bastards, and your nurses
Coming to dun you for money?

Phil. Something of that's in it, I think, sir.

Duke. Well, coz, I'll leave thee to thy wildness; a fitter
Companion much for thee than I at this time.

Phil. Why, sir, I hope nothing has happened
To trouble you?

Duke. No, no;
My grief, alas! is far beyond express;
To tell it to a friend can't make it less. [Exit.

Phil. Wou'd I were at the wars again: I fear
No sword half so much as the tongue of one
Of these nurses; and the youling of th' children
Are more dismal to my ears than the groans
Of dying men in a battle. I am
At this time in law with six or seven
Parishes about fath'ring of bastards;
Tis very fine truly! and yet me thinks
'Tis a hard case that I should be sued for
Multiplying the world,
Since death makes bold with bastards,
As well as other children. The very picture
Of a nurse and child in her arms wou'd fright
Me now. O, from that sight deliver me!

Enter Nurse and Child as he is going out.

Ha! and here they come: pox on't, what luck have
I after saying my prayers? it shall be a
Fair warning to me; now am I started
Again, and must go run t'other course. [Offers to run away.

1st Nurse. 'Squire Philidor, 'Squire Philidor!

[She runs after him.

Phil. How deaf
Am I now! 'tis well I know this by-way
To avoid her.

Enter Second Nurse and meets him.

Ha! S'death, another?
The devil appearing here too?

2d Nurse. O my proper
Young 'squire, stay, stay, d'ye hear, sir?

Phil. No, indeed, won't I. Yet I know one way
More to avoid them.

Enter Third Nurse.

Ha! another coming
Here too? Nay then, I find I am in hell,
Before I thought I shou'd. What will become
Of me now?

3d Nurse. O 'squire, I thought I should
Never have spoken with your worship.

Phil. No, by this
Light, shou'd you not, if I could have holp it. [Aside.

1st Nurse. I wonder, 'squire, at your conscience, t'avoid
Your pretty babes as you do.

Phil. So, now it
Begins, I am like to have sweet music
From the comfort of these nurses' tongues.

1st Nurse. Saving your presence, sir, I think here are
Three as sweet babes as ever sucked teat,
And all born within the year too, besides
Three more that your worship has in our street.

Phil. A very hopeful generation! sure,
This was a great nut year![73]
Well, if all trades fail, I may go
Into some foreign plantation, where
They want people, and be well paid for my
Pains: wou'd I were there now!

1st Nurse. Codge, codge,
Dos a laugh upon a dad? In conscience, sir,
The child knows your worship.

Phil. A very great comfort!

1st Nurse. My young master here is as like your worship
As e'er he can look; has your tempting eyes
To a hair: I cou'd not choose but smile
To myself t'other day; I was making him clean
About the secrets, to see that[74] God had sent him
In a plentiful manner; it put me half
In mind of your worship. I am sure I
Have been at double the expense of other
Nurses, in eating choice meat, to make my
Milk good for my young master, because I
Would not spoil the growth of any one of his
Members.

2d Nurse. Nay, for that, neighbour, I have ate
As good, or better, meat than you, every day
In the week: I never touch'd a bit of
Salt meat, for fear of spoiling my child's blood.

Phil. Considering how well 'tis born. [Aside.

3d Nurse. Nay, neighbours, for that I have been at greater
Charge than either of you, in choice diets,
To breed good milk for my young mistress here.

1st Nurse. You lie.

2d Nurse. You are a quean.

1st Nurse. And you're a whore.
Marry, your husband is the notedest
Cuckold in all our street.

2d Nurse. You lie, you jade,
Yours is a greater.

Phil. Hiss! Now for a battle
Royal.

1st Nurse. If I lay the child out of my

[Lay their children down, and fight.

Arms, I'll pull off your head-clothes, you—
Carrion!

2d Nurse. Marry, come, if thou durst.

Phil. 'Tis best for me to be a coward,
And march off from this bloody fight.

All Nurses. Hold, hold, the 'squire is going away.

Phil. So, nothing could have parted them this three
Hours, but the fear of losing me. [Aside.

1st Nurse. What, wou'd
Your worship have left us without paying us
For nursing your children? you have a conscience,
With a pox to you!

Phil. So, now will they end
Their war in vollies of shot upon me.
I have but one thing now to do. With ev'ry
One of these hags have I been forc'd to lie,
Which they took as satisfaction for payment
For two months' nursing. Perhaps, rather
Than they will have it known to one another,
They'll hold their tongues and leave me?
Well, my three sweet harmonious nurses, what is due to you?

1st Nurse. Due! why, there was twelve months
Due for nursing; 'tis true, two months your squireship
Satisfied me for.

2d Nurse. And me too.

3d Nurse. And me
Likewise.

Phil. Harkye, if you will not be gone,
I'll tell.

1st Nurse. No, marry, won't I, till I have
My money.

2d Nurse. Don't think to fright me, but pay me.

3d Nurse. I fear you not; pay me my money.

Phil. Pox on't, 'twill not do, I must try another
Way.—Boy, was the wolf fed to-day?

Boy. No, sir.

Phil. Go fetch him quickly, to dine with these ladies.

[Exeunt Nurses.

So! I thought I should set them going. He!
The devil, they have left the children behind them.
This was a very cunning device of mine.
Now am I in a pretty condition. Troth, a
Very noble Anabaptist progeny!
For the devil a one of these were ever
Christen'd; for I have run so much upon
Tick to the parsons for christening of
Children, that now they all refuse to make
Any bastards of mine a Christian
Without ready money; so that I'll have
This boy bred up a parson, that he may
Christen himself and the rest of his sisters
And brothers. What shall I do, when these infants,
Begin to be hungry, and youl for th' teat?
O, that a milk-woman wou'd come by now!
Well, I must remove my flock from hence. Small
Coal, small coal, will you buy any small coal?
Pox on it. I could never light of any
But fruitful whores. Small coal, small coal! [Exit.