An Apology for the Life of Mr. Colley Cibber, Volume I (of 2)

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HISTORIA HISTRIONICA:

AN

Historical Account

OF THE

ENGLISH STAGE,

SHEWING

The ancient Use, Improvement,

and Perfection, of Dramatick Representations,

in this Nation.

IN A

Dialogue, of PLAYS and PLAYERS.

-- Olim meminisse juvabit.

LONDON.

Printed by G. Croom, for William Haws at the

Rose in Ludgate-Street. 1699.

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THE PREFACE.

Much has been Writ of late pro and con, about the Stage, yet the Subject admits of more, and that which has not been hetherto toucht upon; not only what that is, but what it was, about which some People have made such a Busle. What it is we see, and I think it has been sufficiently displayed in Mr. Collier's Book; What it was in former Ages, and how used in this Kingdom, so far back as one may collect any Memorialls, is the Subject of the following Dialogue. Old Plays will be always read by the Curious, if it were only to discover the Manners and Behaviour of several Ages; and how they alter'd. For Plays are exactly like Portraits Drawn in the Garb and Fashion of the time when Painted. You see one Habit in the time of King Charles I. another quite different from that, both for Men and Women, in Queen Elizabeths time; another under Henry the Eighth different from both; and so backward all various. And in the several Fashions of Behaviour and Conversation, there is as much Mutability as in that of cloaths. Religion and Religious matters was once as much the Mode in publick Entertainments, as the Contrary has been in some times since. This appears in the different Plays of several Ages: And to evince this, the following Sheets are an Essay or Specimen.

Some may think the Subject of this Discourse trivial, and the persons herein mention'd not worth remembering. But besides that I could name some things contested of late with great heat, of as little, or less Consequence, the Reader may know that the Profession of Players is not so totally scandalous, nor all of them so reprobate, but that there has been found under that Name, a Canonized Saint in the primitive Church; as may be seen in the Roman Martyrology on the 29th of March; his name Masculas a Master of Interludes, (the Latin is Archimimus, and the French translation un Maitre Comedien) who under the Persecution of the Vandals in Africa, by Geisericus the Arian King, having endured many and greivious Torments and Reproaches for the Confession of the Truth, finisht the Course of this glorious Combat. Saith the said Martyrology.

It appears from this, and some further Instances in the following Discourse, That there have been Players of worthy Principles as to Religion, Loyalty, and other Virtues; and if the major part of them fall under a different Character, it is the general unhappiness of Mankind, that the Most are the Worst.

* * *

A

DIALOGUE

OF

PLAYS and PLAYERS.

Lovewit, Truman.

Lovew. Honest Old Cavalier! well met, 'faith I'm glad to see thee.

Trum. Have a care what you call me. Old, is a Word of Disgrace among the Ladies; to be Honest is to be Poor, and Foolish, (as some think) and Cavalier is a Word as much out of Fashion as any of 'em.

Lovew. The more's the pity: But what said the Fortune-Teller in Ben. Johnson's Mask of Gypsies, to the then Lord Privy Seal,

Honest and Old!

In those the Good Part of a Fortune is told.

Trum. Ben. Johnson? How dare you name Ben. Johnson in these times? When we have such a crowd of Poets of a quite different Genius; the least of which thinks himself as well able to correct Ben. Johnson, as he could a Country School Mistress that taught to Spell.

Lovew. We have indeed, Poets of a different Genius; so are the Plays: but in my Opinion, they are all of 'em (some few excepted) as much inferior to those of former Times, as the Actors now in being (generally speaking) are, compared to Hart, Mohun, Burt, Lacy, Clun, and Shatterel; for I can reach no farther backward.

Trum. I can; and dare assure you, if my Fancy and Memory are not partial (for Men of my Age are apt to be over indulgent to the Thoughts of their youthful Days) I say the Actors that I have seen before the Wars, Lowin, Tayler, Pollard, and some others, were almost as far beyond Hart and his Company, as those were beyond these now in being.

Lovew. I am willing to believe it, but cannot readily; because I have been told, That those whom I mention'd, were Bred up under the others of your Acquaintance, and follow'd their manner of Action, which is now lost. So far, that when the Question has been askt, Why these Players do not revive the Silent Woman, and some other of Johnson's Plays, (once of highest esteem) they have answer'd, truly, Because there are none now Living who can rightly Humour those Parts; for all who related to the Black-friers, (where they were Acted in perfection) are now Dead, and almost forgotten.

Trum. 'Tis very true, Hart and Clun, were bred up Boys at the Black-friers, and acted Womens Parts, Hart was Robinson's Boy or Apprentice: He acted the Dutchess in the Tragedy of the Cardinal, which was the first Part that gave him Reputation. Cartwright, and Wintershal belong'd to the private House in Salisbury-court, Burt was a Boy first under Shank at the Black-friers, then under Beeston at the Cockpit; and Mohun, and Shatterel were in the same Condition with him, at the last Place. There Burt used to Play the principal Women's Parts, in particular Clariana in Love's Cruelty; and at the same time Mohun acted Bellamente, which Part he retain'd after the Restauration.

Lovew. That I have seen, and can well remember. I wish they had Printed in the last Age (so I call the times before the Rebellion) the Actors Names over against the Parts they Acted, as they have done since the Restauration. And thus one might have guest at the Action of the Men, by the Parts which we now Read in the Old Plays.

Trum. It was not the Custome and Usage of those Days, as it hath been since. Yet some few Old Plays there are that have the Names set against the Parts, as, The Dutchess of Malfy; the Picture; the Roman Actor; the deserving Favourite; the Wild Goose Chace, (at the Black-friers) the Wedding; the Renegado; the fair Maid of the West; Hannibal and Scipio; King John and Matilda; (at the Cockpit) and Holland's Leaguer, (at Salisbury Court).

Lovew. These are but few indeed: But pray Sir, hat Master-Parts can you remember the Old Black-friers Men to Act, in Johnson, Shakespear, and Fletcher's Plays.

Trum. What I can at present recollect I'll tell you; Shakespear, (who as I have heard, was a much better Poet, than Player) Burbadge, Hemmings, and others of the Older sort, were Dead before I knew the Town; but in my time, before the Wars, Lowin used to Act, with mighty Applause, Falstaffe, Morose, Volpone, and Mammon in the Alchymist; Melancius, in the Maid's Tragedy, and at the same time Amyntor was Play'd by Stephen Hammerton, (who was at first a most noted and beautiful Woman Actor, but afterwards he acted with equal Grace and Applause, a Young Lover's Part); Tayler Acted Hamlet incomparably well, Iago, Truewit in the Silent Woman, and Face in the Alchymist; Swanston used to Play Othello; Pollard, and Robinson were Comedians, so was Shank who us'd to Act Sir Roger, in the Scornful Lady. These were of the Black-friers. Those of principal Note at the Cockpit, were, Perkins, Michael Bowyer, Sumner, William Allen, and Bird, eminent Actors, and Robins a Comedian. Of the other Companies I took little notice.

Lovew. Were there so many Companies?

Trum. Before the Wars, there were in being all these Play-houses at the same time. The Black-friers, and Globe on the Bankside, a Winter and Summer House, belonging to the same Company, called the King's Servants; the Cockpit or Ph?nix, in Drury-lane, called the Queen's Servants; the private House in Salisbury-court, called the Prince's Servants; the Fortune near White-cross-street, and the Red Bull at the upper end of St. John's-street: The two last were mostly frequented by Citizens, and the meaner sort of People. All these Companies got Money, and Liv'd in Reputation, especially those of the Black-friers, who were Men of grave and sober Behaviour.

Lovew. Which I admire at; That the Town much less than at present, could then maintain Five Companies, and yet now Two can hardly subsist.

Trum. Do not wonder, but consider, That tho' the Town was then, perhaps, not much more than half so Populous as now, yet then the Prices were small (there being no Scenes) and better order kept among the Company that came; which made very good People think a Play an Innocent Diversion for an idle Hour or two, the Plays themselves being then, for the most part, more Instructive and Moral. Whereas of late, the Play-houses are so extreamly pestered with Vizard-masks and their Trade, (occasioning continual Quarrels and Abuses) that many of the more Civilized Part of the Town are uneasy in the Company, and shun the Theater as they would a House of Scandal. It is an Argument of the worth of the Plays and Actors, of the last Age, and easily inferr'd, that they were much beyond ours in this, to consider that they cou'd support themselves meerly from their own Merit; the weight of the Matter, and goodness of the Action, without Scenes and Machines: Whereas the present Plays with all that shew, can hardly draw an Audience, unless there be the additional Invitation of a Signior Fideli, a Monsieur L'abbe, or some such Foreign Regale exprest in the bottom of the Bill.

Lovew. To wave this Digression, I have Read of one Edward Allin, a Man so famed for excellent Action, that among Ben. Johnson's epigrams, I find one directed to him, full of Encomium, and concluding thus,

Wear this Renown, 'tis just that who did give

So many Poets Life, by one should Live.

Was he one of the Black-friers?

Trum. Never, as I have heard; (for he was Dead before my time). He was Master of a Company of his own, for whom he Built the Fortune Playhouse from the Ground, a large, round Brick Building. This is he that grew so Rich that he purchased a great estate in Surrey and elsewhere; and having no Issue, He built and largely endow'd Dulwich College, in the Year 1619, for a Master, a Warden, Four Fellows, Twelve aged poor People, and Twelve poor Boys, &c. A noble Charity.

Lovew. What kind of Playhouses had they before the Wars?

Trum. The Black-friers, Cockpit, and Salisbury-court, were called Private Houses, and were very small to what we see now. The Cockpit was standing since the Restauration, and Rhode's Company Acted there for some time.

Lovew. I have seen that.

Trum. Then you have seen the other two, in effect; for they were all three Built almost exactly alike, for Form and Bigness. Here they had Pits for the Gentry, and Acted by Candle-light. The Globe, Fortune and Bull, were large Houses, and lay partly open to the Weather, and there they alwaies Acted by Daylight.

Lovew. But, prithee, Truman, what became of these Players when the Stage was put down, and the Rebellion rais'd?

Trum. Most of 'em, except Lowin, Tayler and Pollard (who were superannuated) went into the King's Army, and like good Men and true, Serv'd their Old Master, tho' in a different, yet more honourable, Capacity. Robinson was Kill'd at the Taking of a Place, (I think Basing House) by Harrison, he that was after Hang'd at Charing-cross, who refused him Quarter, and Shot him in the Head when he had laid down his Arms; abusing Scripture at the same time, in saying, Cursed is he that doth the Work of the Lord negligently. Mohun was a Captain, (and after the Wars were ended here, served in Flanders where he received Pay as a Major), Hart was a Lieutenant of Horse under Sir Thomas Dallison, in Prince Rupert's Regiment, Burt was Cornet in the same Troop, and Shatterel Quarter-master. Allen of the Cockpit, was a Major, and Quarter Master General at Oxford. I have not heard of one of these Players of any Note that sided with the other Party, but only Swanston, and he profest himself a Presbyterian, took up the Trade of a Jeweller, and liv'd in Aldermanbury, within the Territory of Father Calamy. The rest either Lost, or expos'd their Lives for their King. When the Wars were over, and the Royalists totally Subdued, most of 'em who were left alive gather'd to London, and for a Subsistence endeavour'd to revive their Old Trade, privately. They made up one Company out of all the Scatter'd Members of Several; and in the Winter before the King's Murder, 1648, they ventured to Act some Plays with as much caution and privacy as you'd be, at the Cockpit. They continu'd undisturbed for three or four Days; but at last as they were presenting the Tragedy of the Bloudy Brother (in which Lowin Acted Aubrey, Tayler Rollo, Pollard the Cook, Burt Latorch, and I think Hart Otto) a Party of Foot Souldiers beset the House, surpriz'd 'em about the midle of the Play, and carried 'em away in their habits, not admitting them to shift, to Hatton-house, then a Prison, where having detain'd them some time, they Plunder'd them of their Cloths and let 'em loose again. Afterwards in Oliver's time, they used to Act privately, three or four Miles, or more, out of Town, now here, now there, sometimes in Noblemens Houses, in particular Holland-house at Kensington, where the Nobility and Gentry who met (but in no great Numbers) used to make a Sum for them, each giving a broad Peice, or the like. And Alexander Goffe, the Woman Actor at Black-friers (who had made himself known to Persons of Quality) used to be the Jackal, and give notice of Time and Place. At Christmass, and Bartlemew-fair, they used to Bribe the Officer who Commanded the Guard at Whitehall, and were thereupon connived at to Act for a few Days, at the Red Bull; but were sometimes notwithstanding Disturb'd by Soldiers. Some pickt up a little Money by publishing the Copies of Plays never before Printed, but kept up in Manuscript. For instance, in the Year 1652, Beaumont and Fletcher's Wild Goose Chace was Printed in Folio, for the Public use of all the Ingenious, (as the Title-page says) and private Benefit of John Lowin and Joseph Tayler, Servants to his late Majesty; and by them Dedicated To the Honour'd few Lovers of Dramatick Poesy: Wherein they modestly intimate their Wants. And that with sufficient Cause; for whatever they were before the Wars, they were, after, reduced to a necessitous Condition. Lowin in his latter Days, kept an Inn (the three Pidgions) at Brentford, where he dyed very Old, (for he was an Actor of eminent Note in the Reign of K. James the first) and his Poverty was as great as his Age. Tayler Dyed at Richmond and was there Buried. Pollard who Lived Single, and had a Competent Estate; Retired to some Relations he had in the Country, and there ended his Life. Perkins and Sumner of the Cockpit, kept House together at Clerkenwel, and were there Buried. These all Dyed some Years before the Restauration. What follow'd after, I need not tell you: You can easily Remember.

