UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA 
 AT LOS. ANGELES
 
 THE 
 
 O F 
 
 RICHARD SAVAGE, 
 
 S O N O F 
 
 IN TWO VOLUMES.
 
 THE 
 
 WORK 
 
 O F 
 
 RICHARD SAVAGE, 
 
 SON OF 
 
 THE EARL RIVERS. 
 
 WITH AN ACCOUNT OF THE 
 
 LIFE AND WRITINGS OF THE AUTHOR, 
 
 BY SAMUEL JOHNSON, LL.D. 
 
 A NEW EDITION. 
 
 V O L. I. 
 
 Jfaac Tavlorj'culp 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 PRINTED FOR T. EVANS IN THE STRAND. 
 
 M DCC LXXVII.
 
 Stack 
 Af nx 
 
 pp. 
 
 
 
 1771 
 
 THOMAS HARRIS, ESQ. V, I 
 
 PATENTEE OF THE 
 
 V 
 
 THEATRE ROYAL, COVENT GARDEN, 
 
 SIR, 
 
 T 
 
 JL BEG leave to infcribe to You, the 
 writings of Mr. RICHARD SAVAGE, 
 an author whofe early love of the 
 Drama, not the bittereft calamities 
 
 could 
 
 /*\ ,-'' 
 
 35
 
 DEDICATION. 
 
 could deprefs. His genius and misfor- 
 tunes have heretofore gained him the 
 protection of a predecelTor of yours 
 in the direction of the theatre Sir 
 RICHARD STEEL E, who, like Mr. 
 HARRIS, poiTerTed an uncommon 
 fhare of benevolence. He acted as 
 You would have done : he promoted 
 his intereft with the utmoft zeal, 
 related his misfortunes, extolled his 
 merit, and took all opportunities of re- 
 commending him. The unfortunate 
 SAVAGE, in return, would have joined 
 with others in acknowledging Your 
 worth and merit, in directing the mofl 
 rational entertainment of an enlightened 
 
 people.
 
 DEDICATION. 
 
 people. It requires no common exer- 
 tion of fpirit, activity and abilities to 
 be competitor for the public favour, 
 with a theatre directed by the greatefl 
 dramatic genius our country could 
 ever boaft : one affiftance You mare 
 with that Manager, the advice of a 
 numerous group of NEWS-PAPER 
 WITS and CRITICS, thofe infallible 
 judges of every art and fcience ; who, 
 with a candour and kindmfs peculiar to 
 themfefoes, feize every opportunity to 
 mark the moft minute miftake of ma- 
 nager and actor. If Your feelings and 
 doubts mould make You reject the 
 advice of fuch eminent writers (who 
 
 have
 
 DEDICATION. 
 
 have frequently had the greateft law- 
 yers for their commentators) I truft 
 You will continue to receive, what I 
 know You ardently wifh the appro- 
 bation of the Public. 
 
 I am, SIR, 
 
 Your obliged Friend, 
 
 THE EDITOR.
 
 F E 
 
 O F T H E 
 
 AUTHOR. 
 
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 F E 
 
 O F T H E 
 
 U T H O R. 
 
 I 
 
 T has been obferved m all ages, that the ad- 
 vantages of nature or of fortune have contributed 
 very little to the promotion of happinefs ; and that 
 thofe whom the fplendor of their rank, or the extent 
 of their capacity, have placed upon the fummits of 
 human life, have not often given any juft occafion 
 to envy in thofe who look up to them from a lower 
 itation. Whether it be that apparent fuperiority 
 incites great defigns, and great deiigns are naturally- 
 liable to fatal mifcarriages ; or that the general lot 
 of mankind is mifery, and' the misfortunes of thofe 
 xvhofe eminence drew upon them an univerfal atten- 
 tion, have been more carefully recorded, becaufe 
 they were more generally obferved, and have in 
 reality been only more confpicuous than thofe of 
 others, not more frequent, or more fevere. 
 
 That affluence and power, advantages extrinfic 
 and adventitious, and therefore eafily feparable from 
 thofe by whom they are poflefTed, mould very often 
 flatter the mind with expectations of felicity which 
 they cannot give, raifes no aftonifhment : but it 
 feems rational to hope, that intellectual greatnefs 
 fiiould produce better effects ; that minds qualified 
 for great attainments mould firft endeavour their 
 own benefit ; and that they who are moil able to 
 teach others the way to happinefs, fliould with mofl 
 certainty follow it themfelves. 
 
 a z But
 
 V : J1$*I J H N SO N'SIJ 
 
 _vJ3ut this expectation, however plaufible, h#s b 
 very frequently difappointed. '1'hc heroes of literary 
 as well as civil hiitory have been very often no left 
 remarkable for what they have fuflered, than tor- 
 \vhat they have .atchieved ; and volumes have .been 
 written only to enumerate the raiferies of the learned, 
 and relate their unhappy lives, and untimely deaths. 
 
 To thefe mournful narratives, I am about to ad4 
 the Lite of Richard Savage, a man vvhofe writings 
 intitle him to an eminent rank in the clafTes of 
 learning, and whofe misfortunes claim a degree of 
 companion, not always due to the unhappy, as they 
 were often the confequences of the crimes of others, 
 rather than his own. 
 
 In the year 1697, Anne Countefs of Macclesfield, 
 having lived for fome time upon very uneafy terms 
 with her hufband, thought a public confeifion of 
 adultery the rnoft obvious and expeditious method 
 of obtaining her liberty ; and therefore declared, 
 that the child, with which flie was then great/ .was 
 begotten by the Earl Rivers. This, as may be eafily 
 imagined, made her hulband no lefs defirous of a 
 feparation than herfelf, and he profecuted his defiga 
 in the moll effectual manner; tor he applied not to 
 the ecclefiaftical courts for a divorce, but to the par- 
 liament for ;m act, by which his marriage might be 
 dlflblved, the nuptial contract totally annulled, 
 the children of his wife illegitimated. This aft, 
 after the uiu,:l deliberation, he obtained, tho' with- 
 out the approbation of fome, who conridered'*roir^ 
 riage as an affair only cognizable by ecdefiailical 
 jadges*; and on March 3d was feparated irony " 
 ' 
 
 year- was made remarkable by the 
 
 in : the .face of the church. SALMON'S 
 
 The
 
 L I f E^'O F ?T>WZ C A*U TfoO R. v 
 
 fortune, which was very great, was re- 
 paid her ; and who having, as well as her huftianS',' 
 e)J liberty of making another choice, was in, a flibf i 
 tfofte married to ColonelBre^ 
 
 fi'->Whflfr the Earl of Macclesfield was profecuting 
 this affair, his wife was, on the loth of January' 
 16^7-8, delivered of a fon, arid the Earl llWrsf 
 by appearing to confider him as his own, left none 
 any realbn to doubt of the fincerity of her declara- 
 tion ; for he was his godfather, and gave him his 
 own name, which was by his direction inferred in 
 the regifter of St. Andrew's parifh in Holborn, but 
 U&fofrhlnately left him to the care of his mother, 
 whom, as Ihe was now fet free from her hufband, 
 he probably imagined likely to treat with great ten- 
 dernefs the child that had contributed to fo pleating 
 ^tfe^ent. It is not indeed eafy to difcover what 
 AetlVcs could be tound to overbalance that natural 
 affection of -a parent, or What intereft could be pro- 
 rinbted by negleit or cruelty. The dread of fhame ' 
 or of poverty, -by which fbme wretches have been 
 incited to abandon or to murder their children, can- 
 not be iuppofed to have affe&ed a woman who had 
 proclaimed her crime, and (blicited reproach, and 
 on whom the clemency of the legiilature had un- 
 edly beftbwed a fortune, which would have 
 very little diminifhed by the expfences which 
 
 Tl,e following proteft Is reglftered in the books of the Houft' 
 of liflrdien^biTfKO oiiv; .omolt to noijfidoiqqa an: 11 
 iKoi-P' 1 ^" 1 ^ 1 ^- -d. aides ingos vlnr ?& 3sn 
 
 Tiocjufe we conceive that this is the firft bill of that nature ; 
 tnathath pafleJ, where there was not a divorce rirlt obtained in 
 tk<?' Spiritual Court; which we look upon as an ill precedent, 
 fl4jn-y bc.of dangerous conference in the future. 
 
 
 , - 
 the
 
 vi B R, J O H N-S O i\~'S 
 
 the care of her child could have brought upon hff* 
 It was therefore not likely that fhe would be wicked 
 without temptation, that fhe would look upon I 
 font from his birth with a kind of refeutment and 
 ilbhovrence ; and irrttead of Supporting, affifting, 
 and defending him, delight to fee him ftruggliag- 
 with mifery, or that ihe would take every oppor- 
 tunity or aggravating his misfortunes, and obftruct- 
 ing his refources, and with an implacable and veil- 
 lets cruelty continue her peifecudou from the firfl 
 Hour of his life to the lall. 
 
 But whatever were her motives, no fooner was 
 her fon born, than fhe diieovered a refolutioa of 
 difowning him ; and in a very fhort time removed 
 him from her fight, by committing him to the care 
 of a poor woman, whom fhe directed to educate him 
 as her own, and mjoined never to inform him of 
 his true parents. 
 
 Such was the beginning of the life of Ric^ird 
 Savage : Born with a legal claim to honour and to 
 affluence, he was in two months illegitimated by 
 the parliament, and difowned by his mother, doomed 
 to poverty and obfcurity, and launched upon the 
 ocean of life, only that he might be fwallowed by 
 its quickfands, or daflied upon its rocks. 
 
 His mother could not indeed infect others- with 
 the lame cruelty. As it was impofiible to avoid tht; 
 inquiries which the curiofity or tendernefs of hei 
 relations made after her child, me was obliged to 
 give fome account of the meafures that fhe had. 
 taken ; and her mother, ^he Lady Mafon, whether 
 in approbation of her deiign, or to prevent more 
 ciiminal contrivances, engaged to .tranlact with the 
 nurfe, to pay her for her care, and to fuperintend 
 the education of the child. 
 
 In
 
 LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. vii 
 
 In this charitable office flie was affixed by his 
 godmother Mrs. Loyd, who, while flic lived, always 
 looked upon him with that tendernefs, which the 
 barbarity of his mother made peculiarly neceffary ; 
 but her death, which happened in his tenth year t 
 was another of the misfortunes of his childhood : 
 for though fhe kindly endeavoured to alleviate his 
 lofs by a legacy of three hundred pounds, yet, as 
 he had none to profecute his claim, to fhelter him 
 from oppreilioiii or call in law to the affiftance of 
 juftice, her will was eluded by the executors, and 
 no part of the money was ever paid. 
 
 He was however not yet wholly abandoned. The 
 Lady Mafon {till continued her care, and directed 
 him to be placed at a {"mall grammar-fchool near 
 St. Alban's, where he was called by the name of 
 his nurfe, without the leafl intimation that he had 
 a claim to any other. 
 
 Here he was initiated in literature, and pafled 
 through feveral of the claiTes, with what rapidity 
 or what applaufe cannot now be known. As he 
 always fpoke with refpeft of his mafter, it is pro- 
 bable that the mean rank, in which he then ap- 
 peared, did not hinder his genius from being diftin- 
 fiifhed, or hts induftry from being rewarded ; and 
 in fo low a flare he obtained diftintion and re- 
 wards, it is not likely that they were gained but by- 
 genius and induftry. 
 
 It is very reafonable to conjecture, that his ap- 
 plication was equal to his abilities, becaufe his im- 
 provement was more than* proportioned to the op- 
 portunities which he enjoyed ; nor can it be doubted, 
 that if his earlieft productions had been preferved, 
 like thoie of happier ftudents, we might in ibme 
 have found vigorous fallies of that fprightly humour^ 
 a 4 which
 
 Tin DrR. }0 H N S Q N'S 
 
 \\hich dittinguifnes THE AUTHOR TO BE L.ET, and 
 In others, ftrong touches of that ardent imagination 
 which painted the iblemn fcenes of THE WAN- 
 
 While he was thus cultivating his genius, his 
 father the Earl Rivers was feized with a diflemner, 
 v.'hich in a ihort time put an end to his life. He 
 had frequently inquired atter his fon, and had always 
 been amufed with fallacious and evafive anfwers ; 
 but being now in his own opinion on his death -bed, 
 he thought it his duty to provide for him among his 
 other natural children, and therefore demanded a 
 pofitive account of him, with an importunity, imt 
 to be diverted or denied. His mother, who could 
 no longer rcfufe an anfwer, determined at leaft ,t 
 give fuch as iliould cut him off for ever from that 
 happinefs which competence affords, and therefore 
 declared that he was dead ; which is perhaps the 8rfc 
 inftance of a lie invented by a mother to deprive her 
 fon of a .provision which was deiigned him by ano- 
 ther, and which flie could not expect herfelf, though 
 he mould lofe ir. : jon 
 
 This was therefore an aft of -wickednefj whiehj 
 eould not be defeated, becaufe it could not be, 
 fufpefted ; the Earl did not imagine, that rtfceWL 
 could exift in a human form a mother that would 
 ruin her fon without enriching herfelf, and therfe- 
 fpre bellowed upon ibme other .perfon fix thoufead 7 
 pounds., which he had in his will bequeathed to 
 Savage. ' ,/ ioii 
 
 The fame cruelty which incited his rnpthonutOi. 
 intercept this provifion which had been intended. 
 him, prompted her in a fhort time to another pro- 
 jedt, a project worthy of fuch a difpofition. She 
 endeavoured to rid herfelf from the danger of being 
 
 *t
 
 LIFE OF THE AUTHOR ix 
 
 at any time made knovrn to him, by fending him 
 fecretly to the American plantations *. 
 
 By whofe kiridnefs this fcheme was counteracted, 
 or by what interposition fue was induced to lay afide 
 her defign, I know nor ; it is not improbable that 
 the Lady Mafon might perfuade or compel her to 
 defift, or perhaps (he could not eafily find accom- 
 plices wicked enough to concur in fo cruel an action ; 
 tor it may be conceived, that thofe who had by -4 
 long gradation of guilt hardened their hearts again fl 
 the fenfe of common wickednefs, would yet be 
 ihocked at the defign of a mother to expole her fon 
 fo flavery and want, to expofe him without interefiy 
 and without provocation ; and Savage might on this 
 odcafion find proteclors and advocates among thofe 
 who had long traded in crimes, and whom com- 
 paflion had never touched before. 
 
 Being hindered, by whatever means, from ba- 
 nrfhing him into another country, Ihe formed foon 
 after a fcheme for burying him in poverty and ob- 
 Icurity in his own ; and that his ftation of life, if 
 not the place of his refidence, might keep him for 
 ever at a diftance from her, fhe ordered him to be 
 placed with a Ihoemaker in Holborn, that after the 
 irfoat time of trial, he might become his appren- 
 tice f. 
 
 It is generally reported, that this project was for 
 fame time fuccefsful, and that Savage was employed 
 at J the awl longer than he was willing to confefs ; 
 nor was it perhaps any great advantage to him, that 
 aunaneiipe^ed difcovery determined iVim to quit hi* 
 occupation. 
 
 -o,r ^ 
 
 Ravage's Preface to his Mifcelhny. 
 -.f P-face ( Savage's MifcelUnie*.. 
 
 c About
 
 x D R. j O H N S O N S 
 
 About tliis time his nurfc, who had always treated 
 him as her own fon, died; and it was natural for 
 him to care of thofe effects, which by her death 
 were, as^he imagined, become his own ; lie there- 
 fore went to her houfe, opened her boxes, and ex- 
 amined her papers, among which he found ibme 
 letters written to her by the Lady Mafon, which 
 informed him of his birth, and the reafons for which 
 it was concealed. 
 
 He was now no longer fatisfied with the employ- 
 ment which had been allotted him, but thought he 
 had a right to (hare the affluence of his mother, and 
 therefore without fcruple applied to her as her fon, 
 and made ufe of every art to awaken "her tehd'emeis, 
 and attract her regard. But neither his letters, nor 
 the interpofition of thofe friends which his merit or 
 his diftrefs procured him, made any imprefilih upon 
 her mind: She Hill refolved to neglect, though ihe 
 could no longer difown him. 
 
 It was to no purpofe that he frequently folicitcd 
 her to admit him to fee her ; fhe avoided him wirii 
 the moft -vigilant precaution, and ordered him to 
 be excluded from her houfe, by whomfoever he 
 might be introduced, and what reaibn ibever he 
 might give for entering it. 
 
 Savage was at the fame time fo touched with the 
 difcovery of his real mother, that it was his frequent 
 practice to walk in the dark evenings * for feveral 
 hours before her door, in hopes of feeing her as flit- 
 might come by accident to the window, or crcfs her 
 apartment with a candle in her hand. 
 
 But all his aiiiduity and tendernefs were without 
 effect, for he could neither foften her heart, nor 
 
 * PLAIN DEALER. See Appendix. 
 
 open
 
 LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. j 
 
 open her hand, and was reduced to the xitrnoft irn- 
 feries of. want, while he was endeavouring to awakea 
 the affection of a mother ; He was therefore obiigeci' 
 to feek ibme pther menus of fupport, and having 
 no profeffion, became, by neceffity, an author. 
 
 At this time the attention of all the literary world 
 was engrofied by the Bangorian controverfy, which 
 filled the prels with pamphlets, and the coitee-houfcs 
 with difputants. Ot this fubjecl:, as moil: popular, 
 he made choice for his fait attempt, and without 
 any other knowledge of the quefdon, than he had 
 cafually collected from converfadon, pubiifhed a 
 poem againft the bifliop. 
 
 What was the fuccefs or merit of this performance 
 Iknow.not; it was probably loft among the innu- 
 merable pamphlets to which that diipute gave occa- 
 fion. Mr. Savage wat himfelf in a little tirrw^ 
 aihamed of it, and endeavoured to fupprefs it, by 
 deftroying all the Copies he could collect. 
 
 He then attempted a more gainful kind of wri- 
 ting *, and, in his eighteenth year offered to the 
 flage a comedy borrowed from a Spanifh plot, which 
 was refufed by the players, and was therefore giveb; 
 by him to Mr. Bullock, who, having more intereil, 
 made fome flight alterations, and brought it upon' 
 the ftage, under the title of f WOMAN'S A RIDDLE, 
 but allowed the unhappy author no part of the 
 profit. 
 
 Not difcouraged however at his repulfe, he wrote 
 two years afterwards LOVE IN A VEIL, another 
 comedy, borrowed likewile from the Spanifh, but 
 
 * Jacob's Lives of Dramatic Poets. 
 
 f This play was printed tiril in 8vo. and afterwards in r;r.~.-. 
 the fifsh edition. 
 
 with
 
 Wgdi, little better fxiccefs than before ; for though ib 
 was received and acted, 'yet it appeared .fa Ijaeoii* 
 the year, that the author, obtained no other advan*f 
 tage from it, than the acquaintance 06 Sir Riciwud 
 Sfceele, and Mr. Wilks ;// by: v*liojn ij^euwas.' pitied, 
 careffed, and relieved, iirw sort 
 
 Sir Richard Steele having declared in his favour 
 with all the ardour of benevolence which conftkutedi 
 his character, promoted his intereit with the ttdttofti 
 zeal, related his misfortunes, applauded his merit, 
 took all opportunities ot recommending him, afcsb 
 afferted, * that * the inhumanity of his mother had 
 *, given him a right to find every good man his father.' 
 
 Nor \vas Mr. Savage admitted to his acquaintance 
 only, but to his confidence, of which he ibmetimes 
 related an inftance too extraordinary to be omitted^ 
 as it affords a very juft idea of his patron's cha- 
 racter. 
 
 He was once defired by Sir Richard, with an air 
 of the utmoft importance, to come very early to: his 
 houfe the next morning. Mr. Savage came as he 
 had promiled, found the chariot at the door, ifid 
 Sir Richard waiting for him, and ready to go out. 
 What was intended, and whither they were to go, 
 Savage ccvild not conjecture, and was not williogo 
 to enquire ; but immediately feated himielfnvafe>t 
 Sir Richard ; the coachman, was ordered to 
 and-, they hurried with the utraoft expedittm 
 Hyde-Park Corner, where they itopped at a 
 tavern, and retired to a private room. Sir Richarib 
 then informed him, that he intended to -pvibliftKait 
 pamphlet, and that, he had clciircd him to . ctontl)! 
 thither that he might write for him. They foon ^sib 
 ion bib 3fi vrfw ;jnA .bh ad 
 
 * PLAIN DrALS*. . iFgifit&lih 
 
 dowa
 
 LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. 
 
 down to the work. Sir Richard 
 wrote, till the dinner that had been btderedi 
 putviapon the table. Savage was'farpnhcfryacj 
 meanneis of the entertainment, and alter fame 
 iuation ventured to afk tor wine, which Sir.Richatdj! 
 not without reluctance, ordered to be brought. 
 T;hey then finilhed their dinner, and proceeded in 
 their pamphlet, which they concluded in, the after- 
 noon. do KJrf 
 
 . iVIr. Savage then imagined his talk over, and ex~ 
 peeled that Sir Richard would call for the reckoning^ 
 :md return home : but his expeditions deceived hirrii 
 fqr Sir Richard told him, that he was without 
 rooney, and that the pamphlet mutl be ibid be&Sre 
 the dinner could be paid for ; and Savage was there* 
 fQfce obliged to go and offer their ne\v prod uclion to 
 faleifior/tw guineas,. which with fome difficulty he 
 obtained. Sir Richard then returned home, having 
 retired that; d>j-::only to avoid his creditors, and 
 ceinpofed the, pamphlet only to difcharge his reck 
 oning. ifnBa ayr.vuii ,iM .jjnimom ; iuod 
 
 Mr. 'Sat-age related another fat equally uncom- 
 ni8a^ which, though it has no relation to his life, 
 oug^tutanbe*' preferred. Sir Richard Steele having 
 ogefdhy;iirvrited to his houfe a great number of per-: 
 faiw'flf ithfiiifird quality, they were furprifed at the ' 
 n^Bsbir of liveries xvhich furrounded the table; and 
 alotti" i dinner, when wine and mirth had let them 
 the obfervation of rigid ceremony, one of 
 of Sir Richard, how fuch an expen- 
 domellics could be confiitent with his 
 fpriwie. Sir Richard very frankly confefTed, that 
 tha^r wpoi fellows of whom he would very willingly 
 be rid. And being then afked, why he did not 
 idifcjiarge them, declared that they were bailiffs who 
 
 had
 
 xtv t) R. JOHNSON'S 
 
 hnd introduced themfelves with an execution, and 
 whom, fince he could not fend them away, he had 
 thought it convenient to embellifh with liveries, that 
 thev might do him credit while they ilaid. 
 
 His friends were diverted with the expedient, nr.d 
 by paying the debt difcharged their attendance, 
 having obliged Sir Richard to promife that they 
 fhould never again find him graced with a retinue 
 of the fame kind. 
 
 Under fuch a tutor, Mr. Savage was not likely 
 rn learn prudence or frugality, and perhaps many 
 of the misfortunes which the want of thofe virtues 
 brought upon him in the following parts of his life, 
 might be juftly imputed to fo unimproving an ex- 
 ample. 
 
 Nor did the kindnefs of Sir Richard end in com- 
 mon favours. He propofed to have eftablifhed him 
 in fome fettled fcheme of life, and to have con- 
 trnfted a kind of alliance with him, by marrying 
 him to a natural daughter, on whom he intended to 
 bellow a thoufand pounds. But though he was 
 always lavifh of future bounties, he conducted his 
 affairs in fuch a manner, that he was very feldom 
 able to keep his promifes, or execute his own in-. 
 rentions ; and as he was never able to raife the fum 
 which he had offered, the marriage was delayed. 
 In the mean time he was officiouily informed that 
 Mr. Savage had ridiculed him ; by which he was 
 ib much exafperated, that he withdrew the allow- 
 ance which he had paid him, and never afterwards 
 
 i 11- i i - 
 admitted him to his nouie. 
 
 It is not indeed unlikely that Savage might by his 
 imprudence expofe himfelf to the malice of a tale- 
 bearer ; for his patron had many fellies, which as 
 his difcernment eafily difcovered, his imagination 
 
 u.. 
 
 might
 
 LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. xv 
 
 might fometimes incite him to mention too ludi- 
 crouily. A little knowledge of the world is fufikient 
 to dilcover that iuch weukm:fs is very common, and 
 that there are few \vho do not Ibmetiriu-s, in the 
 vvantonncfs of thoughtlefs mirth, or the heat of 
 transient refentment, fpeak ot their friends and 
 benefactors with levity and contempt, though in 
 their cooler moments they want neither fenfe of 
 their kindnefs, nor reverence for their virtue. The 
 iault therefore of Mr. Savage was rather negligence 
 than ingratitude ; but Sir Richard mult likewife be 
 acquitted of feverity, for who is there that can 
 patiently bear contempt from one whom he has 
 relieved and fupported, whofe eftablifhment he has 
 laboured, and whofe intereft he has promoted ? 
 
 He was now again abandoned to fortune, with- 
 out any other friend than Mr. Wilks ; a man, 
 who, whatever were his abilities or {kill as an actor, 
 Ucfcrves at Icafl to be remembered for his virtues*, 
 OJ babiMfli which 
 
 *EVZ 3fi. ; , , . . . . in- t 
 
 * As it is a lois to mankind when any good action AS for- 
 
 gotten, I ("hall in fort another inllance of Mr. Wilks's generality 
 very little known. Mr. Smith, a gentleman educated at Dublin, 
 being hindered by an impediment in his pronunciation from. 
 engaging in orders, for which his friends dcfigned him, .left his 
 wn country, and came to London in queit of employment, but 
 found his felicitations fruitlefs, and his neceflities every day more 
 prefling. In this diftrefs he wrote a tragedy, and offered it to 
 thf players, by whom rt was rejeded. Thus were his laft hopes 
 defeated, and he had no other profpeft than of the moil de- 
 plorable poverty. But Mr. Wilks thought his performance, 
 though not perfect, at lealt worthy of fome reward, and there- 
 fore offered him a benefit. This favour he improved with fo 
 much diii^tnce, that the hovife afforded him a confiderable fum, 
 with' which he wcr.t to Leyden, applied himfelf to the luuiy of 
 jihvfic, and profecuted his defigu with fo much diligence and 
 Kat when Dr. Boerhaave was defired by the Czarina.- to 
 recommend proper perfons to introduce into RuJia the practice
 
 xvi DR. JOHNSON'S 
 
 which are not often to be found in the world, and 
 perhaps lefs often in his profeffion than in others. 
 To be humane, generous and candid, is a very high 
 degree of merit in any cafe ; but thofe qualities 
 deferve ftill greater praife, when they are iound in 
 that condition, which makes almoft every other man, 
 for whatever reafon, contemptuous, infolent, petti-, 
 lant, felfifh, and brutal. 
 
 As Mr. Wilks was one of thofe to whom calamity 
 feldom complained without relief, he naturally took 
 an unfortunate wit into his protection, and not only 
 ailiited him in any cafual diltrefles, but continued 
 an equal and fleady kindnefs to the time of his death. 
 
 By his interpofition Mr. Savage once obtained 
 from his mother * fifty pounds, and a promife of 
 one hundred and fifty more ; but it was the fate of 
 this unhappy man, that few promifes of any ad- 
 vantage to him were performed. His mother was 
 infe6ted among others with the general madnefs of 
 the South-Sea traffic, and having been difappointed 
 in her expectations, refufed to pay what perhaps 
 nothing but the prolpedt of fudden affluence prompted 
 her to promife. 
 
 Being thus obliged to depend upon the friendfliip 
 of Mr. Wilks, he was consequently an aifiduous 
 frequenter of the theatres, and in a fhort time the 
 amufements of the ftage took fuch pofleflion of his 
 mind, that he never was abfent trom a play in 
 ieveral years. 
 
 and ftudy of phyfic, Dr. Smith was one of thofe whom he 
 ielecled. He had a confidfrable penfion iettled on him at his 
 arrival, and was one of the chief phyficians at the Hi:' 
 court. 
 
 This I write upon the credit of the author of his life, 
 which was published 1727. 
 
 This
 
 LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. xvii 
 
 This conftant attendance naturally procured him 
 the acquaintance or" the players, and among others, of 
 Mrs. Oldfield, who was fo much pleafed with his con- 
 verfation, and touched with his misfortunes, that flic 
 allowed him a fettled penfion of fifty pounds a year, 
 which was during her lite regularly paid. 
 
 That this aft of generality may receive its due praife, 
 and that the good adions of Mrs. Oldfield may not be 
 fullied by her general character, it is proper to men- 
 tion what Mr. Savage often declared in the ftrongeft 
 terms, that he never faw her alone, or in any other 
 place than behind the fcenes. 
 
 At her death he endeavoured to fhew his gratitude 
 in the moft decent manner, by wearing mourning as 
 for a mother, but did not celebrate her in elegies, be- 
 caufe he knew that too great protufion of praife would 
 only have revived thole faults which his natural equity 
 did not allow him to think lefs, becuufe they were 
 committed by one who favoured him ; but of which, 
 though his virtue would not endeavour to palliate 
 them, his gratitude would not futier him to prolong 
 the memory, or diffufe the cenfure. 
 
 In his WANDERER, he has indeed taken an oppor- 
 tunity of mentioning her, but celebrates her not for 
 her virtue, but her beauty, an excellence which none 
 crer denied her : This is the only encomium with 
 which he has rewarded her liberality, 'and perhaps he - 
 has even in this been too lavifh of his praife. He 
 feems to have thought, that never to mention his bene- 
 faftrefs would have an appearance of ingratitude, tho* 
 to have dedicated any particular performance to her 
 memory would have only betrayed an officious par- 
 tiality, that, without exalting her character, would 
 have deprefled his own. 
 
 He had fometimes, by the kindnefs of Mr. Wilks, 
 the advantage of a benefit, on which occafions he 
 
 VOL. I. b often
 
 DR. JOHNSON'S 
 
 n received uncommon marks of regard and com- 
 pullion ; and was once told by the Duke of Dorfet, 
 that it was HI ft to ccniider himas an injured nobleman, 
 :md that in his opinion the nobility ought to think 
 themfelves obliged, without folicitation, to take every 
 opportunity of fupporting him by their countenance 
 and patronage. Bat he had generally the mortifica- 
 tion to hear that the whole intereft of his mother was 
 employed to fruirrate his applications, and that fhe 
 never left any expedient untried, by which he might 
 be cut off from the poffibility of fupporting life. The 
 fame difpofition fhe endeavoured to difi'uie among all 
 thofe over whom nature or tortune gave her any in- 
 fluence, and indeed fucceeded too well in her delign ; 
 but could not always propagate her effrontery with 
 her cruelty, for fome of thofe, whom fhe incited 
 againft him, were afhamed of their own conduct, 
 and boafted of that relief which they never gave 
 him. 
 
 In this cenfure I do not indifcrimmately involve all 
 his relations : for he has mentioned with gratitude the 
 humanity of one Lady, whofe name I am now unable 
 to recollect, and to whom therefore I cannot pay the 
 praifes which fiie deferves for having acted well in op- 
 pofitionto influence, precept, and example. 
 
 The punifhment which our laws inflict upon thofe 
 parents who murder their infants is well known, nor 
 has its jultice ever been conteiled ; but if they de- 
 ferve death, who deflroy a child in its birth, what 
 pains can be fevere enough for her who forbears to 
 deftroy him only to inflict flinrper miferies upon 
 him ; who prolongs his life only to make it mi- 
 ferable ; and who expofes him, without care and 
 without pity, to the malice of opprenlon, the ca- 
 prices of chance, and the temptations cf poverty ; 
 who rejoices to fee him overwhelmed with calami- 
 ties :
 
 LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. x!x 
 
 ties ; and when his own induftry, or the charity of 
 others, has enabled him to rife for a ftiort time above 
 his miferies, plunges him again into his former diftrefs ? 
 
 The kindnefs of his friends not affording him any 
 conilant fupply, and the profpeft of improving his for- 
 tune, by enlarging his acquaintance, neceflarily lead- 
 ing him to places or expence, he found it nccefikry * to 
 endeavour once more at dramatic poetry, for which he 
 was now better qualified by a more extenfive know- 
 ledge, and longer obfervation. But having been un- 
 fuccefsful in comedy, though rather for want of op- 
 portunities than genius, he refolved now to try whe- 
 ther he Ihould not be more fortunate in exhibiting, a 
 tragedy. 
 
 The ftory which he chofe for the fubjecr, was that 
 of Sir Thomas Overbury, a ftory well adapted to die 
 ftage, though perhaps not far enough removed from 
 the prefent age, to admit properly the ficlions necei- 
 fary to complete the plan ; for the mind, which na- 
 ta rally loves truth, is always moft offended with the 
 violation of thofe truths of which we are moft certain, 
 and we of courfe conceive thofe facts moll certain 
 which approach neareft to our own time. 
 
 Out of this ftory he formed a tragedy, which, if the 
 circumftances in which he wrote it be confidered, will 
 afford at once an uncommon proof of ftrength of ge- 
 nius, and evennefs of mind, of a ferenity not to be 
 raffled, and an imagination not to be fupprefled. 
 . During a confiderable part of the time, in which he 
 was employed upon this performance, he was with- 
 out lodging, and often without meat ; nor had he any 
 other conveniences for ftudy than the fields or the 
 ilreet allowed him ; there he ufed to walk and form 
 his fpeeches, and afterwards ftep into a fliop, beg for 
 a few moments the ufe of the pen and ink, and write 
 
 * In 1724. 
 
 b 2 down
 
 s$ DR. JOHNSONS 
 
 down what he had compofed upon paper, which he 
 had picked up by accident. 
 
 If the performance of a writer thus diftrefTed is not 
 perfect, its faults ought furely to be imputed to a caufc 
 very different from want of genius, and muft rather ex- 
 cite pity than provoke cenfure. 
 
 But when under thefe difcouragements the tragedy 
 was finiflied, there yet remained the labour of intro- 
 ducing it on the Itage, an undertaking, which, to an 
 ingenious mind, was in a very high degree vexatious 
 and difgufting ; for having little intereft or reputation, 
 he was obliged to fubmit himfelf wholly to the players, 
 and admit, with whatever reluctance, the emendations 
 of Mr. Gibber, which he always conlidered as the dif- 
 grace of his performance. 
 
 He had indeed in Mr. Hill another critic of a very 
 different clafs, from whofe friendfhip he received great 
 affiilance on many occafions, and whom he never men- 
 tioned but with the utmoft tenclernefs and regard *. 
 He had been for fome time diftinguifhed by him with 
 very particular kindnefs, and on this occafion it was 
 natural to apply to him as an author of an eftabnfhed 
 character. He therefore fent this tragedy to him, 
 with afhort copy of -j- verfes, in which he defircd his 
 correction. Mr. Hill, whole humanity and po35t<nefs 
 are generally known, readily complied with Jir re- 
 quelr ; but as he is remarkable for fingularity of fen- 
 timent, and bold experiments in language, Mr. Sa- 
 vage did not think his play much improved by his in- 
 novation, and had even at that time the courage to re- 
 jeft feveral paflagcs which he could not approve ; and 
 what is Hill more laudable, Mr. Hill had the genero- 
 fity not to refent the neglect of his alterations, but 
 wrote the J prologue and epilogue, in which he 
 
 * Vol. II. p. 181. . f Ibid, r . 150. 
 
 % VoU I. p. 148. 186. 
 
 touches
 
 LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. xxl 
 
 touches on the circumftances of the author with great 
 tendernefs. 
 
 After all thefe obftruftions and compliances, he 
 was only able to bring his play upon the ilagein the 
 fummer, when the chief adors had retired, and the reft 
 were in poffeffion of the houfe for their own advantage. 
 Among thefe, Mr. Savage was admitted to play the 
 part of Sir Thomas Overbury, by which he gained no 
 great reputation, the theatre being a province for which 
 nature feemed not to have deligned him ; for neither 
 his voice, look, nor geflure, were fuch as are expect 
 ted on the ftage, and he was himfelf fo much a- 
 fliamed of having been reduced to appear as a player, 
 that he always blotted out his name from the lift, 
 when a copy of his tragedy was to be fliown to his 
 friend^. 
 
 In the publication of his performance he was more 
 fuccefsful, for the rays of genius that glimmered in it, 
 that glimmered through all the mills which poverty 
 and Gibber had been able to fpread over it, procured 
 him the notice and efteem of many perfons eminent 
 for their rank, their virtue, and their wit. 
 
 Of this play, afted, printed, and dedicated, the ac- 
 cumulated profits arofe to an hundred pounds, which 
 he thought at that time a very large fum, having been 
 never matter of fo much before. 
 
 In the dedication *, for which he received ten 
 guineas, there is nothing remarkable. The Preface 
 contains a very liberal encomium on the blooming 
 excellencies of Mr. Theophilus Gibber, which Mr. 
 Savage could not in the latter part of his life fee his 
 friends about to read without Inarching the play out 
 of their hands. The generofity of Mr. Hill did 
 not end on this occafion ; for afterwards, when Mr. 
 Savage's neceffities returned, he encouraged a fub- 
 * To Herbert Tryft, Efq. of Herefordftiire, vol. I. p. iir. 
 
 b 3 icription
 
 xxii DR. JOHNSON'S 
 
 fcription to a Mifcellany of Poems in a very extra- 
 ordinary manner, by publifliing his ftory in the 
 PLAIN DEALER *, with fome affeding lines f , which 
 he aflerts to have been written by Mr. Savage upon 
 
 the 
 
 * The PLAIN DEALER was a periodical paper written by Mr, 
 Hill and Mr. Bond, whom Mr. Savage called the two contending 
 powers of light and darknefs. They wrote by turns each fix 
 EiTays, and the character of the work was obferved regularly to 
 rife in Mr. Hill's weeks, and fall in Mr. Bond's. 
 
 f- Hopelejs,abandon'd, aimlefs, and .opprefs'd, 
 Loft to dehght, and, ev'ry way, diftrefs'd ; 
 Crofs his cold bed, in wild diforder, thrown, 
 Thus figh'd Alexis, friendlcfs, and alone 
 
 Why do I breathe ? What joy can being give, 
 When rtie, who gave me life; forgets I live ! 
 Feels not thefe wintry blafts ; nor heeds my fmart } 
 But (huts me from the Jhelter of her heart ! 
 Saw me expos'd to want ! to fhame ! to fcorn ! 
 To ills' which make itmifery to be born ! 
 Caft me, regardlefs, on the world's bleak wild ! 
 And bade me be a wretch, while yet a child ! 
 Where can he hope for pity, peace, or reft, 
 Who moves no foftnefs in a mother's breaft ? 
 Cuftorn, law, reafon, all ! my caufe forfake, 
 And Nature ileeps, to keep my woes awake ! 
 Crime?, which the cruel fcarce believe can be, 
 The kind are guilty of, to ruin rne. 
 E'en (he, who bore me, blafts me with hrr hate, 
 And, meant my fortune, makes herfelf my fate. 
 
 Vet Has this fweet neglect or of my woes, 
 The foftpft, tend'reft breaft that pity knows ! 
 Her eyes (Vied mercy wherefoe'er they fhinr , 
 And her toul melts at ev'ry woe but mine. 
 Sure then fbme fecrct fate for guilt unwil'd, 
 Some Sentence preordain'd to be fulfill'd ! 
 Plung'd me thus deep in forrow's fearching flood, 
 And walh'd me from the mem'ry of her blood. 
 
 But, oh ! whatever caufe has mov'd her hate, 
 Let me but figh, in filence, at my fate; 
 The God wtthm perhaps may touch her breaft, 
 ; A.nd, when lie pities, who can be diibx-fs'd ?
 
 LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. 
 
 the treatment received by him from his mother, but 
 of which he was himfelf the author, as Mr. Savage 
 afterwards declared. Thefe lines, and the paper hi 
 which they were inferted, had a very powerful effect 
 upon all but his mother, whom, by making her cruelty 
 more public, they only hardened in her averfion. 
 
 Mr. Hill not only promoted the fubfcription to the 
 Mifcellany, but funnfhed Hkewife the greateft part of 
 the Poems of which it is compofed, and particularly. 
 THE HAPPY MAN, which he pubUIhed as a fpeci- 
 men. 
 
 The fubfcriptions of thofe whom thefe papers 
 fhould influence to patronife merit in diftrefs, without 
 any other felicitation, were directed to be left at But- 
 ton's coffee-houte ; and Mr. Savage going thither a 
 few days afterwards, without expectation of any effect 
 from his propofal, found to his furprize feventy 
 guineas *, which had been fent him in confequence of 
 the compaffion excited by Mr. Hill's pathetic repre- 
 fenration. 
 
 To this Mifcellany he wrote a preface f, in which 
 
 he 
 
 
 * The names of thofe who fo genenmfly contributed to his re- 
 lief, having been mentioned in a former account, ought not to be 
 omitted hjere. They were the Dutchefs of Cleveland, Lady 
 Cheyney, Lady Caillemain, Lady Gower, Lady Lechmere, the 
 Dutcheis Dowager, and, Dutchels of Rutland, Lady Stratford, 
 the Countefs Dowager of Warwick, Mrs. Marv Floyer, Mrs. 
 Sofuel No?l, Duke of Rutland, Lord Gainlborough, Lord Mii- 
 Jington, Mr. John Savage. 
 
 f- This Preface is as follows : 
 
 Crudelis Mater magis, an Puer improbus ille ? 
 
 Improbus ille Puer, crudelis tu quoque Mater. VIRG. 
 
 My readers, I am afraid, when they obferve Richard Savage 
 joined fo clofc, and fo conilantly, to ' ion of the late Earl Ri- 
 vers,' will impute to a ridiculous vanity, what is the effect of an 
 unhappy neceliity, which my hard fortune has thrown me under 
 lam to be pardoned for adhering a little wnaeiouf.y t* my fa- 
 
 iher,
 
 xxiv DR. JOHNSON'S 
 
 he gives an account of his mother's cruelty in a very 
 uncommon ftrain of humour, and with a gaiety of 
 
 ima- 
 
 thcr, becaufe my mother will allow me to 1 be no-body ; and has 
 almoft reduced me, among heavier afflictions, to that uncommon 
 kind of want, which the Indians of America complained of at 
 our firft fettling among them ; when they came to beg names of the 
 Engliih, becaufe (faid they) we arc poor men of ourfelvcs, and 
 have none we can lav claim to. 
 
 The goodnature of thole, to whom I have not the honour to be 
 known, would forgive me the ludicrous turn of this beginning, if 
 they knew but how little reafon I have to be merry. It was my 
 misfortune to be fon of the above-mentioned Earl, by the late 
 Countefs of Macclesfield, (now widow of Colonel Henry Bret) 
 \vhofe divorce, on occafion of the amour which I was a confe- 
 quer.ce of, has left fomcthing on record, which I take to be very 
 remarkable ; and it is this : Certain of our great judges, in 
 their temporal dccifions, net with a fpiritual regard to Leviti- 
 cal Divinity, and in particular to the Ten Commandments ; two 
 of which fl'civi, in my cafe, to have viiibly influenced their opi- 
 nions ' Thou lhalt not commit adultery," pointed fulleft on my 
 mother : ' But, as to ' The Lord's vifuing the fins of the fathers 
 ' upon the children,' it was confidered as what could regard me 
 : And for that reafon, I fuppofe, it had been inconfiftent 
 with the rules of fanfttty, to aflign provifion out of my mother's 
 rcturn'd cfiatc, for fapport of an infant finner. 
 
 Thus, while legally the ion of one Earl, and naturally of 
 
 another, I am, nominally, no-body's fon at all: For the Lady 
 
 3 given me too much father, thought it but an equivalent 
 
 to K-.ivc me no mother, by way of balance So lam 
 
 {ported into the world, n kind of fhuttlecock, between law and 
 
 nature If law had not beaten me back, by the ft role e of an aft, 
 
 on purpoie, I li.id not been above wit, by the privilege of a man 
 
 ot qun'.ity : Nay, I m:. ,1 into the bargain, tho 
 
 Lives of Puke Hamilton and Lord Mohun, whofe difputc arofe 
 
 from the cllate of that Earl of iMacrlesfield, whom (but for the 
 
 mentioned act) I mufl. ha\x- called father And, if nature had 
 
 not ftri'ck me oft", with a itrangc-r blow than law did, the other 
 
 Earl, who was moil emphatically my father, could never have 
 
 told, I was dead, when he was about to enable me, by his 
 
 . to have lived to fome purpoie. An unaccountable feverity 
 
 of a mother ! whom I was then not old enough to have deferred 
 
 it from ; and by which I am a Angle unhappy inftance among 
 
 thai;
 
 LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. ' xx v 
 
 imagination, which the fuccefs of his fubfcription 
 probably produced. 
 
 The 
 
 that nobleman's natural children, and thrown friendlefs on the 
 world without means of fupporting myfelf, and without authority 
 to apply to thofe, whofe duty I know it is to fupport me. 
 
 Thus, however ill qualified I am to live by my wits, I have the 
 beft plea in the world for attempting it ; fince it is too apparent that 
 I was born to it. Having wearied my judgment with fruitlefs 
 endeavours to be happy, I gave the reins to my fancy, that I might 
 learn, at leaft, to be eafy. 
 
 But I ceafe a while to fpeak of myfelf, that I may fay fome- 
 thing of my mifcellany I was furnifhed, by the verfes of my 
 friends, wiih wit enough todefervea fubfcription; but I wanted 
 another much more profitable quality, which fliould have em- 
 boldened me to folicit it (another of my wants, that, I hope, may 
 be imputed to my mother !) I had met with little encouragement, 
 but for the endeavours of fome few gentlemen in my behalf, who 
 were generous enough to connder my ill fortune, as a merit that 
 intitled me to their notice. 
 
 Among thefe I am particularly indebted to the author of the 
 PLAIN DEALERS, who was pleafed, in two of his papers (which 
 1 intreat his pardon for reprinting before my Mifcellany) to point 
 out my unhappy ftory to the world with fo touching a humanity, 
 and fo good an efteft, that manyperfons of quality, of all ranks, 
 and of botb fexes, clillinguifhed themfelves with the promptnefs 
 he had hinted to the noble-minded ; and not Haying till they 
 were applied to, lent me the honour of their fubfcriptions in the 
 moft liberal and handfome manner for encouragement of my un- 
 dertaking. 
 
 I ought here to acknowledge fcveral favours from Mr. Hill, 
 whole writings are a ihining ornament of this Mifcellany ; but I 
 wave detaining my readers, and beg leave to refer them to a copy 
 of verfes called THE FRIEND *, which I have taken the liberty 
 to addrefs to that gentleman. 
 
 To return to the Lady, my mother Had the celebrated Mr. 
 Locke been acquainted with her example, it had certainly ap- 
 peared in his chapter againft innate practical principles ; becaufe 
 it would have completed his inftances of enormities: Some of 
 which, though not exactly in the order that he mentions them, 
 ?rc as rollow ' Have there not been (fays he) whole nations, 
 
 < and 
 * Vol. II. r . 1 3 1.
 
 xxvi ,D R. JOHNSON'S 
 
 The Dedication is addreffed to the Lady Mary 
 Wortley Montague, whom he flatters without re- 
 
 ierve, 
 
 ' and thofe of the moft civilized people, amongft whom, the 
 ' expofing their children to penlh by want, or wild beads, has 
 ' been a practice as little condemned or fcrupled as the begetting 
 'them?' Were I inclinable to be ferious, I could eafily prove 
 that 1 have not been more gently dealt with by Mrs. Bret ; but if 
 i his is any way foreign to my cafe, I (hall find a nearer example 
 in the whfmfical one that enfues. 
 
 ' It is familiar (fays the afore-cited author) among the Men^ 
 ' grelians, a people profdTing Chriilianiry, to bury their chiidven 
 ' alive without fcruple' There are indeed lundry fects of Chri- 
 flians, and I have oilen wondered which could be rr.v mamma's, 
 but now I find (he pioully profefles and pradlifcs Chriltianir/ 
 after the manner of the Mengrelians ; fhe indullrioiifh obfcun. J 
 me, when my fortune depended on my bong known, avui, in thru 
 fenfe (he may be laid to have buried me alive : ami lure, ' 
 Mengrelian, ihe mull have committed the aclion without KriipJe ; 
 for (he is a woman of fpint, and can (ee the conlequence without 
 remorfe ' The Canbees (continues my author) were wont to 
 ' caitrate their children, in order to fat and eat them' Here in- 
 deed I can draw no parallel ; foe to fpeak jullicc of the Lady, the 
 never contributed ovyht to have me pampered, but always promo- 
 ted my being ftarved: Nor did (he, even in my infancy, betray 
 fondnefs enough to be fufpecled of a delign to devour me ; but, on, 
 the contrary, not enduring me ever to approach her, offered a 
 bribe to have me flapped off, in an odd manner, to one of 
 plantations When I was about fifteen her affeftion began lo- 
 awake, and had I but known my intereit, I had been handsomely 
 provided tor. In (hort, I was folicited to be bound apprentice to a 
 very honeft and reputable occupation a fhoemaker ; an 
 which I undutifully rejected.. 1 was, in fine, unwilling to i;,,. 
 ftand her in a literal fenfe, and hoped, that, like the prophets of 
 old, lLe might have hinted her mmd in a kind of parable, or pro- 
 verbial way of fpeaking ; as thus That one time or other I 
 might, on due application, have the honour of taking the Icugrh 
 of her foot. 
 
 Mr. Locke mentions another fet of people that difpatch their 
 children, if a pretended aftrologer declares them to have unhap- 
 py rtars Perhaps my mamma has procured fome cunning man to 
 calculate my nativity j or having had fome ominous dream, which 
 
 preceded
 
 LIFE OF THE AUTHOR, xxvn 
 
 ferve, and, to confefs the truth, with very little * art. 
 The fame obfervation may be extended to all his De- 
 dications: his compliments are conftrained and vio- 
 lent, heaped together without the grace of order, or 
 the decency of introduction : he feems to have writ- 
 ten his Panegyrics for the perufal only of his patrons, 
 and to have imagined that he had no other tafk than to 
 pamper them with praifes however grofs, and that 
 flattery would make its way to the heart, without the 
 affiilance of elegance or invention. 
 
 Soon afterwards the death of the king furnimed a 
 general fubjeft for a poetical contefl, in which Mr. 
 Savage engaged, and is allowed to have carried the 
 prize of honour from his competitors ; but I know 
 not whether he gained by his performance any other 
 advantage than the increafe of his reputation ; though 
 it mult certainly have been with farther views that he 
 
 prevailed 
 
 pi-reeded my birth, the dire event may have appeared to her in 
 the dark and dreary bottom of a China cup, where cofFee-ftains 
 are often confuted for prophecies, and held as infallible as were 
 the leaves of the ancient Sybils To be partly ferious : I am ra- 
 ther willing to wrong her judgment, by fufpecting it to be tainted 
 a little with the tenets of fuperflition, than fuppolc (he can be mif- 
 trrfs of a feared confciencc, and aft on no principle at all. 
 * This the following extract from it will prove. 
 ' Since our country has been honoured with the glory of 
 your wit, as elevated and immortal as your foul, it no longer 
 remains a doubt whether your fex have ftrength of mind in pro- 
 portion to their fweetnefs. There is fomething in your verfes 
 as diftinguifhed as your air They are as ftrong as truth, 
 as deep as reafon, as clear as innocence, and as fmooth as beauty 
 They contain a namelefs and peculiar mixture of force and 
 grace, which is at once fo movingly ferene, and fo majellically 
 lovelv, that it is too amiable to appear any where but in you'r 
 eyes and in your writings. 
 
 ' As fortune is not more my enemy than I am the enemy of 
 flattery, I know not how I can forbear this application to^our 
 Ladyihip, becaufe there is fcarce a poflibility that I fhould fay 
 more than I believe, when I am fpeaking of your Exc:llence.'
 
 xxviii DU. JOHNSON'S 
 
 prevailed upon himfelf to attempt afpecies of writing, 
 of which all the topics had been long before exhautied, 
 and which was made at once difficult by the multitudes 
 that had failed in it, and thofe that had fuceeded. 
 
 He was now advancing in reputation, and though 
 frequently involved in very dirtrelsful perplexities, 
 appeared however to be gaining upon mankind, when 
 both his fame and his life were endangered by an e- 
 vent, of which it is not yet determined, whether it 
 ought to be mentioned as a crime or a calamity. 
 
 On the 2Oth of November 1727, Mr. Savage came 
 from Richmond, where he then lodged, that he might 
 purfue his ftudies with lefs interruption, with an in- 
 tent to difcharge another lodging which he had in 
 Weftminiler, and accidentally meeting two gentlemen 
 his acquaintances, whofe names were Merchant and 
 Gregory, he went in with them to a neighbouring 
 coftee-houfe, and fat drinking till it was late, it being 
 in no time of Mr. Savage's life any part of his charac- 
 ter to be the firft of the company that defiled to lepa- 
 rate. He would willingly have gone to bed in the 
 fame houfe, but there was not room tor the whole com- 
 pany, and therefore they agreed to ramble about the 
 ftreets, and divert themfelves with fuch amufements as 
 fliould oficr themfelves till morning. 
 
 In their walk they happened unluckily to difcover 
 light in Robmfon's cofiee-houfe near Cliaring-crofs, 
 and therefore went in. Merchant, with fon>e rude- 
 nefs, demanded a room, and was told that there was a 
 good fire in the next parlour, which the company 
 were about to leave, being then paying their reckoning. 
 Merchant, not fatisfled with this aniuer, rufhed into 
 the room, and was followed by his companions, lie. 
 then petulantly placed himfelf between the company 
 and^he fire, and foon after kicked down the table. 
 This produced a quarrel, iwords were drawn on both 
 
 ' fides,
 
 LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. 
 
 fides, and one Mr. James Sinclair was killed. Savage 
 having wounded likewife a maid that held him, forced 
 his way with Merchant out of the houfe ; but being 
 intimidated and confuted, without refolution either to 
 fly or Hay, they were taken in a back court by one of 
 the company and fome foldiers, whom he had called to 
 his alliilance. 
 
 Being fecuved and guarded that night, they were in 
 the morning carried before three juftices, who commit- 
 ted them to the Gatehoufe, from whence, upon the 
 death of Mr. Sinclair, which happened the fame day, 
 they were removed in the night to Newgate, where 
 they were however treated with fome diftindlion, 
 exempted from the ignominy of chains, and confined, 
 not among the common criminals, but in the Prefs- 
 yard. 
 
 When the day of trial came, the court was crouded 
 iii a very unufual manner, and the public appeared to 
 imereft itfelfas in a caufe ot general concern. The 
 wirnefles againft Mr. Savage and his friends were, the 
 woman who kept the houfe, which was a houfe of ill 
 fame, and her maid, the men who were in the room 
 with Mr. Sinclair, and a woman of the town, who had 
 been drinking with them, and with whom one of them 
 had been feen in bed. They fivore in general, that 
 Merchant gave the provocation, which Savage and 
 Gregory drew their fwords to juftify ; that Savage 
 drew firir, and that he ilabbed Sinclair when he was 
 not in a pofture of defence, or while Gregory com- 
 manded his fword ; that after he had given the thruft 
 he turned pale, and would have retired, but that the 
 maid clung round him, and one of the company en- 
 deavoured to detain him, from whom he broke, by 
 cutting the maid on the head-, but was afterwards taken 
 ia a court. 
 
