Love for Love

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Prepared by David Price, email ccx074@coventry.ac.uk

LOVE FOR LOVE--A COMEDY

Nudus agris, nudus nummis paternis,
Insanire parat certa ratione modoque.

- HOR.

TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE
CHARLES, EARL OF DORSET AND MIDDLESEX,
LORD CHAMBERLAIN OF HIS MAJESTY'S HOUSEHOLD,
AND KNIGHT OF THE MOST NOBLE ORDER OF THE GARTER, ETC.

My Lord,--A young poet is liable to the same vanity and indiscretion
with a young lover; and the great man who smiles upon one, and the
fine woman who looks kindly upon t'other, are both of 'em in danger
of having the favour published with the first opportunity.

But there may be a different motive, which will a little distinguish
the offenders. For though one should have a vanity in ruining
another's reputation, yet the other may only have an ambition to
advance his own. And I beg leave, my lord, that I may plead the
latter, both as the cause and excuse of this dedication.

Whoever is king is also the father of his country; and as nobody can
dispute your lordship's monarchy in poetry, so all that are
concerned ought to acknowledge your universal patronage. And it is
only presuming on the privilege of a loyal subject that I have
ventured to make this, my address of thanks, to your lordship, which
at the same time includes a prayer for your protection.

I am not ignorant of the common form of poetical dedications, which
are generally made up of panegyrics, where the authors endeavour to
distinguish their patrons, by the shining characters they give them,
above other men. But that, my lord, is not my business at this
time, nor is your lordship NOW to be distinguished. I am contented
with the honour I do myself in this epistle without the vanity of
attempting to add to or explain your Lordships character.

I confess it is not without some struggling that I behave myself in
this case as I ought: for it is very hard to be pleased with a
subject, and yet forbear it. But I choose rather to follow Pliny's
precept, than his example, when, in his panegyric to the Emperor
Trajan, he says:-

Nec minus considerabo quid aures ejus pati possint, quam quid
virtutibus debeatur.

I hope I may be excused the pedantry of a quotation when it is so
justly applied. Here are some lines in the print (and which your
lordship read before this play was acted) that were omitted on the
stage; and particularly one whole scene in the third act, which not
only helps the design forward with less precipitation, but also
heightens the ridiculous character of Foresight, which indeed seems
to be maimed without it. But I found myself in great danger of a
long play, and was glad to help it where I could. Though
notwithstanding my care and the kind reception it had from the town,
I could heartily wish it yet shorter: but the number of different
characters represented in it would have been too much crowded in
less room.

This reflection on prolixity (a fault for which scarce any one
beauty will atone) warns me not to be tedious now, and detain your
lordship any longer with the trifles of, my lord, your lordship's
most obedient and most humble servant,

WILLIAM CONGREVE.

PROLOGUE. Spoken, at the opening of the new house, by Mr Betterton.

The husbandman in vain renews his toil
To cultivate each year a hungry soil;
And fondly hopes for rich and generous fruit,
When what should feed the tree devours the root;
Th' unladen boughs, he sees, bode certain dearth,
Unless transplanted to more kindly earth.
So the poor husbands of the stage, who found
Their labours lost upon ungrateful ground,
This last and only remedy have proved,
And hope new fruit from ancient stocks removed.
Well may they hope, when you so kindly aid,
Well plant a soil which you so rich have made.
As Nature gave the world to man's first age,
So from your bounty, we receive this stage;
The freedom man was born to, you've restored,
And to our world such plenty you afford,
It seems like Eden, fruitful of its own accord.
But since in Paradise frail flesh gave way,
And when but two were made, both went astray;
Forbear your wonder, and the fault forgive,
If in our larger family we grieve
One falling Adam and one tempted Eve.
We who remain would gratefully repay
What our endeavours can, and bring this day
The first-fruit offering of a virgin play.
We hope there's something that may please each taste,
And though of homely fare we make the feast,
Yet you will find variety at least.
There's humour, which for cheerful friends we got,
And for the thinking party there's a plot.
We've something, too, to gratify ill-nature,
(If there be any here), and that is satire.
Though satire scarce dares grin, 'tis grown so mild
Or only shows its teeth, as if it smiled.
As asses thistles, poets mumble wit,
And dare not bite for fear of being bit:
They hold their pens, as swords are held by fools,
And are afraid to use their own edge-tools.
Since the Plain-Dealer's scenes of manly rage,
Not one has dared to lash this crying age.
This time, the poet owns the bold essay,
Yet hopes there's no ill-manners in his play;
And he declares, by me, he has designed
Affront to none, but frankly speaks his mind.
And should th' ensuing scenes not chance to hit,
He offers but this one excuse, 'twas writ
Before your late encouragement of wit.