Lovew. Yes, presently after the Restauration, the King's Players Acted publickly at the Red Bull for some time, and then Removed to a New-built Playhouse in Vere-street, by Claremarket. There they continued for a Year or two, and then removed to the Theater Royal in Drury-lane, where they first made use of Scenes, which had been a little before introduced upon the publick Stage by Sir William Davenant at the Dukes Old Theater in Lincolns-Inn-fields, but afterwards very much improved, with the Addition of curious Machines, by Mr. Betterton at the New Theater in Dorset-Garden, to the great Expence and continual Charge of the Players. This much impair'd their Profit o'er what it was before; for I have been inform'd, (by one of 'em) That for several Years next after the Restauration, every whole Sharer in Mr. Hart's Company, got 1000l. per an. About the same time that Scenes first enter'd upon the Stage at London, Women were taught to Act their own Parts; since when, we have seen at both Houses several excellent Actresses, justly famed as well for Beauty, as perfect good Action. And some Plays (in particular The Parson's Wedding) have been Presented all by Women, as formerly all by Men. Thus it continued for about 20 Years, when Mr. Hart and some of the Old Men began to grow weary, and were minded to leave off; then the two Companies thought fit to Unite; but of late, you see, they have thought it no less fit to Divide again, though both Companies keep the same Name of his Majesty's Servants. All this while the Play-house Musick improved Yearly, and is now arrived to greater Perfection than ever I knew it. Yet for all these Advantages, the Reputation of the Stage, and Peoples Affection to it, are much Decay'd. Some were lately severe against it, and would hardly allow Stage-Plays fit to be longer permitted. Have you seen Mr. Collier's book?

Trum. Yes, and his Opposer's.

Lovew. And what think you?

Trum. In my mind Mr. Collier's Reflections are Pertinent, and True in the Main; the Book ingeniously Writ, and well Intended: But he has over-shot himself in some Places; and his Respondents, perhaps, in more. My Affection inclines me not to Engage on either side, but rather Mediate. If there be Abuses relating to the Stage; (which I think is too apparent) let the Abuse be Reformed, and not the use, for that Reason only, Abolish'd. 'Twas an Old saying when I was a Boy,

Absit Abusus, non desit totaliter Usus.

I shall not run through Mr. Collier's Book; I will only touch a little on two or three general Notions, in which, I think he may be mistaken. What he urges out of the Primitive Councils, and Fathers of the Church, seems to me to be directed against the Heathen Plays, which were a sort of Religious Worship with them, to the Honour of Ceres, Flora, or some of their false Deities; they had always a little Altar on their Stages, as appears plain enough from some places in Plautus. And Mr. Collier himself, p. 235, tells us out of Livy, that Plays were brought in upon the Score of Religion, to pacify the Gods. No wonder then, they forbid Christians to be present at them, for it was almost the same as to be present at their Sacrifices. We must also observe that this was in the Infancy of Christianity, when the Church was under severe, and almost continual Persecutions, and when all its true Members were of most strict and exemplary Lives, not knowing when they should be call'd to the Stake, or thrown to Wild-Beasts. They communicated Daily, and expected Death hourly; their thoughts were intent upon the next World, they abstain'd almost wholly from all Diversions and pleasures (though lawfull and Innocent) in this. Afterwards when Persecution ceased, and the church flourisht, Christians being then freed from their former Terrors, allow'd themselves, at proper times, the lawfull Recreations of Conversation, and among other (no doubt) this of Shewes and Representations. After this time, the Censures of the Church indeed, might be continued, or revived, upon occasion, against Plays and Players; tho' (in my Opinion) it cannot be understood generally, but only against such Players who were of Vicious and Licencious Lives, and represented profane Subjects, inconsistant with the Morals and probity of Manners requisite to Christians; and frequented chiefly by such loose and Debaucht People, as were much more apt to Corrupt than Divert those who associated with them. I say, I cannot think the Canons and Censures of the Fathers can be applyed to all Players, quatenus Players; for if so how could Plays be continued among the Christians, as they were, of Divine Subjects, and Scriptural Stories? A late French Author, speaking of the Original of the Hotel de Bourgogne (a Play-house in Paris) says that the ancient Dukes of that Name gave it to the Brotherhood of the Passion, established in the Church of Trinity-Hospital in the Rue S. Denis, on condition that they should represent here Interludes of Devotion: And adds that there have been public Shews in this Place 600 Years ago. The Spanish and Portuguize continue still to have, for the most part, such Ecclesiastical Stories, for the Subject of their Plays: And, if we may believe Gage, they are Acted in their Churches in Mexico, and the Spanish West-Indies.

Lovew. That's a great way off, Truman; I had rather you would come nearer Home, and confine your discourse to Old England.

Trum. So I intend. The same has been done here in England; for otherwise how comes it to be prohibited in the 88th Canon, among those past in Convocation, 1603. Certain it is that our ancient Plays were of Religious Subjects, and had for their Actors, (if not Priests) yet Men relating to the Church.

Lovew. How does that appear?

Trum. Nothing clearer. Stow in his Survey of London, has one Chapter of the Sports and Pastimes of old time used in this City; and there he tells us, That in the Year 1391 (which was 15 R. 2.) a Stage-Play was play'd by the Parish-Clerks of London, at the Skinner's-well beside Smithfield, which Play continued, three Days together, the King, Queen, and Nobles of the Realm being present. And another was play'd in the Year 1409, (11 H. 4.) which lasted eight Days, and was of Matter from the Creation of the World; whereat was present most part of the Nobility and Gentry of England. Sir William Dugdale, in his Antiquities of Warwickshire, p. 116, speaking of the Gray-friers (or Franciscans) at Coventry, says, Before the suppression of the Monasteries, this City was very famous for the Pageants that were play'd therein upon Corpus-Christi Day; which Pageants being acted with mighty State and Reverence by the Friers of this House, had Theatres for the several Scenes very large and high, plac'd upon Wheels, and drawn to all the eminent Parts of the City, for the better advantage of the Spectators; and contain'd the Story of the New Testament, composed in old English Rhime. An ancient Manuscript of the same is now to be seen in the Cottonian Library, Sub Effig. Vespat. D. 8. Since the Reformation, in Queen Elizabeth's time, Plays were frequently acted by Quiristers and Singing Boys; and several of our old Comedies have printed in the Title Page, Acted by the Children of Paul's, (not the School, but the Church) others, By the Children of Her Majesty's Chappel; in particular, Cinthias Revels, and the Poetaster were play'd by them; who were at that time famous for good Action. Among Ben. Johnson's Epigrams you may find An Epitaph on S. P.

(Sal Pavy) one of the Children of Queen Elizabeth's Chappel, part of which runs thus,

Years he counted scarce Thirteen

When Fates turn'd Cruel,

Yet three fill'd Zodiacks he had been

The Stages Jewell;

And did act (what now we moan)

Old Men so duly,

As, sooth, the Parc? thought him one,

He play'd so truly.

Some of these Chappel Boys, when they grew Men, became Actors at the Black-friers; such were Nathan Feild, and John Underwood. Now I can hardly imagine that such Plays and Players as these, are included in the severe Censure of the Councils and Fathers; but such only who are truly within the Character given by Didacus de Tapia, cited by Mr. Collier, p. 276, viz. The Infamous Playhouse; a place of contradiction to the strictness and sobriety of Religion; a place hated by God, and haunted by the Devil. And for such I have as great an abhorrance as any man.

Lovew. Can you guess of what Antiquity the representing of Religious Matters, on the Stage, hath been in England?

Trum. How long before the Conquest I know not, but that it was used in London not long after, appears by Fitz-Stevens, an Author who wrote in the reign of King Henry the Second. His words are, Londonia pro spectaculis theatralibus, pro ludis scenicis, ludos habet sanctiores, Representationes miraculorum, qu? sancti Confessores operati sunt, seu Representationes passionum quibus claruit constantia Martyrum. Of this, the Manuscript which I lately mention'd, in the Cottonian Library, is a notable instance. Sir William Dugdale cites this Manuscript, by the Title of Ludus Coventri?; but in the printed Catalogue of that Library, p. 113, it is named thus, A Collection of Plays in old English Metre, h. e. Dramata sacra in quibus exhibentur histori? Veteris & N. Testamenti, introductis quasi in Scenam personis illic memoratis, quas secum invicem colloquentes pro ingenio fingit Poeta. Videntur olim coram populo, sive ad instruendum sive ad placendum, a fratribus mendicantibus repr?sentata. It appears by the latter end of the Prologue, that these Plays or Interludes, were not only play'd at Coventry, but in other Towns and Places upon occasion. And possibly this may be the same Play which Stow tells us was play'd in the reign of King Henry IV., which lasted for Eight Days. The Book seems by the Character and Language to be at least 300 Years old. It begins with a general Prologue, giving the arguments of 40 Pageants or Gesticulations (which were as so many several Acts or Scenes) representing all the Histories of both Testaments, from the Creation, to the choosing of St. Mathias to be an Apostle. The Stories of the New Testament are more largely exprest, viz. The Annunciation, Nativity, Visitation; but more especially all Matters relating to the Passion very particularly, the Resurrection, Ascention, the choice of St. Mathias: After which is also represented the Assumption, and last Judgment. All these things were treated of in a very homely style, (as we now think) infinitely below the Dignity of the Subject: But it seems the Gust of that Age was not so nice and delicate in these Matters; the plain and incurious Judgment of our Ancestors, being prepared with favour, and taking every thing by the right and easiest Handle: For example, in the Scene relating to the Visitation:

Maria. But husband of oo thyng pray you most mekely,

I haue knowing that our Cosyn Elizabeth with childe is,

That it please yow to go to her hastyly,

If ought we myth comfort her it wer to me blys.

Joseph. A Gods sake, is she with child, sche?

Than will her husband Zachary be mery.

In Montana they dwelle, fer hence, so moty the,

In the city of Juda, I know it verily;

It is hence I trowe myles two a fifty,

We ar like to be wery or we come at the same.

I wole with a good will, blessyd wyff Mary;

Now go we forth then in goddys name, &c.

A little before the Resurrection:

Nunc dormient milites, & veniet anima Christi de inferno, cum

Adam & Eva, Abraham, John Baptist, & aliis.

Anima Christi. Come forth Adam, and Eve with the,

And all my fryndes that herein be,

In Paradys come forth with me

In blysse for to dwelle.

The fende of hell that is yowr foo

He shall be wrappyd and woundyn in woo:

Fro wo to welth now shall ye go,

With myrth euer mor to melle.

Adam. I thank the Lord of thy grete grace

That now is forgiuen my gret trespace,

Now shall we dwellyn in blyssful pace, &c.

The last Scene or Pageant, which represents the Day of Judgment, begins thus:

Michael. Surgite, All men aryse,

Venite ad judicium,

For now is set the High Justice,

And hath assignyd the day of Dome:

Kepe you redyly to this grett assyse,

Both gret and small, all and sum,

And of yowr answer you now advise,

What you shall say when that yow com, &c.

These and such like, were the Plays which in former Ages were presented publickly: Whether they had any settled and constant Houses for that purpose, does not appear; I suppose not. But it is notorious that in former times there was hardly ever any Solemn Reception of Princes, or Noble Persons, but Pageants (that is Stages Erected in the open Street) were part of the Entertainment. On which there were Speeches by one or more Persons, in the nature of Scenes; and be sure one of the Speakers must be some Saint of the same Name with the Party to whom the Honour is intended. For instance, there is an ancient Manuscript at Coventry, call'd the Old Leet Book, wherein is set down in a very particular manner, (fo. 168) the reception of Queen Margaret, wife of H. 6, who came to Coventry (and I think, with her, her young Son, Prince Edward) on the Feast of the Exaltation of the Holy-Cross, 35 H. 6. (1456). Many Pageants and Speeches were made for her Welcome; out of all which, I shall observe but two or three, in the Old English, as it is Recorded.

St. Edward. Moder of mekenes, Dame Margarete, princes most excellent,

I King Edward wellcome you with affection cordial,

Certefying to your highnes mekely myn entent,

For the wele of the King and you hertily pray I shall,

And for prince Edward my gostly chylde, who I love principal.

Praying the, John Evangelist, my help therein to be,

On that condition right humbly I giue this Ring to the.

John Evangelist. Holy Edward crowned King, Brother in Verginity,

My power plainly I will prefer thy will to amplefy.

Most excellent princes of wymen mortal, your Bedeman will I be.

I know your Life so vertuous that God is pleased thereby.

The birth of you unto this Reme shall cause great Melody:

The vertuous voice of Prince Edward shall dayly well encrease,

St. Edward his Godfader and I shall pray therefore doubtlese.

St. Margaret. Most notabul princes of wymen earthle,

Dame Margarete, the chefe myrth of this Empyre,

Ye be hertely welcome to this Cyte.

To the plesure of your highnesse I wyll set my desyre;

Both nature and gentlenesse doth me require,

Seth we be both of one name, to shew you kindnesse;

Wherefore by my power ye shall have no distresse.

I shall pray to the Prince that is endlese

To socour you with solas of his high grace;

He will here my petition this is doubtlesse,

For I wrought all my life that his will wace.

Therefore, Lady, when you be in any dredfull case,

Call on me boldly, thereof I pray you,

And trust in me feythfully, I will do that may pay you.

In the next Reign (as appears in the same Book, fo. 221) an other Prince Edward, Son of King Edward the 4, came to Coventry on the 28 of April, 14 E. 4, (1474) and was entertain'd with many Pageants and Speeches, among which I shall observe only two: one was of St. Edward again, who was then made to speak thus,

Noble Prince Edward, my Cousin and my Knight,

And very Prince of our Line com yn dissent,

I Saint Edward have pursued for your faders imperial Right,

Whereof he was excluded by full furious intent.

Unto this your Chamber as prince full excellent

Ye be right welcome. Thanked be Crist of his sonde,

For that that was ours is now in your faders honde.

The other Speech was from St. George; and thus saith the Book.

---Also upon the Condite in the Croscheping was St. George armed, and a kings daughter kneling afore him with a Lamb, and the fader and the moder being in a Towre aboven beholding St. George saving their daughter from the Dragon, and the Condite renning wine in four places, and Minstralcy of Organ playing, and St. George hauing this Speech under-written.

