The Double Dealer
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6 THE DOUBLE-DEALER--A COMEDY
by William Congreve
Interdum tamen et vocem Comoedia tollit.--HOR. Ar. Po.
Huic equidem consilio palmam do: hic me magnifice
effero, qui vim tantam in me et potestatem habeam
tantae astutiae, vera dicendo ut eos ambos fallam.
SYR. in TERENT. Heaut.
TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE CHARLES MONTAGUE,
ONE OF THE LORDS OF THE TREASURY.
Sir,--I heartily wish this play were as perfect as I intended it,
that it might be more worthy your acceptance, and that my dedication
of it to you might be more becoming that honour and esteem which I,
with everybody who is so fortunate as to know you, have for you. It
had your countenance when yet unknown; and now it is made public, it
wants your protection.
I would not have anybody imagine that I think this play without its
faults, for I am conscious of several. I confess I designed
(whatever vanity or ambition occasioned that design) to have written
a true and regular comedy, but I found it an undertaking which put
me in mind of SUDET MULTUM, FRUSTRAQUE LABORET AUSUS IDEM. And now,
to make amends for the vanity of such a design, I do confess both
the attempt and the imperfect performance. Yet I must take the
boldness to say I have not miscarried in the whole, for the
mechanical part of it is regular. That I may say with as little
vanity as a builder may say he has built a house according to the
model laid down before him, or a gardener that he has set his
flowers in a knot of such or such a figure. I designed the moral
first, and to that moral I invented the fable, and do not know that
I have borrowed one hint of it anywhere. I made the plot as strong
as I could because it was single, and I made it single because I
would avoid confusion, and was resolved to preserve the three
unities of the drama. Sir, this discourse is very impertinent to
you, whose judgment much better can discern the faults than I can
excuse them; and whose good nature, like that of a lover, will find
out those hidden beauties (if there are any such) which it would be
great immodesty for me to discover. I think I don't speak
improperly when I call you a LOVER of poetry; for it is very well
known she has been a very kind mistress to you: she has not denied
you the last favour, and she has been fruitful to you in a most
beautiful issue. If I break off abruptly here, I hope everybody
will understand that it is to avoid a commendation which, as it is
your due, would be most easy for me to pay, and too troublesome for
you to receive.
I have since the acting of this play harkened after the objections
which have been made to it, for I was conscious where a true critic
might have put me upon my defence. I was prepared for the attack,
and am pretty confident I could have vindicated some parts and
excused others; and where there were any plain miscarriages, I would
most ingenuously have confessed 'em. But I have not heard anything
said sufficient to provoke an answer. That which looks most like an
objection does not relate in particular to this play, but to all or
most that ever have been written, and that is soliloquy. Therefore
I will answer it, not only for my own sake, but to save others the
trouble, to whom it may hereafter be objected.
I grant that for a man to talk to himself appears absurd and
unnatural, and indeed it is so in most cases; but the circumstances
which may attend the occasion make great alteration. It oftentimes
happens to a man to have designs which require him to himself, and
in their nature cannot admit of a confidant. Such for certain is
all villainy, and other less mischievous intentions may be very
improper to be communicated to a second person. In such a case,
therefore, the audience must observe whether the person upon the
stage takes any notice of them at all or no. For if he supposes any
one to be by when he talks to himself, it is monstrous and
ridiculous to the last degree. Nay, not only in this case, but in
any part of a play, if there is expressed any knowledge of an
audience, it is insufferable. But otherwise, when a man in
soliloquy reasons with himself, and PRO'S and CON'S, and weighs all
his designs, we ought not to imagine that this man either talks to
us or to himself; he is only thinking, and thinking such matter as
were inexcusable folly in him to speak. But because we are
concealed spectators of the plot in agitation, and the poet finds it
necessary to let us know the whole mystery of his contrivance, he is
willing to inform us of this person's thoughts; and to that end is
forced to make use of the expedient of speech, no other better way
being yet invented for the communication of thought.
Another very wrong objection has been made by some who have not
taken leisure to distinguish the characters. The hero of the play,
as they are pleased to call him (meaning Mellefont), is a gull, and
made a fool, and cheated. Is every man a gull and a fool that is
deceived? At that rate I'm afraid the two classes of men will be
reduced to one, and the knaves themselves be at a loss to justify
their title. But if an open-hearted honest man, who has an entire
confidence in one whom he takes to be his friend, and whom he has
obliged to be so, and who, to confirm him in his opinion, in all
appearance and upon several trials has been so: if this man be
deceived by the treachery of the other, must he of necessity
commence fool immediately, only because the other has proved a
villain? Ay, but there was caution given to Mellefont in the first
act by his friend Careless. Of what nature was that caution? Only
to give the audience some light into the character of Maskwell
before his appearance, and not to convince Mellefont of his
treachery; for that was more than Careless was then able to do: he
never knew Maskwell guilty of any villainy; he was only a sort of
man which he did not like. As for his suspecting his familiarity
with my Lady Touchwood, let 'em examine the answer that Mellefont
makes him, and compare it with the conduct of Maskwell's character
through the play.