EPILOGUE. Spoken, at the opening of the new house, by Mrs
Bracegirdle.

Sure Providence at first designed this place
To be the player's refuge in distress;
For still in every storm they all run hither,
As to a shed that shields 'em from the weather.
But thinking of this change which last befel us,
It's like what I have heard our poets tell us:
For when behind our scenes their suits are pleading,
To help their love, sometimes they show their reading;
And, wanting ready cash to pay for hearts,
They top their learning on us, and their parts.
Once of philosophers they told us stories,
Whom, as I think, they called--Py--Pythagories,
I'm sure 'tis some such Latin name they give 'em,
And we, who know no better, must believe 'em.
Now to these men, say they, such souls were given,
That after death ne'er went to hell nor heaven,
But lived, I know not how, in beasts; and then
When many years were past, in men again.
Methinks, we players resemble such a soul,
That does from bodies, we from houses stroll.
Thus Aristotle's soul, of old that was,
May now be damned to animate an ass,
Or in this very house, for ought we know,
Is doing painful penance in some beau;
And thus our audience, which did once resort
To shining theatres to see our sport,
Now find us tossed into a tennis-court.
These walls but t'other day were filled with noise
Of roaring gamesters and your dam'me boys;
Then bounding balls and rackets they encompast,
And now they're filled with jests, and flights, and bombast!
I vow, I don't much like this transmigration,
Strolling from place to place by circulation;
Grant heaven, we don't return to our first station!
I know not what these think, but for my part
I can't reflect without an aching heart,
How we should end in our original, a cart.
But we can't fear, since you're so good to save us,
That you have only set us up, to leave us.
Thus from the past we hope for future grace,
I beg it -
And some here know I have a begging face.
Then pray continue this your kind behaviour,
For a clear stage won't do, without your favour.

DRAMATIS PERSONAE.

MEN.

SIR SAMPSON LEGEND, father to Valentine and Ben,--Mr Underhill.
VALENTINE, fallen under his father's displeasure by his expensive
way of living, in love with Angelica,--Mr Betterton.
SCANDAL, his friend, a free speaker,--Mr Smith.
TATTLE, a half-witted beau, vain of his amours, yet valuing himself
for secrecy,--Mr Bowman.
BEN, Sir Sampson's younger son, half home-bred and half sea-bred,
designed to marry Miss Prue,--Mr Dogget.
FORESIGHT, an illiterate old fellow, peevish and positive,
superstitious, and pretending to understand astrology, palmistry,
physiognomy, omens, dreams, etc; uncle to Angelica,--Mr Sanford.
JEREMY, servant to Valentine,--Mr Bowen.
TRAPLAND, a scrivener,--Mr Triffusis.
BUCKRAM, a lawyer,--Mr Freeman.

WOMEN.

ANGELICA, niece to Foresight, of a considerable fortune in her own
hands,--Mrs Bracegirdle.
MRS FORESIGHT, second wife to Foresight,--Mrs Bowman.
MRS FRAIL, sister to Mrs Foresight, a woman of the town,--Mrs Barry.
MISS PRUE, daughter to Foresight by a former wife, a silly, awkward
country girl,--Mrs Ayliff.
NURSE to MISS,--Mrs Leigh.
JENNY,--Mrs Lawson.

