An Apology for the Life of Mr. Colley Cibber, Volume 1 (of 2)
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Title: An Apology for the Life of Mr. Colley Cibber, Volume 1 (of 2)
Author: Colley Cibber
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AN APOLOGY FOR THE LIFE OF
MR. COLLEY CIBBER.
_VOLUME THE FIRST._
_NOTE._
_510 copies printed on this fine deckle-edge demy 8vo
paper for England and America, with the portraits as
India proofs after letters._
_Each copy is numbered, and the type distributed._
_No._ 368
[Illustration: COLLEY CIBBER.]
AN APOLOGY FOR THE LIFE OF
MR. COLLEY CIBBER
_WRITTEN BY HIMSELF_
A NEW EDITION WITH NOTES AND SUPPLEMENT
BY
ROBERT W. LOWE
_WITH TWENTY-SIX ORIGINAL MEZZOTINT PORTRAITS BY
R. B. PARKES, AND EIGHTEEN ETCHINGS
BY ADOLPHE LALAUZE_
_IN TWO VOLUMES_
VOLUME THE FIRST
LONDON
JOHN C. NIMMO
14, KING WILLIAM STREET, STRAND
MDCCCLXXXIX
Chiswick Press
PRINTED BY CHARLES WHITTINGHAM AND CO.
TOOKS COURT, CHANCERY LANE, LONDON. E.C.
PREFACE.
Colley Cibber's famous Autobiography has always been recognized as one
of the most delightful books of its class; but, to students of
theatrical history, the charm of its author's ingenuous frankness has
been unable altogether to overweigh the inaccuracy and vagueness of his
treatment of matters of fact. To remove this cause of complaint is the
principal object of the present edition. But correcting errors is only
one of an editor's duties, and by no means the most difficult. More
exacting, and almost equally important, are the illustration of the
circumstances surrounding the author, the elucidation of his references
to current events, and the comparison of his statements and theories
with those of judicious contemporaries. In all these particulars I have
interpreted my duty in the widest sense, and have aimed at giving, as
far as in me lies, an exhaustive commentary on the "Apology."
I am fortunate in being able to claim that my work contains much
information which has never before been made public. A careful
investigation of the MSS. in the British Museum, and of the Records of
the Lord Chamberlain's Office (to which my access was greatly
facilitated by the kindness of Mr. Edward F. S. Pigott, the Licenser of
Plays), has enabled me to give the exact dates of many transactions
which were previously uncertain, and to give references to documents of
great importance in stage history, whose very existence was before
unknown. How important my new matter is, may be estimated by comparing
the facts given in my notes regarding the intricate transactions of the
years 1707 to 1721, with any previous history of the same period. Among
other sources of information, I may mention the Cibber Collections in
the Forster Library at South Kensington, to which my attention was drawn
by the kindness of the courteous keeper, Mr. R. F. Sketchley; and I have
also, of course, devoted much time to contemporary newspapers.
In order to illustrate the "Apology," two tracts of the utmost rarity,
the "Historia Histrionica" and Anthony Aston's "Brief Supplement" to
Cibber's Lives of the Actors, are reprinted in this edition. The
"Historia Histrionica" was written, all authorities agree, by James
Wright, Barrister-at-Law, whose "History and Antiquities of the County
of Rutland" is quoted by Cibber in his first chapter (vol. i. p. 8). The
historical value of this pamphlet is very great, because it contains the
only formal account in existence of the generation of actors who
preceded Betterton, and because it gives many curious and interesting
particulars regarding the theatres and plays, as well as the actors,
before and during the Civil Wars. As Cibber begins his account of the
stage (see chap. iv.) at the Restoration, there is a peculiar propriety
in prefacing it by Wright's work; a fact which has already been
recognized, for the publisher of the third edition (1750) of the
"Apology" appended to it "A Dialogue on Old Plays and Old Players,"
which is simply a reprint of the "Historia Histrionica" under another
title, and without the curious preface.
Following the "Historia Histrionica" will be found a copy of the Patent
granted to Sir William Davenant, one of the most important documents in
English stage history. A similar grant was made to Thomas Killigrew, as
is noted on page 87 of this volume.
These documents form a natural introduction to Cibber's History of the
Stage and of his own career, which commences, as has been said, at the
Restoration, and ends, somewhat abruptly, with his retirement from the
regular exercise of his profession in 1733. To complete the record of
Cibber's life, I have added a Supplementary Chapter to the "Apology," in
which I have also noted briefly the chief incidents of theatrical
history up to the time of his death. In this, too, I have told with some
degree of minuteness the story of his famous quarrel with Pope; and to
this chapter I have appended a list of Cibber's dramatic productions,
and a Bibliography of works by, or relating to him.
Anthony Aston's "Brief Supplement to Colley Cibber, Esq; his Lives of
the late famous Actors and Actresses," of which a reprint is given with
this edition, is almost, if not quite, the rarest of theatrical books.
Isaac Reed, says Genest, "wrote his name in his copy of Aston's little
book, with the date of 1769--he says--'this Pamphlet contains several
circumstances concerning the Performers of the last century, which are
no where else to be found--it seems never to have been published'--he
adds-'Easter Monday, 1795--though I have now possessed this pamphlet 26
years, it is remarkable that I never have seen another copy of it.'" Of
Aston himself, little is known. According to his own account he came on
the stage about 1700, and we know that he was a noted stroller; but as
to when he was born, or when he died, there is no information. He is
supposed, and probably with justice, to be the "trusty Anthony, who has
so often adorned both the theatres in England and Ireland," mentioned in
Estcourt's advertisement of his opening of the Bumper Tavern, in the
"Spectator" of 28th and 29th December, 1711; and he was no doubt a
well-known character among actors and theatre-goers. He would thus be
well qualified for his undertaking as biographer of the actors of his
time; and, indeed, his work bears every mark of being the production of
a writer thoroughly well acquainted with his subject. This valuable
pamphlet has been, until now practically a sealed book to theatrical
students.
The three works which make up this edition--Cibber's "Apology," Wright's
"Historia Histrionica," and Aston's "Brief Supplement"--are reprinted
_verbatim et literatim;_ the only alterations made being the correction
of obvious errors. Among obvious errors I include the avalanche of
commas with which Cibber's printers overwhelmed his text. A more
grotesque misuse of punctuation I do not know, and I have struck out a
large number of these points, not only because they were unmeaning, but
also because, to a modern reader, they were irritating in the highest
degree. The rest of the punctuation I have not interfered with, and with
the single exception of these commas the present edition reproduces not
only the matter of the works reprinted, but the very manner in which
they originally appeared, the use of italics and capitals having
especially been carefully observed.
The "Apology" of Cibber has gone through six editions. I have reprinted
the text of the second, because it was certainly revised by the author,
and many corrections made. But I have carefully compared my text with that
of the first edition, and, wherever the correction is more than merely
verbal, I have indicated the fact in a note (_e. g._ vol. i. p. 72). The
only edition which has been annotated is that published in 1822, under the
editorship of Edmund Bellchambers. Whether the Notes were written by the
Editor or by Jacob Henry Burn, who annotated Dickens's "Grimaldi," is a
point which I have raised in my "Bibliographical Account of English
Theatrical Literature" (p. 373). I have been unable to obtain any
authentic information on the subject, so give Burn's claim for what it is
worth. The statement as to the latter's authorship was made in his own
handwriting on the back of the title-page of a copy of the book, sold by a
well-known bookseller some years ago. It was in the following terms:--
"In 1821, while residing at No. 28, Maiden Lane, Covent
Garden, the elder Oxberry, who frequently called in as he
passed, found me one day adding notes in MS. to Cibber's
'Apology.' Taking it up, he said he should like to reprint it;
he wanted something to employ the spare time of his hands, and
proferred to buy my copy, thus annotated. I think it was two
pounds I said he should have it for; this sum he instantly
paid, and the notes throughout are mine, not Bellchambers's,
who having seen it through the press or corrected the proofs
whilst printing, added his name as the editor.--J. H. BURN."