O mighty God our all succour celestiall,

Which this Royme hast given in dower

To thi moder, and to me George protection perpetuall

It to defend from enimys fer and nere,

And as this mayden defended was here

By thy grace from this Dragons devour,

So, Lord preserve this noble prince, and ever be his socour.

Lovew. I perceive these holy Matters consisted very much of Praying; but I pitty poor St. Edward the Confessor, who in the compass of a few Years, was made to promise his favour and assistance to two young Princes of the same Name indeed, but of as different and opposite Interests as the two Poles. I know not how he could perform to both.

Trum. Alas! they were both unhappy, notwithstanding these fine Shews and seeming caresses of Fortune, being both murder'd, one by the Hand, the other by the procurement of Rich. Duke of Glocester. I will produce but one Example more of this sort of Action, or Representations, and that is of later time, and an instance of much higher Nature than any yet mentioned, it was at the marriage of Prince Arthur, eldest Son of king Henry 7. to the Princess Catherine of Spain, An. 1501. Her passage through London was very magnificent, as I have read it described in an old M.S. Chronicle of that time. The Pageants and Speeches were many; the Persons represented St. Catherine, St. Ursula, a Senator, Noblesse, Virtue, an Angel, King Alphonse, Job, Boetius, &c. among others one is thus described.

When this Spech was ended, she held on her way tyll she cam unto the Standard in Chepe, where was ordeyned the fifth Pagend made like an hevyn, theryn syttyng a Personage representing the fader of hevyn, beyng all formyd of Gold, and brennying beffor his trone vii Candyilis of wax standyng in vii Candylstykis of Gold, the said personage beyng environed wyth sundry Hyrarchies off Angelis, and sytting in a Cope of most rich cloth of Tyssu, garnishyd wyth stoon and perle in most sumptuous wyse. Foragain which said Pagend upon the sowth syde of the strete stood at that tyme, in a hows wheryn that tyme dwellyd William Geffrey habyrdasher, the king, the Quene, my Lady the Kingys moder, my Lord of Oxynfford, with many othir Lordys and Ladys, and Perys of this Realm, wyth also certayn Ambassadors of France lately sent from the French King; and so passyng the said Estatys, eyther guyvyng to other due and convenyent Saluts and Countenancs, so sone as hyr grace was approachid unto the sayd Pagend, the fadyr began his Spech as folowyth:

Hunc veneram locum, septeno lumine septum.

Dignumque Arthuri totidem astra micant.

I am begynyng and ende, that made ech creature

My sylfe, and for my sylfe, but man esspecially

Both male and female, made aftyr myne aun fygure,

Whom I joyned togydyr in Matrimony

And that in Paradyse, declaring opynly

That men shall weddyng in my Chyrch solempnize,

Fygurid and signifyed by the erthly Paradyze.

In thys my Chyrch I am allway recydent

As my chyeff tabernacle, and most chosyn place,

Among these goldyn candylstikkis, which represent

My Catholyk Chyrch, shynyng affor my face,

With lyght of feyth, wisdom, doctryne, and grace,

And mervelously eke enflamyd toward me

Wyth the extyngwible fyre of Charyte.

Wherefore, my welbelovid dowgthyr Katharyn,

Syth I have made yow to myne awn semblance

In my Chyrch to be maried, and your noble Childryn

To regn in this land as in their enherytance,

Se that ye have me in speciall remembrance:

Love me and my Chyrch yowr spiritual modyr,

For ye dispysing that oon, dyspyse that othyr.

Look that ye walk in my precepts, and obey them well:

And here I give you the same blyssyng that I

Gave my well beloved chylder of Israell;

Blyssyd be the fruyt of your bely;

Yower substance and frutys I shall encrease and multyply;

Yower rebellious Enimyes I shall put in yowr hand,

Encreasing in honour both yow and yowr land.

Lovew. This would be censured now a days as profane to the highest degree.

Trum. No doubt on't: Yet you see there was a time when People were not so nicely censorious in these Matters, but were willing to take things in the best sence: and then this was thought a noble Entertainment for the greatest King in Europe (such I esteem King H. 7. at that time) and proper for that Day of mighty Joy and Triumph. And I must farther observe out of the Lord Bacon's History of H. 7. that the chief Man who had the care of that Days Proceedings was Bishop Fox, a grave Councelor for War or Peace, and also a good Surveyor of Works, and a good Master of Cerimonies, and it seems he approv'd it. The said Lord Bacon tells us farther, That whosoever had those Toys in compiling, they were not altogether Pedantical.

Lovew. These things however are far from that which we understand by the name of a Play.

Trum. It may be so; but these were the Plays of those times. Afterwards in the Reign of K. H. 8. both the Subject and Form of these Plays began to alter, and have since varied more and more. I have by me, a thing called A merry Play between the Pardoner and the Frere, the Curate and Neybour Pratte. Printed the 5 of April 1533, which was 24 H. 8. (a few Years before the Dissolution of Monasteries). The design of this Play was to redicule Friers and Pardoners. Of which I'll give you a taste. To begin it, the Fryer enters with these Words,

Deus hic; the holy Trynyte

Preserue all that now here be.

Dere bretherne, yf ye will consyder

The Cause why I am com hyder,

Ye wolde be glad to knowe my entent;

For I com not hyther for mony nor for rent,

I com not hyther for meat nor for meale,

But I com hyther for your Soules heale, &c.

After a long Preamble, he addresses himself to Preach, when the Pardoner enters with these Words,

God and St. Leonarde send ye all his grace

As many as ben assembled in this place, &c.

And makes a long Speech, shewing his Bulls and his Reliques, in order to sell his Pardons for the raising some Money towards the rebuilding,

Of the holy Chappell of sweet saynt Leonarde,

Which late by fyre was destroyed and marde.

Both these speaking together, with continual interruption, at last they fall together by the Ears. Here the Curate enters (for you must know the Scene lies

in the Church)

Hold your hands; a vengeance on ye both two

That euer ye came hyther to make this ado,

To polute my Chyrche, &c.

Fri. Mayster Parson, I marvayll ye will give Lycence

To this false knaue in this Audience

To publish his ragman rolles with lyes.

I desyred hym ywys more than ones or twyse

To hold his peas tyll that I had done,

But he would here no more than the man in the mone.

Pard. Why sholde I suffre the, more than thou me?

Mayster parson gaue me lycence before the.

And I wolde thou knowest it I have relykes here,

Other maner stuffe than thou dost bere:

I wyll edefy more with the syght of it,

Than will all thy pratynge of holy wryt;

For that except that the precher himselfe lyve well,

His predycacyon wyll helpe never a dell, &c.

Pars. No more of this wranglyng in my Chyrch:

I shrewe your hertys bothe for this lurche.

Is there any blood shed here between these knaues?

Thanked be god they had no stauys,

Nor egotoles, for then it had ben wronge.

Well, ye shall synge another songe.

Here he calls his Neighbour Prat the Constable, with design to apprehend 'em, and set 'em in the Stocks. But the Frier and Pardoner prove sturdy, and will not be stockt, but fall upon the poor Parson and Constable, and bang 'em both so well-favour'dly, that at last they are glad to let 'em go at liberty: And so the Farce ends with a drawn Battail. Such as this were the Plays of that Age, acted in Gentlemens Halls at Christmas, or such like festival times, by the Servants of the Family, or Strowlers who went about and made it a Trade. It is not unlikely that[2] Lords in those days, and Persons of eminent Quality, had their several Gangs of Players, as some have now of Fidlers, to whom they give Cloaks and Badges. The first Comedy that I have seen that looks like regular, is Gammer Gurton's Needle, writ I think in the reign of King Edward 6. This is composed of five Acts, the Scenes unbroken, and the unities of Time and Place duly observed. It was acted at Christ Colledge in Cambridge; there not being as yet any settled and publick Theaters.

Lovew. I observe, Truman, from what you have said, that Plays in England had a beginning much like those of Greece, the Monologues and the Pageants drawn from place to place on Wheels, answer exactly to the Cart of Thespis, and the Improvements have been by such little steps and degrees as among the Ancients, till at last, to use the Words of Sir George Buck (in his Third University of England) Dramatick Poesy is so lively exprest and represented upon the publick Stages and Theatres of this City, as Rome in the Auge (the highest pitch) of her Pomp and Glory, never saw it better perform'd, I mean (says he) in respect of the Action and Art, and not of the Cost and Sumptiousness. This he writ about the Year 1631. But can you inform me Truman, when publick Theaters were first erected for this purpose in London?

Trum. Not certainly; but I presume about the beginning of Queen Elizabeths Reign. For Stow in his Survey of London (which Book was first printed in the Year 1598) says, Of late Years, in place of these Stage-plays (i. e. those of Religious Matters) have been used Comedies, Tragedies, Interludes, and Histories, both true and feigned; for the acting whereof certain publick Places, as the Theatre, the Curtine, &c. have been erected. And the continuator of Stows Annals, p. 1004, says, That in Sixty Years before the publication of that Book, (which was An. Dom. 1629) no less than 17 publick Stages, or common Playhouses, had been built in and about London. In which number he reckons five Inns or Common Osteries, to have been in his time turned into Play-houses, one Cockpit, St. Paul's singing School, one in the Black-friers, one in the Whitefriers, and one in former time at Newington Buts; and adds, before the space of 60 years past, I never knew, heard, or read, of any such Theaters, set Stages, or Playhouses, as have been purposely built within Man's Memory.

Lovew. After all, I have been told, that Stage-Plays are inconsistant with the Laws of this Kingdom, and Players made Rogues by Statute.

Trum. He that told you so strain'd a point of Truth. I never met with any Law wholly to suppress them: Sometimes indeed they have been prohibited for a Season; as in times of Lent, general Mourning or publick Calamities, or upon other occasions, when the Government saw fit. Thus by Proclamation, 7 of April, in the first Year of Queen Elizabeth, Plays and Interludes were forbid till All hallow-tide next following. Hollinshed, p. 1184. Some Statutes have been made for their Regulation or Reformation, not general suppression. By the Stat. 39 Eliz. c. 4, (which was made for the suppressing of Rogues, Vagabonds and sturdy Beggars) it is enacted,

S. 2, That all persons that be, or utter themselves to be, Proctors, Procurers, Patent gatherers, or Collectors for Gaols, Prisons or Hospitals, or Fencers, Barewards, common players of Interludes and Ministrels, wandering abroad, (other than Players of Interludes belonging to any Baron of this Realm, or any other honourable Personage of greater Degree, to be authoriz'd to play under the Hand and Seal of Arms of such Baron or Personage) All Juglers, Tinkers, Pedlers, and Petty chapmen, wandering abroad, all wandring Persons, &c. able in Body, using loytering, and refusing to work for such reasonable Wages as is commonly given, &c. These shall be ajudged and deemed Rogues, Vagabonds and sturdy Beggars, and punished as such.

Lovew. But this priviledge of Authorizing or Licensing, is taken away by the Stat. 1 Ja. 1. ch. 7, S. 1, and therefore all of them (as Mr. Collier says, p. 242) are expresly brought under the foresaid Penalty, without distinction.

Trum. If he means all Players, without distinction, 'tis a great Mistake. For the force of the Queens Statute extends only to wandring Players, and not to such as are the King or Queen's Servants, and establisht in settled Houses by Royal Authority. On such, the ill Character of vagrant Players (or as they are now called, Strolers) can cast no more aspersion, than the wandring Proctors, in the same Statute mentioned, on those of Doctors-Commons. By a Stat. made 3 Ja. I. ch. 21. It was enacted,

That if any person shall in any Stage-play, Enterlude, Shew, Maygame, or Pageant, jestingly or prophanely speak or use the holy name of God, Christ Jesus, the holy Ghost, or of the Trinity, he shall forfeit for every such offence, 10l.

The Stat. 1 Char. I. ch. 1, enacts,

That no Meetings, Assemblies, or concourse of People shall be out of their own Parishes, on the Lords day, for any Sports or Pastimes whatsoever, nor any Bear-bating, Bull-bating, Enterludes, Common Plays, or other unlawful Exercises and Pastimes used by any person or persons within their own Parishes.

These are all the Statutes that I can think of relating to the Stage and Players; but nothing to suppress them totally, till the two Ordinances of the Long Parliament, one of the 22 of October 1647, the other of the 11 of Feb. 1647. By which all Stage-Plays and Interludes are absolutely forbid; the Stages, Seats, Galleries, &c. to be pulled down; all Players tho' calling themselves the King or Queens Servants, if convicted of acting within two Months before such Conviction, to be punished as Rogues according to Law; the Money received by them to go to the Poor of the Parish; and every Spectator to Pay 5s. to the use of the Poor. Also Cock-fighting was prohibited by one of Oliver's Acts of 31 Mar. 1654. But I suppose no body pretends these things to be Laws; I could say more on this Subject, but I must break off here, and leave you, Lovewit; my Occasions require it.

Love. Farewel, Old Cavalier.

Trum. 'Tis properly said; we are almost all of us, now, gone and forgotten.

* * *

LETTERS PATENT FOR ERECTING A NEW THEATRE

15 January, 14 Car. II. 1662.

A Copy of the Letters Patents then granted by King Charles II. under the Great Seal of England, to Sir William D'avenant, Knt. his Heirs and Assigns, for erecting a new Theatre, and establishing of a company of actors in any place within London or Westminster, or the Suburbs of the same: And that no other but this company, and one other company, by virtue of a like Patent, to Thomas Killigrew, Esq.; should be permitted within the said liberties.

Charles the second, by the Grace of God, king of England, Scotland, France, and Ireland, defender of the faith, &c. to all to whom all these presents shall come, greeting.

Recites former patents, 14 Car. I. ann. 1639, to Sir Will. D'avenant.

