No More Learning

_Dal. _ [_To_ LOP. ] Oh barbarous villain! he'll discover all.

_Lop. _ The best on't is, you're already married.

_Dal. _ But we have not consummated. I could have so wheedled Mr
Bridegroom to-night, that ere to-morrow morning he should have forgiven
me.

_Re-enter_ CARLOS, _with Nurse and Children_.

_Carl. _ Come, nurse, no more mincing matters; your lady's orders in my
letter must be obeyed: I must find a father and mother for the children
in this company.

_San. _ Whose pretty children are these, Carlos, that you are to provide
for?

_Carl. _ E'en your bride's, Sancho, at your service. -- Children, do your
duty to your mother.

_Children. _ [_Kneeling. _] Mamma, your blessing.

_San. _ Hey day, what's here to do? Are these the issue of your body,
Madam Bride?

_Carl. _ Yes; and they are now your children by the mother's side. The
late Conde presents his service to you, with these two pledges of his
affection to your wife.

_San. _ Is it even thus, Dalinda?

_Lop. _ Christian patience, son-in-law.

_San. _ Christian patience! I say pagan fury. This is enough to make me
turn Jew again, like my father of Hebrew memory.

_Carl. _ You may make your assault, colonel, without danger; the breach
is already made to your hands.

_San. _ Ay, the devil take him that stormed it first!

_Carl. _ Speak well of the dead.

_Dal. _ [_Kneeling. _] And forgive the living!

_San. _ Oh Dalinda! no more Dalinda, but Dalilah the Philistine! Could
you find none but me to practise on?

_Carl. _ Sooner upon you than upon any man; for nature has put a
superscription upon a fool's face, and all cheats are directed thither.

_Lop. _ There's no recalling what's past and done.

_San. _ You never said a truer word, father-in-law; 'tis done, indeed,
to my sorrow.

_Carl. _ If you could undo it, Sancho, it were something; but, since you
cannot, your only remedy is to do it again.

_San. _ That's true; but the memory of that damned Conde is enough to
turn one's stomach to her. Do you remember what a devilish hunch back
he had, when you and I played him?

_Carl. _ For that reason you may be sure she'll loath the thought of him.

_San. _ Do you think so, Carlos?

_Dal. _ How can I do otherwise, when I have in my arms so handsome, so
sweet, and so charming a cavalier as you?

_San. _ Well, I am--I know not howish; she has a delicious tongue of her
own, and I begin to mollify.

_Carl. _ Do, Sancho: Faith, you've held it out too long, in conscience,
for so slight a quarrel; this is nothing among great ladies, man. How
many fathers have I known, that have given their blessings to other
men's children? Come, bless them, bless them, honest daddy--Kneel down,
children.

_Children. _ [_Kneeling. _] Your blessing, papa.

[_Children cry. _

_San. _ It goes against the grain to give it them.

_Carl. _ For shame, Sancho, take them up; you'll break their pretty
hearts else: 'twould grieve a man's soul to see them weep thus.

_San. _ Ay, they learnt that trick of their mother; but I cannot be
obdurate, the fault was none of theirs, I'm sure. [_Crying. _] Heaven
e'en bless you, and I'll provide for you; nay, and it shall go hard but
I'll get you some more play-fellows, if your mother be as fruitful as
she used to be.

_Lop. _ Why this is as it should be.

_Dal. _ Heaven reward you; and I'll study obedience to you.

_San. _ They say, children are great blessings; if they are, I have two
great blessings ready gotten to my hands.

_Carl. _ For your comfort, marriage, they say, is holy.

_San. _ Ay, and so is martyrdom, as they say; but both of them are good
for just nothing, but to make an end of a man's life.

_Lop. _ Cheer up, son-in-law: your children are very towardly, you see
they can ask blessing already.

_Dal. _ If he does not like them, he may get the next himself.