Whether Burn or Bellchambers be the author, the notes, I find, are by no
means faultlessly accurate. I have made little use of them, except that
the Biographies, which are by far the most valuable of the annotations,
are reprinted at the end of my second volume. Even in these, it will be
seen, I have corrected many blunders. Some of the memoirs I have
condensed slightly; and, as the Biographies of Booth, Dogget, and Wilks
were in all essential points merely a repetition of Cibber's narrative,
I have not reprinted them. In all cases where I have made any use of
Bellchambers's edition, or have had a reference suggested to me by it,
I have carefully acknowledged my indebtedness.
Among the works of contemporary writers which I have quoted, either in
illustration, in criticism, or in contradiction of Cibber, it will be
noticed that I make large drafts upon the anonymous pamphlet entitled
"The Laureat: or, the right side of Colley Cibber, Esq;" (1740). I have
done this because it furnishes the keenest criticism upon Cibber's
statements, and gives, in an undeniably clever style, the views of
Cibber's enemies upon himself and his works. I am unable even to guess
who was the author of this work, but he must have been a man well
acquainted with theatrical matters.
Another pamphlet from which I quote, "The Egotist: or, Colley upon
Cibber" (1743), is interesting as being, I think without doubt, the work
of Cibber himself, although not acknowledged by him.
Many of the works which I quote in my notes have gone through only one
edition, and my quotations from these are easily traced; but, for the
convenience of those who may wish to follow up any of my references to
books which have been more than once issued, I may mention that in the
case of Davies's "Dramatic Miscellanies" I have referred throughout to the
edition of 1785; that Dr. Birkbeck Hill's magnificent edition of Boswell's
"Life of Johnson" is that which I have quoted; and that the references to
Nichols's reprint of Steele's "Theatre," the "Anti-Theatre," &c., are to
the scarce and valuable edition in 2 vols. 12mo, 1791. My quotations from
the "Tatler" have been made from a set of the original folio numbers,
which I am fortunate enough to possess; and I have made my extracts from
the "Roscius Anglicanus" from Mr. Joseph Knight's beautiful facsimile
edition. The index, which will be found at the end of the second volume,
has been the object of my special attention, and I have spared no pains to
make it clear and exhaustive.
ROBERT W. LOWE.
LONDON, _September, 1888_.
PUBLISHER'S PREFACE.
The twenty-six portraits and eighteen chapter headings in this new
edition of Colley Cibber's "Apology" are all newly engraved. The
portraits are copperplate mezzotints, engraved by R. B. Parkes from the
best and most authentic originals, in the selection of which great care
has been taken. Where more than one portrait exists, the least hackneyed
likeness has been chosen, and pains have been taken to secure those
pictures which are likely to be esteemed as rarities. The chapter
headings are etched by Adolphe Lalauze, and the subjects represent
scenes from plays illustrating the costumes, manner, and appearance of
the actors of Cibber's period, from contemporary authorities.
LONDON, _October, 1888_.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
HISTORIA HISTRIONICA: AN HISTORICAL ACCOUNT OF THE
ENGLISH STAGE xix
LETTERS PATENT FOR ERECTING A NEW THEATRE liii
TITLE AND DEDICATION TO THE LIFE OF MR. COLLEY CIBBER lxiii
CHAPTER I.
THE INTRODUCTION. THE AUTHOR'S BIRTH, ETC. 1
CHAPTER II.
HE THAT TRITES OF HIMSELF NOT EASILY TIR'D, ETC. 28
CHAPTER III.
THE AUTHOR'S SEVERAL CHANCES FOR THE CHURCH, THE COURT, AND
THE ARMY, ETC. 55
CHAPTER IV.
A SHORT VIEW OF THE STAGE, FROM THE YEAR 1660 TO THE
REVOLUTION, ETC. 86
CHAPTER V.
THE THEATRICAL CHARACTERS OF THE PRINCIPAL ACTORS IN THE
YEAR 1690, CONTINU'D, ETC. 119
CHAPTER VI.
THE AUTHOR'S FIRST STEP UPON THE STAGE. HIS DISCOURAGEMENTS,
ETC. 180
CHAPTER VII.
THE STATE OF THE STAGE CONTINUED, ETC. 227
CHAPTER VIII.
THE PATENTEE OF DRURY-LANE WISER THAN HIS ACTORS, ETC. 262
CHAPTER IX.
A SMALL APOLOGY FOR WRITING ON, ETC. 299
LIST OF MEZZOTINT PORTRAITS.
NEWLY ENGRAVED BY R. B. PARKES.
VOLUME THE FIRST.
PAGE
I. COLLEY CIBBER. After the painting by John Baptist
Vanloo, 1740 _Frontispiece_
II. CAIUS GABRIEL CIBBER, the sculptor, father of
Colley Cibber. After the picture by Laroon and
Christian Richter. (Collection of the Earl of
Orford, Strawberry Hill) 18
III. THOMAS BETTERTON. After the painting by Sir
Godfrey Kneller 88
IV. BENJAMIN JOHNSON, in the character of Ananias, in
Ben Jonson's "Alchemist," act iii. After the
picture by Peter Van Bleeck, 1738 104
V. EDWARD KYNASTON, comedian. After R. Cooper. 122
VI. ANTHONY LEIGH, in the character of the Friar, in
Dryden's tragi-comedy of "The Spanish Friar."
After the painting by Sir Godfrey Kneller 146
VII. ELIZABETH BARRY. After the painting by Sir
Godfrey Kneller, 1689. (Collection of the Earl
of Orford, Strawberry Hill) 160
VIII. MRS. BRACEGIRDLE as "The Indian Queen," in the
play by Sir R. Howard and J. Dryden. After the
picture by J. Smith and W. Vincent 188
IX. WILLIAM BULLOCK. After the picture by Thomas
Johnson. _Ad vivum pinxit et fecit_ 204
X. WILLIAM PENKETHMAN. After the painting by
R. Schmutz 238
XI. WILLIAM CONGREVE. After the painting by Sir
Godfrey Kneller, 1709, "Kit-Cat Club" 272
XII. CHARLOTTE CHARKE. After a study by Henry
Gravelot 288
XIII. SIR JOHN VANBRUGH. After the painting by Sir
Godfrey Kneller, "Kit-Cat Club" 306
LIST OF CHAPTER HEADINGS.
NEWLY ETCHED FROM CONTEMPORARY DRAWINGS BY
ADOLPHE LALAUZE.
VOLUME THE FIRST.
I. CAIUS GABRIEL CIBBER'S FIGURES OF RAVING AND
MELANCHOLY MADNESS. From Bedlam Hospital.[1]
II. SCENE ILLUSTRATING CROWNE'S "SIR COURTLY NICE."
After the contemporary design by Arnold Vanhaecken.