A STEWARD, OFFICERS, SAILORS, AND SEVERAL SERVANTS.

The Scene in London.

LOVE FOR LOVE--ACT I.--SCENE I.

VALENTINE in his chamber reading. JEREMY waiting.

Several books upon the table.

VAL. Jeremy.

JERE. Sir?

VAL. Here, take away. I'll walk a turn and digest what I have
read.

JERE. You'll grow devilish fat upon this paper diet. [Aside, and
taking away the books.]

VAL. And d'ye hear, go you to breakfast. There's a page doubled
down in Epictetus, that is a feast for an emperor.

JERE. Was Epictetus a real cook, or did he only write receipts?

VAL. Read, read, sirrah, and refine your appetite; learn to live
upon instruction; feast your mind and mortify your flesh; read, and
take your nourishment in at your eyes; shut up your mouth, and chew
the cud of understanding. So Epictetus advises.

JERE. O Lord! I have heard much of him, when I waited upon a
gentleman at Cambridge. Pray what was that Epictetus?

VAL. A very rich man.--Not worth a groat.

JERE. Humph, and so he has made a very fine feast, where there is
nothing to be eaten?

VAL. Yes.

JERE. Sir, you're a gentleman, and probably understand this fine
feeding: but if you please, I had rather be at board wages. Does
your Epictetus, or your Seneca here, or any of these poor rich
rogues, teach you how to pay your debts without money? Will they
shut up the mouths of your creditors? Will Plato be bail for you?
Or Diogenes, because he understands confinement, and lived in a tub,
go to prison for you? 'Slife, sir, what do you mean, to mew
yourself up here with three or four musty books, in commendation of
starving and poverty?

VAL. Why, sirrah, I have no money, you know it; and therefore
resolve to rail at all that have. And in that I but follow the
examples of the wisest and wittiest men in all ages, these poets and
philosophers whom you naturally hate, for just such another reason;
because they abound in sense, and you are a fool.

JERE. Ay, sir, I am a fool, I know it: and yet, heaven help me,
I'm poor enough to be a wit. But I was always a fool when I told
you what your expenses would bring you to; your coaches and your
liveries; your treats and your balls; your being in love with a lady
that did not care a farthing for you in your prosperity; and keeping
company with wits that cared for nothing but your prosperity; and
now, when you are poor, hate you as much as they do one another.

VAL. Well, and now I am poor I have an opportunity to be revenged
on them all. I'll pursue Angelica with more love than ever, and
appear more notoriously her admirer in this restraint, than when I
openly rivalled the rich fops that made court to her. So shall my
poverty be a mortification to her pride, and, perhaps, make her
compassionate the love which has principally reduced me to this
lowness of fortune. And for the wits, I'm sure I am in a condition
to be even with them.

JERE. Nay, your condition is pretty even with theirs, that's the
truth on't.

VAL. I'll take some of their trade out of their hands.

JERE. Now heaven of mercy continue the tax upon paper. You don't
mean to write?

VAL. Yes, I do. I'll write a play.

JERE. Hem! Sir, if you please to give me a small certificate of
three lines--only to certify those whom it may concern, that the
bearer hereof, Jeremy Fetch by name, has for the space of seven
years truly and faithfully served Valentine Legend, Esq., and that
he is not now turned away for any misdemeanour, but does voluntarily
dismiss his master from any future authority over him -

VAL. No, sirrah; you shall live with me still.

JERE. Sir, it's impossible. I may die with you, starve with you,
or be damned with your works. But to live, even three days, the
life of a play, I no more expect it than to be canonised for a muse
after my decease.

VAL. You are witty, you rogue. I shall want your help. I'll have
you learn to make couplets to tag the ends of acts. D'ye hear? Get
the maids to Crambo in an evening, and learn the knack of rhyming:
you may arrive at the height of a song sent by an unknown hand, or a
chocolate-house lampoon.