 Tkerc
 
 xxx D 11. J O H N S O N ' S 
 
 There was fome difference in their depofitions ; one 
 did not fee Savage give the wound, another faw it 
 given when Sinclair held his point towards the ground ; 
 and the woman or the town afierted, that fhe did not 
 fee Sinclair's fword at all : This difference however 
 was very far from amounting to inconfiftency, but it 
 was fufficient to fliew, that the hurry of the difpute 
 was fuch, that it was not eafy to difcover the truth 
 with relation to particular circumftances, and that 
 therefore fome deductions were to be made from the 
 credibility of the teftimonies. 
 
 Sinclair had declared feveral times before his death, 
 that he received his wound from Savage, rior did Sa- 
 vage at his trial deny the faft, but endeavoured partly 
 to extenuate it, by urging the fuddennefs of the whole 
 action, and the impoffibility of any ill defign, or pre- 
 meditated malice, and partly tojuilify it by the necef- 
 fity of felf-defcnce, and the hazard of his own life, 
 if he had loft that opportunity of giving the thruft : 
 He obfervecl, that neither reafon nor law obliged a 
 man to wait for the blow which was threatened, and 
 which, if he fhould fuffer it, he might never be able 
 to return ; that it was always allowable to prevent an 
 afiault, and to preferve life by taking away that of the 
 adverfary, by whom it was endangered. 
 
 With regard to the violence with which he endea- 
 voured to efcape, he declared, that it was not his de- 
 fign to fly from juftice, or decline a trial, but to avoid 
 the expences and feverities of a prifon, and that he in- 
 tended to have appeared at the bar without compul- 
 fion. 
 
 This defence, which took up more than an hour, 
 was heard by the multitude that thronged the court 
 with the moft attentive and refpeclful iilence : Thofe* 
 who thought he ought not to be acquitted, owned that 
 
 applaufe
 
 LIFE OF THE AUTHOR xxxi 
 
 'applaufe could not be refufed him ; and thofe who be- 
 fore pitied his misfortunes, now reverenced his abilities. 
 
 The witnerTes which appeared again it him were 
 proved to be perfons of characters which did not en- 
 title them to much credit ; a common ftrutnpet,.a wo- 
 man by whom {trumpets were entertained, and a man 
 by whom they \vere fupported ; and the character of 
 Savage was by feveral perfons of diltinction afierted to 
 be that of a modeft inoftenfive man, not inclined to 
 broils, ortoinfolence, and who had, to that time, been 
 only known for his misrortunes and his wit. 
 
 Had his audience been his judges, he had undoubt- 
 edly been acquitted; but Mr. Page, who was then 
 upon the bench, treated him with his ufual iniblence 
 and Severity, and when he had fummed up the evi- 
 dence, endeavoured to exafperate the jury, as Mr. Sa- 
 vage u!ed to relate it, with this eloquent harangue. 
 
 ' Gentlemen of the jury, you are to confider that 
 
 * Mr. Savage is a very great man, a much greater 
 1 man than you or I, gentlemen of the jury ; that he 
 ' wears very fine clothes, much finer clothes than you 
 ' or I, gentlemen of the jury ; that he has abundance 
 ' of money in his pocket, much more money than 
 ' you or I, gentlemen of the jury; but gentlemen of 
 ' the jury, is it not a very hard cafe, gentlemen of 
 ' jury, that Mr. Savage fhould therefore kill you or 
 
 * me, gentlemen of the jury ?' 
 
 Mr. Savage hearing his defence thus mifreprefented, 
 and the men who were to decide his fate incited agamll 
 him by invidious comparifons, refolutely afleried, that 
 hia caufe was not candidly explained, and began to re- 
 capitulate what he had before faid with regard to his 
 condition, and the neceility of endeavouring to efcape 
 the expcnces of impriibnment ; but the judge having 
 oak- red him to be filent, and repeated his orders With- 
 out
 
 xxxii DR. JOHNSON'S 
 
 out effect, commanded that he fhould be taken from 
 the bar by force. 
 
 The jury then heard the opinion of the judge, that 
 good characters were of no weight againft poluive evi- 
 dence, though they might turn the fcale, where it was 
 doubtful ; and that though, when two men attack 
 each other, the death of either is only manflaughter ; 
 but where one is the aggreflbr, as in the cafe before 
 them, and in purfuance of his firft attack, kills the 
 other, the law fuppofes the action, however fudden, 
 to be malicious. They then deliberated upon their 
 verdict, and determined that Mr. Savage and Mr. 
 Gregory were guilty of murder, and Mr. Merchant, 
 who had no fword, only of manilaughter. 
 
 Thus ended this memorable trial, which lafted eight 
 hours. Mr. Savage and Mr. Gregory were conduc- 
 ted back to prifon, where they were more clofely con- 
 fined, and loaded with irons of fifty pounds weight : 
 Four days afterwards they were fent back to the court 
 to receive fenrence ; on which occafion Mr. Savage 
 made, as far as it could be retained in memory, the 
 following fpeech. 
 
 * It is now, my Lord, too late to offer any thing 
 by way of defence or vindication; nor can we ex- 
 pect ought from your Lordfliips, in this court, but 
 the fentence which the law requires you, as judges, 
 to pronounce againft men of our calamitous condi- 
 tion. But we arc allb perfuaded, that as mere 
 men, and out of this feat of rigorous juftice, you 
 are fufceptive of the tender paflions, and too hu- 
 mane, not to commiferate the unhappy fituation of 
 thofe, whom the law fometimes perhaps exacts 
 from you to pronounce upon. No doubt you dif- 
 tinguiih between offences, which arife out of pre- 
 meditation, and a difpontion habituated to vice or 
 
 * immorality
 
 LIFE OF THE AUTHOR, xxxii; 
 
 immorality, and tranfgreffions, which are the un- 
 happy and unforefeen effefts of cafual abfence of 
 realbn, and fudden impulfe of paffion : We there- 
 fore hope you will contribute all you can to an ex- 
 tenfion of that mercy, which the gentlemen of the 
 jury have been pleafed to fhew Mr. Merchant, who 
 (allowing fafts as fworn againfl us by the evidence) 
 has led us into this our calamity. I hope this will 
 not be conftrued, as if we meant to refledl upon 
 that gentleman, or remove any thing from us upon 
 him, or that we repine the more at our fate, be- 
 caufe he has no participation of it : No, my Lord ! 
 For my part, I declare nothing could more foften my 
 grief, than to be without any companion in fo great 
 a misfortune *.' 
 
 Mr. Savage had now no hopes of life, but from the 
 mercy of the crown, which was very earnefHy folici- 
 ted by his friends, and which, with whatever difficul- 
 ty the ftory may obtain belief, was obftrufted only by 
 his mother. 
 
 To prejudice the Queen againft him, fhe made 
 ufe of an incident, which was omitted in the order' of 
 time, that it might be mentioned together with the 
 purpofe which it was made to ferve. Mr. Savage, 
 when he had difcovered his birth, had an inceflant 
 defire to fpeak to his mother, who always avoided him 
 in public, and refufed him admiffion into her houfe. 
 
 One evening walking, as it was his cuftom, in the 
 flreet that fhe inhabited, he faw the door of her houfe 
 by accident open ; he entered it, and finding no per- 
 fons in the paflage to hinder him, went up flairs to fa- 
 lute her. She difcovered him before he could enter 
 her chamber, alarmed the family with the moft dif- 
 trefsful outcries, and when fhe had by her fcreams 
 * Mr. Savage's Life. 
 
 VOL, I. c gathered
 
 DR. JOHNSON'S 
 
 gathered them about her, ordered them to drive out 
 of the houie that villain, who had forced himfelf in 
 upon her, and endeavoured to murder her. Savage, 
 who had attempted with the molt fubmillive tender- 
 nefs to'foften her rage, hearing her utter Ib deteitable 
 an accufation, thought it prudent to retire, and, 1 be- 
 lieve, never attempted afterwards toipeak to her. 
 
 But fhocked as he was with her ralfhood and her 
 cruelty, he imagined that fhe intended no other ufe 
 of her lie, than to fet herfelf free from his em- 
 braces and felicitations, and was very far from fuf- 
 pecling that file would treafure it in her memory, 
 as an inftrument of future wickednefs, or that fhe 
 would endeavour for this fictitious afTault to deprive 
 him of his life. 
 
 But when the Queen was folicited for his pardon, 
 and informed of the fevere treatments which he had 
 fuffered from his judge, (lie anfwered, that however 
 tinju (lift 1 able might be the manner of his trial, or what- 
 ever extenuation the action for which he was condem- 
 ned might admit, Ihe coulci not think that man a pro- 
 per object of the King's mercy, who had been capable 
 of entering his mother's houle in the night, with an 
 intent to murder her. 
 
 By whom this attrocious calumny had been tranf- 
 rn'uted to the Queen ; whether fhe that invented had 
 the front to relate it j whether file found any one 
 weak enough to credit it, or corrupt enough to con- 
 cur with her in her hateful delign, I kno.v not ; but 
 methods had been taken to pcrfuade the Queen fo 
 ftrongly of the truth of it, that fhe for a long time re- 
 fufecl to hear any of thofe who petitioned for his life* 
 
 Thus had Savage peri (bed by the evidence of a 
 bawd, a trumpet, and his mother, had notjuftice 
 ar.d companion procured him an advocate of rank 
 too j^reat to be rejected unheard, and of virtue too 
 
 eminent
 
 L1?E OF THE AUTHOR, xxxv 
 
 eminent to be heard without being believed. His 
 ifierit and his calamities happened to reach the ear 
 of the Gountefs of Hertford, who engaged in his flip- 
 port with all the tendernefs that is excited by pity, and 
 atl the zeal which is kindled by generality, and de- 
 manding an audience of the Queen, laid before her the 
 whole feries of his mother'? cruelty, expofed the im- 
 probability of an accufation by which he was charged 
 with an intent to commit a murder, that could pro- 
 duce no advantage, and foon convinced her how little 
 his former conduft could deserve to be mentioned as a 
 reafbn for extraordinary feverity. 
 
 The interpofition of this Lady was fo fuccefsful, 
 that he was foon after admitted to bail, and on the gtli 
 of March 1728, pleaded the King's pardon. 
 
 It is natural to enquire upon what motives his mo- 
 ther could perfecute him in a manner fo outrageous 
 and implacable j for what reafonflie could employ all 
 the afts of malice, and all the fnares of calumny, tj 
 take away the life of her own fon, of a fon who never 
 injured her, who was never fupported by her ex- 
 pe'nce, nor obftrufted any profpeft of plealure or ad- 
 vantage ; vyhy fhe fhould endeavour to deftroy him 
 by a lie; a lie which could not gain credit, but muft 
 vanifh of itfelf at the firft moment of examination, and 
 of which only this can be faid to make it probable, 
 that it may be obferved from her conduft, that the 
 moft execrable crimes are fometimes committed with- 
 out apparent temptation. 
 
 This mother is ftill alive, and may perhaps even, 
 yet, though her malice was fo often defeated, enjoy 
 thepleafure of reflecting, that the life which fhe often 
 endeavoured to deftroy, was at leaft fhortened by her 
 maternal offices ; that though fhe could riot tranfport 
 her fon to the plantations, bury him in the (hop of a 
 mechanic, or hailen the hand of the public execu- 
 c z tioner,
 
 xxxvi DR. JOHNSON'S 
 
 tioner, fhe has yet had the fatisfaflion of imbittering 
 all his hours, and forcing him into exigencies, that 
 hurried on his death. 
 
 It is by no means neceflary to aggravate the enor- 
 mity of this woman's conduft, by placing it inoppofi- 
 tion to that of the Countefs of Hertford ; no one cart 
 fail to obferve how much more amiable it is to relieve, 
 than to opprefs, and to refcue innocence from deftruc- 
 tion, than to deftroy without an injury. 
 
 Mr. Savage, during his imprifonment, his trial, and 
 the time in which he lay under fentence of death, be- 
 haved with great firmnefs and equality of mind, and 
 confirmed by his fortitude the efteem of thofe, who 
 before admired him for his abilities. The peculiar 
 circumftances of his life were made more generally 
 known by a fliort account *, which was then publifh- 
 ed, and of which feveral thoufands were in a few weeks 
 difperfcd over the nation ; and the compaffion of 
 mankind operated fo powerfully in his favour, that he 
 uas enabled, by frequent prcfents, not only to fup- 
 port himfelf, but to alii ft Mr. Gregory in prifon ; and 
 when he was pardoned and releafed, he found the 
 number of his friends not leflened. 
 
 The nature of the aft for which he had been tried 
 was in itfelf doubtful ; of the evidences which appear- 
 ed againft him, the character of the man was not un- 
 exceptionable, that of the woman notorioufly infa- 
 mous : file whofe teftimony chiefly influenced the jury 
 to condemn him, afterwards retraced her aflertions. 
 He always himfelt denied that he was drunk, as had 
 been generally reported. Mr. Gregory, who is now 
 Collector of Antegua, is faid to declare him far lefs 
 criminal than he was imagined, even by fome who 
 favoured him : And Page himfelf afterwards con- 
 lefled, that he had treated him with uncommon ri-. 
 
 '* Written by Mr. Beckingham and another gentleman. 
 
 i gour.
 
 II FE OF THE AUTHOR, xxxva 
 
 fcour. When all thefe particulars are rated together, 
 perhaps the memory of Savage may not be much ful- 
 lied by his trial. 
 
 Some time after he had obtained his liberty, he 
 met in the flreet the woman that had fworn with fo 
 much malignity againft him. She informed him, that 
 Ihe was in diflrefs, and, with a degree of confidence 
 not eafily attainable, defired him to relieve her. He, 
 Inftead of infulting her mifery, and taking pleafure in 
 the calamities of one who had brought his life into 
 danger, reproved her gently for her perjury, and 
 changing the only guinea that he had, divided it equal- 
 ly between her and himfelf. 
 
 This is an action which in fome ages would have 
 made a faint, and perhaps in others a hero, and which, 
 without an hyperbolical encomiums, mult be allowed 
 to be an inftance of uncommon generality, an aft ot 
 complicated virtue ; by which he at once relieved 
 the poor, corrected the vicious, and forgave an enemy ; 
 by which he at once remitted the ftrongeft provoca- 
 tions, and exercifed the moil ardent charity. 
 
 Companion was indeed the diitinguifliing quality of 
 Savage ; he never appeared inclined to take advantage 
 of vveaknefs, to attack the defencelefs, or to prefs upon 
 the falling : whoever was diftreffed was certain at 
 jeaft of his good wifhes ; and when he could give no 
 afliftance, to extricate them from misfortunes, he en- 
 deavoured to footh them by fympathy and tendernefs. 
 
 But when his heart was not foftened by the fight of 
 mifery, he was fometimes obftinate in his refcntment, 
 and did not quickly lofe the remembrance of an injury. 
 He always continued to fpeak with anger of the in- 
 folence and partiality of Page, and a (heat time before 
 his death revenged it by a fatire *. 
 
 * Vol. II. p. 208.
 
 Xxxviu D R. J O H N S O N'S 
 
 It is natural to enquire in what terms Mr. Savage 
 fpoke ot this fatal adtion, when the danger was over,' 
 and he was under no neceffity of tiling any art to let 
 his conciudl in the faireit light. He was not willing to 
 dwell upon it, and if he tranfiently mentioned it, ap- 
 peared neither to confider himfelf as a murderer, nor 
 as a man wholly free from the guilt of blood *. How 
 much and how long he regretted it, appeared in a -j- 
 poem which he publifhed many years afterwards, On 
 occafion of a copy of verfes, in which the failings of 
 good men were recounted, and in which the author 
 had endeavoured to illuftrate his pofition, that, ' the 
 * beil may fometimcs deviate from virtue/ by an in- 
 Irance of murder committed by Savage in the heat of 
 wine, Savage remarked, that it was noveryjuil repre- 
 lentation of a good man, to fuppofe him liable to 
 drunkenneis, and difpofed in his riots to cut throats. 
 
 He was now indeed at liberty, but was, as before, 
 without any other fupport than accidental favours 
 and uncertain patronage afforded him ; fources by 
 which he was ibmetimes very liberally fupplied, and 
 which at other times were fuddenly Hopped ; fo that 
 he fpent his life between want and plenty, or, what 
 was yet worfe, between beggary and extravagance ; 
 lor as whatever he received was the gift of chance, 
 which might as well favour him at one time as ano- 
 ther, he was tempted to fquander what he had, becaufe 
 he always hoped to be immediately fupplied. 
 
 Another caufe of his profulion was the abfurd kind- 
 liefs of his friends, who at once rewarded and enjoyed 
 his abilities, by treating him at taverns, and habitu- 
 ated him to pleafures which he could not afford to en- 
 joy, and which he was not able to deny himfelf, tho* 
 
 * In one of his letters-he ftilcs it ' a fatal quarrel, but to 
 ' wtll known.' f Vol. II. j . 93. ' 
 
 he
 
 LIFE OF THE AUTHOR, xixix 
 
 he purchafed the luxury of a fingle night by the an- 
 guifh of cold and hunger for a week. 
 
 The experience of thefe inconveniencies deter- 
 mined him to endeavour after fome fettled income, 
 which, having long found fubmiffion and intreaties 
 fruitlefs, he attempted to extort from his mother by 
 rougher methods. He had now, as he acknowledged, 
 loft that tendernefs for her, which the whole feries of 
 her cruelty had not been able wholly to repreis, till 
 he found, by the efforts which flie made for his de- 
 llruftion, that flie was not content with refufing to 
 aififthim, and being neutral in his ftruggles with po* 
 verty, but was as ready to fnatch every opportunity 
 of adding to his misfortunes, and that (lie was to be 
 confidered as an enemy implacably malicious^ whom 
 nothing but his blood could fatisfy. He therefore 
 threatened to harafs her with lampoons, and to pub- 
 lilh a copious narrative of her condudt, unlefs me con- 
 fented to purchafe an exemption from infamy, by al- 
 lowing him a pcnfion. 
 
 This expedient proved fuccefsful. Whether fhame 
 ftill furvived, though virtue was extinct, or whether 
 her relations had more delicacy than herfelf, and ima- 
 gined that fome of the darts which fatire might point 
 at her would glance upon them : Lord Tyrconnel, 
 whatever were his motives, upon his promife to lay 
 afide his defign of expofing the cruelty of his mother, 
 received him into his family, treated him as his equal, 
 and engaged to allow him a peniion of two hundred 
 pounds a year. 
 
 This was the golden part of Mr. Savage's life ; and 
 for fome time he had no treafbn to complain of for- 
 tune ; his appearance was fplendid, his expences large, 
 and his acquaintancce extenfive. He was courted by 
 all who endeavoured to be thought men of genius, and 
 carefled by all who valued thcmlelves upon a refined 
 c 4 talk.
 
 *i DR. J O H N S O N'S 
 
 tafte. To admire Mr. Savage was a proof of difcerfl- 
 ment, and to be acquainted with him was a title, to 
 poetical reputation. His prefence was fufficient to 
 make any place of public entertainment popular ; and 
 his approbation and example conftituted the fafhion. 
 So powerful is genius, when it is inverted with the 
 glitter of affluence ! Men willingly pay to fortune that 
 regard which they owe to merit, and are pleafed when 
 they have an opportunity at once of gratifying their 
 vanity, and praftifing their duty. 
 
 This interval of prof peri ty furnifhed him with op- 
 portunities of enlarging his knowledge of human na- 
 ture, by contemplating life from its higheft gradations 
 to its loweft, and had he afterwards applied to dramatic 
 poetry he would perhaps not have had many fuperiors ; 
 lor as he never fuffered any fcene to pafs before his 
 eyes without notice, he had treafured in his mind all 
 the different combinations of paflions, and the innu- 
 merable mixtures of vice and virtue, which diftinguifh 
 one character . from another ; and as his conception 
 was ftrong, his expreffions were clear, he eafily re- 
 . ceived impreffions from objects, and very forcibly 
 tranfmitted them to others. 
 
 Of his exadT: obfervations on human life he has left a 
 proof, which would do honour to the greateft names, 
 in a fmall pamphlet, called, THE AUTHOR TO BE 
 LET *, where he introduces Ifcariot Hackney, a pro- 
 ftitute fcribbler, giving an account of his birth, his 
 education, his difpofition and morals, habits of life, 
 and maxims of condudt. In the introduction are re- 
 lated many fecret hiftories of the petty writers of 
 that time, but fometimes mixed with ungenerous re- 
 flections on their birth, their circumflances, or thofe 
 f their relations ; nor can it be denied, that Ibme pai- 
 * Vol. II. p. 237.
 
 LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. sir 
 
 {ages are fuch as Ifcariot Hackney might himfelf have " 
 produced. 
 
 He was accufed likewife of living in an appear- ? 
 ance of friendfliip with fome whom he fatirifed, and 
 of making ufe of the confidence which he gained by 
 a feeming k'mdnefs to difcover failings and expofe 
 them : it muft be confeffed, that Mr. Savage's efteem 
 was no very certain pofTeffion, and that he would larri- 
 poon at one time thole whom he had praifed at another. 
 
 It may be alleged that the fame man may change 
 his principles, and that he who was once defervedly 
 commended, may be afterwards fatirifed with equal 
 juiiice, or that the poet was dazzled with the appear- 
 ance of virtue, and found the man whom he had ce- 
 lebrated, when he had an opportunity of examining 
 him more nearly, unworthy of the panegyric which 
 he had too haftily beftowed ; and that as a falfe fatire 
 ought to be recanted, for the fake of him whole repu- 
 tation may be injured, falfe praife ought likewife to be 
 obviated, left the diftinction between vice and virtue 
 fhould be loft, left a bad man Ihould be trufted upon 
 the credit of his encomiaft, or lell others flibuld en- 
 deavour to obtain the like praifes by the fame means. 
 
 But though thefe excufes may be often plaulible, 
 and fometimes juft, they afe very feldom fatisfaftory 
 TO mankind ; and the writer, who is not conftant to 
 his fubjeft, quickly finks into contempt, his fatire 
 lofes its force, and his panegyric its value, and he is 
 only confidered at one time as a flatterer, and as a ca- 
 lumniator at another. 
 
 To avoid thefe imputations, it is only neceflary to 
 follow the rules of virtue, and to preierve an unvaried 
 regard to truth. For though it is undoubtedly poffible, 
 that a man, however cautious, may be fometimes de- 
 ceived by an artful appearance of virtue, or by falfe 
 evidences of guilt, fuch errors will not be frequent ; 
 
 and
 
 *lii DR. JOHNSON'S 
 
 and it will be allowed, that the name of an author 
 would never have been made contemptible, had no man 
 ever faid what he did not think, or milled others, but 
 when he was himfelf deceived. 
 
 If THE AUTHOR TO BE LET was firfl publiflied in a 
 fingle pamphlet, and afterwards inferted in a collec- 
 tion of pieces relating to the Dunciad, which were ad- 
 drefied by Mr. Savage to the Earl of Middlefex, in a 
 
 * dedication which he was prevailed upon to lign, the' 
 he did not write it, and in which there are fomepofi- 
 tions, that the true author would perhaps not have 
 publilhed under his own name, and on which Mr. 
 Savage afterwards reflected with no great fatisfatSion ; 
 the enumeration of the bad effects of the uncontrolled 
 freedom of the prefs, and the aflertion that the ' Li- 
 
 * berties taken by the writers of Journals with their 
 ' fuperiors were exorbitant and unjuftifiable,' .very ill 
 became men, who have themfelves not always Ihewn 
 the exacleft regard to the laws of fubordination in their 
 writings, and who have often fatirifed thofe that at 
 leaft thought theinfelves their fuperiors, as they 
 were eminent for their hereditary rank, and employ- 
 ed in the highefl offices of the kingdom. But this is 
 only an inrtance of that partiality which almoft every 
 man indulges with regard to himfelf ; the liberty of 
 the preis is a bleiTmg when we are inclined to write a- 
 gainil others, and a calamity when we find ourfelves 
 overborn by the multitude of our affailants ; as the 
 power of the crown is always thought too great by 
 thofe who fuffer by its influence, and too little by 
 thofe in whofe favour it is exerted ; and a Handing ar- 
 my is generally accounted neceflary by thofe who 
 command, and dangerous and opprelfive by thofe who 
 fupport it. 
 
 * Vol. II. r . 239. 
 
 Mr.
 
 LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. xliii 
 
 Mr. Savage was likewife very far from believing-, 
 that the letters annexed to each fpecies of bad poets 
 in the Bathos, were, as he was directed to aflert, ' fet 
 ' down at random j' for when he was charged by one 
 of his friends with putting his name to fuch an impro- 
 bability, he had no other anfwer to make, than that 
 * he did not think of it,' and his friend had too much 
 tendernefs to reply, that next to the crime of writing 
 contrary to whathe thought, was that of writing with- 
 out thinking. 
 
 After having remarked what is falfe in this dedica- 
 tion, it is proper that I obferve the impartiality which 
 1 recommend, by declaring what Savage afFerted, that 
 the account of the circumllances which attended the 
 publication of the Dunciacl, however ftrange and im- 
 probable, was exactly true. 
 
 The publication of this piece at this time raifed 
 Mr. Savage a great number of enemies among thofe 
 that were attacked by Mr. Pope, with whom he was 
 ronfidered as a kind of confederate, and whom he was 
 fuipecied of fupplying with private intelligence and fe- 
 cret incidents : Ib that the ignominy of an informer 
 was added to the terror of a fatiriih 
 
 .That he was not altogether tree from literary hypo- 
 crily, and that he fometimes fpoke one thing, and 
 wrote another, cannot be denied ; becaufe he himfelf 
 contefled, that when he lived in great familiarity with 
 Dcmiis, he wrote an epigram * againft him. 
 
 * This epigram was, I believe, never puWiftted. 
 
 Should Dennis publilh you liad ilabb'd your brother, 
 L.nnpooivd your monarch, or ikbauch'd your mother ; 
 Say what revenge on Dennis can be had, 
 Too dull ior laughter, for reply too niad ? 
 On one fo poor you cannot take the law, 
 On one lo old your fword you (corn to draw : 
 Uncag'd, then, let tlie harmkfs monfter rage, 
 Secure in dulneis, raaduels, want, and age. 
 
 Mr.'
 
 xliv DR. JOHNSON'S 
 
 Mr. Savage however fet all the malice of all the pig- 
 rny writers at defiance, and thought the friendfhip of 
 Mr. Pope cheaply purchafed by being expofed to 
 their cenlure and their hatred ; nor had he any reafon 
 to repent of the preference, for he found Mr. Pope a 
 fteady and unalienable friend almoft to the end of his 
 life. 
 
 About this time, notwithftandinghis avowed neutra- 
 lity with regard to party, he published a panegyric on 
 Sir Robert Walpole, for which he was rewarded by 
 him with twenty guineas, a fum not very large, if ei- 
 ther the excellence of the performance, or the afflu- 
 ence of the patron be confidered ; but greater than he 
 afterwards obtained from a perfon of yet higher rank, 
 and more defirous in appearance of being diiiinguifhed 
 as a patron of literature. 
 
 As he was very tar from approving the conduft of 
 Sir Robert Walpole, and in converfation mentioned 
 him fometimes with acrimony, and generally with con- 
 tempt ; as he was one of thofe who were always zea- 
 lous in their aflertions of the juftice of the late oppo- 
 lition, jealous of the rights of the people, and alarmed 
 by the long-continued triumph of the court ; it was na- 
 tural to alk him what could induce him to employ his 
 poetry in praife of that man who was, in his opinion, 
 an enemy to liberty, and an oppreflbr of his country ? 
 He alleged, that he was then dependent upon the 
 Lord Tyrconnel, who was, an implicit follower of the 
 rniniftry, and that being enjoined by him, not with- 
 out menaces, to write in praife of his leader, he had 
 not refolution fufficient to facrifice the pleafure of afflu- 
 ence to that of integrity. 
 
 On this, and on many other occafions, he was ready 
 to lament the mifery of living at the tables of other 
 men, which was his fate from the beginning to the 
 end of his life ; for I know not whether he ever had, 
 
 for
 
 LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. xlv 
 
 for three months together, a fettled habitation, in 
 which he could claim a right of refidence. 
 
 To this unhappy flate it is juft to impute much of 
 the inconftancy of his conduct ; for though a readi- 
 nefs to comply with the inclination of others was no 
 part of his natural character, yet he was fometimes 
 obliged to relax his obftinacy, and fubmit his own 
 judgment and even his virtue to the government of 
 thofe by whom he was fupported : fo that if his miferies 
 were lometimes the confequences of his faults, he 
 ought not yet to be wholly excluded from companion, 
 becaufe his faults were very often the effects of his 
 misfortunes, 
 
 In this gay period * of his life, while he was fur- 
 rounded by affluence and pleafure, he publifhed THE 
 WANDERER, a. moral Poem, of which the delign is 
 comprifed in thefe lines : 
 
 I fly all public care, all venal ftrife, 
 To try the (till compar'd with active life ; 
 To prove, by thefe the fons of men may owe 
 The fruits or blifs to burfting clouds of woe ; 
 That e'en calamity, by thought refin'd, 
 Infpirits and adorns the thinking mind. 
 
 And more diftindtly in the following paflage : 
 By woe, the foul to daring action fu ells ; 
 By woe, in plaintlefs patience it excels ; 
 From patience, prudent clear experience fprings, 
 And traces knowledge thro' the courfe of things'! 
 Thence hope is form'd, thence fortitude, fuccefs, 
 Renown : whate'er men covet and carefs. 
 
 This performance was always confidered by him- 
 felf as his mafter-piece ; and Mr. Pope, when he 
 alked his opinion of it, told him, that he read it once 
 over, and was not difpleafed with it, that it gave him 
 
 more 
 1729-
 
 xlri DR. JOHNSON'S 
 
 more pleafure at the fecond pcrufal, and delighted 'Km 
 Hill more at the third. 
 
 It has been generally objected to THE WAXDEB ER , 
 that the difpofition of the parts is irregular, that * I 
 defign is obicure, and the plan perplexed ; thar the 
 images, however beautiful, i'ucceed each other without 
 order ; and that the whole performance is not io much 
 a regular fabric, as a heap of finning materials thrown 
 together by accident, which flrikes rather with the 
 folemn magnificence of a ilupendous ruin, than thr 
 elegant grandeur of a finifhed pile. 
 
 This criticifm is univcrful, and therefore it is rea- 
 fonable to believe it at leaft in a. great degree juit; 
 but Mr. Savage was always of n contrary opinion, 
 and thought his drift could only be milted by negli- 
 gence or ftupidity, and that the whole plan was. regu- 
 lar, and the parts ditriru't. 
 
 It was never denied to abound with ftrons; reprefen- 
 tations ot nature, and mil cbfcrvarions upon lit?, and 
 it may eaiily be obferved, that moil of his pictures 
 have an evident tendency to ill nitrate his firlt great 
 position, ' that good is the coniequence of evil.' 
 The fun that burns up the mountains, fructifies the 
 vales ; :the deluge that ruihes down the broken rocks 
 with dreadful impetuoiity, is feparated into purling 
 brooks ; and the rage of the hurricane purifies the air. 
 
 Even in this poem he has not been able to forbear 
 one touch upon the cruelty of his mother *, which, 
 though remarkably delicate and tender, is a proof 
 how deep an impreilnn it had upon his mind. 
 
 This muft be at lead: acknowledged, which ought 
 to be thought equivalent to many other excellencies, 
 that this poem can promote no other purpofes than 
 thofe of virtue, and that it is written with' ^It^-jfc * 
 ilrong fenfe of the efficacy of religion. 
 * Vol. II. ,, 41. 
 
 But
 
 LIFE OF THE AUTHOR, xlvii 
 
 But my province is rather to give the hiftory of 
 Mr. Savage's performances, than to difplay their 
 beauties, or to obviate the criticifms which they 
 have cccafioned, and therefore I fhall not dwell iiport 
 the particular pafTages which deferve applaufe : I fliall 
 neither fliow the excellence of his defcriptions *, nor 
 expatiate on the terrific portrait of fuicide f, nor 
 point out the artful touches j, by which he has dif- 
 t'mguifhed the intellectual features of the rebels, who 
 ftiffer death in his hit canto. It is, however, proper 
 to obferve, that Mr. Savage always declared the cha- 
 racters wholly fi6titious, and without the leail allufion, 
 to any real perfons or actions. 
 
 From a poem fo diligently laboured, and fo fuccefl- 
 fully finished, it might be reafonably expected that he 
 fhould have gained conliderable advantage ; nor can 
 it, without foine degree of indignation and concern, 
 be told, that he fold the copy for ten guineas, of which 
 he afterwards returned two, that the two laft flieets of 
 the work might be reprinted, of which he had in his 
 abience intruded the correction to a friend, who was 
 too indolent to perform it with accuracy. 
 
 A fuperftitious regard to the correction of his flieets 
 was one of Mr. Savage's peculiarities : he often altered, 
 revifed, recurred to his firft reading or punctuation, 
 and again adopted the alteration ; he was dubious and 
 irrefolute without end, as on a queftion of the laft 
 importance, and at laft was feldom fatisfied : the in- 
 trufion or omiffion of a comma was fufticient to dif- 
 compofe him, and he would lament an error of a fingle 
 letter as a heavy calamity. In one of his letters re- 
 lating to an impreffion of fome verfes, he remarks, 
 that he had, with regard to the correction of the proof, 
 * a fpell upon him;' and indeed the anxiety with 
 which he dwelt upon the minuteft and moft trifling 
 * Vol. II. p. 59. f Ibid. p. 27. ' ' J Ibid. p. 73. 
 
 niceties,
 
 xlviii DR. JOHNSON'S 
 
 niceties, defended no other name than that of fafei- 
 nation. 
 
 That he fold fo valuable a performance for fo fmall 
 a price was not to be imputed either to neceffity, by 
 which the learned and ingenious are often obliged to 
 fubmit to very hard conditions, or to avarice, by 
 which the bookfeliers are frequently incited to oppreis 
 that genius by which they are fupported, but to that 
 Intemperate ciefire of pleafure, and habitual flavery to 
 his paflions, which involved him in many perplexi- 
 ties ; he happened at that time to be engaged in the 
 purfuit of foine trifling gratification, and being with- 
 out money for the prefent occafion, fold his poem to 
 the firft bidder, end perhaps for the firft price that 
 was propofed, :,r-.d would probably have been content 
 with lels, : f lefs !u:d been offered him. 
 
 This poem was addrefTed to the Lord Tyrconncl 
 not only in the firft lines*, but in a formal dedication 
 filled with the higheit drains of panegyric, and the 
 warmeft profeffions of gratitude, but by no means re- 
 markable for delicacy of connection or elegance of {Hie. 
 
 Thefe praifes in a fliort time he found himfelf in- 
 clined to retracl, being difcarded by the man on whom 
 he had befiowed them, and whom he then immedi- 
 ately difcovered not to have deferred them. Of this 
 quarrel, which every day made more bitter, Lord 
 Tyrconnel and Mr. Savage afligned very different rea- 
 fons, which might perhaps all in reality concur, 
 though they were not all convenient to be alleged by 
 either party. Lord Tyrconnel affirmed, that it was 
 the conftant practice of Mr. Savage to enter a tavern 
 with any company that propofed it, drink the moft 
 expenfive wines with great profufion, and when the 
 reckoning was demanded, to be without money : It, 
 as it often happened, his company were willing to 
 
 * Vol. II. p. 7. 
 
 defray
 
 LIFE OF THE AUTHOR, xlix 
 
 defray his part, the affair ended, without any ill con- 
 fequences ; but if they were refractory, and expected 
 that the wine mould be paid tor by him that drank it, 
 his method of compofition was, to take them with 
 him to his own apartment, afTume the government of 
 the houfe, and order the butler in an imperious man- 
 ner to fet the beft wine in the cellar before his com- 
 pany, who often drank till they forgot the refpeft due 
 to the houfe in which they were entertained, indulged 
 themfelves in the utmoft extravagance of merriment, 
 pradifed the moft licentious frolics, and committed 
 all the outrages of drunkennefs. 
 
 Nor was this the only charge which Lord Tyr- 
 connel brought againft him : Having given him a col- 
 lection of valuable books, ftampedwith his own arms, 
 he had the mortification to fee them in a fliort time 
 expofed to fale upon the flails, it being ufual with 
 Mr. Savage, when he wanted a fmall Him, to take 
 his books to the pawnbroker. 
 
 Whoever was acquainted with Mr. Savage eafily 
 credited both thefe accufations ; for having been 
 obliged from his firft entrance into the world to fub- 
 fift upon expedients, affluence was not able to exalt 
 him above them ; and ib much was he delighted with 
 wine and converfation, and fo long had he been accuf- 
 tomed to live by chance, that he would at any time 
 go to the tavern without fcruple, and truft for his 
 reckoning to the liberality of his company, and fre- 
 quently of company to whom he was very little known. 
 This conduct indeed very feldom drew upon him thofe 
 inconveniences that, might be feared by any other per- 
 fon ; for his converfation was fo entertaining, and his 
 addrefs ib pleafmg, that few thought the pleafure 
 which they received from him dearly purchaled, by 
 paying for his wine. It was his peculiar happinefs, 
 that he fcarcely ever found a ilranger, whom fie dio 
 
 VOL. I. d not
 
 1 DR. JOHNSON'S 
 
 not leave a friend; but it muft likewife be added, that 
 he had not often a friend long, without obliging him 
 to become a ftranger. 
 
 Mr. Savage, on the other hand, declared, that 
 Lord Tyrconnel * quarrelled with him, becaufe he 
 would lubrracl from his own luxury and extravagance 
 what he had promifcd to allow him, and that his re- 
 ientment was only a plea for the violation of his pro- 
 mife : He aliened, that he had done nothing that 
 ought to exclude him from that fubfijftence which he 
 thought not fo much a favour, as a debt, fmce it was 
 offered him upon conditions, which he had never, 
 broken ; and that his only fault was, that he could 
 not be fupported with nothing. 
 
 He acknowledged, that Lord Tyrconnel often ex- 
 horted him to regulate his method of life, and not to 
 fpend all his nights in taverns, and that he appeared 
 very defirons, that he would pafs thofe hours with him, 
 which he fo treely bellowed upon others. This de- 
 mand Mr. Savage confidered as a cenfure of his con- 
 duct, which he could never patiently bear ; and which 
 in the latter and cooler part of his life was fo often five 
 to him, that he declared it as his resolution, ' to fpurn 
 * that friend who fhould prefume to dictate to him ;' 
 and it is not likely, that in his earlier years he received 
 admonitions with more calmnefs. 
 
 He was likewife inclined to relent fuch expectations, 
 as tending to infringe his liberty, of which he was 
 very jealous, when it was neceflary to the gratification 
 of his paflions, and declared, that the reqtieil was ftill 
 more unreafonable, as the company to which he was 
 to have been confined w;-.s infupportably difagreeable. 
 This alTertion aftbrds another iniiance of that incon- 
 
 * His expreffion in one of his letters, was, ' that Lord T 1 
 
 ' had involved his eilate, and therefore poor!/ fought sn occafion 
 ' to quarrel with him.' 
 
 fiitency
 
 LIFE. OF THE AUTHOR. li 
 
 furency of his writings with his converfation, which 
 was fo often to be obferred. He forgot how lavifhly 
 he had, in his * Dedication to THE WANDERER, ex- 
 tolled the delicacy and penetration, the humanity and 
 generofity, the candour and politenefs of the man, 
 whom, when he no longer loved him, he declared to 
 be a wretch without underftanding, without good na- 
 ture, and without julKce ; of whole name he thought 
 himfelf obliged to leave no trace in any future edition 
 of his writings ; and accordingly blotted it out of that 
 copy of THE WANDERER which was in his hands. 
 
 During his continuance with the Lord Tyrconnel, 
 he wrote f THE TRIUMPH OF HEALTH AND MIRTH, 
 on the recovery of Lady Tyrconnel from a languilhing 
 illnefs. This performance is remarkable, not only 
 for the gaiety of the ideas, and the melody of the 
 numbers, but for the agreeable fidion upon which ic 
 is formed. Mirth, overwhelmed .with forrow for the 
 ficknefs of her favourite, takes a flight in queft of her 
 fitter Health, whom fhe finds reclined upon the brow 
 of a lofty mountain, amidft the fragrance of perpe- 
 tual fpring, with the breezes of the morning fporting 
 about her. Being folicited by her fitter Mirth, flic 
 readily promifes her affittance, flies away in a cloud, 
 and impregnates the waters of Bath with new virtues,. 
 by which the ficknefs of Belinda is relieved. 
 
 As the reputation ot his abilities, the particular 
 circumftances of his birth and life, the fplendour of 
 his appearance, and the diftinclion which was for fome 
 time paid him by Lord Tyrconnel, intitled him to 
 familiarity with perfons of higher rank, than thofe to 
 whofe converfation 'he had been before admitted, he 
 did not fail to gratify that curiofity, which induced 
 him to take a nearer view of thofe whom their birth, 
 their employments, or their fortunes, neceflarily 
 * Vol. II. p. 3. f Vol. II. P . w . 
 
 d 2 place
 
 lii D R. J O H N S O N * S 
 
 place at a diftance from the greatefl part of mankind, 
 and to examine whether their merit was magnified or 
 diminifhed by the medium through which it was con- 
 templated ; whether the fplendour with which they 
 dazzled their admirers was inherent in themfelves, or 
 only reflected on them by the objects that furrounded 
 them ; and whether great men were felefted for high 
 Jtations, or high itations made great men. 
 
 For this purpofe he took all opportunities of con- 
 verfing familiarly with thofe who were moil confpicu- 
 ous at that time for their power or their influence ; he 
 watched their loofer moments, and examined their 
 domefHc behaviour with that acutenefs which nature 
 had given him, and which the uncommon variety of 
 his life had contributed to increafe, and that inquifi- 
 tivencfs which muft always be produced in a vigorous 
 mind, by an abfolute freedom from all prefling or do- 
 meftic engagements. His dilcernment was quick, and 
 therefore he foon found in every perfon, and in every 
 affair, fomething that deferved attention ; he was fup- 
 ported by others, without any care for himfelf, and 
 was therefore at leifure to puriue his obfervations. 
 
 More circumftances to conftitute a critic on human 
 life could not eafily concur, nor indeed could any 
 man, who aftumed from accidental advantages more 
 praife than he could juftly claim from his real merit, 
 admit an acquaintance more dangerous than that of 
 Savage ; of whom likewife it mult be confefled, that 
 abilities really exalted above the common level, or 
 virtue refined from paffion, or proof againft corrup- 
 tion, could not eafily find an abler judge, or a warmer 
 advocate. 
 
 What was the refult of Mr. Sayage's enquiry, 
 though he was not much accuftomed to conceal his 
 difcoveries, it may not be entirely late to relate, be- 
 caufe the perfons whofe characters he criticifed are 
 
 powerful ;
 
 LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. liil 
 
 powerful ; and power and refentment are feldom ftran- 
 gers; nor would it perhaps be wholly juft, becaufe 
 what he aflerted in conversation might, though true 
 in general, be heightened by fome momentary ardour 
 of imagination, and as it can be delivered only from 
 memory, may be imperfectly reprefented ; fo that the 
 pifture at firft aggravated, and then unfkilfully copied, 
 may be juftly fufpeded to retain no great refemblance 
 of the original. 
 
 It may however be obferved, that he did not appear 
 to have formed very elevated ideas of thofe to whom 
 the adminiftration of affairs, or the conduct of parties, , 
 has been intruded ; who have been confidered as the 
 advocates of the crown, or the guardians of the people, 
 and who have obtained the moft implicit confidence, 
 and the loudeit applaufes. Of one particular perfon, 
 who has been at one time fo popular as to be generally 
 efleemed, and at another fo formidable as to be uni- 
 verfally detefted, he obferved, that his acquisitions had 
 been fmall, or that his capacity was narrow, and that 
 the whole range of his mind was from obtcenity to 
 politics, and from politics to obfcenity. 
 
 But the opportunity of indulging his fpeculations on 
 great characters was now at an end. He was banifhed 
 from the table of Lord Tyrconnel, and turned again 
 adrift upon the world, without profpe6t of finding 
 quickly any other harbour. As prudence was not one 
 of the virtues by which he was diilinguiflied, he had 
 made no provifion againfl a misfortune like this. And 
 though it is not to be imagined, but that the feparation 
 muft for fome time have been preceded by coldnefs, 
 peevifhnefs, or negleft, though it was undoubtedly the 
 confequence of accumulated provocations on both fides, 
 yet every one that knew Savage will readily believe, 
 that to him it was fudden as a ftroke of thunder; that 
 though he might have tranfiently fufpefted, it, he had 
 d 3 never
 
 liv DR. JOHNSON'S 
 
 never fuffered any thought fo unpleafing to fink into 
 his mind, but that he had driven it away by amtife- 
 ments, or dreams of future felicity and affluence, and 
 had never taken any meafures by which he might pre- 
 vent a precipitation from plenty to indigence. 
 
 This quarrel and feparation, and the difficulties to 
 which Mr. Savage was expofed by them, were loon 
 known both to his friends and enemies ; nor was it 
 long before he perceived, from the behaviour of both, 
 how much is added to the luftre of genius, by the or- 
 naments of wealth. 
 
 His condition did not appear to excite much com- 
 panion ; for he had not always been careful to ufe the 
 advantages he enjoyed with that moderation, which 
 ought to have been with more than ufual caution pre- 
 ferved by him, who knew, if he had reflected, that 
 lie was only a dependant on the bounty of another, 
 whom he could expedt to fupport him no longer than 
 he endeavoured to preferve his favour, by complying 
 with his inclinations, and whom he neverthelefs let at 
 defiance, and was continually irritating by negligence 
 or encroachments. 
 
 Examples need not be fought at any great diftance 
 1 to prove, that fuperiority of fortune h:it a natural ten- 
 dency to kindle pride, and that pride feldom fails to 
 exert itfclf in contempt and infult; and if this is often 
 the effeft of hereditary wealth, and of honours enjoyed 
 only by the merit of others, it is fome extenuation of 
 any indecent triumphs to which this unhappy man 
 may have been betrayed, that his profperity was 
 heightened, by the force of novelty, and made more 
 intoxicating by a fenfe of the mifery in which he had 
 fo long langunhed, and perhaps of the infults which 
 he had formerly borne, and which he might now 
 think himfelf entitled to revenge. It is too common 
 for thofe who have unjuftiy fuffered pain, to inmTt it 
 
 likewife
 
 LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. Iv 
 
 likewlfe in their turn, with the fame injuftice, and to 
 imagine that they have a right to treat others as they 
 have themlelves been treated. 
 
 That Mr. Savage was too much elevated by any 
 good fortune, is generally known ; and ibme paflages 
 of his Introduction to THE AUTHOR TO BE LET fuf- 
 ficiently Ihew, that he did not wholly refrain from luch 
 fatire as he afterwards thought very unjuft, when he 
 was expofed to it himfelf ; for when he was afterwards 
 ridiculed in the character of a diflrefled poet, he very 
 eafily difcovered, that diltrefs was not a proper fubject 
 for merriment, or topic of invective. Ke was then 
 able to difcern, that if mifery be the effect of virtue, 
 it ought to be reverenced ; if of ill-fortune, to be pi- 
 tied ; and if of vice, not to be infulted, becaufe it is 
 perhaps itfelf a punifhment adequate to the crime by 
 which it was produced. And the humanity of that man 
 can deferve no panegyric, who is capable of reproach- 
 ing a criminal in the hands of the executioner. 
 
 But thefe reflections, though they readily occurred 
 to him in the firft and laft parts of his life, were, I am 
 afraid, tor a long time forgotten ; at leaft they were, 
 like many other maxims, treafured up in his mind, 
 rather for fliew than ufe, and operated very little upon 
 his conduft, however elegantly he might fometimes ex- 
 plain, or however forcibly he might inculcate them. 
 
 His degradation therefore from the condition which 
 he had enjoyed with luch wanton thoughtleflhefs, was 
 confidered by many as an occafion of triumph. Thofe 
 who had before paid their court to him, without fuc- 
 cefs, foon returned the contempt which they had fuf- 
 fered, and they who had received favours trom him, 
 for ot fuch favours as he could beftow he was very li- 
 beral, did not always remember them. So much more 
 certain are the effects of refentment than of gratitude : 
 it is not only to many more pleafmg to recollect thofe 
 d 4 fault*
 
 hi D R. J O H N S O N ' S 
 
 faults which place others below them, than thofe vir- 
 tues by which they are themfelves comparatively de- 
 preffed; but it is likewife more eafy to negleft, than 
 to recompenfe ; and tho' there are Few who will prac- 
 tife a laborious virtue, there will never be wanting 
 multitudes that will indulge an ealy vice. 
 
 Savage however was very little diirurbed at the marks 
 of contempt which his ill-fortune brought upon him, 
 from thofe whom he never elleemed, and with whom. 
 he never considered himfeif as levelled by any calami- 
 ties; and though it was not without fome uneafinefs 
 that he faw fome, whofe friendfliip he valued, change 
 their behaviour; he yet obferved their coldncfs with- 
 out much emotion, confidered them as the flaves or for- 
 tune and the worfhippers of profperity ; and was more 
 inclined to defpife them, than to lament himfeif. 
 
 It does not appear, that atter this return ot his wants, 
 he found mankind equally favourable to him, as at his 
 firil appearance in the world. His llory, though in 
 reality not lefs melancholy, was lefs affecting, becaufe it 
 was no longer new ; it therefore procured no new 
 friends, ai;d thofe that had formerly relieved him 
 thought they might now confign him to o;hers. He 
 was now likewife confidered by many rather as criminal, 
 than as unhappy ; for the friends of Lord Tyrconnel, 
 and of his mother, were iufriciently induilrious to pub- 
 lifli his weaknefles, which were indeed very numerous, 
 and nothing was forgotten, that might make him either 
 hatelul or ridiculous. 
 
 It cannot bu: be imr.gined, thatfuch reprefentations 
 of his faults mull make great numbers lefs fenlible of 
 his diilrefs; many who had only an opportunity to 
 hear one p:i't, made no fcruple to propagate the ac- 
 count which they received ; many alfili:ed their circula- 
 tion irom malice or revenge, and perhaps many pre- 
 tended
 
 LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. Ivil 
 
 tended to credit them, that they might with a better 
 grace withdraw their regard, or with-hold their affiftance. 
 
 Savage however was not one of thofe, who fuffered 
 himfelf to be injured without refinance, nor was lefs 
 diligent in expofing the faults of Lord Tyrconnel, over 
 whom he obtained at leaft this advantage, that he drove 
 him firft to the practice of outrage and violence ; for 
 he was fo much provoked by the wit and virulence of 
 Savage, that he came with a number of attendants, 
 that did no honour to his courage, to beat him at a 
 coffee- houfe. But it happened that he had left the 
 place a few minutes, and his lordfhip had without 
 danger the pleafure of boafting, how he would have 
 treated him. Mr. Savage went next day to repay his 
 vifit at his own houfe, but was prevailed on by his 
 doineitics, to retire without infifting upon feeing him. 
 
 Lord Tyrconnel was accufed by Mr. Savage of fome 
 actions, which fcarcely any provocations will be thought 
 fufficient to juftiiy; fuch as feizing what he had in 
 his lodgings, and other inilances of wanton cruelty, by 
 which he encreafed the diftrefs of Savage, without 
 any advantage to himfelf. 
 
 Thefe mutual accufations were retorted on both fides 
 for many years, with the utmoft degree of virulence 
 and rage, and time feeined rather to augment than di- 
 minifli their refentment. That the anger of Mr. Savage 
 fhould be kept alive is not flrange, becaufe he felt 
 every day the confequences of the quarrel ; but it 
 might reafonably have been hoped, that Lord Tyr- 
 connel might have relented, and at length have forgot 
 thole provocations, which, however they might have 
 once inflamed him, had not in reality much hurt him. 
 
 The fpirit of Mr. Savage indeed never fuffered him 
 to folicit a reconciliation ; he returned reproach for re- 
 proach, and intuit for infult j his fuperiority of wit 
 fupplied the difadvantages of his fortune, and enabled 
 
 him
 
 Iviii DR. JOHNSON'S 
 
 him to form a party, and prejudice great numbers in 
 his favour. 
 
 But though this might be fome gratification of his va- 
 nity, it afforded very little relief to his neceffities, and 
 he was very frequently reduced to uncommon hard- 
 fliips, of which, however, he never made any mean or 
 importunate complaints, being formed rather to bear 
 mifery with fortitude, than enjoy profperity with mo- 
 deration. 
 
 He now thought himfelf again at liberty to expofe 
 the cruelty of his mother, and therefore, I believe, 
 about this time, publiflied THE BASTARD, a poem 
 remarkable for the vivacious fallies of thought in the 
 beginning*, where he makes a pompous enumeration 
 of the imaginary advantages of bafe birth, and the pa- 
 thetic fentiments at the end, where he recounts the real 
 calamities which he fufiered by the crime of his parents. 
 
 The vigour and fpirit of the verfes, the peculiar cir- 
 cumftances of the author, the novelty of the fubjecT:, 
 and the notoriety of the flory, to which the allufions 
 are made, procured this performance a very favourable 
 reception ; great numbers were immediately difperfed, 
 and editions were multiplied with unufual rapidity. 
 
 One circumftance attended the publication, which 
 Savage ufed to relate with great fatisfaftion. His mother, 
 to whom the poem was with ' due reverence' infcribed, 
 happened then to be at Bath, where fhe could not 
 conveniently retire from cenfure, or conceal herfelf. 
 from obfervation ; and no fooner did the reputation of 
 the poem begin to fpread, than fhe heard it repeated in 
 all places of concourie, nor could me enter the aflem- 
 bly-rooms, or crofs the walks without being faluted 
 with fome lines from THE BASTARD. 
 
 This was perhaps the firft time that ever fhe difco- 
 vered a fenfe of lhame, and on this occafion the power 
 
 * Vol. II. p, OK 
 
 ~- ^ 
 
 01.
 
 LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. li x 
 
 of wit was very confpicuous ; the wretch who had, 
 -without fcruple, proclaimed herfelf an adulterefs, and 
 who had firft endeavoured to ftarve her fon, then to 
 tranfport him, and afterwards to hang him, was not 
 able to bear the reprefentation of her own conduft, 
 but fled from reproach, though (he felt no pain from 
 guilt, and left Bath with the utmoft hafte, to (helter 
 herfelf among the crouds of London. 
 
 Thus Savage had the fatisiaction of finding, that 
 though he could not reform his mother, he could 
 punifli her, and that he did not always fuffer alone. 
 
