I cannot omit to tell you, that a Wit of the Town, a Friend of mine at Wills Coffee House, the first Night of the Play, cry’d it down as much as in him lay, who before had read it and assured me he never ‘saw a prettier Comedy. So complaisant one pestilent Wit will be to another, and in the full Cry make his Noise too; but since ‘tis to the witty Few I speak, I hope the better Judges will take no Offence, to whom I am oblig’d for better Judgments; and those I hope will be so kind to me, knowing my Conversation not at all addicted to the Indecencys alledged, that I would much less practice it in a Play, that must stand the Test of the censoring World. And I must want common Sense, and all the Degrees of good Manners, renouncing my Fame, all Modesty and Interest for a silly Sawcy fruitless Jest, to make Fools laugh, and Women blush, and wise Men asham’d; My self all the while, if I had been guilty of this Crime charg’d to me, remaining the only stupid, insensible. Is this likely, is this reasonable to be believ’d by any body, but the wilfully blind? All I ask, is the Priviledge for my Masculine Part the Poet in me, (if any such you will allow me) to tread in those successful Paths my Predecessors have so long thriv’d in, to take those Measures that both the Ancient and Modern Writers have set me, and by which they have pleas’d the World so well: If I must not, because of my Sex, have this Freedom, but that you will usurp all to your selves; I lay down my Quill, and you shall hear no more of me, no not so much as to make Comparisons, because I will be kinder to my Brothers of the Pen, than they have been to a defenceless Woman; for I am not content to write for a Third day only. I value Fame as much as if I had been born a Hero; and if you rob me of that, I can retire from the ungrateful World, and scorn its fickle Favours.
THE LUCKY CHANCE;
or, An Alderman’s Bargain.
PROLOGUE,
Spoken by Mr. Jevon.
_Since with old Plays you have so long been cloy’d,
As with a Mistress many years enjoy’d,
How briskly dear Variety you pursue;
Nay, though for worse ye change, ye will have New.
Widows take heed some of you in fresh Youth
Have been the unpitied Martyrs of this Youth.
When for a drunken Sot, that had kind hours,
And taking their own freedoms, left you yours;
’.was your delib’rate choice your days to pass
With a damn’d, sober, self-admiring Ass,
Who thinks good usage for the Sex unfit,
And slights ye out of Sparkishness and Wit.
But you can fit him—Let a worse Fool come,
If he neglect, to officiate in his room.
Vain amorous Coxcombs every where are found,
Fops for all uses, but the Stage abound.
Though you shou’d change them oftener than your Fashions,
There still wou’d be enough for your Occasions:
But ours are not so easily supplied,
All that cou’d e’er quit cost, we have already tried.
Nay, dear sometimes have bought the Frippery stuff. |
This, Widows, you—I mean the old and tough— |
Will never think, be they but Fool enough. |
Such will with any kind of Puppies play; |
But we must better know for what we pay: |
We must not purchase such dull Fools as they. |
Shou’d we shew each her own partic’lar Dear,
What they admire at home, they wou’d loath here.
Thus, though the Mall, the Ring, the Pit is full,
And every Coffee-House still swarms with Fool;
Though still by Fools all other Callings live,
Nay our own Women by fresh Cullies thrive,
Though your Intrigues which no Lampoon can cure,
Promise a long Succession to ensure;
And all your Matches plenty do presage:
Dire is the Dearth and Famine on the Stage.
Our Store’s quite wasted, and our Credit’s small,
Not a Fool left to bless our selves withal.
We re forc’t at last to rob, (which is great pity,
Though ‘tis a never-failing Bank) the City.
We show you one to day intirely new,
And of all Jests, none relish like the true.
Let that the value of our Play inhance,
Then it may prove indeed the_ Lucky Chance.