III. SCENE ILLUSTRATING ETHEREDGE'S "MAN OF MODE;
OR, SIR FOPLING FLUTTER." After the design by Lud.
du Guernier.
IV. SCENE ILLUSTRATING CONGREVE'S "DOUBLE DEALER."
After F. Hayman.
V. GRIFFIN AND JOHNSON IN THE CHARACTERS OF TRIBULATION
AND ANANIAS, Ben Jonson's "Alchemist," act iii.
scene 2. Tribulation. "I do command thee (Spirit of
Zeal, but Trouble) to peace, within him." After the
original by Peter Van Bleeck, 1738.
VI. SCENE ILLUSTRATING OTWAY'S "ORPHAN." After the
contemporary etching by G. Vander Gucht.
VII. MRS. PORTER, MILLS, AND CIBBER. After a contemporary
engraving by J. Basire.
VIII. SCENE ILLUSTRATING STEELE'S "FUNERAL, OR GRIEF À LA
MODE." After the contemporary design by G. Vander
Gucht.
IX. MR. ESTCOURT AS "KITE" IN FARQUHAR'S "RECRUITING
OFFICER." After the contemporary design by E. Knight
and G. Vander Gucht.
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.
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 _Phoenix_, 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 1000_l. 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_ Parcæ _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, quæ 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 Coventriæ_; 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 historiæ 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
repræsentata._ 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, 10_l._
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.
[Sidenote: 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.
[Sidenote: 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.
[Sidenote: 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.
[Sidenote: New grant to Sir William D'avenant, his heirs and assignes.]
[Sidenote: 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.
[Sidenote: 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.
[Sidenote: 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.
[Sidenote: 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.
[Sidenote: 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.
[Sidenote: 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, vitâ posse priore frui._ Mart. lib. 2.
_When Years no more of active Life retain,
'Tis Youth renew'd, to laugh 'em o'er again._ 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.
1739.
AN APOLOGY FOR THE LIFE OF MR. COLLEY CIBBER, &c. [4]
CHAPTER I.
[Illustration: Ad Lalauze, sc]
_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 _Cæsar_, 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.
[Illustration: 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,
_Prætulerim 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.
CHAPTER II.
[Illustration: 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 _Hæc 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. _Cæsar_ 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
præcordia 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,
[48]For_----Blood! thou'lt stand it all.
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]
CHAPTER III.
[Illustration: Ad Lalauze, sc]
_The Author's several Chances for the Church, the Court, and
the Army. Going to the University. Met the Revolution at
Nottingham. Took Arms on that Side. What he saw of it. A few
Political Thoughts. Fortune willing to do for him. His Neglect
of her. The Stage preferr'd to all her Favours. The Profession
of an Actor consider'd. The Misfortunes and Advantages of it._
I am now come to that Crisis of my Life when Fortune seem'd to be at a
Loss what she should do with me. Had she favour'd my Father's first
Designation of me, he might then, perhaps, have had as sanguine Hopes of
my being a Bishop as I afterwards conceived of my being a General when I
first took Arms at the Revolution. Nay, after that I had a third Chance
too, equally as good, of becoming an Under-propper of the State. How at
last I came to be none of all these the Sequel will inform you.
About the Year 1687 I was taken from School to stand at the Election of
Children into _Winchester_ College; my being by my Mother's Side a
Descendant[56] of _William_ of _Wickam_, the Founder, my Father (who
knew little how the World was to be dealt with) imagined my having that
Advantage would be Security enough for my Success, and so sent me simply
down thither, without the least favourable Recommendation or Interest,
but that of my naked Merit and a pompous Pedigree in my Pocket. Had he
tack'd a Direction to my Back, and sent me by the Carrier to the Mayor
of the Town, to be chosen Member of Parliament there, I might have had
just as much Chance to have succeeded in the one as the other. But I
must not omit in this Place to let you know that the Experience which my
Father then bought, at my Cost, taught him some Years after to take a
more judicious Care of my younger Brother, _Lewis Cibber_, whom, with
the Present of a Statue of the Founder, of his own making, he
recommended to the same College. This Statue now stands (I think) over
the School Door there,[57] and was so well executed that it seem'd to
speak----for its Kinsman. It was no sooner set up than the Door of
Preferment was open to him.
Here one would think my Brother had the Advantage of me in the Favour of
Fortune, by this his first laudable Step into the World. I own I was so
proud of his Success that I even valued myself upon it; and yet it is
but a melancholy Reflection to observe how unequally his Profession and
mine were provided for; when I, who had been the Outcast of Fortune,
could find means, from my Income of the Theatre, before I was my
own Master there, to supply in his highest Preferment his common
Necessities. I cannot part with his Memory without telling you I had as
sincere a Concern for this Brother's Well-being as my own. He had lively
Parts and more than ordinary Learning, with a good deal of natural Wit
and Humour; but from too great a disregard to his Health he died a
Fellow of _New College_ in _Oxford_ soon after he had been ordained by
Dr. _Compton_, then Bishop of _London_. I now return to the State of my
own Affair at _Winchester_.
After the Election, the Moment I was inform'd that I was one of the
unsuccessful Candidates, I blest myself to think what a happy Reprieve I
had got from the confin'd Life of a School-boy! and the same Day took
Post back to _London_, that I might arrive time enough to see a Play
(then my darling Delight) before my Mother might demand an Account of my
travelling Charges. When I look back to that Time, it almost makes me
tremble to think what Miseries, in fifty Years farther in Life, such an
unthinking Head was liable to! To ask why Providence afterwards took
more Care of me than I did of myself, might be making too bold an
Enquiry into its secret Will and Pleasure: All I can say to that Point
is, that I am thankful and amazed at it![58]
'Twas about this time I first imbib'd an Inclination, which I durst
not reveal, for the Stage; for besides that I knew it would disoblige
my Father, I had no Conception of any means practicable to make my
way to it. I therefore suppress'd the bewitching Ideas of so sublime
a Station, and compounded with my Ambition by laying a lower Scheme,
of only getting the nearest way into the immediate Life of a
Gentleman-Collegiate. My Father being at this time employ'd at
_Chattsworth_ in _Derbyshire_ by the (then) Earl of _Devonshire_, who
was raising that Seat from a _Gothick_ to a _Grecian_ Magnificence, I
made use of the Leisure I then had in _London_ to open to him by Letter
my Disinclination to wait another Year for an uncertain Preferment at
_Winchester_, and to entreat him that he would send me, _per saltum_, by
a shorter Cut, to the University. My Father, who was naturally indulgent
to me, seem'd to comply with my Request, and wrote word that as soon as
his Affairs would permit, he would carry me with him and settle me in
some College, but rather at _Cambridge_, where (during his late
Residence at that Place, in making some Statues that now stand upon
_Trinity_ College New Library) he had contracted some Acquaintance with
the Heads of Houses, who might assist his Intentions for me.[59] This I
lik'd better than to go discountenanc'd to _Oxford_, to which it would
have been a sort of Reproach to me not to have come elected. After some
Months were elaps'd, my Father, not being willing to let me lie too long
idling in _London_, sent for me down to _Chattsworth_, to be under his
Eye, till he cou'd be at leisure to carry me to _Cambridge_. Before I
could set out on my Journey thither, the Nation fell in labour of the
Revolution, the News being then just brought to _London_ That the Prince
of _Orange_ at the Head of an Army was landed in the _West_.[60] When I
came to _Nottingham_, I found my Father in Arms there, among those
Forces which the Earl of _Devonshire_ had rais'd for the Redress of our
violated Laws and Liberties. My Father judg'd this a proper Season for a
young Strippling to turn himself loose into the Bustle of the World; and
being himself too advanc'd in Years to endure the Winter Fatigue which
might possibly follow, entreated that noble Lord that he would be
pleas'd to accept of his Son in his room, and that he would give him (my
Father) leave to return and finish his Works at _Chattsworth_. This was
so well receiv'd by his Lordship that he not only admitted of my
Service, but promis'd my Father in return that when Affairs were
settled he would provide for me. Upon this my Father return'd to
_Derbyshire_, while I, not a little transported, jump'd into his Saddle.