_Carl. _ I will not trouble the company with reading my letter from the
dead count's sister; 'tis enough to tell you, that I loved her once,
and forsook her, because she was then no fortune. But she has been
kinder to me than I deserve; and has offered me her brother's estate in
dowry with her.

_Dal. _ Which I hope you will accept.

_Carl. _ Yes, and release you of a certain promise to me, without
explaining. --She only recommended to me her brother's children by
Dalinda: and I think I have taken a decent care in providing them a
rich father.

_San. _ I always loved a harlot, and, now I have one of my own, I'll
e'en take up with her; for my youth is going, and my days of whoring,
I mean emphatical whoring, are almost over. But for once, we'll have a
frolick; come, offspring, can either of you two dance?

_1 Child. _ Yes, forsooth, father, and my sister can sing too, like an
angel.

_San. _ Then foot it featly; that you may say hereafter you remember
when your mother was first married, and danced at her wedding.

_Carl. _ Hold a little;--you may remember too, Madam Bride, that I
promised you an epithalamium. 'Twas meant a satire; but fortune has
turned it to a jest. I have given it to the musicians, and brought them
along with me; strike up, gentlemen.

[_The Dance is first, then the Song, the last Words of which are
sung while the Company is going out, and the Musick plays before
them. _


SONG.

BY MR CONGREVE.

I.

_How happy's the husband, whose wife has been tried!
Not damned to the bed of an ignorant bride!
Secure of what's left, he ne'er misses the rest,
But where there's enough, supposes a feast;
So, foreknowing the cheat,
He escapes the deceit,
And, in spite of the curse, resolves to be blest. _

II.

_If children are blessings, his comfort's the more,
Whose spouse has been known to be fruitful before;
And the boy that she brings ready made to his hand,
May stand him instead, for an heir to his land,
Should his own prove a sot,
When he's lawfully got,
As whene'er 'tis so, if he don't I'll be hanged. _


SONG

FOR A GIRL.

I.

_Young I am, and yet unskilled
How to make a lover yield:
How to keep, or how to gain,
When to love, and when to feign. _

II.

_Take me, take me, some of you,
While I yet am young and true;
Ere I can my soul disguise,
Heave my breasts, and roll my eyes. _

III.

_Stay not till I learn the way,
How to lie, and to betray:
He that has me first is blest,
For I may deceive the rest. _

IV.

_Could I find a blooming youth,
Full of love, and full of truth,
Brisk, and of a jaunty mien,
I should long to be fifteen. _ [Exeunt.

_A Royal Chamber is discovered by drawing the former Scene_;
VERAMOND, GARCIA, XIMENA, VICTORIA CELIDEA, _with a full Train of
Courtiers and Guards: amongst the Crowd_, RAMIREZ _disguised with
some of his Party_.

_Vera. _ [_To_ VICT. ] No more delays, but go.

_Xim. _ This is inhuman,
To press her to a marriage made by force.
At least allow yourself and her this day,
That each of you may think, and one may change.

_Vera. _ You mean, the times or accidents may change,
And leave her for Alphonso.

_Xim. _ Your enemies are but without your gates,
And soon they may return: Forbear for fear.

_Vera. _ The sooner then
I must prevent the effect of their return.
What now remains, but to complete my vows,
And sacrifice to vengeance!

_Xim. _ Your own daughter!

_Vera. _ Even her, myself, and all the world together.

_Vict. _ Can you refuse me one poor day to live?

_Vera. _ Obey me, and be blest; if not, accurst.
A father's curse has wings, remember that;
Through this world and the next it will pursue thee,
And sink thee down for ever.

_Vict. _ 'Tis enough,
I know how far a daughter owes obedience;
But duty has a bound like other empires:
It reaches but to life, for all beyond it
Is the dominion of another world,
Where you have no command. --
For you, Don Garcia,
You know the power a mistress ought to have;
But, since you will be master, take your hour,
The next is mine.

_Gar. _ I grant the debt of service which I owe you;
But 'tis a sum too vast to pay at sight.
If now you call it in, I must be bankrupt
To all my future bliss.