I would beg 'em again to look into the character of Maskwell before
they accuse Mellefont of weakness for being deceived by him. For
upon summing up the enquiry into this objection, it may be found
they have mistaken cunning in one character for folly in another.
But there is one thing at which I am more concerned than all the
false criticisms that are made upon me, and that is, some of the
ladies are offended. I am heartily sorry for it, for I declare I
would rather disoblige all the critics in the world than one of the
fair sex. They are concerned that I have represented some women
vicious and affected. How can I help it? It is the business of a
comic poet to paint the vices and follies of humankind; and there
are but two sexes, male and female, MEN and WOMEN, which have a
title to humanity, and if I leave one half of them out, the work
will be imperfect. I should be very glad of an opportunity to make
my compliment to those ladies who are offended; but they can no more
expect it in a comedy than to be tickled by a surgeon when he's
letting 'em blood. They who are virtuous or discreet should not be
offended, for such characters as these distinguish THEM, and make
their beauties more shining and observed; and they who are of the
other kind may nevertheless pass for such, by seeming not to be
displeased or touched with the satire of this COMEDY. Thus have
they also wrongfully accused me of doing them a prejudice, when I
have in reality done them a service.
You will pardon me, sir, for the freedom I take of making answers to
other people in an epistle which ought wholly to be sacred to you;
but since I intend the play to be so too, I hope I may take the more
liberty of justifying it where it is in the right.
I must now, sir, declare to the world how kind you have been to my
endeavours; for in regard of what was well meant, you have excused
what was ill performed. I beg you would continue the same method in
your acceptance of this dedication. I know no other way of making a
return to that humanity you shewed, in protecting an infant, but by
enrolling it in your service, now that it is of age and come into
the world. Therefore be pleased to accept of this as an
acknowledgment of the favour you have shewn me, and an earnest of
the real service and gratitude of,
Sir, your most obliged, humble servant,
WILLIAM CONGREVE.
TO MY DEAR FRIEND MR. CONGREVE,
ON HIS COMEDY CALLED THE DOUBLE-DEALER.
Well then, the promised hour is come at last;
The present age of wit obscures the past.
Strong were our sires; and as they fought they writ,
Conqu'ring with force of arms and dint of wit.
Theirs was the giant race, before the flood;
And thus, when Charles returned, our empire stood.
Like Janus he the stubborn soil manured,
With rules of husbandry the rankness cured,
Tamed us to manners, when the stage was rude,
And boist'rous English wit with art indued.
Our age was cultivated thus at length;
But what we gained in skill we lost in strength.
Our builders were with want of genius curst;
The second temple was not like the first:
Till you, the best Vitruvius, come at length,
Our beauties equal, but excel our strength.
Firm Doric pillars found your solid base,
The fair Corinthian crowns the higher space;
Thus all below is strength, and all above is grace.
In easy dialogue is Fletcher's praise:
He moved the mind, but had no power to raise.
Great Johnson did by strength of judgment please
Yet doubling Fletcher's force, he wants ease.
In diff'ring talents both adorned their age;
One for the study, t'other for the stage.
But both to Congreve justly shall submit,
One matched in judgment, both o'er-matched in wit.
In him all beauties of this age we see,
Etherege his courtship, Southern's purity,
The satire, wit, and strength of manly Wycherly.
All this in blooming youth you have achieved,
Nor are your foiled contemporaries grieved;
So much the sweetness of your manners move,
We cannot envy you, because we love.
Fabius might joy in Scipio, when he saw
A beardless consul made against the law,
And join his suffrage to the votes of Rome;
Though he with Hannibal was overcome.
Thus old Romano bowed to Raphael's fame,
And scholar to the youth he taught became.
O that your brows my laurel had sustained,
Well had I been deposed if you had reigned!
The father had descended for the son,
For only you are lineal to the throne.
Thus when the state one Edward did depose,
A greater Edward in his room arose.
But now, not I, but poetry is cursed;
For Tom the Second reigns like Tom the First.
But let 'em not mistake my patron's part,
Nor call his charity their own desert.
Yet this I prophesy: Thou shalt be seen
(Though with some short parenthesis between)
High on the throne of wit; and seated there,
Not mine (that's little) but thy laurel wear.