 The pleafure which he received from this increafe 
 of his poetical reputation, was fufficient for fome time 
 to overbalance the miferies of want, which this per- 
 formance did not much alleviate, for it was fold for a 
 very trivial fum to a bookfeller, who, though the 
 fuccefs was fo uncommon, that five impreffions were 
 fold, of which many were undoubtedly very numerous, 
 had not generofity fuflicient to admit the unhappy 
 writer to any part of the profit. 
 
 The fale of this poem was always mentioned by 
 Savage with the utmoft elevation of heart, and referred 
 to by him as an inconteftable proof of a general ac- 
 knowledgment of his abilities. It was indeed the only 
 production of which he could juflly boaft a general 
 reception. 
 
 But though he did not lofe the opportunity which 
 fuccefs gave him ot fetting a high rate on his abilities, 
 but paid due deference to the fuffrages of mankind 
 when they were given in his favour, he did not fuffer 
 his efteem of himlelf to depend upon others, nor found 
 any thing facred in the voice of the people when they 
 were inclined to cenfure him ; he then readily (hewed 
 the folly of expecting that the public fliould judge 
 right, obferved how (lowly poetical merit had often 
 forced its way into the world j he contented himfelf 
 
 with
 
 lx DR. JOHNSON'S 
 
 with the applaufe of men of judgment, and was fome- 
 what difpoied to exclude all thofe from the character 
 of men of judgment, who did not applaud him. 
 
 But he was at other times more favourable to man- 
 kind, than to think them blind to the beauties of his 
 works, and imputed the flownefs of their fale to other 
 caufes; either they were published at a time when the 
 town was empty, or when the attention of the public 
 was engrofied by fome itruggle in the parliament, or 
 fome other object of general concern ; or they were 
 by the negiecl of the publifher not diligently dif- 
 perfed, or by his avarice not advertifed with futricitnt 
 frequency. Addrefs, or induftry, or liberality, was 
 always wanting ; and the blame was laid rather on any 
 other perfon than the author. 
 
 By arts like thefe, arts which every man pra&ifes in 
 fome degree, and to which too much of the little 
 tranquillity of life is to be afcribed, Savage was always 
 able to live at peace with himfelf. Had he indeed 
 only made ufe ot thefe expedients to alleviate the lofs 
 or want of fortune or reputation, or any other advan- 
 tages, which it is not in man's power to bellow upon 
 himfelf, they might have been juftly mentioned as in- 
 Itances of a philosophical mind, and very properly pro- 
 pofed to the imitation of multitudes, who, for want of 
 diverting their imaginations with the fame dexterity, 
 languifh under afflictions which might be eaiily re- 
 moved. 
 
 It were doubtlefs to be wiflied, that truth and rea- 
 fon were univerfally prevalent ; that every thing were 
 efteemed according to its real value; and that men 
 would fecure themfelves from being difappointed in 
 their endeavours after happinefs, by placing it only' 
 in virtue, which is always to be obtained; but if ad- 
 ventitious and foreign pleafures mull be purled, it 
 be perhaps ot fome benefit, lince that purfuit 
 
 muft
 
 LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. hi 
 
 rnuft frequently be fruitlefs, if the practice of Savage 
 could be taught, that folly might be an antidote to 
 folly, and one fallacy be obviated by another. 
 
 But the danger of this pleaiing intoxication rmift not 
 be concealed ; nor indeed can any one, after having 
 obferved the life of Savage, need to be cautioned a- 
 gainft it. By imputing none ot his miseries to him- 
 felf, he continued to aft upon the fame principles, and 
 to follow the lame path ; was never made wiier by his 
 fufferings, nor prelerved by one misfortune from fal- 
 ling into another. He proceeded throughout his life 
 to tread the fame fteps on the fame circle ; always ap- 
 plauding his paft conduct, or at leaii: forgetting it, to 
 amufe himfelf with phantoms of happinefs, which 
 were dancing before him; and willingly turned his 
 eyes from the light of reafon, when it would have 
 difcovered the illuiion, and fhewn him, what he never 
 wiflied to fee, his real ftate. 
 
 He is even accufed, after having lulled his imagi- 
 nation with thofe ideal opiates, of having tried the 
 fame experiment upon his confcience ; and having 
 accuftomed himfelf to impute all deviations from the 
 right tJ foreign caufes, it is certain that he was upon 
 every occafion too eafily reconciled to himfelf, and that 
 he appeared very little to regret thofe practices which 
 had impaired his reputation. The reigning error of 
 his life was, that he miltook the love for the practice 
 of virtue, and was indeed not fo much a good man, as 
 the friend of goodnefs. 
 
 This at leaft muft be allowed him, that he always 
 preferved a ftrong fenfe of the dignity, the beauty, 
 and the neceility ot virtue, and that he never contri- 
 buted deliberately to fpread corruption amongll man- 
 kind ; his actions, which were generally precipitate, 
 were often blameable; but his writings being the pro- 
 
 du&ions
 
 Ixii DR. JOHNSON'S 
 
 ductions of fludy, uniformly tended to the exaltation 
 of the mind, and the propagation of morality and piety. 
 Thefe writings may improve mankind, when his 
 failings {hall be forgotten, and therefore he muft be 
 confidered upon the whole as a benefactor to the world ; 
 nor can his perfonal example do any hurt, fmce who- 
 ever hears of his faults, will hear of the miferies which 
 they brought upon him, and which would deferve lefs 
 pity, had not his condition been fuch as made his faults 
 pardonable. He may be confidered as a child expofed to 
 all the temptations of indigence, at an age when refo- 
 lution was not yet flrengthenedby conviction, nor vir- 
 tue confirmed by habit ; a circumftance, which in his 
 BASTARD he laments in a very affecting manner. 
 
 No Mother's care 
 
 Shielded my infant innocence with pray'r : 
 No Father's guardian hand my youth maintain'd, 
 Call'd forth my virtues, or from vice reflrain'd. 
 
 THE BASTARD, however it might provoke or mor- 
 tify his mother, could not be expected to melt her to 
 companion, fo that he was ftill under the fame want of 
 the necefiaries of life, and he therefore exerted all the 
 intereft which his wit, or his birth, or his misfortunes 
 could procure, to obtain upon the death ofEufden the 
 place of Poet Laureat, and profecuted his application 
 with fo much diligence, that the King publickly de- 
 clared it his intention to bellow it upon him ; but 
 fuch was the fate of Savage, that even the King, 
 when he intended his advantage, was difappointed in 
 his fchemes; for the Lord Chamberlain, who has the 
 difpofal of the laurel, as one of the appendages of his 
 office, either did not know the king's defign, or did 
 not approve it, or thought the nomination of the Lau- 
 reat an encroachment upon his rights, and therefore 
 bellowed the laurel upon Colly Cibber, 
 
 Mr.
 
 51 _T 
 
 LIFEOFTHEAUTHOR. Ixiii 
 
 Mr. Savage, thus difappointed, took a refolution of 
 applying to the Queen, that having once given him 
 life, flie would enable him to fupport it, and there- 
 fore publiflied a fhort poem on her birth-day, to 
 which he gave the odd title of VOLUNTEER LAU- 
 REAT.* The event of this efTay he has hirnfelf re- 
 lated in the following letter, which he prefixed to the 
 poem, when he afterwards reprinted it in THE GEN- 
 TLEMAN'S MAGAZINE, from whence I have copied 
 it intire, as this was one of the few attempts in which 
 Mr. Savage fucceeded. 
 
 . Mr. URBAN, 
 
 ' In your Magazine for February you published 
 * the laft VOLUNTEER LAUREAT, written on a very 
 melancholy occafion, the death of the royal patro- 
 nefs of arts and literature in general, and of the 
 author of that poem in particular : I now fend you 
 the firft that Mr. Savage wrote under that title. 
 This gentleman, notwithftanding a very confider- 
 ab!e intereft, being, on the death of Mr. Eufden, 
 difappointed of the Laureat's place, wrote the be- 
 fore-mentioned poemf; which were no fooner pub- 
 liflied,' but the late Queen fent to a bookfeller for 
 them : the author had not at that time a friend either 
 to get him introduced, or his poem prefented at 
 court ; yet fuch was the unfpeakable goodnefs of that 
 Princefs, that, notwithstanding this at of ceremony 
 was wanting, in a few days after publication, Mr. 
 Savage received a Bank-bill of fifty pounds, and a 
 gracious meffiige from her Majefty, by the Lord 
 North and Guildford, to this -effect: *' That her 
 * c M-ajefty was highly pleafed with the verfes ; that 
 *' flie took particularly kind his lines there relating 
 " to the King; that he had permiliion to write annu- 
 
 " ally 
 Vol. II. p. azo. f Ibid.
 
 Ixiv DR. JOHNSON'S 
 
 ally on the fame fubjecl ; and that he fiiould yearly 
 receive the like prefent, till fomething better 
 (which was her Majeily's intention) could be done 
 for him." * After this he was permitted to prefent 
 one of his annual poems to her Majefty. had the 
 honour of killing her hand, and met with the moft 
 gracious reception. Your's, &c.' 
 
 Such was the performance, and fuch its v eception ; 
 a reception which, though by no means unkind, was 
 yet not in the higheil degree generous : to chain down 
 the genius of a writer to an annual panegyric, {hewed 
 in the Queen too much deiire of hearing her own 
 prailes, and a greater regard to herfelr than to him on 
 whom her bounty was conferred. It was a kind of 
 avaricious generofity, by which flattery was rather 
 purchafed than genius rewarded. 
 
 Mrs.Oldfield had formerly given him the fame allow- 
 ance with much more heroic intention ; flie had no 
 other view than to enable him to profecute his frudies, 
 and to fet himfelf above the want of affiflance, and 
 was contented with doing good without ftipulating for 
 encomiums. 
 
 Mr. Savage however was not at liberty to make ex- 
 ceptions, but was r.-.vifhed with the favours which he 
 had received, and probably yet more with thofe which 
 he was promifed; he considered himfelf now as a fa- 
 vourite of the Queen, and did not doubt but a tew 
 annual poems would eftablifh him in fome profitable 
 employment. 
 
 He therefore afTumed the title of Vo LU N T E E R 
 LAUREAT, not without fome reprehenfions from. 
 Gibber, who informed him, that the title of LAU REAT 
 was a mark of honour conferred by the King, from 
 whom all honour is derived, and which therefore no 
 man has a right to bellow upon himieir ; and added, 
 
 that
 
 LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. Ixv 
 
 that he might with equal propriety flile himfelf a Vo- 
 lunteer Lord, or Volunteer Baronet. It cannot be de- 
 nied that the remark was juft ; but Savage did not 
 think any title, which was conferred upon Mr. Gibber, 
 fo honourable as that the ufurpation or. it could be im- 
 puted to him as an inftance of very exorbitant vanity, 
 and therefore continued to write under the fame title, 
 and received every year the fume reward. 
 
 He did not appear to confider thefe encomiums as 
 tefts of his abilities, or as any thing more than annual 
 hints to the Queen of her promife, or acls of cere- 
 mony, by the performance of which he was intitled 
 to his penfion, and therefore did not labour them with 
 great diligence, or print more than fifty each year, 
 except that for fome of the laft years he regularly in- 
 ferted them in THE GENTLEMAN'S MAGAZINE, by 
 which they were difperfed over the kingdom. 
 
 Of fome of them he had himfelf fo low an opinion, 
 that he intended to omit them in the collection of 
 poems, for which he printed propofals, and foliated 
 fubfcriptions ; nor can it feem Itrange, that being con- 
 fined to the fame fubjeft, he fhould be at fome times 
 indolent, and at others unfuccefsful ; that he fhould 
 fometimes delay a difagreeable talk, till it was too late 
 to perform it well; or that he fliould fometimes repeat 
 the fame fentimenton the fame occaiion, or at others 
 be milled by an attempt after novelty to forced concep- 
 tions, and far-fetched images. 
 
 He wrote indeed with a double intention, which 
 fupplied him with fome variety j for his bufinels was 
 to praife the Queen for the favours which he had re- 
 ceived, and to complain to her of the delay of thole 
 which fhe had promifed : in fome of his pieces, there- 
 fere, gratitude is predominant, and in fome difcon- 
 tent ; in fome he reprefents himfelf as happy in her 
 patronage, and in others as difconfolaie to find him- 
 felf negleded. 
 
 VOL. I. : Her
 
 bvi D R, JOHNSON 'S 
 
 Her promife, like other promifes made to this un- 
 fortunate man, was never performed, though he took 
 fufnc'.ent care that it fhould not be forgotten. The 
 publication of his VOLUNTEER LAUREAT procured 
 him no other reward than a regular remittance of 
 fifty pounds. 
 
 He was not fo deprefled by his difappointments as 
 to neglect any opportunity that was offered of advan- 
 cing his intereit. When the Princefs Anne was mar- 
 ried, he wrote a poem * upon her departure, only, 
 as he declared, ' becaufe it was expected from him,' 
 and he was not willing to bar his own profpe6ls by any 
 appearance ot neglect. 
 
 He never mentioned any advantage gained by this 
 poem, or any regard that was paid to it, and there- 
 fore it is likely that it was considered at court as an 
 a<ft of duty to which he was obliged by his dependence, 
 and which it was therefore not necellary to reward by 
 any new favour : or perhaps the Queen really inten- 
 ded his advancement, and therefore thought it fuper- 
 iluous to lavifh prefents upon a man whom file in- 
 tended to eftablifh for life. 
 
 About this time not only his hopes were in danger 
 of being fruitrated, but his penfion likewife of being 
 obftructed by an accidental calumny. The writer of 
 THE DAILY COURANT, a paper then published under 
 the direction of the miniilry, charged him with a 
 crime, which though not very great in itfelf, would 
 have been remarkably invidious in him, and might 
 very iuftly have incenfed the Queen again!} him. He 
 was accufed by name of influencing elections againft 
 the court, by appearing at the head of a tory mob; 
 nor did the accufer fail to aggravate his crime, by re- 
 prefenting it as the efteft ot the molt atrocious ingra- 
 titude, and a kind of a rebellion againft the Queen, 
 who had firfl preferved him from an infamous death, 
 * Vol. II. p. 1,2. and
 
 LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. Ixvii 
 
 and afterwards dilKnguiflied him by her favour, and 
 fupported him by her charity. The charge, as it 
 was open nnd confident, was likewife by good fortune 
 very particular. The place of the tranfaftion was 
 mentioned, and the whole feries of the rioter's con- 
 duel related. This exaclnefs made Mr. Savage's vin- 
 dication eafy ; for he never had in his life feen the 
 place which was declared to be the fcene of his vvicked- 
 ne/s, nor ever had been prefent in any town when its 
 reprefentativcs were chofen. This anfwer he there- 
 fore made haile to publifli, with all the circumftances 
 necefiary to make it credible, and very reafonably de- 
 manded, that the accufatlon fhould be retraced in 
 the fame paper, that he might no longer fuffer the 
 imputation of fedition and ingratitude. This demand 
 was likewife preffed by him in a private letter to the 
 author of the paper, who either trailing to the pro- 
 tection of thofe whofe defence he had undertaken, or 
 having entertained fome perfonal malice againil Mr. 
 Savage, or fearing, left, by retracing fo confident an' 
 afTertion, he mould impair the credit of -his paper, 
 refufed to give him that fatisfaftion. 
 
 Mr. Savage therefore thought it neceflary, to his 
 own vindication, to proiecute him in the King's 
 Bench ; but as he did not find any ill effects from the 
 accufation, having fufficiently cleared his innocence, 
 he thought any farther procedure would have the 
 appearance of revenge, and therefore willingly drop- 
 ped it. 
 
 He faw foon afterwards a procefs commenced in the 
 fame court againil himfelf, on an information in which 
 he was accuied of writing and publifhing an obfcenc 
 pamphlet. 
 
 It was always Mr. Savage's defire to be diftin- 
 
 guifhed, and when any controverfy became popular, 
 
 he never wanted fome realbn for engaging in it with 
 
 e 2 great
 
 Ixviii DR. JOHNSON'S 
 
 great ardour, and appearing at the head of the party 
 which he had chofen. As he was never celebrated 
 for his prudence, he had no fooner taken his fide, and 
 informed himfelf ot the chief topics of the difputc, 
 than he took all opportunities of averting and propa- 
 gating his principles, without much regard to his own 
 jnterett, or any other vifibledefign than that of draw- 
 ing upon himfelf the attention of mankind. 
 
 The difpute between the Bifliop of London and 
 the Chancellor is well known to have been for fome 
 time the chief topic of political converfation, and 
 therefore Mr. Savage, in purfuance of his character, 
 endeavoured to become confpicuous among the con- 
 trovertiils with which every coffee-houfe was filled 
 on that occafion. He was an indefatigable oppofer of 
 all the claims of ecclefiailical power, though he did 
 not know on what they were founded, and was there- 
 fore no friend to the Bifliop of London. But he had 
 another reafon for appearing as a warm advocate for 
 Dr. Rundle, for he was the friend of Mr. Fofter 
 and Mr. Thompfon, who were the friends of Mr. 
 Savage. 
 
 Thus remote was his intereft in the queftion, which 
 however, as he imagined, concerned him fo nearly, 
 that it was not fufficient to harangue and difpute, but 
 neceflary likewife to write upon it. 
 
 He therefore engaged with great ardour in a new 
 Poem, called by him, THE PROGRESS OF A DIVINE*, 
 in which he conduits a profligate priefl by all the 
 gradations of wickednefs from a poor curacy in the 
 country, to the higheft preferments of the church, 
 and defcribes with that humour which was natural to 
 him, and that knowledge which was extended to all 
 the diverfities of human life, his behaviour in every 
 llation, and infmuates, that this prieit, thus accom- 
 * Vol. II. p. in. 
 
 pliflied,
 
 LIFE OF THE AUTHOR, bcix 
 
 j>Ufhed, found at laft a patron in the Bifhop of London. 
 
 When he was afkcd by one of his friends, on what 
 pretence he could charge the Bifhop with fuch an 
 action, he had no more to fay, than that he had only 
 inverted the accufation, and that he thought it rea- 
 ibnable to believe, that he, who obftrufted the rife of 
 a good man without reaibn, would for bad reafons 
 promote the exaltation of a villain. 
 
 The clergy were univerfally provoked by this latire, 
 and Savage, who, as was his conftant practice, had 
 let his name to his performance, was cenfured in THE 
 WEEKLY MISCELLANY f with feverity, which he 
 did not feem inclined to forget. 
 
 f- A Ihort fatire was likewife published In the fame paper, in. 
 which were the following lines : 
 
 For cruel murder doom'd to hempen death, 
 
 Savage, by royal grace, prolong'd his breath. 
 
 Well might you think he fpent his future years 
 
 In pray'r, and failing, and repentant tears. 
 
 But, O vain hope ! the truly Savage cries, 
 
 ' Priefts, and their llavifh doftrines, I defpife. 
 
 Shall I 
 
 'Who, by free thinking to free aftion fir'd, 
 
 In midnight brawls a deathlefs name acquir'd, 
 
 Now ftoop to learn of ecclefiaitic men ? 
 
 No, arm'd with rhime, at priefts I'll take my aim, 
 
 Though prudence bids me murder but their fame. 
 
 WEEKLY MISCELLANY. 
 
 An anfwer was published in THE GENTLEMAN'S MAGAZINE, 
 written by an unknown hand, irom which the following line* 
 are lelefted : 
 
 . 
 
 Transformed by thoughtlefs rage, and midnight wine, 
 From malice free, and pulh'd without delign ; 
 In equal brawl if Savage lung'd a thruft, 
 And brought the youth a victim to the duft ; 
 So ilrovig the hand of accident appears, 
 1 he royal hand from guilt and vengeance clears. 
 
 c 3 Infteatf
 
 Irx DR. JOHNSON'S 
 
 But a return of inveftive was not thought a fuffi- 
 cient puniflunent. The Court of King's Bench was 
 therefore moved againft him, and he was obliged to 
 return an anfwer to a charge of obfcenity. It was 
 urged in his defence, that obfcenity was. criminal 
 when it wr.s intended to promote the practice of vice, 
 but that Mr. Savage had only introduced obfcene 
 ideas, with the view of expofing them to deteftation, 
 and of amending the age, by (hewing the deformity 
 of v . This plea was admitted, and Sir 
 
 Philip Yorke, who then prefided in that court, dif- 
 mifled the information with encomiums upon the pu- 
 rity and excellence of Mr. Savage's writings. 
 
 The profecation, however, anfwered in fome mea- 
 fure the purpofe of thofe by whom it WPS fet on toot ; 
 for Mr. Savage was fo far intimidated by it, that 
 when the edition of his poem was fold, he did not 
 venture to reprint it ; fo that it was in a fliort time 
 
 InfieacI of wafting ' all thy future years, 
 ' Savage, in pray'r and vain repentant tears ;' 
 P.xert thy pen to mend a vicious age, 
 To curb the prieft, and fink his high-church rage ; 
 To Jhew what frauds the holv veftments hide, 
 The ncfts of av'rice, luft, and pedant pride ; 
 Then change the fcene, let merit brightly ftune, 
 And round the patriot tivift the wreath divine ; 
 The hrrv'nlv guide deliver down to fame ; 
 In well-tun'd lays tranfmit a Fofler's name. 
 Touch ever,- paffion with harmonious art, 
 F-.alt the genius, and correct the heart. 
 Thus future times (hall royal grace extol ; 
 Thus polifh'd lines thy prelent fame enrol. 
 
 But grant 
 
 Maliciouily that Savage plung'd the fteel, 
 
 And made the youth its Ihining vengeance feel; 
 My foul abhors the act, the man deterts, 
 Bet more the bigotry in prieftly breafts. 
 
 GENTLEMAN'S MAGAZINE, May 1735. 
 
 forgotten,
 
 LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. 
 
 forgotten, or forgotten by all but thofe whom it 
 offended. 
 
 It is faid, that fome endeavours were ufed to incenfe 
 the Queen ngainit him, but he found advocates to 
 obviate at lea it part of their eflecT: ; for though he 
 was never advanced, he ftill continued to receive his 
 penfion. 
 
 This poem drew more infamy upon him than any 
 incident of his life, and as his conducl cannot be vin- 
 dicated, it is proper to fecure his memory from re- 
 proach, by informing thofe whom he made his ene- 
 mies, that he never intended to repeat the provoca- 
 tion ; and that, though whenever he thought he had 
 any reafon to complain of the clergy, he ufed to threa- 
 ten them with a new edition of THE PROGRESS OF A 
 DIVINE, it was his calm and fettled refolution to fup- 
 prefs it for ever. 
 
 He once intended to have made a better reparation 
 for the folly or injuiHce with which he might be 
 charged, by writing another poem, called, THE 
 PROGRESS OF A FREETHINKER, whom he intended 
 to lead through all the ilages of vice and folly, to 
 convert him from virtue to wickednefs, and from re- 
 ligion to infidelity, by all the modifh fophiftry ufed 
 for that purpofe : and at laft to difmifs him by his own 
 hand into the other world. 
 
 That he did not execute this defign is a real lofs to 
 mankind, for he was too well acquainted with all the 
 fcenes of debauchery to have failed in his reprefenta- 
 tions of them, and too zealous for virtue not to have 
 reprefented them in fuch a manner as fhould expofe 
 them either to ridicule or deteitation. 
 
 But this plan was like others, formed and laid 
 
 afide, till the vigour of his imagination was fpent, 
 
 and the eftervefcence of invention had fublided, but 
 
 loon gave way to fome other defign, which pleafed 
 
 64 by
 
 Ixxii DR. JO HN SON'S 
 
 by its novelty for a while, and then was neglected 
 like the former. 
 
 He was (till in his ufual exigencies, having no cer- 
 tain fupport but the penfion allowed him by the 
 Queen, which, though it nm*;hr have kept an exact 
 ceconomift from want, was very far from being luffi- 
 cient for Mr. Savage, who had never been accultomed 
 to difmifs any of his appetites without the gratification 
 which they folicited, and whom nothing but want of 
 money with-held from partaking of every pleafure that 
 fell within his view. 
 
 His condudl with regard to his penfion was very 
 particular. No fooner had he changed the bill, than 
 he vanished from the fight of all his acquaintances, 
 and lay for fome time out of the reach of all the en- 
 quiries that fricndfh.jp or curiofuy could make after 
 him ; at length he appeared again pcnnylefs as before, 
 but never informed even thole whom he feemed to 
 regard moft, where he had been, nor was his retreat 
 ever difcovered. 
 
 This was his conftant practice -during the whole 
 time that he received the penlion from the Queen : 
 He regularly difappeared and returned. He indeed 
 affirmed, that he retired to ftudy, and that the money 
 Supported him in folitude for many months ; but his 
 friends declared, that the fhort time in which it was 
 fpent fufliciently confuted his own account of his 
 conduct. 
 
 His politenefs and his wit ftill raifed him friends, 
 who were defirous of letting him at length free from 
 that indigence by which he had been hitherto op- 
 prefled, and therefore folicited Sir Robert Walpole in 
 his favour with fo much earneftnefs, that they ob-. 
 ruined a profile of the next place that lliouid become 
 vacant, not exceeding two hundred pounds a ye;r. 
 This proiuife was made with an uncommon deciara- 
 1 tion.
 
 LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. Ixxin 
 
 tion, ' that it was not the promife of a minifter to a 
 * petitioner, but of a friend to his friend.' 
 
 Mr. Savage now concluded himfelf fet at eafe for 
 ever, and as he obferves in a poem * written on that 
 incident of his life, trufted and was trufted, but foon 
 found that his confidence was ill-grounded, and this 
 friendly promife was not inviolable. He fpent a 
 long time in folicitations, and at laft defpaired and 
 defifted. 
 
 He did not indeed deny that he had given the 
 minifter fome reafon to believe that he fhould not 
 ilrengthen his own intereft by advancing him, for he 
 had taken care to diftinguifh himfelf in coffee-houfes 
 as an advocate for the miniftry of the laft years of 
 Queen Anne, and was always ready to juftify the 
 conduct, and exalt the character of Lord Bolingbroke, 
 whom he mentions with great regard in an epiftle 
 upon authors, which he wrote about that time, but 
 was too wife to publifli, and of which only fome frag- 
 ments | have appeared, inferted by him in the MA* 
 GAZINE atter his retirement. 
 
 To defpair was not, however, the character of 
 Savage ; when one patronage failed, he had recourfe 
 to another. The prince was now extremely popular, 
 and had very liberally rewarded the merit of fome 
 writers, whom Mr. Savage did not think fuperior to 
 
 himfelf, and therefore he refolved to addrefs a poem 
 
 i * 
 
 to him. 
 
 For this purpofe he made choice of afubjecl, which 
 could regard only perfons of the higheft rank and 
 greateft affluence, and which was therefore proper for 
 a poem intended to procure the patronage of a prince ; 
 and having retired for fome time to Richmond, that 
 he might profecute his defign in full tranquillity, 
 without the temptations of pleafure, or the folicita- 
 * Vol. H. p. 173. J Ibid. p. 202. 
 
 tion 3
 
 hsxiv DR. JOHNSON'S 
 
 tions of creditors, by which his meditations were in 
 
 equal danger of being difconcerted, he produced a 
 
 , ON PUBLIC SPIRIT, WITH REGARD TO PTJB- 
 
 -S *. 
 
 .ian of this poem is very extenfive, and com- 
 priies ;: multituce of topics, each of which might 
 liirnilh matter lufficient for a long performance, and 
 of which fome have silready employed more eminent 
 writers ; but as he was perhaps not fully acquainted 
 with the whole extent of his own defign, and was 
 writing to obtain a fupply or wants too preffing to 
 admit of long or accurate enquiries, he paries negli- 
 gently over many public works, which, even in his 
 own opinion, de'.ervcd to be more elaborately treated. 
 But though he may fometimes diiappoint his reader 
 by tranfient touches upon thefe fubjects, which have 
 often been confidered, and therefore naturally raile 
 expectations, he nniil be allowed amply to compen- 
 fate his orniffions, by expatiating in the conclufion of 
 his work upon a kind of beneficence not yet celebrated 
 .by any eminent poet, though it now appears more 
 fufceptible of embellifliments, more adapted to exalt 
 the ideas, and affecT: the paflions, than many of thofc 
 which have hitherto been thought moll worthy of the 
 ornaments of verfe. The fettlement of colonies in 
 uninhabited countries, the eftabliflunent of thofe in 
 fecurity, whofe misfortunes have made their own 
 country no longer ple:i!ing or fafe, the acquifition of 
 property without injury to any, the appropriation of 
 the waite and luxuriant bounties of nature, and the 
 enjoyment of thofe gifts which heaven has fcattered 
 upon regions uncultivated and unoccupied, cannot be 
 confidered without giving rile to a great number of 
 pleafing ideas, and bewildering the imagination in de- 
 lightful prolpects ; and, therefore, whatever fpecula- 
 
 Vol. II. P . 131. 
 
 tions
 
 LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. Ixx? 
 
 tions they may produce in thofe who have confined 
 themfelves to political ftudies, naturally fixed the at- 
 tention and excited the applaufe of a poet. The po- 
 litician, when he confiders men driven into other 
 countries for fhelter, and obliged to retire to forefts 
 and deferts, and pals their lives and fix their poflerity 
 in the remoteft corners of the world, to avoid thofe 
 hardfhips which they fuffer or fear in their native 
 place, may very properly enquire why the legiilature 
 does not provide a remedy for thefe miferies, rather 
 than encourage an efcape from them. He may con- 
 clude, that the flight of every honefl man is a lols 
 to the comimmity, that thofe who are unhappy with- 
 out guilt ought to be relieved, and the life, which is 
 overbimhened by accidental calamities, fet at eafe by 
 the care of the public ; and that thofe, who have by 
 mifconducT: forfeited their claim to favour, ought ra- 
 ther to be made ufeful to the fociety which they have 
 injured, than be driven from it. But the poet is em- 
 ployed in a more pleafing undertaking than that of 
 propofing laws, which, however juft or expedient, 
 will never be made, or endeavouring to reduce to ra- 
 tional fchemes of government focieties which were 
 formed by chance, and are conducted by the private 
 paffions of thofe who prefide in them. He guides the 
 unhappy fugitive from want and perfecution, to 
 plenty, quiet, and fecurity, and feats him in fcenes 
 of peaceful folitude, and undifturbed repofe. 
 
 Savage has not forgotten, amidft the pleafing fen- 
 timents which this profpeft of retirement fuggefted to 
 him, to cenfure thofe crimes which have been gene- 
 rally committed by the dilcoverers of new regions, 
 and to expofe the enormous wickednefs of making war 
 upon barbarous nations becaufe they cannot refift, and 
 of invading countries becaufe they are fruittul ; of ex- 
 tending navigation only to propagate vice, and of 
 
 vifiting
 
 Ixxvl DR. JOHNSON'S 
 
 vifiting diilant lands only to lay them vvafte. He has 
 aflerted the natural equality of mankind, and endea- 
 voured to fupprefs that pride which inclines men to 
 imagine that right is the confequence of power*. 
 
 His defcription of the .various miferies which force 
 men to feek tor refuge in uiftant countries, affords 
 another inilance of his proficiency in the important 
 and extenfive ftudy of human life, and the tenderr.efs 
 with which he recounts them, another proof of his 
 humanity and benevolence. 
 
 It is obfervable, that the clofe of this poem difco- 
 vers a change which experience had made in Mr. Sa- 
 vage's opinions. In a poem written by him in his 
 youth, and publifued in his Mifcclianies, he declares 
 his contempt of the contracted views and narrow prof- 
 peels of the middle ilate of life, and declares his re- 
 folution either to tower like the cedar, or be trampled 
 like the ihrub ; but in this poem, though addrefled 
 to a prince, he mentions this ilate of life as com- 
 prifing thole who ought moft to attraft reward, thofe 
 who merit moil the confidence of power, and the fa- 
 miliarity of greatneis, and accidentally mentioning 
 this pafTage to one of his friends, declared, that in 
 his opinion all the virtue of mankind was compre- 
 hended in that fhite. 
 
 In deicribing villas and gardens, he did not omit 
 to condemn that abfurd cuftom which prevails among 
 the Englifh of permitting fervants to receive money 
 from Grangers for the entertainment that they receive, 
 and therefore inferted in his poem thefe lines ; 
 
 But what the fiow'ring pride of gardens rare, 
 However royal, or however fair, 
 If gates, which to accefs fhould ftlll give way, 
 Ope but, like Peter's paradile, for pay ? 
 Vol. II. n. 141. 
 
 If
 
 LIFE OF THE AUTHOR, kxvii 
 
 If perquifited varlets frequent (land, 
 And each new walk muft a new tax demand ? 
 What foreign eye but with contempt furveys ? 
 What mufe (hall from oblivion fnatch their praife ? 
 
 But before the publication of his performance he 
 recollected, that the Queen allowed her garden and 
 cave at Richmond to be fticwn for money, and that 
 flie fo openly countenanced the practice, that fhe had 
 bellowed the privilege of mewing them as a place of 
 profit on a man, whofe merit fhe valued herfelf upon 
 rewarding, though ihe gave him only the liberty of 
 difgrncing his country. 
 
 He therefore thought, with more prudence than 
 was often exerted by him, that the publication of thefe 
 lines might be officioufly reprefented as an infult upon 
 the Queen, to whom he owed his life and his fubiift- 
 ence, and that the propriety of his obfervation would 
 be no fecurity againft the cenfures which the unfea- 
 fonablenefs of it might draw upon him ; he therefore 
 fupprefled the paflage in the firft edition, but after the 
 Queen's death thought the fame caution no longer 
 neceflary, and reftored it to the proper place. 
 
 The poem was therefore publifhed without any po- 
 litical faults, and infcribed to the Prince ; but Mr. 
 Savage, having no friend upon whom he could prevail 
 to prefent it to him, hoxi no other method of attracting 
 his obfervation than the publication of frequent advcr- 
 tilements, and therefore received no reward from his 
 patron, however generous on other occalions. 
 
 This difappointment he never mentioned without 
 indignation, being by fome means or other confident 
 that the Prince was not ignorant of his addrefs to him, 
 and iniinuated, that if any advances in popularity 
 could have been made by diilinguifhing him, he had 
 not written without notice, or without reward. 
 
 He
 
 Ixxviii DR. JOHNSON'S 
 
 He was once inclined to have prefented his poem in 
 perfon, and fent to the printer for a copy with that de- 
 lign ; but either his opinion changed, or his refolution 
 deferted him, and he continued to relent neglect with- 
 out attempting to force himfelf into regard. 
 
 Nor was the public much more favourable than his 
 patron, for only feventy-two were fold, though the 
 performance was much commended by fome whofe 
 judgment in that kind of writing is generally allowed. 
 But Savage eafily reconciled himfelf to mankind with- 
 out imputing any defedl to his work, by obferving that 
 his poem was unluckily publifhed two days after the 
 prorogation of the parliament, and by agjfequence at 
 a time when all thofe who could be expeHed to regard 
 it were in the hurry of preparing tor their departure, 
 or engaged in taking leave of others upon their dif- 
 milTion trom public affairs. 
 
 It muft be however allowed, in juftification of the 
 public, that this performance is not the moft excel- 
 lent of Mr. Savage's works, and that though it cannot 
 be denied to contain many ftriking fentiments, ma- 
 jeftic lines, and jull obfervations, it is in general not fuf- 
 ficiently poliflied in the language, or enlivened in the 
 imagery, or digefted in the plan. 
 
 Thus his poem contributed nothing to the alleviation 
 of his poverty, which was fuch as very few could have 
 fupported with equal patience, but to which it muft 
 likewife be confeffed, that few would have been ex- 
 pofed who received punctually fifty pounds a year ; 
 a falary which though by no means equal to the de- 
 mands of vanity and luxury, is yet found fufficient to 
 fupport families above want, and was undoubtedly 
 more than the neceffities of life require. 
 
 But no fooner had he received his penfion, than he 
 withdrew to his darling privacy, from which he re- 
 turned in a fliort time to his former diftrefs, and for. 
 
 forac
 
 LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. 
 
 feme part of the year generally lived by chance, eat- 
 ing only when he was invited to the tables of his ac- 
 quaintances, from which the meannels of his drefs 
 often excluded him, when the politenefs and variety 
 of his converfation would have been thought a fuffi- 
 cient recompence for his entertainment. 
 
 He lodged as much by accident as he dined, and 
 pa(Ted the night, fometimes in mean houfes, which are 
 let open at night to any cafual wanderers, fometimes 
 in cellars among the riot and filth of the meaneft and 
 moft profligate of the rabble ; and fometimes, when he 
 had not money to fupport even the expences of thefe re- 
 ceptacles, walked about the itreets till he was weary, 
 and lay dovCTBm the fummer upon a bulk, or in the 
 winter with ms aflbciates in poverty, among the aflies 
 of a glafs-houfe. 
 
 In this manner were pafled thofe days and thofe 
 nights which nature had enabled him to have employed 
 in elevated {peculations, ufeful ftudies, or plealing 
 converfation. On a bulk, in a cellar, or in a glafs- 
 houfe among thieves and beggars, was to be found the 
 Author of THE WANDERER, the man of exalted fen- 
 timents, extenuve views, and curious obfervations ; 
 the man whofe remarks on life might have affiiled the 
 itatefman, whofe ideas of virtue might have enlight- 
 ened the moraliit, whofe eloquence might have influ- 
 enced fenates, and whofe delicacy might have poliflied 
 courts. 
 
 It cannot be imagined that fuch neceflities might 
 fometimes force him upon difrepntable practices ; and 
 it is probable that thefe lines in THE WANDERER were 
 occalioned by his reflections on his own conduct. 
 
 Tho' mis'ry leads to happinefs, and truth, 
 Unequal to the load, this languid youth, 
 
 (O, let 
 v '
 
 ! xxx DR. JOHNSON'S 
 
 (O, let none cenfure, if, untried by grief, 
 
 If, aniidft woe, untempted by relief,) 
 
 He ftoop'd reluctant to low arts of fhame, 
 
 Which then, e'en then he fcorn'd, and blufb'd to name* 
 
 Whoever was acquainted with him was certain to 
 be folicited for fmall fums, which the frequency of 
 the requeit mads in time confiderable, and he was 
 therefore quickly fhunned by thofe who were become 
 familiar enough to be trufted with his neceffities ; but 
 his rambling manner of lire, and conftant appearance 
 at houfes of public refort, always procured him a 
 new fucceffion of friends, whofe k indue is had not 
 been exhaufted by repeated requelts, fo that he 
 was feldom abfolutely without refources, but had in 
 his utmoft exigences this comtort, that he always 
 imagined himfelf fure of fpeedy relief. 
 
 Jt was obferved that he always alked favours of this 
 kind without the Icaft fubmiflicn or apparent confciouf- 
 nefs of dependence, and that he did not feem to look 
 upon a compliance with his requeft as an obligation 
 that deferred any extraordinary acknowledgments, 
 but a refufal was refented by him as an affront, or 
 complained of as an injury ; nor did he readily recon- 
 cile himfelf to thofe who either denied to lend, or 
 gave him afterwards any intimation, that they ex- 
 pefted to be repaid. 
 
 He was fometimes fo far compaflionated by thofe 
 who knew both his merit and diftrefles, that they re- 
 ceived him into their families, but they foon difco- 
 vered him to be a very incommodious inmate ; for 
 being always accuftomed to an irregular manner of 
 life, he could not confine himfelf to any flated hours, 
 or pay any regard to the rules of a family, but would 
 prolong his converfation till midnight, without confi- 
 dering that bufinefs might require his friend's appli- 
 cation
 
 LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. Ixxxi 
 
 cation in the morning ; and when he had perfuaded 
 himfelf to retire to bed, was not, without equal dif- 
 ficulty, called up to dinner ; it was theretore impof- 
 fible to pay him any diftin&ion withqut the entire 
 fubverfion of all ceconomy, a kind of eftablifhment 
 which, wherever he went, he always appeared am- 
 bitious to overthrow. 
 
 It muft therefore be acknowledged, in juftification 
 of mankind, that it was not always by the negligence 
 or coldnefs of his friends that Savage was diftrefled, 
 but becaufe it was in reality very difficult to preferve 
 him long in a ftate of eafe. To fupply him with mo- 
 ney was a hopelefs attempt, for no fooner did he fee 
 himfelf matter of a fum fufficient to let him free from 
 care for a day, than he Became -profufe and luxu- 
 rious. When once he had entered a tavern, or en- 
 gaged in a fcheme of pleafure, he never retired till 
 want of money obliged him to fome new expedient. 
 If he was entertained in a family, nothing was any 
 longer to be regarded there but amufements and jol- 
 lity ; wherever Savage entered he immediately ex- 
 peded that order and bufinefs fhouid fly before him, 
 that all fhouid thenceforward be lett to hazard, and. 
 that no dull principle of domeftic management fhouid 
 be oppofed to his inclination, or intrude upon hi 
 gaiety. 
 
 His diftrefles, however afflicTtlve, never dejefted 
 him ; in his loweft ilate he wanted not fpirit to aflert 
 the natural dignity of wit, and was always ready to 
 reprefs that infolence which fupenority of fortune 
 incited, and to trample that reputation which rofe 
 upon any other bans than that of merit : he never 
 admitted any grols familiarities, or fubmitted to be 
 treated otherwife than as an equal. Once, when he 
 was without lodging, meat, or cloaths, one of his 
 friends, a ma nut indeed remarkable for moderation 
 
 VOL. I. f in
 
 Ixxxli DR. JOHNSON'S' 
 
 in his profperity, left a meflnge, that he defired to 
 fee him about nine in the morning. Savage knew 
 that his intention was to affift him, hut was very much 
 difgufled that he fliould prefume to prefcribe the hour 
 of his attendance, and, I believe, refufed to viiithim, 
 and rejected his kindnefs. 
 
 The lame invincible temper, whether firmnefs or 
 obuinacy, appeared in his condnCl to the Lord Tyr- 
 connel, from whom he very frequently demanded 
 that the allowance which \vns once paid him fhould be 
 reftored, but with whom he never appeared to enter- 
 tain for a moment the thought of foliciting a reconci- 
 liation, and whom he treated at once with all the 
 haughtineis of fuperiority, and all the bitternefs of 
 refentmcnt. He wrote to him not in a ftyle of fup- 
 plication or rcfpe<5t, but of reproach, menace and 
 contempt; and appeared determined, if he ever re- 
 gained his allowance, to hold it only by the right of 
 conquefh 
 
 As many more can difcover, that a man is richer 
 than that he is wiler than themfelves, fuperiority of 
 underllanding is not fo readily acknowledged as that 
 of fortune ; nor is that haughtinefs, which the con- 
 fcioufnefs of great abilities incites, borne with the 
 fame fubmiffion as the tyranny of affluence ; and 
 therefore Savage, by averting his claim to deference 
 and regard, and by treating thofe with contempt 
 whom better fortune animated to rebel againlt him, 
 did not fail to raife a great number of enemies in the 
 different clafles of mankind. Thole who thought 
 themfelves raifed above him by the advantages of 
 riches, hated him becaufe they lound no protection 
 from the petulance of his wit. Thofe who were 
 cfteemed for their writings feared him as a critic, and 
 maligned him as a rival, and ahnoft all the fmaller 
 wits were his profefled enemiei, 
 
 v Among
 
 LIFE, OF THE AUTHOR. Ixxxiii 
 
 Among, thefe Mr. Millar fo far indulged his refent- 
 ment as to introduce him in a farce, and direfit him 
 to be perforated on. the ftage in a drefs like that which 
 he then wore ; a mean infult, which only inlinuated 
 that Savage had but one coat, and which was there- 
 fore defpifed by him rather than refented ; for though 
 he wrote a lampoon againlt Millar, he never printed 
 it : and as no other perfon ought to profecute that re- 
 venge from which the perfon who was injured defifted, 
 I fliall not preferve what Mr. Savage fupprefled ; of 
 which the publication would indeed have been a pu- 
 nifhment too fevere for fo impotent an aflault. 
 
 The great hardfliips of poverty were to Savage not 
 the want of lodging or of food, but the neglect and 
 contempt which it drew upon him. He complained 
 that as his affairs grew defperate, he found his repu- 
 tation for capacity vifibly decline j that his opinion 
 in queftions of criticifm was no longer regarded, when 
 his coat was out of fafliion ; and that thofe who in 
 the interval of his profperity were always encouraging 
 him to great undertakings by encomiums on his genius 
 and aflurances of fuccefs, now received any mention 
 of his defigns with coldnefs, thought that the fubjects 
 on which he propofed to \vr,ite were very difficult ; 
 and were ready to inform him, that the event of a 
 poem was uncertain, that an author ought to employ 
 much time in the confideration of his plan, and not 
 prefume to lit down to write in confidence of a few 
 curfory ideas, and a fuperficial knowledge ; difficulr 
 ties were ftarted on all fides, and he was no longer 
 qualified for any performance but THE VOLUNTEER 
 LAUREAT. 
 
 Yet even this kind of contempt never deprefTed 
 
 him ; for he always preferved a fteady confidence in 
 
 his own capacity, and believed nothing above his 
 
 reach which he fhould at any time earneftly endeavour 
 
 / 3 tp
 
 Ixxxiv DR. JOHNSON'S 
 
 to attain. He formed fchemes of the fame kind with 
 regard to knowledge and to fortune, and flattered 
 himfelf with advances to be made in fcience, as with 
 riches to be enjoyed in fome dillant period of his life. 
 For the acquintion of knowledge he was indeed fnr 
 better qualified than for that oT riches ; for he was 
 naturally inquifitive and def.rous of the converfation 
 of thofe from whom any information was to be ob- 
 tained, but by no means felicitous to improve thofe 
 opportunities that were fometimes offered of raifing 
 his fortune ; and he was remarkably retentive of his 
 ideas, jvhich, when once he was in pofleffion of them,' 
 rarely forfook him; a quality which could never be 
 communicated to his money. 
 
 While he was thus wearing out his life in expecta- 
 tion that the Queen would fome time recollect her 
 promife, he had recourfe to the ufual pra&ice of 
 writers, and publifhed propofals for printing his works 
 l>y fubfcription, to which he was encouraged by the 
 fucccfs of many who had not a better -right to the fa- 
 vour of the public ; but whatever was the reafon he 
 did not find the world equally inclined to favour him, 
 and he obferved with fome difcontcnt, that though 
 he offered his works at half a guinea, he was able to 
 procure but a fmall number in compsrifcn with thofe 
 who fubfcribed twice as much to Duck. 
 
 Nor was it without indignation that hq faw his 
 propofals neglected by the Queen, who patronifed 
 Mr. Duck's with uncommon ardour, and incited a 
 competition among thofe who attended the court, 
 who ihoulti moll promote his intereil, and who mould 
 firft offer a fubfcription. This was a diflinclion to 
 which Mr. Savage made no fcruple of afTerting that 
 his birth, his misfortunes, and his genius gave him n 
 fairer title than could be pleaded by him on whom it 
 oriferrc'a, 
 
 Saragc's
 
 LIFE OF THE AUTHOK. Ixxxv 
 
 Savage's applications were however not imiverf.ilK 
 unfuccefsful ; for fome of the nobility countenance! 
 his defign, encouraged his propofals, and fubfcribed 
 with great liberality. He related of the Duke of 
 Chandos particularly, that, upon receiving his pro- 
 pofals, he fent him ten guineas. 
 
 But the money which his fubfcriptloris afforded 
 him was not lefs volatile than that which he received 
 from his other fchemes ; whenever a fubfcription was 
 paid him he went to a tavern, and as money fo col- 
 lefted is neceflarily received in (mail fums, he never 
 was able to fend his poems to the prefs, but for many 
 years continued his felicitation, and fquaridered what- 
 ever he obtained. 
 
 This project of printing his works was frequently 
 revived, and as his propofals grew obfolete, new 
 ones were printed with freiher dates. To form 
 fchemes for the publication was one of his favourite 
 amufements, nor was he ever more at eafe than when 
 with any friend who readily fell in with his fchemes, 
 lie was adjufting the print, forming the advertife- 
 inents, and regulating the difperiion of his new edi- 
 tion, which he really intended ibrrie time to publifh, 
 and which, as long as experience had ihewn him the 
 impollibility of printing the volume together, he at' 
 laft determined to divide into weekly or monthly 
 numbers, that the profits of the firft might fupply 
 the expeiices of the next. 
 
 Thus he fpent his time in mean expedients and 
 tormenting fufpenfe, living for the greateft part in 
 fear of profecutions from his creditors, and conic - 
 quently Ikulking in obfcure parts of the town, of 
 which he was no Granger to the reinoteir, corners,, 
 But wherever he came his addrefs fecured him friends, 
 whom his neccifities foon alienated, fo that he had 
 perhaps a more numerous acquaintance thai; any mart 
 f 3 ever
 
 Ixxxvl D R. J O H N S O N ' S 
 
 ever before attained, there being fcarcely any perfon 
 eminent on any account to whom he was not known, 
 or vvhofe character he was not in fomc degree able tu 
 delineate. 
 
 To the acqaifition of this extenfive acquaintance 
 every circumftance of his life contributed. He ex- 
 celled in the arts of converfation, and therefore 
 willingly praftifed them : He had feldom any home, 
 or even a lodging in which he could be private, and 
 therefore was driven into public-houfes for the com- 
 mon conveniences of life, and fupports of nature. 
 He was always ready to comply with every invitation, 
 having no employment to with-hold him, nnd often 
 nd money to provide for himfelf; and by dining 
 with one company, he never failed of obtaining an 
 introduction into another. 
 
 Thus diflipated was his life, and thus cafual his 
 fubfiftence ; yet did not the diftraftion of his views 
 hinder him from reflection, nor the uncertainty of 
 his condition deprets his gaiety. When he had wan- 
 dered about without any fortunate adventure by which 
 he was led into a tavern, he fometimes retired into 
 the fields, and was able to employ his mind in ftudy, 
 or amufe it with pleafing imaginations ; and feldoni 
 appeared to be melancholy, but when fome fudden 
 misfortune had juft fallen upon him, and even then 
 in a few moments he would difentangle himfelf from 
 his perplexity, adopt the fubjecl of converfation, and 
 apply his mind wholly to the objeds that others pre- 
 fcnted to it. 
 
 This life, unhappy as it may be already imagined, 
 was yet imbittered in 1738, with new calamities. 
 The death of the Queen deprived him of all the 
 profpecls of preferment with which he fo long enter- 
 tained his imagination ; and as Sir Robert Walpole 
 had before given him reafon to believe that he ne?er 
 
 intended
 
 LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. Ixxxvii 
 
 intended the performance of his promife, he was now . 
 abandoned again to fortune. 
 
 He was however, at that time, fupported by a 
 friend ; and as it was not his cuftom to look out for 
 diftant calamities, or tp feel any other pain than that 
 which forced itfelf upon his fenfes, he was not much 
 afflifted at his lofs, and perhaps comforted himfelf 
 that his pen/ion would be now continued without the 
 annual tribute of a panegyric. 
 
 Another expectation contributed likewife to fupport 
 him : he had taken a refolution to write a fecond tra- 
 gedy upon the uory of Sir Thomas Overbury, in 
 \vhich he preferred a few lines of his former play ; 
 but made a total alteration of the plan, added new 
 incidents, and introduced new characters } fo that it 
 was a new tragedy, not a revival of the former. 
 
 Many of his friends . blamed him for not making 
 choice of another fubjet ; but in vindication of him- 
 felf, he aflerted, that it was not eafy to find a better; 
 and that he thought it his intereit to extinguifh the 
 memory of the firft tragedy, which he could only do 
 by writing one lels defective upon the fame ilory ; 
 by which he fliould entirely defeat the artifice of the 
 bookfellers, who after the death of any author of re- 
 putation, are always induftrious to fwell his works, 
 by uniting his woril productions with his belt. 
 
 In the execution of this fcheme however, he pro- 
 ceeded but (lowly, and probably only employed him- 
 felf upon it when he could find no other amufement ; 
 but he pleafed himfelf with counting the profits, and 
 perhaps imagined, that the theatrical reputation which 
 he was about to acquire, would be equivalent to all 
 that he had loft by the death of his patronefs. 
 
 He did not, in confidence of his approaching 
 
 riches, neglect the meafures proper to fecure the 
 
 continuance of his penfion, though fome of his fa- 
 
 f 4 vourers
 
 Ixxxvili DR. JOHNSON'S 
 
 vonrers thought him culpable for omitting to write or. 
 her death ; but on her birth-day next year, he gmt: 
 a proof of the folidity of his judgment, and flu- 
 power of his genius. He knew that the track ol 
 elegy had been fo long beaten, that it was imp<>: 
 to travel in it without treading in the tootileps ot 
 thofe who had gone before him ; and that therefore it 
 was neceffary, that he might diftingutfh hiinfelr from 
 the herd of encomiafls, to find out fomc new walk of 
 funeral panegyric. 
 
 This difficult tn(k he performed in fuch a manner, 
 that his poem may be juftly ranked among the bert 
 pieces that the death of princes has produced. By 
 transferring the mention of her death to her birth- 
 day, he has formed a happy combination of topics, 
 which any other man would have thought it very dif- 
 ficult to connect in one view; but which he has 
 united in inch a manner, that the relation between 
 them appears natural ; and it may be juftly faid, that 
 what no other man would have thought on, it now 
 appears fcarcely poflible for any man to mifs.* 
 
 The beauty of this peculiar combination of images 
 is lo matlerly, that it is fufficient to fet this poem 
 above cenfure ; and therefore it is not neceffary to 
 mention many other delicate touches which may be 
 found in- it, and which would delervedly be admired 
 in any other performance. 
 
 To thefe proofs of his genius may be added, from 
 the lame poem, an infcance ot his prudence, an ex- 
 cellence for which he was not fo often diftinguilhcd ; 
 he does not forget f to remind the King in the molt 
 delicate and artful manner of continuing his pen lion. 
 
 With regard to the fuccefs of this addrefs, h- 
 for fome time in fufpenfe ; but was in no greu' 
 
 * Vol.11, p. 227. f Vol.11, p. 129. 
 
 pte
 
 L I F-E OF T II A U T H O R. Ixxxlx 
 
 gree folicitous about it ; and continued his labour 
 upon his new tragedy with great tranquillity, till the 
 friend, who had for a considerable time fupported 
 him, removing his family to another place, took 
 bccafion to difmifs him. It then became neceffary 
 to enquire more diligently what was determined in 
 his affair, having realbn to fufpeft that no great 
 favour was intended him, becaufe he had not received 
 his penlion at the ufual time. 
 
 It is faid, that he did not take thofe methods of 
 retrieving his interefh which were moll likely to 
 fucceed ; and fome of thofe who were employed in 
 the Exchequer, cautioned him againft too much 
 violence in his proceedings ; but Mr. Savage, who 
 ibidem regulated his condud by the advice of others, 
 gave way to his paffion, and demanded of Sir Robert 
 \Valpole, at his levee, the realbn of the diiKnclion 
 that was made between him and the other petitioners 
 of the Queen, with a degree of roughnefs, which 
 perhaps determined him to withdraw what had been 
 only delayed. 
 
