Selected quad for the lemma: cause_n
Text snippets containing the quad
|
ID |
Title |
Author |
Corrected Date of Publication (TCP Date of Publication) |
STC |
Words |
Pages |
|
A34315
|
The old batchelour a comedy, as it is acted at the Theatre Royal, by Their Majesties servants / written by Mr. Congreve.
|
Congreve, William, 1670-1729.
|
1693
(1693)
|
Wing C5863; ESTC R1182
|
51,682
|
70
|
no other guard Nature her self's beholden to your Dress Which tho' still like much fairer you express Some vainly striving Honour to obtain Leave to their Heirs the Traffick of their Brain Like China under Ground the ripening Ware In a long time perhaps grows worth our Care But you now reap the Fame so well you 've sown The Planter tasts his Fruit to ripeness grown As a fair Orange-tree at once is seen Big with what 's ripe yet springing still with Green So at one time my worthy Friend appears With all the sap of Youth and weight of Years Accept my pious Love as forward Zeal Which tho' it ruins me I can't conceal Expos'd to Censure for my weak Applause I 'm pleas'd to suffer in so just a Cause And tho' my Offering may unworthy prove Take as a Friend the Wishes of my Love J. W. MARSH To Mr. CONGREVE on his PLAY called The OLD BATCHELOR WIT like true Gold refin'd from all Allay Immortal is and never can decay 'T is in all Times and Languages the same Nor can an ill Translation quench the Flame For tho' the Form and Fashion don't remain Th' intrinsick value still it will retain Then let each studied Scene be writ with Art And Iudgment sweat to form the labour'd Part Each Character be just and Nature seem Without th' Ingredient Wit 't is all but Phlegm For that 's the Soul which all the Mass must move And wake our Passions into Grief or Love But you too Bounteous sow your Wit so thick We are surpriz'd and know not where to pick And while our Clapping does you Iustice do Our selves we injure and lose something new What may'nt we then great Youth of thee presage Whose Art and Wit so much transcend thy Age How wilt thou shine at thy Meridian height Who at thy rising give so vast a Light VVhen DRYDEN dying shall the VVorld deceive VVhom we Immortal as his VVorks believe Thou shalt succeed the Glory of the Stage Adorn and entertain the coming Age. BEVIL HIGGINS PROLOGVE intended for the old Btcahelour sent to the Author by an unknown Hand MOST Authors on the Stage at first appear Like Widows-Bridegrooms full of doubt and fear They judge from the experience of the Dame How hard a Task it is to quench her Flame And who falls short of furnishing a course Up to his brawny Predecessors force With utmost rage from her Embraces thrown Remains convicted as an empty Drone Thus often to his Shame a pert Beginner Proves in the end a miserable Sinner As for our Youngster I am apt to doubt him With all the vigour of his Youth about him But he more Sanguine trusts in one and twenty And impudently hopes he shall content you For tho' his Batchelour be worn and cold He thinks the Young may club to help the Old And what alone can be atchieved by neither Is often brought about by both together The briskest of you all have felt Allarms Finding the fair One prostitute her Charms With broken Sighs in her old Fumblers Arms. But for our Spark he Swears he 'll ne're be jealous Of any Rivals but young lusty Fellows Faith let him try his Chance and if the Slave After his bragging prove a washy Knave May he be banish'd to some lonely Den And never more have leave to dip his Pen But if he be the Champion he pretends Both Sexes sure will join to be his Friends For all agree where all can have their ends And you must own him for a Man of Might If he holds out to please you the third Night PROLOGUE Spoken by Mrs. Bracegirdle HOW this vile World is chang'd In former days Prologues were serious Speeches before Plays Grave solemn Things as Graces are to Feasts Where Poets beg'd a Blessing from their Guests But now no more like Suppliants we come A Play makes War and Prologue is the Drum Arm'd with keen Satyr and with pointed Wit We threaten you who do for Iudges sit To save our Plays or else we 'll damn your Pit But for your Comfort it falls out to day We 've a young Author and his first born Play So standing only on his good Behaviour He 's very civil and entreats your Favour Not but the Man has Malice would he show it But on my Conscience he 's a bashful Poet You think that strange no matter he 'll out grow it Well I 'm his Advocate by me he prays you I don't know whether I shall speak to please you He prays O bless me what shall I do now Hang me if I know what he prays or how And 't was the prettiest Prologue as he wrote it Well the Deuce take me if I hau'e forgot it O Lord for Heavens sake excuse the Play Because you know if it be damn'd to day I shall be hang'd for wanting what to say How my sake then but I 'm in such Confusion I cannot stay to hear your Resolution Runs off Personae Dramatis Men By Heartwell a furly old Batchelour pretending to slight Women secretly in Love with Silvia Mr. Betterton Bellmour in Love with Belinda Mr. Powel Vainlove capricious in his Love in Love with Araminta Mr. Williams Sharper Mr. Alexander Sir Joseph Wittol Mr. Bowen Capt. Bluffe Mr. Hains Fondlewife a Banker Mr. Dogget Setter a Pimp Mr. Underhill Servant to Fondlewife Women Araminta in Love with Vainlove Mrs. Bracegirdle Belinda her Cousin and affected Lady in Love with Bellmour Mrs. Mountfort Laetitia Wife to Fondlewife Mrs. Barry Silvia Vainlove's forsaken Mistress Mrs. Bowman Lucy her Maid Mrs. Leigh Betty Footmen The Scene LONDON THE Old Batchelour ACT I. SCENE I. The Street Bellmour and Vainlove Meeting Bell. VAinlove and abroad so early good Morrow I thought a Contemplative Lover could no more have parted with his Bed in a Morning than a' could ' have slept in 't Vain Bellmour good Morrow Why truth on 't is these early Sallies are not usual to me but Bussiness as you see Sir Shewing Letters And Business must be follow'd or be lost Bell. Pox o' Business And so must Time my Friend be close pursued or lost Business is the rub of Life perverts our Aim casts off the Blas and leaves us wide and short of the intended Mark Vain Pleasure I guess you mean Bell. Ay what else has meaning Vain Oh the Wise will tell you Bell. More than they believe Or understand Vain How how Ned a wise Man say more than he understands Bell. Ay ay pox Wisdom's nothing but a pretending to know and believe more than really we do You read of but one wise Man and all that he knew was that he knew nothing Come come leave Business to Idlets and Wisdom to Fools they have need of 'em Wit be my Faculty and Pleasure my Occupation and let Father Time shake his Glass Let low and earthy Souls grovel till they have work'd themselves six foot deep into a Grave Business is not my Element I rowl in a higher Orb and dwell Vain In