_Vict. _ I find by you,
The laws of love are like the laws of heaven;
All know, but few will keep them. --To the temple,
Where I myself am victim.

_Enter_ ALPHONSO, _unarmed; all seem amazed_.

_ Alph. _ Stay, Veramond.

_Vera. _ Alphonso here! then all my hopes are blasted;
The town is his, and I once more a slave. [_Aside. _

_Alph. _ Dismiss thy fears, and tremble not, old man;
I neither come with purpose, nor with power,
To avenge my wrongs, but single, and unarmed.
This head is necessary to thy peace,
And to Victoria's violated vows,
Who, while I live, can never be Don Garcia's.
Take then this odious life; securely take it,
And glut thy vengeance with Alphonso's blood.
Behold the man, who forced thee in thy strength,
In thy imperial town made thee a captive.
Now give thy fury scope; revenge the affront,
And show more pity not to spare my life,
Than I, in sparing thine.

_Xim. _ [_To_ CEL. ] Oh boundless courage, or extreme despair!

_Cel. _ [_To her. _] I tremble for the event; see, the king reddens.
The fear which seized him at Alphonso's sight,
And left his face forsaken of his blood,
Is vanished now;
And a new tide returns upon his cheeks,
And rage and vengeance sparkle in his eyes.

_Vera. _ [_Aside. _] All things are hushed; no noise is in the streets,
Nor shouts of soldiers, nor the cries of matrons,
To speak a town in plunder. --Then I take
A traitor's counsel once, and thou shalt die. [_To_ _Alph. _
Condemned by thy own sentence, go to death;
Nor shall thy seeming generosity,
And feigned assurance, save thee: 'tis despair,
To see thy frustrate hopes, that brought thee hither,
To meet my just revenge.

_Alph. _ Yes, I will die, because I chuse to die;
Which had I not desired, I had not come
Unarmed, unguarded, and alone, to tempt
Thy known ingratitude, and barbarous hate.
Boast not the advantage which thou hold'st of me,
But know thyself for what thou art,--no more
Than the mean minister of my despair.

_Vera. _ Whether to heaven's justice, or thy choice,
I owe this happy hour of sweet revenge,
I'll not be wanting to the wished occasion.

_Vict. _ You shall not die alone, my dear Alphonso,
Though much I blame this desperate enterprize.
You should have staid, to see
The event of what I promised to perform;
For, had I been so base to be another's,
That baseness might have cured your ill-placed love.
But this untimely rashness makes you guilty,
Both of your fate, and mine.

_Alph. _ While I believed
My life was precious to my dear Victoria,
I valued and preserved it for her sake:
But when you broke from your deliverer's arms.
To put yourself into a tyrant's power,
I threw a worthless, wretched being from me.
Abandoned first by you.

_Vict. _ Oh cruel man!
Where, at what moment did that change begin,
With which you tax my violated vows?
I left your lawless power, to put myself
Into a father's chains, my lawful tyrant.
If this be my upbraided crime, even this,
On that occasion, would I do once more:
But could I, with my honour, safe have staid
In your dear arms, bear witness, heaven and earth,
Nor threats, nor force, nor promises, nor fears,
Should take me from your love.

_Alph. _ Oh, I believe you. --
Vanish my fears, and causeless jealousies!
Live, my Victoria, for yourself, not me,
But let the unfortunate Alphonso die;
My death will glut your cruel father's rage.
When I am gone, and his revenge complete,
Pity, perhaps, may seize a parent's mind,
To free you from a hated lover's arms.

_Cel. _ [_To_ XIM. ] Speak, mother, speak; my father gives you time;
He stands amazed, irresolute, and dumb,
Like the still face of heaven before a storm;--
Speak and arrest the thunder, ere it rolls.

_Xim. _ I stand suspected; but you, Celidea,
The favourite of his heart, his darling child,
May speak, and ought: your interest is concerned;
For, if Alphonso die, your hopes are lost.
I see your father's soul, like glowing steel,
Is on the anvil; strike, while yet he's hot:
Turn him, and ply him; set him strait betimes,
Lest he for ever warp.