Thus in one Day all my Thoughts of the University were smother'd in
Ambition! A slight Commission for a Horse-Officer was the least View I
had before me. At this Crisis you cannot but observe that the Fate of
King _James_ and of the Prince of _Orange_, and that of so minute a
Being as my self, were all at once upon the Anvil: In what shape they
wou'd severally come out, tho' a good _Guess_ might be made, was not
then _demonstrable_ to the deepest Foresight; but as my Fortune seem'd
to be of small Importance to the Publick, Providence thought fit to
postpone it 'till that of those great Rulers of Nations was justly
perfected. Yet, had my Father's Business permitted him to have carried
me one Month sooner (as he intended) to the University, who knows but by
this time that purer Fountain might have wash'd my Imperfections into a
Capacity of writing (instead of Plays and Annual Odes) Sermons and
Pastoral Letters. But whatever Care of the Church might so have fallen
to my share, as I dare say it may be now in better Hands, I ought not to
repine at my being otherwise disposed of.[61]
You must now consider me as one among those desperate Thousands, who,
after a Patience sorely try'd, took Arms under the Banner of Necessity,
the natural Parent of all Human Laws and Government. I question if in
all the Histories of Empire there is one Instance of so bloodless a
Revolution as that in _England_ in 1688, wherein Whigs, Tories, Princes,
Prelates, Nobles, Clergy, common People, and a Standing Army, were
unanimous. To have seen all _England_ of one Mind is to have liv'd at a
very particular Juncture. Happy Nation! who are never divided among
themselves but when they have least to complain of! Our greatest
Grievance since that Time seems to have been that we cannot all govern;
and 'till the Number of good Places are equal to those who think
themselves qualified for them there must ever be a Cause of Contention
among us. While Great Men want great Posts, the Nation will never want
real or seeming Patriots; and while great Posts are fill'd with Persons
whose Capacities are but Human, such Persons will never be allow'd to be
without Errors; not even the Revolution, with all its Advantages, it
seems, has been able to furnish us with unexceptionable Statesmen! for
from that time I don't remember any one Set of Ministers that have not
been heartily rail'd at; a Period long enough one would think (if all of
them have been as bad as they have been call'd) to make a People despair
of ever seeing a good one: But as it is possible that Envy, Prejudice,
or Party may sometimes have a share in what is generally thrown upon
'em, it is not easy for a private Man to know who is absolutely in the
right from what is said against them, or from what their Friends or
Dependants may say in their Favour: Tho' I can hardly forbear thinking
that they who have been _longest_ rail'd at, must from that Circumstance
shew in some sort a Proof of Capacity.----But to my History.
It were almost incredible to tell you, at the latter end of King
_James's_ Time (though the Rod of Arbitrary Power was always shaking
over us) with what Freedom and Contempt the common People in the open
Streets talk'd of his wild Measures to make a whole Protestant Nation
Papists; and yet, in the height of our secure and wanton Defiance of
him, we of the Vulgar had no farther Notion of any Remedy for this Evil
than a satisfy'd Presumption that our Numbers were too great to be
master'd by his mere Will and Pleasure; that though he might be too hard
for our Laws, he would never be able to get the better of our Nature;
and that to drive all _England_ into Popery and Slavery he would find
would be teaching an old Lion to dance.[62]
But happy was it for the Nation that it had then wiser Heads in it, who
knew how to lead a People so dispos'd into Measures for the Publick
Preservation.
Here I cannot help reflecting on the very different Deliverances
_England_ met with at this Time and in the very same Year of the Century
before: Then (in 1588) under a glorious Princess, who had at heart the
Good and Happiness of her People, we scatter'd and destroy'd the most
formidable Navy of Invaders that ever cover'd the Seas: And now (in
1688) under a Prince who had alienated the Hearts of his People by his
absolute Measures to oppress them, a foreign Power is receiv'd with open
Arms in defence of our Laws, Liberties, and Religion, which our native
Prince had invaded! How widely different were these two Monarchs in
their Sentiments of Glory! But, _Tantum religio potuit suadere
malorum_.[63]
When we consider in what height of the Nation's Prosperity the Successor
of Queen _Elizabeth_ came to this Throne, it seems amazing that such a
Pile of _English_ Fame and Glory, which her skilful Administration had
erected, should in every following Reign down to the Revolution so
unhappily moulder away in one continual Gradation of Political Errors:
All which must have been avoided, if the plain Rule which that wise
Princess left behind her had been observed, _viz. That the Love of her
People was the surest Support of her Throne_. This was the Principle by
which she so happily govern'd herself and those she had the Care of. In
this she found Strength to combat and struggle thro' more Difficulties
and dangerous Conspiracies than ever _English_ Monarch had to cope with.
At the same time that she profess'd to _desire_ the People's Love, she
took care that her Actions shou'd _deserve_ it, without the least
Abatement of her Prerogative; the Terror of which she so artfully
covered that she sometimes seem'd to flatter those she was determin'd
should obey. If the four following Princes had exercis'd their Regal
Authority with so visible a Regard to the Publick Welfare, it were hard
to know whether the People of _England_ might have ever complain'd of
them, or even felt the want of that Liberty they now so happily enjoy.
'Tis true that before her Time our Ancestors had many successful
Contests with their Sovereigns for their _ancient Right_ and _Claim_ to
it; yet what did those Successes amount to? little more than a
Declaration that there was such a Right in being; but who ever saw it
enjoy'd? Did not the Actions of almost every succeeding Reign shew there
were still so many Doors of Oppression left open to the Prerogative
that (whatever Value our most eloquent Legislators may have set upon
those ancient Liberties) I doubt it will be difficult to fix the Period
of their having a real Being before the Revolution: Or if there ever was
an elder Period of our unmolested enjoying them, I own my poor Judgment
is at a loss where to place it. I will boldly say then, it is to the
Revolution only we owe the full Possession of what, 'till then, we never
had more than a perpetually contested Right to: And, from thence, from
the Revolution it is that the Protestant Successors of King _William_
have found their Paternal Care and Maintenance of that Right has been
the surest Basis of their Glory.[64]
These, Sir, are a few of my Political Notions, which I have ventur'd to
expose that you may see what sort of an _English_ Subject I am; how wise
or weak they may have shewn me is not my Concern; let the weight of
these Matters have drawn me never so far out of my Depth, I still
flatter myself that I have kept a simple, honest Head above Water. And
it is a solid Comfort to me to consider that how insignificant soever my
Life was at the Revolution, it had still the good Fortune to make one
among the many who brought it about; and that I now, with my Coævals,
as well as with the Millions since born, enjoy the happy Effects of it.