Whereas our royal father of glorious memory, by his letters patents under his great seal of England bearing date at Westminster the 26th day of March, in the 14th year of his reign, did give and grant unto Sir William D'avenant (by the name of William D'avenant, gent.) his heirs, executors, administrators, and assigns, full power, licence, and authority, That he, they, and every of them, by him and themselves, and by all and every such person and persons as he or they should depute or appoint, and his and their laborers, servants, and workmen, should and might, lawfully, quietly, and peaceably, frame, erect, new build, and set up, upon a parcel of ground, lying near unto or behind the Three Kings ordinary in Fleet-street, in the parishes of St. Dunstan's in the West, London; or in St. Bride's, London; or in either of them, or in any other ground in or about that place, or in the whole street aforesaid, then allotted to him for that use; or in any other place that was, or then after should be assigned or allotted out to the said Sir William D'avenant by Thomas Earl of Arundel and Surry, then Earl Marshal of England, or any other commissioner for building, for the time being in that behalf, a theatre or play-house, with necessary tiring and retiring rooms, and other places convenient, containing in the whole forty yards square at the most, wherein plays, musical entertainments, scenes, or other the like presentments might be presented. And our said royal father did grant unto the said Sir William D'avenant, his heirs, executors, and administrators and assignes, that it should and might be lawful to and for him the said Sir William D'avenant, his heirs, executors, administrators, and assignes, from time to time, to gather together, entertain, govern, privilege, and keep, such and so many players and persons to exercise actions, musical presentments, scenes, dancing, and the like, as he the said Sir William D'avenant, his heirs, executors, administrators, or assignes, should think fit and approve for the said house. And such persons to permit and continue, at and during the pleasure of the said Sir William D'avenant, his heirs, executors, administrators, or assignes, from time to time, to act plays in such house so to be by him or them erected, and exercise musick, musical presentments, scenes, dancing, or other the like, at the same or other houses or times, or after plays are ended, peaceably and quietly, without the impeachment or impediment of any person or persons whatsoever, for the honest recreation of such as should desire to see the same; and that it should and might be lawful to and for the said Sir William D'avenant, his heirs, executors, administrators, and assigns, to take and receive of such as should resort to see or hear any such plays, scenes, and entertainments whatsoever, such sum or sums of money as was or then after, from time to time, should be accustomed to be given or taken in other play-houses and places for the like plays, scenes, presentments, and entertainments as in and by the said letters patents, relation being thereunto had, more at large may appear.

13 Car. II. exemplification of said letters patents.

And whereas we did, by our letters patents under the great seal of England, bearing date the 16th day of May, in the 13th year of our reign, exemplifie the said recited letters patents granted by our royal father, as in and by the same, relation being thereunto had, at large may appear.

Surrender of both to the king in the court of Chancery.

And whereas the said Sir William D'avenant hath surrendered our letters patents of exemplification, and also the said recited letters patents granted by our royal father, into our Court of Chancery, to be cancelled; which surrender we have accepted, and do accept by these presents.

New grant to Sir William D'avenant, his heirs and assignes.

To erect a theatre in London or Westminster, or the suburbs.

Know ye that we of our especial grace, certain knowledge, and meer motion, and upon the humble petition of the said Sir William D'avenant, and in consideration of the good and faithful service which he the said Sir William D'avenant hath done unto us, and doth intend to do for the future; and in consideration of the said surrender, have given and granted, and by these presents, for us, our heirs and successors, do give and grant, unto the said Sir William D'avenant, his heirs, executors, administrators, and assigns, full power, licence, and authority, that he, they, and every one of them, by him and themselves, and by all and every such person and persons as he or they should depute or appoint, and his or their labourers, servants, and workmen, shall and may lawfully, peaceably, and quietly, frame, erect, new build, and set up, in any place within our cities of London and Westminster, or the suburbs thereof, where he or they shall find best accommodation for that purpose; to be assigned and allotted out by the surveyor of our works; one theatre or play-house, with necessary tiring and retiring rooms, and other places convenient, of such extent and dimention as the said Sir William D'avenant, his heirs or assigns shall think fitting: wherein tragedies, comedies, plays, operas, musick, scenes, and all other entertainments of the stage whatsoever, may be shewed and presented.

And to entertain players, &c. to act without the impeachment of any person.

And we do hereby, for us, our heirs and successors, grant unto the said Sir William D'avenant, his heirs and assigns, full power, licence, and authority, from time to time, to gather together, entertain, govern, priviledge and keep, such and so many players and persons to exercise and act tragedies, comedies, plays, operas, and other performances of the stage, within the house to be built as aforesaid, or within the house in Lincoln's-Inn-Fields, wherein the said Sir William D'avenant doth now exercise the premises; or within any other house, where he or they can best be fitted for that purpose, within our cities of London and Westminster, or the suburbs thereof; which said company shall be the servants of our dearly beloved brother, James Duke of York, and shall consist of such number as the said Sir William D'avenant, his heirs or assigns, shall from time to time think meet. And such persons to permit and continue at and during the pleasure of the said Sir William D'avenant, his heirs or assigns, from time to time, to act plays and entertainments of the stage, of all sorts, peaceably and quietly, without the impeachment or impediment of any person or persons whatsoever, for the honest recreation of such as shall desire to see the same.

And that it shall and may be lawful to and for the said Sir William D'avenant, his heirs and assigns, to take and receive of such our subjects as shall resort to see or hear any such plays, scenes and entertainments whatsoever, such sum or sums of money, as either have accustomably been given and taken in the like kind, or as shall be thought reasonable by him or them, in regard of the great expences of scenes, musick, and such new decorations, as have not been formerly used.

And further, for us, our heirs, and successors, we do hereby give and grant unto the said Sir William D'avenant, his heirs and assigns, full power to make such allowances out of that which he shall so receive, by the acting of plays and entertainments of the stage, as aforesaid, to the actors and other persons imployed in acting, representing, or in any quality whatsoever, about the said theatre, as he or they shall think fit; and that the said company shall be under the sole government and authority of the said Sir William D'avenant, his heirs and assigns. And all scandalous and mutinous persons shall from time to time be by him and them ejected and disabled from playing in the said theatre.

That no other company but this, and one other under Mr. Killigrew, be permitted to act within London or Westminster or the suburbs.

And for that we are informed that divers companies of players have taken upon them to act plays publicly in our said cities of London and Westminster, or the suburbs thereof, without any authority for that purpose; we do hereby declare our dislike of the same, and will and grant that only the said company erected and set up, or to be erected and set up by the said Sir William D'avenant, his heirs and assigns, by virtue of these presents, and one other company erected and set up, or to be erected and set up by Thomas Killigrew, Esq., his heirs or assigns, and none other, shall from henceforth act or represent comedies, tragedies, plays, or entertainments of the stage, within our said cities of London and Westminster, or the suburbs thereof; which said company to be erected by the said Thomas Killigrew, his heirs or assigns, shall be subject to his and their government and authority, and shall be stiled the Company of Us and our Royal Consort.

No actor to go from one company to the other.

And the better to preserve amity and correspondency betwixt the said companies, and that the one may not incroach upon the other by any indirect means, we will and ordain, That no actor or other person employed about either of the said theatres, erected by the said Sir William D'avenant and Thomas Killigrew, or either of them, or deserting his company, shall be received by the governor or any of the said other company, or any other person or persons, to be employed in acting, or in any matter relating to the stage, without the consent and approbation of the governor of the company, whereof the said person so ejected or deserting was a member, signified under his hand and seal. And we do by these presents declare all other company and companies, saving the two companies before mentioned, to be silenced and suppressed.

To correct plays, &c.

And forasmuch as many plays, formerly acted, do contain several prophane, obscene, and scurrilous passages; and the womens parts therein have been acted by men in the habits of women, at which some have taken offence: for the preventing of these abuses for the future, we do hereby straitly charge and command and enjoyn, that from henceforth no new play shall be acted by either of the said companies, containing any passages offensive to piety and good manners, nor any old or revived play, containing any such offensive passages as aforesaid, until the same shall be corrected and purged, by the said masters or governors of the said respective companies, from all such offensive and scandalous passages, as aforesaid. And we do likewise permit and give leave that all the womens parts to be acted in either of the said two companies for the time to come, may be performed by women, so long as these recreations, which, by reason of the abuses aforesaid, were scandalous and offensive, may by such reformation be esteemed, not only harmless delights, but useful and instructive representations of humane life, to such of our good subjects as shall resort to see the same.

These letters patents to be good and effectual in the law, according to the true meaning of the same, although, &c.

And these our letters patents, or the inrolment thereof, shall be in all things good and effectual in the law, according to the true intent and meaning of the same, any thing in these presents contained, or any law, statute, act, ordinance proclamation, provision, restriction, or any other matter, cause, or thing whatsoever to the contrary, in any wise notwithstanding; although express mention of the true yearly value, or certainty of the premises, or of any of them, or of any other gifts or grants by us, or by any of our progenitors or predecessors, heretofore made to the said Sir William D'avenant in these presents, is not made, or any other statute, act, ordinance, provision, proclamation, or restriction heretofore had, made, enacted, ordained, or provided, or any other matter, cause, or thing whatsoever to the contrary thereof, in any wise notwithstanding. In witness whereof, we have caused these our letters to be made patents. Witness our self at Westminster, the fifteenth day of January, in the fourteenth year of our reign.

By the King.

HOWARD.

* * *

AN

APOLOGY

FOR THE

LIFE

OF

Mr. Colley Cibber, Comedian,

AND

Late Patentee of the Theatre-Royal.

With an Historical View of the Stage during

his Own Time.

* * *

Written by Himself.

* * *

--------- Hoc est

Vivere bis, vita posse priore frui.

When Years no more of active Life retain,

'Tis Youth renew'd, to laugh 'em o'er again.

Mart. lib. 2.

Anonym.

* * *

The Second Edition.

* * *

* * *

LONDON:

Printed by John Watts for the Author:

And Sold by W. Lewis in Russel-Street, near

Convent-Garden.

* * *

MDCCXL.

* * *

TO A CERTAIN GENTLEMAN.[3]

SIR,

Because I know it would give you less Concern to find your Name in an impertinent Satyr, than before the daintiest Dedication of a modern Author, I conceal it.

Let me talk never so idly to you, this way; you are, at least, under no necessity of taking it to yourself: Nor when I boast of your favours, need you blush to have bestow'd them. Or I may now give you all the Attributes that raise a wise and good-natur'd Man to Esteem and Happiness, and not be censured as a Flatterer by my own or your Enemies. -- I place my own first; because as they are the greater Number, I am afraid of not paying the greater Respect to them. Yours, if such there are, I imagine are too well-bred to declare themselves: But as there is no Hazard or visible Terror in an Attack upon my defenceless Station, my Censurers have generally been Persons of an intrepid Sincerity. Having therefore shut the Door against them while I am thus privately addressing you, I have little to apprehend from either of them.

Under this Shelter, then, I may safely tell you, That the greatest Encouragement I have had to publish this Work, has risen from the several Hours of Patience you have lent me at the Reading it. It is true, I took the Advantage of your Leisure in the Country, where moderate Matters serve for Amusement; and there, indeed, how far your Good-nature for an old Acquaintance, or your Reluctance to put the Vanity of an Author out of countenance, may have carried you, I cannot be sure; and yet Appearances give me stronger Hopes: For was not the Complaisance of a whole Evening's Attention as much as an Author of more Importance ought to have expected? Why then was I desired the next Day to give you a second Lecture? Or why was I kept a third Day with you, to tell you more of the same Story? If these Circumstances have made me vain, shall I say, Sir, you are accountable for them? No, Sir, I will rather so far flatter myself as to suppose it possible, That your having been a Lover of the Stage (and one of those few good Judges who know the Use and Value of it, under a right Regulation) might incline you to think so copious an Account of it a less tedious Amusement, than it may naturally be to others of different good Sense, who may have less Concern or Taste for it. But be all this as it may; the Brat is now born, and rather than see it starve upon the Bare Parish Provision, I chuse thus clandestinely to drop it at your Door, that it may exercise One of your Many Virtues, your Charity, in supporting it.

If the World were to know into whose Hands I have thrown it, their Regard to its Patron might incline them to treat it as one of his Family: But in the Consciousness of what I am, I chuse not, Sir, to say who you are. If your Equal in Rank were to do publick Justice to your Character, then, indeed, the Concealment of your Name might be an unnecessary Diffidence: But am I, Sir, of Consequence enough, in any Guise, to do Honour to Mr. --? Were I to set him in the most laudable Lights that Truth and good Sense could give him, or his own Likeness would require, my officious Mite would be lost in that general Esteem and Regard which People of the first Consequence, even of different Parties, have a Pleasure in paying him. Encomiums to Superiors from Authors of lower Life, as they are naturally liable to Suspicion, can add very little Lustre to what before was visible to the publick Eye: Such Offerings (to use the Stile they are generally dressed in) like Pagan Incense, evaporate on the Altar, and rather gratify the Priest than the Deity.

But you, Sir, are to be approached in Terms within the Reach of common Sense: The honest Oblation of a chearful Heart is as much as you desire or I am able to bring you: A Heart that has just Sense enough to mix Respect with Intimacy, and is never more delighted than when your rural Hours of Leisure admit me, with all my laughing Spirits, to be my idle self, and in the whole Day's Possession of you! Then, indeed, I have Reason to be vain; I am, then, distinguish'd by a Pleasure too great to be conceal'd, and could almost pity the Man of graver Merit that dares not receive it with the same unguarded Transport! This Nakedness of Temper the World may place in what Rank of Folly or Weakness they please; but 'till Wisdom can give me something that will make me more heartily happy, I am content to be gaz'd at as I am, without lessening my Respect for those whose Passions may be more soberly covered.

Yet, Sir, will I not deceive you; 'tis not the Lustre of your publick Merit, the Affluence of your Fortune, your high Figure in Life, nor those honourable Distinctions, which you had rather deserve than be told of, that have so many Years made my plain Heart hang after you: These are but incidental Ornaments, that, 'tis true, may be of Service to you in the World's Opinion; and though, as one among the Crowd, I may rejoice that Providence has so deservedly bestow'd them; yet my particular Attachment has risen from a meer natural and more engaging Charm, The Agreeable Companion! Nor is my Vanity half so much gratified in the Honour, as my Sense is in the Delight of your Society! When I see you lay aside the Advantages of Superiority, and by your own Chearfulness of Spirits call out all that Nature has given me to meet them; then 'tis I taste you! then Life runs high! I desire! I possess you!

