Robert Dodsley

“ She got th' applause of angels! Now, upon this,
This jealous lord infers (and it may be
But to shun futurity) that I,
His betray'd friend, could not hold the cup,
But I must drink the poison. No, Lorenzo,
An honest man is still an unmov'd rock,
Wash'd whiter, but not shaken with the shock
Whose heart conceives no sinister device:
Fearless he plays with flames, and treads on ice. ”

“ Paid scot and lot, old Timothy Credulous
My father—though I say it, that should not.
Sir T. I don't regard this thing that you call blood;
'Tis a mere name, a sound.
Mean. Your worship speaks
Just like yourself: methinks he's noble
That's truly rich. Men may talk much of lines,
Of arms, of blood, of race, of pedigree:
Houses, descents and families; they are
But empty noise, God knows; the idle breath
Of that puff nothing, honour; formal words,
Fit for the tongues of men that ne'er knew yet
What stem, what gentry, nay, what virtue lies
In great revenues. ”

“ 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. ”

“ Man may receive what he can never merit!
Be not thou cruel, my Artemia;
Do not torment me with thy grief, and make
Me die before my time: let hope a while
Suspend thy sorrow; if the worst should fall,
Thy sorrow would but more enfeeble me,
And make me suffer faintly for thy sake.
Art. If worst should fall, my love (which heaven forfend) ,
How could I choose but suffer?
Euph. I will hope
Your safety yet may well be wrought; and knowing
Sir Argent's mind, you know what ways to trust.
Art. Good cousin, help us with thy counsel now,
If thou dost love my life. ”

“ The King draws his Sword, the Miller is frighted, and rises up, thinking he was going to kill him.
What have I done that I should lose my Life?
King. Kneel without Fear. No, my good Host, so far are you from having any thing to pardon, that I am much your Debtor. I cannot think but so good and honest a Man will make a worthy and honourable Knight, so rise up, Sir John Cockle: And, to support your State, and in some sort requite the Pleasure you have done us, a Thousand Marks a Year shall be your Revenue. ”

“ Infect the air which breathes our fame, and make
The cautious sirs o' th' country shun us.
San. Madam!
Cle. When we admit you to our bed-chamber,
Powder, or haply bathe before you; what
Of honour's here more than a groom may boast
Our maids are tir'd with? Yet this with a smile
Is whisper'd to your friend, and you infer
How easy a more near approach will be.
My lord, learn virtue, and your wit may then
Not serve you to so fond a purpose. If
That courage you are famed for be no slander,
Go to the wars. 'Twill be a far less maim
To lose an eye there than your honour here. ”

“ Art. 'Tis no such great request;
'Tis only when you meet me, say: I hate
Thee, Artabella.
Duke. Why, could that word please thee?
Art. No; but to hear it said by you, would bring
My death, then I wou'd thank you for my rest.
Would you not come unto my grave, sir?
Duke. O yes, and make thy coffin float with a sea
Of tears.
Art. Fair sir, of what?
Duke. Of grief.
Art. O me!
A sea of tears, and yet not one of love!
Waste not such precious drops upon my grave, it will
Not satisfy my hovering soul to see
Your eyes drop pity without love. Farewell, sir. ”

“ You may go on, Sir, in this ludicrous Strain, if you please, and fancy 'tis Wit; but, in my Opinion, a good Wife is the greatest Blessing, and the most valuable possession, that Heaven in this Life can bestow. She makes the Cares of the World sit easy, and adds a Sweetness to its Pleasures. She is a Man's best Companion in Prosperity, and his only Friend in Adversity. ”

“ Most beautiful, fair and virtuous mistress, whose face is a burning-glass, and hath set me on fire. My sugar-plum and stewed-prune lady, whose fine sharp nose, like Cupid's darts, hath pricked me to the heart! Whiter than the curds thou sell'st, softer than the silk thou wearest, milder than the four-shilling beer thou drink'st! Venus, I believe, was a fresh cheese and cream woman, and, letting fall her pail, made the Milky Way, but yet came as far short of thee, my sweet, honey Nancy, as whey of butter-milk or skimmed milk of cream! ”

“ Courteous mistress Julia, how shall I deserve this favour from you?
Julia. There is a way, master Petro, if you could find it; but the tenderness of your youth keeps you in ignorance: 'tis a great fault, I must tell you.
Pet. I shall strive to amend it, if you please to instruct me, lady.
Julia. Alas, do not you know what maids love all this while? You must come oftener amongst us; want of company keeps the spring of your blood backward. ”