But I must now let you see how my particular Fortune went forward with
this Change in the Government; of which I shall not pretend to give you
any farther Account than what my simple Eyes saw of it.
We had not been many Days at _Nottingham_ before we heard that the
Prince of _Denmark_, with some other great Persons, were gone off from
the King to the Prince of _Orange_, and that the Princess _Anne_,
fearing the King her Father's Resentment might fall upon her for her
Consort's Revolt, had withdrawn her self in the Night from _London_, and
was then within half a Days Journey of _Nottingham_; on which very
Morning we were suddenly alarm'd with the News that two thousand of the
King's Dragoons were in close pursuit to bring her back Prisoner to
_London_: But this Alarm it seems was all Stratagem, and was but a part
of that general Terror which was thrown into many other Places about the
Kingdom at the same time, with design to animate and unite the People in
their common defence; it being then given out that the _Irish_ were
every where at our Heels to cut off all the Protestants within the Reach
of their Fury. In this Alarm our Troops scrambled to Arms in as much
Order as their Consternation would admit of, when, having advanc'd some
few Miles on the _London_ Road, they met the Princess in a Coach,
attended only by the Lady _Churchill_ (now Dutchess Dowager of
_Marlborough_) and the Lady _Fitzharding_, whom they conducted into
_Nottingham_ through the Acclamations of the People: The same Night all
the Noblemen and the other Persons of Distinction then in Arms had the
Honour to sup at her Royal Highness's Table; which was then furnish'd
(as all her necessary Accommodations were) by the Care and at the Charge
of the Lord _Devonshire_. At this Entertainment, of which I was a
Spectator, something very particular surpriz'd me: The noble Guests at
the Table happening to be more in number than Attendants out of Liveries
could be found for, I being well known in the Lord _Devonshire_'s
Family, was desired by his Lordship's _Maitre d'Hotel_ to assist at it:
The Post assign'd me was to observe what the Lady _Churchill_ might call
for. Being so near the Table, you may naturally ask me what I might have
heard to have pass'd in Conversation at it? which I should certainly
tell you had I attended to above two Words that were utter'd there, and
those were, _Some Wine and Water_. These I remember came distinguish'd
and observ'd to my Ear, because they came from the fair Guest whom I
took such Pleasure to wait on: Except at that single Sound, all my
Senses were collected into my Eyes, which during the whole Entertainment
wanted no better Amusement, than of stealing now and then the Delight of
gazing on the fair Object so near me: If so clear an Emanation of
Beauty, such a commanding Grace of Aspect struck me into a Regard that
had something softer than the most profound Respect in it, I cannot see
why I may not without Offence remember it; since Beauty, like the Sun,
must sometimes lose its Power to chuse, and shine into equal Warmth the
Peasant and the Courtier.[65] Now to give you, Sir, a farther Proof of
how good a Taste my first hopeful Entrance into Manhood set out with, I
remember above twenty Years after, when the same Lady had given the
World four of the loveliest Daughters that ever were gaz'd on, even
after they were all nobly married, and were become the reigning Toasts
of every Party of Pleasure, their still lovely Mother had at the same
time her Votaries, and her Health very often took the Lead in those
involuntary Triumphs of Beauty. However presumptuous or impertinent
these Thoughts might have appear'd at my first entertaining them, why
may I not hope that my having kept them decently secret for full fifty
Years may be now a good round Plea for their Pardon? Were I now
qualify'd to say more of this celebrated Lady, I should conclude it
thus: That she has liv'd (to all Appearance) a peculiar Favourite of
Providence; that few Examples can parallel the Profusion of Blessings
which have attended so long a Life of Felicity. A Person so attractive!
a Husband so memorably great! an Offspring so beautiful! a Fortune so
immense! and a Title which (when Royal Favour had no higher to bestow)
she only could receive from the Author of Nature; a great Grandmother
without grey Hairs! These are such consummate Indulgencies that we might
think Heaven has center'd them all in one Person, to let us see how far,
with a lively Understanding, the full Possession of them could
contribute to human Happiness.--I now return to our Military Affairs.
From _Nottingham_ our Troops march'd to _Oxford_; through every Town we
pass'd the People came out, in some sort of Order, with such rural and
rusty Weapons as they had, to meet us, in Acclamations of Welcome and
good Wishes. This I thought promis'd a favourable End of our Civil War,
when the Nation seem'd so willing to be all of a Side! At _Oxford_ the
Prince and Princess of _Denmark_ met for the first time after their late
Separation, and had all possible Honours paid them by the University.
Here we rested in quiet Quarters for several Weeks, till the Flight of
King _James_ into _France_; when the Nation being left to take care of
it self, the only Security that could be found for it was to advance the
Prince and Princess of _Orange_ to the vacant Throne. The publick
Tranquillity being now settled, our Forces were remanded back to
_Nottingham_. Here all our Officers who had commanded them from their
first Rising receiv'd Commissions to confirm them in their several
Posts; and at the same time such private Men as chose to return to their
proper Business or Habitations were offer'd their Discharges. Among the
small number of those who receiv'd them, I was one; for not hearing that
my Name was in any of these new Commissions, I thought it time for me to
take my leave of Ambition, as Ambition had before seduc'd me from the
imaginary Honours of the Gown, and therefore resolv'd to hunt my Fortune
in some other Field.[66]
From _Nottingham_ I again return'd to my Father at _Chattsworth_, where
I staid till my Lord came down, with the new Honours[67] of Lord Steward
of his Majesty's Houshold and Knight of the Garter! a noble turn of
Fortune! and a deep Stake he had play'd for! which calls to my Memory a
Story we had then in the Family, which though too light for our graver
Historians notice, may be of weight enough for my humble Memoirs. This
noble Lord being in the Presence-Chamber in King _James_'s time, and
known to be no Friend to the Measures of his Administration, a certain
Person in favour there, and desirous to be more so, took occasion to
tread rudely upon his Lordship's Foot, which was return'd with a sudden
Blow upon the Spot: For this Misdemeanour his Lordship was fin'd thirty
thousand Pounds; but I think had some time allow'd him for the
Payment.[68] In the Summer preceding the Revolution, when his Lordship
was retir'd to _Chattsworth_, and had been there deeply engag'd with
other Noblemen in the Measures which soon after brought it to bear, King
_James_ sent a Person down to him with Offers to mitigate his Fine upon
Conditions of ready Payment, to which his Lordship reply'd, That if his
Majesty pleas'd to allow him a little longer time, he would rather
chuse to play _double_ or _quit_ with him: The time of the intended
Rising being then so near at hand, the Demand, it seems, came too late
for a more serious Answer.
