No More Learning

LETTER VI.

You were pleased to send me word you would meet me in the Mall this
evening, and give me further satisfaction in the matter you were so
unkind to charge me with: I was there, but found you not; and therefore
beg of you, as you ever would wish yourself to be eased of the highest
torment it were possible for your nature to be sensible of, to let
me see you some time to-morrow, and send me word, by this bearer,
where, and at what hour, you will be so just as either to acquit or
condemn me; that I may, hereafter, for your sake, either bless all
your bewitching sex, or, as often as I henceforth think of you, curse
womankind for ever.

THE END.

"The excellent MERMAID SERIES. "--_Spectator. _

[Illustration]

FOOTNOTES:

[81] To leave the stage.




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THE ORPHAN;
OR,
_The Unhappy Marriage. _

A TRAGEDY,
IN FIVE ACTS.

BY THOMAS OTWAY.


CORRECTLY GIVEN,
AS PERFORMED AT THE THEATRES ROYAL.
With Remarks.


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London:
Printed by D. S. Maurice, Fenchurch-street;

SOLD BY

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PATERNOSTER ROW; & J. CUMMING, DUBLIN.




REMARKS.


To the great merit of Miss O'Neil, in _Monimia_, we are indebted for
the revival of this tragedy, which was originally played at the Duke's
Theatre, in 1680; and long kept possession of the stage. The language
of this play is poetical and tender, and the incidents affecting; but,
amidst many beauties, there is great inconsistency[1].

Dr. Johnson observes,--"This is one of the few pieces that has pleased
for almost a century, through all the vicissitudes of dramatic fashion.
Of this play, nothing new can easily be said. It is a domestic tragedy,
drawn from middle life:--its whole power is upon the affections; for
it is not written with much comprehension of thought, or elegance of
expression. But, if the heart is interested, many other beauties may be
wanting; yet not be missed. "

[1] Many readers will, probably, exclaim with the critic, when he
first saw it,--"Oh! what an infinite deal of mischief would a farthing
rush-light have prevented! "




DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.

Drury-Lane, 1780. Covent Garden, 1815.
Castalio Mr. Reddish Mr. C. Kemble.
Acasto Mr. Packer Mr. Egerton.
Polydore Mr. Brereton Mr. Conway.
Chaplain Mr. Usher Mr. Chapman.
Ernesto Mr. Wrighten Mr. Jefferies.
Page Master Pulley Miss Prescott.
Chamont Mr. Smith Mr. Young.

Serina Miss Platt Miss Boyce.
Florella Mrs. Johnston Mrs. Seymour.
Monimia Miss Younge Miss O'Neil.

SCENE--Bohemia.




THE ORPHAN.




ACT THE FIRST.


SCENE I. A GARDEN.

_Enter Castalio, Polydore, and Page. _

_Cas. _ Polydore, our sport
Has been to-day much better for the danger:
When on the brink the foaming boar I met,
And in his side thought to have lodg'd my spear,
The desperate savage rush'd within my force,
And bore me headlong with him down the rock.

_Pol. _ But then----

_Cas. _ Ay, then, my brother, my friend, Polydore,
Like Perseus mounted on his winged steed,
Came on, and down the dang'rous precipice leap'd
To save Castilio. --'Twas a godlike act!

_Pol. _ But when I came, I found you conqueror.
Oh! my heart danc'd, to see your danger past!
The heat and fury of the chase was cold,
And I had nothing in my mind but joy.

_Cas. _ So, Polydore, methinks, we might in war
Rush on together; thou shouldst be my guard,
And I be thine. What is't could hurt us then?
Now half the youth of Europe are in arms,
How fulsome must it be to stay behind,
And die of rank diseases here at home!

_Pol. _ No, let me purchase in my youth renown,
To make me lov'd and valu'd when I'm old;
I would be busy in the world, and learn,
Not like a coarse and useless dunghill weed,
Fix'd to one spot, and rot just as I grow.