Yet, Sir, in this distinguish'd Happiness I give not up my farther Share of that Pleasure, or of that Right I have to look upon you with the publick Eye, and to join in the general Regard so unanimously pay'd to that uncommon Virtue, your Integrity! This, Sir, the World allows so conspicuous a Part of your Character, that, however invidious the Merit, neither the rude License of Detraction, nor the Prejudice of Party, has ever once thrown on it the least Impeachment or Reproach. This is that commanding Power that, in publick Speaking, makes you heard with such Attention! This it is that discourages and keeps silent the Insinuations of Prejudice and Suspicion; and almost renders your Eloquence an unnecessary Aid to your Assertions: Even your Opponents, conscious of your Integrity, hear you rather as a Witness than an Orator-But this, Sir, is drawing you too near the Light, Integrity is too particular a Virtue to be cover'd with a general Application. Let me therefore only talk to you, as at Tusculum (for so I will call that sweet Retreat, which your own Hands have rais'd) where like the fam'd Orator of old, when publick Cares permit, you pass so many rational, unbending Hours: There! and at such Times, to have been admitted, still plays in my Memory more like a fictitious than a real Enjoyment! How many golden Evenings, in that Theatrical Paradise of water'd Lawns and hanging Groves, have I walk'd and prated down the Sun in social Happiness! Whether the Retreat of Cicero, in Cost, Magnificence, or curious Luxury of Antiquities, might not out-blaze the simplex Munditiis, the modest Ornaments of your Villa, is not within my reading to determine: But that the united Power of Nature, Art, or Elegance of Taste, could have thrown so many varied Objects into a more delightful Harmony, is beyond my Conception.

When I consider you in this View, and as the Gentleman of Eminence surrounded with the general Benevolence of Mankind; I rejoice, Sir, for you and for myself; to see You in this particular Light of Merit, and myself sometimes admitted to my more than equal Share of you.

If this Apology for my past Life discourages you not from holding me in your usual Favour, let me quit this greater Stage, the World, whenever I may, I shall think This the best-acted Part of any I have undertaken, since you first condescended to laugh with,

SIR,

Your most obedient,

most obliged, and

most humble Servant,

Colley Cibber.

Novemb. 6.

The Introduction. The Author's Birth. Various Fortune at School. Not lik'd by those he lov'd there. Why. A Digression upon Raillery. The Use and Abuse of it. The Comforts of Folly. Vanity of Greatness. Laughing, no bad Philosophy.

You know, Sir, I have often told you that one time or other I should give the Publick some Memoirs of my own Life; at which you have never fail'd to laugh, like a Friend, without saying a word to dissuade me from it; concluding, I suppose, that such a wild Thought could not possibly require a serious Answer. But you see I was in earnest. And now you will say the World will find me, under my own Hand, a weaker Man than perhaps I may have pass'd for, even among my Enemies.-With all my Heart! my Enemies will then read me with Pleasure, and you, perhaps, with Envy, when you find that Follies, without the Reproach of Guilt upon them, are not inconsistent with Happiness.-But why make my Follies publick? Why not? I have pass'd my Time very pleasantly with them, and I don't recollect that they have ever been hurtful to any other Man living. Even admitting they were injudiciously chosen, would it not be Vanity in me to take Shame to myself for not being found a Wise Man? Really, Sir, my Appetites were in too much haste to be happy, to throw away my Time in pursuit of a Name I was sure I could never arrive at.

Now the Follies I frankly confess I look upon as in some measure discharged; while those I conceal are still keeping the Account open between me and my Conscience. To me the Fatigue of being upon a continual Guard to hide them is more than the Reputation of being without them can repay. If this be Weakness, defendit numerus, I have such comfortable Numbers on my side, that were all Men to blush that are not Wise, I am afraid, in Ten, Nine Parts of the World ought to be out of Countenance:[5] But since that sort of Modesty is what they don't care to come into, why should I be afraid of being star'd at for not being particular? Or if the Particularity lies in owning my Weakness, will my wisest Reader be so inhuman as not to pardon it? But if there should be such a one, let me at least beg him to shew me that strange Man who is perfect! Is any one more unhappy, more ridiculous, than he who is always labouring to be thought so, or that is impatient when he is not thought so? Having brought myself to be easy under whatever the World may say of my Undertaking, you may still ask me why I give myself all this trouble? Is it for Fame, or Profit to myself,[6] or Use or Delight to others? For all these Considerations I have neither Fondness nor Indifference: If I obtain none of them, the Amusement, at worst, will be a Reward that must constantly go along with the Labour. But behind all this there is something inwardly inciting, which I cannot express in few Words; I must therefore a little make bold with your Patience.

A Man who has pass'd above Forty Years of his Life upon a Theatre, where he has never appear'd to be Himself, may have naturally excited the Curiosity of his Spectators to know what he really was when in no body's Shape but his own; and whether he, who by his Profession had so long been ridiculing his Benefactors, might not, when the Coat of his Profession was off, deserve to be laugh'd at himself; or from his being often seen in the most flagrant and immoral Characters, whether he might not see as great a Rogue when he look'd into the Glass himself as when he held it to others.

It was doubtless from a Supposition that this sort of Curiosity wou'd compensate their Labours that so many hasty Writers have been encourag'd to publish the Lives of the late Mrs. Oldfield, Mr. Wilks, and Mr. Booth, in less time after their Deaths than one could suppose it cost to transcribe them.[7]

Now, Sir, when my Time comes, lest they shou'd think it worth while to handle my Memory with the same Freedom, I am willing to prevent its being so odly besmear'd (or at best but flatly white-wash'd) by taking upon me to give the Publick This, as true a Picture of myself as natural Vanity will permit me to draw: For to promise you that I shall never be vain, were a Promise that, like a Looking-glass too large, might break itself in the making: Nor am I sure I ought wholly to avoid that Imputation, because if Vanity be one of my natural Features, the Portrait wou'd not be like me without it. In a Word, I may palliate and soften as much as I please; but upon an honest Examination of my Heart, I am afraid the same Vanity which makes even homely People employ Painters to preserve a flattering Record of their Persons, has seduced me to print off this Chiaro Oscuro of my Mind.

And when I have done it, you may reasonably ask me of what Importance can the History of my private Life be to the Publick? To this, indeed, I can only make you a ludicrous Answer, which is, That the Publick very well knows my Life has not been a private one; that I have been employ'd in their Service ever since many of their Grandfathers were young Men; And tho' I have voluntarily laid down my Post, they have a sort of Right to enquire into my Conduct (for which they have so well paid me) and to call for the Account of it during my Share of Administration in the State of the Theatre. This Work, therefore, which I hope they will not expect a Man of hasty Head shou'd confine to any regular Method: (For I shall make no scruple of leaving my History when I think a Digression may make it lighter for my Reader's Digestion.) This Work, I say, shall not only contain the various Impressions of my Mind, (as in Louis the Fourteenth his Cabinet you have seen the growing Medals of his Person from Infancy to Old Age,) but shall likewise include with them the Theatrical History of my Own Time, from my first Appearance on the Stage to my last Exit.[8]

If then what I shall advance on that Head may any ways contribute to the Prosperity or Improvement of the Stage in Being, the Publick must of consequence have a Share in its Utility.

This, Sir, is the best Apology I can make for being my own Biographer. Give me leave therefore to open the first Scene of my Life from the very Day I came into it; and tho' (considering my Profession) I have no reason to be asham'd of my Original; yet I am afraid a plain dry Account of it will scarce admit of a better Excuse than what my brother Bays makes for Prince Prettyman in the Rehearsal, viz. I only do it for fear I should be thought to be no body's Son at all;[9] for if I have led a worthless Life, the Weight of my Pedigree will not add an Ounce to my intrinsic Value. But be the Inference what it will, the simple Truth is this.

I was born in London, on the 6th of November 1671,[10] in Southampton-Street, facing Southampton-House.[11]

My Father, Caius Gabriel Cibber,[12] was a Native of Holstein, who came into England some time before the Restoration of King Charles II. to follow his Profession, which was that of a Statuary, &c. The Basso Relievo on the Pedestal of the Great Column in the City, and the two Figures of the Lunaticks, the Raving and the Melancholy, over the Gates of Bethlehem-Hospital,[13] are no ill Monuments of his Fame as an artist. My Mother was the Daughter of William Colley, Esq; of a very ancient Family of Glaiston in Rutlandshire, where she was born. My Mother's Brother, Edward Colley, Esq; (who gave me my Christian Name) being the last Heir Male of it, the Family is now extinct. I shall only add, that in Wright's History of Rutlandshire, publish'd in 1684, the Colley's are recorded as Sheriffs and Members of Parliament from the Reign of Henry VII. to the latter End of Charles I., in whose Cause chiefly Sir Antony Colley, my Mother's Grandfather, sunk his Estate from Three Thousand to about Three Hundred per Annum.[14]

In the Year 1682, at little more than Ten Years of Age, I was sent to the Free-School of Grantham in Lincolnshire, where I staid till I got through it, from the lowest Form to the uppermost. And such Learning as that School could give me is the most I pretend to (which, tho' I have not utterly forgot, I cannot say I have much improv'd by Study) but even there I remember I was the same inconsistent Creature I have been ever since! always in full Spirits, in some small Capacity to do right, but in a more frequent Alacrity to do wrong; and consequently often under a worse Character than I wholly deserv'd: A giddy Negligence always possess'd me, and so much, that I remember I was once whipp'd for my Theme, tho' my Master told me, at the same time, what was good of it was better than any Boy's in the Form. And (whatever Shame it may be to own it) I have observ'd the same odd Fate has frequently attended the course of my later Conduct in Life. The unskilful openness, or in plain Terms, the Indiscretion I have always acted with from my Youth, has drawn more ill-will towards me, than Men of worse Morals and more Wit might have met with. My Ignorance and want of Jealousy of Mankind has been so strong, that it is with Reluctance I even yet believe any Person I am acquainted with can be capable of Envy, Malice, or Ingratitude:[15] And to shew you what a Mortification it was to me, in my very boyish Days, to find myself mistaken, give me leave to tell you a School Story.

A great Boy, near the Head taller than myself, in some wrangle at Play had insulted me; upon which I was fool-hardy enough to give him a Box on the Ear; the Blow was soon return'd with another that brought me under him and at his Mercy. Another Lad, whom I really lov'd and thought a good-natur'd one, cry'd out with some warmth to my Antagonist (while I was down) Beat him, beat him soundly! This so amaz'd me that I lost all my Spirits to resist, and burst into Tears! When the Fray was over I took my Friend aside, and ask'd him, How he came to be so earnestly against me? To which, with some glouting[16] Confusion, he reply'd, Because you are always jeering and making a Jest of me to every Boy in the School. Many a Mischief have I brought upon myself by the same Folly in riper Life. Whatever Reason I had to reproach my Companion's declaring against me, I had none to wonder at it while I was so often hurting him: Thus I deserv'd his Enmity by my not having Sense enough to know I had hurt him; and he hated me because he had not Sense enough to know that I never intended to hurt him.

As this is the first remarkable Error of my Life I can recollect, I cannot pass it by without throwing out some further Reflections upon it; whether flat or spirited, new or common, false or true, right or wrong, they will be still my own, and consequently like me; I will therefore boldly go on; for I am only oblig'd to give you my own, and not a good Picture, to shew as well the Weakness as the Strength of my Understanding. It is not on what I write, but on my Reader's Curiosity I relie to be read through: At worst, tho' the Impartial may be tir'd, the Ill-natur'd (no small number) I know will see the bottom of me.

What I observ'd then, upon my having undesignedly provok'd my School-Friend into an Enemy, is a common Case in Society; Errors of this kind often sour the Blood of Acquaintance into an inconceivable Aversion, where it is little suspected. It is not enough to say of your Raillery that you intended no offence; if the Person you offer it to has either a wrong Head, or wants a Capacity to make that distinction, it may have the same effect as the Intention of the grossest Injury: And in reality, if you know his Parts are too slow to return it in kind, it is a vain and idle Inhumanity, and sometimes draws the Aggressor into difficulties not easily got out of: Or to give the Case more scope, suppose your Friend may have a passive Indulgence for your Mirth, if you find him silent at it; tho' you were as intrepid as C?sar, there can be no excuse for your not leaving it off. When you are conscious that your Antagonist can give as well as take, then indeed the smarter the Hit the more agreeable the Party: A Man of chearful Sense among Friends will never be grave upon an Attack of this kind, but rather thank you that you have given him a Right to be even with you: There are few Men (tho' they may be Masters of both) that on such occasions had not rather shew their Parts than their Courage, and the Preference is just; a Bull-Dog may have one, and only a Man can have the other. Thus it happens that in the coarse Merriment of common People, when the Jest begins to swell into earnest; for want of this Election you may observe, he that has least wit generally gives the first Blow. Now, as among the Better sort, a readiness of Wit is not always a Sign of intrinsick Merit; so the want of that readiness is no Reproach to a Man of plain Sense and Civility, who therefore (methinks) should never have these lengths of Liberty taken with him. Wit there becomes absurd, if not insolent; ill-natur'd I am sure it is, which Imputation a generous Spirit will always avoid, for the same Reason that a Man of real Honour will never send a Challenge to a Cripple. The inward Wounds that are given by the inconsiderate Insults of Wit to those that want it, are as dangerous as those given by Oppression to Inferiors; as long in healing, and perhaps never forgiven. There is besides (and little worse than this) a mutual Grossness in Raillery that sometimes is more painful to the Hearers that are not concern'd in it than to the Persons engaged. I have seen a couple of these clumsy Combatants drub one another with as little Manners or Mercy as if they had two Flails in their Hands; Children at Play with Case-knives could not give you more Apprehension of their doing one another a Mischief. And yet, when the Contest has been over, the Boobys have look'd round them for Approbation, and upon being told they were admirably well match'd, have sat down (bedawb'd as they were) contented at making it a drawn Battle. After all that I have said, there is no clearer way of giving Rules for Raillery than by Example.