Thy first attempt an early promise made;
That early promise this has more than paid.
So bold, yet so judiciously you dare,
That your least praise is to be regular.
Time, place, and action may with pains be wrought,
But genius must be born, and never can be taught.
This is your portion, this your native store,
Heav'n, that but once was prodigal before,
To Shakespeare gave as much; she could not give him more.
Maintain your post: that's all the fame you need;
For 'tis impossible you should proceed.
Already I am worn with cares and age,
And just abandoning th' ungrateful stage:
Unprofitably kept at heav'n's expense,
I live a rent-charge on his providence.
But you, whom every muse and grace adorn,
Whom I foresee to better fortune born,
Be kind to my remains; and oh, defend,
Against your judgment, your departed friend!
Let not th' insulting foe my fame pursue;
But shade those laurels which descend to you:
And take for tribute what these lines express:
You merit more; nor could my love do less.
JOHN DRYDEN.
PROLOGUE--Spoken by Mrs. Bracegirdle.
Moors have this way (as story tells) to know
Whether their brats are truly got or no;
Into the sea the new-born babe is thrown,
There, as instinct directs, to swim or drown.
A barbarous device, to try if spouse
Has kept religiously her nuptial vows.
Such are the trials poets make of plays,
Only they trust to more inconstant seas;
So does our author, this his child commit
To the tempestuous mercy of the pit,
To know if it be truly born of wit.
Critics avaunt, for you are fish of prey,
And feed, like sharks, upon an infant play.
Be ev'ry monster of the deep away;
Let's have a fair trial and a clear sea.
Let nature work, and do not damn too soon,
For life will struggle long e'er it sink down:
And will at least rise thrice before it drown.
Let us consider, had it been our fate,
Thus hardly to be proved legitimate:
I will not say, we'd all in danger been,
Were each to suffer for his mother's sin:
But by my troth I cannot avoid thinking,
How nearly some good men might have 'scaped sinking.
But, heav'n be praised, this custom is confined
Alone to th' offspring of the muses kind:
Our Christian cuckolds are more bent to pity;
I know not one Moor-husband in the city.
I' th' good man's arms the chopping bastard thrives,
For he thinks all his own that is his wives'.
Whatever fate is for this play designed,
The poet's sure he shall some comfort find:
For if his muse has played him false, the worst
That can befall him, is, to be divorced:
You husbands judge, if that be to be cursed.
DRAMATIS PERSONAE.
MEN.
MASKWELL, a villain; pretended friend to Mellefont, gallant to Lady
Touchwood, and in love with Cynthia,--Mr. Betterton
LORD TOUCHWOOD, uncle to Mellefont,--Mr. Kynaston
MELLEFONT, promised to, and in love with Cynthia,--Mr. Williams
CARELESS, his friend,--Mr. Verbruggen
LORD FROTH, a solemn coxcomb,--Mr. Bowman
BRISK, a pert coxcomb,--Mr. Powell
SIR PAUL PLYANT, an uxorious, foolish old knight; brother to Lady
Touchwood, and father to Cynthia,--Mr. Dogget
WOMEN.
LADY TOUCHWOOD, in love with Mellefont,--Mrs. Barry
CYNTHIA, daughter to Sir Paul by a former wife, promised to
Mellefont,--Mrs. Bracegirdle
LADY FROTH, a great coquette; pretender to poetry, wit, and
learning,--Mrs. Mountfort
LADY PLYANT, insolent to her husband, and easy to any pretender,--
Mrs. Leigh
CHAPLAIN, BOY, FOOTMEN, AND ATTENDANTS.
THE SCENE: A gallery in the Lord Touchwood's house, with chambers
adjoining.
THE DOUBLE-DEALER--ACT I.--SCENE I.
A gallery in the Lord Touchwood's home, with chambers adjoining.
Enter CARELESS, crossing the stage, with his hat, gloves, and sword
in his hands; as just risen from table: MELLEFONT following him.
MEL. Ned, Ned, whither so fast? What, turned flincher! Why, you
wo' not leave us?
CARE. Where are the women? I'm weary of guzzling, and begin to
think them the better company.
MEL. Then thy reason staggers, and thou'rt almost drunk.
CARE. No, faith, but your fools grow noisy; and if a man must
endure the noise of words without sense, I think the women have more
musical voices, and become nonsense better.
MEL. Why, they are at the end of the gallery; retired to their tea
and scandal, according to their ancient custom, after dinner. But I
made a pretence to follow you, because I had something to say to you
in private, and I am not like to have many opportunities this
evening.
CARE. And here's this coxcomb most critically come to interrupt
you.