_Cel. _ I fear, and yet would speak; but will he hear me?

_Xim. _ For what is all this silence, but to hear?
Bring him but to calm reasoning, and he's gained.

_Cel. _ Then heaven inspire my tongue! ----
Sir, royal sir! ----
He hears me not; he lifts not up his eyes,
But, fixed upon the pavement, looks the way
That points to death. -- [_She pulls him. _
Oh hear me, hear me, father!
Have you forgot that dear indulgent name,
Never before in vain pronounced by me?

_Vera. _ Ha! who disturbs my thoughts?

_Cel. _ [_Kneeling. _] 'Tis Celidea. --
Alas, I would relieve you, if I durst:
If ever I offended, even in thought,
Or made not your commands
The bounds of all my wishes and desires,
Bid me be dumb, or else permit me speech.

_Vera. _ Oh rise, my only unoffending child,
Who reconciles me to the name of father!
Speak then;--but not for her, and less for him.

_Cel. _ Perhaps I would accuse them, not defend;
For both are guilty, dipt in equal crimes,
And are obnoxious to your justice both.

_Vera. _ True, Celidea; thou confirm'st my sentence.
'Tis just Alphonso die.

_Xim. _ Forgive her, heaven! she aggravates their faults,
And pushes their destruction. [_Aside. _

_Cel. _ Speak, Alphonso:
Can you deny, when royal Veramond,
Then thought your father, and by you so deemed,
When he required your captive, old Ramirez,
And ordered his confinement; did you well
Then to controul the pleasure of that king,
Under whose just commands you fought and conquered?

_Alph. _ I did not well; but heat of boiling youth,
And ill weighed honour, made me disobey.

_Vera. _ That cause is gained; for he confesses guilt. --
Proceed, most equitable judge, proceed.

_Cel. _ [_To_ ALPH. ] Next, I reproach you with a worse rebellion:
The king's first promise, to Don Garcia made,
You dared to oppose; forbade his fair addresses;
Then made a ruffian quarrel with that prince;
And, last, were guilty of incestuous love.
I will not load my sister with consent;
But, in strict virtue, listening to a crime,
And not rejecting, is itself a crime.

_Vict. _ Is this a sister's office? peace, for shame!
We loved without transgressing virtue's bounds;
We fixed the limits of our tenderest thoughts;
Came to the verge of honour, and there stopt:
We warmed us by the fire, but were not scorched.
If this be sin, angels might love with less,
And mingle rays of minds less pure than ours.
Our souls enjoyed; but to their holy feasts,
Bodies, on both sides, were forbidden guests.

_Cel. _ Now help me, father, or our cause is lost;
For much I fear their love was innocent.

_Vera. _ With my own troops Alphonso seized my person,
In my own town, to my perpetual shame.
Pass on to that, and strike the traitor dead.

_Cel. _ Yes, proud Alphonso, you were banish'd hence;
Your father was confined, and doomed to death;
The beauty you adored was made another's.
How durst you, then, attempt to avenge your wrongs,
And force your mistress from your rival's arms,
Rather than die contented, as you ought?

_Alph. _ Even for those very reasons you allege.

_Xim. _ At last I find her drift. [_Aside. _

_Vera. _ Thou justifiest, and not accusest him.

_Cel. _ Patience, good father, and hear out the rest. [_To_ ALPH.
Thought you, because you bravely fought and conquered
For royal Veramond, nay, saved his life,
And set him free when you had conquered him,
Only because he was Victoria's father;
Thought you for such slight services as these,
That he should spare you now? O generous madman,
To give your head to one, who ne'er forgave.

_Vera. _ Oh, she stings me. [_Aside. _

_Cel. _ And you, Don Garcia, witness to this truth:
You were his hated rival, fairly vanquished,
And yet he spared your life.

_Gar. _ At your request:
I owe it to you both.