There are two Persons now living, who tho' very different in their manner, are, as far as my Judgment reaches, complete Masters of it; one of a more polite and extensive Imagination, the other of a Knowledge more closely useful to the Business of Life: The one gives you perpetual Pleasure, and seems always to be taking it; the other seems to take none till his Business is over, and then gives you as much as if Pleasure were his only Business. The one enjoys his Fortune, the other thinks it first necessary to make it; though that he will enjoy it then I cannot be positive, because when a Man has once pick'd up more than he wants, he is apt to think it a Weakness to suppose he has enough. But as I don't remember ever to have seen these Gentlemen in the same Company, you must give me leave to take them separately.[17]

The first of them, then, has a Title, and-- no matter what; I am not to speak of the great, but the happy part of his Character, and in this one single light; not of his being an illustrious, but a delightful Companion.

In Conversation he is seldom silent but when he is attentive, nor ever speaks without exciting the Attention of others; and tho' no Man might with less Displeasure to his Hearers engross the Talk of the Company, he has a Patience in his Vivacity that chuses to divide it, and rather gives more Freedom than he takes; his sharpest Replies having a mixture of Politeness that few have the command of; his Expression is easy, short, and clear; a stiff or studied Word never comes from him; it is in a simplicity of Style that he gives the highest Surprize, and his Ideas are always adapted to the Capacity and Taste of the Person he speaks to: Perhaps you will understand me better if I give you a particular Instance of it. A Person at the University, who from being a Man of Wit easily became his Acquaintance there, from that Acquaintance found no difficulty in being made one of his Chaplains: This Person afterwards leading a Life that did no great Honour to his Cloth, obliged his Patron to take some gentle notice of it; but as his Patron knew the Patient was squeamish, he was induced to sweeten the Medicine to his Taste, and therefore with a smile of good humour told him, that if to the many Vices he had already, he would give himself the trouble to add one more, he did not doubt but his Reputation might still be set up again. Sir Crape, who could have no Aversion to so pleasant a Dose, desiring to know what it might be, was answered, Hypocrisy, Doctor, only a little Hypocrisy! This plain Reply can need no Comment; but ex pede Herculem, he is every where proportionable. I think I have heard him since say, the Doctor thought Hypocrisy so detestable a Sin that he dy'd without committing it. In a word, this Gentleman gives Spirit to Society the Moment he comes into it, and whenever he leaves it they who have Business have then leisure to go about it.

Having often had the Honour to be my self the But of his Raillery, I must own I have received more Pleasure from his lively manner of raising the Laugh against me, than I could have felt from the smoothest flattery of a serious Civility. Tho' Wit flows from him with as much ease as common Sense from another, he is so little elated with the Advantage he may have over you, that whenever your good Fortune gives it against him, he seems more pleas'd with it on your side than his own. The only advantage he makes of his Superiority of Rank is, that by always waving it himself, his inferior finds he is under the greater Obligation not to forget it.

When the Conduct of social Wit is under such Regulations, how delightful must those Convivia, those Meals of Conversation be, where such a Member presides; who can with so much ease (as Shakespear phrases it) set the Table in a roar.[18] I am in no pain that these imperfect Out-lines will be apply'd to the Person I mean, because every one who has the Happiness to know him must know how much more in this particular Attitude is wanting to be like him.

The other Gentleman, whose bare Interjections of Laughter have humour in them, is so far from having a Title that he has lost his real name, which some Years ago he suffer'd his Friends to railly him out of; in lieu of which they have equipp'd him with one they thought had a better sound in good Company. He is the first Man of so sociable a Spirit that I ever knew capable of quitting the Allurements of Wit and Pleasure for a strong Application to Business; in his Youth (for there was a Time when he was young) he set out in all the hey-day Expences of a modish Man of Fortune; but finding himself over-weighted with Appetites, he grew restiff, kick'd up in the middle of the Course, and turn'd his back upon his Frolicks abroad, to think of improving his Estate at home: In order to which he clapt Collars upon his Coach-Horses, and that their Mettle might not run over other People, he ty'd a Plough to their Tails, which tho' it might give them a more slovenly Air, would enable him to keep them fatter in a foot pace, with a whistling Peasant beside them, than in a full trot, with a hot-headed Coachman behind them. In these unpolite Amusements he has laugh'd like a Rake and look'd about him like a Farmer for many Years. As his Rank and Station often find him in the best Company, his easy Humour, whenever he is called to it, can still make himself the Fiddle of it.

And tho' some say he looks upon the Follies of the World like too severe a Philosopher, yet he rather chuses to laugh than to grieve at them; to pass his time therefore more easily in it, he often endeavours to conceal himself by assuming the Air and Taste of a Man in fashion; so that his only Uneasiness seems to be, that he cannot quite prevail with his Friends to think him a worse Manager than he really is; for they carry their Raillery to such a height that it sometimes rises to a Charge of downright Avarice against him. Upon which Head it is no easy matter to be more merry upon him than he will be upon himself. Thus while he sets that Infirmity in a pleasant Light, he so disarms your Prejudice, that if he has it not, you can't find in your Heart to wish he were without it. Whenever he is attack'd where he seems to lie so open, if his Wit happens not to be ready for you, he receives you with an assenting Laugh, till he has gain'd time enough to whet it sharp enough for a Reply, which seldom turns out to his disadvantage. If you are too strong for him (which may possibly happen from his being oblig'd to defend the weak side of the Question) his last Resource is to join in the Laugh till he has got himself off by an ironical Applause of your Superiority.

If I were capable of Envy, what I have observ'd of this Gentleman would certainly incline me to it; for sure to get through the necessary Cares of Life with a Train of Pleasures at our Heels in vain calling after us, to give a constant Preference to the Business of the Day, and yet be able to laugh while we are about it, to make even Society the subservient Reward of it, is a State of Happiness which the gravest Precepts of moral Wisdom will not easily teach us to exceed. When I speak of Happiness, I go no higher than that which is contain'd in the World we now tread upon; and when I speak of Laughter, I don't simply mean that which every Oaf is capable of, but that which has its sensible Motive and proper Season, which is not more limited than recommended by that indulgent Philosophy,

Cum ratione insanire.[19]

When I look into my present Self, and afterwards cast my Eye round all my Hopes, I don't see any one Pursuit of them that should so reasonably rouze me out of a Nod in my Great Chair, as a call to those agreeable Parties I have sometimes the Happiness to mix with, where I always assert the equal Liberty of leaving them, when my Spirits have done their best with them.

CAIUS CIBBER.

Now, Sir, as I have been making my way for above Forty Years through a Crowd of Cares, (all which, by the Favour of Providence, I have honestly got rid of) is it a time of Day for me to leave off these Fooleries, and to set up a new Character? Can it be worth my while to waste my Spirits, to bake my Blood, with serious Contemplations, and perhaps impair my Health, in the fruitless Study of advancing myself into the better Opinion of those very-very few Wise Men that are as old as I am? No, the Part I have acted in real Life shall be all of a piece,

--Servetur ad imum,

Qualis ab incepto processerit. Hor.[20]

I will not go out of my Character by straining to be wiser than I can be, or by being more affectedly pensive than I need be; whatever I am, Men of Sense will know me to be, put on what Disguise I will; I can no more put off my Follies than my Skin; I have often try'd, but they stick too close to me; nor am I sure my Friends are displeased with them; for, besides that in this Light I afford them frequent matter of Mirth, they may possibly be less uneasy at their own Foibles when they have so old a Precedent to keep them in Countenance: Nay, there are some frank enough to confess they envy what they laugh at; and when I have seen others, whose Rank and Fortune have laid a sort of Restraint upon their Liberty of pleasing their Company by pleasing themselves, I have said softly to myself,--Well, there is some Advantage in having neither Rank nor Fortune! Not but there are among them a third Sort, who have the particular Happiness of unbending into the very Wantonness of Good-humour without depreciating their Dignity: He that is not Master of that Freedom, let his Condition be never so exalted, must still want something to come up to the Happiness of his Inferiors who enjoy it. If Socrates cou'd take pleasure in playing at Even or Odd with his Children, or Agesilaus divert himself in riding the Hobby-horse with them, am I oblig'd to be as eminent as either of them before I am as frolicksome? If the Emperor Adrian, near his death, cou'd play with his very Soul, his Animula, &c. and regret that it cou'd be no longer companionable; if Greatness at the same time was not the Delight he was so loth to part with, sure then these chearful Amusements I am contending for must have no inconsiderable share in our Happiness; he that does not chuse to live his own way, suffers others to chuse for him. Give me the Joy I always took in the End of an old Song,

My Mind, my Mind is a Kingdom to me![21]

If I can please myself with my own Follies, have not I a plentiful Provision for Life? If the World thinks me a Trifler, I don't desire to break in upon their Wisdom; let them call me any Fool but an Unchearful one; I live as I write; while my Way amuses me, it's as well as I wish it; when another writes better, I can like him too, tho' he shou'd not like me. Not our great Imitator of Horace himself can have more Pleasure in writing his Verses than I have in reading them, tho' I sometimes find myself there (as Shakespear terms it) dispraisingly[22] spoken of:[23] If he is a little free with me, I am generally in good Company, he is as blunt with my Betters; so that even here I might laugh in my turn. My Superiors, perhaps, may be mended by him; but, for my part, I own myself incorrigible: I look upon my Follies as the best part of my Fortune, and am more concern'd to be a good Husband of Them, than of That; nor do I believe I shall ever be rhim'd out of them. And, if I don't mistake, I am supported in my way of thinking by Horace himself, who, in excuse of a loose Writer, says,

Pr?tulerim scriptor delirus, inersque videri,

Dum mea delectent mala me, vel denique fallant,

Quam sapere, et ringi--[24]

which, to speak of myself as a loose Philosopher, I have thus ventur'd to imitate:

Me, while my laughing Follies can deceive,

Blest in the dear Delirium let me live,

Rather than wisely know my Wants and grieve.

We had once a merry Monarch of our own, who thought chearfulness so valuable a Blessing, that he would have quitted one of his Kingdoms where he cou'd not enjoy it; where, among many other Conditions they had ty'd him to, his sober Subjects wou'd not suffer him to laugh on a Sunday; and tho' this might not be the avow'd Cause of his Elopement,[25] I am not sure, had he had no other, that this alone might not have serv'd his turn; at least, he has my hearty Approbation either way; for had I been under the same Restriction, tho' my staying were to have made me his Successor, I shou'd rather have chosen to follow him.

How far his Subjects might be in the right is not my Affair to determine; perhaps they were wiser than the Frogs in the Fable, and rather chose to have a Log than a Stork for their King; yet I hope it will be no Offence to say that King Log himself must have made but a very simple Figure in History.

The Man who chuses never to laugh, or whose becalm'd Passions know no Motion, seems to me only in the quiet State of a green Tree; he vegetates, 'tis true, but shall we say he lives? Now, Sir, for Amusement-Reader, take heed! for I find a strong impulse to talk impertinently; if therefore you are not as fond of seeing, as I am of shewing myself in all my Lights, you may turn over two Leaves together, and leave what follows to those who have more Curiosity, and less to do with their Time, than you have.-As I was saying then, let us, for Amusement, advance this, or any other Prince, to the most glorious Throne, mark out his Empire in what Clime you please, fix him on the highest Pinnacle of unbounded Power; and in that State let us enquire into his degree of Happiness; make him at once the Terror and the Envy of his Neighbours, send his Ambition out to War, and gratify it with extended Fame and Victories; bring him in triumph home, with great unhappy Captives behind him, through the Acclamations of his People, to repossess his Realms in Peace. Well, when the Dust has been brusht from his Purple, what will he do next? Why, this envy'd Monarch (who we will allow to have a more exalted Mind than to be delighted with the trifling Flatteries of a congratulating Circle) will chuse to retire, I presume, to enjoy in private the Contemplation of his Glory; an Amusement, you will say, that well becomes his Station! But there, in that pleasing Rumination, when he has made up his new Account of Happiness, how much, pray, will be added to the Balance more than as it stood before his last Expedition? From what one Article will the Improvement of it appear? Will it arise from the conscious Pride of having done his weaker Enemy an Injury? Are his Eyes so dazzled with false Glory that he thinks it a less Crime in him to break into the Palace of his Princely Neighbour, because he gave him time to defend it, than for a Subject feloniously to plunder the House of a private Man? Or is the Outrage of Hunger and Necessity more enormous than the Ravage of Ambition? Let us even suppose the wicked Usage of the World as to that Point may keep his Conscience quiet; still, what is he to do with the infinite Spoil that his imperial Rapine has brought home? Is he to sit down and vainly deck himself with the Jewels which he has plunder'd from the Crown of another, whom Self-defence had compell'd to oppose him? No, let us not debase his Glory into so low a Weakness. What Appetite, then, are these shining Treasures food for? Is their vast Value in seeing his vulgar Subjects stare at them, wise Men smile at them, or his Children play with them? Or can the new Extent of his Dominions add a Cubit to his Happiness? Was not his Empire wide enough before to do good in? And can it add to his Delight that now no Monarch has such room to do mischief in? But farther; if even the great Augustus, to whose Reign such Praises are given, cou'd not enjoy his Days of Peace free from the Terrors of repeated Conspiracies, which lost him more Quiet to suppress than his Ambition cost him to provoke them: What human Eminence is secure? In what private Cabinet then must this wondrous Monarch lock up his Happiness that common Eyes are never to behold it? Is it, like his Person, a Prisoner to its own Superiority? Or does he at last poorly place it in the Triumph of his injurious Devastations? One Moment's Search into himself will plainly shew him that real and reasonable Happiness can have no Existence without Innocence and Liberty. What a Mockery is Greatness without them? How lonesome must be the Life of that Monarch who, while he governs only by being fear'd, is restrain'd from letting down his Grandeur sometimes to forget himself and to humanize him into the Benevolence and Joy of Society? To throw off his cumbersome Robe of Majesty, to be a Man without disguise, to have a sensible Taste of Life in its Simplicity, till he confess from the sweet Experience that dulce est desipere in loco[26] was no Fool's Philosophy. Or if the gawdy Charms of Pre-eminence are so strong that they leave him no Sense of a less pompous, tho' a more rational Enjoyment, none sure can envy him but those who are the Dupes of an equally fantastick Ambition.