JERE. But, sir, is this the way to recover your father's favour?
Why, Sir Sampson will be irreconcilable. If your younger brother
should come from sea, he'd never look upon you again. You're
undone, sir; you're ruined; you won't have a friend left in the
world if you turn poet. Ah, pox confound that Will's coffee-house:
it has ruined more young men than the Royal Oak lottery. Nothing
thrives that belongs to't. The man of the house would have been an
alderman by this time, with half the trade, if he had set up in the
city. For my part, I never sit at the door that I don't get double
the stomach that I do at a horse race. The air upon Banstead-Downs
is nothing to it for a whetter; yet I never see it, but the spirit
of famine appears to me, sometimes like a decayed porter, worn out
with pimping, and carrying billet doux and songs: not like other
porters, for hire, but for the jests' sake. Now like a thin
chairman, melted down to half his proportion, with carrying a poet
upon tick, to visit some great fortune; and his fare to be paid him
like the wages of sin, either at the day of marriage, or the day of
death.

VAL. Very well, sir; can you proceed?

JERE. Sometimes like a bilked bookseller, with a meagre terrified
countenance, that looks as if he had written for himself, or were
resolved to turn author, and bring the rest of his brethren into the
same condition. And lastly, in the form of a worn-out punk, with
verses in her hand, which her vanity had preferred to settlements,
without a whole tatter to her tail, but as ragged as one of the
muses; or as if she were carrying her linen to the paper-mill, to be
converted into folio books of warning to all young maids, not to
prefer poetry to good sense, or lying in the arms of a needy wit,
before the embraces of a wealthy fool.

SCENE II.

VALENTINE, SCANDAL, JEREMY.

SCAN. What, Jeremy holding forth?

VAL. The rogue has (with all the wit he could muster up) been
declaiming against wit.

SCAN. Ay? Why, then, I'm afraid Jeremy has wit: for wherever it
is, it's always contriving its own ruin.

JERE. Why, so I have been telling my master, sir: Mr Scandal, for
heaven's sake, sir, try if you can dissuade him from turning poet.

SCAN. Poet! He shall turn soldier first, and rather depend upon
the outside of his head than the lining. Why, what the devil, has
not your poverty made you enemies enough? Must you needs shew your
wit to get more?

JERE. Ay, more indeed: for who cares for anybody that has more wit
than himself?

SCAN. Jeremy speaks like an oracle. Don't you see how worthless
great men and dull rich rogues avoid a witty man of small fortune?
Why, he looks like a writ of enquiry into their titles and estates,
and seems commissioned by heaven to seize hte better half.

VAL. Therefore I would rail in my writings, and be revenged.

SCAN. Rail? At whom? The whole world? Impotent and vain! Who
would die a martyr to sense in a country where the religion is
folly? You may stand at bay for a while; but when the full cry is
against you, you shan't have fair play for your life. If you can't
be fairly run down by the hounds, you will be treacherously shot by
the huntsmen. No, turn pimp, flatterer, quack, lawyer, parson, be
chaplain to an atheist, or stallion to an old woman, anything but
poet. A modern poet is worse, more servile, timorous, and fawning,
than any I have named: without you could retrieve the ancient
honours of the name, recall the stage of Athens, and be allowed the
force of open honest satire.

VAL. You are as inveterate against our poets as if your character
had been lately exposed upon the stage. Nay, I am not violently
bent upon the trade. [One knocks.] Jeremy, see who's there.
[JERE. goes to the door.] But tell me what you would have me do?
What do the world say of me, and my forced confinement?

SCAN. The world behaves itself as it uses to do on such occasions;
some pity you, and condemn your father; others excuse him, and blame
you; only the ladies are merciful, and wish you well, since love and
pleasurable expense have been your greatest faults.

VAL. How now?

JERE. Nothing new, sir; I have despatched some half a dozen duns
with as much dexterity as a hungry judge does causes at dinner-time.

VAL. What answer have you given 'em?

SCAN. Patience, I suppose, the old receipt.