_Cel. _ That he dismissed my sister, 'twas her fault;
I charge it not on him, but 'twas his folly:
A capital fool he was, in that last error,
For which he justly stands condemned to death.
Your sentence, royal sir?

_Vera. _ That he should live;
Should live triumphant over Veramond,
And should live happy in Victoria's love. --
Oh, I have held as long as nature could;
Convinced in reason, obstinate in will:
I saw the pleader's aim, found her design,
I longed to be o'ercome, and yet resisted. --
What have I done against thee, my Alphonso?
And what hast thou not done for Veramond?

_Xim. _ Oh fortunate event!

_Vict. _ Oh happy day!

_Alph. _ Oh unexpected bliss, and therefore double!

_Vera. _ [_To_ ALPH. ] Can you forgive me? yes, I know Alphonso can
forgive Victoria's father.
But yet, in pity, pardon not too soon;
Punish my pride a while,
And make me linger for so great a good,
Lest ecstasy of joy prevent this blessing,
And you, instead of pardon, give me death.

[_He offers to kneel to_ ALPHONSO: ALPHONSO _takes him up, and
kneels himself_.

_Alph. _ Oh, let me raise my father from the ground!

_Vera. _ [_Rising. _] 'Tis your peculiar virtue, my Alphonso,
Always to raise me up.

_Alph. _ Here let me grow, till I obtain your grace.
My life has been one universal crime;
And you, like heaven, accepting short repentance,
Forgive my length of sins.

_Vera. _ [_Raising him. _] Let us forget from whence offence began.
But since, to save my shame, thou wilt be guilty,
Impute thy hate for me to sure instinct,
That showed thee thy true father in my foe;
Now grafted on my stock, be son to both. --
[_Turning to_ GAR. ] To you, Don Garcia, next----

_Gar. _ Before you speak,
Permit me, sir, to assume some little merit
In this day's happiness; your promise made
Victoria mine----

_Alph. _ What then?

_Gar. _ Nay, hear me out.
He kept his royal word; he gave her me:
I lost her, when I fell beneath your sword;
Or, if I have a title, I resign it,
And make her yours.

_Alph. _ I take her, as your gift.

_Gar. _ [_To_ VER. ] Make me but blest in Celidea's love;
She saved my life, and hers it is for ever.
'Tis pity she, who gained another's cause,
Should lose her own.

_Vera. _ [_Presenting_ CEL. ] She's yours.

_Cel. _ My joys are full.

_Vict. _ And mine o'erflow.

_Alph. _ And mine are all a soul can bear, and live.

_Vera. _ Then seek we out Ramirez,
To make him partner of this happy day,
That gives him back his crown and his Alphonso.

_Ram. _ Behold me here, unsought, with some few friends.
[_Taking off his vizard. _
Resolved to save my son, or perish with him,
Thus far I traced, and followed him unknown;
And here have waited, with a beating heart,
To see this blest event.

_Vera. _ Just like the winding up of some design,
Well-formed, upon the crowded theatre;
Where all concerned surprisingly are pleased,
And what they wish see done. Lead to the temple:
Let thanks be paid; and heaven be praised no less
For private union, than for public peace. [_Exeunt. _




EPILOGUE.

SPOKEN BY DALINDA.