My Imagination is quite heated and fatigued in dressing up this Phantome of Felicity; but I hope it has not made me so far misunderstood, as not to have allow'd that in all the Dispensations of Providence the Exercise of a great and virtuous Mind is the most elevated State of Happiness: No, Sir, I am not for setting up Gaiety against Wisdom; nor for preferring the Man of Pleasure to the Philosopher; but for shewing that the Wisest or greatest Man is very near an unhappy Man, if the unbending Amusements I am contending for are not sometimes admitted to relieve him.

How far I may have over-rated these Amusements let graver Casuists decide; whether they affirm or reject what I have asserted hurts not my Purpose; which is not to give Laws to others; but to shew by what Laws I govern myself: If I am mis-guided, 'tis Nature's Fault, and I follow her from this Persuasion; That as Nature has distinguish'd our Species from the mute Creation by our Risibility, her Design must have been by that Faculty as evidently to raise our Happiness, as by our Os Sublime[27] (our erected Faces) to lift the Dignity of our Form above them.

Notwithstanding all I have said, I am afraid there is an absolute Power in what is simply call'd our Constitution that will never admit of other Rules for Happiness than her own; from which (be we never so wise or weak) without Divine Assistance we only can receive it; So that all this my Parade and Grimace of Philosophy has been only making a mighty Merit of following my own Inclination. A very natural Vanity! Though it is some sort of Satisfaction to know it does not impose upon me. Vanity again! However, think It what you will that has drawn me into this copious Digression, 'tis now high time to drop it: I shall therefore in my next Chapter return to my School, from whence I fear I have too long been Truant.

* * *

Ad Lalauze, sc

He that writes of himself not easily tir'd. Boys may give Men Lessons. The Author's Preferment at School attended with Misfortunes. The Danger of Merit among Equals. Of Satyrists and Backbiters. What effect they have had upon the Author. Stanzas publish'd by himself against himself.

It often makes me smile to think how contentedly I have set myself down to write my own Life; nay, and with less Concern for what may be said of it than I should feel were I to do the same for a deceased Acquaintance. This you will easily account for when you consider that nothing gives a Coxcomb more delight than when you suffer him to talk of himself; which sweet Liberty I here enjoy for a whole Volume together! A Privilege which neither cou'd be allow'd me, nor wou'd become me to take, in the Company I am generally admitted to;[28] but here, when I have all the Talk to myself, and have no body to interrupt or contradict me, sure, to say whatever I have a mind other People shou'd know of me is a Pleasure which none but Authors as vain as myself can conceive.--But to my History.

However little worth notice the Life of a School-boy may be supposed to contain, yet, as the Passions of Men and Children have much the same Motives and differ very little in their Effects, unless where the elder Experience may be able to conceal them: As therefore what arises from the Boy may possibly be a Lesson to the Man, I shall venture to relate a Fact or two that happen'd while I was still at School.

In February, 1684-5, died King Charles II. who being the only King I had ever seen, I remember (young as I was) his Death made a strong Impression upon me, as it drew Tears from the Eyes of Multitudes, who looked no further into him than I did: But it was, then, a sort of School-Doctrine to regard our Monarch as a Deity; as in the former Reign it was to insist he was accountable to this World as well as to that above him. But what, perhaps, gave King Charles II. this peculiar Possession of so many Hearts, was his affable and easy manner in conversing; which is a Quality that goes farther with the greater Part of Mankind than many higher Virtues, which, in a Prince, might more immediately regard the publick Prosperity. Even his indolent Amusement of playing with his Dogs and feeding his Ducks in St. James's Park, (which I have seen him do) made the common People adore him, and consequently overlook in him what, in a Prince of a different Temper, they might have been out of humour at.

I cannot help remembring one more Particular in those Times, tho' it be quite foreign to what will follow. I was carry'd by my Father to the Chapel in Whitehall; where I saw the King and his royal Brother the then Duke of York, with him in the Closet, and present during the whole Divine Service. Such Dispensation, it seems, for his Interest, had that unhappy Prince from his real Religion, to assist at another to which his Heart was so utterly averse.--I now proceed to the Facts I promis'd to speak of.

King Charles his Death was judg'd by our School-master a proper Subject to lead the Form I was in into a higher kind of Exercise; he therefore enjoin'd us severally to make his Funeral Oration: This sort of Task, so entirely new to us all, the Boys receiv'd with Astonishment as a Work above their Capacity; and tho' the Master persisted in his Command, they one and all, except myself, resolved to decline it. But I, Sir, who was ever giddily forward and thoughtless of Consequences, set myself roundly to work, and got through it as well as I could. I remember to this Hour that single Topick of his Affability (which made me mention it before) was the chief Motive that warm'd me into the Undertaking; and to shew how very childish a Notion I had of his Character at that time, I raised his Humanity, and Love of those who serv'd him, to such Height, that I imputed his Death to the Shock he receiv'd from the Lord Arlington's being at the point of Death about a Week before him.[29] This Oration, such as it was, I produc'd the next Morning: All the other Boys pleaded their Inability, which the Master taking rather as a mark of their Modesty than their Idleness, only seem'd to punish by setting me at the Head of the Form: A Preferment dearly bought! Much happier had I been to have sunk my Performance in the general Modesty of declining it. A most uncomfortable Life I led among them for many a Day after! I was so jeer'd, laugh'd at, and hated as a pragmatical Bastard (School-boys Language) who had betray'd the whole Form, that scarce any of 'em wou'd keep me company; and tho' it so far advanc'd me into the Master's Favour that he wou'd often take me from the School to give me an Airing with him on Horseback, while they were left to their Lessons; you may be sure such envy'd Happiness did not encrease their Good-will to me: Notwithstanding which my Stupidity cou'd take no warning from their Treatment. An Accident of the same nature happen'd soon after, that might have frighten'd a Boy of a meek Spirit from attempting any thing above the lowest Capacity. On the 23d of April following, being the Coronation-Day of the new King, the School petition'd the Master for leave to play; to which he agreed, provided any of the Boys would produce an English Ode upon that Occasion.--The very Word, Ode, I know makes you smile already; and so it does me; not only because it still makes so many poor Devils turn Wits upon it, but from a more agreeable Motive; from a Reflection of how little I then thought that, half a Century afterwards, I shou'd be call'd upon twice a year, by my Post,[30] to make the same kind of Oblations to an unexceptionable Prince, the serene Happiness of whose Reign my halting Rhimes are still so unequal to--This, I own, is Vanity without Disguise; but H?c olim meminisse juvat:[31] The remembrance of the miserable prospect we had then before us, and have since escaped by a Revolution, is now a Pleasure which, without that Remembrance, I could not so heartily have enjoy'd.[32] The Ode I was speaking of fell to my Lot, which in about half an Hour I produc'd. I cannot say it was much above the merry Style of Sing! Sing the Day, and sing the Song, in the Farce: Yet bad as it was, it serv'd to get the School a Play-day, and to make me not a little vain upon it; which last Effect so disgusted my Play-fellows that they left me out of the Party I had most a mind to be of in that Day's Recreation. But their Ingratitude serv'd only to increase my Vanity; for I consider'd them as so many beaten Tits that had just had the Mortification of seeing my Hack of a Pegasus come in before them. This low Passion is so rooted in our Nature that sometimes riper Heads cannot govern it. I have met with much the same silly sort of Coldness, even from my Contemporaries of the Theatre, from having the superfluous Capacity of writing myself the Characters I have acted.

Here, perhaps, I may again seem to be vain; but if all these Facts are true (as true they are) how can I help it? Why am I oblig'd to conceal them? The Merit of the best of them is not so extraordinary as to have warn'd me to be nice upon it; and the Praise due to them is so small a Fish, it was scarce worth while to throw my Line into the Water for it. If I confess my Vanity while a Boy, can it be Vanity, when a Man, to remember it? And if I have a tolerable Feature, will not that as much belong to my Picture as an Imperfection? In a word, from what I have mentioned, I wou'd observe only this; That when we are conscious of the least comparative Merit in ourselves, we shou'd take as much care to conceal the Value we set upon it, as if it were a real Defect: To be elated or vain upon it is shewing your Money before People in want; ten to one but some who may think you to have too much may borrow, or pick your Pocket before you get home. He who assumes Praise to himself, the World will think overpays himself. Even the Suspicion of being vain ought as much to be dreaded as the Guilt itself. C?sar was of the same Opinion in regard to his Wife's Chastity. Praise, tho' it may be our due, is not like a Bank-Bill, to be paid upon Demand; to be valuable it must be voluntary. When we are dun'd for it, we have a Right and Privilege to refuse it. If Compulsion insists upon it, it can only be paid as Persecution in Points of Faith is, in a counterfeit Coin: And who ever believ'd Occasional Conformity to be sincere? Nero, the most vain Coxcomb of a Tyrant that ever breath'd, cou'd not raise an unfeigned Applause of his Harp by military Execution; even where Praise is deserv'd, Ill-nature and Self-conceit (Passions that poll a majority of Mankind) will with less reluctance part with their Mony than their Approbation. Men of the greatest Merit are forced to stay 'till they die before the World will fairly make up their Account: Then indeed you have a Chance for your full Due, because it is less grudg'd when you are incapable of enjoying it: Then perhaps even Malice shall heap Praises upon your Memory; tho' not for your sake, but that your surviving Competitors may suffer by a Comparison.[33] 'Tis from the same Principle that Satyr shall have a thousand Readers where Panegyric has one. When I therefore find my Name at length in the Satyrical Works of our most celebrated living Author, I never look upon those Lines as Malice meant to me, (for he knows I never provok'd it) but Profit to himself: One of his Points must be, to have many Readers: He considers that my Face and Name are more known than those of many thousands of more consequence in the Kingdom: That therefore, right or wrong, a Lick at the Laureat[34] will always be a sure Bait, ad captandum vulgus, to catch him little Readers: And that to gratify the Unlearned, by now and then interspersing those merry Sacrifices of an old Acquaintance to their Taste, is a piece of quite right Poetical Craft.[35]

But as a little bad Poetry is the greatest Crime he lays to my charge, I am willing to subscribe to his opinion of it.[36] That this sort of Wit is one of the easiest ways too of pleasing the generality of Readers, is evident from the comfortable subsistence which our weekly Retailers of Politicks have been known to pick up, merely by making bold with a Government that had unfortunately neglected to find their Genius a better Employment.

Hence too arises all that flat Poverty of Censure and Invective that so often has a Run in our publick Papers upon the Success of a new Author; when, God knows, there is seldom above one Writer among hundreds in Being at the same time whose Satyr a Man of common Sense ought to be mov'd at. When a Master in the Art is angry, then indeed we ought to be alarm'd! How terrible a Weapon is Satyr in the Hand of a great Genius? Yet even there, how liable is Prejudice to misuse it? How far, when general, it may reform our Morals, or what Cruelties it may inflict by being angrily particular,[37] is perhaps above my reach to determine. I shall therefore only beg leave to interpose what I feel for others whom it may personally have fallen upon. When I read those mortifying Lines of our most eminent Author, in his Character of Atticus[38] (Atticus, whose Genius in Verse and whose Morality in Prose has been so justly admir'd) though I am charm'd with the Poetry, my Imagination is hurt at the Severity of it; and tho' I allow the Satyrist to have had personal Provocation, yet, methinks, for that very Reason he ought not to have troubled the Publick with it: For, as it is observed in the 242d Tatler, "In all Terms of Reproof, when the Sentence appears to arise from Personal Hatred or Passion, it is not then made the Cause of Mankind, but a Misunderstanding between two Persons." But if such kind of Satyr has its incontestable Greatness; if its exemplary Brightness may not mislead inferior Wits into a barbarous Imitation of its Severity, then I have only admir'd the Verses, and expos'd myself by bringing them under so scrupulous a Reflexion: But the Pain which the Acrimony of those Verses gave me is, in some measure, allay'd in finding that this inimitable Writer, as he advances in Years, has since had Candour enough to celebrate the same Person for his visible Merit. Happy Genius! whose Verse, like the Eye of Beauty, can heal the deepest Wounds with the least Glance of Favour.

Since I am got so far into this Subject, you must give me leave to go thro' all I have a mind to say upon it; because I am not sure that in a more proper Place my Memory may be so full of it. I cannot find, therefore, from what Reason Satyr is allow'd more Licence than Comedy, or why either of them (to be admir'd) ought not to be limited by Decency and Justice. Let Juvenal and Aristophanes have taken what Liberties they please, if the Learned have nothing more than their Antiquity to justify their laying about them at that enormous rate, I shall wish they had a better excuse for them! The Personal Ridicule and Scurrility thrown upon Socrates, which Plutarch too condemns; and the Boldness of Juvenal, in writing real Names over guilty Characters, I cannot think are to be pleaded in right of our modern Liberties of the same kind. Facit indignatio versum[39] may be a very spirited Expression, and seems to give a Reader hopes of a lively Entertainment: But I am afraid Reproof is in unequal Hands when Anger is its Executioner; and tho' an outrageous Invective may carry some Truth in it, yet it will never have that natural, easy Credit with us which we give to the laughing Ironies of a cool Head. The Satyr that can smile circum pr?cordia ludit, and seldom fails to bring the Reader quite over to his Side whenever Ridicule and folly are at variance. But when a Person satyriz'd is us'd with the extreamest Rigour, he may sometimes meet with Compassion instead of Contempt, and throw back the Odium that was designed for him, upon the Author. When I would therefore disarm the Satyrist of this Indignation, I mean little more than that I would take from him all private or personal Prejudice, and wou'd still leave him as much general Vice to scourge as he pleases, and that with as much Fire and Spirit as Art and Nature demand to enliven his Work and keep his Reader awake.