_Cas. _ Our father
Has ta'en himself a surfeit of the world,
And cries, it is not safe that we should taste it.
I own, I have duty very pow'rful in me:
And though I'd hazard all to raise my name,
Yet he's so tender, and so good a father,
I could not do a thing to cross his will.

_Pol. _ Castalio, I have doubts within my heart,
Which you, and only you, can satisfy.
Will you be free and candid to your friend?

_Cas. _ Have I a thought my Polydore should not know?
What can this mean?

_Pol. _ Nay, I'll conjure you too,
By all the strictest bonds of faithful friendship,
To show your heart as naked in this point,
As you would purge you of your sins to heav'n.
And should I chance to touch it near, bear it
With all the suff'rance of a tender friend.

_Cas. _ As calmly as the wounded patient bears
The artist's hand, that ministers his cure.

_Pol. _ That's kindly said. ----You know our father's ward,
The fair Monimia:--is your heart at peace?
Is it so guarded, that you could not love her?

_Cas. _ Suppose I should?

_Pol. _ Suppose you should not, brother?

_Cas. _ You'd say, I must not.

_Pol. _ That would sound too roughly
Twixt friends and brothers, as we two are.

_Cas. _ Is love a fault?

_Pol. _ In one of us it may be----
What, if I love her?

_Cas. _ Then I must inform you
I lov'd her first, and cannot quit the claim;
But will preserve the birthright of my passion.

_Pol. _ You will?

_Cas. _ I will.

_Pol. _ No more; I've done.

_Cas. _ Why not?

_Pol. _ I told you, I had done.
But you, Castalio, would dispute it.

_Cas. _ No;
Not with my Polydore:--though I must own
My nature obstinate, and void of suff'rance;
I could not bear a rival in my friendship,
I am so much in love, and fond of thee.

_Pol. _ Yet you will break this friendship!

_Cas. _ Not for crowns.

_Pol.
_ But for a toy you would, a woman's toy,
Unjust Castalio!

_Cas. _ Pr'ythee, where's my fault?

_Pol. _ You love Monimia.

_Cas. _ Yes.

_Pol. _ And you would kill me,
If I'm your rival?

_Cas. _ No;--sure we're such friends,
So much one man, that our affections too
Must be united, and the same as we are.

_Pol. _ I dote upon Monimia.

_Cas. _ Love her still;
Win, and enjoy her.

_Pol. _ Both of us cannot.

_Cas. _ No matter
Whose chance it prove; but let's not quarrel for't.

_Pol. _ You would not wed Monimia, would you?

_Cas. _ Wed her!
No--were she all desire could wish, as fair
As would the vainest of her sex be thought,
With wealth beyond what woman's pride could waste,
She should not cheat me of my freedom. --Marry!
When I am old and weary of the world,
I may grow desperate,
And take a wife to mortify withal.

_Pol. _ It is an elder brother's duty, so
To propagate his family and name.
You would not have yours die, and buried with you?

_Cas. _ Mere vanity, and silly dotage, all:--
No, let me live at large, and when I die----

_Pol. _ Who shall possess th' estate you leave?

_Cas. _ My friend,
If he survive me; if not, my king,
Who may bestow't again on some brave man,
Whose honesty and services deserve one.

_Pol. _ 'Tis kindly offer'd.

_Cas. _ By yon heaven, I love
My Polydore beyond all worldly joys;
And would not shock his quiet, to be blest
With greater happiness than man e'er tasted.

_Pol. _ And, by that heaven, eternally I swear
To keep the kind Castalio in my heart.
Whose shall Monimia be?

_Cas. _ No matter whose.

_Pol. _ Were you not with her privately last night?

_Cas. _ I was; and should have met her here again.
The opportunity shall now be thine?
But have a care, by friendship I conjure thee,
That no false play be offer'd to thy brother.
Urge all thy powers to make thy passion prosper;
But wrong not mine.

_Pol. _ By heaven, I will not.

_Cas. _ If't prove thy fortune, Polydore, to conquer
(For thou hast all the arts of soft persuasion);
Trust me, and let me know thy love's success,
That I may ever after stifle mine.