However low my Pretensions to Preferment were at this time, my Father
thought that a little Court-Favour added to them might give him a Chance
for saving the Expence of maintaining me, as he had intended, at the
University: He therefore order'd me to draw up a Petition to the Duke,
and, to give it some Air of Merit, to put it into _Latin_, the Prayer of
which was, That his Grace would be pleas'd to do something (I really
forget what) for me.----However the Duke, upon receiving it, was so good
as to desire my Father would send me to _London_ in the Winter, where he
would consider of some Provision for me. It might, indeed, well require
time to consider it; for I believe it was then harder to know what I was
really fit for, than to have got me any thing I was not fit for:
However, to _London_ I came, where I enter'd into my first State of
Attendance and Dependance for about five Months, till the _February_
following. But alas! in my Intervals of Leisure, by frequently seeing
Plays, my wise Head was turn'd to higher Views, I saw no Joy in any
other Life than that of an Actor, so that (as before, when a Candidate
at _Winchester_) I was even afraid of succeeding to the Preferment I
sought for: 'Twas on the Stage alone I had form'd a Happiness preferable
to all that Camps or Courts could offer me! and there was I determin'd,
let Father and Mother take it as they pleas'd, to fix my _non
ultra_.[69] Here I think my self oblig'd, in respect to the Honour of
that noble Lord, to acknowledge that I believe his real Intentions to do
well for me were prevented by my own inconsiderate Folly; so that if my
Life did not then take a more laudable Turn, I have no one but my self
to reproach for it; for I was credibly inform'd by the Gentlemen of his
Houshold, that his Grace had, in their hearing, talk'd of recommending
me to the Lord _Shrewsbury_, then Secretary of State, for the first
proper Vacancy in that Office. But the distant Hope of a Reversion was
too cold a Temptation for a Spirit impatient as mine, that wanted
immediate Possession of what my Heart was so differently set upon. The
Allurements of a Theatre are still so strong in my Memory, that perhaps
few, except those who have felt them, can conceive: And I am yet so far
willing to excuse my Folly, that I am convinc'd, were it possible to
take off that Disgrace and Prejudice which Custom has thrown upon the
Profession of an Actor, many a well-born younger Brother and Beauty of
low Fortune would gladly have adorn'd the Theatre, who by their not
being able to brook such Dishonour to their Birth, have pass'd away
their Lives decently unheeded and forgotten.
Many Years ago, when I was first in the Menagement of the Theatre, I
remember a strong Instance, which will shew you what degree of Ignominy
the Profession of an Actor was then held at.--A Lady, with a real Title,
whose female Indiscretions had occasion'd her Family to abandon her,
being willing, in her Distress, to make an honest Penny of what Beauty
she had left, desired to be admitted as an Actress; when before she
could receive our Answer, a Gentleman (probably by her Relation's
Permission) advis'd us not to entertain her, for Reasons easy to be
guess'd. You may imagine we cou'd not be so blind to our Interest as to
make an honourable Family our unnecessary Enemies by not taking his
Advice; which the Lady, too, being sensible of, saw the Affair had its
Difficulties, and therefore pursu'd it no farther. Now, is it not hard
that it should be a doubt whether this Lady's Condition or ours were the
more melancholy? For here you find her honest Endeavour to get Bread
from the Stage was look'd upon as an Addition of new Scandal to her
former Dishonour! so that I am afraid, according to this way of
thinking, had the same Lady stoop'd to have sold Patches and Pomatum in
a Band-box from Door to Door, she might in that Occupation have starv'd
with less Infamy than had she reliev'd her Necessities by being famous
on the Theatre. Whether this Prejudice may have arisen from the Abuses
that so often have crept in upon the Stage, I am not clear in; tho' when
that is grossly the Case, I will allow there ought to be no Limits set
to the Contempt of it; yet in its lowest Condition in my time, methinks
there could have been no Pretence of preferring the Band-box to the
Buskin. But this severe Opinion, whether merited or not, is not the
greatest Distress that this Profession is liable to.
I shall now give you another Anecdote, quite the reverse of what I have
instanc'd, wherein you will see an Actress as hardly us'd for an Act of
Modesty (which without being a Prude, a Woman, even upon the Stage, may
sometimes think it necessary not to throw off.) This too I am forc'd to
premise, that the Truth of what I am going to tell you may not be
sneer'd at before it be known. About the Year 1717, a young Actress of a
desirable Person, sitting in an upper Box at the Opera, a military
Gentleman thought this a proper Opportunity to secure a little
Conversation with her, the Particulars of which were probably no more
worth repeating than it seems the _Damoiselle_ then thought them worth
listening to; for, notwithstanding the fine Things he said to her, she
rather chose to give the Musick the Preference of her Attention: This
Indifference was so offensive to his high Heart, that he began to change
the Tender into the Terrible, and, in short, proceeded at last to treat
her in a Style too grosly insulting for the meanest Female Ear to endure
unresented: Upon which, being beaten too far out of her Discretion, she
turn'd hastily upon him with an angry Look, and a Reply which seem'd to
set his Merit in so low a Regard, that he thought himself oblig'd in
Honour to take his time to resent it: This was the full Extent of her
Crime, which his Glory delay'd no longer to punish than 'till the next
time she was to appear upon the Stage: There, in one of her best Parts,
wherein she drew a favourable Regard and Approbation from the Audience,
he, dispensing with the Respect which some People think due to a polite
Assembly, began to interrupt her Performance with such loud and various
Notes of Mockery, as other young Men of Honour in the same Place have
sometimes made themselves undauntedly merry with: Thus, deaf to all
Murmurs or Entreaties of those about him, he pursued his Point, even to
throwing near her such Trash as no Person can be suppos'd to carry about
him unless to use on so particular an Occasion.
A Gentleman then behind the Scenes, being shock'd at his unmanly
Behaviour, was warm enough to say, That no Man but a Fool or a Bully
cou'd be capable of insulting an Audience or a Woman in so monstrous a
manner. The former valiant Gentleman, to whose Ear the Words were soon
brought by his Spies, whom he had plac'd behind the Scenes to observe
how the Action was taken there, came immediately from the Pit in a Heat,
and demanded to know of the Author of those Words if he was the Person
that spoke them? to which he calmly reply'd, That though he had never
seen him before, yet, since he seem'd so earnest to be satisfy'd, he
would do him the favour to own, That indeed the Words were his, and that
they would be the last Words he should chuse to deny, whoever they might
fall upon. To conclude, their Dispute was ended the next Morning in
_Hyde-Park_, where the determin'd Combatant who first ask'd for
Satisfaction was oblig'd afterwards to ask his Life too; whether he
mended it or not, I have not yet heard; but his Antagonist in a few
Years after died in one of the principal Posts of the Government.[70]
Now, though I have sometimes known these gallant Insulters of Audiences
draw themselves into Scrapes which they have less honourably got out of,
yet, alas! what has that avail'd? This generous publick-spirited Method
of silencing a few was but repelling the Disease in one Part to make it
break out in another: All Endeavours at Protection are new Provocations
to those who pride themselves in pushing their Courage to a Defiance of
Humanity. Even when a Royal Resentment has shewn itself in the behalf of
an injur'd Actor, it has been unable to defend him from farther Insults!
an Instance of which happen'd in the late King _James_'s time. Mr.
_Smith_[71] (whose Character as a Gentleman could have been no way
impeach'd had he not degraded it by being a celebrated Actor) had the
Misfortune, in a Dispute with a Gentleman behind the Scenes, to receive
a Blow from him: The same Night an Account of this Action was carry'd to
the King, to whom the Gentleman was represented so grosly in the wrong,
that the next Day his Majesty sent to forbid him the Court upon it. This
Indignity cast upon a Gentleman only for having maltreated a Player, was
look'd upon as the Concern of every Gentleman; and a Party was soon
form'd to assert and vindicate their Honour, by humbling this favour'd
Actor, whose slight Injury had been judg'd equal to so severe a Notice.
