A Will and No Will or A Bone for the Lawyers Part 13

If you approve--a Figg for Courts and Laws!_

FINIS

THE NEW PLAY CRITICIZED:

OR

THE PLAGUE OF ENVY[5]

PROLOGUE[6]

Of all good Printing it is hardest sure To form a perfect Piece in Miniature.

The Genius and the Pencil when confined Cramp both the Painter's Hand and Poet's Mind.

Let then the Author claim a kinder Fate Whose Compa.s.s little,--yet his Subject great.

Thus for our Pet.i.t Piece we crave your Favour, And if she bear one Sketch of Nature, save her-- _Let not your Wrath against the Author rise, If he to Flight presumes to criticize.

Our humble Wren attempts to mount and sing, Beneath the Shelter of his Eagle's Wing._

Envy's a general Vice from which we see No Country, s.e.x, no Time or Station free; Not e'en the Stage; for entre nous I fear Our Emulation is meer Envy here.

Whatever the Pursuits our Thoughts engage, Envy's the ruling Pa.s.sion of the Stage.

Yet here our Friends the Poets much surpa.s.s us; Envy's a Weed that almost choaks Parna.s.sus.

And what amazes most is often found Mixt in the Harvest of the richest Ground.

While Poets railed and ruined in each Page, We took it all for pure poetick Rage.

While ev'ry little Slip was made the Handle, And Satire's specious Name concealed the Scandal, We thought that Virtue did this Warmth impart, Nor saw low Envy lurking in the Heart.

Our Indignation into Grief was turned, E'en those, who felt the Smart, admired and mourned.

The scribbling unsuccessful envious Fool Is the fit Subject for our Ridicule.

Those Sons of Dulness here in Crowds resort, Tho' Dunces on the Record of this Court.

As they were wounded, so they wish to wound, And strive to deal their own d.a.m.nation round.

To blast young Merit all their Powers they bring, And set their little Souls upon the thing.

Yet still the wretched Fool comes off a Loser, Dulness, like Conscience, is its own Accuser.

And Tyrant Envy can at once impart Sneers to the Face and Vultures to the Heart.

Then from this Subject which tonight we chuse, At least confess it is an honest Muse.

A Foe to ev'ry Party, ev'ry Faction; For lo, she draws her Pen against Detraction.

P.S. You may send it to the Barbers.

DRAMATIS PERSONAE

CANKER LADY CRITICK HEARTLY HARRIET SIR PATRICK BASHFULL MRS. CHATTER NIBBLE TRIFLE PLAGIARY GRUBWIT b.u.mPKIN FOOTMAN

_Scene in Lady_ CRITICK's _House_

The Time an hour after the New Play on the first Night

THE NEW PLAY CRITICIZED:

OR

THE PLAGUE OF ENVY

(_Enter_ CANKER _and_ FOOTMAN)

_Cank._ Is not my Man come in yet?

_Foot._ No, Sir.

_Cank._ Pray will you oblige me by letting one of your Servants step to Covent Garden Playhouse to look for him.

_Foot._ I'll go myself, Sir; for I shan't be wanted 'till my Lady comes from the Play. (_Exit_)

_Cank._ Let me see (_pulling out his Watch_) 'tis now half an hour after Seven. By this time the Fate of the Suspicious Husband is determined; applauded to the Skies; or d.a.m.ned beyond Redemption; its Author crowned with Laurel, or covered with Shame. Sure they can't approve it! And yet the Stings I felt at the reading [of] it give me presaging Pangs of its Success. (_Sighs deeply_) It has its Beauties I must confess. Why should I thus grieve at a young Author's approaching Fame? His Throes and Pangs lest it should fail have been far short of mine lest it should succeed; nor would the Author's Joy for its kind Reception equal my secret Rapture at its irretrievable Disgrace. What is this that like a slow but infallible Poison corrodes my Vitals and destroys my Peace of Mind? Emulation? (_Shakes his head and sighs_) I am afraid the World will call it Envy. All Mankind has some, but Authors most; and we can better brook a Rival in our Love than in our Fame. What can detain this Rascal? I am upon the Rack to know how it goes on--let me see, in what Manner would I have it treated? In the first Act I would have them applaud it violently,--in the second and third be coldly attentive,--in the fourth begin to groan, horse laugh and whistle,--and in the fifth just before the Catastrophe, one and all cry aloud, off, off, off! The Epilogue! The Epilogue! O that would be delightful! Exquisite!

(_Enter_ FOOTMAN)

So Sir! You Blockhead, how came you to stay so long? But first tell me how the Play was received; whereabouts did they begin to hiss?

_Foot._ Hiss! he, he, he, Lard, Zir, why they did not hiss at all.

_Cank._ You lye, you Rascal! (_Gives him a box_)

_Foot._ Zir!

_Cank._ I say they did hiss.

_Foot._ Hiss quotha!--I am zure you have made my Ear hiss--and zing too, I think; why pray Zir, what did'st give me such a Wherrit var?

_Cank._ How shamefully I expose my weakness to my Servant. I would know the truth, but I cannot bear to hear it. (_Aside_) Come, Sir, tell me (_Sits down in a great Chair_) how was it received? But first what made you stay so long? Did I not order you to hearken at the Pit Door and bring me Word at the end of every Act how it went on?

_Foot._ Yes Zir; you did zo, Zir; but the Vauk zhut the Door, and then I could zee nothing at all o' the Matter.--Zo I begged them to open the door as I might zee through it; but they were zo ztout that they would do no zuch thing, they zaid. Zo then I went up to the Lobby--and there I met with an auld Vellow Zervant out of Zomersetshire. Zo he and I went up to the Footman's Gallery that I might give my Vardie of the matter to your Honour when I came Home.

_Cank._ And why did you not come away at the End of the first Act?

_Foot._ Why faith to tell your Honour the truth it made me laugh zo I could not vind in my Heart to leave it.

_Cank._ Rascal, how dare you tell me it made you laugh? (_Strikes him_)