 Whatever was the crime of which he was accufed 
 or fufpected, and whatever influence was employed 
 againft him, he received loon after an account that 
 rook from him all hopes of regaining his petition; 
 and he had now no profpeit or fubliitence but from 
 his play, and he knew no way of living for the time 
 required to finilh it. 
 
 So peculiar were the misfortunes of this man, 
 deprived of an etlate and title by a particular law, 
 expofed and abandoned by a mother, defrauded by 
 a mother of a fortune which his father had allotted 
 him, he entered the world without a friend; and 
 though his abilities forced thcmfelvcs into efteem and 
 reputation, he was never able to obtain any real 
 advantage, and whatever profpecb arofe, were always 
 
 intercepted
 
 xc DR, JOHNSON'S 
 
 intercepted as he began to approach them. The 
 King's intentions in his favour were fruftrated ; his 
 Dedication * to the Prince, whofe generality on every 
 other occafion was eminent, procured him no reward ; 
 Sir Robert Walpole, who valued himfelf upon keep- 
 ing his promife to others, broke it to him without 
 regret ; and the bounty of the Queen was, after her 
 death, withdrawn Irom him, and trom him only. 
 
 Such were his misfortunes, which yet he bore no* 
 only with decency, but with chearfulnefs, nor was 
 his gaiety clouded even by his laft difappointments, 
 though he was in a Ihort time reduced to the loweft 
 degree of diftrefs ; and often wanted both lodging 
 and food. At this time he gave another inftance of 
 the infurmountable obftinacy of his fpirit ; his cloaths 
 were worn out, and he received notice, that at a 
 coffee-houfe fome cloaths and linen were left for 
 him ; the peribn who fent them, did not, I believe, 
 inform him to whom he was to be obliged, that he 
 might fpare the perplexity of acknowledging the 
 benefit ; but though the offer was fo far generous, 
 it was made with fome neglect of ceremonies, which 
 Mr. Savage fo much refented, that he refufed the pre- 
 fent, and declined to enter the houfe, till the cloaths 
 that had been deligned for him were taken aw'ay. 
 
 His diftrefs was now publickly known, and his 
 friends, therefore, thought it proper to concert fome 
 meafures for his relief ; and one of them wrote a 
 letter to him, in which he exprelled his concern ' for 
 ' the miferable withdrawing of his pennon;' and 
 gave him hopes, that in a fhort time he fhould rind 
 himfelf fupplied with a competence, * without any 
 * dependence on thofe little creatures which we are 
 ' pleafed to call the Great.' 
 
 Vol. II. r . 229. 
 
 The
 
 LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. xci 
 
 The fcheme propofed for this happy and i 
 pendent fubfiilence, was, that he fhould retire into 
 VVale=, and receive an allowance of" fifty pounds a 
 year, to be raifed by a fubfcription, on which he 
 was to live privately in a cheap place, without afpiring 
 any more to affluence, or having any farther care of, 
 reputation. 
 
 This offer Mr. Savage gladly accepted, though 
 with intentions very different from thofe of his 
 friends ; for they propofed that he mould continue 
 an exile from London for ever, and fpend all the 
 remaining part of his life at Swanfea ; but he de- 
 ligned only to take the opportunity, which their 
 fcheme offered him, of retreating for a fhort time, 
 that he might prepare his play for the ftage, and his 
 other works for the prefs, and then to return to 
 London to exhibit his tragedy, and live upon the 
 profits of his own labour. 
 
 'With regard to his works, he propofed very great 
 improvements, which would have required much 
 time, or great application ; and when he had finished 
 them, he defigned to do juftice to his fubfcribers, 
 by publishing them according to his propofals. 
 
 As he was ready to entertain himfelf with future 
 pleafures, he had planned out a fcheme of life for 
 the country, of which he had no knowledge but 
 from paflorals and fongs. He imagined that he 
 fhould be tranfported to fcenes of flowery felicity, 
 like thofe which one poet has reflected to another, 
 and had projected a perpetual round of innocent 
 pleafures of which he fufpe<5led no interruption from 
 pride, or ignorance, or brutality. 
 
 With thefe expectations he was fo enchanted, that 
 when he was once gently reproached by a friend for 
 fubmitting to live upon a fubfcription, and advifed 
 rather by a refolute exertion of his abilities to fup- 
 
 port
 
 xcii DR. JOHNSON'S j j 
 
 port himfelf, he could not bear to debar himfclf 
 from the happiriefs which was to be found in the 
 calm of a cottage, or lofe the opportunity of liften- 
 ing, without intermirlion, to the melody ot the nigh- 
 tingale, which he believed was to be heard from every 
 bramble, and which he did not fail to mention as a 
 very important part of the happinefs of a country life. 
 
 While this fcheme was ripening, his friends di- 
 refted him to take a lodging in the liberties of the 
 Fleet, that he might be {tcure from his creditors, 
 and fent him every Monday a guinea, which he 
 commonly {pent before the next morning, and trufled, 
 after his ulual manner, the remaining part of the 
 week to the bounty of fortune. 
 
 He now began very fenfibly to feel the miferies of 
 dependance : Thofe by whom he was to be iup- 
 ported, began to prefcribe to him with an air of 
 authority, which he knew not how decently to refent, 
 nor patiently to bear ; and he foon difcovered from 
 the conduct of molr, of his fubfcribers, that he was yet 
 in the hands of ' Little creatures.' 
 
 Of the infolence that he was obliged to fuffer, he 
 gave many inftances, of which none appeared to 
 raife his indignation to a greater height, than the 
 method which was taken of furnifning him with 
 cloaths. Inftead of confulting him, and allowing 
 him to fend a tailor his orders for what they thought 
 proper to allow him, they propofed to fend for a 
 tailor to take his meafure, and then to coniult how 
 they fliould equip him. 
 
 This treatment was not very delicate, nor was it 
 fuch as Savage's humanity would have fuggefted to 
 him on a like occafion ; but it had fcarcely deferved 
 mention, had it not, by affecting him in an uncom- 
 mon degree, Ihewn the peculiarity of his character. 
 
 Upon
 
 LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. xeiit 
 
 Upon henring the defign that was formed, he came 
 to the lodging of a friend with the moft violent 
 agonies of rage ; and being afked what it could be 
 that gave him iuch difturbance, he replied with the 
 utmoft vehemence of indignation, ' That they had 
 
 * fent for a tailor to meafure him.' 
 
 How the affair ended was never enquired, for fear 
 of renewing his uneafinefs. It is probable, that, 
 upon recollection, he fubmitted with a good grace 
 to what he could not avoid, and that he difcovered 
 no refentment where he had no power. 
 
 He was, however, not humbled to implicit and 
 universal compliance ; for when the gentleman, who 
 had firft informed him of the defign to fupport him 
 by a fubfcription, attempted to procure a reconci- 
 liation with the Lord Tyrconnel, he could by no 
 means be prevailed upon to comply with the meafures 
 that were propofed. 
 
 A letter was written for him * to Sir William Le- 
 mon, to prevail upon him to interpofe his good 
 offices with Lord Tyrconnel, in which he folicited 
 Sir William's affiftance, ' for a man who really 
 ' needed it as much as any man could well do ;' 
 and informed him, that he was retiring ' for ever to 
 
 * a place where he fhould no more trouble his rela- 
 ' tions, friends, or enemies ;' he confefled, that his 
 paffion had betrayed him to fome conduct with regard 
 to Lord Tyrconnel, ' for which he could not but 
 ' heartily afk his pardon ;' and as he imagined Lord 
 Tyrconnel's paflion might be yet fo high, that he 
 would not ' receive a letter from him,' begged that 
 Sir William would endeavour to foften him ; and 
 exprefled his hopes that he would comply with his 
 requeft, and that * fo fmall a relation would not 
 
 * harden his heart againtt him.' 
 
 * By Mr. Pope. 
 
 That
 
 xcir DR. JOHNSON 'S 
 
 That any man ihould prefume to dilate a letter 
 to him, was not very agreeable to Mr. Savage j and 
 therefore he was, before he had opened it, not much 
 inclined to approve it. But when he read it, he 
 found it contained ientimcnts entirely oppofite to his 
 own; and, as he aiTerted, to the truth ; and there- 
 fore inftcad ot copying it, wrote his friend a letter 
 full of mafculine relentment and warm expoftula- 
 tions. He very juftly observed, that the ftyle was 
 too fupplicatory, and the reprefentation too abjeft, 
 and that he ought at leait to have made him com- 
 plain with ' the dignity of a gentleman in diilrefs.' 
 He declared that he would not write the paragraph 
 in which he was to afk Lord Tyrconnel's pardon ; 
 for ' he defpifed his pardon, and therefore could not 
 
 * heartily, and would not hypocritically, alk it.' He 
 remarked, that his friend made a very unreafonable 
 dillinftion between himielf and him ; for, fays he, 
 when you mention men of high rank ' in your own 
 ' character,' they are ' thole little creatures whom 
 
 * we are pleafed to call the great;' but when you 
 addrefs them ' in mine,' no iervility is fufficiently 
 humble. He then with great propriety explained 
 the ill confequences which might be expected from 
 fuch a letter, which his relations would print in their 
 own defence, and which would for ever be produced 
 as a full anfwer to all that he fliould allege againil 
 them ; for he always intended to publilh a minute 
 account of the treatment which he had received. It 
 is to be remembered, to the honour of the gentle- 
 man by whom this letter was drawn up, that ho 
 yielded to Mr, Savage's reaibns, and agreed that it 
 ought to be fupprevTed. 
 
 After many alterations and delays, a fubfcription 
 
 was at length railed which did nor amount to fifty 
 
 pounds a year, though twenty were paid by one gen- 
 
 i tleman ;
 
 LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. xcv 
 
 tlemair; fuch was the generofity of mankind, that 
 what had been done by a player without felicitation, 
 could not now be effected by application and intereft; 
 and Savage had a great number to court and to obey 
 for a penlion lefs than that which Mrs. Oldfield paid 
 him without exacting any fervilities. 
 
 Mr. Savage however was fatisfied, and willing to 
 retire, and was convinced that the allowance, though 
 fcanty, would be more than fufficient for him, being 
 now determined to commence a rigid economift, and 
 to live according to the exacleft rules of frugality ; 
 tor nothing was in his opinion more contemptible 
 than a man, who, when he knew his income, exceeded 
 it ; and yet he confefied, that inftances of fuch foliy 
 were too common, and lamented that feme men were 
 not to be trufted with their own money. 
 
 Full ot thefe falutary refolutions, he left London 
 in July 1730,, having taken leave with great tender- 
 nefs ot his friends, and parted from the Author of 
 this Narrative with tears in his eyes. He was fur- 
 niihed with fifteen guineas, and informed, that they 
 would be fufficient, not only for the expence of his 
 journey, but for his fupport in Wales for fome time ; 
 and that there remained but little more of the firfl 
 collection. He promifed a ftrift adherence to his 
 maxims of pariimony, and went away in the ftage- 
 coach ; nor did his friends expeft to hear from him, 
 till he informed them of his arrival at Swanfea. 
 
 But when they leaft expeded, arrived a letter 
 dated the fourteenth day after his departure, in 
 which he fent them word, that he was yet upon the 
 road, and without money ; and that he therefore 
 could not proceed without a remittance. They then 
 fent him the money that was in their hands, with 
 which he was enabled to reach Briftol, from whence 
 -he was to go to Swaufca by wateft 
 
 At
 
 xcvi DR. J O H.N S O N'S 
 
 At Briflol he found an embargo laid upon the 
 fhipping, fo that he could not immediately obtain a 
 parTage ; and being therefore obliged to ifoy there 
 ibme time, he, with his ufual felicity, ingratiated 
 himielt with many of the principal inhabitants, was 
 invited to their houft :ihed at their public 
 
 feafts, and treated with a regard that gratified his 
 vanity, and therefore eafily engaged his affection. 
 
 He began very early aher his retirement to com- 
 plain of the C3ndu<5l of his friends in London, and 
 irritated many of them fo much by his letters, that 
 they withdrew, however honourably, their contri- 
 butions ; and it is believed, that little more was 
 paid him than the tuemy pounds a year, which were 
 allowed him by the gentleman who piopoied the 
 fubfcription. 
 
 After fomc flay at Briitol he retired to Swanfea, 
 the place originally propofed for his relideiioe, where 
 he lived about a year very much difiatisfied with the 
 diminution of his falary ; but contracted, as in other 
 places, acquaintance with thofe who were inoft dil- 
 tinguimed in that country, among whom he has 
 celebrated Mr. Powcl * and Mrs. Jones -J-, by fome 
 verfes which he infcrted in THE GEMTLI 
 MAGAZINE. 
 
 Here he completed his tragedy, of which t><. 
 were wanting uhcn he left London, and v/as de- 
 firous of coming to town to bring it upon th;- ft age. 
 This defign was very warmly oppofed, and he was 
 advifed by his chief benetactor to put it into the 
 hands of Mr. Thomibn and Mr. Mailer, that it 
 might be fitted for the llage, and to ;ricmis 
 
 to receive the profits, outer "wh'.Ji MI annual per.liou 
 fliould be paid him. 
 
 * Vwl. II. p. :ir. f Ibi>;. ,.. 197. 
 
 This
 
 LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. scvii 
 
 This propofal he reje&ed with the utmoft con- 
 tempt. He was by no means convinced that the 
 judgment of thofe to whom he was required to fub- 
 mit, was Superior to his own. He was now deter- 
 mined, as he expreffed it, to be ' no longer kept in 
 
 * leading drinks,' and had no elevated idea of ' his 
 
 * bounty,' who propofed to ' pennon him out of the 
 ' profits of his own labour.' 
 
 He attempted in Wales to promote a fubfcriptiori 
 for his works, and had once hopes of fuccefs ; but 
 in a fhort time afterwards formed a refolution of 
 leaving that part of the country, to which he thought 
 it not reafonable to be confined for the gratification 
 of thofe, who, having promifed him a liberal income, 
 had no fooner banilhed him to a remote corner, than 
 they reduced his allowance to a falary fcarcely equal 
 to the neceliities of life. 
 
 His refentment of this treatment, which, in his 
 own opinion at leaft, he had not delerved, was fuch, 
 that he broke off all correspondence with moft of his 
 contributors, and appeared to confider them as per- 
 fecutors and opprefiors ; and in the latter part ot his 
 life declared, that their conduft toward him, fince 
 his departure from London, ' had been perfidiouf- 
 
 * nefs improving on perfidioufneis, and inhumanity 
 
 * on inhumanity.' 
 
 It is not to be fuppofed, that the neceffities of Mr. 
 Savage did not fometimes incite him to fatirical ex- 
 aggerations of the behaviour of thofe by whom he 
 thought himfelf reduced to them. But it muft be 
 granted, that the diminution of his allowance was a 
 great hardlhip, and that thofe who withdrew their 
 fubfcription from a man, who, upon the faith of 
 their promife, had gone into a kind of banifliment, 
 and abandoned all thofe by whom he had been be- 
 
 VOL. I. g fore
 
 xcviii DR. J O H N S O N'S 
 
 fore relieved in his diitrefles, will find it no eafy talk 
 to vindicate their conduct. 
 
 It may be alleged, and perhaps juiily, that he was 
 petulant and contemptuous, that he more frequently 
 reproached his fubleribers for not giving him more, 
 Than thanked them for what he received ; but it is 
 to be remembered, that this conduct, and this is the 
 word charge that can be drawn up againft him, did 
 them no real injury ; and that it therefore ought ra- 
 ther to have been pitied than refented, at leaft the 
 refentment it might provoke ought to have been ge- 
 nerous and manly ; epithets which his conduct will 
 hardly deferve that ftarves the man whom he has 
 pcrfuaded to put himfelf into his power. 
 
 It might have been reafonably demanded by Sa- 
 vage, that they mould, before they had taken away 
 what they promifed, have replaced him in his former 
 irate, that they fhould have taken no advantages 
 from the fituation to which the appearance of their 
 kin.'ncfs had reduced him, and that he fliould ha\ e 
 been recalled to London before he was abandoned. 
 He might juflly reprefent, that he ought to have 
 been conlidered as a lion in the toils, and demand 
 to be releafed before the dogs fliould be loofed upon 
 him. 
 
 He endeavoured, indeed, to releafe himfelf, and- 
 with an intent to return to London, went to Brifto!, 
 where a repetition of the kindnefs which he had for- 
 merly found, invited him to flay. Ke was not only 
 careffed and treated, but had a collection made for 
 him of about thirty pounds, with which it had been 
 happy if he had immediately departed tor London ; 
 but his 'negligence did not iufier him to coniider, 
 that fuch proofs of kindnefs were not often to be ex- 
 pected, and that this ardour of benevolence was in u 
 great degree the effect of novelty, and might, pro- 
 bably,
 
 LIFEOF THE AUTHOR. xcix 
 
 bably, be every day lefs ; and therefore he took no 
 care to improve the happy time, but was encouraged 
 by one Favour to hope for another, till at length ge- 
 nerality was exhausted, and officioufneis wearied. 
 
 Another part of his mifconduft was the practice of 
 prolonging his vilits to unfeafonable hours, and dif- 
 concerting all the families into which he was admit- 
 ted. This was an error in a place of commerce 
 which all the charms of his converfation could not 
 compenfate ; for what trader would purchafc fuch 
 airy fatisfaclion by the lofs of folid gain, which mult 
 be the confequence of midnight merriment, as thofe 
 hours which were gained at night were generally loft 
 in the morning ? 
 
 Thus Mr. Savage, after the curiofity of the inha- 
 bitants was gratified, found the number of his IriencU 
 daily decreasing, perhaps without fufpecting for what 
 rcafon their conduct was altered ; for he Hill con- 
 tinued to harafs, with his nocturnal intrulions, thofe 
 that yet countenanced him, and admitted him to 
 their houfes. 
 
 But he did not fpend all the time of his refidence 
 at Briftol in vifits or at taverns, tor he fom crimes re- 
 turned to his ftudies, and began feveral confiderable 
 .defigns. When he felt an inclination to write, ha 
 always retired from the knowledge of his friends, 
 andlny hid in an obfcure part of the fuburbs, till he 
 found himfelf again defirous of company, to which 
 it is likely that intervals of abfence made him more 
 welcome. 
 
 He was always full of his defign of returning to 
 London to bring his tragedy upon the ftage ; but 
 having neglected to depart with the money that was 
 raifed for him, he could not afterwards procure a 
 fum fufficient to defray the expences of his journey ; 
 nor perhaps would a frefli fupply have had any other 
 g 2 effcft,
 
 c DR. JOHNSON'S 
 
 effect, than, by putting immediate pleafures in his 
 power, to have driven the thoughts of his journey 
 out of his mind. 
 
 While he was thus fpending the day in contriving 
 ji fcheme for the morrow, dillrefs flole upon him by 
 imperceptible degrees. His conduft had already 
 wearied fome of thofe who were at firfl: enamoured 
 of his coBverfation ; but he might perhaps, {till 
 have devolved to others, whom he might have enter- 
 tai'ned with equal fuccefs, had not the decay of his 
 cloaths made it no longer confident with their vanity 
 to admit him to their tables, or to aflbciate with him 
 in public places. He now began to find every man from 
 home at whofe houfe he called ; and was therefore no 
 longer sble to procure the neceflaries of life, but 
 wardered aftout the town flighted and neglecled in 
 <peft of a dinner which he did not always obtain. 
 
 To complete his mifery he was purfued by the 
 officers for (mail debts which he had contracted ; and 
 was therefore obliged to withdraw from the fmall 
 number of friends from whom he had ttill reafon to 
 hope for favours. His cuftom was to lie in bed the 
 i^reateft part of the day, and to go out in the dark 
 with the utrnoft privacy, and after having paid his 
 >i!:t return again before morning to his lodging, 
 which was in the garret of an obfcure inn. 
 
 Being thus excluded on one hand, and confined 
 on the other, he fuffered the utmoft extremities of 
 poverty, and often faited fo long that he was feized 
 with faintnefs, and had loft his appetite, not being 
 able to bear the fmell of meat, till the action of his 
 llcmach was reilored by a cordial. 
 
 In this diitrefs he received a remittance of five 
 
 pounds from London, with which he provided him- 
 
 ielf a decent coat, and determined to go to London, 
 
 but unhappily fpent his money at a favourite tavern. 
 
 i '
 
 LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. ci 
 
 Thus was he again confined to Briftol, where he was 
 every day hunted by bailiffs. In this exigence he 
 once more found a friend, who flickered him in his 
 houfe, though at the ufual inconveniences with which 
 his company was attended ; for he could neither be 
 perfuaded to go to bed in the night, nor to rife in, 
 the day. 
 
 It is obfervable, that in thefe various fcenes of 
 rnifery, he was always difengaged and cheerful : he 
 at fome times purfued his ftudies, and at others con- 
 tinued or enlarged his epiftolary correfpondence, nor 
 was he ever fo far dejected as to endeavour to procure 
 an increafe of his allowance by any other methods 
 than accuiations and reproaches. 
 
 He had now no longer any hopes of affiflance from 
 his friends at Briftol, who as merchants, and by con- 
 fequence fufficiently ftudious of profit, cannot be 
 fuppofed to have looked with much corapaffion upon 
 negligence and extravagance, or to think any excel- 
 lence equivalent to a fault of fuch confequence as 
 neglect of economy. It is natural to imagine, that 
 many of thofe who would have relieved his real 
 wants, were difcouraged from the exertion of their 
 benevolence by obfervation of the ufe which was 
 made of their favours, and conviction that relief 
 would only be momentary, and that the fame necef- 
 fity would quickly return. 
 
 At laft he quitted the houfe of his friend, and 
 returned to his lodging at the inn, ftill intending to 
 let out in a few days for London; but on the loth 
 of January 1742-3, having been at fupper with two 
 of his friends, he was at his return to his lodgings 
 arrefled for a debt of about eight pounds, which he 
 owed at a coffee-houfe, and conducted to the houfe 
 of a flieriff's officer. The account which he gives 
 of this misfortune, in a letter to one of the gentlemen 
 g 3 with
 
 cii D R. J O H N S O N ' S 
 
 with whom he had flipped, is too remarkable to be 
 omitted. 
 
 ' It was not a little unfortunate for me, that I fpent 
 
 * ycllerday's evening with you ; becaufe the hour 
 ' hindered me Irom entering en my new lodging ; 
 
 * hov.cver, I have now got one, but fuch an one, as 
 
 * I believe nobody would chufe. 
 
 * I was arrefted at the fuit of Mrs. Read, juft as I 
 
 * was going up ilairs to bed, at Mr. Bowyer's ; but 
 ' taken in fo private a manner, that I believe nobody 
 ' at the \Vhite Lion is a periled of it. Though I let 
 
 * the officers know rhc ftrength (or rather vveaknefs) 
 
 * of my pocket, yet they treated me with the utmoft 
 
 * civility, and even when they conducted me to con- 
 ' finement, it was in inch a manner, that I verily 
 
 * believe I could have cleaned, which 1 would rather 
 
 * be ruined than have done, notwithstanding the 
 
 * whole amount of my finances was but three pence 
 
 * halfpenny. 
 
 ' In the firfl place I muft infill:, that you will in- 
 ' duftrioufly conceal this from Mrs. S s, becaufe 
 
 * I would not have her goodnature fuffer that pain, 
 
 * which, I know, flie would be apt to feel on this 
 ' occafion. 
 
 ' Next, I conjure you, dear Sir, by all the ties of 
 
 * friendfliip, by no means to have one uneafy thought 
 
 * on my account ; but to have the fame plealantry 
 
 * of countenance and unruffled ferenity of mind, 
 ' which (God be praifed !) I have in this, and have 
 
 * had in a much fcvcrer calamity. Furthermore, I 
 
 * charge you, ir you value my triendihip as truly as 
 ' I do yours, not to utter or even harbour the leal! 
 ' rcfentmer.t againft Mrs. Read. I believe (he has 
 
 * ruined me, but I freely forgive her ; and (though 
 
 * I will never more have any intimacy with hei) 
 '.would, at a due diltance, rather do her an aft of 
 
 * good,
 
 LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. ciii 
 
 * ^ood, than ill will. Laftly (pardon the expreffion), 
 ' I absolutely command you not to offer me any pe- 
 ' cuniary affiftahce, nor to attempt getting m^ any 
 ' from any one of your friends. At another time, 
 
 * or on any other occafion, you may, dear friend, be 
 ' well allured, I would rather write to you in the 
 
 * fubmiffive ftyle of a requeft, than that of a peremp- 
 
 * tory command. 
 
 * However, that my truly valuable friend may not 
 
 * think I am too proud to alk a favour, let me en- 
 ' treat you to let me have your boy to attend me for 
 
 * this day, not only f.)r the fake of faving me the 
 
 * expence of porters, but for the delivery of fome 
 
 * letters to people whole names I would not have 
 f known to Grangers. 
 
 ' The civil treatment I have thus far met from 
 ' thofe, whofe prifoner I am, makes me thtmkful to 
 ' the Almighty, rlfet, though he has thought fit to 
 ' vitlt me (on my birth-night) with affliction, yet 
 
 * (fuch is his great goodnefs !) my affliction is not 
 
 * without alleviating circumftances. I murmur not, 
 
 * but am all resignation to the divine will. As to 
 
 * the world, I hope that I fhall be endued by heaven 
 ' with that prefence of mind, that ferene dignity 
 
 * in misfortune, that conftitutes the character of a 
 ' true nobleman ; a dignity far beyond that of coro- 
 ' nets ; a nobility arifing from the juit principles of 
 
 * philofophy, refined and exalted by thole of chriili- 
 
 * anity.' 
 
 He continued five days at the officer's, in hopes 
 that he ihould be able to procure bail, and avoid the 
 neceffity of going to prifon. The ftate in which he 
 palled his time, and the treatment which he received, 
 are very jullly exprelTed by him in a letter which he 
 wrote to a friend : ' The whole day,' fays he, * has 
 
 * been employed in various peoples' filling my he^id 
 
 g 4 ' with
 
 civ D R. J O H N S O N ' S 
 
 with their feolifh chimerical fyftems, which hna 
 obliged me coolly (a? far as nature will admit) to 
 digeft, and accommodate myfelf to, every different 
 peribn's way of thinking ; hurried from one wild 
 fyftem to another, till it has quite made a chaos of 
 my imagination, and nothing done promiled 
 disappointed- ordered to fend every hour, from one 
 
 part t>f the town to the other.' 
 
 When his friends, who had hitherto carefled and 
 applauded, found that to give bail and pay the debt 
 was the fame, they all refufed to preferve him from 
 a prifon, at the expence of eight pounds ; and there- 
 fore after having been for fome time at the officer's 
 houfe, ' at an immenfe expence,' as heobferves in his 
 letter, he was at length removed to Newgate. 
 
 This expence he was enabled to fupport by the 
 generofity of Mr. Naih at Bath, who, upon receiving 
 from him an account of his condition, immediately 
 fent him five guineas, and promifed to promote his 
 fubfcription at Bath with all his intereft. 
 
 By his removal to Newgate, he obtained at leaft 
 a freedom from fufpenfe, and reft from the difturb- 
 ing viciffitudes of hope and diiappointment ; he now 
 found that his friends nvere only companions, who 
 were willing to (hare his gaiety, but not to partake 
 of his misfortunes ; and therefore he no longer ex- 
 peeled any affiihince from them. 
 
 It mult however be obferved of one gentleman, 
 that he offered to releafe him by paying the debt, 
 but that Mr. Savage would not content, I fuppofe, 
 becaufe he thought he had been before too burthen- 
 Ibrne to him. 
 
 He was offered by fome of his fr'ends, .that a col- 
 lection fhould be made for his enlargement, but he 
 4 treated the propofal,' and declared, * * that he 
 * In a letter after his confinement. 
 
 * fhould
 
 LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. cv 
 
 * fliould again treat it, with difdain, As to writing 
 
 * any mendicant letters, he had too high a fpirit, 
 
 * and determined only to write to foine minifters of 
 ' {late, to try to regain his penfion.' 
 
 He continued to complain * of thofe that had fent 
 him into the country, and objefted to them, that he 
 had * loft the profits of his play which had beea 
 
 * finiflied three years ;' and in another letter declares 
 his refolution to publifh a pamphlet, that the world 
 might know how ' he had been ufed.' 
 
 This pamphlet was never written, for he in a very 
 fliort time recovered his ufual tranquillity, and cheer- 
 t;illy applied himlelf to more inoftenfive iludies. He 
 indeed fteadily declared, that he was promifed a yearly 
 allowance of fifty pounds, and never received half 
 the ium ; but he feemed to refign himlelf to that as 
 well as to other misfortunes, and lole the remembrance 
 of it in his amufeients and employments. 
 
 The cheerfulnefs with which he bore his confine- 
 ment, appears from the following letter which he 
 wrote, January the 3010, to one of his friends in 
 London : 
 
 ' I now write to you from my confinement in New - 
 
 * gate, where I have been ever mice Monday laft was 
 ' ic'cn-night, and where I enjoy myfelf with much 
 ' more tranquillity than I have known tor upwards 
 
 * of a twelvemonth paft ; having a room entirely to 
 ' myfelf, ar.d purfuing the amuiement of my poeti- 
 ' cal fludies, uninterrupted and agreeable to my 
 ' mind. I thank the Almighty, I am now all col- 
 
 * lefted in my felt, and though my perfon is in con- 
 
 * finement, my mind can expatiate on ample and 
 ' ullful fubjects with all the freedom imaginable. I 
 ' am now more converfant with the Nine than ever ; 
 ' and if, inilead of a Newgate-bird, I may be al- 
 
 * Letter January 15. 
 
 * lowed
 
 cvi DR. JOHNSON'S 
 
 * lowed to be a bird of the Mufes, I alTure you, Sir, 
 
 * I fing very freely in my cage ; ibmetimes indeed in 
 
 * the plaintive notes or the nightingale ; but, at 
 
 * others, in the cheerful ftrains of the lark.' 
 
 In another letter he obferves, that he ranges from 
 one fubject to another, without confining himfelf to 
 any particular talk, and that he was employed one 
 week upon one attempt, and the next upon another. 
 
 Surely the fortitude of this man deferves, at leaft, 
 to be mentioned with applaufc ; and whatever faults 
 may be imputed to him, the virtue of fuffering well 
 cannot be denied him. The two powers which, in 
 the opinion of Epi&etus, conftituted a wife man, are 
 thofe of bearing and forbearing, which cannot indeed 
 be affirmed to have been equally poffefled by Savage ; 
 and indeed the want of one obliged him very fre- 
 quently to pradhe the other. 
 
 He was treated by Mr. Dagg, the keeper of the 
 prifon, with great humanity ; was fupported by him 
 at his own table without any certainty of recom- 
 penfe, had a room to himfelf, to which he could at 
 any time retire from all difturbance, was allowed to 
 ftand at the door of the prifon, and fometimes taken 
 out into the fields, fo that he fuffered fewer hard- 
 fliips in prifon, than he had been accuftomed to un- 
 dergo in the greatell part of his lire. 
 
 The keeper did not confine his benevolence to a 
 gentle execution of his office, but made fome over- 
 tures to the creditor for his releafe, but without 
 effect ; and continued, during the whole tiine of his 
 imprisonment, to treat him with the utmoft tendernefs 
 and civility. 
 
 Virtue is undoubtedly moft laudable in that ftate 
 which makes it moft difficult : and therefore the hu- 
 manity of a gaoler certainly deferves this public at- 
 teftation; and the man, whofe heart has not been 
 
 hardened
 
 LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. cvii 
 
 hardened by fuch an employment, may be juftlypro- 
 pofed as a pattern of benevolence. If an infcription 
 was once engraved to the ' honeft toll-gatherer,' 
 lefs honours ought not to be paid * to the tender 
 ' gaoler.' 
 
 Mr. Savage very frequently received vifits, and 
 fometimes prefents from his acquaintances, but they 
 did not amount to a fubfiftence, for the greater part 
 of which he was indebted to the generality of this 
 keeper; but thefe favours, however they might en- 
 dear to him the particular perfons from whom he re- 
 ceived them, were very far from impreflmg upon his 
 mind any advantageous ideas of the people of Briflol, 
 and therefore he thought he could not more properly 
 employ himfelf in prifon, than in writing a poem 
 called ' London and Briilol * delineated.' 
 
 When he had brought this poem to its prefent 
 flate, which, without confidering the chafm, is not 
 perfeft, he wrote to London an account of his defign, 
 and informed his friend, that he was determined to 
 print it with his name ; but enjoined him not to com- 
 municate his intention to his Briilol acquaintance. 
 The gentleman, furprifed at his refolution, endea- 
 voured to difluade him from publifiiing it, at leaft 
 from prefixing his name, and declared, that he could 
 not reconcile the injunction of fecrecy with his refo- 
 lution to own it at its firlr, appearance. To this Mr. 
 Savage returned an anfvver agreeable to his character 
 in the following terms : 
 
 ' I received yours this morning, and not without 
 a little furprize at the contents. To anfwer a 
 quefHon with a queilion, you afk me concerning 
 London and Briftol, Why will I add delineated ? 
 Why did Mr. Woolafton add the fame word to his 
 RELIGION OF NATURE ? I fuppofe that it was his 
 * Vol. II. p. 231. 
 
 ' will
 
 cviii DR. JOHNSON'S 
 
 will and pleafure to add it in his cafe ; and it is 
 mine to do fo in my own. You are pleafed to tell 
 me, that you underftand not why fecrecy is en- 
 joined, and yet I intend to fet my name to it. My 
 anfwer is I have my private reafons, which I am 
 not obliged to explain to any one. You doubt my 
 
 friend Mr. S would not approve of it And 
 
 what is it to me whether he does or not ? Do you 
 
 fmagine that Mr. S is to dictate to me ? If any 
 
 man, who calls himfelf my friend, fliould afTume 
 fuch an air, I would fpurn at his friendfhip with 
 contempt. You fay I feem to think fo by not let- 
 ting him know it And fuppofe I do, what then ? 
 Perhaps I can give reafons tor that difapprobation, 
 very foreign from what you would imagine. You 
 go on in faying, Suppofe I fhoulci not put my name 
 to it My anfwer is, that I will not fuppofe any 
 fuch thing, being determined to the contrary ; 
 neither, Sir, would I have you fuppofe, that I ap- 
 plied to you for want of another prefs : Nor would 
 
 I have you imagine, that I owe Mr. S obligations 
 
 which I do not.' 
 
 Such was his imprudence, and fuch his obflinate 
 adherence to his own refolutions, however abfurd. 
 A prifoner ! fupported by chanty ! and, whatever 
 infults he might have received during the latter part 
 of his flay in Brillol, once careffed, efteemed, and 
 prefcnted with a liberal collection, he could forget on 
 a fudden his danger and his obligations, to gratify the 
 petulance ot .his wit, or the eagernefs of his reient- 
 ment, and publifhed a fatire, by which he might rea- 
 fonably exped, that he fliould alienate thofe who then 
 fupported him, and provoke thofe whom he could 
 neither refift nor efcape. 
 
 This refolution, from the execution of which, it 
 is probable, th'at only his death could have hindered 
 
 him,
 
 LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. cix 
 
 him, is fufficient to {hew, how much he disregarded 
 all considerations that oppofcd his prefent pallions, 
 and how readily he hazarded all future advantages for 
 any immediate gratifications. Whatever was his pre- 
 dominant inclination, neither hope nor fear hindered 
 him from complying with it, nor had oppofition any 
 other effect than to heighten his ardour, and irritate 
 his vehemence. 
 
 This performance was however laid afide, while he 
 was employed in foliciting affiftance from feveral great 
 perfons, and one interruption fucceeding another, 
 hindered him from (applying the chafm, and perhaps 
 from retouching the other parts, which he can hardly 
 be imagined to have finished, in his own opinion ; for 
 it is very unequal, and fome of the lines are rather 
 inferted to rhyme to others, than to fupport or im- 
 prove the fenfe ; but the firft and lail parts are 
 worked up with great fpirit and elegance. 
 
 His time was fpent in the prifon for the moft part 
 in ftudy, or in receiving vilits ; but fometimes he 
 defcended to lower amufements, and diverted himfelf 
 in the kitchen with the converfation of the criminals ; 
 lor it was not pleafing to him to be much without 
 company, and though he was very capable of a judi- 
 cious choice, he was often contented with the firft 
 that offered : for this he was fometimes reproved by 
 his friends, who found him furrounded with felons ; 
 but the reproof was on that, as on other occafions, 
 thrown away ; he continued to gratify himfelf, and 
 to fet very-little value on the opinion of others. 
 
 But here, as in every other fcene of his life, he 
 made ufe of fuch opportunities as occurred of bene- 
 fiting thofe who were more miferable than hhnfelf, 
 and was always ready to perform any offices ot huma- 
 nity to his fellow-prifoners. 
 
 He
 
 ex DR. JOHNSON'S 
 
 He had now ceafed from correfponding with any 
 of his fubicribers except one, who yet continued to 
 remit him the twenty pounds a year which he had 
 promifed him, and by whom it was expecled, that 
 he would have been in a very fhort time enlarged, 
 becaufe he had directed the keeper to enquire alter 
 the ftate of his debts. 
 
 However, he tcok care to enter his name accord- 
 ing to the forms of the court, that the creditor might 
 be obliged to make him fome allowance, if he was 
 continued a priibner, and when on that occafion he 
 appeared in the hall was treated with very unufual 
 refpeft. 
 
 But the refentment of the city was afterwards raifed 
 by fome accounts that had been fpread of the fatire, 
 and he was informed that fome of the merchants in- 
 tended to pay the allowance which the law required, 
 and to detain him a prifoner at their own expence. 
 This he treated as an empty menace, and perhaps 
 might have haftened the publication, only to fhevv 
 how much he was fuperior to their infults, had not all 
 his fchemes been fuddenly deflroyed. 
 
 When he had been fix months in prifon, he re- 
 ceived from one of his friends *, in whofe kindnefs 
 he had the greateit confidence, and on whofe affiftance 
 he chiefly depended, a letter, that contained a charge 
 of very attrocious ingratitude, drawn up in fuch terms 
 as fudden refentment dictated. Mr. Savage returned 
 a very lolemn proteftation of his innocence, but how- 
 ever appeared much diilurbed at the accufation. Some 
 days afterwards he was ieized with a pain in his back 
 and fide, which, as it was not violent, was not fuf- 
 peded to be dangerous ; but growing daily more 
 languid and dejected, on the 2^th of July he confined 
 hiinfeif to his room, and a tever feized his fpirits. 
 * Mr. Pope. 
 
 The
 
 LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. cxi 
 
 The fymptoms grew every day more formidable, but 
 his condition did not enable him to procure any aflif- 
 tance. The laft time that the keeper faw him was on 
 July the 3ift *, when Savage, feeing him at his bed- 
 fide, faid, with an uncommon earneitnefs, ' I have 
 ' fomething to fay to you, Sir ;' but, after a paufe, 
 moved his hand in a melancholy manner, and finding 
 himfelf unable to recollect what he was going to com- 
 municate, faid, ' 'Tis gone !' The keeper loon after 
 left him, and the next morning he died. He was 
 buried in the church-yard of St. Peter, at the expence 
 of the keeper. 
 
 Such were the life and death of Richard Savage, a 
 man equally diftinguifhed by his virtues and vices, 
 nnd at once remarkable for his weakneiles and abi- 
 lities. 
 
 He was of a middle ftature, of a thin habit of 
 body, a long vifage, coarfe featurrs, and melancholy 
 afpec r t ; of a grave and manly deportment, a folcmn 
 dignity of mien ; but which, upon a nearer acquain- 
 tance, foftened into an engaging eafinefs of manners. 
 His walk was flow, and his voice tremulous and 
 mournful. He was eafily excited to fmiles, but very 
 feldom provoked to laughter. 
 
 His mind was in an uncommon degree vigorous 
 and active. His judgment was accurate, his appre- 
 henfion quick, and his memory fo tenacious, that 
 he was frequently obferved to know what he had 
 learned from others in a fhort time, better than thole 
 by whom he was informed, and could frequently re- 
 collect incidents, with all their combination of cir- 
 cumitances, which few would have regarded at the 
 prefent time, but which the quicknefs of his appre- 
 henlion imprefTed upon him. He had the peculiar 
 felicity, that his attention never deferted him ; he 
 
 * In 1743- 
 
 was
 
 cxii D R. J O H N S O N ' S 
 
 was prefent to every objeft, and regardful of the moft 
 trifling occurrences. He had the art of efcaping from 
 his own reflections, and accommodating himfelf to 
 every new fcene. 
 
 To this quality is to be imputed the extent of his 
 knowledge, compared with the fmall time which he 
 fpent in vifible endeavours to acquire it. He mingled 
 in curibry converfation with the fame fteadinefs of 
 attention as others apply to a lecture, and, amidit 
 the appearance of thoughtlefs gaiety, loft no new idea 
 that was Parted, nor any hint that could be improved. 
 He had therefore made in cofFee-houfes the fame pro- 
 ficiency as in other ftudies ; and it is remarkable, that 
 the writings of a man of little education and little 
 reading have an air of learning fcarcely to be found 
 in any other performances, but which perhaps as 
 often obfcures as embellilb.es them. 
 
 His judgment was eminently exat both with re- 
 gard to writings and to men. The knowledge of 
 life was indeed his chief attainment, and it is not 
 without fome fatisfadion, that I can produce the 
 fuifrage of Savage in favour of human nature, of 
 which he never appeared to entertain fuch odious 
 ideas, as fome, who perhaps had neither his judgment 
 nor experience, have published, either in oftentation 
 or their fagacity, vindication of their crimes, or gra- 
 tification of their malice. 
 
 His method of life particularly qualified him for 
 converfation, of which he knew how to praflife all 
 the graces. He was never vehement or loud, but at 
 once modeil and eafy, open and refpeftful ; his lan- 
 guage was vivacious and elegant, and equally happy 
 upon grave or humorous fubjects. He was generally 
 cenfured for not knowing when to retire, but that was 
 not the defect of his judgment, but of his fortune ; 
 when he left his company, he was frequently to fpend 
 
 the
 
 LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. cxHi 
 
 the remaining part of the night in the ftreet, or at 
 Icaft was abandoned to gloomy reflections, which it is 
 not llrange that he delayed as long as he could, and 
 fometimes forgot that he gave others pain to avoid it 
 himfelf. 
 
 It cannot be faid, that be made ufe of his abilities 
 for the direction of his own conduft : an irregular 
 and diffipated manner of life had made him the flave 
 of every paflion that happened to be excited by the 
 prefence of its objeft, and that flavery to his paffions 
 reciprocally produced a life irregular and dillipated. 
 He was not mafter of his own motions, nor could 
 promife any thing for the next day. 
 
 With regard to his economy, nothing can be added 
 fp the relation of his life: He appeared tJ think 
 himfelf born to be fupported by others, and difpenfed 
 from all neceffity of providing forhimielt ; he there- 
 fore never profecuted any fcheme of advantage, nor 
 endeavoured even to fecure the profits which his 
 writings might have afforded him. 
 
 His temper was, in confequence of the dominion 
 of his paflions, uncertain and capricious ; he was 
 eafily engaged, and eafily difgulted ; but he is accufed 
 of retaining his hatred more tenacioully than his be- 
 nevolence. 
 
 He was compaffionate both by nature and principle, 
 and always ready to perform offices of humanity j 
 but when he was provoked, and very fmall offences 
 were fufficient to provoke him, he would profecute 
 his -revenge with the utmoft acrimony till his pallian 
 had fubfided. 
 
 His friendfhip was therefore* of little value; for 
 though he was zealous in the fupport or vindication 
 of thofc whom he loved, yet it was always dangerous 
 to truft him, becaufe he confidered himfelf as dif- 
 charged by the firil quarrel from all ties of honour or 
 
 VOL. I. h gratitud* j
 
 cxiv DR. JOHNSON'S 
 
 gratitude ; .and would betray thofe fecrets, which, in 
 the warmth of confidence, had been imparted to him. 
 This practice drew upon him an universal accufation 
 of ingratitude ; nor can it be denied that he was very 
 ready to fet himfelf free from the load of an obliga- 
 tion ; for he could not bear to conceive himfelf in a 
 tfatc of dependance, his pride being equally powerful 
 with his other paffions, and appearing in the form of 
 m'folence at one time, and of vanity at another. 
 Vanity, the mod innocent fpecies of pride, was moil 
 frequently .predominant : He could not eafily leave 
 off, when he had once began to mention himfe-lf, or 
 his works ; nor ever read his verfes, without Healing 
 liis eyes from the page, to difcover, in the faces of 
 his audience, how they were affecled with any fa- 
 vourite pafTage. 
 
 A kinder name than that .of vanity ought to be 
 given to the delicacy with which he was always care- 
 ful to feparate his own merit from every other man'?, 
 and to reject that praife .to which he had no claim. 
 He did not forget, in mentioning his performances, 
 to mark every line that had been fuggelted or amend- 
 ed, and was fo accurate, as to relate that he owed 
 three words in THE WANDERER to the advice of hii 
 friends. 
 
 His veracity was queilianed, but with little reafon ; 
 Jiis accounts, though not indeed always the fame, were 
 generally confident. When he loved any man he 
 iuppreffed all his faults ; arid when he had l>cen of- 
 fended by him, concealed all his virtues: But hii 
 characters were generally true, fo tar as he proceeded ; 
 though it cannot be denied, that his partiality might 
 have fomet'uvies the effect of falfehood. 
 
 In cafes indifferent he was zealous tor virtue, truth, 
 .and jultice : he knew very well the neccliny of good-
 
 LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. cxv 
 
 nefs to the prefent and future happinefs of mankind ; 
 nor is there perhaps any writer, who has lefs endea- 
 voured to pleafe by flattering the appetites, or per- 
 verting the judgment. 
 
 As an author, therefore, and he now ceafes to 
 influence mankind in any other character, if one 
 piece which he had refolved to fupprefs be cxcepted, 
 he has very little to fear from the ftricteft moral or 
 religious cenfure. And though he may not be alto- 
 gether fecure againft the objections ot the critic, it 
 muft however be acknowledged, that his works are 
 the productions of a genius truly poetical ; and, 
 what many writers who have been more lavhlily 
 applauded cannot boaft, that they have an original 
 aw, which has no refcinblance of any foregoing 
 writer ; that the verification and fentiments have a 
 caft peculiar to themfelves, which no man can imi- 
 tate wkh fuccefs, becaufe what was nature in Savage, 
 Avould in another be affectation. It muft be con- 
 ielfed that his defcriptions are ftriking, his images 
 animated, his fictions juftly imagined, and his alle- 
 gories artfully purfued ; that his diclion is elevated, 
 though fometimes forced, and his numbers fonorous 
 and majeiiic, though frequently fluggiih and en- 
 cumbered. Of his ftyle the general fault is harfh- 
 nefs, and its general excellence is dignity ; of his 
 fentiments the prevailing beauty is fublimity, and 
 uniformity the prevailing defect. 
 
 For his life, or for his writings, none, who can- 
 ,didly confider his fortune, will think an apology 
 either Decenary or difficult. If he was not always 
 fufficiently inftructed in his fubject, his knowledge 
 was at leaft greater than could have been attained 
 by others in the fame Hate. If his works were fome- 
 times unfinilhed, accuracy cannot reafonably be ex- 
 a&ed from a rtian opprefled with want, which he 
 
 hag
 
 cxvi LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. 
 
 has no hope of relieving, but by a fpeedy publica- 
 tion. The infolence and refentment of which he is 
 accufed, were not eafily to be avoided by a great 
 mind, irritated by perpepetual hardships, and con- 
 ftrained hourly to return the fpurns of contempt, 
 and repiefs the infolence of profperity ; and vanity 
 may furely readily be pardoned in him, to whom life 
 afforded no other comforts than barren praifes, and 
 the confcioufnefs of deferving them. 
 
 Thofe are no proper judges of his conduct, who 
 have flumbered away their time on the down of 
 affluence ; nor will any wife nian prefume to fay, 
 
 * Had I been in Savage's condition, I fhould have 
 
 * lived or written better than Savage.' 
 
 This relation will not be wholly without its ufe, 
 if thofe, who languilh under any part of his fuf- 
 ferings, fliall be enabled to fortify their patience, 
 by reflecting that they feel only thofe afflictions from 
 which the abilities of Savage did not exempt him ; 
 or thofe, who, in confidence of fuperior capacities 
 or attainments, difregard the common maxims of life, 
 lhall be reminded that nothing will fupply the want 
 of prudence; and that negligence and irregularity, 
 long continued, will make knowledge uielefs, wit 
 ridiculous, and genius contemptible. 
 
 HMD OF THE tIFE OF MR. SAVAGE. 
 
 LOVE
 
 LOVE IN A VEIL. 
 
 A 
 
 COMEDY. 
 
 ACTED AT THE THEATRE ROYAL IN 
 DRURY-LANE, 
 
 IN THE YEAR. 1719, 
 BY HIS MAJESTY'S SERVANTS. 
 
 LOVE, (ludious how to pleafe, improves our parts. 
 With polith'd manners, and adorns with arts. 
 
 D^YDEN.
 
 (AflUO'/TOH THOI 31 
 
 % 
 
 I D : O 3 ,} 
 
 /'O 
 
 O31 
 
 bnB 
 
 if A 3fll 
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 siri) gnhhw ri3; ( // ybdonfiiorn lo eiworf
 
 TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE 
 
 LORD LANDSDOWN. 
 
 MY LORD, 
 
 addrefs from a ftranger, and one 
 that afks favours too, ought to have more 
 recommendation than I am afraid you will 
 find in this. It is my misfortune to (land 
 in fuch a relation to the late Earl RIVERS, 
 by the Conntefs of - , as neither of 
 Us can be proud of owning ; but that is 
 the fmalleft part of my unhappinefs, fince 
 I am one of thofe fons of forrow, to whom 
 he left nothing to alleviate the fin of my 
 birth. Under this fcene of affliction I 
 have had leifure enough to divert my 
 hours of melancholy with writing this 
 A 2 COMEDY,
 
 o o j o 
 
 iv DEDICATION. 
 
 COMEDY, for which I humbly beg Your 
 Lordfhip's patronage. My play, and :. 
 ielf, my Lord, are equally orphans, . 
 in that vicv/ only I defire Your Lordlhip 
 
 would look upon 
 i - 
 
 ' 
 Your inoft obedient 
 
 * Humble fervant, 
 
 RICHARD SAVAGE, 
 
 - 

 
 PROLOGUE 
 
 SPOKEN BY MR, THURMOND. 
 
 vo3 
 
 iME youthful author of our fcenes to-day, 
 Who fcarce writes man, has boldly writ a play ! jj^ 
 But now we fear new plays no more can thrive 
 Than fummer-fruits in winter fro Us furvive. Ifirfa flf 
 Poetic laurels then triumphant Ihow, 
 And'fliall their branches nc3w lefs chearful grow? 
 Shall thole kind genial heats that blefs the year, 
 Come to create a barren feafon here ? 
 Or, (hall that tree, fame's wreath by PHOEBUS made, 
 Now parch ! and at his fultry influence fade ? 
 
 Our poet, who to-night Attempts at prajfe, 
 From various turns, wou'd your divcrlion raife. 
 To plcafe gay fancies, he at humour drove, 
 At plot for critics, for the ladies love. 
 Yet lile's low fcenes he owns may here feem fcarce, 
 But well-wrought bnfinefs makes amends for farce. 
 Not but our fcene drawn on a foreign coait 
 Of home-bred fools might fome refemblance boaft ; 
 For tho' each clime t'un prove the mufes toil, 
 Yet fools, like weeds, moot up in ev'ry foil, 
 
 Our lively images arc too fublimc ! 
 We draw our glory from the Britifh clime. 
 In our wild hero's character we tell, 
 What love, what honour in the Englifh dwell. 
 Not one of nature's monfters here we fliow, 
 Yet thro' our fcenes fome feeds of fatire ilro\;-. 
 Begen'rous then ! and let our author's care, 
 Appeafe the critics, and divert the fair. 
 
 A 3
 
 I 3 V A T /fI 370 J 
 
 DRAMATIS PERSONS. 
 
 M E N. 
 
 Lorenzo, governor of Valencia, j M ^-.^ 
 father to Leonora, 
 
 Alonzo, father to Fidelia, Mr. Norrls. 
 
 Sir Charles Winlove, an 
 
 gentleman, fled from Madrid > Mr. Mills. 
 for the death of his rival, J 
 
 -- . 
 
 Den Philip a noble Spaniard, 1 M Thurmond , 
 con traded to Leonora, 
 
 Afpin, fen-ant to Sir. Cha. Winlove, Mr. Miller. 
 
 
 Mego, fervant to Alonzo, Mr. Will. Mills, 
 
 W O M E N. 
 
 Leonora, daughter to the governor, Mrs. Seymour. 
 
 Fidelia, a young lady fled "after 1 ,.. r TT~,,. 
 - Sir Cha. Winlove to Valencia, \ illfs ^ llhl 
 
 l ; krn, fervant to Leonora, Mrs. Ga; ; 
 
 Alguzil, ofTicersj keeper, and attendants. 
 
 
 
 H I )&C\ 
 
 SCENE VAL EX ci A. 

 
 LOVE IN A VEIL. 
 
 A, U A # O 
 ACT I. SCENE I. 
 
 Sir Charles Winlove and Don Philip mceti: 
 
 1 
 
 . DON Phm p ! 
 
 D. Phil. Sir Charles Winlove ! What miracle ha* 
 brought you here } 
 
 Sir Cba. Why faith, 'tis a miracle owing to for- 
 tune Have you heard what has happened to me at 
 Madrid > 
 
 D. Phil. I heard of your unfortunate adventure 
 there, before I left it How long have you been come 
 to Valencia ? 
 
 Sir Cba. About a fortnight ; and I only wait for 
 a fair wind to carry me to England. 
 
 D, Phil, I'd advife you to make the beft of your 
 way, for there was a rumour that orders wou'd be 
 fent to the fea-ports to put a flop to your paflage. 
 
 Sir Cba, Why this comes now of intriguing in 
 Spain A man can't carry on an amour, but he 
 in uft cut the throat of fome jealous coxcomb or other 
 to cure him of his impertinence But what other 
 news ? I find you left Madrid later than I did Is 
 rny rival, that I wounded, dead } 
 
 A 4 ' D. PM<
 
 S LOVE IN A VEIL, 
 
 D. Pfiil. When I came away I heard that his life 
 was defpair'd- 6f. And that the' lady for whom your 
 quarrel began, was fled from her father's houfe. 
 
 Sir Cha. I am forry, for her fake, for flie is every 
 way fo agreeable, that cou'd I learn to be conftant, 
 'twould be only to her But I find one love is ftill 
 an antidote to expel another : For I have feen fuch 
 a beauty 'here in Valencia ! 
 