Accordingly, the next time _Smith_ acted he was receiv'd with a Chorus
of Cat-calls, that soon convinc'd him he should not be suffer'd to
proceed in his Part; upon which, without the least Discomposure, he
order'd the Curtain to be dropp'd; and, having a competent Fortune of
his own, thought the Conditions of adding to it by his remaining upon
the Stage were too dear, and from that Day entirely quitted it.[72] I
shall make no Observation upon the King's Resentment, or on that of his
good Subjects; how far either was or was not right, is not the Point I
dispute for: Be that as it may, the unhappy Condition of the Actor was
so far from being reliev'd by this Royal Interposition in his favour,
that it was the worse for it.
While these sort of real Distresses on the Stage are so unavoidable, it
is no wonder that young People of Sense (though of low Fortune) should
be so rarely found to supply a Succession of good Actors. Why then may
we not, in some measure, impute the Scarcity of them to the wanton
Inhumanity of those Spectators, who have made it so terribly mean to
appear there? Were there no ground for this Question, where could be the
Disgrace of entring into a Society whose Institution, when not abus'd,
is a delightful School of Morality; and where to excel requires as ample
Endowments of Nature as any one Profession (that of holy Institution
excepted) whatsoever? But, alas! as _Shakespear_ says,
_Where's that Palace, whereinto, sometimes
Foul things intrude not?_[73]
Look into St. _Peter_'s at _Rome_, and see what a profitable Farce is
made of Religion there! Why then is an Actor more blemish'd than a
Cardinal? While the Excellence of the one arises from his innocently
seeming what he is not, and the Eminence of the other from the most
impious Fallacies that can be impos'd upon human Understanding? If the
best things, therefore, are most liable to Corruption, the Corruption of
the Theatre is no Disproof of its innate and primitive Utility.
In this Light, therefore, all the Abuses of the Stage, all the low,
loose, or immoral Supplements to wit, whether in making Virtue
ridiculous or Vice agreeable, or in the decorated Nonsense and
Absurdities of Pantomimical Trumpery, I give up to the Contempt of every
sensible Spectator, as so much rank Theatrical Popery. But cannot still
allow these Enormities to impeach the Profession, while they are so
palpably owing to the deprav'd Taste of the Multitude. While Vice and
Farcical Folly are the most profitable Commodities, why should we wonder
that, time out of mind, the poor Comedian, when real Wit would bear no
Price, should deal in what would bring him most ready Money? But this,
you will say, is making the Stage a Nursery of Vice and Folly, or at
least keeping an open Shop for it.----I grant it: But who do you expect
should reform it? The Actors? Why so? If People are permitted to buy it
without blushing, the Theatrical Merchant seems to have an equal Right
to the Liberty of selling it without Reproach. That this Evil wants a
Remedy is not to be contested; nor can it be denied that the Theatre is
as capable of being preserv'd by a Reformation as Matters of more
Importance; which, for the Honour of our National Taste, I could wish
were attempted; and then, if it could not subsist under decent
Regulations, by not being permitted to present any thing there but what
were _worthy_ to be there, it would be time enough to consider, whether
it were necessary to let it totally fall, or effectually support it.
Notwithstanding all my best Endeavours to recommend the Profession of
an Actor to a more general Favour, I doubt, while it is liable to such
Corruptions, and the Actor himself to such unlimited Insults as I have
already mention'd, I doubt, I say, we must still leave him a-drift, with
his intrinsick Merit, to ride out the Storm as well as he is able.
However, let us now turn to the other side of this Account, and see what
Advantages stand there to balance the Misfortunes I have laid before
you. There we shall still find some valuable Articles of Credit, that
sometimes overpay his incidental Disgraces.
First, if he has Sense, he will consider that as these Indignities are
seldom or never offer'd him by People that are remarkable for any one
good Quality, he ought not to lay them too close to his Heart: He will
know too, that when Malice, Envy, or a brutal Nature, can securely hide
or fence themselves in a Multitude, Virtue, Merit, Innocence, and even
sovereign Superiority, have been, and must be equally liable to their
Insults; that therefore, when they fall upon him in the same manner, his
intrinsick Value cannot be diminish'd by them: On the contrary, if, with
a decent and unruffled Temper, he lets them pass, the Disgrace will
return upon his Aggressor, and perhaps warm the generous Spectator into
a Partiality in his Favour.
That while he is conscious, That, as an Actor, he must be always in the
Hands of Injustice, it does him at least this involuntary Good, that it
keeps him in a settled Resolution to avoid all Occasions of provoking
it, or of even offending the lowest Enemy, who, at the Expence of a
Shilling, may publickly revenge it.
That, if he excells on the Stage, and is irreproachable in his Personal
Morals and Behaviour, his Profession is so far from being an Impediment,
that it will be oftner a just Reason for his being receiv'd among People
of condition with Favour; and sometimes with a more social Distinction,
than the best, though more profitable Trade he might have follow'd,
could have recommended him to.
That this is a Happiness to which several Actors within my Memory, as
_Betterton_, _Smith_, _Montfort_, Captain _Griffin_,[74] and Mrs.
_Bracegirdle_ (yet living) have arriv'd at; to which I may add the late
celebrated Mrs. _Oldfield_. Now let us suppose these Persons, the Men,
for example, to have been all eminent Mercers, and the Women as famous
Milliners, can we imagine that merely as such, though endow'd with the
same natural Understanding, they could have been call'd into the same
honourable Parties of Conversation? People of Sense and Condition could
not but know it was impossible they could have had such various
Excellencies on the Stage, without having something naturally valuable
in them: And I will take upon me to affirm, who knew them all living,
that there was not one of the Number who were not capable of supporting
a variety of Spirited Conversation, tho' the Stage were never to have
been the Subject of it.
That to have trod the Stage has not always been thought a
Disqualification from more honourable Employments; several have had
military Commissions; _Carlile_,[75] and _Wiltshire_[76] were both
kill'd Captains; one in King _William_'s Reduction of _Ireland;_ and
the other in his first War in _Flanders_; and the famous _Ben. Johnson_,
tho' an unsuccessful Actor, was afterwards made Poet-Laureat.[77]
To these laudable Distinctions let me add one more; that of Publick
Applause, which, when truly merited, is perhaps one of the most
agreeable Gratifications that venial Vanity can feel. A Happiness almost
peculiar to the Actor, insomuch that the best Tragick Writer, however
numerous his separate Admirers may be, yet, to unite them into one
general Act of Praise, to receive at once those thundring Peals of
Approbation which a crouded Theatre throws out, he must still call in
the Assistance of the skilful Actor to raise and partake of them.
In a Word, 'twas in this flattering Light only, though not perhaps so
thoroughly consider'd, I look'd upon the Life of an Actor when but
eighteen Years of Age; nor can you wonder if the Temptations were too
strong for so warm a Vanity as mine to resist; but whether excusable or
not, to the Stage at length I came, and it is from thence, chiefly, your
Curiosity, if you have any left, is to expect a farther Account of me.
CHAPTER IV.
[Illustration: Ad Lalauze, sc]
_A short View of the Stage, from the Year 1660 to the
Revolution. The King's and Duke's Company united, composed the
best Set of_ English _Actors yet known. Their several
Theatrical Characters._
Tho' I have only promis'd you an Account of all the material Occurrences
of the Theatre during my own Time, yet there was one which happen'd not
above seven Years before my Admission to it, which may be as well worth
notice as the first great Revolution of it, in which, among numbers, I
was involv'd. And as the one will lead you into a clearer View of the
other, it may therefore be previously necessary to let you know that.