SCENE II.
[To them] BRISK.
BRISK. Boys, boys, lads, where are you? What, do you give ground?
Mortgage for a bottle, ha? Careless, this is your trick; you're
always spoiling company by leaving it.
CARE. And thou art always spoiling company by coming in o't.
BRISK. Pooh, ha, ha, ha, I know you envy me. Spite, proud spite,
by the gods! and burning envy. I'll be judged by Mellefont here,
who gives and takes raillery better than you or I. Pshaw, man, when
I say you spoil company by leaving it, I mean you leave nobody for
the company to laugh at. I think there I was with you. Ha,
Mellefont?
MEL. O' my word, Brisk, that was a home thrust; you have silenced
him.
BRISK. Oh, my dear Mellefont, let me perish if thou art not the
soul of conversation, the very essence of wit and spirit of wine.
The deuce take me if there were three good things said, or one
understood, since thy amputation from the body of our society. He,
I think that's pretty and metaphorical enough; i'gad I could not
have said it out of thy company. Careless, ha?
CARE. Hum, ay, what is't?
BRISK. O MON COEUR! What is't! Nay, gad, I'll punish you for want
of apprehension. The deuce take me if I tell you.
MEL. No, no, hang him, he has no taste. But, dear Brisk, excuse
me, I have a little business.
CARE. Prithee get thee gone; thou seest we are serious.
MEL. We'll come immediately, if you'll but go in and keep up good
humour and sense in the company. Prithee do, they'll fall asleep
else.
BRISK. I'gad, so they will. Well, I will, I will; gad, you shall
command me from the Zenith to the Nadir. But the deuce take me if I
say a good thing till you come. But prithee, dear rogue, make
haste, prithee make haste, I shall burst else. And yonder your
uncle, my Lord Touchwood, swears he'll disinherit you, and Sir Paul
Plyant threatens to disclaim you for a son-in-law, and my Lord Froth
won't dance at your wedding to-morrow; nor, the deuce take me, I
won't write your Epithalamium--and see what a condition you're like
to be brought to.
MEL. Well, I'll speak but three words, and follow you.
BRISK. Enough, enough. Careless, bring your apprehension along
with you.
SCENE III.
MELLEFONT, CARELESS.
CARE. Pert coxcomb.
MEL. Faith, 'tis a good-natured coxcomb, and has very entertaining
follies. You must be more humane to him; at this juncture it will
do me service. I'll tell you, I would have mirth continued this day
at any rate; though patience purchase folly, and attention be paid
with noise, there are times when sense may be unseasonable as well
as truth. Prithee do thou wear none to-day, but allow Brisk to have
wit, that thou may'st seem a fool.
CARE. Why, how now, why this extravagant proposition?
MEL. Oh, I would have no room for serious design, for I am jealous
of a plot. I would have noise and impertinence keep my Lady
Touchwood's head from working: for hell is not more busy than her
brain, nor contains more devils than that imaginations.
CARE. I thought your fear of her had been over. Is not to-morrow
appointed for your marriage with Cynthia, and her father, Sir Paul
Plyant, come to settle the writings this day on purpose?
MEL. True; but you shall judge whether I have not reason to be
alarmed. None besides you and Maskwell are acquainted with the
secret of my Aunt Touchwood's violent passion for me. Since my
first refusal of her addresses she has endeavoured to do me all ill
offices with my uncle, yet has managed 'em with that subtilty, that
to him they have borne the face of kindness; while her malice, like
a dark lanthorn, only shone upon me where it was directed. Still,
it gave me less perplexity to prevent the success of her displeasure
than to avoid the importunities of her love, and of two evils I
thought myself favoured in her aversion. But whether urged by her
despair and the short prospect of time she saw to accomplish her
designs; whether the hopes of revenge, or of her love, terminated in
the view of this my marriage with Cynthia, I know not, but this
morning she surprised me in my bed.
CARE. Was there ever such a fury! 'Tis well nature has not put it
into her sex's power to ravish. Well, bless us, proceed. What
followed?
MEL. What at first amazed me--for I looked to have seen her in all
the transports of a slighted and revengeful woman--but when I
expected thunder from her voice, and lightning in her eyes, I saw
her melted into tears and hushed into a sigh. It was long before
either of us spoke: passion had tied her tongue, and amazement
mine. In short, the consequence was thus, she omitted nothing that
the most violent love could urge, or tender words express; which
when she saw had no effect, but still I pleaded honour and nearness
of blood to my uncle, then came the storm I feared at first, for,
starting from my bed-side like a fury, she flew to my sword, and
with much ado I prevented her doing me or herself a mischief.