 D. Phil. Another beauty ! Sir Charles. 
 
 Sir Cka. Ay, one fo charming, fo good-humour'cf, 
 and fo witty, ihe's enough to turn the refolutions of 
 a Cynic 
 
 D. Phil. Is fhe a woman of quality ? 
 
 Sir Cba. Faith, I can't tell Her appearance is 
 as yet like that cf Cynthia in a cloud, for I have 
 never feen her but in a VEIL. 
 
 D. Phil. I thought to have heard that you'd hare 
 been more cautious, Sir Charles But I fi.hd von are 
 511 the fame, and are refolv'd to bear the frowns' -o* 
 fortune with as much plcafure as her frniles 
 
 Sir Cla. Ay, Don Philip, let cowards fear her ; 
 and fool?, her daily favourites, adore her For my 
 part, love and friendfiiip {hall ftiil be the dav. 
 of my foul And new pleafures the continual bwfi- 
 nefs of my life But prithee, what fort of company 
 hare you here in Valencia ? For tho' I am return-
 
 LOVE IN A VEIL. 9 
 
 ing to England, I am fo tiv'd with politics, that 
 I perfectly naufeate the conversion of it. 
 
 D. Phil. How fo ? Is there no other to be had 
 then ? 
 
 Sir Cba. None ! Politicians ftart owt of every pro- 
 ftlion, and Hock -jobbers lies are the only dilcourfe 
 one can meet with. 
 
 D. Phil. I hope the beaus don't turn politicians 
 in any nation 
 
 Sir Cba. The beaus ! Why the very women are 
 ttirn'd politicians In fhort, the goffiping of the 
 tea-table is as much Jnfeded as the fociety of the 
 coflee-houfes How are you at this part of the globe? 
 
 D. Phil. We are like the reft of the world. 
 Here are all. manner of characters Hufbands that 
 are jealous of their honour, and wives that as craftily 
 betray it For the ladies Here's a composition of 
 all nations Some boaft the affectation of the French ; 
 ibme their own natural Spanifh pride; and others 
 the beauty and obilinacy of your Englifh women 
 Then for the men, here are from the formal gran- 
 d*es to the extravagant fop ; and from the cavaliers 
 of quality to the very fortune-hunter In mort, here 
 arc all decrees whatfoever Some of 'em rely upon 
 merit of their riches, and others upon that of 
 their aiiurance 
 
 Sir Cba.
 
 L O V t I N A V I, I L. 
 
 6V,- '/vr. ' Afiurance is the moft thriving virtue or' 
 the age. 'Tis a fortune for a courtier, and a pre- 
 vailing eloquence in a lover But among!! the reft, 
 What fort of a man is your governor ? 
 
 Z>. P/W. A man of quality, and one \vhofe innate 
 
 worth is an honour to the office he bears Xou I 
 
 \ f\ 
 think cn'f, he may be of fen-ice to you. 
 
 S.'r Cba. Ay ; prithee which way ? 
 
 D. Phil. He has a daughter. 
 
 Sir Cba. Is fhe very handfome ; 
 
 D. Phil. Beautiful as an angel ; and then for her 
 
 wit, 'tis as enchanting as her beauty ; her repartees 
 
 i i i 
 
 are as quick as her eyes, and 
 
 Sir Cka. And when fhall I fee her, Don Philip! 
 
 D. PbiL She's to be my wife For which purpofc 
 , , . Tr , 
 
 I am come here to Valencia. 
 
 Sir Cba. How coud'ft thou be fo ili-natur'd now, 
 to raife my fancy to fuch a pitch for this ? What 
 
 r -JJL 3 
 
 fervice can it be to me ? 
 
 D. Phil. I did not defign to help you to a rmrfrefs, 
 Sir Charles, I only had a mind to let you know my 
 intereit with the governor ; and I hope to win him 
 to intercede for your pardon, and to wink at your 
 fecurity here. 
 
 Cba. Oh ! you are ever obliging, Don Phi! 
 D. Pill. This is a trifle amongft iVItivis. I re- 
 
 member
 
 LOVE IN A VEIL. ir 
 
 member in England, when I was opprefs'd by 
 odds, you fav'd my life with hazard of your own 
 Here t run no rifque in the prefervation of yours 
 But how d'ye intend to fpend the day ? 
 
 Sir Cha. I have an affignation, but the time is 
 not yet expir'd. 
 
 D. Phil. In the mean time what fay you to a glafs 
 of good wine ? 
 
 Sir Cha. With all my heart For 'tis flill my opi- 
 nion, that next to the chat of a lady at her tea-table, 
 there's no pleafure like the fociety of a friend over 
 a bottle. 
 
 D. Phil. Oh you are ever pleafant, Sir Charles. 
 But ha ! Who comes here ? 
 
 Sir Cha. 'Tis my fervant ? Don Philip, you'll 
 excufe me a little, I'll be with you immediately. 
 
 D. Phil. I fee you are upon the fcent of an in- 
 trigue. ! Well, I won't interrupt you when you have 
 done with your emiflury, follow me to the next . 
 inn, where I'll wait for you. 
 
 Sir Cha. Do fo ; I'll talk but a minute with my 
 
 J 
 
 man,, and then I am your's over a bottle. 
 
 [Exit Doii Philip. 
 
 Enter Afpin. 
 
 So, Afpin, What news have you brought me of the 
 Jadv in the VEIL? 
 
 Afp.
 
 12 LOVE IN A VEIL. 
 
 4fp. News ! Sir ; if I had.accomplifh'd my ends', 
 I cou'd have brought you news and fuccefs enough 
 to make your heart leap up to your mouth. 
 
 Sir Cha. Look ye, Sirrah, don't trifle, my time'$ 
 too precious, by repeating what you only fancy you 
 cou'd have done ; but tell me "what fuccefs you have 
 had in reality. Did you dog the lady as I order' d" 
 you ? 
 
 Jfp. Dog the lady ! Ay, Sir, I have dog'd her to 
 fome purpofe ! Well, I'll fay no more ; but if ex- 
 pedition and conduct can make a ilatefman, Afpiii 
 may in time come to be uiftinguifli'd by a title. 
 
 iS'.V Cba. Nay, 1 can fcarce doubt of your fuccefs, 
 for I know thou art an excellent fetter upon occa- 
 (ion. 
 
 jlfp. Ay, and a runner too, r.s you'll nd by tire 
 fequel of the ftory Look ye, Sir, you may remem- 
 ber you crder'd me to v.Tuch the Indv home ; I 
 obe'y'd your commands, but fne \ - my em- 
 
 ployment, led me through the nir.zes of feveral blind 
 alleys ; notwithftandirtg which, like an experienc'd 
 inftrument of the game, I iiill kept as clofe a fcent 
 after her, as houud after a coney. 
 
 Sir Cba. A very pretty iimilifude ! But have you 
 hcns'a her ? Tell me that part of the tfory, Afpin ! 
 . Hous'd.her! No, Sir, I km't hous'd her ! 
 
 Sir Cba. 
 

 
 O J 
 
 LOVE IN A VEIL. 13 
 
 Sir Cha. No, Sirrah .1 Then what's the end of all 
 this mighty performance ? 
 
 .^/2>. Nothing at all, Sir ! In fhort there fell out 
 an unlucky accident ; for as I was hot in the purfuit, 
 I happen'd to Humble upon a pebble, fprain'd my 
 ancle, and loft the iight of her in a moment. 
 
 SirCba. Now, Sirrah, wou'd I cane you for the 
 difappointment, but that I have other affairs in hand. 
 Mark me, I am now going to drink a bottle with 
 a friend, in an hour I am to meet the lady at my 
 lodging ; and if you don't look better to your poll, 
 I'll, break that rafcally head of yours, Sirrah. 
 
 [*//. 
 
 Afp. Ay, to be fure ! What damnable lives do we 
 
 poor valets lead ! if we fucceed in the moft difficult 
 
 :.ture, we do but our duty forfooth ; but if we 
 
 fail, I'll break your head you rafcal ; hold, let me 
 
 thiiik how ftiall I retrieve my misfortunes. [Studiff. 
 
 bflild 
 
 b'arn. Enter Diego. 
 
 Difg. Hift ! Friend, do you live hereabouts ? 
 Afp. Hum ! ha ! Why, what is that to you, friend, 
 where I live ? I owe you nothing. 
 D%. Bur I owe you a great deal. 
 
 Afp, Say you fo, Sir ! Come, pay then, pay ; gad 
 
 , . 
 mil
 
 H lM*E IK A VEIL. 
 
 T r 11 T. "1 ! f f 11 ir 
 
 this fellow has nultuken me For fomebody elfe ; now 
 if I fiiould luckily come in for a round fum that I have 
 
 no pretence to, faith 'twould be verv welcome But 
 
 ; 
 as you was faying, Sir ! what do you owe me ? 
 
 Dleg. A great deal of refpect, Sir, as you are a 
 fine gentleman, and all that, Sir 
 
 liV^llJvtit ciuu t4.il iLAhiL* v_/j.t ~ 
 
 m j^L 
 Photigh, pox, d ye mean to banter me r If 
 
 i-.it's all, I won't give a pin for your debt, Sir. 
 Dicg. Oh ! But, Sir ! you don't comprehend me ; 
 
 my refped is but the prelude to fomething greater i 
 
 jflfp. Ha ! To fomething greater ! Egad this fellow 
 has the air of what we call in downright Englifh 
 a pimp. Odfo ! Afpin, thou art a made man ! 
 
 Dlcg. The fellow feems tickled with fume imagi- 
 nation that may be of ufe to me, I'll ftudy to im- 
 
 j 
 
 prove it \ARde\. But as I was faying, Sir, may 
 not I be fo happy to know your lodging Come, 
 don't ftand in your own light, I'll engage you fliall 
 be handfomely rewarded by one greater than inyfelf. 
 Jifp. Egad it is fo Some Seignora has lix'd her 
 
 affections upon me ; what is fhe, Sir; what is flie ? 
 
 _ 
 
 Harkee, which part of me has tickled her ladyflijp's 
 fancy ? ha ! 
 
 * 
 
 Ditg. As I guefs'd ; 111 humour him I am under 
 an obligation not to 
 
 . Not to What ? Come, come, hang fecrecy ! 
 
 Is
 
 LOVE IN A VEIL. ,j 
 
 Is it the broadnefs of my fhoulders, the bivnefs of 
 
 u c ' i. u 4 
 
 my calve?, or the air or my gait, that. has done 
 
 3r? Ha? Oafo, now I think on't, I warrant the jade 
 
 has heard I am an Irifhman Av, there it is taith 
 
 ' 
 how. 
 
 Dleg. Ay, ay, you have hit it ! Therefore, if you'll 
 
 let me fee where you lodge, I'll bring a chair for you 
 
 i j r i 
 
 in the evening, and convey you to the arms ot the 
 
 moft beautiful MaJona in all Valencia. 
 
 Jlfb. Ay ! Eut upon fecond thoughts ! I find I am 
 
 c ' c r u J 
 
 very unfit for Inch an adventure- 
 
 Z>; >5-. What do you mean ? 
 
 ,. ,- . T , t . . r 
 
 dip. Mean ! why I mean that I ever had from 
 
 * 
 
 my cradle a damnable averfion to a piftol, or a po- 
 niard Nay, now I think on't, lad night I had an 
 ugly dreain about the noiie of a piftol But hang 
 dreams, they fliall never fright a man of my courage. 
 Know then, Sir, I live at yonder green rails : I am 
 
 ' f o- u 1. T ru 11 i 
 
 but a valet, or lo, Sir, but in an hour I Inall be at 
 
 my lady's command In the mean time I'll follow 
 
 i pie of my mailer, and drink a bottle to 
 
 r , - t \ \ r r T- 
 
 prepare myfeu for her lemce. [Exif. 
 
 ' Die*, This fool has betray'd his mailer as I cou'd 
 
 wiih But now for mv lord governor. [Exit. 
 
 . 
 
 a nom^ildo at 
 -oJ$q N E
 
 16 LOVE IN A VEIL. 
 
 SCENE, Tlic governor's boufc. 
 Enter Lorenzo v:ltb a letter, and Diego. 
 
 Lor. Bring you this from Madrid, fay you r But 
 hold, let me perufe it. 
 
 " An Englifh cavalier, who has lately kill'd 
 ** a nobleman of Spain, is fled away with my 
 " daughter ; and, as I am inform 'd, they 
 " have taken their way to Valencia I dciire 
 " you xvill lofe no time in endeavouring to 
 " feizc 'em The bearer will give you a full 
 " defcription of both. I am yours, 
 
 " From Madrid. " ALO::ZO." 
 
 I take it kindly that my friend remembers me in this 
 misfortune for I owe him many obligations Who 
 is this cavalier ? 
 
 Dleg. He is call'd Sir Charles Winlove ; and he 
 undoubtedly ftole her, for me was the caufe of their 
 duel. 
 
 Lor. Where do you think he is ? 
 
 Dieg. My lord, I had juft now notice of his lodg- 
 ing from his own fervant, and if you pleafe I'll pre- 
 pare officers in order to fei/.e him. 
 
 Lor. Do fo, and I'll go in perfon ! [Exit Diego. 
 
 Unfor-
 
 LOVE IN A VEIL. 17 
 
 Unfortunate Alonzo ! how unhappy is the man, the 
 honour of whole family depends ca a woman. 
 
 Enter Leonora and Flora. 
 
 Leo. What makes you fo thoughtful, Sir. 
 
 Lor. If you knew the contents of this paper, Leo- 
 nora, you wou'd not wonder that the cares of a father 
 fliou'd make me thoughtful. 
 
 Leo. Why fo, my lord ? I hope I have not been 
 guilty of any thing to difpleafe you. 
 
 Lor. Not as yet But the duty of a parent is a 
 great weight ; and where the lofs of honour depends, 
 'tis to be fear'd more than the lofs of liie->-I am in 
 hafte at prefent, and mult defer this fubjeft till 
 another opportunity In the mean time take heed, 
 my Leonora. [Exit. 
 
 Leo. I am confus'd ! What does my father mean 
 by the lofs of honour ? 
 
 Flo. I am afraid, Madam, that he knows fome of 
 your haunts, and therefore I'd advife you to be 
 cautious. 
 
 Leo. 'Tis hard that a Spanifli woman can't have 
 an amour, but fome jealous-pated father or brother 
 muft interfere with the honour of his family. Now 
 I have heard, that the Englifh women 'may take 
 what diverfion they pleafe, and be rather celebrated 
 
 Vo L. I. B for
 
 i8 LOVEINAVEIL. 
 
 for their beauty, than cenfur'd. Nay, that the very 
 wives may have a whole equipage of lovers, and be 
 the more admired by their hufbands. 
 
 Flo. 'Tis the nature of the climate, Madam ; as 
 in France the coquet is rather admir'd for her airs, 
 than cenfur'd for her inclinations* Not but there's 
 detraction in both climates ; but there 'tis a pleafure 
 peculiar to the women, where fcandal pafies for wit, 
 and one beauty rifes on the falling reputation of 
 another. The men, unlefs the beaus, have nothing 
 to do with it ; and thofe no farther, than a little 
 raillery for their diverfion. 
 
 Leo. I cou'd be as free as they had I the power* 
 For I have chofe a perfon of my own liking, and 
 my father has contracted me to one that is indifferent 
 to me. Now, methinks, there's fuch a pleafure in 
 the diibbedience, that it adds an eloquence to the 
 fait of a lover. 
 
 Flo. But, Madam, d'ye confider that the nature 
 of this country is revenge Here is none of the 
 carelefs brother, the indulgent father, nor the meek 
 animal, a hufband. 
 
 Leo. 'Tis want of courage in our lovers to put a 
 good cuftoin in practice, othenvife the jealous fury 
 of a Spanifti Don might in time be moderated to the 
 content of a London citizen. 
 
 Flo.
 
 LOVEINAVEIL. 19 
 
 Flo. But, Madam, you have not fo much reafon 
 to complain Is not Don Philip, your intended huf- 
 band, a noble Spaniard, and as agreeable as the 
 Englifh cavalier ? 
 
 Leo. Oh what a hideous comparifon have you 
 made ! the Englifli cavalier ! Is he not all that a 
 woman can wifli for ? A man of gallantry Beautiful 
 in his perfon, and agreeable in his converfation? 
 Are not all the perfuafive charms of wit upon his 
 tongue ? Is he not, in fliort, an Englifliman ? 
 
 Flo. Is not Don Philip a man of honour ? of a 
 gallant difpofition And then he loves you as well 
 as the other. 
 
 Leo. Ay, but then he is to be my hufband, Flora ; 
 and the profpecT: of a forc'd marriage eclipfes the 
 worth of a fuitor Befides, my mother was an 
 Englifliwoman Therefore I am of fo gay a temper, 
 and fo naturally fond of liberty, that I can never be 
 confin'd to the humours of a jealous Spaniard. 
 . Flo. I am convinc'd, Madam, by your inclinations 
 to the Englifh cavalier, that beauty is totally owing 
 to fancy But how came you acquainted with him 
 at firil ? 
 
 Leo. I'll tell you You know when my father fent 
 
 for me to Valencia, the people after my arrival 
 
 crowded to fee me I was admir'd by the men, and 
 
 B 2 envy'd
 
 20 LOVEINAVEIL. 
 
 envy'd by the women When I appear'd at church, 
 all were in a confternation whifpering, This is the 
 governor's daughter till, contrary to my fex, I was 
 almoft tir'd with vanity itfelf One day I went 
 VEIL'D into the walks to divert myfelf There I 
 thought I faw my father, but afterwards it prov'd 
 otherwifc Then I flew into a fummer-houfe to 
 avoid him where I met this ftranger, who, feeing 
 me in diftrefs, proffer'd his afliftance I was pleas'd 
 with the compliment, and lik'd both his converfation 
 and his perfon He prefs'd to know me ; but I refus'd 
 it However, I have often feen him fince, and mud 
 in ftiort, according to appointment, meet him in- 
 
 ftantly again. 
 
 Flo. But, Madam, your father has agreed for 
 your marriage, and this apartment has received your 
 intended hufband. 
 
 Enter Servant. 
 
 Serv. A lady defires to fee you, Madam. 
 Leo. Who is fhe ? 
 Serv. I never faw her before. 
 Leo. Defire her to walk in. 
 
 Enter Fidelia VEIL'D, 
 
 Fide. Madam, I am come, tho' unknown, an 
 humble petitioner to you.
 
 LOVEINAVEIL. Sr 
 
 * Leo. If 'tis a fecret, I'll hear it alone, Madam. 
 
 Fide. No, 'tis what a fervant mull know, if 
 granted, 
 
 Leo. In what can I ferve you. 
 
 Fide. In giving refuge to an unfortunate perfon 
 But ere I tell you my flory, be pleas'd to perufc 
 that letter. 
 
 Leo. Madam, you are welcome upon the recom- 
 mendation of Theodofia I hope flic's well. 
 
 Fide. I thank you, Madam, (he's very well. 
 
 Leo. You fhall be us'd with as much refpect as 
 myfelf She has here inform'd me, you're unfor- 
 tunate ; but the particulars I am iguorant of. 
 
 Fide. That tafk is left for me which I fliall tell 
 you in a few words I am the daughter of a noble- 
 man, whofe name, in refpecl to him, I conceal 
 I lov'd, unknown to him, an Englifh cavalier 
 for whom, as I was waiting one night at the 
 garden-gate, another whom I flighted rufli'd in with 
 him. 
 
 Leo. I fear the confequence was fatal, Madam. 
 
 Fide. It was indeed ! He, whom I had the leaft 
 affedion for, exafperated by jealoufy and revenge, 
 immediately drew They fought : he fell ! Where- 
 upon the Englifli gentleman prefently took horfe, 
 and rode away. 
 
 B 3 Leoi
 
 ** LOVE IN A VEIL; 
 
 Leo. What courfe cou'd you take in this extremity 
 of fortune ? 
 
 Fide. Alas ! Madam, I was fo frighten'd, I knew 
 not what I did I fhriek'd and cry'd for help when 
 it was too late Thereupon a tumult arofe My 
 father call'd for me ! Inftead of anfwering him, I 
 fled from his anger, and Theodofia conceal'd me 
 till I came here The unhappy gentleman that was 
 vanquifh'd, liv'd to tell who kill'd him, and the 
 caufe ; and by this time I believe is expir'd. 
 
 Leo. I am forry for your misfortunes, and will 
 endeavour to moderate 'em. I know, myfelf, what 
 'tis to love againft a father's will. Therefore depend 
 on my afliftance. 
 
 Fide. Madam, I thank you; that's all that's in 
 my power. 
 
 Leo. No more ceremonies You are Theodofia's 
 reprefentative of friendfhip, and as fuch I efteem 
 you Flora, fliew the lady in, and order Clara to 
 attend her I wou'd not have my father fee you, tili 
 he has given leave to receive you. 
 
 [Exeunt Fidelia and Flora. 
 
 Leo. Methinks I am touch'd for her misfortunes, 
 as if my own Befides, who knows what the con- 
 fccjuences of my love may prove ? 
 
 Enttr
 
 Enter Flora. 
 
 Leo. My VEIL, Flora 5 I'll meet this cavalier in- 
 tently. 
 
 Flo. Madam, beware of a difcovery by fo often 
 venturing. 
 
 Lee. Too much caption is no good conduct in an 
 amour ; for lovers have a thoufand artifices in the 
 worft of dangers. 
 
 In love and war we muft no fears betray, 
 Valour's the conduit that muft win the day. 
 
 A C T II, S C E N E I. 
 
 A garden. 
 
 Enter Sir Charles, and Afpin. 
 
 'T* 
 
 Sir Cba. JL W A S excellent wine ; and methinks 
 
 my miftrefs's health has fo elevated my fancy, that 
 it has infpir'd me for the affignation Let me fee, 
 'tis juft upon the time of the appointment Where 
 have you been, firrah ? 
 
 Afp. Drinking the lady's health, Sir. 
 
 Sir Cba. You are a pretty fellow to toafl that in- 
 deed, 
 
 B 4 Afp.
 
 24 LOVE IN A VEIL. 
 
 4/p. Sir, I guefs'd you were at the fame fport, 
 and that made me follow the example. 
 
 Sir Cha. Sirrah, the airs of my converfation as 
 ill become one of your character, as thofe of my 
 drefs ; but, like the vulgar in a factious country, 
 you love to ape the aclions of your fuperiors. 
 
 Afp. Sir, a valet claims as great a title to his 
 matter's fecond-hand wit, as to his caft-off clonths ; 
 and cuftom has equally made 'em the due perquifites 
 of his place. 
 
 Sir Cba, Retire quickly The lady's coming. 
 
 [Exit Afpin. 
 Enter Leonora and Flora. 
 
 Thus Sol, when he his amber beauty fhrouds, 
 Revives the flowers, tho' wrapt, like you, in clouds4 
 In beams that ftray, fome cheerful influence fleals, 
 Till the kind God at length his rays reveals. 
 
 Leo. That's more than I may chance to do, if 
 you are fo complaifant as to mean me by the com- 
 parifon. 
 
 Sir Cba. That you may chance to do ! I am very 
 glad, Madam, that you are fo dubious as to leave 
 it to chance. 'Tis poffible you may chance to be cruel, 
 but I hope that the probability is to the contrary. 
 
 Leo. The probability depends indeed upon your 
 
 hope
 
 X.QVE IN A VEIL. 15 
 
 And lovers hopes are at heft but fliadows of 
 thought, that produce no reality. 
 
 Sir Cba. Madam, you are pleas'd to be witty, 
 and I admire you for it But the fight of you wou'd 
 make me your perfect adorer. 
 
 Leo. D'ye think there's no true love without 
 feeing the object. 
 
 Sir Cfca. No, certainly. 
 
 'Leo. How d'ye think a blind man can be fen- 
 iible of the paffion, if he did not depend on his 
 imagination. Now, perhaps, were you to fee me, 
 you'd no longer admire me ; therefore I think you 
 had beft remain as you are. 
 
 Sir Cba. Hold; I forbid that, Madam A blind 
 man can never hope to fee the object of his affections, 
 and therefore can never expect to fatisfy his curiolity 
 But fight was given me to make ufe of And 
 fhou'd I be fo contented, I fliou'd iuffer you to blind 
 my reafon, as well as my eyes. 
 
 Leo. Can you be a lover, and pretend to the ufe 
 of reafon That's a contradiction in itfelf. 
 
 Sir Cba. Not in the leaft 'Tis a ranging un- 
 fettled paffion that's a contradiction to good fenfe 
 But love and reafon are infeparable, like wit and 
 judgment For as one is fond of the beauty, {he 
 other diflinguifb.es the value of the bleffing, and 
 therefore knows how to prize it. 
 
 Leo.
 
 26 L O V E I N A V E I L. 
 
 Leo. Notwithftanding your rhetoric, they ape an 
 objeftion to each other For according to the di&ates 
 of love, I ought to grant your defires, and let you 
 fee me But fhou'd I now follow the maxims of 
 reafon, I fhou'd remain in a cloud as I am and 
 here break off our correfpondence. 
 
 Sir Cha. That I deny For as love has prompted 
 you thus far, reafon will ftiew you 'us too late now 
 to retire ; therefore you fee that every argument you 
 raife is an objedion to your cruelty Befides, when 
 we parted laft, you promifed I fliould fee you And 
 I hope you will be as good as your word now. 
 
 Leo. But you know the promifes of ladies, lovers, 
 and courtiers are feldom of any effect However, 
 I won't ftand with you for a trifle How d'ye like 
 me? [Unveils. 
 
 Sir Cba. I am considering with myfelf, whether 
 you are an angel, or a woman I thought fo much 
 wit cou'd not be obfcurM in a common form And 
 now I Hand convinc'd in admiration. [Noife* 
 
 Hey ! What's the matter now ? 
 
 Enter Afpin in a fright. 
 
 Afp. Fly, Sir, fly immediately for your life. 
 Sir Cba. Fly ! prithee for what reafon ? 
 Afp. We (hall only be hacg'd, Sir, that's all, if 
 
 we
 
 LOVE IN A VEIL. 27 
 
 Vrt ftay But I'll fecure the garden-door to favour 
 Our retreat, if there's any to be made. 
 
 [Shuts the garden-door. 
 
 Leo. What's the matter, fellow ? are you mad ? 
 
 Afp. Mad ! No, 'tis my matter is mad to flay 
 here Leap over the wall Fly any way, Sir, for 
 here's the governor with a whole troop of Jacks-in- 
 office at his heels come to feize you. 
 
 Leo. Alas, my father, Flora ! undoubtedly he's 
 come thus on my account. 
 
 Sir Cha. Sure no man is fo unfortunate! Can 
 love never come, but attended with crofTes and dif- 
 appointments ? 
 
 Afp. Dear Sir, don't talk of love now Confider, 
 we are in danger of a halter. 
 
 Lor. Force open the doors there. [Within. 
 
 Afp. Sir, what d'ye mean ? Love is always the 
 forerunner of mifchief A pox on it, our misfortune 
 came from love before. 
 
 Leo. Sir, I am ruin'd if the governor fees me. 
 
 Sir Cha. Fair lady, I muft leave you, my life 
 depends on it. 
 
 Leo. And my honour Hold ; Can you be fo bar- 
 barous to leave me here ? 
 
 AJp. Can you be fo barbarous to make us flay 
 Jiere, if you go to that. [Noife. 
 
 Sir,
 
 28 LOVE IN A VEIL, 
 
 Sir, make hafle, or we {hall be too late. 
 
 Leo. Stay ! I am greater than you think 'Tis for 
 me they come And can you leave a woman in dif- 
 trefs ? think you my honour's nothing ? 
 
 Afp. Nothing at all to compare with our lives 
 
 [Noife again. 
 Sir, Are you mad ? don't you hear ? 
 
 Sir Cha. 'Twas ungenerous in me to leave Fidelia 
 in danger They (han't fay I always ferve a woman 
 fo Madam, my life fliall anfwer for your defence- 
 Go into that arbour, whilit I guard the door. 
 
 [Exit Leonora. She drops her glove* 
 
 dfp. Nay, finceyouare refolv'd to be taken, Sir, 
 I'll not keep you company. [Goes to climb the wall. 
 
 Sir Cha. Come down you pigeon-hearted rafcal, 
 and learn to ftand to a noble defence. 
 
 Afp. Sir, conduct is more requir'd than courage 
 Therefore to run away will be the nobleft defence, 
 becaufe 'tis the wifeft. [ Noife again. 
 
 Sir Cha. So ! now they come ! the door is falling 
 from its hinges. 
 
 Enter Lorenzo, Alguazil, and officers. 
 
 Lor. Are not you, Sir Charles Winlove, an Englifli 
 
 cavalier ? 
 
 Sir
 
 LOVEINAVEIL. 29 
 
 - Sir Cba. I fcorn to deny my name. 
 Lor. Seize him ! now to prifon with him. 
 Sir Cba. Sir, confider, I'm no common perlbn. 
 Lor. I know you are a man of quality, and aa 
 fuch I fliall ufe you. Reflore the gentleman hia 
 fword Where's the lady ? 
 Sir Cha. The lady, fay you ? 
 Lor. Ay, the lady, Sir Charles. 
 Sir Cba. A lady with me ! What d'ye mean, my 
 lord ? 
 
 Lor. You need not deny it, I come well inform 'd. 
 Search about there. 
 
 Sir Cba. What woman can it be that has brought 
 me into this misfortune ? [Officers find Afpin. 
 
 Lor. What fellow's that. 
 Sir Cba. A (ervant of mine, my lord. 
 Lor. Secure him. 
 
 Afp. Now, Sir, had not leaping over the wall, 
 and making to fea, been a much better journey than 
 a ride to the gallows ? We had better have run the 
 rifque of being pickled in fait water, than of hang- 
 ing like a couple of figns between earth and air ; 
 you for a warning to all refolute lovers, and I to fuch 
 iervants as follow their mailers defperate fortunes. 
 Lor. What glove's that ? 
 Alg. 'Tis a lady's. 
 
 Lor.
 
 3 o LOVE IN A VEIL. 
 
 Lor. Then 'tis probable flie can't be far off- 
 Search that arbour. [ They bring in Leonora veiPd. 
 
 Leo. I am half dead with confufion 'Tis my 
 father ! what can I expect ? [AJide; 
 
 Alg. In a corner of the arbour we found this lady 
 Unveil to my lord governor. 
 
 Lor. Madam, you need not, for I know you 
 well. 
 
 Leo. What does he fay? Was ever woman fo 
 unfortunate ! \_AJlJe. 
 
 Lor. I am fenfible what courtefy I owe you 
 Pardon the nature of my coining for you. 
 
 Sir Cba. And pardon me that flie does not go 
 with you For fingle as I am, and thus opprefs'd 
 by odds, I had rather die, than flie fliou'd be a 
 fufferer. 
 
 Leo. Generous cavalier ! \_Afide. 
 
 Lor. Is this the honourable ufe you make of the 
 reftoration of your fword ? But you fliall find we 
 can quell you, Sir. 
 
 Sir Cba. I tell you, my lord, I know to oppofeyou 
 is to die ; and that I can, with pleafure, in vindication 
 of diftrefs'd innocence. 
 
 Lor. Don't think to deceive me ! I know you 
 both Her father's fo much my friend, I am equally 
 concern'd with him for her. . . . 
 
 Leo.
 
 LOVEINAVEIL. 31 
 
 Leo. Thefe words confirm my fears ! what (hall 
 I think or fay ? \_Afide* 
 
 Sir Cha. Ufe her well, my lord, that's all I afk. 
 
 Lor. My honour on her ufage. 
 
 Afp. Nay, if our general comes to a parley, a 
 furrender follows of courfe Sir, my courage is 
 rais'd at laft, and fo let us e'en fight it out with 'em 
 now. 
 
 Sir Cba. My lord, I rely on your honour, and 
 fubmit. 
 
 Leo. Then I am loft. \ApJe. 
 
 Lor. Keep your fword fiill Here, take this gen- 
 tleman to the caftle For the lady, (he fhall be in 
 my houfe, and receiv'd there as my daughter. 
 
 Leo. As his daughter ! I fee now I am certainly 
 difcover'd. [AJidt. 
 
 Lor. Bring that fellow along He (hall go with his 
 matter Hark you, a word with you. [To Alg. 
 
 Afp. Now, when I am in the humour of fighting, 
 'tis very hard to be given up a prifoner, and have 
 my valour nipt in the bud. 
 
 Sir Cha. Madam, don't be dejected Our next 
 meeting may be a turn of joy And I hope this ad- 
 venture in the end will but prove like a little difcord 
 in mufic, which raifes it to a fweeter harmony. 
 
 Lor. Come, 'tis time for you to part Mr. Al- 
 
 guazil,
 
 32 LOVE IN A VEIL, 
 
 guazil, difpofe of the lady as I order'd you Lead 'on 
 there. [Exeunt federally. 
 
 Enter Flora. 
 
 Flo. So ! they are gone ! I overheard all, and 
 'twas lucky they did not fee me in the opposite corner 
 to my lady What woman wou'd truft an affixation, 
 if this was always to be the confequence ? But I mull 
 run home the back- ways, and prepare the family tor 
 her reception. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE II. The governor's boufc. 
 
 Enter Don Philip. 
 
 D. Phil. What ! nobody to be found ! Methinks 
 the houfe looks as if the family had deferted it 
 Where can they all be gone ? 
 
 Enter Flora. 
 
 Flo. So ! thanks to my flars, I have got home - 
 before 'em But I have run till I am quite out of 
 breath. [Start;. 
 
 Don Philip ! 
 
 D. Phil. Flora, where are all the family ? 
 
 Flo. My lady is gone abroad. 
 
 D. Phil. Where's my lord governor ? 
 
 Flo.
 
 LOVE IN A VEIL, 33 
 
 Flo. He has juft now fent an Englifh cavalier pri- 
 foner to the caftle. 
 
 Z>. Phil. Ha ! an Englifh cavalier ! d' ye know 
 who he is ! 
 
 Flo. One Sir Charles Winlove, my lord ! 
 
 D. Phil. Flora ! that cavalier is my deareft friend 
 But wherefore do I loiter ! I'll fly this moment 
 to meet the governor, and try to intercede in his 
 behalf. [Exit. 
 
 Flo. There's one obftacle remov'd But here they 
 come. 
 
 Enter Aiguazil, officers, and Leonora. 
 
 Alg. Where's the lady Leonora ? I have a meflage 
 to her from the governor. 
 
 Leo. What does the fellow mean ? \_AJide* 
 
 Flo. There's certainly fome miilake in this I'll 
 humour it. [djjJe.'] Perhaps it may prove a lucky 
 turn. The lady Leonora's friend is abroad, and 
 therefore you may leave your mefTage. 
 
 Alg. My lord governor has fent this perfon a 
 prifoner But orders that your lady will take care 
 to have her us'd refpeclfully So here my commiffion 
 ends, and I leave her to your charge. [Exeunt. 
 
 Leo. Are they gone ? 
 
 VOL. I. C Fl.
 
 34 LOVE IN A VEIL. 
 
 Flo. Yes. 
 
 Leo. I was never fo frighten'd in my life What 
 excufe fhall I muke to my lather ? Certainty, he 
 knew me by what he faid And his caution to me 
 this morning confirms it. 
 
 Flo. I rather believe, Madam, he miftook you 
 for another; and, by all circumftances, ror the kdy 
 you receiv'd to-day. 
 
 Leo. Ha ! I have a thought She faid fhe look'J 
 for an Englifh cavalier that has kill'd a man. 
 
 Flo. And, Madam, by the circumilance of flying 
 from her father's houfe, my lord governor may think 
 he has feiz'd 'em together. 
 
 Leo. Ii : fo, I have a rival. 
 
 Flo. If fo, you'll come clear off, by turning it 
 upon her ; I'll take away your VEIL, that you 
 mayn't feem as if you had been abroad. 
 
 [A-//, and rtiutns. 
 
 Leo. Thou'rt a perfeft Machiavel, Flora I cou'd 
 no more part with thee, than I cou'd with my better 
 genius. 
 
 Flo. A good fervant is as great a jewel as a good 
 liufband, Madam And if you play your cards to 
 the belt advantage, 'tis not in the power of fortune 
 to pique you. 
 
 Leo. But Ihou'd I ferve the lady fo now I have 
 
 receiv'd
 
 LOVE IN A VEIL. 35 
 
 feceiv'd her, 'twill be a breach of friendfliip and 
 hofpitality. 
 
 Flo. Great ftatefmen always facrifice their friend- 
 finp to their intereil Befides, felf-prefervation is the 
 iirft law of nature ; and if you neglect this oppor- 
 tunity, you are riiin'd for ever. 
 
 Leo. But ftill, methinks, I have fome fcruples of 
 honour, Flora. 
 
 Flo. A lady's honour, Madam, confifts in her 
 reputation ; and if you perfift, you'll facrifice that 
 to the cenfure of the world, and be oblig'd, like her 
 you have receiv'd, to fly from your father's houfe. 
 
 Leo. Well, thou art an excellent cafuift for the 
 icruples of a tender conscience But if we fhou'd be 
 iniftaken in the lady, now. 
 
 Flo. Never fear, Madam I heard my lord go- 
 vernor call the Englifh cavalier by the title of Sir 
 Charles Winlove Therefore, for better fatisfaftion, 
 afk her the name of her lover Oh, here (lie comes 
 opportunely to our purpofe ! 
 
 Leo. I'll lift her by degrees, that Ihe mayn't fuf- 
 pe6t me. 
 
 Enter Fidelia. 
 
 Fide. Have you prefs'd my fuit to the governor 
 yet, Madam ? 
 
 C 2 Let.
 
 3 6 LOVE IN A VEIL. 
 
 T , < , 
 
 Leo. I nave not as yet had an opportunity ; but 
 
 r, , , " , , 
 
 I expect him every minute to come home, and then 
 you may depend on't I'll ufe all my intereit to ferve 
 you. )riv/ m ^ { 
 
 * 
 
 Fide. I fee, Madam, ycu anfwer the character I 
 have had of you for you differ from the ladies of 
 fafhion, who, inftead of pitying our fex in iniifor- 
 tunes, are the firft that reflect on 'em, andexpofe 'em. 
 
 Leo. None of our fex are fo ungenerous, but fuch, 
 \vho, being guilty themfelves, wou'd endeavour to 
 hide their own frailties, by cenfuring the conduct 
 of others. 
 
 Fide. I eiteem it as the greateft hapninefs, that I 
 have met with fuch a comfortable refuge in the midft 
 of my misfortunes. 
 
 Leo. I am always, Madam, apt rather to affifi a. 
 lady in diftrefs than to reflect on her But fhcu'd 
 the governor comply with my requefc, what farther 
 courfes do you defign to take ? 
 
 Fide. I'll fearch out for the Englifh cavalier, who, 
 I am inform'd, is here in Valencia Othenvile, if 
 I fhould mifs of him, I hear my friends are endea- 
 vouring to make my peace with my father ; and as 
 he was ever fond of me, I hope his tendernefs will 
 overcome his paffion, and that he'll again receive &e 
 as his child. 
 
 Leo.
 
 LOVE IN A VEIL,. 37 
 
 Leo. I hope all will turn to your advantage, Ma- 
 dam But, in the mean time, what's the gentleman's 
 
 name whom you are in fearch of ? Perhaps I may 
 
 - i 
 
 learn where he is, it he's in Valencia ? 
 
 Fjde. His name is Sir Charles Winlove. 
 
 Leo. Sir Charles Winlove 
 
 JO 
 
 , fay you ! this increafes 
 
 j j 
 
 mv misfortunes' Have I fofter'd a rival ? 
 
 - 
 
 //0. Keep your temper, Madam, and flick to what 
 you propos'd ; we'll find an after-plot to redeem all. 
 
 Fide. She changes colour ! what can this mean ? 
 
 * 
 
 Wftde. 
 Efitcr Lorenzo, and Diego behind. 
 
 Lor. Now you may return to Madrid, and inform 
 Alonzo that his daughter's fecur'd in my houfe, and 
 Sir Charles Winlove in the caftle. 
 
 Dhg. But, my lord, I han't feen her yet, and 
 therefore can't affirm it. 
 
 Lor. I'll call her then. 
 
 Dieg. I fiiou'd rather be glad to fee her, fo that 
 ihe might not fee me. 
 
 Lor. Hold ; there's my daughter. 
 
 Die*. And with her my lady for ihe on her left 
 hand is Fidelia. 
 
 Lor. Now, can you return with confidence ? 
 
 Difg. I can, my lord ; farewel,.. o jfojq fa {Exit. 
 
 Leo. My father approaches J 
 .wl C 3 fide.
 
 3 S LOVE IN -A VEIL. 
 
 Fide. I'll retire, Madam, \vhile you prefs my fiut 
 to him. [Going. 
 
 Lor. What makes the lady fhun me, Leonora ? 
 
 Lcn. Becaufe fhe's a Granger, and that makes her 
 a little referv'd, my lord. 
 
 Lor. D'ye remember my advice this morning, 
 daughter ? 
 
 Leo. Now my fears ! \^AJide. 
 
 Lor. Now, Leonora, you may fee the effect of 
 making private affignations unknown to a father 
 and of expofing a reputation, and the honour of 
 a family What d'ye think will be the confequcnce 
 of this ? 
 
 Leo. Of what, my lord ! I am difcover'd. \^AJIde. 
 
 Lor. Recolleft the adventures of this morning, 
 and then you may guefs at my meaning. 
 
 Lee. I fee my ftratagems are in vain My lord, 
 too well I underiland you And therefore throw me 
 at your feet. 
 
 Flo. She has difcover'd all ! what fliall we do now ? 
 
 Lor. What do you mean ! Are you at crofs-pur- 
 pofes, child ? 
 
 Leo. My lord, I beg you hear me, and perhaps 
 I may give you fatisfacticn. \Kncels. 
 
 Lor, Rife then; and if you intend to give me
 
 L O V E I N A V E I L. 39 
 
 ffltisfadYion, let it be in a reafonable anfwer-r-What 
 makes you in this confulion ? 
 
 Leo. My lord ! 
 
 Lor. Are you fo touch'd with yonder lady's misfor- 
 tunes, that you kneel in her behalf ? 
 
 Leo. Ha, I am amas'd ! what an unexpected turn 
 is here. 
 
 Fide, The governor fixes his eyes on me ! [dfele. 
 
 Lor. I am glad you are fo good-natur'd, Leonora ! 
 for tho' that lady is a prifoner, me is the daughter 
 of my dearefl friend, and therefore I'd have her 
 us'd with iingular refpeft. 
 
 Leo. Am I in my fenfes ! or do I dream ! 
 
 Flo. Courage, Madam ; all's well again. \_Apart. 
 
 Leo. I had like to have betray'd myfelf by my 
 timorous folly. 
 
 Fide. The governor approaches I hope flie has 
 fucceeded. 
 
 Leo. Ha ! here comes another turn of difcovery. 
 
 \_Afidc. 
 
 Lor. Madam, you are welcome to my houfe 
 I know your quality, and am forry for this accident. 
 
 Fide. My lord, I thank you You fee me here a 
 ftranger in this place therefore, to raife your pity 
 to my misfortunes, give me leave to relate their 
 particulars. 
 
 C 4 Leo.
 
 40 L O V E I N A V E I L. 
 
 Leo. Ha ! if fhe talks, flie betrays all And then 
 we fliaH be entirely undone. [Slfok* 
 
 Lor. I know your ilory already, Madam Our 
 hiftories are full of fuch amorous adventures but 
 I queftion not, but your's will fhortly have a happy 
 end In the mean time, this houfe fhall rather be 
 your fancluary than confinement Daughter, I re- 
 Commend this lady to your converfation. [Exit. 
 
 Leo. Excellently come off \ 
 
 Fide. I find, Madam, by my fuccefs, that you 
 have pleaded ftror.gly in my behalf. 
 
 Leo. I even kneel'd to my father to ferve you, 
 and am glad it has lain in my power. 
 
 Fide. I thank you, Madam I fhall never forget 
 fuch obligations You'll excufe me for retiring, for 
 I am impatient till I have writ an account of my 
 fuccefs to Theodofia. [Exit. 
 
 Leo. It goes according to our wifh My father 
 fuppofes 'twas her he feiz'd with Sir Charles ; and 
 /he knows nothing of her being a prifoner, but is 
 pleas'd with her confinement. 
 
 Flo. The end mult crown all, Madam And 5F 
 you can carry on the miftake 'twill be excellent 
 indeed ! But how d'ye intend to proceed ? 
 
 Leo. S'jppofe I write to Sir Charles ? 
 
 Flo. Confider, Madum, what you do.
 
 LOVE IN A VEIL. 41 
 
 Leo. You are the firft fervant that ever was againft 
 a lover You fee we are come well off la love, as 
 in gaming, if we can make a ftiift to fave ourfelves, 
 the hopes of winning is a temptation to play. on. 
 vq?jY0. But, Madam, a little luck is commonly a 
 rock, that draws young gamefters in to their de- 
 ftruftion. 
 
 Leo. A lucky cart is feldom won by a faint heart- 
 Love is a lottery, and therefore 
 
 As ventures only can our fortunes frame, 
 
 Thofe who will nothing flake no prize can claim. 
 
 
 ACT III. SCENE I. 
 
 V 
 
 Enter Lorenzo and Don Philip meeting. 
 
 TVT 
 
 D. -Phil. IV A Y lord, you're well met I am glad 
 1 hive the good fortune to light on you. 
 
 Lor. Have you wanted me on any urgent occa- 
 fion ? Pray what may be the bufinefs ? 
 
 D. Phil. I have an humble petition to your lord- 
 fhip, and you muft promife me to grant it, before 
 I tell the confequence. 
 
 Lor. That's very fine indeed ! that I muft give my 
 confent, and not know to what I fappofe this is 
 fomething in relation to my daughter. 
 
 D. Phil.
 
 4* LOVE IN A VEIL, 
 
 D. Pbil. No, my lord ; what I come now to requeil 
 is in behalf of a friend. 
 
 Lor. Be it as it will, Don Philip may command 
 me in any thing, as far as the rules of honour will 
 permit. 
 
 D. Phil. I hope, my lord, I (hall never be fo 
 ungenerous as to require any thing that wou'd be 
 a (tain to your honour but my petition to you is in 
 behalf of Sir Charles Winlove, an Englifli gentle- 
 man, who I am inform M your lordfhip fent this day 
 a prifoner to the caftle. 
 
 Lor. D'ye know him ? 
 
 D. Phil. Very well, my lord, and know him to 
 be a man of honour I ow'd my life to him when 
 I was in England and ever after there was fuch 
 a friendfliip between us, that during my continuance 
 there we were feldom or never afunder. 
 
 Lor. I am glad to hear fo honourable a character 
 of the gentleman I am forry for his misfortunes ; 
 but he has injur'd a particular friend of mine in 
 relation to his daughter. 
 
 D. Phil. My lord, that proceeds from the wild- 
 nefs of his youth we are all fubjeft to fuch 
 faults Sir Charles is v.hat we eftecm a fine gen- 
 tleman ; and the Englilh are all men of gallantry 
 and intrigue Bslkiesj if a young lady is inclinable 
 
 to
 
 LOVE IN A VEIL. 43 
 
 to be kind, what brifk cavalier can refufe her fa- 
 vours ? 
 
 Lor. I wifh I cou'd ferve him with honour. 
 
 D. Phil. You may : conftder, to confine a young 
 gentleman from his pleafures, is blafting him in the 
 bloom of his life Befides, liberty is the very foul 
 of the Englifh, and they had rather fubmit to ho- 
 nourable death, than bondage. 
 
 Lor. What can I do in this affair ? 
 
 D. Phil. If your lordfhip will allow him to be a 
 prifoner at large, till you hear farther from Madrid, 
 my honour fliall be the pledge for his fecurity. 
 
 Lor. I fhou'd be willing to confent to this, were 
 I to follow my own inclinations but his commit- 
 ment to the caflle is for murder. 
 
 D. Phil. My lord, I know the circumflances of 
 the ftory, and the people concern'd in't, except the 
 young lady therefore, if you'll believe me, when 
 I left Madrid, the wounded cavalier was not adually 
 dead nay, there was fome hopes of his recovery. 
 
 Lor. I had no fuch intimation in the letter I re- 
 ceiv'd this morning but now I think on't, my 
 friend may write fo, becaufe I fliou'd fecure his 
 daughter Are you fure of this ? 
 
 Z). Phil. Upon my honour, my lord, I am. 
 
 Lor. Then for once I'll yield to your defires 
 
 Follow
 
 44 LOVE IN A VEIL. 
 
 Follow me, and I'll give you my fignet The keeper 
 knowing you, will obey you at the fight of it But 
 remember I put my honour into your hands, there- 
 fore ufe it with difcretion. 
 
 D. PbiL My lord, you may depend on it Even 
 friendfliip itfelf fliou'd not win me to betray my 
 truth [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE, necajllc. 
 
 J I 
 
 Enter Sir Charles and Afpin. 
 .wodfo ii'" ^mfia 
 
 Sir Cha. Certainly never man was fo unfortunate 
 Sure the fates have join'd in confpiracy to plague 
 m in my amours 'Nay, even the winds to com- 
 pleat my ruin have oppos'd my paflage to England 
 A very fine comfort *tis indeed Here am I in con- 
 finement, without a friend to come to my affiftance 
 What the devil fliall I do in this exigence of 
 fortune ! 
 
 4fp. Ay, think Sir we are in a fine place in- 
 deed See what it is to be a great man ! The 
 governor provides you with lodgings here in the 
 metropolitan cafile, where, for the fecurity of your'. 
 perfon he orders you a retinue of guards, as if 
 in the king's palace; but methinks thefe honours, 
 Sir, have a very fcurvy countenance Pray heaven 
 
 we
 
 LOVE IN A 
 
 *e an't exalted to the higheft 
 
 t j on i1 IK IJOY vado Ht7/ ,uo^ gniworut 
 
 Sir Cba. I don't know what to think The go- 
 vernor is certainly a man of quality, and can have 
 no other view in this than the fervice of his country 
 All that makes me dubious is, whether I am a 
 prifoner for my own fake, or the lady's. 
 
 dfp. For both, Sir j but here comes one that will 
 folve the riddle A woman in a VEIL There's 
 certainly witchcraft in thefe women; for no fooner 
 name a flie-devil, but you find her at your elbow. 
 
 ? M 
 
 Enter Flora VEIL'D. 
 
 i) 3tU</ 
 
 Flo-. Cavalier ! I come from a fair lady that wa 
 taken a prifoner with you this morning Read that. 
 
 [Gives him a letter. 
 
 Sir Cba. Ho\v does fhe bear her confinement ? ' I3n ^ 
 
 Flo. Like a turtle moaning for its mate The 
 poor lady has fretted till flic's in the fpleen. 
 
 Sir Cba. 1 am forry that I fliou'd be the caufe of 
 her misfortunes But vexations in love are like 
 cloudy April fnowers ; they bring forth the flowers 
 of delight, to be chear'd by the warmth of the fun 
 in its full luitre But now for the letter. 
 
 dfp. They fay a witch commonly appears againft 
 ill weather, like a porpus before a florin Now 
 
 prithee,
 
 46 LOVE IN A VEIL. 
 
 prithee, damfel,' what can xve prognofticate from the 
 fight of you ? 
 
 Flo. Prithee, fellow, learn more manners, and 
 to be lefs pert in your difcourfe. 
 
 Afp. Nay, if you talk of being pert, commend 
 me to a chambermaid, faith But prithee, child, 
 don't affect the airs of your miftrefs thus I an't fo 
 damnably in love with you. 
 
 Sir Cha. Hold your tongue, firrah My little 
 emiflary, tell the lady I'll wait on her at night 
 according to her command till when, farewel. 
 
 Flo. Don't fail. 
 
 Afp. You'll wait on her at night ! Ha, ha, ha, 
 Sir, 'tis already dark therefore, if you have the 
 keys of the caftle in your pocket, let us Ihut the 
 doors after us, and take up with another new lodg- 
 ing. 
 
 Sir Cha. Sirrah, I have a key, and a gold one 
 too Look here rafcal this, by the virtue of a 
 glittering fmile, can make the prifon-doois fly open, 
 and turn confinement into liberty. 
 
 Afp. Why, truly, it has an alluring look but, 
 methinks, a little aqua fortis new wou'd be of much 
 more fervice. 
 
 Sir Cha. Why, you blockhead, d'ye think I in- 
 tend to apply it to the bars, to break jail ? 
 
 Afp.
 
 LOVE IN A VEIL. 47. 
 
 dff>. Ay, Sir, if you intend to keep your appoint- 
 tnent with the lady. 
 
 Sir Cba. Yes, I do inter.d to keep it, and there- 
 fore this goes to the keeper. 
 
 dfp. So it may But I believe he has more wit 
 than to give you your freedom, if it does. 
 
 Sir Cba. You are miilaken, firrah What ! Can 
 it bribe a favourite to betray his prince, a fenate 
 their country, or a courtier his neareft friend yet 
 fail to tempt fuch fellows as jail-keepers to be per- 
 fidious to their trufl ? 
 
 Afp. One queftion more, Sir Have you quite 
 forgot Fidelia ? 
 
 Sir Cba. The abfence of an old miftrefs makes 
 room for a new one Therefore I have blotted her 
 from my fancy, like a painter that ftrikes one form, 
 out of his cloth, to lay. in another. 
 
 dfp. Sir, confider, and don't mix headlong thus 
 to your own deilru&ion. 
 
 Enter Don Philip. 
 
 D. Phil. Afpin turning philofopher ! 
 
 Sir Cba. Ay, Don Philip, my fervant apes a 
 philofopher, like a cobler that leaves his ftall for a 
 tub, and fets up for one of our reformed teachers. 
 
 J). Phil. Perhaps he fancies himfelf infpir'd, and 
 
 thinks
 
 48 L O V E I X A V ' . 
 
 thinks to deliver you by his infpiration to another 
 place I'm fure I'm forry to fee you where you 
 are. 
 
 Sir C/.-a. Don Philip you are happy in the af- 
 fections of a' fair lady Therefore, let not your con- 
 cern for me be an interruption in your pleafure. 
 
 D. PblL My miftrefs and my friend fhare my 
 heart and I can never rejoice in one, when I am 
 concern'd for the other Is there any thing I can 
 ferve you in ? 
 
 Sir Cba. ' There is You kno'.v I told you this 
 morning I had flruck up a new amour I can't tell 
 you the lady's name, for fne's a llrangcr to me 
 But had I my liberty, I might have the happinefs 
 of feeing her to-night. 
 
 D. Phil. Very well, Sir Charles I find 'tis not 
 in the power of fortune to reclaim you. 
 
 Sir Cba. No, faith ; I am refolv'd to overcome 
 her ill-nature by laughing at it And let what will 
 happen, it fliall never alter my humour, nor be aa 
 interruption to my pleafures. 
 