_Pol. _ Though she be dearer to my soul than rest
To weary pilgrims, or to misers gold,
To great men pow'r, or wealthy cities pride;
Rather than wrong Castalio, I'd forget her.
[_exeunt Castalio and Polydore. _

_Enter Monimia. _

_Mon. _ Pass'd not Castalio and Polydore this way?

_Page. _ Madam, just now.

_Mon. _ Sure, some ill fate's upon me:
Distrust and heaviness sit round my heart,
And apprehension shocks my tim'rous soul.
Why was I not laid in my peaceful grave
With my poor parents, and at rest as they are?
Instead of that, I'm wand'ring into cares. ----
Castalio! O Castalio! hast thou caught
My foolish heart; and, like a tender child,
That trusts his plaything to another hand,
I fear its harm, and fain would have it back.
Come near, Cordelio; I must chide you, sir.

_Page. _ Why, madam, have I done you any wrong?

_Mon. _ I never see you now; you have been kinder;
Perhaps I've been ungrateful. Here's money for you.

_Page. _ Madam, I'd serve you with all my soul.

_Mon. _ Tell me, Cordelio (for thou oft hast heard
Their friendly converse, and their bosom secrets),
Sometimes, at least, have they not talk'd of me?

_Page. _ O madam! very wickedly they have talk'd:
But I am afraid to name it; for, they say,
Boys must be whipp'd, that tell their masters' secrets.

_Mon. _ Fear not, Cordelio; it shall ne'er be known;
For I'll preserve the secret as 'twere mine.
Polydore cannot be so kind as I.
I'll furnish thee with all thy harmless sports,
With pretty toys, and thou shalt be my page.

_Page. _ And truly, madam, I had rather be so.
Methinks you love me better than my lord;
For he was never half so kind as you are.
What must I do?

_Mon. _ Inform me how thou'st heard
Castalio and his brother use my name.

_Page. _ With all the tenderness of love,
You were the subject of their last discourse.
At first I thought it would have fatal prov'd;
But, as the one grew hot, the other cool'd,
And yielded to the frailty of his friend;
At last, after much struggling, 'twas resolv'd----

_Mon. _ What, good Cordelio?

_Page. _ Not to quarrel for you.

_Mon. _ I would not have 'em, by my dearest hopes;
I would not be the argument of strife.
But surely my Castalio won't forsake me,
And make a mock'ry of my easy love!
Went they together?

_Page. _ Yes, to seek you, madam.
Castalio promis'd Polydore to bring him,
Where he alone might meet you,
And fairly try the fortune of his wishes.

_Mon. _ Am I then grown so cheap, just to be made
A common stake, a prize for love in jest?
Was not Castalio very loth to yield it?
Or was it Polydore's unruly passion,
That heighten'd the debate?

_Page. _ The fault was Polydore's.
Castalio play'd with love, and smiling show'd
The pleasure, not the pangs of his desire.
He said, no woman's smiles should buy his freedom;
And marriage is a mortifying thing. [_exit. _

_Mon. _ Then I am ruin'd! if Castalio's false,
Where is there faith and honour to be found?
Ye gods, that guard the innocent, and guide
The weak, protect and take me to your care.
O, but I love him! There's the rock will wreck me!
Why was I made with all my sex's fondness,
Yet want the cunning to conceal its follies?
I'll see Castalio, tax him with his falsehoods,
Be a true woman, rail, protest my wrongs;
Resolve to hate him, and yet love him still.

_Re-enter Castalio and Polydore. _

He comes.

_Cas. _ Madam, my brother begs he may have leave
To tell you something that concerns you nearly.
I leave you, as becomes me, and withdraw.

_Mon. _ My lord Castalio!

_Cas. _ Madam!

_Mon. _ Have you purpos'd
To abuse me palpably? What means this usage?
Why am I left with Polydore alone?

_Cas. _ He best can tell you. Business of importance
Calls me away: I must attend my father.

_Mon. _ Will you then leave me thus?

_Cas. _ But for a moment.

_Mon. _ It has been otherwise: the time has been,
When business might have stay'd, and I been heard.