Having disarmed her, in a gust of passion she left me, and in a
resolution, confirmed by a thousand curses, not to close her eyes
till they had seen my ruin.
CARE. Exquisite woman! But what the devil, does she think thou
hast no more sense than to get an heir upon her body to disinherit
thyself? for as I take it this settlement upon you is, with a
proviso, that your uncle have no children.
MEL. It is so. Well, the service you are to do me will be a
pleasure to yourself: I must get you to engage my Lady Plyant all
this evening, that my pious aunt may not work her to her interest.
And if you chance to secure her to yourself, you may incline her to
mine. She's handsome, and knows it; is very silly, and thinks she
has sense, and has an old fond husband.
CARE. I confess, a very fair foundation for a lover to build upon.
MEL. For my Lord Froth, he and his wife will be sufficiently taken
up with admiring one another and Brisk's gallantry, as they call it.
I'll observe my uncle myself, and Jack Maskwell has promised me to
watch my aunt narrowly, and give me notice upon any suspicion. As
for Sir Paul, my wise father-in-law that is to be, my dear Cynthia
has such a share in his fatherly fondness, he would scarce make her
a moment uneasy to have her happy hereafter.
CARE. So you have manned your works; but I wish you may not have
the weakest guard where the enemy is strongest.
MEL. Maskwell, you mean; prithee why should you suspect him?
CARE. Faith I cannot help it; you know I never liked him: I am a
little superstitious in physiognomy.
MEL. He has obligations of gratitude to bind him to me: his
dependence upon my uncle is through my means.
CARE. Upon your aunt, you mean.
MEL. My aunt!
CARE. I'm mistaken if there be not a familiarity between them you
do not suspect, notwithstanding her passion for you.
MEL. Pooh, pooh! nothing in the world but his design to do me
service; and he endeavours to be well in her esteem, that he may be
able to effect it.
CARE. Well, I shall be glad to be mistaken; but your aunt's
aversion in her revenge cannot be any way so effectually shown as in
bringing forth a child to disinherit you. She is handsome and
cunning and naturally wanton. Maskwell is flesh and blood at best,
and opportunities between them are frequent. His affection to you,
you have confessed, is grounded upon his interest, that you have
transplanted; and should it take root in my lady, I don't see what
you can expect from the fruit.
MEL. I confess the consequence is visible, were your suspicions
just. But see, the company is broke up, let's meet 'em.
SCENE IV.
[To them] LORD TOUCHWOOD, LORD FROTH, SIR PAUL PLYANT, and BRISK.
LORD TOUCH. Out upon't, nephew. Leave your father-in-law and me to
maintain our ground against young people!
MEL. I beg your lordship's pardon. We were just returning.
SIR PAUL. Were you, son? Gadsbud, much better as it is. Good,
strange! I swear I'm almost tipsy; t'other bottle would have been
too powerful for me,--as sure as can be it would. We wanted your
company, but Mr. Brisk--where is he? I swear and vow he's a most
facetious person, and the best company. And, my Lord Froth, your
lordship is so merry a man, he, he, he.
LORD FROTH. Oh, foy, Sir Paul, what do you mean? Merry! Oh,
barbarous! I'd as lieve you called me fool.
SIR PAUL. Nay, I protest and vow now, 'tis true; when Mr. Brisk
jokes, your lordship's laugh does so become you, he, he, he.
LORD FROTH. Ridiculous! Sir Paul, you're strangely mistaken, I
find champagne is powerful. I assure you, Sir Paul, I laugh at
nobody's jest but my own, or a lady's, I assure you, Sir Paul.
BRISK. How? how, my lord? what, affront my wit! Let me perish, do
I never say anything worthy to be laughed at?
LORD FROTH. Oh, foy, don't misapprehend me; I don't say so, for I
often smile at your conceptions. But there is nothing more
unbecoming a man of quality than to laugh; 'tis such a vulgar
expression of the passion; everybody can laugh. Then especially to
laugh at the jest of an inferior person, or when anybody else of the
same quality does not laugh with one--ridiculous! To be pleased
with what pleases the crowd! Now when I laugh, I always laugh
alone.
BRISK. I suppose that's because you laugh at your own jests, i'gad,
ha, ha, ha.
LORD FROTH. He, he, I swear though, your raillery provokes me to a
smile.
BRISK. Ay, my lord, it's a sign I hit you in the teeth, if you show
'em.
LORD FROTH. He, he, he, I swear that's so very pretty, I can't
forbear.
CARE. I find a quibble bears more sway in your lordship's face than
a jest.
LORD TOUCH. Sir Paul, if you please we'll retire to the ladies, and
drink a dish of tea to settle our heads.
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