 D. Phil. Very finely refolv'd indeed But fuppgfe, 
 Sir Charles, I ihou'd gain you your freedom now, 
 what fecurity ihall I have of your return ? 
 
 Sir Cba. By the honour of an Ecglilhman I'll 
 return again.
 
 LOVEINAVEIL. 49 
 
 Afp. I hope he'll have more wit than to keep his 
 Word though. \Afide. 
 
 D. Phil. Enough Here, who waits there ? 
 
 Enter Keeper. 
 
 D. Phil. D'ye know this fignet ? 
 
 Keep. Yes, 'tis my lord governor's. 
 
 D. Phil. I command you, by virtue of this, to 
 fhew that gentleman the fame refpeft as to myfelf 
 Give him hi* liberty I'll anfwer it to the governor. 
 
 Keep. I obey your orders. 
 
 Sir Cha. Here, take this for your civility. 
 
 Keep. Sir, I thank you. [Exit. 
 
 D. Phil. Now you have your liberty ! You muft 
 take me along with you. 
 
 Sir Cha. No, I won't draw you into dangers- 
 that wou'd be an ill return for fo great an obli- 
 gation. 
 
 D. Phil. That excufe won't ferve I am refolv'd 
 to fee this miftrefs of yours, Sir Charles. 
 
 Sir Cha. Don't take it ill if I refufe you For 
 even Pylades and Orefles had their feparate fecrets 
 This lady is a woman of quality, and, (hou'd I 
 ferve her fo, fhe'll refent it. 
 
 D. Phil. How can you be fatisfied (lie's a woman 
 of quality, if you never faw her face ? 
 
 VOL. I. D SirCb*.
 
 5 q LOVE IN A VEIL. 
 
 Sir Cha. Her manners and appearance are a con- 
 vincing proof of that. 
 
 D. Phil. I thought, Sir Charles, you had known 
 the ways of your own country better Perhaps fhe 
 may be a courtezan. 
 
 Sir Cha. No, no, I am convinc'd of the contraiy 
 Thofe ladies are eafily diftinguilh'd by their airs 
 from women of quality You may depend on it I am 
 not fo eafily impos'd upon. 
 
 D. Phil. I won't prefs farther then againft your 
 inclinations Good night j I'll fee you again to- 
 morrow ! [Exit. 
 
 Sir Cba. So ! Now fortune begins to turn her 
 wheel Some lucky fpoke may rife quickly to ijiy 
 advantage Afpin, lend me your piflol for my fe- 
 curity. 
 
 Aff. Muft I flay behind, Sir ? 'Tis a fervant's 
 duty to follow his mailer's heels Befides, I don't 
 like this place for an amufement. 
 
 ' Sir Cba. Come along then It grows late, there- 
 fore I'll take a fliort turn, and wait for the happy 
 lignal. 
 
 S C E N E,
 
 LOVE IN A VEIL. 51 
 
 SCENE, The governor's houfe. 
 
 Enter Leonora , 
 
 Leo. The invention of a wit, the courage of a 
 knight-errant, and the conduct of a politician, are 
 all comprehended in an adventurous lover. Firft 
 we lay the fcene of an affignation ; then enter into 
 the part, and if caught in the ation, have a thou- 
 fand incidents to bring us off again. I'm now 
 aflur'd, let what will interpofe, love and refolution 
 can never fail of fuccefs. 
 
 Enter Flora. 
 
 Is the coaft clear ? 
 
 Flo. Yes, Madam The governor's gone to hU 
 repofe. 
 
 Leo. Where's Fidelia ? 
 
 Flo. In the fame condition. 
 
 Leo. And Don Philip ? 
 
 Flo. He's juft come in, and retir'd to his apart- 
 ment. 
 
 Leo. Are all the family at reft ? 
 
 D z Flo.
 
 52 LOVE IN A VEIL. 
 
 Flo. There's not one flirring in the houfe, 
 Madam. 
 
 Leo. Then feek out for the cavalier. \Exit Flora. 
 So ! now I have nothing left me to fear, but a dif- 
 appointment from Sir Charles Yet why that ? We 
 young girls can break the prifon of a father's houfe 
 to fly to our admirers, therefore fuch a gallant as he 
 can never want a itratagem to releafe himfelf befides, 
 if Love's his guide, Fortune mull: be his afliftant 
 but here they come. 
 
 Enter Flora, and Sir Charles. 
 
 Flo. Tread foftly, Leonora's in the next room un- 
 drefling, and the governor lies near. 
 
 Sir Cba. Thanks to my itars, that thro' the folds 
 of darknefs, I'm come, at length, to the regions 
 of light. 
 
 Flo. I'll retire, that I may give you notice if 
 any thing mould happen. [Exit. 
 
 Sir Cba. Egad, this girl's worth gold {he knows 
 civilly how to withdraw, and leave a pair of lovers 
 together. 
 
 Leo. You're a fine courtier truely, to let a 
 lady, when fhe comes to fee you, be carry 'd away 
 in captivity I thought by this time to have heard 
 
 that
 
 O J. 
 LOVEINAVEIL. 53 
 
 that you had broke your prifon, flain your guards, 
 and cont|uer'd whole armies to have gain'd my free- 
 dom then you had been a lover indeed S 
 
 Sir Cha. Madam, I thought it wou'd be a much 
 greater pleafure in a happy meeting to compleat my 
 bleffing, than to turn mad-man, and be run thro' for 
 aiming at impoffibilities. 
 
 Leo. This is a fatisfa&ion that every lover can 
 give, becaufe 'tis a pleafure to him but your 
 death wou'd have chronicled my fame in romance, 
 to have been read by young virgins in atter-ages, 
 that fuch-a-one lov'd me fo, he dy'd for the fake 
 of me. 
 
 Sir Cba. Look'e, Madam, I am not fo romantic 
 as to die for the fake of being read in a novel, to 
 divert girls in the green-licknefs My intention is 
 to live for the end I was created, to propagate my 
 generation therefore, as I am a prifoner upon 
 parole, and muft return by break of day to the 
 caitle : let us reap the advantages of love, night, 
 and opportunity. 
 
 Leo. A fine fpeech indeed ! you are like the 
 
 atheift, all for pleafures at the prefent, and never 
 
 have a thought of futurity I expefted you wou'd 
 
 have prov'd a Paris, at leaft that is, have prof- 
 
 D 3 fercd
 
 54 LOVE IN A VEIL. 
 
 fered to have carry 'd me to a fafe harbour, and there 
 to have given yourfelf up for life, as a perfonal 
 fecurity for your love. 
 
 Sir Cba. For life too much refembles marriage, 
 which is the difagreeable part of love befides, my 
 honour's engaged for my return. 
 
 Leo. Love is the niceft point of honour there- 
 fore the engagement is of greater force but I 
 know the reafon why you are thus referv'd you 
 have a pre-engagement on your heart. 
 
 Sir Cba. 'Tis true, I have lov'd another ; but one 
 love, like one power, yields to a fuperior. 
 
 Leo. Very well, Sir Charles, I fee you are too 
 inconftant to be trufted for now, by your own 
 confeffion, fliou'd you fee another, I muft yield 
 your heart to her beauty, becaufe you may chance to 
 think it fuperior to mine. 
 
 Sir Cba. Madam, that's iinpoffible for the charms 
 of your wit fo confpire with thofe of your beauty, 
 that they mult fix ev'n inconftancy itfelf. 
 
 Leo. I efteem fuch flights but as compliments, 
 Sir Charles and a compliment to a lady, like a 
 poetical flattering panegyric, is the fevereil fatire 
 for it (hows the perfons what they ought to be in 
 the reverfe of what they are. 
 
 Sir Cha.
 
 LOVEINAVEIL. 55 
 
 Sir Cha. What arguments can I then ufe to con- 
 vince you of my affeftions ? 
 
 Leo. None. I faou'd as foon take an atheift for 
 a man of fenfe ; a wit for a politician ; or a politician 
 for a man of honour j as a libertine, like Sir Charles, 
 for a lover. 
 
 Sir Cha. But, Madam, can you have fo mean 
 an opinion of your own defert, as to believe a 
 heart that has been your captive, can ever break 
 your chains ? 
 
 Leo. No ! but you have been falfe already, and 
 inconitancy is as bad a proof of love, as fcurrility is 
 of wit the one proceeds from a falfe genius, and 
 the other from a degenerate pailion. 
 
 Sir Cba. Come, this is trifling away the happy 
 minutes. [A pijlolfir'd.'\ Ha ! 
 
 Leo. What means that noife ! 
 
 Sir Cba. This is certainly my dog of a fervant ! 
 
 Enter Flora. 
 
 Flo. Hafte, or you'll be difcovered ; the governor's 
 rifing ! 
 
 Sir Cba. Where (hall I hide myfelf ! 
 
 Lee. Alas ! here's no conveniency therefore, fly 
 quickly ! 
 
 D 4 Fit.
 
 56 LOVE IN A VEIL. 
 
 Flo. If he goes out at the door, the governor 
 meets him' L-ajrfvi! 
 
 Sir Cha. What fliall I do then ! 
 
 Lor. Jacomo, Pedro, lights there ! [WitLin. 
 
 Leo. They're coming here ! 
 
 Flo. Then there's no time to trifle ! Out, out of 
 window, Sir, quickly ! 
 
 Sir Cba. Out of the window ! fo, ihall I break 
 my neck, to preferve a lady's reputation. 
 
 Lor. Lights, lights there, quickly ! [Within. 
 
 Leo. For heav'ns fake, Sir Charles, fly ! for my 
 honour, and your life ! 
 
 Sir Cba. Fly ! 'Sdeath, Madam, what do you 
 mean ? D'ye think I have wings like a Cupid to 
 fly out of the window ! 
 
 : Leo. Your flay will ruin me, Sir Charles ! be- 
 fides, you may fafely get by a balcony, from my 
 clofet into the court-yard ! 
 
 Sir Cha. This comes now of making ill ufe of 
 one's time. Well, I muft run the riique ; but a 
 pox on me, if ever I draw myfelf into thefe fcrapes 
 again. [Exit* 
 
 Leo. What courfe fhall we take now ? 
 
 Lor. Hafte to my daughter's chamber there. 
 
 [Within. 
 Some of you follow me, to fearch the court -yard. ,
 
 LOVE IN A VEI& S7 
 
 Leo. Hark ! there are fome of them coming here ! 
 
 Flo. Nay, then, out go the lights Now, per- 
 haps, they'll conclude we are at reft. 
 
 Leo. I fhiver with apprehenfions My father will 
 certainly find Sir Charles or his man in the court- 
 yard ! 
 
 Flo. That we muft leave to fortune, Madam 
 In the mean time, let us retire foftly, for fear we 
 are difcover'd. [Exeunt. 
 
 Enter Sir Charles feeling bis way. 
 
 Sir CJ.ia. Vexations are always the fruits of an 
 intrigue What (hall I do ? Where's my rafcally 
 fervunt ? The houfe is alarm'd, and I am in the 
 dark within the verge of the governor's palace ! 
 
 Enter Afpin. 
 
 Jfp. I have rais'd the houfe with the report of 
 my piftol, and now fecurity's the word Odd, 'tis 
 very dark Every ftep I have taken, I have knock'd 
 my head againft fome poft or wall, till I have almoft 
 beat out my brains. 
 
 i'/r Cha. If I am not miilaken, I hear the tread 
 i>f a man.
 
 53 LOVEINAVEIL. 
 
 Afp. I warrant you now, my mafter is fo full of 
 his fport with the lady, that he hears nothing of 
 this difturbance Odd, I can but laugh to think 
 how he'll look when he is catch'd in the nick of his 
 performance. 
 
 Sir Cha. There's certainly fomebody in this yard 
 If I don't take care, I may chance to lofe my lire 
 before I know where I am therefore, old friend, 
 ftand to my affiftance. 
 
 Afp. Hark, I hear fomebody they (leal foftly, 
 thinking to catch me here before I am aware of 
 'em Thefe Spaniards are damn'd fellows 'they 
 love to run a man through in the dark Odd, I'll up 
 with my heels, and truft fear to be my guide O 
 lud, I am caught ! Help ! help ! 
 
 [Runs againft Sir Charles. 
 
 Sir Cha. Whoever you are, if you offer to ftir an 
 inch, you're a dead man. [Draws m 
 
 Afp. Oh lud, Sir, fave my life, and I'll peach 
 I'll tell you the whole plot. 
 
 Sir Cha. Oh! Is it your worfhip, Sir? This 
 is all owing to you, you rafcal. 
 
 Lor. Have you fearch'd every place carefully ? 
 Follow me, fome of you, to the court-yard. [Within. 
 
 Sir Cha. Egad the enemy will be at our heels 
 prefently Sirrah, march after me by the found 
 
 of
 
 LOVE IN A VEIL. 
 
 59 
 
 of my tread Ha ! What have I Humbled againft ? 
 A chair ! It feems fet in my way by fortune 
 Lights are coming I'll in here, and hide myfelf. ' 
 
 [Opens the chair. 
 
 Afp. Sir, let me come in too, for if I am taken, 
 I (hall either be hang'd like a dog, or knock'd o'the 
 head like an ox. 
 
 Sir Cba. Sirrah, here's no room therefore fhift 
 for yourfelf. [Goes into the chair* 
 
 Afp. They're all coming ; for heaven's fake, let 
 me fit upon your knee, Sir. 
 
 Sir Cba. Get out you rafcal, I (hall be difcoverM 
 by your folly. [Shuts himfclf in. 
 
 Afp. This is very barbarous I wifh I cou'd find 
 out a horfe-pond I'd run up to my neck to fecure 
 myfelf Here they come If I am caught, I'll be 
 reveng'd and peach, I'm refolv'd. [Exit. 
 
 Enter Lorenzo, and fer<vants. 
 
 Lor. Have you been at Leonora's chamber ? 
 
 lilServ. Yes, my Lord and I believe flic's in 
 her bed, for I law no light. 
 
 Lnr. I thought I heard fomebody leap out of her 
 window Secure the gates. 
 
 Enter
 
 60 LOVE IN'A VEIL. 
 
 Eater Don Philip. 
 fi 
 
 ior. Don Philip ! Have you caught the alarm 
 too ? 
 
 D. Phil. My Lord, I heard a noife in my room, 
 and came to fee what's the matter* 
 
 Lor. We thought fomebody had broke in but 
 we can find no one but our own family. 
 
 D. Phil. Have you made a diligent fearch, my 
 Lord ? 
 
 Lor. We have fearch'd almoft every where ex- 
 cept any one's hid in that chair. 
 
 D. Phil. Give me the light, I'll fee 
 
 [Opens the chair, Sir Cha. nods at him to take no notice. 
 
 Lor. Is there any one ? 
 
 D. Phil. No, my Lord Death and confuiion ! 
 
 Sir Charles there! \Afide. 
 
 Lor. 'Tvvas a miftake betwixt lleep and waking 
 I'll retire to reft again A good repofe to you 
 Don Philip. [Exit. 
 
 D. Phil. The like to your Lordfliip. ^ ,,& 
 
 So, they are all retir'd now, to their reipeclivc 
 
 o 
 
 chambers My Lord, would have perfuaded me 
 this was an illufion So he thinks to deceive me r 
 whilil I deceive him We wouM both hide the 
 
 difgracc
 
 LOVE IN A VEIL. 61 
 
 V vJ hi ,') 
 
 difgrace from each other. Hift, Sir Charles 
 
 you may come forth now. 
 
 Sir Cha. Dear Philip thou art the beft of friends. 
 
 D. PHI. Am I not ? to be made a property to my 
 own fliaine : Is this generous ufage ? 
 
 Sir Cba. What mean you ? 
 
 D. Phil. You have fupplanted me in Leonora. 
 
 Sir Cba, 'Tis a miftake I came to a young 
 Lady that's a prifoner who was taken with me. 3 ^ w 
 
 D. Pbil. That's a poor evafion, and below a 
 man of honour I know the reafon now, why you 
 refus'd to admit of my company befides, there's 
 no fuch perfon in the houfe Look'e, Sir Charles, 
 I fliall expect fatisfaction. 
 
 Sir Cba. Look'e, you are mad for jealoufy 
 is no other than madnefs I tell you there is fuch 
 a lady ; perhaps you may be fo blinded with love, 
 that you may not regard any body in the family but 
 the governor and his daughter but if what I fay 
 is not true, to-morrow you fliall have what fatis- 
 faftion you require. 
 
 D. Phil. Till then farewel. [Exit. 
 
 Sir Cha. Farewel, till you come to your fenfes 
 again So ! I have brought myfelf to a fine pafs 
 indeed I have kill'd one hot-brain'd fool for his 
 jealoufy, and now to compleat my misfortune, he 
 
 too
 
 6* LOVE IN A VEIL. 
 
 too has catcii'd the infeftion What {hall I do ? 
 If I ftay here snd truft the inquifition, 'tis ten times 
 more unmerciful than a Middlefex jury A man can 
 never have fair play for his life to touch cold 
 iron, and come off like a gentleman Shall I then 
 lay hold on this opportunity, and make my efcape ! 
 No ! They flrnll never fay an Engliihman's fo bafe 
 a coward. 
 
 Let the hot Spaniard boaft his virtue here, 
 And honour's lofs in jealous notions fear. 
 A Briton fcorns to prove his country's fiiame, 
 And rather hazards life, than taints his fame. 
 
 A C T IV. S C E N E I. 
 
 37je governor's hovfc. 
 Enter Leonora and Don Philip* 
 
 D. Phil. \-J O M E, come Madam, I'm not to be 
 fo impos'd upon ! you may deny it as long as you 
 pleafe, but you can't perfuade me out of my fenfes 
 Did not I, laft night, actually fee Sir Charles hid 
 under your window in the court-yard ? 
 Leo. Suppofe you did, Sir ? 
 
 D, Phil.
 
 LOVE IN A VEIL. 63 
 
 D. Phil. Then, Madam, I can fuppofe it to be 
 no advantage to your character S'death, am I to 
 be made a property ! a mere pander ! to carry on 
 an intrigue againil: my own honour ? 
 
 Leo. Very well ! go on, Sir, go on. 
 
 Z>. Phil. So I can, Madam. Is it prudent for a 
 young lady, juft upon her marriage, to entertain a 
 cavalier alone at midnight nay, in her own 
 chamber too ! unknown to her father, or any one 
 that Ihou'd be the guardian of her honour? Such 
 conduct is mighty reputable indeed, Madam ! 
 
 Leo. Suppofe fuch a perfon was here, Sir is 
 there no other place that cou'd entertain him but 
 my apartment ? Am I the only perfon he cou'd 
 come to? Mufl I be accountable for his being 
 here ? 
 
 D. PhiL No, Madam, by no means 'Tis pro- 
 bable to believe a perfon of his quality, might have 
 an affair with one of your fervants only S'death, 
 d'ye take me for a fool ! is there any other young 
 lady in the houfe? Look'e, Madam, I flaou'd not 
 fo tamely take this of Sir Charles, but that I fcora 
 to infult a man in his misfortunes however, I can 
 be yet capable of refentment for know, I'll im- 
 mediately demand my contraft of your father, and 
 return back to Madrid. [Going . 
 
 Leo.
 
 64 LOVEINAVEIL. 
 
 Leo. If I let him go, this may give room for furpi- 
 cion, and fufpicion will bring a dilcovery. \_AJidc* 
 Hold, Sir Not that 'tis worth my while to clear 
 my innocence, for your fake, but for my father's! 
 Know then, here is another young lady in this 
 houfe. 
 
 D. Phil. Aye ! who ? tell me that pray, Madam ? 
 
 Leo. The prifoner, Sir I fliall have a fine time 
 to fatisfy your fcruples. 
 
 D. PHI. The prifoner ! ha, ha, ha ! you arc 
 both in the fame ftory, I find your fcheme is ex- 
 cellently well laid Were I a zealous dotard, or a 
 Britifh hufband, perhaps I might be credulous enough 
 to believe any thing but this deceit won't takej 
 it won't, Madam. 
 
 Leo. How ! what indecency have I been guilty 
 of to merit this ufage ? but know, fince you are 
 ftill refolv'd to traduce my honour, there are thofe, 
 Sir, that will vindicate it This is not to be borne 
 with patience ! 
 
 D. Phil. Nay, Madam, don't diforder yourfelf 
 thus for you may henceforth meet Sir Charles 
 as often as you pleafe and expofe your reputa- 
 tion as much as you think fit ; it (hail never give me 
 any further unealinefs I can aflure you, Madam. 
 
 Let.
 
 LOVE IN A VEIL. 65 
 
 Leo. Infolent ! before you had refolv'd to treat 
 me after this manner, you might, at leaft, have 
 afk'd my father if there was no fuch perfon in 
 the houfe! ^Is this the return for all his friend- 
 fliip? But here comes the lady herfelf, I (hall leave 
 her to give you fatisfadion. Provoking man ! [Exit. 
 
 D. Phil, Ha ! what do I fee ? Here comes a young 
 lady indeed ! I'm afraid jealoufy has carry 'd me 
 too far Soft ! I'll lay afide this heat a little, if 
 poffible. 
 
 Enter Fidelia. 
 
 But ftill methinks my choler rifes fo, I know not 
 how to fupprefs it. 
 
 Enter Leonora, and Flora behind. 
 
 Leo. Here we may learn their difcourfe. Me- 
 thinks, tho' I am partly in fault, I am exafpe- 
 rated at fuch treatment. 
 
 Fide. Ha ! who's here ? What can be the mean- 
 ing of this ! 
 
 D. Phil. Nay, Madam, don't Hart I hope the 
 fight of me has not put you in a confternation. 
 
 Fide. Sir, I came to meet a friend, and being 
 loft in thought, pardon me, if I was a little fur- 
 priz'd. 
 
 VOL. I. E D.Pbil.
 
 66 LOVEINAVEIL. 
 
 D. Phil. Madam, whoever you came to meet, 
 and however ftrange it may feem to you, you are 
 the only perfon I cou'd wifli for at prefent. 
 
 Fide. Me, Sir ! I don't know that ever I favv 
 you in my life before ! 
 
 D. PhiL Very like fo, Madam But however 
 you may be furpriz'd, you have been the caufe that 
 has rais'd this diforder in my foul, and 'tis in your 
 power alone to appeafe it. 
 
 Fide. I the caufe of your diforder, Sir! certainly 
 the man's mad ! \djlde. 
 
 D. Phil. Pardon me, if my temper's a little 
 ruffled. Perhaps I may be impertinent but if 
 
 you have the leafl compaflion, I beg you anfwer me 
 
 i 
 
 to one particular. 
 
 Fide. With all my heart, Sir, if it lies in my 
 
 power.- What can the man mean ! He looks as 
 
 if he was dift rafted ! \djide. 
 
 D. PbiL Anfwer me direftly and fmcerely, Madam 
 for my fcruples are of as great a confequence, 
 as thofe of troubled minds, that apply to cafuifts 
 for eafe. 
 
 Fide. Sir, you furprize me wonderfully What 
 
 . 
 fatisfaftion can I, that am a ftninger. give you? 
 
 O O J 
 
 D. Plil. The greateft ! and only in one trivia! 
 anfwer. 
 
 Fide.
 
 LOVE IN- A VEIL. 67 
 
 j 
 
 fide. What is it, Sir ? 
 
 Z>. Phil. D'ye know fuch a perfon as Sir Charles 
 
 Win love, Madam ? 
 
 ' 3 n Jr 
 
 Fide. How, Sir! your queftion ftartles me, in- 
 deed. 
 
 D. Phil. It need not ; for, as I am a cavalier, I 
 afk you for no treacherous defign therefore be 
 kind, and eafe me with an anfwer. 
 
 Fide. How earneft and concern'd he feems ! Sure 
 he has no defign to offer love Perhaps he may 
 come as a fpy to betray me I know not what to 
 think. \Afide. 
 
 D. Phil. Madam, I conjure you by all the foft- 
 nefs of your fex, to free me from my doubts 
 for the whole quiet of my foul depends on what 
 you fay. 
 
 * * 
 
 Fide. I will whate'er the confequence may 
 prove, I leave to you Know then, I fcorn on any 
 terms to deny my affeftion for Sir Charles. 
 
 D. Phil. This fatisfaftion cheers me indeed ! 
 
 Curfe on my jealous folly ! Are you a native of 
 Valencia, Madam? 
 
 Fide. No, Sir, I am totally a ftranger to it 
 Love, that has been my guide to ruin, was my 
 
 dirccler hither. But now, Sir, anfwer me a queftion 
 _, 
 2 in
 
 68 LOVEINAVEIL. 
 
 in my turn. Are you acquainted with Sir 
 
 Charles ? 
 
 Leo. Nay, if they come to particulars, we are 
 
 loft again. \4fidf. 
 
 D. Phil. Madam, I know him well He is my 
 
 deareft friend. How have I wrongM him with 
 
 fufpicions ! \_AJick. 
 
 Fide. Your friend, fay you ! Can you give me 
 
 any tidings of him, Sir? 
 
 D. Phil. I queftion not, but he is return'd in fafety 
 
 to the caitle I am now immediately going to him 
 
 about fome affairs of confequence ; in the mean 
 
 time depend on my intereft to lerve you both. [Exit* 
 
 Fide. In the caftle ! faid he Ib, or did I dream ? 
 
 Oh! for the wings of Love to hafte and be con- 
 
 vinc'd. [Going. 
 
 Leo. So, here's another hare flatted Where are 
 
 you going in fuch hafre, Fidelia ? [Comes far-card. 
 
 Fide. Madam, I hear that the cavalier, that I'm 
 
 in learch of, is a prifoner in the caftle; therefore, 
 
 I muft immediately fetch my VEIL, and haften to 
 
 fee him. [Exit. 
 
 Leo. Now am I more unfortunate than ever ! 
 
 What flop lhall I put to this ? 
 
 Flo. Madam, you muft again confult your wit : 
 you fee difcoveries gather like clouds, and I'm 
 
 afraid
 
 L O V E I N A V E I L. 69 
 
 afraid the main florin will come rattling upon us 
 immediately. 
 
 Leo. I was never fo provok'd in my life, as I was 
 at Don Philip's jealouiies, and all this I undergo 
 for a perfon that I'm not fecure of For as Fide- 
 lia was the . firft object of Sir Charles's affeftions, 
 lhe'11 ftill be the miftrefs of his heart and pof- 
 feilion there, as in the law, will make her eleven 
 points before me. 
 
 Flo. Then, Madam, in my humble opinion, 
 'twill be better to drop this amour This lady will, 
 in the end, difcover all therefore, I think it 
 better to forfuke a victory than to lofe it. 
 
 Leo. I am of the fame opinion But what fhall 
 I do in this affair? 
 
 Flo. E'en follow the example of declining cour- 
 tiers that is, whilft you've pofleffion of his affec- 
 tions, think 'tis more honour to refign than to be 
 remov'd. 
 
 Leo. But I mean, now I have gone fo far, how 
 fliail I retire without hazarding my reputation? 
 
 Flo. Shou'd you truft his love, even the fuccefs of 
 your amour will be of ill confequence Therefore, 
 appoint another affignation with him let her into 
 the fecret, fo far as not to give her uneaiinefs, and 
 carry her with you to meet him. 
 
 E 3 Lea.
 
 7 o LOVEINAVEIL. 
 
 Lea. Prudently advis'd But fee, flie comes : I 
 mull not let her go, for that will ruin all. 
 
 Enter Fidelia. 
 
 Are you refolv'd upon this adventure, Madam ? 
 
 Fide. Yes : now I know where Sir Charles is, 
 methinks, I am all impatience to fee him ! 
 
 Leo. I'd advife you to apply yourfelf to fecond 
 thoughts, and ere you fix upon a refolution, to 
 weigh well the confequence of this proceeding. 
 
 Fide. The confequence ! 
 
 Leo. Aye : confider, you are no more miflrefs 
 of your liberty but are here now in confinement. 
 
 Fide. In confinement, Madam! I defire you to 
 explain your meaning? 
 
 Leo. Then, in fhort, to clear up the myflery at 
 once ; my father is an intimate friend of yours 
 and for the fake of that friendfliip, he has here en- 
 gag'd to fecure you. 
 
 Fide. Am I fo barbaroufly betray'd then! I 
 thought, Madam, I had come to the governor's 
 daughter for refuge, and not to a prifon to be con- 
 fin'd in. 
 
 Leo. I can't but make an allowance to your fur- 
 prize and, therefore, yield to your refentment. 
 
 But
 
 LOVEINAVEIL. 71 
 
 But I could wiih, you wou'd make yourfelf a little 
 eafy for, perhaps, I might yet propofe a method 
 for your fatisfaftion. Ha ! my father ! for hea- 
 ven's fake calm yourfelf a little. 
 
 Enter Lorenzo. 
 
 Lor. What makes the lady appear in fuch a dif- 
 order, Leonora ? 
 
 Flo. Now the cloud is gather'd, it begins to break 
 before we are prepar'd for't. [djide. 
 
 Leo. A trifle only, my lord. 
 
 Fide. No, Madam, 'tis no trifle My lord, I 
 think I have reafon to be fo. 
 
 Lor. How, Madam ! I hope you have receiv'd 
 no ill-treatment from any of my family. 
 
 Leo. The lady was going abroad without your 
 leave, and I believe flie may take it il(, becaufe I 
 told her the confequence. 
 
 Lor. How, Madam! I am forry you fliou'd be 
 led into fuch an error. 
 
 Fide. My lord, I confefs a point of ceremony 
 might have oblig'd me to have afk'd your leave but 
 either there is a miftake on your fide ; or if you 
 rightly knew me, and the caufe why I am here, I 
 believe you wou'd not refufe me. 
 
 E 4 Lor.
 
 LjQVE IN A VEIL. 
 
 Lor. 'Tis becaufe I know both, Madam, I do re- 
 fufe you and tho' you may command what freedom 
 you pleafe in the houfe, I beg you full to remember 
 you're a prifoner. 
 
 Fide. A prifoner ! Upon what account ? By what 
 authority, my lord ? 
 
 Lor. Madam, my authority was never wont to be 
 call'd in queftlon hefides, I thought I had fatisfy'd 
 you as to that, when I feiz'd you yefterday with Sir 
 Charles Winlove. 
 
 Fide. Seiz'd me yefterday with Sir Charles Win- 
 love ! What does your lordfhip mean ? In fhort, I 
 believe you're impos'd upon. 
 
 Lor. Madam, if my fenfes are right, I am cer- 
 tain I am not impos'd upon and you muft pardon 
 me, if I can't confent to be fo Did not I bring you 
 yefterday here in cuftody ? 
 
 Fide. No, my lord : this lady and her fervant, 
 can vvitnefs I came here alone, and on my own 
 accord. 
 
 Lor. To contradift the fair, may feem a breach 
 of refpcft due to the fex therefore, I can make 
 you no other anfwer than this, that when young 
 Indies are in love, 'tis no wonder if they are thus 
 
 forgetful.
 
 LOVE INA VEIL. 73 
 
 Fide. Madam, I defire that you'll fpeak, and fa- 
 tisfy my lord as to your knowledge in this affair. 
 
 Leo. Madam, you fee my lord is already fatisfy'd 
 Befides, firice you are wound in the toil, I {han't 
 draw inyfelf into the fnare to deliver you. 
 
 {AfiJe, 
 
 Fide. My lord, this is very hard, thus to be fhut 
 out of the light of reafon, to remain in the darknefs 
 of myftery. 
 
 Ser. Come along there bring him before my lord 
 governor. \Witbin* 
 
 Lor. Ha ! what new diflurbance is this ? 
 
 Enter fervants with Afpin. 
 
 Afp; Gentlemen, dear gentlemen, don't collar 
 me fo furioufly confider, to choke a man without 
 a halter is againfl law befides, I am no Turk, and 
 therefore am not ambitious of the honour of being 
 ftrangled like a Grand Vizier. 
 
 Leo. Ha ! 'tis Sir Charles's man perhaps this 
 may be of an ill confequence. 
 
 Lor. Let go your hold of him. What's the mean- 
 ing of all this ? 
 
 f mft Ser. My lord, this is the fellow that made the 
 diflurbance laft night for, fearching him, we found 
 this piflol conceal'd in one of his pockets. 
 
 2d Ser.
 
 74 LOVEINAVEIL. 
 
 ad Ser. My lord, we believe he came upon a very 
 traiterous defign for we difcover'd him hid under 
 one of the maids beds. 
 
 Lor. A very pretty fellow indeed ! Take him 
 away, I'll conlider of a punifhment for the rafcal. 
 
 Afp. This is an admirable place for law and 
 difcipline Priefts enjoin penance for lenten morti- 
 fication, and judges hang folks without hearing their 
 defence. 
 
 Lor. D'ye prefume to murmer in my prefence, 
 firrah ? What have you to fay for yourfelf ? 
 
 Afp. Say ! why nothing, my lord ! I am unpro- 
 vided with counfel, and therefore, my motion is, 
 that I may defer my trial. 
 
 Lor. Prithee, fellow, anfwer me to the purpofe-^ 
 What are you ? 
 
 Afp* Not guilty, my lord ; not guilty. 
 
 Lor. I mean, firrah, who are you ? What's your 
 bufinefs here ? 
 
 Afp. My lord, as to who I am, I am my mailer's 
 fervant ; and as to my bufinefs here, if you don't 
 like ray company, I am ready to take my leave. 
 
 \Going. 
 
 Lor. Stop him : I never faw fo impudent a fel- 
 low before. 
 
 Fh.
 
 LOVE IN A VEIL. 75 
 
 Flo. They fay, Madam, he's an Englifhman's fer- 
 vant ; but I'm fiire he has an Irifti aflurance. 
 
 Leo. Pray heav'n he has affurance enough to bring 
 himfelf off; for I'm afraid this will open the fcene, 
 and immediately difcover all. [JJiJe. 
 
 Lor. Hark'e fellow give fome account of your- 
 felf ; what profeffion are you of ? 
 
 Afp. Why, my lord, I wait upon my matter- 
 In his chamber I'm his valet in ordinary ; fometimes 
 his pimp in extraordinary ; and commonly, have the 
 honour to be of his cabinet council. 
 
 Lor. Thou art an excellent rafcal, indeed ! 
 Prithee, fellow, who is your mailer ? 
 
 Ajp. So ! thefe great folks are as forgetful of 
 every thing, as they are of their promifes \AJide. ~\~ 
 Is then my face a ftranger to your lordfhip ? 
 
 Lor. Sirrah, if you had gold enough in your 
 pocket to anfwer the brafs of your countenance, 
 you might outvie the moft impudent courtier in 
 Europe but don't prefume to trifle with me thus 
 any longer. 
 
 Afp. Then to refrefh your memory, my lord, I 
 am Sir Charles Winlove's fervant, and your lordfliip's 
 prifoner at difcretion. 
 
 Lor. Ha ! I had forgot the rogue, indeed ! So, 
 Madam, does the fcene now begin to open or not ? 
 
 Fide.
 
 7 6 LOVE IN A VEIL. 
 
 Fide. My lord, I am innocent of the charge ; and 
 therefore, am fatisfy'd this can have no relation to 
 me. 
 
 Lor. 'Tis well, Madam ; this will appear imme- 
 diately. 
 
 Leo. I'm afraid, Flora, now comes the clue that 
 will unravel the myftery at once. \_Ajide. 
 
 Lor. In the firft place, rafcal, what provok'd you 
 to make fuch a difturbance ? 
 
 Afp. Why, my lord, I was affaulted in your lord- 
 fhip's court-yard by a great maftiff, and I ufed that 
 piftol as an inflrument to allay his fury. 
 
 Lor. In the mean time, where was your mafler } 
 
 Afp. Only playing a game or two, with my lady, 
 my lord. 
 
 Lor. Very well, Madam ! Go on, iirrah. 
 
 Afp. Nay, my lord, I know no more, than that 
 he was carry'd away from me by a fhe-confldent of 
 the lady's, vulgarly call'd a chamber-maid. 
 
 Flo. Here's a treacherous rogue ! [AfeJe. 
 
 Lor. How ! Flora did you conduct him to the 
 
 
 
 lady's chamber ? 
 
 Flo. I, my lord ! Certainly the fellow has not 
 the impudence to fay fo ! 
 
 Afp. Nay, I had not fuch cat's eyes to know any 
 one in the dark ; but methinks your vpice agree* 
 
 muck
 
 LOVE IN A VEIL. 77 
 
 much with that pert lady's that brought the letter to 
 
 n d JOB 
 
 my matter. 
 
 Leo. So, this rafcal will betray all. [Afide. 
 
 Lnr. Then this was a concerted bufinefs, I find. 
 Sirrah, let me hear no more of thefe practices. Dif- 
 charge the fellow, and let him return to his mafler. 
 
 Aft. So, they fay, confefs and be hang'd ! Bat 
 I am come as clear off by turning evidence, as if I 
 had bought. off the verdid of a jury. [Exit. 
 
 Lor, So, Madam, I hope now you'll no longer 
 deny your correfpondence with Sir Charles Win- 
 love But I am forry, for the fake of my refpeft 
 to your father, to fee you ilill fo regardlefs of your 
 honour. 
 
 Fide. My lord, believe me, I am innocent and 
 if Sir Charles has had any affair here 'tis with fomc 
 of your own family. 
 
 Lor. I cou'd almoft with to be ignorant of fuch 
 convincing proofs in relation to this affair but you 
 nut ft pardon me, if I grow now to be more cautious 
 of your proceedings Flora, fliou'd I find you in th 
 leaft concern'd in this, you fliall no longer remain in 
 my houfe. [Exit. 
 
 Leo. Now is my time ! \_djide. ~\ Methinks your 
 countenance, Madam, fpeaks a furprize at thefe 
 proceedings.
 
 7 8 LOVEINAVEIL. 
 
 Fide. I own I am fo confus'd, that I fcarce know 
 whether this is reality, or an illufion. 
 
 Leo. I fee, Fidelia, you are a little acquainted 
 with the artifices of love, tho' you are caught in the 
 fnare Can't you dive into the myftery of this ? 
 
 Fide. An ignorant innocence is peculiar to our 
 fex ! and to dive into inyftery, they fay, is a fin in 
 any one but a brother of the profeffion therefore, 
 I fhall let it reft, till it unravels itfelf. 
 
 Leo. Were I in your cafe, I fhould rather be fired 
 with a woman's curiofity, than be fo unmov'd at die 
 turns of my fortune. 
 
 Fide. I am already fatisfy'd of my misfortunes ; 
 therefore, curiofity might betray me to a knowledge 
 that, perhaps, wou'd heighten 'em. 
 
 Leo. Alas, Fidelia ! I am in as great a concern as 
 you are for my quiet is equally at ftake with yours 
 but if you will confent to come into my meafures, 
 there is yet a way to make us both eafy. 
 
 Fide. Propofe it : for methinks I cou'd embrace any 
 method that cou'd bring me to the fight of Sir Charles. 
 Leo, Know then, my father has contraded me 
 to one, who has all the qualities that can make him 
 agreeable notwithftanding which, I have lately en - 
 tertain'd the addrefles of an Englifh cavalier, who 
 now proves to be the very fame you were (peaking of. 
 
 Fide.
 
 LOVEINAVEIL. 79, 
 
 Fide, What ! Sir Charles Winlove, Madam ? 
 
 Leo. The fame. 
 
 Fide. How ! after having ruin'd me, can he be fo 
 perfidious to make his addrefles to another ! Falfe 
 man ! 
 
 Leo. Alas, all men are the fame, Fidelia ! In 
 Ihort, they ufe us as children do their toys ; are 
 fond of us at firft but quickly negledi us to fol- 
 low new fancies. But to proceed Yefterday, I 
 met this Sir Charles at his lodgings, where my 
 father came, attended with officers, and feiz'd us to- 
 gether ! He was carry 'd to the cattle, and I was 
 brought home conceal'd in a VEIL ; where, by the 
 circumftances of the ftory, I find he miitook me fojr : 
 you. 
 
 Fide. Wou'd you be willing, Madam, to refign 
 your intereft in Sir Charles, provided I would iland 
 to the reft? 
 
 Leo, Yes, Fidelia, you (hall now fee me throw 
 off the foftnefs of a lover for the craft of a poli- 
 tician, to ferve you And as a firft proof of my 
 friendfhip, I'll write to him as from myfelf : Flora 
 fhall carry the letter ; and if he can get his liberty, 
 I'll engage he fhall meet us in two hours at ano- 
 ther place. 
 
 Fide. This is as I cou'd vvifli, Madam. 
 
 LtO.
 
 So LOVEINAVEIL. 
 
 Leo, One thing more. I overheard your dif- 
 courfe with that cavalier who is to be my hufband - 
 I fee his jealoufies are cur'd, and all points are 
 now clear'd to my content. 
 
 Fide. Let us then be quick in our proceedings. 
 
 Leo. With all my heart we'll now retire, and I'll 
 
 write immediately to Sir Charles. Flora, be ready 
 
 within call to attend us. [Exeunt. 
 
 Flo. So, my lady is now come off again to her 
 fatisfaftion. If our fex were as prudent in refolu- 
 tion, as they are quick at invention, they would not 
 prove fiich weak fools to the men. However, I 
 have learnt now, if occanon ferves, to carry on 
 an intrigue of my own for I find, tho' dangers 
 happen from love, wit never fails to turn the tables 
 upon fortune. 
 
 Thus, when from fate our difappointments fall, 
 Woman's invention can o'ercome 'em all. 
 
 ACT
 
 LOVE IN A VEIL. Si 
 
 A C T V. S C E N E I. 
 
 The governor's boi/fe. 
 Enter Lorenzo and Alonzo. 
 
 Lor. IV JL Y old friend, once more I congratulate 
 your arrival to Valencia You are come in good 
 rime to vindicate the honour of your family. 
 
 Alon. Come in a good time, fay you ! No, I 
 am come in a very ill time, I can't fo much as 
 thank you for your civility. Hark'e, prithee 
 look in my face now Am not I very much alter'd ? 
 Have not I fomething very rueful in my counte- 
 nance ? 
 
 Lor. What makes you fancy fo? 
 
 Alon. Becaufe, methinks, I am no better than a 
 raven, I can croak nothing but bad news. 
 
 Lor. Come, come, be cheerful ; all will go well 
 again. 
 
 Alon. Yes, truly ! all is like to go mighty well, 
 indeed ! My fon-in-law, that was to be, has been 
 defperately wounded ; my daughter's run away, 
 and my family's difgraced for ever ; and you expect 
 me to be cheerful, do you ! 
 
 Lor. Nay, but hear reafon. 
 
 VOL. I. F Alon.
 
 82 LOVE IN A VEIL. 
 
 Alon. Nay, but I won't hear reafon ! What 
 have I to do with reafon, when I come in fearch 
 of revenge? You fay, you have 'em both in ypVr 
 cuitody ! fl %\K 
 
 , Lor. Suppofe T have ! You tell me the wounded 
 cavalier is recovered, then what pretence can I have 
 for detaining Sir Charles ? 
 
 Alon. No matter, I'll conceal his recovery, and 
 have the dog fuffer for his death. 
 
 Lor. Fye ! I am afliam'd to fee your paflion fo OVQTHT 
 come your reafon Suppofe your daughter loves him t 
 
 Alon. Loves him! 'Sdeath, who doubts but fhe 
 does love him ! What, becaufe the lilly baggage 
 has been fo weak as to fuffer him to ruin her, you 
 would have me play the old dotard, and be as great 
 a fool as my daughter ! 
 
 Lor. Still you mitlake me. Why will you en- 
 deavour thus to widen the breach, when I wou'd 
 bring matters to a reconciliation ? 
 
 Alon. To a reconciliation! Ha, ha, ha! this is 
 pleafant, indeed ! The Ion of a whore has ftole 
 away my daughter, and for ought I know, me may 
 have her belly up to her mouth; and you talk of 
 bringing matters to a reconciliation ! 
 
 Lor. But fuppofe (he (hoiild love him ; and he 
 fhou'd have an equal paffion for her? 
 
 Ak*.
 
 LOVE IN A VETL. 83 
 
 Alon. Why then, my curfe be an equal portion 
 for them both ! 
 
 Lor. Perhaps, he would confent to marry her. 
 Alon. Marry her ! no, no, no ! The young fel- 
 lows of this age, are not fuch fools as to debauch 
 women, and afterwards to marry 'em. 
 
 Lor. Nay, but 
 
 Alon, Nay, but I know what it is to be a young 
 fellow! I tell you their vows always diflblve with 
 virginities, and when the fort's furrender'd, all for- 
 mer promifes are void o'courfe. 
 
 Lor. There are, indeed, too many of the fair fex 
 in that unhappy condition : but why fhould you 
 judge fo hardly of your daughter ? 
 
 Alon. Why fhou'd I not judge fo ? Did fhe not 
 run away with him ? Has fhe not a fanguine com- 
 plexion, and he a brawny back ? Is fhe not a pro- 
 
 mifmg girl, and he a fprightly young fellow ? 
 
 Then, why may not my daughter happen to be with 
 child I 
 
 Lor. Still you perplex yourfelf with fancied in- 
 juries only Was flie ever loofe in her behaviour ? 
 
 Alon. No, I always believ'd her to be a very 
 modeft girl : But now, fhe has certainly tailed of the 
 tree of knowledge he has open'd her fenfes, and 
 enter'd her into her rudiments. 
 
 Lor, Did you ever love your daughter ? 
 
 F 2 Alon.
 
 8 4 LOVE IN A VEIL. 
 
 Aim. Yes, too well; tho' indeed, flic was a 
 very good girl, and deferv'd it Nay, now I 
 think of her, the tears of afteftion ftill come into 
 my eyes ! 
 
 Lor. Indulge that tendernefs, and rcafon will 
 come o'courfe D'ye think I am your friend ? 
 
 Alon. How fliou'd I know that ? We were friends 
 once, indeed! That is, when we were young 
 Then we us'd to drink our bottle together, ruin'd 
 as many girls, and made as many cuckolds as any 
 rake-hells in .Europe But now, the fccne is 
 chang'd : you are my lord governor! time, ab- 
 fence, and ftate-affuirs may have drove me out of 
 your memory. 
 
 Lor. Come, you ihall fee I am ftill your friend; 
 have patience, and I'll endeavour to bring all to 
 ii right underftanding. 
 
 Alon. Patience ! 
 
 Lor. Nay, nay, fupprefs your choler, 'till you fee 
 whether you have reafon for it I'll now imme- 
 diately go, and propofe nn honourable treaty to Sir 
 Charles : in the mean time I beg you to retire, and 
 not fee your daughter 'till I return to tell you my 
 fuccefs. [Exit. 
 
 Alon. Your return will bring me a fine account 
 of fuccefs, indeed ! We men are certainly moft 
 
 unhappy
 
 LOVE IN A VEIL. 85 
 
 unhappy wretches When we are young, we get 
 children in the heat of our blood, who, wh-n we 
 come to be old, grow difobedient, and break our 
 hearts in order to get into our eftates Well, I'll 
 fay no more, but I'll fend this rebel daughter of 
 mine to a nunnery, and there (lie fliall mortify for 
 the fins of the flefh but for that rogue that has 
 debauch'd her, if ever I fee him again, I'll have 
 his blood, tho' I meet him in a fanftuary. [Exif. 
 
 SCENE, T/>e caftle. 
 Enter Sir Charles Winlove and Don Philip. 
 
 D. Phil. Sir Charles, I am now convinc'd of 
 your innocence -My fiifpicions were the fond er- 
 rors of my love, and as fuch I hope you'll eftcem 
 'em. 
 
 Sir Cha. I do ; when I confider that jealous eyes 
 always fee thro* a microfcope, that magnifies the 
 meanett trifles, to feem as of the greateft confe- 
 quence but had you not been my friend, I 
 fliou'd not fo tamely have fubinitted to fuch ufage. 
 
 D. Phil. I own the raihnefs of my folly to be 
 great Let tools have the obftinacy to perfifl in 
 their errors a generous foul efteems it rather as a 
 point of honour, when convinc'd, to acknowledge 
 "kirn .Therefore, now let us turn the difcourfe 
 F 3 I'll
 
 86 -ibvE IN A VEIL. 
 
 I'll aflure you, Sir Charles, I think the captive is 
 
 } T 1 
 
 very beautiful. 
 
 : : 
 
 Sir Cba. Beautiful as ever I faw ! 
 
 D. Pill. But frill, methinks, my lady excels her. 
 
 Sir Cba. Every lover is apt to think his own 
 miftrefs the moft deferring Mine has wit as well 
 as beauty ; and where the lufcioufnefs of one may 
 cloy the appetite, the other whets it again, and 
 makes all her charms as agreeable as ever. 
 
 D. Phil. Wit and beauty are two irrefiftible wea- 
 pons, indeed ; but, I find, you are in a fair way 
 to fucceed in your hopes. 
 
 Sir Cba. No, faith Notv/uhftanding me has 
 fo many perfe&ions, my fuccefs was but very in- 
 different : whether the inconftant ftar that governs 
 the fex rul'd, I know not; but my reception prov'd 
 as great a difappointment, as the accident after- 
 wards did a furprize. 
 
 D. Phil. Oh ! that was a meer feint, only to make 
 a trial of your love ! I find you are not rightly ac- 
 quainted with the variety of a lady's humour. 
 
 Sir Cba. No, nor ever {hall, if 'tis fo much ad- 
 dicled to whimfey. 
 
 D. Phil. But a lover fhou'd make it his bufinefs, 
 firft, to ftudy the temper of his miftrefs, and then 
 to fhidy every method that may promote her 
 pleafure, Sir Cba*
 
 LOVE IN A -V%f. 87 
 
 Sir Cha. Then I am not fo much a lover as to 
 fubmit my reafon to frenzy For to ftudy the tem- 
 per of a woman, is like fearching out for the phi- 
 lofopher's ftone a man may fpend his eftate, run 
 mad, and grow never the wiler. 
 
 D. Phil. Notwithftanding your harfh cenfure of 
 the fex, I vvifli I knew the humour of my lady, fo 
 fur as to gain remilfion for my folly. 
 
 Sir Cba. So, this is ever the confequence of jea- 
 loufy Firft, you quarrel with your miitrefs for 
 no reafon, and then are never eafy till you're re- 
 concil'd. 
 
 D. Phil. I own it is a weaknefs, indeed j but a 
 Spaniard is fo unfortunate in his paffions, that he 
 can no more avoid the raflinefs of jealoufy, than 
 he can expel the heat of his climate. But what 
 fervice, Sir Charles, can I do you now in your 
 amour. 
 
 ,, Sir Cha. Why then, once more to truft you as a 
 friend, I have this day receiv'd a letter from the 
 lady : but fure there are fuch beauties in the ftyle ! 
 not Ovid is more foft, nor Horace more fatirical. 
 
 D. Phil. What are the contents of it ? 
 
 Sir Cha. 'Tis a kind invitation to another ap- 
 pointment ; but interfperfed with reflections from 
 an excellent talent of wit in relation to my fervant's 
 F 4 care-
 
 LOVE IN A VEIL. 
 
 careleflhcfs : Here, prithee read it, and give me 
 your opinion. 
 
 Enter Afpin. 
 
 So ! Where have you been, firrah ? 
 
 Jljp. Sir, I have run thro' as dangerous adven- 
 tures as a knight-errant but as I was predestinated 
 to ac~l the part of champion, I was prcpar'd with 
 armour accordingly. 
 
 Sir Cba. Were you fo ? Prithee, let's hear the 
 wonderful defcription of it. 
 
 Afp, Why, Sir, courage was the fupport of my 
 back ; caution the defence of my breaft ; wit was 
 my noble head -piece ; and this piftol, the weapon 
 with which I encountered death and deilruftion. 
 
 Sir Cha. That piftol, firrah ! What occafion had 
 you laft night to make it give fuch an alarm ? 
 
 Afp. Why, Sir, I was aflaulted by no lefs than 
 a fiery dragon In fliort, a great maitiff flew at my 
 throat, and had I not had the courage to have en- 
 counter'd his fury, I had certainly been torn in pieces. 
 D. Phil. Nay then, Sir Charles, you mult never 
 be angry with him for his valcur Afpin has now 
 rival 'd the fame of St. George and I think his itatue 
 ought to be fet up in memory of this achievement, 
 as a fecond honour to your country. 
 
 4ft*
 
 LOVEINAVEIL. 89 
 
 Afp. What is pair, was but a trial for the courage 
 of a hero But the next misfortune I fell irtto, re- 
 quir'd the dcepeft policy of a itatefman. 
 
 D. Phil. Aye ! prithee what was that ? 
 
 Afp. I was this morning difcover'd by fome of 
 the iervsnts, and carry'd, <vi & armis, a prifoner 
 before my lord governor. 
 
 i'/> Cha. Aye ! How came you off there, Afpin ? 
 
 Afp. Oh, Sir, I brought myfelf off with a wet 
 finder ! Firft, the governor afk'd me feveral quef- 
 tions I generonfly told him the affair you had 
 laft night with the lady confeflion merited mercy, 
 and I was immediately difcharged like a man of 
 honour. 
 
 Sir Cka._ Were you fo, firrah ? Know then, raf- 
 cal, you have difcover'd all my defigns, and I'll this 
 moment make an example of you 
 
 D.Pbll. Hold, Sir Charles confider, his folly 
 is below your refentment. 
 
 Sir Cha. I have fcarce patience to fuiFer the dog 
 in my fight Rafcal ! deceitful villain ! 
 
 Afp. Is this the return for all the dangers I have 
 fuffer'd Well, 'tis an ungrateful age 'but I am 
 not the firil man of merit that has been flighted after 
 his faithful fervice. 
 
 D. PblL
 
 >90 LOVE IN A VEIL. 
 
 JD. Phil, Come, be pacify'd, Sir Charles all 
 may be eafily brought off again. Here, take your 
 letter : I have read it, and approve of the defign. 
 But have you prepar'd any place for your appoint- 
 ment with the lady. 
 
 Sir Cba. No, as to that part, I believe, I mufl 
 rely upon you, 
 
 Z>. Phil. Then I can help you at a dead lift 
 My apartment has a door into another ftreet 
 Order her to be carry 'd the back-way, and us 
 ihe's a flranger to the place, fhe may be eafily de- 
 ceiv'd. 
 
 Sir Cba. I like the propoful well. Afpin, go you 
 this moment and conduct 'em. 
 
 Afp, So, tho' we men of merit are fo barba- 
 roufly us'd, we are always wanted in a cafe of 
 neceffity. 
 
 Sir Cba. Sirrah, no prating ; mind what I fay, 
 and go out of my fight. [Exit Afpin.] Now which 
 way {hall I obtain my liberty for this adven- 
 ture ? 
 
 D.Pbil. Oh, I'll .gain you that freedom and 
 that you may the better by day-light pafs unknown, 
 I'll fend you my cloak, and you fhall muJJ^e 
 yourfelf in that Ha ! the governor ! What mpns 
 -this ? . /oli 
 
 Enter
 
 LOVE IN A VRflX. 91 
 
 .a 
 
 Enter Lorenzo. 
 