“ Turning to Don Octavio. Exeunt Diego and Flora.
Don O. I'm now upon the frontiers of this life,
There's but one step to immortality;
And, since my cruel fortune has allow'd me
No other witness of my tragic end
But a false friend and barbarous enemy,
I'll leave my genius to inform the world
My life and death was uniform: as I
Liv'd firm to love and honour, so I die. ”

“ Enter Mocinigo.
Well, go thy ways, old Nick Machiavel, there will never be the peer of thee for wholesome policy and good counsel. Thou took'st pains to chalk men out the dark paths and hidden plots of murther and deceit, and no man has the grace to follow thee; the age is unthankful, thy principles are quite forsaken and worn out of memory.
Moc. There's a fellow walks melancholy, and that's commonly a passion apt to entertain any mischief; discontent and honesty seldom harbour together. How scurvily he looks, like one of the devil's factors! I'll tempt him. By your leave, sir.
Bravo. ”

“ Jane. Should I wed you, the fire with frost must marry,
January and May! I for a younger tarry.
Lamb. That's I! In troth, I'll be thy young Lambskin; thou shalt find me as innocent as a sucking dove. Speak, sweet mistress, am I the youth in a basket?
Jane. You are the sweet youth, sir, whose pretty eyes
Would make me love; but you must first be wise.
Speed. Ha, ha! Is your coxcomb cut? I see experience must board this fair pinnace. A word in private. ”

“ Duke. 'Tis true, indulgency and flattery take away the benefit of experience from princes, which ennobles the fortunes of private men.
Leo. But you are a duke, sir; and this descent from your honour will undervalue you.
Duke. Not a whit. I am so toiled out with grand affairs and despatching of embassages, that I am ready to sink under the burden. Why may not an Atlas of state, such as myself, that bears up the weight of a commonwealth, now and then, for recreation's sake, be glad to ease his shoulders? Has not Jupiter thrown away his rays and his thunder to walk among mortals? ”

“ Zor. She die, sir!
Wou'd you destroy so great a world of virtue?
Rather invent two deaths for me, that I
May die for her too. You'll rob
Your dukedom of your greatest treasure to take
Away so blest a life as hers: let not
An axe part such a head and body,
Lest heaven frown and call you murderer. You'll pull
Upon your head all mankind's curse: when nature
Sees her bounty thus rewarded, she will
Turn miser, and will give no more such blessings
To th' world as this fair saint.
Duke. ”

“ Let it go on; let it work something farther:
'Tis almost ripe enough to crush. He hath not
Crept high enough as yet to be sensible
Of any fall.
Slicer. Now is the time, or never.
This night, you know, he and his doxy meet;
Let me alone to give them their good-morrow.
If that we carry things but one week longer
Without discovery, farewell London then:
The world's our own. He ne'er deserves to thrive
That doth not venture for it: wealth's then sweet,
When bought with hazard. Fate this law hath set;
The fool inherits, but the wise must get. ”

“ Exit Decastro.
Enter Ascanio, Florentio.
Flo. Sir, you created me, and rais'd me up
To th' state of duke, when I was common dust;
And, had not fortune given me interest
I' th' favour of the queen, I had continued
In the worst fate of man, ingratitude.
Now I can boast I have restored you back
A love rich as the bounty you shower'd on me:
'Tis all the stock of my poor life.
Asc. Sad fate!
That I must wound thee to the heart to cure
My leprosy with thy blood. Florentio, search
I' th' stock of women; there's some other beauty.
Flo. O, no! no other. ”

“ Don Pedro in his aims, and to comply
With what I owe the duke, I see as little;
And less conceive, how to behave myself,
As ought a gentleman towards a lady,
With whose protection he hath charg'd himself,
And brought her to his house on that assurance;
Whom to expose cannot consist with honour,
However she may have expos'd her own;
And (least of all) how to repair to Blanca
The injury I have done her, whose high spirit,
I fear, will be implacable. O heavens! ”

“ To every shepherd and to every nymph
How much I love him.
Ner. Then it must be Daphnis.
Dor. Venus forgive me if I do disclose him,
But he will do't himself: 'tis he, Nerina.
Ner. Daphnis, that wooes my father to win me;
He is my daily suitor; now I know
How much he owes to pity and to thee;
Until he pay that debt, I shall despise him.
Dor. Why, do not you love him as much as I?
Ner. Love him! I know no greater misery,
Than to love one that's not of human race—
A tiger rather; but a tiger is more mild
Than he. ”