King _Charles_ II. at his Restoration granted two Patents, one to Sir
_William Davenant_,[78] and the other to _Thomas Killigrew_, Esq.,[79]
and their several Heirs and Assigns, for ever, for the forming of two
distinct Companies of Comedians: The first were call'd the _King's
Servants,_ and acted at the Theatre-Royal in _Drury-Lane_;[80] and the
other the _Duke's Company_, who acted at the Duke's Theatre in
_Dorset-Garden_.[81] About ten of the King's Company were on the Royal
Houshold-Establishment, having each ten Yards of Scarlet Cloth, with a
proper quantity of Lace allow'd them for Liveries; and in their Warrants
from the Lord Chamberlain were stiled _Gentlemen of the Great
Chamber_.[82] Whether the like Appointments were extended to the Duke's
Company, I am not certain; but they were both in high Estimation with
the Publick, and so much the Delight and Concern of the Court, that
they were not only supported by its being frequently present at their
publick _Presentations_, but by its taking cognizance even of their
private Government, insomuch that their particular Differences,
Pretentions, or Complaints were generally ended by the _King_ or
_Duke_'s Personal Command or Decision. Besides their being thorough
Masters of their Art, these Actors set forwards with two critical
Advantages, which perhaps may never happen again in many Ages. The one
was, their immediate opening after the so long Interdiction of Plays
during the Civil War and the Anarchy that followed it. What eager
Appetites from so long a Fast must the Guests of those Times have had to
that high and fresh variety of Entertainments which _Shakespear_ had
left prepared for them? Never was a Stage so provided! A hundred Years
are wasted, and another silent Century well advanced, and yet what
unborn Age shall say _Shakespear_ has his equal! How many shining Actors
have the warm Scenes of his Genius given to Posterity? without being
himself in his Action equal to his Writing! A strong Proof that Actors,
like Poets, must be born such. Eloquence and Elocution are quite
different Talents: _Shakespear_ could write _Hamlet,_ but Tradition
tells us That the _Ghost_, in the same Play, was one of his best
Performances as an Actor: Nor is it within the reach of Rule or Precept
to complete either of them. Instruction, 'tis true, may guard them
equally against Faults or Absurdities, but there it stops; Nature must
do the rest: To excel in either Art is a self-born Happiness which
something more than good Sense must be the Mother of.
[Illustration: THOMAS BETTERTON.]
The other Advantage I was speaking of is, that before the Restoration no
Actresses had ever been seen upon the _English_ Stage.[83] The
Characters of Women on former Theatres were perform'd by Boys, or young
Men of the most effeminate Aspect. And what Grace or Master-strokes of
Action can we conceive such ungain Hoydens to have been capable of? This
Defect was so well considered by _Shakespear_, that in few of his Plays
he has any greater Dependance upon the Ladies than in the Innocence and
Simplicity of a _Desdemona_, an _Ophelia_, or in the short Specimen of a
fond and virtuous _Portia_. The additional Objects then of real,
beautiful Women could not but draw a Proportion of new Admirers to the
Theatre. We may imagine, too, that these Actresses were not ill chosen,
when it is well known that more than one of them had Charms sufficient
at their leisure Hours to calm and mollify the Cares of Empire.[84]
Besides these peculiar Advantages, they had a private Rule or Agreement,
which both Houses were happily ty'd down to, which was, that no Play
acted at one House should ever be attempted at the other. All the
capital Plays therefore of _Shakespear_, _Fletcher_, and _Ben. Johnson_
were divided between them by the Approbation of the Court and their own
alternate Choice.[85] So that when _Hart_[86] was famous for _Othello,
Betterton_ had no less a Reputation for _Hamlet_. By this Order the
Stage was supply'd with a greater Variety of Plays than could possibly
have been shewn had both Companies been employ'd at the same time upon
the same Play; which Liberty, too, must have occasion'd such frequent
Repetitions of 'em, by their opposite Endeavours to forestall and
anticipate one another, that the best Actors in the World must have
grown tedious and tasteless to the Spectator: For what Pleasure is not
languid to Satiety?[87] It was therefore one of our greatest
Happinesses (during my time of being in the Menagement of the Stage)
that we had a certain Number of select Plays which no other Company had
the good Fortune to make a tolerable Figure in, and consequently could
find little or no Account by acting them against us. These Plays
therefore for many Years, by not being too often seen, never fail'd to
bring us crowded Audiences; and it was to this Conduct we ow'd no little
Share of our Prosperity. But when four Houses[88] are at once (as very
lately they were) all permitted to act the same Pieces, let three of
them perform never so ill, when Plays come to be so harrass'd and
hackney'd out to the common People (half of which too, perhaps, would as
lieve see them at one House as another) the best Actors will soon feel
that the Town has enough of them.
I know it is the common Opinion, That the more Play-houses the more
Emulation; I grant it; but what has this Emulation ended in? Why, a
daily Contention which shall soonest surfeit you with the best Plays;
so that when what _ought_ to please can no _longer_ please, your
Appetite is again to be raised by such monstrous Presentations as
dishonour the Taste of a civiliz'd People.[89] If, indeed, to our
several Theatres we could raise a proportionable Number of good Authors
to give them all different Employment, then perhaps the Publick might
profit from their Emulation: But while good Writers are so scarce, and
undaunted Criticks so plenty, I am afraid a good Play and a blazing Star
will be equal Rarities. This voluptuous Expedient, therefore, of
indulging the Taste with several Theatres, will amount to much the same
variety as that of a certain Oeconomist, who, to enlarge his
Hospitality, would have two Puddings and two Legs of Mutton for the same
Dinner.[90]--But to resume the Thread of my History.
These two excellent Companies were both prosperous for some few Years,
'till their Variety of Plays began to be exhausted: Then of course the
better Actors (which the King's seem to have been allowed) could not
fail of drawing the greater Audiences. Sir _William Davenant_,
therefore, Master of the Duke's Company, to make Head against their
Success, was forced to add Spectacle and Musick to Action; and to
introduce a new Species of Plays, since call'd Dramatick Opera's, of
which kind were the _Tempest_, _Psyche_, _Circe_, and others, all set
off with the most expensive Decorations of Scenes and Habits, with the
best Voices and Dancers.[91]
This sensual Supply of Sight and Sound coming in to the Assistance of
the weaker Party, it was no Wonder they should grow too hard for Sense
and simple Nature, when it is consider'd how many more People there are,
that can see and hear, than think and judge. So wanton a Change of the
publick Taste, therefore, began to fall as heavy upon the King's Company
as their greater Excellence in Action had before fallen upon their
Competitors: Of which Encroachment upon Wit several good Prologues in
those Days frequently complain'd.[92]
But alas! what can Truth avail, when its Dependance is much more upon
the Ignorant than the sensible Auditor? a poor Satisfaction, that the
due Praise given to it must at last sink into the cold Comfort
of--_Laudatur & Alget_.[93] Unprofitable Praise can hardly give it a
_Soup maigre_. Taste and Fashion with us have always had Wings, and fly
from one publick Spectacle to another so wantonly, that I have been
inform'd by those who remember it, that a famous Puppet-shew[94] in
_Salisbury_ Change (then standing where _Cecil-Street_ now is) so far
distrest these two celebrat
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