Now, in good manners, nothing should be said
Against this play, because the poet's dead[61].
The prologue told us of a moral here:
Would I could find it! but the devil knows where.
If in my part it lies, I fear he means
To warn us of the sparks behind our scenes.
For, if you'll take it on Dalinda's word,
'Tis a hard chapter to refuse a lord.
The poet might pretend this moral too,--
That when a wit and fool together woo,
The damsel (not to break an antient rule)
Should leave the wit, and take the wealthy fool.
This he might mean: but there's a truth behind, }
And, since it touches none of all our kind }
But masks and misses, 'faith, I'll speak my mind. }
What if he taught our sex more cautious carriage,
And not to be too coming before marriage;
For fear of my misfortune in the play,
A kid brought home upon the wedding day?
I fear there are few Sancho's in the pit,
So good as to forgive, and to forget;
That will, like him, restore us into favour,
And take us after on our good behaviour.
Few, when they find the money-bag is rent,
Will take it for good payment on content.
But in the telling, there the difference is,
Sometimes they find it more than they could wish.
Therefore be warned, you misses and you masks,
Look to your hits, nor give the first that asks.
Tears, sighs, and oaths, no truth of passion prove;
True settlement, alone, declares true love.
For him that weds a puss, who kept her first,
I say but little, but I doubt the worst.
The wife, that was a cat, may mind her house, }
And prove an honest, and a careful spouse; }
But 'faith I would not trust her with a mouse. }

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 56: Alluding to the vulgar proverb, "One who is born under a
three-penny planet will never be worth a groat. "]

[Footnote 57: There would probably occur to the audience of the period,
some recollection of the manner in which King James had been treated by
Sunderland. ]

[Footnote 58: Meaning, that the courtiers, although their eyes be
as fatal as those of basilisks, are not subject to the fate of that
fabulous serpent, which died if a man beheld it first. ]

[Footnote 59: Our author uses the same old word, for a scramble, in the
prologue to "The Widow Ranter. "

Bauble and cap no sooner are thrown down,
But there's a _muss_ of more than half the town.

It occurs frequently in old authors, and particularly in the well known
passage in "Anthony and Cleopatra. "

----Of late, when I cried ho!
Like boys unto a _muss_, kings would start forth,
And cry, your will? ]

[Footnote 60: This old English word, for a Christmas masquerading
frolic, is still used in some parts of England. ]

[Footnote 61: See the lines in the prologue,

He dies,--at least to us and to the stage,
And what he has, he leaves this noble age. ]




PROLOGUE, SONG,

SECULAR MASQUE, & EPILOGUE,

WRITTEN FOR

_THE PILGRIM_.

REVIVED FOR DRYDEN'S BENEFIT, IN 1700.


Our Author's connection with the Theatre only ended with his life.
The pieces, which follow, have reference to the performance of "The
Pilgrim," a play of Beaumont and Fletcher, which was revived in 1700.
Vanburgh, a lively comic writer, who seems to have looked up to Dryden
with that veneration which was his due, added some light touches of
humour, to adapt this play to the taste of the age. The aged poet
himself furnished a Prologue and Epilogue, a Song, and Secular Masque;
and, with these additions, the piece was performed for the benefit of
Dryden. It seems dubious, whether the kind intentions of Vanburgh and
the players actually took effect in favour of our author himself, or
in that of his son. It is certain, that, if he did not die before the
representation, he did not survive it many weeks, as the play[62] was
not published till after his death.


But his lamp burned bright to the close. The Prologue and Epilogue,
written within a few weeks of his death, equal any thing of the kind
which he ever produced. He combats his two enemies, Blackmore and
Collier, with his usual spirit; but with manliness concedes, that they
had attacked him in one vulnerable and indefensible particular, where
he lay open, less from any peculiar depravity in his own taste, than
from compliance with the general licence of the age.

Cibber informs us, that Sir John Vanburgh, who cast the parts, being
pleased with the young actor's moderation, in contenting himself with
those of the Stuttering Cook, and Mad Englishman, assigned him also
the creditable task of speaking the Epilogue, which, as it was so much
above the ordinary strain, highly gratified his vanity. Dryden himself,
on hearing Cibber recite it, made him the further compliment of
trusting him with the Prologue also; an honourable distinction, which
drew upon him the jealousy of the other actors, and the indignation
of Wilkes in particular. This revival of "The Pilgrim" was also
remarkable, as affording Mrs Oldfield, who had been about a year or
more a mute on the stage, an opportunity of attracting public attention
in the character of Alinda, which suited the want of confidence natural
to her inexperience, and in which she afforded that promise of future
excellence, which was afterwards so amply fulfilled.