JERE. No, faith, sir; I have put 'em off so long with patience and
forbearance, and other fair words, that I was forced now to tell 'em
in plain downright English -

VAL. What?

JERE. That they should be paid.

VAL. When?

JERE. To-morrow.

VAL. And how the devil do you mean to keep your word?

JERE. Keep it? Not at all; it has been so very much stretched that
I reckon it will break of course by to-morrow, and nobody be
surprised at the matter. [Knocking.] Again! Sir, if you don't
like my negotiation, will you be pleased to answer these yourself?

VAL. See who they are.

SCENE III.

VALENTINE, SCANDAL.

VAL. By this, Scandal, you may see what it is to be great;
secretaries of state, presidents of the council, and generals of an
army lead just such a life as I do; have just such crowds of
visitants in a morning, all soliciting of past promises; which are
but a civiller sort of duns, that lay claim to voluntary debts.

SCAN. And you, like a true great man, having engaged their
attendance, and promised more than ever you intended to perform, are
more perplexed to find evasions than you would be to invent the
honest means of keeping your word, and gratifying your creditors.

VAL. Scandal, learn to spare your friends, and do not provoke your
enemies; this liberty of your tongue will one day bring a
confinement on your body, my friend.

SCENE IV.

VALENTINE, SCANDAL, JEREMY.

JERE. O sir, there's Trapland the scrivener, with two suspicious
fellows like lawful pads, that would knock a man down with pocket-
tipstaves. And there's your father's steward, and the nurse with
one of your children from Twitnam.

VAL. Pox on her, could she find no other time to fling my sins in
my face? Here, give her this, [gives money] and bid her trouble me
no more; a thoughtless two-handed whore, she knows my condition well
enough, and might have overlaid the child a fortnight ago, if she
had had any forecast in her.

SCAN. What, is it bouncing Margery, with my godson?

JERE. Yes, sir.

SCAN. My blessing to the boy, with this token [gives money] of my
love. And d'ye hear, bid Margery put more flocks in her bed, shift
twice a week, and not work so hard, that she may not smell so
vigorously. I shall take the air shortly.

VAL. Scandal, don't spoil my boy's milk. Bid Trapland come in. If
I can give that Cerberus a sop, I shall be at rest for one day.

SCENE V.

VALENTINE, SCANDAL, TRAPLAND, JEREMY.

VAL. Oh, Mr Trapland! My old friend! Welcome. Jeremy, a chair
quickly: a bottle of sack and a toast--fly--a chair first.

TRAP. A good morning to you, Mr Valentine, and to you, Mr Scandal.

SCAN. The morning's a very good morning, if you don't spoil it.

VAL. Come, sit you down, you know his way.

TRAP. [sits.] There is a debt, Mr Valentine, of 1500 pounds of
pretty long standing -

VAL. I cannot talk about business with a thirsty palate. Sirrah,
the sack.

TRAP. And I desire to know what course you have taken for the
payment?

VAL. Faith and troth, I am heartily glad to see you. My service to
you. Fill, fill to honest Mr Trapland--fuller.

TRAP. Hold, sweetheart: this is not to our business. My service
to you, Mr Scandal. [Drinks.] I have forborne as long -

VAL. T'other glass, and then we'll talk. Fill, Jeremy.

TRAP. No more, in truth. I have forborne, I say -

VAL. Sirrah, fill when I bid you. And how does your handsome
daughter? Come, a good husband to her. [Drinks.]

TRAP. Thank you. I have been out of this money -

VAL. Drink first. Scandal, why do you not drink? [They drink.]

TRAP. And, in short, I can be put off no longer.

VAL. I was much obliged to you for your supply. It did me signal
service in my necessity. But you delight in doing good. Scandal,
drink to me, my friend Trapland's health. An honester man lives
not, nor one more ready to serve his friend in distress: though I
say it to his face. Come, fill each man his glass.

SCAN. What, I know Trapland has been a whoremaster, and loves a
wench still. You never knew a whoremaster that was not an honest
fellow.