 Lor. Don Philip, I fee your friendfhip is not like 
 that of the world, a meer counterfeit profcffion 
 for you endeavour to ferve the perfon you value, 
 tho' you fee him loaded with affliction. 
 
 Z>. Phllf My lord, friendfhip is only fhew'd in 
 adverfity : a man in profperity has abundance of 
 profeflbrs but had he need of one, not a friend 
 amongft 'em all. 
 
 Lor. Your friendfhip is mutual Sir Charles fav'd 
 your life, and you'd now return it with the pre- 
 fervation of his fo that you both are exceptions 
 from the general rule of the world; for there's 
 fcarce a perfon in it, befides yourfelves, can fay, I 
 have a friend. 
 
 Sir Cha. Becaufe the reverfe of friendfhip is the 
 produft of a degenerate age ; where honefty pafles 
 for folly ; perfidioufnefs for good policy ; and all 
 manner of knavery, for necefiary wifdom to thrive 
 in the world. So that a man can no more be 
 afliir'd of friends in adverfity, than a king or coun- 
 try in diltrefs when thofe that fhou'd be fo, en- 
 rich themfelves in their deftru&ion. 
 
 Lor. You are a young Stoic indeed, Sir Charles 
 However, I come now to Hand your friend, for 
 
 want
 
 9 * LOVEINAVEIL. 
 
 tvant of pity, in your cafe, wou'd be downright 
 cruelty and therefore, give me leave to make fome 
 propofals that may be to your fatisfaclion.- Don 
 Philip, I hope you'll excufe me a little. 
 
 D. Phil. My lord, I take my leave Hark'e, 
 
 Sir Charles, what {hall I do in this affair ? \_Afidc. 
 
 Sir Cba. Go, and detain the lady till I come 
 and d'ye hear, leave orders with the keeper for. my 
 freedom. \.4ft^ e ' 
 
 D. Phil. Never fear I'll manage all to the belt 
 advantage. [Exit. 
 
 Lor. I have this morning receiv'd advkre of the 
 cavalier's recovery, that was thought to have been 
 kill'd This I muft yet keep as a fecret, till I have 
 brought matters to bear. \_Afidc, 
 
 Sir Cba. Now, my lord, if you pleafe, I am 
 ready to receive your propofals. 
 
 Lor. Sir Charles, I am come to you concerning 
 an affair of confequence. You mult know, Alonzo, 
 the father of Fidelia, and I, when young, were 
 never feparated from each other Now, I underftand 
 by a letter from Madrid, you have lately depriv'd 
 him of his daughter. 
 
 Sir Cba. How ! depriv'd him of her, my lord ! 
 
 Lor. Aye ; but methinks I would willingly heal 
 this breach therefore I'd advife you to find fome 
 
 'mean?,
 
 LOVE I N A V E t*bl 93 
 
 means, by which you might reconcile yourfclf to* 
 him, and reitore the honour of the young lady. 
 
 &> Cha. My lord, I underftand you not 'Tis 
 true, I love Fidelia as my life ; but for her honour, 
 it is not in the leaft forfeited on my account. 
 
 Lor. Her father is of a quite contrary opinion. 
 Therefore, if you have either a value for yourfelf, 
 or an affection for the young lady, you will confent 
 to thofe means, that will contribute to her eafe, as 
 well as to. your own fecurity. 
 
 Sir Cba. My lord, I own the wildnefs of my 
 youth. But I have fo true an affe&ion for Fidelia, 
 that for my fecurity, I prize it not in comparifon 
 with her content. 
 
 Lor. I fee, vSir Charles, you begin to guefs at 
 my meaning Therefore I queftkm not but to find 
 you the man of honour, I was apt at firil light to be- 
 lieve you Her fame upon your account is very much 
 become the difcourfc of the world therefore to recon- 
 cile all, wou'd you be willing to accept her for a wife. 
 
 SV/- Cba. My lord, I needed not this preparation 
 to embrace fuch welcome propofals. 
 
 Lor. Confent to that, and I'll engage your pardon 
 lhall be fecur'd. 
 
 Sir Cha. My life is of as little value to me now, 
 as when I ran the rifque of forfeiting it for her 
 
 But
 
 94. LOVEINAVEIL. 
 
 But for the loofer wifh.es that my inconftancy has 
 been guilty of, cou'd I be fo happy to fee her, they 
 wou'd immediately vanifh at her fight. 
 
 Lor. Know then, Sir Charles, the lady is ftill in 
 Valencia. 
 
 Sir Cha. How ! in Valencia, my lord ? 
 
 Lor. She has remain'd in confinement at my 
 houfe, ever fince I yeilerday feiz'd her at your 
 lodgings. 
 
 Sir Cba. Nay, then there is a miftake in this 
 The lady that was taken with me, I can aflure you, 
 is not Fidelia. 
 
 Lor. Her father's fervant cou'd not be miftaken, 
 and he afterwards faw her at my houfe. 
 
 Sir Cha. I know her face too well to be deceiv'd 
 The lady that was taken with me, I was a ftranger to. 
 
 Lor. This is a pretty contrivance indeed ! 
 
 In the firft place, the young lady owns herfelf to 
 be Fidelia, but at the fame time denies a corref- 
 pondence with you and now you own a correfpon- 
 dence with her, but deny flie is the perfon Who 
 was it then that you had an aflignation with laft night 
 at my houfe ? 
 
 Sir Cba. Since you have made a difcovery in 
 that affair, 'twas with the lady that was feiz'd 
 with me. 
 
 Ler,
 
 LOVE IN A VEIfKi 95 
 
 .Lor. And that lady, you pofitively fay, is not 
 Fidelia ? 
 
 Sir Cha. I do, my lord, and if I am in my fenfes, 
 I am fure I can affirm it. 
 
 Lor. Now fhe actually fays flic is but denies 
 that fhe has either feen you, or had any difcourfe 
 with you in Valencia. 
 
 Sir Cha. Nay, then there is a farther myftery in 
 this ! I am certain, the lady I met laft night was 
 not Fidelia. Now if the perfon you mean, that 
 denies all this, fliou'd prove to be her, then your 
 lordfhip is miftaken, for fhe can't be the fame .that 
 was feix'd with me. 
 
 Lor. Nay, there has been no art magic to tranf- 
 form her, nor to change one perfon to another. 
 Therefore depend on't, file's the fame Now the 
 meffenger from her father went away fatisf.y'd flie 
 was the right ; and Ihe, upon examination, own'd 
 herjf4f to be fo. 
 
 Sir Cba. This makes it all feem more intricate 
 In!!. 
 
 Lor. Come with me, and let your fight convince 
 
 \O'l. 
 
 i'z'r Cha. By this he'll difcover the lady is gone 
 abroad,..} in order to meet me. What can I do ? 
 I muft fu bm.it. {^Afide, 
 
 Lor.
 
 9 6 LOVE IN A VEIL. 
 
 Lor. Come along then, Sir Charles methinks 
 I am impatient to have this riddle explain'd. 
 
 Sir Cba. And I the like, my lord for I am 
 fure, as the llory lies now, there is fo Threat a my- 
 iiery in it, 'tis beyond the power of a church man to 
 unfold it, till we fee farther. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE, Don Philip's apartment in 
 ihc governor's houfc. 
 
 'Enter Afpin, Fidelia, and Leonora VEIL'D. 
 
 Afp. So, this is the firft time that ever I turu'd 
 gentleman-umer Methinks I make a notable figure 
 in my preferment Nay, I don't know, but I may 
 rife to be a great man. [Afulc. 
 
 Leo. The creature looks as if he was in love with 
 himfelf Hark'e, fellow, where have you brought us ? 
 
 dfp. Not a jot from your own inclination, I fup- 
 pofe Look'e, Madam, it is matter's bufmefs to 
 anfvver your queftions Here my fervice is at end 
 Methinks, I begin to have a jantee air already 
 I'll fee how I can compliment \dfide\. Ladies, 
 I am your moil humble fervant, and fo I take my 
 leave of fuch illuftrious beauties. [Exit. 
 
 Fide. I never faw fuch a coxcomb in my lite !
 
 LOVEINAVEIL. 97 
 
 Leo. Now we may venture to UXVETL for I 
 know not where we are, by reafon I never look'd 
 out of the chair. 
 
 Fide. Perhaps Sir Charles may have provided 
 us one of his miftrefs's apartments for I know 
 not what to think of him, now he's grown fo in- 
 conftant. 
 
 Leo. Sure I'm no ftranger to this place, Fidelia. 
 
 Fide. . They feem to be handfome lodgings, and 
 methirks are very prettily furnifh'd. 
 
 Leo. Ha ! I am furpriz'd ! 
 
 Fide. At what, Madam ? 
 
 Leo. As I live, we are betray'd ! 
 
 Fide. How ! heaven forbid ! 
 
 Leo. We are in my father's houfe, and this H 
 Don Philip's apartment ! 
 
 Fide. If fo, here's treachery indeed ! What Hull 
 we do ? 
 
 Leo. Nay, now here's a more convincing proof; 
 this is the very door that opens into one of my 
 rooms ! 
 
 Fide. Then, Madam, our refolution muft be 
 quick as our thought; for they'll certainly be here 
 prefently. 
 
 Leo, Oh, for a ftratagem now to outwit 'em 
 Stay, I'll look thro' the key -hole, and fee if I can 
 difcern my fervant. 
 
 VOL. I. G Fide.
 
 9 S LOVEINAVEIL. 
 
 Fide. Is there any body to be feen ? 
 
 Leo. Yes, there's Flora working with her needle 
 at the window. 
 
 Fide. Call foftly, Madam ; perhaps fhe may hear 
 you. 
 
 Leo* Flora, hift, Flora ! Don't you hear ? 
 
 Flo. Who calls? \Witlin. 
 
 Leo* 'Tis I Fetch the key that belongs to the 
 door, and open it. 
 
 Flo. It lies, Madam, on your father's table 
 I'll run and fetch it immediately. 
 
 Leo. Now we fhall fucceed, and every thing will 
 be right again. 
 
 Fide. Madam, 'tis all too late fomebody's 
 coming up. 
 
 Leo. Ha ! 'Tis Don Philip ! Affift me wit now, 
 or never Keep clofe your VEIL, Madam . 
 
 Enter Don Philip. 
 
 D. Phil. What do I fee, Leonora here ! 
 
 Leo. Seeing this lady in your apartment, Sir, I 
 came to keep her company till you cou'd come ac- 
 cording to your affignation. 
 
 D. Phil. Say rather, Madam, that you came Ib 
 meet Sir Charles Winlove that this lady is the 
 confederate of your falfliood, and that you have mif- 
 
 taken this apartment for another. 
 
 Leo.
 
 LOVE IN A VEI'Ll 99 
 
 Leo. How, Don Philip ! I never faw fuch affu- 
 rance in my life ! 
 
 D. Phil. Madam, I find my fufpicions are not 
 fo grotmdlefs as I juft now believ'd 'em to be- 
 But you fhnll fee my good-nature is not to be im- 
 pos'd upon. 
 
 Leo. So ! this is excellently fine indeed ! firft, 
 to bring ftrange ladies to my father's houfe, and 
 then to turn the fault upon me. 
 
 D. Phil. Why, Madam, can you deny that this 
 lady came here with you ? 
 
 Leo. Yes, Sir, I can You know, that fhe did 
 not. 
 
 D. Phil. Nor did not you come here to meet the 
 Englifh cavalier ? 
 
 Leo. I won't fatisfy you, Sir. 
 
 Fide. Sir, what have you done ? 1 expefted Sir 
 Charles here ; ' and inftead of that, you are come 
 and have incens'd the governour's daughter to my 
 ruin. 
 
 D. Phil. Ha ! then I have been too rafh indeed ! 
 I find now, that this is the lady I look'd for, and 
 jealoufy has brought Leonora hither. \Apde. 
 
 Leo. So, his countenance tells me, he begins 
 
 to foften to my wifhI fee her ftratagem has 
 
 took. \JJiJt. 
 
 G z D. Pbih
 
 ioo LOVEINAVEIL. 
 
 D. Phil. What fhall I fay to her? \Afide. ^ 
 Madam, I find already I have been in an error in 
 my fufpicions, but not in being falfe myfelf. 
 
 Leo. So ! now you fee your aflurance won't take, 
 you'd endeavour to conceal your falfhood. 
 
 D. Phil. Madam, I can immediately clear my- 
 felf of that for to fatisfy you who this lady is 
 
 Leo. Oh, Sir, I am not fo paffionately in love, 
 as to defire fatisfaction. 
 
 Enter Flora through the other door. 
 
 Flo. Madam, I cou'd not find the key before, 
 or 
 
 Leo. Hift, Flora ; no more ! 
 
 Flo. I find I fhall do mifchief if I talk. 
 Madam, your father 's coming with another cava- 
 lier. 
 
 D. Phil. Prithee, Leonora, hear me juftify my- 
 felf. 
 
 Leo. No, I'll relate it all to my lord, and as I 
 never lov'd you, fhall be glad of this opportunity 
 to be rid of you Excellently come off ! \AJide. 
 
 Enter Lorenzo, Sir Charles, and Afpin. 
 
 Lor. Ha ! what's the matter daughter ? 
 Leo. My father and the Englifh cavalier ! I ain 
 certainly betray'd again. [Ajide. 
 
 Sir Cha.
 
 LOVE IN A VEIL. 101 
 
 Sir Cba. His daughter ! I am flrangely deceiv'd 
 then for I am fure this is the lady that was taken 
 with me. \djide. 
 
 Lor. Speak, Leonora. 
 
 Leo. Your lordfhip fliould afk that gentleman, 
 who makes private affignations, and brings flrange 
 ladies to your houfe. 
 
 Lor. How, Don Philip ! 
 
 D. Pbil. Pardon me, Sir Charles, for impeach- 
 ing you But egad, all mull out This lady '19 
 the captive, and came here to fee my friend, who 
 was to have met her by Health. 
 
 Sir Cba. That lady the captive! Now wou'd 
 they, tho' I fee her in my prefence, perfuade me 
 I am blind, and change her to another perfon, 
 
 Lor. Sir Charles, you feem Hill to remain in the 
 dark Pray, Madam, UNVEIL Now is it Fide-t 
 Ha or no ? 
 
 Sir Cba. Ha! I am thunder-ftruck! 'Sure 'tis 
 the fond error of my eyes ! 
 
 Lor. What fay you now, Sir Charles ? 
 
 Sir Cba. And yet, methinks, I cannot be de- 
 ceiv'd Is it my Fidelia then } 
 
 Fide. Oh, Sir Charles! 
 
 Sir Cha. It is, it is ! The mufic of her voice 
 
 informs me now 'tis fhe ! Oh, my Fidelia ! let 
 
 G 5 me
 
 io 2 LOVE IN A VEIL. 
 
 me fly with joy into thy arms, and breathe my foul 
 fipon thy lips. 
 
 Fide. Long have I wifh'd, Sir Charles, for fuch a 
 happy meeting! but paft misfortunes vvou'd be 
 an unwelcome theme your love will recompenfe 
 'em Be conftant for the future, and 'tis all I 
 aft. 
 
 Sir Cba. No chance, but death, fliall ever part 
 us more ! Sure I am loft in tranfport and fur- 
 prize! Oh, iny Fidelia! methinks I cou'd re- 
 peat thy name, till diftant waters catch the charm- 
 ing echo, and when they rowl high in their moun- 
 tain-waves, refonnd it to the ikies! 
 
 D. Phil. Nay, amongft all your adventures I 
 think I never faw you in fuch raptures before. 
 
 Sir Cba. Pardon me, friends, if all my fenfes arc 
 o'ercome with joy and admiration ! 
 
 Lor. This is pleafant indeed ! Sir Charles that 
 you fhou'd contrive to fee the lady, and yet not 
 know ihe was here before. 
 
 Fide. My lord, Sir Charles is a cavalier for the 
 ladies and fuch ever efleem fecrecy as a point of 
 honour : therefore, you muft excufe him for his 
 reafons. 
 
 Sir Cba. Ha ! now I begin to underiland this 
 myfiery ! Fidelia has given me a hint of my in- 
 
 conilancv
 
 LOVE IN A VEIL. 103 
 
 cpnftancy but I muft conceal my affairs with the 
 other lady from the company. \_AjiJe. 
 
 Lor. Is the riddle explain'd to your fatisfacYion, 
 Sir Charles ? 
 , Sir Cha, It is, my lord. 
 
 Leo. So, I fee he has taken the hint Well, tho' 
 I have loft my lover, I fhall preferve my honour, 
 that's one comfort. [AJide. 
 
 Afp. Now, I believe by the joy of my mailer, 
 and the humour of this company, that all is like to 
 go well : if fo, *tis the firft good accident that ever 
 I knew a woman the occafion of. \_dfuk. 
 
 Lor. Now, to add to the pleafures you receive 
 know, I have this morning had notice from Madrid, 
 that the cavalier who was thought to have been kill'd, 
 is perfectly recover'd of his wounds. 
 
 Sir Cba. This is happy indeed ! for methinks, 
 my Fidelia, I would not have the (lain of blood fully 
 my character, nor a melancholy thought amidlt the 
 joys of love. 
 
 Lor. Sir Charles, you muft grant me the favour 
 of folemnizing your marriage at my houfe, with 
 thefe that are to be coupled alfo. 
 
 D. Phil. Shall I then, Madam, have the happi- 
 ftefs of a reconciliation at laft ? 
 
 G 4 Lee.
 
 ;04 1- O V E I N A VEIL. 
 
 Leo. Aye, Dou Philip for as this affair has been 
 carry'd on by quarrels, I think it may naturally end 
 in marriage. 
 
 Fide. Now there is nothing wanting, to corn- 
 pleat our bleffing, but a reconciliation with my 
 father. 
 
 Lor. That, Madam, I hope is in my power' 1 to 
 gain you ; for know, that the lord Alonzo is now 
 in my houfe. 
 
 Fide. What ! in Valencia, my lord ? 
 
 Lor. Yes, Madam but here he comes ! retire 
 at a diftance, and you fliall fee me break this affair to 
 
 him. 
 
 \fTbe company retire to the back -part of tbejlage . 
 
 Enter Alonzo. 
 
 Lor. So, my lord ! I have feen Sir Charles Win- 
 love, according to my promife. 
 
 Alon. Well, and what does he fay ? How does he 
 behave himfelf ? 
 
 Lor. As I expecled, my lord. 
 
 Alon. As you expefted ! Humph ! that is, I fup- 
 pole, you have told him the news of the cavalier's 
 recovery ; and now he very peremptorily bids de- 
 fiance, and intends to march off with my daughter. 
 j Lor,
 
 LOVE IN A VEIL. 105 
 
 Lor. Still you won't comprehend me. 
 
 Alon. Lord, I tell you, I do comprehend you ! 
 Don't I know that he is a very bloody-minded fel- 
 low ? Has he not Hole away my daughter, and foe 
 ought I know rifled her of all ? and this I can't 
 comprehend, forfooth ! 
 biLor. You won't hear me 
 
 Alon. Nay, I tell you, I do hear you but I'll 
 not be fo impos'd upon I am refolv'd A pen and 
 ink there ! Since the law won't do me juftice, I'll 
 write the dog a challenge, and you {hall be the bearer. 
 
 Lor. A very pretty office for a magiftrate indeed ! 
 but fuppofe he fliou'd fubmit to your own terms ? 
 
 Alon. Why let him 'My terms are fword and 
 piftol, tell him fo ! Odd, tho' I am an old fellow, 
 I can flill take a breathing upon occafion. 
 
 Lor. Nay, iince I can't fatisfy you myfelf, I have 
 another card to play. Come forward there. 
 
 [The company approach, Sir Charles Winlove and 
 
 Fidelia kneel.] 
 Now will you be brought to reafbn ? 
 
 Alon. Ha ! what's the meaning of all this ? 
 
 Lor. Speak to him, Madam. 
 
 Fide . My lord ! confider I am your daughter, and 
 forgive my weaknefs. 
 
 Alon. Humph ! 
 
 Sir Cha.
 
 106 LOVE IN A VEIL. 
 
 Sir Cba. My lord, we only want your bleffin 
 compleat our happinefs ! 
 
 Alon. My bleffing ! Why, I was talking of 
 cutting your throat you dog: and now inftead of 
 tilting, you aft me for my bleffing. 
 
 Lor. Sir Charles has had an honourable affection 
 for your daughter ; and he only wants your confent 
 to make her his wife. 
 
 Alon. Make her his wife, fay you ! Js he- in 
 earneil ? 
 
 Sir Cba. My lord, I am. 
 
 Alon. Nay then, take her with all my heart 
 Rife, daughter, I forgive you, and heaven blefs 
 you both. 
 
 Lor. Now, 'tis as it fliou*d be. 
 
 Alon. Aye, and fo it is Since he makes her his 
 wife, I am very well fatisfied ! Bufs me daughter, 
 and you too Sir Charles and now we are all 
 friends again. But I did intend to fend you a 
 challenge, faith however, inftead of pufhing at 
 me in a duel, turn your weapon upon my daughter, 
 and make me a grand -father d'ye hear ? 
 
 Lor. Why, that's well faid ! But won't you 
 take notice of the reft of the company ? 
 
 Alon. Aye, with all my heart Who are they ? 
 
 cr.
 
 LOVE IN A VElfc! 107 
 
 Lor. This is my daughter, and this my fon-in-law 
 
 - . , 'TTO3 
 
 that is to be. 
 
 Alon. Is this your daughter? Faith, {he's very 
 pretty ! Madam, by your leave [Salutes her}. 
 Well, fince we are all reconcil'd, old friend, let's 
 have an entertainment fuitable to this occafion. 
 
 [A dance, after which they come forward.] 
 
 ' Sir Cba. [To the governor.] My lord, I thank you 
 for the favours that I here receive. And now, my 
 Fidelia, I begin to be fatisfy'd, that true happinefs 
 only confifts in a retirement from the follies of the 
 world. And your conduft has fo far converted me 
 from a loofe opinion of your fex, that I lhall ever 
 think 
 
 No joys on earth can with chafle love compare, 
 And, beyond riches, prize a virtuous fair. 
 
 EPILOGUE
 
 SPOKEN BY MISS LINDAR. 
 
 ELL ! as I'm champion for youngBayes's play, 
 Take care, good people, of the words you fay ! 
 For If I like 'em not, I mall abufe you ! 
 And were I big enough I wou'd fb ufe you ! 
 What have I laid ? You laugh at my behaviour, 
 And think me yet too young to alk a favour. 
 Faith now I'm cool again, I think fo too ! 
 What did our author then intend to do ? 
 
 I muft confefs, I'm angry at th' abufe 
 
 To fend me here, to make his play's excufe ! 
 
 Why, what a piece of folly has he fliown ? 
 
 He Ihou'd confider I'm not yet full grown ! 
 
 If I had reach *d my teens, or fomething nigh, 
 
 I (hou'd have been well pleas'd my ftrength to try ! 
 
 Howe'er gallants, I yet believe a kifs 
 
 Might bribe the boldeft furely none wou'd hifs ! 
 
 Nay, as it is, you each muft Hand my friend, 
 
 If youth's a fault, I ev'ry day lliall mend ; 
 
 For here you know, like gard'ner's forc'd endeavours, 
 
 We fprout apace ! and foon may grant you favours 
 
 And when I'm ripe, I find it in my nature 
 
 To be a very eafy loving creature ! 
 
 . j2 
 
 I wou'd do much to gain your future graces- 
 Come ! let me fee a fmile upon your faces ! 
 If you once think to put on frowns to fright me, 
 I'll be reveng'd, and die a maid to fpite ye. 
 
 [Runs of, 
 
 SIR
 
 i * 3 
 
 SIR THOMAS OVERBURY. 
 
 l 
 
 TRAGEDY. 
 
 ACTED AT THE THEATRE ROYAL IN 
 DRURY-L ANE, 
 
 IN THE YEAR 1724, 
 BY HIS MAJESTY'S SERVANTS. 
 
 . 
 Obfequium amicos, veritas odium, parit ! 
 
 TERENT. 
 
 O foelix hominum genus ! 
 Si veftros animos amor, 
 Quo coelum regitur, rcgat. 
 

 
 .am flioi*
 
 T O 
 
 HERBERT TRYST, 
 
 OF THE 
 
 CITY OF HEREFORD. 
 
 S I R, 
 
 A HAVE been told, 'tis a cuftom to 
 afk permiffion for fuch kind of addrefies; 
 but there is fomething fo very mean in 
 this civility, to alk your pardon for ne- 
 glecYmg it, were to deferve your in- 
 dignation. 
 
 If merit ought to be preferred to what 
 the world calls greatnefs ; if a fenfe of 
 paft favours Ihould be confidered, be- 
 fore future views ; you, Sir, have the 
 jufteft title to this Dedication from me, 
 
 were
 
 DEDICATION. 
 
 were the play a performance more worthy 
 your acceptance. 
 
 Had other authors the knowledge and 
 experience of your virtues that I have, 
 I fhould find many rivals, when I beg 
 leave to fubfcribe myfelf, 
 
 S I R, 
 
 Your devoted, 
 Humble fervant, 
 
 RICHARD SAVAGE.
 
 ADVERTISEMENT. 
 
 JL HE importunity of the Publifhcr being 
 very preffing, I omit the Preface, which I in- 
 tended ; wherein I propofecl, by way of EiTay, 
 A DISCOURSE ON TRAGEDY : the fubjeft be- 
 ing too copious to treat of, in this fhort time, 
 I defer it, either to publifh it tingle, or to join 
 it with fume other work. 
 
 But my gratitude prompts me to declare 
 the obligations I have to my beft and dearefh 
 friend,, Mr. Aaron Hill, for his many judi- 
 cious corrections in this Tragedy. On that 
 worthy gentleman, whofe mind is enriched 
 with every noble fcience, and in whofe breaft 
 all the virtues of humanity are comprifed, it 
 will be my pride, to offer my fentiments in a 
 more diflinguifhing manner hereafter. 
 
 VOL. I. H I think
 
 ADVERTISEMENT. 
 
 I think it my duty alfo, to return thanks 
 to the town, for their favourable reception- 
 of this play ; and for the applaufe their indul- 
 gence beftow'd on the performance of the 
 young aftors : particularly, for my own fuc- 
 cefs, in a double capacity, as after and author, 
 I fhall ever publickly confefs their generofity, 
 as it will ever prove my fecret fatisfaftion. 
 
 N'otwithftanding the difadvantage this play 
 may have received in the reprefentation, I can- 
 not omit acknowledging a debt of gratitude to 
 Mr. Theophilus Gibber, who was very care- 
 ful in the management of the rehearfals, and 
 
 o 
 
 endeavoured to inftruft every one concerned in 
 the play ; a mechanifm, which my inexperi- 
 ence, as an aflor, made me incapable of. 
 
 Though an author knows the meaning of his 
 fcenes, he may be unacquainted \vith a thea- 
 trical method of fetting them in the moft 
 advantageous appearance. Example enforces 
 
 precept ;
 
 ADVERTISEMENT. 
 
 precept : and therefore, Mr. Gibber, junior, 
 took the noblefl method to improve others, 
 by doing juftice to his own character ; and, 
 though he labours under the prefent difad van- 
 tage of fmall ftature, I cannot help concurring 
 with the opinion of many others, that in acYion 
 and elocution, he is certainly a prodigy ! 
 
 
 
 
 
 Hz PRO-
 
 PROLOGUE 
 
 WRITTEN BY AARON HILL, 
 SPOKEN BY MR. GIBBER, JUN. 
 
 N 
 
 E W to the flage by no paft praifes fir'd ! 
 Young, and unfam'd, and but by hope infpir'd : 
 Raife us to reach that hope's ambitious call, 
 Or with foft pity, break our threaten'd fall. 
 Small tho' our merit be, your minds are great, 
 And undeferv'd applaufe may worth create : 
 Svveetnefs fits fmiling, where the heart beats true, 
 And they praife inoft, to whom moft praife is due. 
 
 Low let me court ye to befriend our caufe ! 
 If juftice pleads not, generous pity draws. 
 In a full world, our author lives, alone 
 L T nhappy ! and, of confequence, unknown : 
 Yet, amidft forrow, he difdains complaint ; 
 Nor languid, in the race of life, grows faint. 
 He fwims, unyielding, againft fortune's ilream, 
 Nor to his private fuff'rings, ftoops his theme : 
 Adopts the pains which others undergo, 
 And, for your pleafure, feels not his own woe. 
 
 They fliou'd themfelves be pleas'd, who love to 
 
 pleafe ; 
 
 And he who fears not mis'ry, merits eafe. 
 Oh ! fave unfriended virtue from diitrefa 
 
 'Tis the divine prerogative to biefs ! 
 
 Sad,
 
 PROLOGUE. 
 
 o A f 1, r i. aW 
 
 bad, for the tragic fcene, your hearts prepare, 
 
 Where love kills friendship, and awakes defpair ; 
 
 Where cherifii'd mifchiefs tovv'r above controul, \f\ 
 
 * Jl 
 And warring paffions rend the tortur'd foul ! 
 
 Taught by the pictur'd woes, which weep to-nii 
 Let long-weigh 'd caution guide your whiles right: 
 Slow, thro' your eyes, give fmiling ruin way ; 
 Love, by that pafs, but enters to betray ! 
 Beauty fades faft nor will it's tranfient grace 
 Sooth the lick bofom, when the thought takes place. 
 
 But when twin fouls each other's tranfport claim, 
 And pant and burn, and twift their ftruggling flame, 
 Safe let 'em meet, by no falfe fears opprefs'd ; 
 f prm'd to be one, and, till rejoin'd, unblefs'd ! 
 
 H 3 D R A. 
 
 3
 
 8US.S3VO 
 
 DRAMATIS PERSONS. 
 
 MEN. 
 
 Earl of Northampton, Mr. Bridgwater. 
 Earl of Somerfet, Mr. Cibber, jun. 
 
 Sir Thomas Overbury, Mr. Savage, the author. 
 Sir Gervas Elloways, Mr. Keith. 
 
 W O M E N. 
 
 Lady Frances Howard, niece to the"\ 
 Earl of Northampton, formerly I 
 wife of the Earl of Effex, di- > Mrs. Campbell, 
 vorced from him, and afterwards I 
 married to the Earl of Somerlet,J 
 
 Ifabella, an orphan, under thel 
 
 euardianfhip of the Earl of! * ^ 
 
 r * , * i o ^ AA ib X3iCI. 
 
 Somerfet, in love with bir | 
 Thomas Overbury, J 
 
 Cleora, confident to the CounO 
 
 tefs of Somerfet, fecretly a \ Mrs. Davifon. 
 friend to Ifabella, J 
 
 Officer, guards, and attendants. 
 SCENE LONDON.
 
 A C T I. S C E N E I. 
 
 Earl of Northampton and Sir Gervas Elloways, 
 
 ,H 
 
 Nor. JLJ. O W cheerfully hath this day's light 
 
 broke forth ! 
 
 The new rifen fun, dreit rich in orient beams, 
 Beholds, with triumph, the late wife of Effex 
 Tranfplant her beauties, from his barren fliade, 
 To flourifh by the heat of love and Somerfet. 
 
 Ell. Never fhall I forget the tempting bride ! 
 Such dazzling luftre fparkled from her eyes, 
 That the proud gems (lie wore flione dim beneath 'em ; 
 Inviting warmth glow'd lovely on her cheeks, 
 And from her tongue flovv'd fuch melodious founds, 
 That lift'ning rage grew gentle as her accents, 
 And age was youth again by looking on her ! 
 
 Nor. Yet, tho' her features are as foft as air, 
 Strong paffions urge her mind to manly daring ! 
 Work'd up by nature with unufual ftrength, 
 Vengeance, ambition, and the warmth of greatnefs 
 Swell in her foul, and lift her above woman. 
 
 Ell. That Overbury, who oppos'd this marriage, 
 Will frown on its conclufion He's your enemy ! 
 
 H 4 When
 
 120 SIR THOMAS OVERBURY. 
 
 When correfponding with the court of Rome, 
 'Tvvas he who intercepted dangerous letters. 
 
 Nor. He did, nor think that I forget he did it : 
 My genius, baleful as a comet's blaze, 
 Hangs o'er his head, and burns with red revenge '. 
 Nay, he's my rival too ! That fiery thought 
 Glows in ray breaft ; and as I weigh my wrongs, 
 I fwell like jEtna, when her fulph'rous rage 
 Burils o'er the earth, and rolls in floods of fire. 
 
 EH. Your Ifabella, Somerfet's fair charge, 
 Is fure an abftracr, of divine perfection ! 
 While Overbury's love, like a black cloud, 
 Cuts off, and intercepts the glittering profpeft. 
 
 Nor. O ! name it not it mull: not, fliall not be! 
 Old as I am, I'll fnatch the pleafure from him; 
 And love and policy fliall join to crufli him. 
 
 Ell. You know her charms are Somerfet's difpofal. 
 Warm in the luftre of our late Queen's graces, 
 'Tis ftrange, to mark the power of time to change us. 
 Her father fhone the favourite of the court : 
 But when his day of hope at length declin'd, 
 Drove by his enemies he fled to Scotland, 
 Pin'd there, and, chill'd with forrows, died an exile. 
 
 Nor. 'Tis well but I have news more worth, 
 
 relating ! 
 Wade, the lieutenant of the Tower's difplac'd. 
 
 EH.
 
 SIR THOMAS OVERBURY. 121 
 
 Ell. May I remind your lordfhip of a promife? 
 Nor. Thou needft not, Ell'ways, I fo truly prize 
 
 thee, 
 
 That were my mind big with my country's fate, 
 With plots, which known, would blaft my life and 
 
 honour, 
 
 I fhou'd, I think, unfold 'em to thy friendfhip 
 Of that hereafter See, the bride approaches ! 
 
 [Exit Ell. 
 
 Enter tie Countcfs of Somerfet. 
 
 Nor. Hail, to thofe charms ! that fmile upon the 
 
 r 
 
 morn, 
 
 And fweetly gild it, like a milder fun ! 
 May joys, in circles, dance away your days ! 
 And length of years fuftain your bridal pleafures ! 
 Fair Somerfet ! now happy too, and great ! 
 Bleft with perfection to the height of thought ! 
 The worth that could deferve beauty like your's, 
 Infures foft blifs, and heaps long life with pleafure. 
 
 Count. Thus while a lover, talk'd my Somerfet, 
 His words fell foft like hov'ring flakes of fnow, 
 And in cold tremblings melted on my bofom ! 
 But now, alas ! 
 
 Nor. You cannot, fure, fufpecl him ! 
 
 Count. He has alarm'd 
 
 A pride
 
 I22 SIR THOMAS OVERBURY, 
 
 A pride that catches the firft fpark, and kindles ! 
 To be forfaken, is a thought of horror ! 
 Oh ! it wou'd grate the woman in my foul, 
 To have my pride fubdu'd and make me mad ! 
 Tho' but laft night our nuptials fix'd him mine ! 
 Starting this morning from my flighted arms, 
 Thought feem'd to prefs his mind, lighs heav'd his 
 
 bofom, 
 
 And, as repenting of his vvifli poffefb'd, 
 Full in the bluflung dawn, he rofe and left me. 
 
 Nor. There is a damp, I know, that clouds his joys, 
 A vapour, which your warmth might foon difperfe. 
 Count. What points my uncle at ? 
 
 Nor. I'll fpeak it plainly 
 
 Overbury ! 
 
 That reftlefs foe of ours your hufband's friend! 
 This morning is expefted. 
 
 Count. Overbury ! 
 
 Then aid me indignation rage and vengeance ! 
 Nor. \Vife'y, you call on rage for its affiltance ; 
 Juiiice would be too flow for your revenge, 
 And confcience bids us give it up for ever ! 
 But what is confcience? a thin empty name, 
 That terrines, like ghofts, by fancy rais'd. ~ 
 Ev'n the moll brave ufe itratagems in war; 
 And what are plots againft a private foe, 
 But felf-defence ? the firft great rule of nature ! 
 
 Count
 
 SIR THOMAS OVERBURY. 123 
 
 Count. My lord, I fee to what your couif fel leads me ! 
 I am a woman ! nay, a woman wrong'd ! 
 And when our fex, from injuries take fire, 
 Our foftnefs turns to fury ! and our thoughts 
 Breathe vengeance and deftruction ! 
 
 Nor. Spoke like yourfelf ! 
 
 Count, Oh ! I'm tranfported with infpiring heat ' 
 You know I never lov'd the Earl of Somerfef, 
 'Tvvas intereft, 'twas ambition won me to him ; 
 And there's one thought, I own, has rack'd my peace, 
 The only one I e'er conceal 'd from you. 
 
 Nor. Inftruft me It may ferve us as a plan, 
 From which I'll raife a pile of tow'ring miichief, 
 Shall nod with watchful horror o'er his head, 
 'Till, tumbling, it fliall crufh him into ruin. 
 
 Count. Know then, with flume I fpeak it, I have 
 lov'd him ! 
 
 Nor. Lov'd whom ? not Overbury ! 
 
 Count. Yes ! lov'd him, more than I deleft him now ! 
 Each thought, look, geilure has confeft the folly ! 
 Nay, I have wrote O heav'n ! I know not what ! 
 Reafon was fled ! and every thought was madnefs ! 
 And now he may betray me ! 
 
 Nor. May ! he will 
 
 Thefe letters muft be artfully won from him : 
 Succeeding, we ftir Somerfet againft him ; 
 
 i Revenge,
 
 124 SIR THOMAS OVERBURY. 
 
 Revenge, with tranfport then, would fvveeten all 
 The rage of flighted love urge that difcfeetly : 
 I know the temper of your lord 'twill fire him ! 
 Touch but that point, and jealoufy pleads for you 
 But mark ! he comes, and feems amus'd and penfive : 
 'Tis fit we part anon we'll fix our fcheme. 
 
 [Exit Count. 
 
 Enter Earl of Somerfet. 
 
 Sottt. A k'nd good-morrow to my honour'd unclf ! 
 Now fortune fcems to fmile in earneft on me ; 
 This Jaft night's bleffing crovvn'd my warmeft wifli, 
 And kindling fancy from the thought takes fire ! 
 Oh ! my good lord ! language gives way beneath it, 
 The painter's colours, and the poet's art 
 Cou'd touch but a faint image of my joys. 
 
 Nor. And yet, if I miftook you not, at entrance, 
 Your looks were low'ring, and your bofom labour'd ! 
 Thro' the gay fmile of your difiembled joy, 
 I faw th' obfcuring fliade which wrap'd your foul. 
 Som. Sure, you miftook! I think I was all 
 
 rapture ! 
 
 How I adore your niece be witncfs, heaven ! 
 Witnefs ye fort defires ! that fwell my veins, 
 
 And beat but to the mufic of her love 
 
 Dearly I love her ! to diffraction love her ! 
 
 Nor
 
 SIR THOMAS OVERBURY. 125 
 
 Nor words can fpeak nor thought can feel my 
 
 paffion ! 
 But Oh ! Northampton ! 
 
 Nor, Speak. 
 
 Som. I have a friend 
 
 Dearer than life ! and, as my honour, precious ! 
 Our wifhes and our interefts are the lame ! 
 Friendfhip has join'd us in fo ftrift a band, 
 As if one parcel'd foul inform'd us both ! 
 Yet he 
 
 Nor. Let not his partial hate of her perplex you ! 
 A wife becomes the trueft, tend'refl friend, 
 The balm of comfort, and the fource of joy ! 
 Thro' every various turn of lite the fame. 
 For men, they are not as they were of old 
 Oft their profeffions are the arts of intereft ! 
 You'll find the friendfhip of the world is (how, 
 Mere outward fho\v ! 'Tis like the harlot's tears, 
 The ftatefman s promife, or falfe patriot's zeal, 
 Full of fair-feeming, but delufion all. 
 
 Som. Not fo then might I think you not my 
 
 friend ! 
 
 Shall I, becaufe I live in faithlefs times, 
 Diflrufl a virtuous man ? or fhou'd I flight 
 A faithful fair-one, 'caufe her lex are falfe ? 
 If thefe are maxims, ties can bind no more ! 
 
 All
 
 126 SIR THOMAS OVERBURY. 
 
 All that is human is for ever loft, 
 And brutes are e'en as we are. 
 
 Nor. Come, my lord ! 
 
 This Overbury ! he's the thorn that galls you ! 
 Truft me, I know him well he has a foul 
 Too harihly form'd for fuch endearing friendfhip. 
 
 Som. Greatly you wrong him ! I have found him 
 
 tender 
 
 As firil-made mothers to their erring infants. 
 Firm to his prince, and faithful to his country ; 
 A braver fubject England never boafted, 
 Nor man a nobler friend than Overbury. 
 
 Nor. Can he be juftly call'd your nobleft friend, 
 Yet facrifice your blifs to private malice ? 
 Let not a fhow of friendlhip make you wretched, 
 Nor break the bands which heaven and love have made. 
 
 Som. Know you, my lord, fo little then of So- 
 
 merfet, 
 
 That you can wrong him with fo poor a thought ? 
 My wife ! to tell you but how much I love her ! 
 'Twou'd, like eternity, admit no end. 
 
 Nor. I've done your fafe difcretion be your 
 guide. [Exit* 
 
 Som. A wife ! a friend ! Oh ! they include all joys 1 
 And love and friendfhip are fo near a-kin, 
 They ihou'd, like poetry and mufic, join ! 
 
 Each
 
 SIR THOMAS OVERBURY. 127 
 
 Each form'd to grace the other Why, then, in me, 
 Why, in my breaft, fhou.'d friendship jar with love ? 
 
 -,uVl 
 
 ->vO sriiT 
 Enter Sir Thomas Overbury. 
 
 Sow. Fly to my arms Welcome as eafe to pain, 
 As IK. 1th to natu .-, or relief to want ! 
 
 Over. O Somerfet ! engraft me on thy bofbm ! 
 Each day of abfence feem'd a ling'ring age ! 
 But I have hafted e'en to out-ftrip time ! 
 Left the dull hours behind me as I flew, 
 And reach'd the go 1 of all my wifhes here. 
 
 Som. Friends, who thus meet, poflefs fo foft a blifs, 
 That none, but thofe who tafte, can guefs our joy. 
 
 Over. ' May ours live to the laft verge of being ! 
 Nay, ev'n in death ! for then, if thought remains, 
 Shou'd mine but meet a foul in worlds to come, 
 Whofe generous flame fublim'd it from the reft, 
 I fhou'd be apt to call it Somerfet ! 
 But tell me for my mind has dwelt upon thee, 
 Has thy fond heart regain'd its liberty ? 
 Does the late Eflex yet appear herfelf ? 
 Or*art thou ftill bevvitch'd with her inchantment ? 
 
 Som. Alas ! thou know'ft not what a lover feels. 
 
 Over. Have I a foul for friendship, not for love ? 
 
 There'*
 
 i 2 8 SIR THOMAS OVERBURY. 
 
 There's one who knows my foftnefs but too well ! 
 Knows how her beauty fires ! her virtue charms me ! 
 Eflex, I fee, ftill hangs her witchcraft rounu thee. 
 Som. Wou'dft thou but view her with impartial eyes ! 
 Over. Why, I confefs {he's fair; and when fiie talks, 
 Inchanting foftnefs melts upon her tongue, 
 And flows in feas of mifchief ! She has beauty, 
 Which fpreads and blooms like a frefh-opening now'r ! 
 But poifonous adders lurk beneath its ftalk : 
 And from fuch briars flioots this lovely rofe, 
 It wounds the touch which it invites to crop it. 
 
 Som. But let me beg thee, if thou lov'it thy Somerfet, 
 If friendfliip makes my peace of mind thy care, 
 No more to fliock me on this tender point. 
 
 Over. 'Twere flattery all, not friendihip, to comply ! 
 The wound can ne'er be cur'd that fauns the probing! 
 Kind is the hand that wipes the duft from virtue, 
 And counfel is a friend's peculiar office. 
 
 Som. Trufl me, my friend, that counfel comes 
 
 too late. 
 
 Over. Hear me ! for, as I love thee, I w:i 
 What tho' her outward charms attract the eye, 
 Virtue, the gem within, is long lince faded ! 
 Her fame, like flefli that blackens in the fun, 
 Is blown and bloated by the breath of thoufauds, 
 
 Now,
 
 SIR THOMAS OVERBURY. 129. 
 
 Now, as a man, weigh well ere you refolve, 
 For when a woman's reputation's gone, 
 All that repenting virtue can infpire, 
 Can never fix it in its ftate again. 
 
 Som. Cruel report, I know, has wrong'd her worth .' 
 Envy {till feeds upon the faireft fruit, 
 And fpreads its poifon on the wings of virtue ; 
 It blinds ev'n Overbury to accufe her. 
 
 Over. My lord, my lord, I am no ftranger to her! 
 Her trial with her late wrong'd hvifhand, ElTex ! 
 Her loofe pretenfions for that wifh'd divorce ! 
 I know it all! and, by my foul, I think, 
 Dear, as I love thee, could'ft thou ftoop fo low 
 As to receive that wanton to thy arms, 
 'Twould fliake my friendfhip fo I could not fcorn 
 
 thee 
 
 But ere I'd fee thy fhame I'd range the world, 
 And leave thee to the ruin thou'rt fo fond of ! 
 Should'ft thou ! Alas ! what mean thole rtarting tears, 
 Big drops of fweat dead palenefs trembling limbs ! 
 Signs of fome ftrong confulion ! 
 
 Som. O my friend ! 
 
 I inuft not cannot hide a thought from thee ! 
 She, from whofe charms your friendship wou'd dif- 
 
 fuade me, 
 Is now my wife ! 
 
 VOL. I. I Over,
 
 ijo SIR THOMAS OVERBURY. 
 
 Over. Your wife ? 
 
 Som. My much lov'd wife. 
 
 Over. Oh ! what are men who love ! My lord, 
 
 I've done ! 
 
 One figh to friendship only and no more ! 
 All thofe convulfive flarts that fhock thy frame, 
 Were the prophetic warners of my fall. 
 
 Som. Said'ft thou thy fall ! fall firft a thoufand 
 Somerfets. 
 
 Over. That I ftill love thee witnefs this embrace ! 
 Witnefs thefe tears ! but from this fatal hour, 
 Join'd, as you are to her we part for ever. 
 
 Som. O flop repent recall thofe hafly words ! 
 What ! part for ever ! 
 
 Over. For ever our alliance, not our lave. 
 
 Som. I fear I have no friend but Overbury. 
 
 Over. Ypu have a wife, and friendihip is her office! 
 It flings my foul to fee thee thus betray'd, 
 And my foreboding heart e'en bleeds with pity ! 
 All that is left me now is to avoid thee, 
 And not to fee, what but to hear will kill me. 
 Farewel, my lord may ceafelefs bleflings waityout 
 
 [Exif, 
 
 Somerfet alone. 
 
 Som. Sorrow, eternal forrow claims me now ! 
 All happy fortune flies for ever from me ! 
 
 Whate'er'a
 
 SIR THOMAS OVERBURY. 131 
 
 Whate'er's worth wifhing for on earth, I've loft. 
 Life is a dream, difturb'd by conftant cares, 
 And he, who is not lov'd, finds death a bleffing. 
 
 Friendfliip's dear ties for generous fouls were made, 
 When they relax, black woes our peace invade ! j(^ 
 Friendfhip from every ill can life defend, 
 Our guardian angel's but a faithful friend. [Exit. 
 
 A C T II. SCENE!. CONTINUES. 
 Ifabella, Cleora. 
 
 Cleo. W H Y, Ifabella, are thefe fighs of forrow, 
 While crouding joys invite your blooming youth ? 
 Love rears a thoufand little tender fears, 
 Fate, with a fmile aufpicious, bids you hope ; 
 To fear is to diftruft a power fupreme, 
 The watchful guard of virtue in diftrefs. 
 
 I/a. Have I not caufe to fear a thoufand ills ? 
 
 Cleo. No ! your lov'd Overbury comes to cheer you, 
 Then let weak malice work up threatning mifchief, 
 Soon flrall the fairy ftruclure melt away : 
 Tho' Somerfet's new bride tries every wile 
 That flighted love, to hatred turn'd, can pra&ife, 
 Her foul's chief fecrets (he unfolds to me, 
 
 I 2 Aa
 
 132 SIR THOMAS OVERBURY. 
 
 As I to you difclofe 'em. 
 
 I/a. Kind Cleora ! 
 
 Our friendfhip grew and ripen'd with our years ! 
 When forc'd to lofe thee at my father's death, 
 How mournful was our parting. I blefs'd the chance> 
 When I beheld thee, with my guardian's bride, 
 Companion of her hours. 
 
 Cleo. Of me no more : 
 Now let your Overbury fill your thoughts, 
 And every accent fwell with founds of love. 
 
 Ifa. Oh ! my Cleora! he will ne'er be mine ; 
 A dreadful dream, laft night, has warn'd my foul : 
 Love had, methought, ordain'd our miptial rites; 
 But fudden, while before the prieit we ftood, 
 A low'ring cloud hung o'er the temple's roof, 
 And, with flow horror, fpread a fleecy darknefs. 
 From its black center burfl a rattling fliower, 
 Th' lab'ring air groan'd big with rolling thunder, 
 Red, thro' the gather'd gloom, flafli'd lightnings broke, 
 And the rent veil let in a dreadful glare, 
 Which, with portentous quiverings, gleam'-l upon us ! 
 The altar totter'd and the lights grew dim 
 A hollow wind (igh'd cold and from their graves 
 Pale ghofts flalk'd fhadowy, and fcreara'd hideous 
 
 round me. 
 
 But oh ! around my love fierce brightnefs glitter'd, 
 
 A fire,
 
 SIR THOMAS OVERBURY. 133 
 
 A fire, triumphant, curl'd about his form, 
 And, winding upward, fnatch'd him. from my fight. 
 Cleo. Yet he's not loft See ! where he fmiling 
 
 comes ! 
 Let me not flay to interrupt your joys. [Exit. 
 
 Enter Overbury. 
 
 Over. O take me, take me, to thy heav'nly bofom ! 
 Here let me pour out all my hoarded thoughts ! 
 Here tower my joys ! my cares be here difpers'd ! 
 
 I/a. I have a thoufand tender things to fay ! 
 A thoufand doubts at once to be reiblv'd ! 
 Three tedious months have heavily roll'd on, 
 And not one thought, perhaps has chid thy flay : 
 But while thy voice fo fweetly ftrikcs my ear, 
 My joys revive, and melt away my fadnefs. 
 
 Over. Let my foul blefs the mufic of thofe words ! 
 My heart breaks rapt'rous at the foftning found ! 
 I feaft my famifh'd eyes upon thy fmiles ! 
 I touch thee and am loft in extafy ! 
 A tide of thrilling joys flows thro' my veins, 
 I pant with pleafure, and I burn with love. 
 
 Ifa. I cannot, if I wou'd difguife my thoughts, 
 'Tho, 'tis perhaps, a fault to look thus kindly : 
 But, oh ! beware ! for thou haft dangerous foes ! 
 Beware, Northampton, who pretends to love me ! 
 
 I 3 Beware
 
 SIR THOMAS OVERBUHY. 
 
 
 ^ Beware the woman who deludes thy friend ! 
 Watchful, I drive to counterplot their mifchief, 
 And guard thy virtue from impending danger ! 
 
 Over. Oh ! thou rich fource of everiafting pleafure ! 
 Virtues rife mix'd, and fparkle in thy foul : 
 One glittering charm purfues another's fliine, 
 As while I cut thofe feas which brought me near thee, 
 Sweet fun-refleding waves roll'd glaffy on ; 
 And this no fooner kifs'd the fhore, and dy'd, 
 But a new follower rofc, and fwell'd as lovely. 
 
 Enter Northampton. 
 
 Nor. Why ftart you, Madam, at a lover's 
 
 prefence ? 
 
 Unveil your clouded beauty fince, this morning, 
 A fmiling fon looks gay on our friend's nuptials. 
 Jfa. My lord, I want the courtier. 
 Nor. Not the woman ! 
 
 I fee a too-fuccefsful rival near you 
 
 Sir, I fliou'd fpeak you welcome You are happy- 
 But, Madam, fmce your charms may be neglected, 
 For boys, unlkill'd, find gems, whofc worth they 
 
 know not ! 
 
 When fuch your fortune proves, think of Nor- 
 thampton, 
 
 And fmile, tho' late, on one who lives to love you. 
 
 Over.
 
 Sill THOMAS OVERBURY. 135 
 
 Over. My lord, this injury but provokes my fcorn, 
 The next may move my anger. 
 
 Nor. Am I threatened ? 
 Away thou buzzing infeft of the court ! 
 
 O<ve. Reproaches are too mean for brave mens anger, 
 Or I could fting thy arrogance with talking ? 
 Be wife ! nor urge my fword againft thy meannefs, 
 Worn for a nobler quarrel. 
 
 Nor. Sir, 'tis well ! 
 
 When we meet next, what now remains to fay, 
 May be debated. 
 
 Over. At your fpeedieft leifure. \Leads off Ifab. 
 
 3?13VO 
 
 Northampton folus. 
 
 Nor. Well, Overbury, thou doft right to fpurn me! 
 If plots have power, if oaths have force to crufh thee, 
 If there's a magic fpell beneath the moon, 
 Or poifon can be drawn from baneful plants, 
 Then horror, from my fury, light upon thee J 
 
 Enter Countefs of Somerfet. 
 
 Count. My lord, I know not if Fm yet betray'd ! 
 My foe ihot by me with a gloomy brow, 
 Nor bow'd his head in paffing. 
 
 I 4 Nor.
 
 136 SIR THOMAS OVERBURY. 
 
 Nor. Saw you your lord ? 
 
 Count. I did ; and ftrangely mov'd ! 
 The ufual fvveetnefs of his nature's loll, 
 With folded arms he traverfes the room, 
 Now red ! now pale ! big on his wat'ry eyes 
 Prompt tears Hand trembling fpeak to him, and he 
 
 fighs ! 
 
 Or fliakes his head and groans an hollow anfwer ! 
 Then, on a fudden, ftarts ! and flies obfervance ! 
 
 Nor. Now is the time to fire him to our purpofe ! 
 Their friendship broke, I have a further plot 
 Ere night this Overbury fees the Tower. 
 
 Count. Wolfey nor Burleigh ne'er projected better. 
 
 Nor. Hafte we to execute rcfolves ot weight. 
 An a&ive fire (hou'd quicken vaft conceptions ! 
 For, when delay's cold influence chills our fchemes, 
 Some adverfc fate comes, like a furious blafl, 
 And kills 'em ere they ripen into aftion. 
 
 Count. O ! I can match thee with an equal flame, 
 Not e'en the foldicr's fury, rais'd in war ! 
 The rage of tyrants when defiance flings 'em ! 
 The pride ot pricils fo bloody when in power ! 
 Are half fo dreadful as a woman's vengeance. 
 
 Nor. 'Tis a warm thought, and fires the mount- 
 ing foul ! 
 