_Cas. _ I could for ever hear thee; but this time
Matters of such odd circumstances press me,
That I must go. [_exit. _

_Mon. _ Then go, and, if't be possible, for ever.
Well, my lord Polydore, I guess your business,
And read th' ill-natur'd purpose in your eyes.

_Pol. _ If to desire you, more than misers wealth,
Or dying men an hour of added life;
If softest wishes, and a heart more true
Than ever suffer'd yet for love disdain'd,
Speak an ill nature; you accuse me justly.

_Mon. _ Talk not of love, my lord, I must not hear it.

_Pol. _ Who can behold such beauty, and be silent?
Desire first taught us words. Man, when created,
At first alone long wander'd up and down
Forlorn and silent as his vassal beasts:
But when a heav'n-born maid, like you, appear'd,
Strange pleasures fill'd his eyes and fir'd his heart,
Unloos'd his tongue, and his first talk was love.

_Mon. _ The first created pair indeed were bless'd;
They were the only objects of each other,
Therefore he courted her, and her alone;
But in this peopled world of beauty, where
There's roving room, where you may court, and ruin
A thousand more, why need you talk to me?

_Pol. _ Oh! I could talk to thee for ever. Thus
Eternally admiring, fix, and gaze,
On those dear eyes; for every glance they send
Darts through my soul.

_Mon. _ How can you labour thus for my undoing?
I must confess, indeed, I owe you more
Than ever I can hope, or think, to pay.
There always was a friendship 'twixt our families;
And therefore when my tender parents dy'd,
Whose ruin'd fortunes too expir'd with them,
Your father's pity and his bounty took me,
A poor and helpless orphan, to his care.

_Pol. _ 'Twas Heav'n ordain'd it so, to make me happy.
Hence with this peevish virtue, 'tis a cheat;
And those who taught it first were hypocrites.
Come, these soft tender limbs were made for yielding.

_Mon. _ Here, on my knees, by heav'n's blest pow'r I swear, [_kneels. _
If you persist, I ne'er henceforth will see you,
But rather wander through the world a beggar,
And live on sordid scraps at proud men's doors;
For, though to fortune lost, I'll still inherit
My mother's virtues, and my father's honour.

_Pol. _ Intolerable vanity! your sex
Was never in the right! y'are always false,
Or silly; ev'n your dresses are not more
Fantastic than your appetites; you think
Of nothing twice; opinion you have none.
To-day y'are nice, to-morrow not so free;
Now smile, then frown; now sorrowful, then glad;
Now pleas'd, now not: and all, you know not why!

_Mon. _ Indeed, my lord,
I own my sex's follies; I have 'em all;
And, to avoid its fault, must fly from you.
Therefore, believe me, could you raise me high
As most fantastic woman's wish could reach,
And lay all nature's riches at my feet;
I'd rather run a savage in the woods,
Amongst brute beasts, grow wrinkled and deform'd,
So I might still enjoy my honour safe,
From the destroying wiles of faithless men. [_exit. _

_Pol. _ Who'd be that sordid thing call'd man?
I'll yet possess my love; it shall be so. [_exeunt. _




ACT THE SECOND.


SCENE I. A SALOON.

_Enter Acasto, Castalio, Polydore, and Attendants. _

_Acas. _ To-day has been a day of glorious sport:
When you, Castalio, and your brother, left me,
Forth from the thickets rush'd another boar,
So large, he seem'd the tyrant of the woods,
With all his dreadful bristles rais'd up high,
They seem'd a grove of spears upon his back;
Foaming he came at me, where I was posted
Best to observe which way he'd lead the chase,
Whetting his huge large tusks, and gaping wide,
As if he already had me for his prey!
Till, brandishing my well-pois'd javelin high,
With this bold executing arm I struck
The ugly brindled monster to the heart.

_Cas. _ The actions of your life were always wondrous.

_Acas. _ No flattery, boy! an honest man can't live by't;
It is a little sneaking art, which knaves
Use to cajole and soften fools withal.
If thou hast flattery in thy nature, out with't,
Or send it to a court, for there 'twill thrive.