Against all this it may be objected, That these are Laws which none but phlegmatick Writers will observe, and only Men of Eminence should give. I grant it, and therefore only submit them to Writers of better Judgment. I pretend not to restrain others from chusing what I don't like; they are welcome (if they please too) to think I offer these Rules more from an Incapacity to break them than from a moral Humanity. Let it be so! still, That will not weaken the strength of what I have asserted, if my Assertion be true. And though I allow that Provocation is not apt to weigh out its Resentments by Drachms and Scruples, I shall still think that no publick Revenge can be honourable where it is not limited by justice; and if Honour is insatiable in its Revenge it loses what it contends for and sinks itself, if not into Cruelty, at least into Vain-glory.

This so singular Concern which I have shewn for others may naturally lead you to ask me what I feel for myself when I am unfavourably treated by the elaborate Authors of our daily Papers.[40] Shall I be sincere? and own my frailty? Its usual Effect is to make me vain! For I consider if I were quite good for nothing these Pidlers in Wit would not be concern'd to take me to pieces, or (not to be quite so vain) when they moderately charge me with only Ignorance or Dulness, I see nothing in That which an honest Man need be asham'd of:[41] There is many a good Soul who from those sweet Slumbers of the Brain are never awaken'd by the least harmful Thought; and I am sometimes tempted to think those Retailers of Wit may be of the same Class; that what they write proceeds not from Malice, but Industry; and that I ought no more to reproach them than I would a Lawyer that pleads against me for his Fee; that their Detraction, like Dung thrown upon a Meadow, tho' it may seem at first to deform the Prospect, in a little time it will disappear of itself and leave an involuntary Crop of Praise behind it.

When they confine themselves to a sober Criticism upon what I write; if their Censure is just, what answer can I make to it? If it is unjust, why should I suppose that a sensible Reader will not see it, as well as myself? Or, admit I were able to expose them by a laughing Reply, will not that Reply beget a Rejoinder? And though they might be Gainers by having the worst on't in a Paper War, that is no Temptation for me to come into it. Or (to make both sides less considerable) would not my bearing Ill-language from a Chimney-sweeper do me less harm than it would be to box with him, tho' I were sure to beat him? Nor indeed is the little Reputation I have as an Author worth the trouble of a Defence. Then, as no Criticism can possibly make me worse than I really am; so nothing I can say of myself can possibly make me better: When therefore a determin'd Critick comes arm'd with Wit and Outrage to take from me that small Pittance I have, I wou'd no more dispute with him than I wou'd resist a Gentleman of the Road to save a little Pocket-Money.[42] Men that are in want themselves seldom make a Conscience of taking it from others. Whoever thinks I have too much is welcome to what share of it he pleases: Nay, to make him more merciful (as I partly guess the worst he can say of what I now write) I will prevent even the Imputation of his doing me Injustice, and honestly say it myself, viz. That of all the Assurances I was ever guilty of, this of writing my own Life is the most hardy. I beg his Pardon!---Impudent is what I should have said! That through every Page there runs a Vein of Vanity and Impertinence which no French Ensigns memoires ever came up to; but, as this is a common Error, I presume the Terms of Doating Trifler, Old Fool, or Conceited Coxcomb will carry Contempt enough for an impartial Censor to bestow on me; that my style is unequal, pert, and frothy, patch'd and party-colour'd like the Coat of an Harlequin; low and pompous, cramm'd with Epithets, strew'd with Scraps of second-hand Latin from common Quotations; frequently aiming at Wit, without ever hitting the Mark; a mere Ragoust toss'd up from the offals of other authors: My Subject below all Pens but my own, which, whenever I keep to, is flatly daub'd by one eternal Egotism: That I want nothing but Wit to be as accomplish'd a Coxcomb here as ever I attempted to expose on the Theatre: Nay, that this very Confession is no more a Sign of my Modesty than it is a Proof of my Judgment, that, in short, you may roundly tell me, that--Cinna (or Cibber) vult videri Pauper, et est Pauper.

When humble Cinna cries, I'm poor and low,

You may believe him--he is really so.

Well, Sir Critick! and what of all this? Now I have laid myself at your Feet, what will you do with me? Expose me? Why, dear Sir, does not every Man that writes expose himself? Can you make me more ridiculous than Nature has made me? You cou'd not sure suppose that I would lose the Pleasure of Writing because you might possibly judge me a Blockhead, or perhaps might pleasantly tell other People they ought to think me so too. Will not they judge as well from what I say as what You say? If then you attack me merely to divert yourself, your Excuse for writing will be no better than mine. But perhaps you may want Bread: If that be the Case, even go to Dinner, i' God's name![43]

If our best Authors, when teiz'd by these Triflers, have not been Masters of this Indifference, I should not wonder if it were disbeliev'd in me; but when it is consider'd that I have allow'd my never having been disturb'd into a Reply has proceeded as much from Vanity as from Philosophy,[44] the Matter then may not seem so incredible: And tho' I confess the complete Revenge of making them Immortal Dunces in Immortal Verse might be glorious; yet, if you will call it Insensibility in me never to have winc'd at them, even that Insensibility has its happiness, and what could Glory give me more?[45] For my part, I have always had the comfort to think, whenever they design'd me a Disfavour, it generally flew back into their own Faces, as it happens to Children when they squirt at their Play-fellows against the Wind. If a Scribbler cannot be easy because he fancies I have too good an Opinion of my own Productions, let him write on and mortify; I owe him not the Charity to be out of temper myself merely to keep him quiet or give him Joy: Nor, in reality, can I see why any thing misrepresented, tho' believ'd of me by Persons to whom I am unknown, ought to give me any more Concern than what may be thought of me in Lapland: 'Tis with those with whom I am to live only, where my Character can affect me; and I will venture to say, he must find out a new way of Writing that will make me pass my Time there less agreeably.

You see, Sir, how hard it is for a Man that is talking of himself to know when to give over; but if you are tired, lay me aside till you have a fresh Appetite; if not, I'll tell you a Story.

In the Year 1730 there were many Authors whose Merit wanted nothing but Interest to recommend them to the vacant Laurel, and who took it ill to see it at last conferred upon a Comedian; insomuch, that they were resolved at least to shew specimens of their superior Pretensions, and accordingly enliven'd the publick Papers with ingenious Epigrams and satyrical Flirts at the unworthy Successor;[46] These Papers my Friends with a wicked Smile would often put into my Hands and desire me to read them fairly in Company: This was a Challenge which I never declin'd, and, to do my doughty Antagonists Justice, I always read them with as much impartial Spirit as if I had writ them myself. While I was thus beset on all sides, there happen'd to step forth a poetical Knight-Errant to my Assistance, who was hardy enough to publish some compassionate Stanzas in my Favour. These, you may be sure, the Raillery of my Friends could do no less than say I had written to myself. To deny it I knew would but have confirmed their pretended Suspicion: I therefore told them, since it gave them such Joy to believe them my own, I would do my best to make the whole Town think so too. As the Oddness of this Reply was I knew what would not be easily comprehended, I desired them to have a Days patience, and I would print an Explanation to it: To conclude, in two Days after I sent this Letter, with some doggerel Rhimes at the Bottom,

To the Author of the Whitehall Evening-Post.

SIR,

The Verses to the Laureat in yours of Saturday last have occasion'd the following Reply, which I hope you'll give a Place in your next, to shew that we can be quick as well as smart upon a proper Occasion: And, as I think it the lowest Mark of a Scoundrel to make bold with any Man's Character in Print without subscribing the true Name of the Author; I therefore desire, if the Laureat is concern'd enough to ask the Question, that you will tell him my Name and where I live; till then, I beg leave to be known by no other than that of,

Your Servant,

Francis Fairplay.

Monday, Jan. 11, 1730.

These were the Verses.[47]

I.

Ah, hah! Sir Coll, is that thy Way,

Thy own dull Praise to write?

And wou'd'st thou stand so sure a Lay?

No, that's too stale a Bite.

II.

Nature and Art in thee combine,

Thy Talents here excel:

All shining Brass thou dost outshine,

To play the Cheat so well.

III.

Who sees thee in Iago's Part,

But thinks thee such a Rogue?

And is not glad, with all his Heart,

To hang so sad a Dog?

IV.

When Bays thou play'st, Thyself thou art;

For that by Nature fit,

No Blockhead better suits the Part,

Than such a Coxcomb Wit.

V.

In Wronghead too, thy Brains we see,

Who might do well at Plough;

As fit for Parliament was he,

As for the Laurel, Thou.

VI.

Bring thy protected Verse from Court,

And try it on the Stage;

There it will make much better Sport,

And set the Town in Rage.

VII.

There Beaux and Wits and Cits and Smarts,

Where Hissing's not uncivil,

Will shew their Parts to thy Deserts,

And send it to the Devil.

VIII.

But, ah! in vain 'gainst Thee we write,

In vain thy Verse we maul!

Our sharpest Satyr's thy Delight,

For--Blood! thou'lt stand it all.[48]

IX.

Thunder, 'tis said, the Laurel spares;

Nought but thy Brows could blast it:

And yet--O curst, provoking Stars!

Thy Comfort is, thou hast it.

This, Sir, I offer as a Proof that I was seven

Years ago[49] the same cold Candidate for Fame which I would still be thought; you will not easily suppose I could have much Concern about it, while, to gratify the merry Pique of my Friends, I was capable of seeming to head the Poetical Cry then against me, and at the same Time of never letting the Publick know 'till this Hour that these Verses were written by myself: Nor do I give them you as an Entertainment, but merely to shew you this particular Cast of my Temper.

When I have said this, I would not have it thought Affectation in me when I grant that no Man worthy the Name of an Author is a more faulty Writer than myself; that I am not Master of my own Language[50] I too often feel when I am at a loss for Expression: I know too that I have too bold a Disregard for that Correctness which others set so just a Value upon: This I ought to be ashamed of, when I find that Persons, perhaps of colder Imaginations, are allowed to write better than myself. Whenever I speak of any thing that highly delights me, I find it very difficult to keep my Words within the Bounds of Common Sense: Even when I write too, the same Failing will sometimes get the better of me; of which I cannot give you a stronger Instance than in that wild Expression I made use of in the first Edition of my Preface to the Provok'd Husband; where, speaking of Mrs. Oldfield's excellent Performance in the Part of Lady Townly, my Words ran thus, viz. It is not enough to say, that here she outdid her usual Outdoing.[51]-A most vile Jingle, I grant it! You may well ask me, How could I possibly commit such a Wantonness to Paper? And I owe myself the Shame of confessing I have no Excuse for it but that, like a Lover in the Fulness of his Content, by endeavouring to be floridly grateful I talk'd Nonsense. Not but it makes me smile to remember how many flat Writers have made themselves brisk upon this single Expression; wherever the Verb, Outdo, could come in, the pleasant Accusative, Outdoing, was sure to follow it. The provident Wags knew that Decies repetita placeret:[52] so delicious a Morsel could not be serv'd up too often! After it had held them nine times told for a Jest, the Publick has been pester'd with a tenth Skull thick enough to repeat it. Nay, the very learned in the Law have at last facetiously laid hold of it! Ten Years after it first came from me it served to enliven the eloquence of an eloquent Pleader before a House of Parliament! What Author would not envy me so frolicksome a Fault that had such publick Honours paid to it?

After this Consciousness of my real Defects, you will easily judge, Sir, how little I presume that my Poetical Labours may outlive those of my mortal Cotemporaries.[53]

At the same time that I am so humble in my Pretensions to Fame, I would not be thought to undervalue it; Nature will not suffer us to despise it, but she may sometimes make us too fond of it. I have known more than one good Writer very near ridiculous from being in too much Heat about it. Whoever intrinsically deserves it will always have a proportionable Right to it. It can neither be resign'd nor taken from you by Violence. Truth, which is unalterable, must (however his Fame may be contested) give every Man his Due: What a Poem weighs it will be worth; nor is it in the Power of Human Eloquence, with Favour or Prejudice, to increase or diminish its Value. Prejudice, 'tis true, may a while discolour it; but it will always have its Appeal to the Equity of good Sense, which will never fail in the End to reverse all false Judgment against it. Therefore when I see an eminent Author hurt, and impatient at an impotent Attack upon his Labours, he disturbs my Inclination to admire him; I grow doubtful of the favourable Judgment I have made of him, and am quite uneasy to see him so tender in a Point he cannot but know he ought not himself to be judge of; his Concern indeed at another's Prejudice or Disapprobation may be natural; but to own it seems to me a natural Weakness. When a Work is apparently great it will go without Crutches; all your Art and Anxiety to heighten the Fame of it then becomes low and little.[54] He that will bear no Censure must be often robb'd of his due Praise. Fools have as good a Right to be Readers as Men of Sense have, and why not to give their Judgments too? Methinks it would be a sort of Tyranny in Wit for an Author to be publickly putting every Argument to death that appear'd against him; so absolute a Demand for Approbation puts us upon our Right to dispute it; Praise is as much the Reader's Property as Wit is the Author's; Applause is not a Tax paid to him as a Prince, but rather a Benevolence given to him as a Beggar; and we have naturally more Charity for the dumb Beggar than the sturdy one. The Merit of a Writer and a fine Woman's Face are never mended by their talking of them: How amiable is she that seems not to know she is handsome!

To conclude; all I have said upon this Subject is much better contained in six Lines of a Reverend Author, which will be an Answer to all critical Censure for ever.

Time is the Judge; Time has nor Friend nor Foe;

False Fame must wither, and the True will grow.

Arm'd with this Truth all Criticks I defy;

For, if I fall, by my own Pen I die;

While Snarlers strive with proud but fruitless Pain,

To wound Immortals, or to slay the Slain.[55]

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Ad Lalauze, sc