TRAP. Fie, Mr Scandal, you never knew -

SCAN. What don't I know? I know the buxom black widow in the
Poultry. 800 pounds a year jointure, and 20,000 pounds in money.
Aha! old Trap.

VAL. Say you so, i'faith? Come, we'll remember the widow. I know
whereabouts you are; come, to the widow -

TRAP. No more, indeed.

VAL. What, the widow's health; give it him--off with it. [They
drink.] A lovely girl, i'faith, black sparkling eyes, soft pouting
ruby lips! Better sealing there than a bond for a million, ha?

TRAP. No, no, there's no such thing; we'd better mind our business.
You're a wag.

VAL. No, faith, we'll mind the widow's business: fill again.
Pretty round heaving breasts, a Barbary shape, and a jut with her
bum would stir an anchoret: and the prettiest foot! Oh, if a man
could but fasten his eyes to her feet as they steal in and out, and
play at bo-peep under her petticoats, ah! Mr Trapland?

TRAP. Verily, give me a glass. You're a wag,--and here's to the
widow. [Drinks.]

SCAN. He begins to chuckle; ply him close, or he'll relapse into a
dun.

SCENE VI.

[To them] OFFICER.

OFF. By your leave, gentlemen: Mr Trapland, if we must do our
office, tell us. We have half a dozen gentlemen to arrest in Pall
Mall and Covent Garden; and if we don't make haste the chairmen will
be abroad, and block up the chocolate-houses, and then our labour's
lost.

TRAP. Udso that's true: Mr Valentine, I love mirth, but business
must be done. Are you ready to -

JERE. Sir, your father's steward says he comes to make proposals
concerning your debts.

VAL. Bid him come in: Mr Trapland, send away your officer; you
shall have an answer presently.

TRAP. Mr Snap, stay within call.

SCENE VII.

VALENTINE, SCANDAL, TRAPLAND, JEREMY, STEWARD who whispers
VALENTINE.

SCAN. Here's a dog now, a traitor in his wine: sirrah, refund the
sack.--Jeremy, fetch him some warm water, or I'll rip up his
stomach, and go the shortest way to his conscience.

TRAP. Mr Scandal, you are uncivil; I did not value your sack; but
you cannot expect it again when I have drunk it.

SCAN. And how do you expect to have your money again when a
gentleman has spent it?

VAL. You need say no more, I understand the conditions; they are
very hard, but my necessity is very pressing: I agree to 'em. Take
Mr Trapland with you, and let him draw the writing. Mr Trapland,
you know this man: he shall satisfy you.

TRAP. Sincerely, I am loth to be thus pressing, but my necessity -

VAL. No apology, good Mr Scrivener, you shall be paid.

TRAP. I hope you forgive me; my business requires -

SCENE VIII.

VALENTINE, SCANDAL.

SCAN. He begs pardon like a hangman at an execution.

VAL. But I have got a reprieve.

SCAN. I am surprised; what, does your father relent?

VAL. No; he has sent me the hardest conditions in the world. You
have heard of a booby brother of mine that was sent to sea three
years ago? This brother, my father hears, is landed; whereupon he
very affectionately sends me word; if I will make a deed of
conveyance of my right to his estate, after his death, to my younger
brother, he will immediately furnish me with four thousand pounds to
pay my debts and make my fortune. This was once proposed before,
and I refused it; but the present impatience of my creditors for
their money, and my own impatience of confinement, and absence from
Angelica, force me to consent.

SCAN. A very desperate demonstration of your love to Angelica; and
I think she has never given you any assurance of hers.

VAL. You know her temper; she never gave me any great reason either
for hope or despair.

SCAN. Women of her airy temper, as they seldom think before they
act, so they rarely give us any light to guess at what they mean.
But you have little reason to believe that a woman of this age, who
has had an indifference for you in your prosperity, will fall in
love with your ill-fortune; besides, Angelica has a great fortune of
her own; and great fortunes either expect another great fortune, or
a fool.

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