“ We love the passion: though we scorn the offering,
We grieve to see it thrown away, and envy,
If consecrated to another. Woman
Hath no revenge 'gainst th' injury of custom,
Which gives man superiority, but thus
To fool it to subjection.
Flo. Yet, Cleantha,
I could have wish'd your charity had spar'd
This triumph o'er my lord.
Cle. You see I take
The next way to redeem him. This the hour,
And this the place. Here he resolves to raise
A trophy in my ruin: and behold—
Enter Sanmartino, winding up his watch.
The just man of his promise! Not a minute
He fails when sin's the payment. ”

“ Art. Wou'd nature then had made me so, or else
Had given me never a heart.
Duke. What wou'dst
Thou have me do, poor Artabella?
Art. Nothing
But love me, sir.
Duke. See, what thou doest ask
A man, a god wou'd do; and yet I can't;
'Tis not thy want of beauty, but my fate.
Angels themselves, to look upon thy face,
Wou'd take a journey twice a day from heaven.
Art. If you would come, though far a shorter way,
You shou'd be much more welcome.
Duke. ”

“ Phor. The devil that advis'd her can tell you: they
Will not lose a servant whilst he lives,
Though they command him to be murder'd. 'Tis the
Woman-art—if they perceive a lover to desist
Through fear, distrust, or harsher usage, they
Open him the heaven of their beauty in smiles
And yielding looks, and with their eyes do melt
The ice of doubts their fears contracted: perhaps
Prince Lysicles spurs coldly whilst he rides
Alone, and you must strain to make him go
The faster. Eugenio, too, was servant to your
Mistress, and Lysicles and he parted good friends. ”

“ There, be a man in't. I'll have whom I list,
In what disguise I list, and when I list,
And not have your sour eyes so saucy to peep,
As if you, by prevention, meant to kill
A basilisk.
Ware. Mistress, do what you list,
Send for your couch out, lie with your gallants there
Before us all: or, if you have a mind
To fellows that can lift weights, I can call
Two footmen too.
Sea. You are too patient, sir:
Send for the marshal, and discharge your house.
Mis. Sea. Truly a handsome woman! what pity 'tis
She is not honest. ”

“ Ama. Your eyes are true; but 'tis your heart that's false.
Zor. I am deceiv'd! that cannot be her tongue.
Ama. Should it speak otherwise to thee, I'd tear
It out, devil, Zoranzo; cursed pair
Of vipers, that in chains of death can practise
Lust, as if no end were nigh. Do not
My wrongs startle thy guilty soul, to think
Of all the torments it must have, that could
With so much falseness murder love? When thou
Art gone to hell, as go thou must, 'twill be
A task for all the devils there,
To torture thee enough. ”

“ Enter Old Foster, Richard his factor, and the Keeper of Ludgate.
Rich. Good sir, resolve not thus; return again,
Your debts are not so great that you should yield
Your body thus to prison unconstrain'd.
O. Fos. I will not trust the iron hearts of men;
My credit's lost, my wealth the sea has swallowed,
Wrack'd at my door, even in the mouth o' th' Thames;
O my misfortune! never man like me
Was so thrown down and cast to misery.
Rich. Dear sir, be patient!
O. Fos. I prythee, get thee gone,
And with thy diligence assist thy mistress
To keep that little left to help herself ”

“ Now see, sir, where this scorpion lurks, to sting
Mine honour unto death. This noble duke
By nature is engaged to defend a sister;
[Pg 149] And to this duke so engag'd this malicious lord—
For sin still hates her scourger—makes repair,
And prepossesses him with that suppos'd innocence
Of an injur'd sister, which he had hir'd this slave
To follow him and affirm, and lays the cause
To scruple and to conscience: they did consent
To steal belief by seeming accident.
Sin, juggler-like, casts sin before our eyes:
Craft sometimes steals the wonder of the wise. ”

“ If you do wish it a continuance, 'tis in your power to make it last to ages. Since my Milesia's death, I have not loved a lady equal with your Hermione; in her I hope to lose my swollen misfortunes, and find out a joy that may extinguish them. 'Tis now no time to tell her how much I am her servant; for this lord here, that does pretend to her fair graces, before I had declared myself his rival—perchance you would believe me if I had said, he no way doth deserve her. ”

“ 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. ”

“ Moc. You speak honourably: and, now I think on't, what if you beat him well-favouredly, and spare his life?
Bravo. Beat him! stay there; I'll kill him for this sum, but I'll not beat him for thrice the value; so he might do as much for me: no, I'll leave him impotent for all thought of revenge.
Enter Lucretia.
Moc. Well, sir, use your pleasure. Look you, here's the gentlewoman for whose sake it is done. Lady, you are come most opportunely to be a witness of my love and zeal to you; he is the man that will do the feat. ”