 Revenge dares ftrike at every thing 
 
 R ivers oi blood mark out her fmoaking way ! 
 
 And
 
 SIR THOMAS OVERBURY. 157 
 
 And kingdoms flame to give her triumphs luftre ! 
 
 Welcome, dread vengeance ! 
 
 . 
 Count. Let the prieft-ridden vulgar worfliip virtue ; 
 
 Thou, virtuous Overbury, fleep, and dream ! 
 Dream of philofophy, and puzzling honour ! 
 Of heavenly vifions, and immortal fhadows ! 
 Till flow revenge leaps fuddenly upon thee : 
 Then ftart ! behold who flrikes ! and fo expire ! 
 
 Nor. Soft ! the earl comes ! be on the niceft guard ! 
 Prove thy fuccefs but vaft as are thy wifhes, 
 Thy name fhall fwell on fame's immortal voice, 
 A wonder among women ! [Exit. 
 
 Count. He comes! now aid me, all my fex'sfalfhood! 
 
 Enter Somerfet mufing. 
 Som. They fay, our thoughts diftinguifh us from 
 
 brutes ! 
 
 Wou'd I had never thought ! I had then been happy ! 
 Reflection rivets woe upon the wretched ! 
 Thought teaches me to feel a friend's loft worth ! 
 When we have friends, to them we trull our griefs, 
 Our care lies lighten'd, and the mind fleeps culm : 
 To me, that comfort's loft ! I have no friend ! 
 Oh ! I cou'd pine away this wretched life ! 
 Lean, like a willow, trembling o'er a brook ! 
 Sigh with the winds ! and murmur with the ftream ! 
 Count. His heart feems prefs'd with care. [Afidc. 
 
 My
 
 SIR THOMAS OVERBURY. 
 
 My gentle lord, 
 
 Why leave you thus the gaiety of friends ? 
 And why has grinding grief ufurp'd your foul ? 
 
 Som. I found myfelf diforder'd, and I left you 
 Oft am I thus leave me, I'll foon return. 
 
 Count. Oh ! my dear lord, I am not foon dectivM, 
 Thofe care-bent brows fuit not a bridegroom's face ! 
 Are folded arms the geftures of delight ? 
 Or thefe fad groans the voice of inward joy ? 
 No, no confider, I am now your wife ! 
 *Tis mine to eafe your cares, and bring you comfort ! 
 If you have forrows, I maft claim my part; 
 I fink not foon beneath a weight of woe 
 If you deny me this, you love me not. 
 
 Som. Not love thee ! fay ft thou ? Oh ! thou foul 
 
 of Somerfet, 
 
 Cou'd thofe bright eyes be rurn'd into my breaft, 
 There wou'd you fee how your fufpicion wrongs me ! 
 Let me look nigh ! let me gaze here with wonder ! 
 Where's friendfhip now ? Why, reafon yields to beauty! 
 What tho' the crimes, of which her foes accufe her, 
 Glar'd, broad as day-light, on my ftartled foul, 
 Angels play fmiling in her wanton: eyes, 
 And lend an awe to lightnefs love reigns round her, 
 And when flie fpeaks the fofteft, fweeteft mufic 
 2VIelts in ner voice, and charms away my grief. 
 
 Count.
 
 SIR THOMAS OVERBURY. 139 
 
 Count. Oh ! with what art you footh my fainting 
 
 fpirits ! 
 
 Then I am {till your dear, your much-lov'd wife 
 WKy do I afk ? thofe eyes confefs I am ! 
 But tell me for you ftiou'd impart your cares ^Q 
 Why are you thus ? 
 
 Som. Oh ! 
 
 Count. Nay, again you're cruel ! 
 Still when I ftrive to fearch the caufe, your voice 
 Sinks from the point, and anfwers with a groan. 
 
 Som. What caufe? I told thee I had been diforder'd 
 Thy fears are the wild coinage of thy fancy, 
 A fubtle felf- tor mentor ! 
 
 Count. 'Tis well, my lord ! 
 I guefs to whom I owe my lofs of power ; 
 You have a friend can tell you tales of honour, 
 And teach you hew to triumph o'er a wife, 
 Who has, indeed, had faults but whofe chief crime 
 Is loving you, perhaps, with too much fondnefs. 
 
 Som. What doil thou mean ? what friend ? 
 
 Count. Why, Overbury ! 
 I know your tutor chides your faulty conduct ! 
 Go then, and make your peace be meekly penitent, 
 Promife to err no more and he'll forgive you. 
 
 Som. Hear me, fweet tyrant ! By my life, I fwear 
 Thou'rt dear to me, as crowns to the ambitious ! 
 
 Dear
 
 i 4 o SIR THOMAS OVERBURY. 
 
 Dear as ihefe eyes, which tremble on thy charms, 
 Or, as this heart, which aches with joy and anguifli. 
 
 Count. Then I muft tell you, Sir, your friend's a 
 villain ! 
 
 Som. Have a care ! 
 Let not thy rage tranfport thee to detraftion. 
 
 Count. Oh ! were I but to fpeak his bafe attempt ! 
 
 Som. What bafe attempt ! 
 
 Count. No matter what it is : 
 I, fure, may be allow 'd fome fecrets too. 
 
 Som. Nay, this is wrong ! to brand him fait with 
 
 villain ! 
 
 Then, in a dulky phrafe, elude the charge ! 
 Truth feldom lies conceal'd in myftery, 
 Clearly to reafon fhe reveals her light, 
 And errors vanifh, like a mift, before her. 
 
 Count .Why what if he defign'd againft my honour? 
 
 Som. Your honour ! 'tis impoffible ! 
 
 Ctunt. Form all that treacherous guilt wou'd dare 
 
 toad, 
 And fum it up in this pretended friend. 
 
 Som. I prithee, do not make me mad ! fpeak 
 plainly ! 
 
 Count. Knowing you rpaffion, hedurft urge his own 
 He told me you were falfe ! designing jealous ! 
 Try'd every art of treachery to fupplant you ; 
 
 And
 
 SIR THOMAS OVERBURY. 141 
 
 And when he found his wiles were unfuccefsful, 
 Attempted force, and threaten'd me with flander. 
 Som. Force ! Slander ! thou haft warm'd me ! 
 
 think once more ! 
 He cou'd not be fo bafe ! ' 
 
 f> TT 
 
 L.ount. rie was. 
 Sam'. Impoffible ! 
 
 1~* ,- 11 
 
 .hre yet my fury mounts into a blaze, 
 Ere I upbraid him with thefe black defigns, 
 I charge thee do not tax him wrongfully, 
 For thou may'il: open fiich a fcene of horror, 
 'Twill fhake thce to behold it ! 
 Dare you confirm it with an oath ? 
 
 Count. I will. 
 
 Som. Nay, but weigh xvell what you prefume to fwear ! 
 Oaths are of dreadful weight and, if they're falfe, 
 Draw down damnation thofe who murder fame, 
 Kill more than life-deftroyers Think again ! 
 For, at that day, when each muft ftand arraigu'd, 
 Their lots will fall in the fevereft fires. 
 
 Count. By all my hopes, 
 What I have f;iid 
 
 Sam. No more I muft believe you 
 Believe you, faid I ! what muft I believe ? 
 If you prove falfe ! if you traduce my friend ! 
 And wrong my faith ! may forrow blaft thy beauties ! 
 
 May
 
 H2 SIR THOMAS OVERBURY. 
 
 May confcience rife in all her dreadful triumph ! 
 Scare every fenfe ! and ftrike thee with diilraftion ! 
 Yet, fare thou'rt true! thofeeyes which fhinelo fweetly, 
 Can wear no dufky ffoin of barbarous falfhood ! 
 What then muft Overbury be ? Reflection 
 Sickens with doubt, and dies in dark confufion. 
 
 Count. My lord 
 
 Som. Thou need'ft not fpeak I faid I would be- 
 lieve thee ; 
 
 Thou art my life, the fountoin of my joy ! 
 Yet, let me think ! Force ! Slander ! yes, 'tis fo ! 
 He's falfe ! he's falfe ! Curfe on all treacherous 
 friends ! 
 
 Count. Nay, but I meant not thus to fire your anger, 
 Forget a friend's firll falmood. 
 
 Som, Never ! never ! 
 
 No tho' this day was vow'd to peace and love, 
 Tho' crowds of noble guefts have grac'd my joys ; 
 Nay, tho' the king fhould add his lacred prefence, 
 My fury brooks no flay my fame ! my honour ! 
 Both are concern'd, and rouze my foul to vengeancet 
 
 Enter Northampton. 
 
 Nor. Why are the bride and bridegroom thus retir'd ? 
 Crouds of all ranks prefs in to join your pleafures ! 
 And every inflrument of raufic vies 
 
 To
 
 SIR THOMAS OVEKBURY. i 4J 
 
 To found fweet notes, and fwell the hours of love./ M 
 
 Som. Alas, my lord ! even harmony grows harfli ! 
 Thought's out o'tune, difcord has itruck my ear, 
 And my foul jars within me. .^ on ^^^ nf ) 
 
 Nor. What's the caufe ? ,<{,' 
 
 Som. 'Tis a vile world, Northampton ! 
 The oaths of friendfhip, like thofe made to girls, 
 Are meant but to betray, and broke o'courfe. 
 
 Nor. This I knew well beiore but who has 
 
 wrong'd you ? 
 
 Som. The darkeft of all villains a falfe friend !,jgY 
 
 But as I am a man, I will revenge it ! 
 
 Oh ! what a change has my poor heart fuftain'd ! 
 But a few moments fince, this man's lov'd memory 
 Sat foft, as brooding halcyons, on my foul ; 
 Now my rouz'd rage cou'd hunt him in full fcent, 
 Till his laft duft were fcatrer'd in the air, 
 And driven like chaff before the angry wind. 
 
 Nor. My lord, this feems th' extravagance of paffion ! 
 When anger rufhes, unreurain'd, to adion, 
 Like a hot fleed, it Humbles in its way ! 
 The man of thought wounds deepeft, and ftrikes fafely ; 
 Premeditation makes his vengeance fure ! 
 And levels it directly to the mark. 
 
 Som. I cannot, like a courtier, kill with fmiles f^oiO 
 My fury fcorns to glow, conceal'd in embers ; 
 
 No;
 
 I 4 4 SIR THOMAS OVERBURY. 
 
 No ; it fhall blaze abroad with flaming luftre ! 
 If I muft fall, why I was born to die, 
 And fall as a man fhou'd If I revenge me, 
 I right my injur'd honour, as I ought. 
 
 Nor. My lord, this ftream muft have another courfe : 
 
 This Overbury 
 
 Soot. Saidft thou Overbury ! 
 Now, by my foul, there's magic in the name, 
 And my charm 'd rage grows ftill as midnight filence ! 
 Why wou'dil thou fpeak it? Let me not dwell upon 
 
 him ! 
 Talk of falfe friendship ! of abandon'd honour ! 
 
 Of hate ! revenge ! diftra&ion ! 
 
 But fpare that name at which my fury melts, 
 Or guilt will fmile, like fweet-ey'd innocence. 
 
 Count. My lord, I wifli you cou'd furmount your 
 
 anger. 
 
 'Tis nobler to forgive, than to revenge. 
 Som. Doft thou plead too ! why he has wrong'd 
 
 thy fame ! 
 
 E'en to my ear has wrong'd it ! generous charmer ! 
 Nor. Your frowns will blaft what fprung but by 
 
 your fmiles. 
 
 Som. I'll think a while your counfel fliall direct 
 me. 
 
 Thou
 
 SIR THOMAS OVERBURY. 145 
 
 Thou injur'd friendfliip, my griev'd foul infpire 
 
 With awful juftice, and vindictive fire ! 
 
 Let my rerenge, to match th' ungen'rous wrong, 
 
 Be (wife as eagles, and as lions ftrong ! 
 
 Dreadful as flames by furious whirlwinds driven, 
 
 Or thunder burfting from offended heaven ! [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT III. SCENE I. 
 
 Northampton and Countefi of Somerfet. 
 
 H E King comes here in private then all's 
 right, 
 And, in good time, we've ftirr'd your husband's anger. 
 
 Count. The courtiers are in Overbury's intereft. 
 
 Nor. No matter .they'll defert him in his fall : 
 Like Perfians they adore the rifing fun, 
 But when the great man's glories fhrink away, 
 Shrubs, which grew under him, flioot up ungrateful, 
 And brave him in declenfion None affift him, 
 No kind hand lifts him from engulphing ruin, 
 But all join flrength to preis him lower flill 
 You have not heard, perhaps, that.Overbury 
 Courts friendfliip with your Efiex. 
 
 Count. How ! with Eflex ! 
 
 Nor. What if he (hould betray your letters to him ? 
 
 VOL. I. K Count.
 
 ,46 SIR THOMAS OVERBURY, 
 
 Count. The villain dares not ! 
 
 Nor. If he docs, you're loft 
 
 , rro 
 
 W hat ! know you of his love to Ifabella ? 
 
 T :i em I 
 
 Count. Oh ! name it not 
 
 DJ.'O'rq 9rn IIA 
 
 It cannot be I've fear'd, but would not find i. 
 
 ' , 
 
 Nor. Wou'd 'twere a fecret then but iee this 
 
 packet, 
 
 Thefe are his letters to that Ifabella. 
 Their fuperfcriptions wanting happy that ! 
 
 To tell how I acquir'd 'em, would be tedious : 
 
 I i ,. ' , Hb'niil I 
 
 Let it fuffice, thefe undirected papers 
 
 r 'KiiT 
 
 Shall bear the force ot proofs to Somerfet, 
 
 
 
 Molt fatal to his friend. Sir Gervas Ell vvaysu 
 
 -ITTL i. i_ , j r !3fiT 
 
 V\ ho bears a weighty part in this defi^n, 
 
 , , , . . 
 
 Is coming tow rds us Pleafe to leave him with me. 
 
 T -i c i. i r 
 
 I am an exile from the royal pretence, 
 
 J r >AiJ. 
 
 But you, the King expects, fliould blefs his eyes. 
 
 \Exit Countcfs of Somerfet. 
 
 L J 
 
 That he fees Eflex I am well inform'd, 
 
 And blew that fpark to raife her to a flame. 
 
 r ,A 
 
 Enter Sir Gervas Elloways. 
 
 . 
 Let me congratulate my faithful Elloways ! ^^j. '^'j- 
 
 The Tower-lieutenancy will now be yours, 
 For Somerfet has faid it. 
 //. My kind lord! 
 
 Nor,
 
 
 ,, _ T .. . 
 
 Nor. Nay, I nave news 
 
 -ni_ -11 i '7 - -MOIAT WO/, ,33Qfi 3d 1] 
 
 That more will pleaie you, if you love Northampton. 
 
 T-u T u -ii r u 
 
 1 he man I hate will loon be in my power. 
 
 " 
 All the proud fteps, by which he climb'd to greatnefs, 
 
 c . , c , r 'j i i r n 
 
 Sink from his feet, and let him fall to ruin. 
 
 _,,,-, - , r . . . , "*>/i 
 
 jLll. Can bomerlet forlake him r 
 
 Nor. He detefts him. 
 
 Ell. Prodigious change! this news indeed furprizes! 
 
 \T -r r u T -n 
 
 J\or. lo gain the unbeliever to my withes, 
 
 T A" Ml.' -1 r , 
 
 1 itirr d his temper with luch cautious art, 
 That, ere his judgment cou'd exert its phlegm, 
 His blood took ferment from a warmth of paffion : 
 Then, while his fi'ry fpirit flam'd with rage, 
 In its full heat, I ftamp'd it with revenge. 
 
 Ell. The depth of wifdom flows, in all your actions, 
 Like a ftrong current, which, oppos'd by piles, 
 Works gently thro', and laps the mound unfeen, 
 Till, gathering force, it pours refiftlefs in, 
 
 . j f i n ir- r-i i i 
 
 And the bank floats before it End you there f 
 
 Nor. No Overbury's death muft crown iny condud! 
 Ell. There's danger there ! 
 Nor. Not fo I've weigh'd it well. 
 Th' aflaflinating Spanilh way's unfafe, 
 Sufpicion were its follower and fufpicion 
 Wou'd, like a bloodhound, trace our fleps too near ! 
 What think you of the clofe Italian's means ? 
 
 K 2 -Sure,
 
 148 SIR THOMAS OVERBURY. 
 
 Sure, filent poifon ? Dare you be a friend ? 
 
 Ell. I dare the worfh 
 
 Nor. Know then, that Somerfet 
 Has noted Over bury as moft intimate -jlnirfl?M 
 
 With fome, whofe zeal is mark'd againft the ftate : 
 Now to inflame the King with jealoufy, 
 An embafly to Ruifia will be offer'd him : 
 This love and policy forbid him taking, 
 And if he not accept it, all's confirm'd ; 
 It fpeaks him plainly loth to leave his fadion, 
 And fo he comes committed to yoar care. 
 
 Ell. The reft may be compleated eafily : 
 'Tis but to change the doubted officers, 
 And place fuch round him as will fuit ourpurpofe. 
 
 Nor. No more be fecret. 
 
 Enter Somerfet. 
 
 Som. Good Sir Gervas Elloways ! 
 I greet you gladly, with your new-giv'n honour, 
 Which the King's pleafure, thus confirms by me. 
 
 [Delivers a commijjion. 
 
 Ell. My lord, you bind me ever to your fervice. 
 
 Som. Oh my Northampton ! 
 
 jY0r. Why that figh, my lord ? 
 
 Som. I have been thinking, when we lofe a friend, 
 'Tis like an eye pluck'd from its bleeding orb. 
 No more the other holds the joy of fight, 
 
 But,
 
 SIR THOMAS OVERBURY. 149 
 
 But, ceafelefs, weeps till it grows blind with aiiguifh - 
 So mourns my widow'd foul for Overbury. 
 
 Nor. Why do you name him ftill thus tenderly ? 
 Methinks your wrongs fhou'd rife againft your vveak- 
 
 3) " nefs 
 And fling you with reflection. 
 
 Som. Ay, mention thofe, and I relapfe to fury ! 
 My reftlefs thoughts drive round like veering winds, 
 Forgetful of their center ! yet the foul, 
 Like a foft babe, inur'd to foolifh fondnefs, 
 Is hard to wean from wailing Oh ! forgive me : 
 'Tis the laft ftruggle of expiring friendship. 
 
 Nor. Your paffions late were wing'd, like vengeful 
 
 whirlwinds, 
 
 Now they link, fighing, to a gale of forrow ! 
 Shame on your foftnefs w here's the foul of Somerfet ? 
 Where's that fierce fire which us'd to kindle in you, 
 And fparkle, from your eyes, in fierce refentment ? 
 
 What ! all extinguifh'd ? 
 
 . 
 
 Sm. No : I am ftill the fame, 
 
 _ 
 
 I've the King's orders for this embafly, 
 And Overbury's fent for. 
 
 Nor. If he refufes, 
 
 We place him on the pinnacle of fate ! 
 There (hall big-gathering winds fing round his head, 
 And whirl him to deftrudion Ell'ways be ready. 
 . ..-, [Exit Elloways. 
 
 K 3 Som-
 
 ISO SIR THOMAS OVER BURY. 
 
 Som. But, my good lord, this treachery ftartks me, 
 'Tis an unmanly vengeance. 
 Nor. Fye, my lord ! 
 
 Som. Why, rather, not accufe him face to face, 
 And, with an open anger, prove the charge ? 
 
 Nor. There may be guilt, you wou'd not vvifli to 
 
 prove 
 
 Look on thefe letters ! fent without direction ! 
 Artful and fafe that caution Know you the hand ? > 
 How foft are the contents ! 
 Sem. Wou'd I were blind ! 
 Nor. Wou'd not he wrong his King who wrongs his 
 
 friend ! n gnin'jbil nsHW 
 
 Come, come, my lord you muft be won to wifdbm ! 
 Tho* the foft dove brood, gall-lels, o'er your breaft, 
 Yet let the v/ary ferpeht arm your mind. 
 
 Som. O heaven ! he come* ! he fhocks rflefW&h*his 
 
 prefeiice ! 
 Nor. See ! ElTex leaves himhad he been 'your 
 
 friend, 
 
 I le wou'd not thus be feen. My lord farewel. [Exit. 
 San 'Tis death to meet him ! yet I cannot ftir. 
 
 nolqaifiri 
 Enter Sir Thomas Overbury. 
 
 Off". My lord, I come obedient to your famnrons, 
 
 The
 
 SIR THOMAS OVERBURY. 151 
 
 The force of friendfhip overfways my griefs, 
 And I muft love you ftilhc3gn3v ytaBflin/; u 
 
 Sow. Diflembling villain ! \_j4JiJc. 
 
 I have a meiTage from the King, this morning, 
 That will, I doubt, furprize you 'tis his pleafure, 
 That you prepare yourfelf, without delay, 
 For a fhort embafly to Ruffia. 
 
 Over. The warning's fudden ! no Joo J 
 
 Sam. The defign is deep ! 
 Perhaps too, not propos'd by your beft friends. 
 
 Over. Now, my lov'd lord, I'll try your friend- 
 
 (hip's faith ! 
 When fick'ning reafon labours in the mind, 
 Advice is the foul's cordial How (hall I aft? 
 Jl&yt'Som. If horsefly's your guide, you cannot ftray. 
 
 Over. If to be bleft and hone ft were the fame, 
 I Ihou'd not be unhappy. 
 
 Som. He feems innocent. 
 'Tis a hard ftruggle to diflemblc thus ! [AJide. 
 
 Over. If your looks wrong you notjyouarediforder'd! 
 
 Som. Have you refolv'd ? 1 wait for your reply. 
 
 Over. So cool in your advice! nay, now I read you! 
 Northampton and your wife ! Serpent and woman ! 
 Have turn'd you 'gninft your friend ! 
 And your plain mind, unfaihion'd for deceit, 
 Knows not to veil its frailty. 
 
 K 4 Scat.
 
 i 5 a SIR THOMAS OVERBURY. 
 
 Sam. Have a care 
 
 Oow. What! ami threaten'd too? ungrateful 
 
 Somerfet ! 
 
 Have I advis'd you with a brother's tendernefs, 
 Pin'd for your peace, and made your cares my own, 
 To be rewarded thus ? Here end our friendfhip ! 
 And, for my anfwer, I defire a paufe. 
 
 S077/.ThenI muft tell the King, you're not refolv'd? 
 Over. That as you pleafe I'll ferve him till I die* 
 Till the reward of loyalty o'ertakes me : 
 For patriots fall muft fall for ilatefmens' fafety, 
 And perifh by the country they preferve. 
 
 Som. 'Tis dangerous, thus, to tax the royal gratitude! 
 I fee you're rafh, and wou'd advife you better 
 If, when you touch'd me in too weak a part, 
 J flirunk 'twas from quick fenfe of aching, pain. 
 I was to blame I knew not what I laid 
 Excufe it as a friend. 
 
 Ocvr.Said you, you were toblame? ifyou'refincere, 
 My fit of rage, like lightning on a defarr, 
 But flafhes-and is loft, ^y 
 
 Son. Can he be falfe ? )od ^ 5 , 
 
 And yet I muft not doubt f^fifr. 
 
 Over. What ! ftill uneafy ? 
 
 ' 
 
 i*v?w. You know, I'm rais'don fortune's fav'ritc fpoke! 
 If I grow giddy, I ihall move away, 
 
 And
 
 SIR THOMAS OVERBURY. 153 
 
 And roll, at once, to ruin. 
 
 Over. Let me guard you 
 And, to be near you, not accept this embafly 
 Form ibme fair caufe, and urge it as my anfvver. 
 
 Som. I'll to the King this inftant, and attempt it. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Over. This meflage, from the King, bears fome 
 
 delign, 
 
 But I'm more touch'd with Somerfet's diforder! 
 Let me ftill mark him As he paffes on, 
 He ftarts! ftops (hort! and ponders in fufpence I- 
 Now he proceeds! All this fliou'd bode fome mifchief ! 
 
 Enter the Countefs of Somerfet. 
 
 Count. Now, now, fupport me, pride, or I am loft ! 
 ' rr . ' r ' 
 
 Over. Ha ! {he here ! 
 
 - j -tnn \JJ*i '\ x i ___ * 
 
 Count. Why ftart you, calm, infultJng man ? 
 Is love a crime too great to be forgiven ? 
 But thy cold foul admits no warmth of paffion : 
 I, like the fun, darted too fierce a blaze ! 
 Yet, thy chill wiflies 
 
 Davvn'd fome lick hope, when Ifabella's eyes, 
 Like a pale moon, gleam'd her faint beams upon thee. 
 
 Over. How ! knows me that ? \Afide *"\ When 
 
 honour lights up love, 
 Th' illumin'd foul burns lambent with a flame, 
 
 Pure
 
 154 SIR THOMAS OVERBURY. 
 
 Pure as the hallow'd altars Such my hope ! 
 Such were the wifhes mov'd by Ifabella. 
 
 Count. How I difdain thee ! yes, I fcorn thec ! 
 
 hate thee ! '<* xitiV. 
 
 Thou, who cou'dft ftoop to expofe a woman's weak- 
 
 uefs ! 
 
 To taint her fame, and blaft her to the world ! 
 All my fierce paffions rife with that reflection, 
 Inward they rage a winding train takes fire, 
 The flafhy blaze runs fwit't thro' ev 'ry vein, 
 And my brain fplits with agony ! 
 
 Over. You wrong me, Madam I, with humbleft 
 
 gratitude, 
 
 Thank'd and conceal'd your paflion If yo\ir famq 
 Is tainted your divorce has ca-us'd it Modefly 
 Muft guard a woman's feemings -- 
 Oh ! that my words, like the fun's powerful ray?, 
 Were with attraction arm'd till, from your bread, 
 This flood of frailty rofe, exhal'd in iigh$, 
 
 Or ffow'd away in ftreams of foft repentance; 
 
 } * 
 
 Count. Upbraider ! 
 
 
 
 ^UI 
 Over. I not upbraid your love, but your wild paffions, 
 
 Which wou'd, like envious fliades,eclipfethofe beau ties, 
 That elfe, with juftice, fure, mud charm mankind ! 
 Bur, Madam, think there's not a homely peafanr, 
 If gracM with innocence, tho' uurs'd in toil, 
 
 But
 
 SIR THOMAS OVOEgfBURY. 155 
 
 But boaits more glory than a tainted 
 
 Count. Preaching ftaiue ! fltiw srto 9iaw rbi;3 
 Where are my letters .^ thou detain'il 'em poorly, 
 With aim to awe my anger. ' 'wrto aisri 
 
 Over. Ere you aik'd 'em, oiiw ,1/odT 
 
 Mov'd by a confcious hope to eafe your fears, 
 Honour induc'd me thus to give 'em up : 
 Now, they are yours again But their efFeftfm IIA 
 Will ftill live in me, and whene'er your image "nl 
 Enriches my remembrance the humbled gratitude 
 Will teach my heart new tdndernefs. [Gives letters. 
 
 Count. This generous aft has waken'd love again, 
 And pity pleads againil me What (hall I do ! 
 - .If I continue here, and he thus charms me, 
 My fcheme, at once, is air Like jarring elements 
 My paffions war and thought oppofing thought, 
 Shakes my whole frame, till I am mad with doubting. 
 
 rt ,, o-n Jib- \AfM e * 
 
 Over. VY hy are you thus diflurb'd ? 
 
 .!' T r MI i , " jfi 8I " T 
 
 c ount. Can i Io ill reward his generous heart, > 
 As to apply thefe letters to his ruin, 
 Which might have ruin'd me, had he with -held, 'em? 
 And yet I mull Fate's flippery ice has caught me, 
 And, if I not flide on, I fink for ever. 
 Let me not Hay O wretch ! death hovers o'er thee ! 
 He grafps a dart, and, in pale fury, fliakes it 
 High o'er thy head! Now, now it falls, and flrikes 
 thee! I cannot
 
 156 SIR THOMAS OVERBURY. 
 
 I cannot bear to fee what I have caus'd. 
 
 [Exit in confnjion, 
 
 Over. Or I'm tinfnar'd or madnefs feiz'd the 
 .elbdfiU countefs. 
 
 DJ ItlS 
 
 Enter Ifabella. 
 
 My Ifabella! 
 
 I/a. Oh! let us join as friends, who meet in forrow 
 To weep ! and figh ! and mingle mutual woes ' 
 
 Over. What wou'd my love's loft fears divine of ifl ; , 
 That merits this fweet fadnefs ? 
 
 Ifa. Oh ! I am wild ! and fay I know not what 
 
 This will explain. 
 
 -iiJ, 
 Enter Sir Gervas Eiloways, and guards. ,. bllA 
 
 Ell Sir Thomas Overbury, 
 
 T u i /r 
 
 I come to bnng you an unwelcome menage ; 
 
 'Tis the King's pleafure, that you fiand confined, 
 Clofe in the Tower, a prifoner to the flate. 
 
 Over. What have I done, that I fhoiild be a prifoner ? 
 
 Ell. Has not the Earl of Somerfet inform'd you ? 
 
 Owr.The Earl of Somerfet ! What doit thou mean ? 
 
 rrt t /> n. 11 1, i J 
 
 The polar ftar mall be no longer fix d, 
 But turn delufive to the failor's eye, 
 Sooner than Somerfet prove falfe to me 
 May I not fee my friend ? 
 
 Ell.
 
 SIR THOMAS OVERBURY. 
 
 Ell. I dare not grant it. *$ o t iK 
 
 Over. No! that's hard, indeed! 
 I- thought I cou'd have met the worft, unmov'd; 
 
 [Turns to Ifabella. 
 
 But to fee thee thus prefs'd with griefs not thine, 
 I cannot bear the pang which rend my foul ! 
 Teach me fome art, but to afluage thy forrows, ^M 
 And mine are griefs to fmile at. riO .s^J- 
 
 If a. The voice of mufic can compofe diftra&iontoT 
 Oh ! then, let thine but footh me into comfort ; 
 Say fomething foft and kind But whither fly you ? 
 Perhaps to death ! 
 
 Over. What's death but lofing thee ? 
 Life is a trifle, where no love enriches it ; 
 And when the guiltlefs die the death of traitors, 
 The fcaffold fleps, but, like the patriarch's ladder, 
 Form an aflent to heaven. 
 
 Ifa. Oh ! talk not thus ! 
 
 There's madnefs in that thought. 
 
 
 
 Over. Nay, do not weep ! 
 Thy grief attracts with fuch a melting force 
 That my loft foul evaporates to air, 
 
 Glides in each breath, and mingles with thy fighs 
 
 Help manhood, or Pm loft ! lead to the Tower. 
 Ifa, That place bodes ruinthere, the good fixth 
 Heury, 
 
 Clarence,
 
 i S 3 SIR THOMAS OVEREURY. 
 
 Clarence, and royal Edward's infants fell 
 
 
 
 Such fecret death, perhaps, may prove thy fate. 
 
 Over. Why doft thou fright thyfelf at funcy'd ills? 
 
 I/a. I have a thoufand, thoufand anxious fears !- 
 No cheering hope dawns thro' the cloudy woe, 
 Tis darknefs all What will not malice dare ? 
 
 But if I muft 
 
 Over. Oh ! I cou'd gaze for ever ! 
 
 Thus, when high feas {well foaming o'er the coaft, 
 
 The wretch, who treads the dangerous beach is loib;bnA 
 
 Plung'4 in his fate, like me, he ftrives to rile, 
 
 And feeks the fwallow'd land with wittful eyes ! 
 
 But, as his arms extend to reach the iliorc, 
 
 The waves o'erwhelm him, and he's ieen no mone* bnA 
 
 [Exeunt ffverally. 
 
 
 . _, TTT ~ _. T. T ^ _,. _. bnA 
 
 ACT IV. SCENE The To-i<:cr. 
 
 CO Elbdt! :JtOi t>OO 
 
 Northampton and Elloways ncct. 
 
 be fwift, for Somerfet's un- 
 fettled ! 2m 8""^ 
 
 The Countefs too, who lately urg'd his death, 
 Melts in a fit of foftnefs from her purpofe! 
 Befure the ftream of ruin thea rolls rapid, 
 
 To
 
 SIR THOJV^, 
 
 To bear him down the tide For, if 
 'Twill overwhelm us all. .^ ^ 
 
 Ell. Now, by my foul, . p ob - rfW ^ 
 
 The youthful warrior, flufh'd with his firft hpfc?,^ 
 Burns not with hall: that heat for fame and couquell, 
 Which fires my wifhes to compleat your will, 
 
 Nor. Weilon and Franklin are they both refolv'd? 
 
 EH. They are. 
 
 J ' ( nO .-nwj 
 
 Nor. Have they the wine the Countefs has prepar'd ? 
 
 Ell. They have, i aorfw ^utTT 
 
 And bring it as a prefent from Earl Somerfet. 3nT 
 
 Nor. Then he, who late, by royal favour (hone, "' 
 That favour veii'd, lhall ftraight be dark again. 
 So waters, at hot noon, afpire in fleams, 
 And thin'd by heat, float gay aloft in air ! 
 But when the fun's exhaling power withdraws, 
 ChiU'd by the coU of night, they fall in dews, 
 And mix with humble dull, like Overbury. 
 
 Ell. See, my good lord, where Ifabella comes, 
 To vifit in the Tower her prifon'd lover LHiioT' 
 
 Nor. My faithful Eli'ways, watch my rival well ; 
 And if your ear catch a fufpicious found, 
 Bring me immediate notice. [Exit Ell. 
 
 Enter Ifabella. 
 
 iaM , 
 So, Madam, your proud hero falls his plume ! 
 
 I/a.
 
 160 SIR THOMAS OVERBURY. 
 
 Ifa. Is that a Noble's voice ? The brave, I thought, 
 Scorn'd all advantage o'er a fallen foe, 
 And rais'd him to be worthy their revenge. 
 
 Nor. Since there's a ftorm upon your angry brow, 
 I am not arm'd to meet, I mult retire. [Exit. 
 
 Ifa. So, villains, when they gain th'afcent of power, 
 Like ravens, pois'd before the glorious fun, 
 Spread a black cloud, and darken all beneath. 
 
 Enter Overbury, followed ly Ellovvays lijlcning* 
 
 Over. Are you thus kind ? bleil with your lovely 
 
 prefence, 
 
 A prifon is a paradife fvveet mourner ! 
 Matchlefs in joy but in thy grief all heavenly ! 
 In thee, as in a dew-drop on a flower, 
 A thoufand mingled beauties glittering play, 
 Which rife, as the eye turns, in (till new profpecls, 
 And in each different light, refraft new luftre. 
 
 Ifa. Why wilt thou charm me thus ? ---thy tuneful 
 
 voice 
 
 Floats foft like mufic, melting in the winds ! 
 A flutt'ring rapture fills my trembling breaft, 
 Swells in each vein, and pants with every thought ! 
 Yet do I view thee, with fuch dangers round thee, 
 That e'en thy fight is painful !
 
 SIR THOMAS OVERBURY. 161 
 
 Over. Wer't not for thee, my foul wou'd wing her 
 
 flight, 
 To reft in realms of everlafting blifs. 
 
 Jfa. How know'il thou that? Weigh firll what 
 
 is the foul : 
 
 *Tis not a fliade that will diflblve in air, 
 Nor matter which, by time, can be confum'd : 
 Oh! then, be cautious, for the beft are frail ; 
 Venture not ralhly, on an unknown being 
 E'en the mod perfect fhun the brink of death, 
 And fliudder at the profpecl: of futurity. 
 
 Over. What means my foul ? 
 
 If a. A thoufand deaths are hov'ring round thy head ! 
 If I have e'er defer v'd thy Iqve Oh ! think 
 Thy guardian angel now infpires my tongue, 
 And warns thee, if thou canft, to 'fcape difguis'd ! 
 
 Ell. I've heard enough. . [Exit unfeen. 
 
 Over. No ; fafe in innocence, I'll dare their malice. 
 To fly, wou'd be to leave my fame unclear'd, 
 My fame, much dearer to me than my life ! 
 
 Jfa. Forgive me, if I err ; 
 'Tis but a fault that fprings from too much love ! 
 Should'ft thou be loft ! Oh ! think upon my'griefs, 
 See me diftradtcd, without hope of comfort, 
 Profaning heaven, reading the air with fhrieks, 
 Burfting with groans, and raving with defpair! 
 
 VOL. I. L Over.
 
 162 SIR THOMAS OVERBURY, 
 
 Over. Why was I born to make thee thus unhappy ? 
 But fee, where one obferves ! 
 'Tis dangerous here to talk To-night farewel, 
 And if to-morrow bleffes me again, 
 I fhall have news to tell you. [Exit. 
 
 Ifa. Till then, farewel. 
 
 Enter Cleora in bctjle. 
 
 C/f. My friend, forgive me, if officious zeal 
 Forc'd me to feek you here- your foe, the Countefs 
 
 Ifa. What of the Countefs ? 
 
 Cleo. Flies about difbrder'd ! 
 So ftung with guilt, no place can give her eafe ! 
 Wild 'twixt the fallies of remorfe and love, 
 She wrote thefe lines, and trufted 'em with me ; 
 I think it not a treachery to betray 'em. 
 
 Ifa. 'Tis pious treachery that reveals a mifchref ; 
 'Tis juflice to yourfelf, and to the world. 
 
 \Looks on the letter. 
 To Overbury ! How my heart beats at it ! 
 
 Cleo. She there, repeats, and urges an old flame, 
 Proffers him freedom, wou'd partake his flight, 
 And owns the wiles that have feduc'd her lord. 
 Nay, more the guards are, by her agents, brib'd, 
 And your name's us'd to cover the deceit, 
 That, fhould they fail, Ihe might be fUll fccure.
 
 SIR THOMAS OVERBURY. 163 
 
 I/a. Here too, fhe urges him to feign fome illnefs, 
 That, fo retir'd to reft, and none left near him, 
 She in the ulent darknefs introduc'd, 
 May find him in his chamber, and inftruft him 
 What means may bring him fafety : 
 Fate fent this clue to unravel all her falftiood; 
 Flatter her artfully with his compliance : 
 And if flie comes But fee, the Earl of Somerfet. 
 Night fleals upon us faft Be fure you bring her. 
 
 [Exit Cleora. 
 
 Enter Earl of Somerfet. 
 
 Sum. My Ifabella ! why that mournful brow? 
 Why do thofe eyes, that fparkled gladnefs round 'em, 
 Lofe their keen lullre now, and look fo languid ? 
 
 Ifa. Shou'd I forget, my lord, that fatal day, 
 When my dear father's trembling hand preft yours, 
 His dying eyes, wet with paternal tears, 
 While agonizing fweats bedew'd his face, 
 To you, my lord, he rais'd his falt'rihg voice, 
 And gave me to your care ? Kind was the thought, 
 And pleas'd, he bade farewel and breath'd his laft. 
 
 Som. Have I not us'd thee with the tend'reft care, 
 And chear'd thy virtue with the fmiles of fortune ? 
 
 Ifa. Oh ! my good lord, you've been a father to me, 
 And 'tis for you thefe fwelling fighs rife fad, 
 And my tears flow for gratitude. 
 
 L 2 Som.
 
 164 SIR THOMAS OVERBURY, 
 
 Som. What mean'ft thou ? 
 
 Ifa. If Overbury wrong'd 
 
 Som. No more of Overbury ! 
 My child, avoid him, as thou wou'dft thy ruin. 
 
 Ifa. You are milled 
 
 Som. The fubjedVs harfh farewel. 
 
 Ifa. You mufl not go thus on my knees, I beg you, 
 For your own fake, but hear me you're betray 'd. 
 Oh ! think how dear this man was to your foul ! 
 By friendfhip join'd, you comforted each other ; 
 Joy crown'd your days, your minds were then ferene, 
 Your thoughts had harmony, and you were bleft. 
 
 Som. Indeed, I thought fo. 
 
 Ifa. Oh! reflea again! 
 
 Why have you caft him thus unkindly from you, 
 And open'd your dear breaft to vile Northampton ? 
 
 &. Why doft thou inj ure thus my lord Northampton? 
 
 Ifa. One, who wou'd undermine an orphan's virtue, 
 Is fure unworthy of her guardian's friendfhip. 
 
 Sorn. And cou'd Northampton that ? 
 
 Ifa. I blufli t'affirm it. 
 Yet more your virtue wanders in the dark ! 
 The Countefs 
 
 Som. Who ! I charge thee, name not her ! 
 Shou'd I but hear a word to taint my wife, 
 'Twould urge me fo, I might forget my nature, 
 And ufe thee harfhly ! Ifa.
 
 SIR THOMAS OVERBURY. 165 
 
 Ifa. 'Tis death to undeceive you ! 
 But, in the caufe of virtue, I am arm'd 
 To meet all dangers boldly be prepar'd, 
 For I muft wound you with fuch piercing accents, 
 That your poor heart, I fear, will bleed with anguifli ! 
 
 Som. Sufpenfe is the worft rack fpeak what thou 
 know'il. 
 
 Ifa. Read this 'twill fpeak all for me. 
 
 [Gives a letter. 
 
 Som. 'Tis my wife's hand ha! To Sir Thomas 
 
 Overbury ! 
 A flrange diredion that ! where had it you ? 
 
 Ifa. From one fhe trufted as her meflenger. 
 
 Som. Sure 'tis fome milt, which hell has rais'd to 
 
 blind me ! 
 My eyes belie her let me again perufe it ! 
 
 Ifa. 'Tis as I thought. {Afide. 
 
 Som. 'Tis all black forgery ! 
 Falfelfabella! 
 
 Ifa. Who is falfe, my lord ? 
 
 Som. Why thou art falfe I prithee, own thou art ; 
 For fhould an angel charge her with thefe crimes, 
 I fear I fhou'd mifname that angel, fiend! 
 
 Ifa. 'Tis but to wait her prefence, -if you doubt it ; 
 Night is already round us, and ere long, 
 She comes, conceal'd, to find him Be you witnefs, 
 L 3 And
 
 i66 SIR THOMAS OVERBURY. 
 
 And then, who's falfe, discover. 
 
 Som. If thou art fo, fly, where I ne'er may fee thee ! 
 But if thou'rt true, then I'm a wretch indeed. 
 
 Ifa. My lord, retire I think, file comes already. 
 
 \jExeuntt 
 
 Enter Countrfe of Somerfet and Cleora. 
 
 Count. O my Cleora, whither am I going ? 
 But thou art faithful, nor wilt chide my frailties ! 
 J go t'atone my Overbury's wrongs, 
 To meet my love my love! What's ihen my hufband ? 
 Hold brain refift that rufliing rack of thought 
 The night, now brooding o'er her gloomy fhades, 
 Owns not a fpeftre half fo foul as I am. 
 Oh ftate of horror ! Oh defpair ! O fhame ! 
 
 Cleo. Yet think 
 
 Count. Fain wou'd I but all thought forfakes me I 
 My flame revives ! esch fit comes ftronger on me ! 
 Varying convulfions torture every nerve ! 
 I love ! I rage ! hate fear and love again ! 
 And burn, and die with a whole war of paffions ! 
 
 Cle. But will you fee him ? 
 
 Count. See him ? Oh ! I mult 
 My foul will have it fo the wrongs, I meant him, 
 Require atonement, mere than love can give him, 
 (Jo;r,e guide me, my Cleora ! [Exeunt. 
 
 Enter
 
 SIR THOMAS OVERBURY. 167 
 
 Enter Northampton and Elloways. 
 
 Nor. Efcaping ! fay'ft thou ? 
 
 Ell. What I then heard was little. 
 But now a trailed yeoman of the guard 
 Betray'd their whole defign of prefent flight ; 
 But why have you, thus led me thro' the darknefs ? 
 
 Nor. The darknefs beft befits my purpos'd vengeance. 
 
 EH. What means my lord by vengeance ? 
 
 Nor. The poifon not yet given my fword fliall end 
 
 him. 
 
 Secure the paflage bar the outward doors, 
 While I refolve within, where Wefton left us. [Exeunt. 
 
 Enter Somerfet and the Countcfs, meeting in the dark. 
 
 Ccunt. 'Tis wond'rous dark ! and night wears 
 
 double horror ! 
 
 Each ftep, methinks, I hear my hufband's voice ! 
 The creep of diftant whifpers damps my foul ! 
 Hark ! how the thunder rolls ! the wind too roars ! 
 Who's that, my Overbury ? 
 
 Som. Yet hold my heart ! [-^i*. 
 
 Count. You had my letter then ? 
 Som f I had Oh heaven ! 
 
 Count. Reach me your hand, and lead me to your 
 chamber ! 
 
 I<4 For
 
 1 68 SIR THOMAS OVERBURY. 
 
 For I have much to fay but flay Cleora 
 Waits me hard by I'll caution her a moment, 
 And find you here again. [Exit, 
 
 Soot. Why do I live ? 
 
 Let me turn wild ! Or tear out my fond heart, 
 That cou'd be thus far wrong'd, and not difcern it ! 
 O thou falfe woman ! O my injur'd friend ! 
 Mad, rafli, deluded Somerfet ! 
 
 Enter Northampton from a private door In the back 
 Jccne ; a light within. 
 
 Nor. Now, Overbury, die ! [Draivs; 
 
 Som. Villain ! Northampton ! [Draws. 
 
 Nor. Save me, fome angel, from this flrangeillulion ! 
 
 Som. View my eyes well ! do they not flafli with 
 
 fury ? 
 And tell thee, that 'tis Somerfet thou look'fl on ? 
 
 Nor. Northampton was not born to look with fear, 
 Tho' hell blaz'd angry in the eyes of Somerfet. 
 My honour's equal ! my defcent more noble ! 
 Come, we miftake each other as a friend, 
 I'd moderate this rage. 
 
 Som. Thou fycophant ! 
 
 Thou wouldfl again betray me to thy friendfliip, 
 To ruin, with more eafe, my Ifabella. 
 
 Nor. Ha ! 
 
 1 Som.
 
 SIR THOMAS OVERBURY. 169 
 
 Som. But flie is proof againft thy bafe aflaults : 
 My wife was eafy, and fuccefs there met thee, 
 And Over bury was to fall your victim. 
 
 Nor. No more I can no longer brook this railinf ; 
 Whate'er I do, I always dare to anfwer ! 
 Let this defend it all 
 
 [Fight, Northampton clifarmed. 
 
 Som, Why art thou living in the power of Somerfet? 
 I wifli thee dead, but dare not kill thee bafely ; 
 Give me the chance once more {Offers bisfword. 
 
 Nor. No ; take my life ; 
 'Tis now not worth defending. 
 
 Som. Live, and repent ! and be as curs'd as I am ! 
 Go fave me from the pain thy prefence gives me ! 
 Now, whither (hall I wander ? [Exit Northampton. 
 
 Going, meets the Countffs entering. 
 
 Death and confufion ! 
 
 Count. I heard, orl'mdeceiv'd, the clam of weapons, 
 Yet was the paflage barr'd yon gleam of light 
 Shews a drawn fword bent hither. 
 
 Som. Tremble at it 'tis the fword of juiKce ! 
 Count. Ha ! let me not betray myfelf 'tis Somerfet. 
 
 [Afide. 
 
 What mean you, Sir f methinks your words found 
 angry 
 
 Som
 
 x-70 SIR THOMAS OVERBURY. 
 
 Som. Traitrefs ! falfe ! foul ! fickle damn'd lovely 
 
 traitrefs ! 
 Know'ft thou this letter? thou ungrateful woman ! 
 
 Count. Now I am loft indeed ! 
 
 Som. What can thy guilt expect ? 
 
 Count. You will not kill me ? 
 
 Som. Not kill thee, fay 'ft thou ! yes, deceiver ! 
 
 Hear me ; 
 
 Hadft thou as many lives as thou hall crimes, 
 My fury wou'd reach all wrong'd love and friendfhip, 
 With double cry, demand thy death in vengeance ! 
 
 Count. Oh ! but do hear me. 
 
 Som. Not one firen word. 
 
 Count. Oh! by the endearing foftnefs of that bofom, 
 Look but on her you lov'd fo much ! fo lately ! 
 See how fhe pants for life ! and begs for mercy ! 
 Let me die, flow, fome ling'ring death of forrow, 
 But fend me not to the eternal bar, 
 With all my crimes about me ! 
 
 Som. Do, crocodile, weep on thy tears become thee. 
 Think what I fuffer ! think how thou haft wrong'd me ! 
 Oh! I will ftab thee ! tho' my heart-ftiings burft. 
 
 Count. Yet, but a moment, hear me ! 
 
 Som. No I will not ; 
 
 Be dumb for ever for, whene'er you fpeak, 
 You bring a bafe infection o'er my anger, 
 Aod I, at once, grow lick with pity Oil" ! 
 
 Why
 
 SIR THOMAS OVERBURY. 171 
 
 Why cling'ft thou to me ? 
 
 Count. O fpurn me ! drag me 
 Yet my poor limbs fhall grafp thee to the laft, 
 And e'en my dying groans plead foft for pardon. 
 
 Som. Wherefore, juft heav'n, has guilt fuch power 
 
 to charm ? 
 
 Oh ! rife, and take thofe mournful eyes away ; 
 Thy beauty, and my love combine to fave thee, 
 And my fword turns its point againft my purpofe. 
 I cannot fee thee bleed ! Oh ! my torn heart ! 
 Ungrateful ! go 
 
 Fly from my rage ! far hence, on fome lone ifle, 
 Safe in thy frauds, and pleas'd with ruin, fmile ; 
 But fliun thefe fhameful eyes, which thus deplore 
 Thy lofs yet never muft behold thee more. 
 
 H 
 
 ACTV. SCENE I. 
 
 Somerfet folus. 
 
 O W have I wander'd thro' a maze of errors, 
 And labour'd for deftruftion ! Of mankind, 
 I had but one true friend, and him, alone, 
 Of all mankind, have wrong'd Reproachful thought ! 
 Oh ! Peace of mind ! thou bofom balm of nature ! 
 Thou that canft make the labourer's mifery fweet, 
 
 And
 
 172 SIR THOMAS OVERBURY. 
 
 And caufe e'en fmiles amidft the pangs of death, 
 Where fliall I find thee ? 
 
 Enter Ifabella. 
 
 Come not near me ! 
 
 Let me not hear thee fpeak, left I betray thee, 
 
 But fly me as a defp'rate, dangerous villain. 
 
 Ifa. I come, my lord, to reconcile your foul 
 To the fvveet joys of peace 
 
 Som. Talk not of peace ! 'tis gone ! 'tis fled with 
 
 honour ! 
 
 Honour, once loft, can never be retriev'd ! 
 My thoughts are furies all ! and turn upon me ! 
 I feel their whips ! They laih me with remorfe ! 
 My brain grows hot ! Hell glows in my mad bofom ! 
 
 Ifa. Your friend yet knows not how you were mifled. 
 
 Som. But there's a fenfe of fhame that knows it all ! 
 Tho' mountains fhadow'd me, they cou'd not hide it J 
 My red'ning cheeks, and my moift eyes wou'd fpeak it I 
 Let me fly, far as the vaft ocean rolls, 
 Rather than fee the friend I've bafely injur'd. 
 
 Ifa. Fly but to Overbury tell him all ! 
 And, once more met in the ftricl: band of friendfliip, 
 United, rife the pillars of your country. 
 
 Som. How muft he fcorn me, when he knotvs my 
 treachery ! 
 
 I cannot
 
 SIR THOMAS OVERBURY. 173 
 
 I cannot bear that thought ! 
 Ifa. Yet the mild king 
 
 Som. For thy poor father's fufferings in his caufe, 
 The royal ear will liften to thy pleadings : 
 Oh ! fly, and fwiftly fave my friend from ruin ! 
 Ifa. But look, my lord ! See where the countefs 
 
 comes ! 
 Som. What fay'ft thou ? ha ! I cannot bear their 
 
 prefence ! 
 
 Oh ! for a whirlwind's rage to fnatch her from me ! 
 A hell of mifchief kindles in her eyes, 
 And horrors blaze around her ! Let's avoid her ! 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 Enter Northampton and Countefs of Somerfet. 
 
 Nor. Now, haughty Somerfet ! I'm well reveng'd! 
 My fallen genius tow'rs, with fcorn, above thee, 
 And fmiles at difappointment. 
 
 Count. My lord Northampton, 
 Tho' flrongly urg'd, I feel a woman's foftnefs ! 
 Revenge, remorfe, and love divide my foul, 
 Like three wild ftreams that rufli againir, each other ! 
 
 Nor. Yet, {till, be refolute, 
 Summon your reafon to your paffion's aid ! 
 Think how you're treated by your angry lord, 
 Menac'd, caft off, and but revenge ean fave you. 
 
 Count,
 
 174 SIR THOMAS OVERBURY. 
 
 Count. Now you have ufg'd the flint again to fparkle* 
 And flafh'd up all the latent fire within me ! 
 Die, Overbury ! Somerfet ! die all ! 
 Let the world burn to be my funeral pile, 
 And nature groan as I do ! 
 
 Enter Elloways. 
 
 Nor. What news, Elloways ? 
 
 Ell. The deed is done ! 
 So deadly is the poifon he has fwallow'd, 
 There's not a nerve but has receiv'd its death : 
 Horror and madnefs fliall infect his brain, 
 Till ev'ry uruggling vital, torn with pangs, 
 Muft burft at once, and tortur'd life forfake him, 
 
 Count. Mean'ft thou all this of Overbury ? 
 
 Ell. Of him We brought the wine which you 
 
 prepar'd, 
 
 As a fent pledge of friendftiip from your lord ; 
 Straight, with an eager hafte, he fnatch'd the cup ! 
 Give me the draught, faid he! then fwell'd the brim, 
 And, thro' his lips, he drain'd it to the lair.. 
 And now there's not a hcalth-reftoring herb, 
 Which the fun fmiles on, can expel th' infection. 
 
 Count. Was it the wine I fent ? 
 
 Ell. Madam, it was. 
 
 Count, Then fhall I never know a moment's peace ! 
 
 Villain,
 
 SIR THOMAS OVERBURY. 175 
 
 Villain, be curft ! What have we done,Northampton? 
 
 Nor. A deed, which is not now to be recall'd. 
 
 Count. And doft think heav'n will conceal this 
 
 murder ? 
 
 No ! we fliall be purfu'd with hourly vengeance ! 
 Dreams will difclofe it; or, if night wants eyes, 
 Lightning will flafh, and point us out to juftice. 
 
 JYor. Will you be mad ? 
 
 Count, I will you have undone me ! 
 Phmg'd me for ever in the depth of mifery ! 
 Hark ! there's a tell-tale wind groans hollow under us, 
 And the earth heaves with wonder ! 
 
 Nor. Her grief diftrafts her ! 
 
 Count. 'Tis falfe ! Thy tongue fliall never more 
 
 delude me ! 
 
 Ha ! Murder's fhriek'd already in my ears ! 
 Hark ! Heav'n rings with murder ! the red clouds 
 Rain a whole fea of fmoaking blood upon us ! 
 Oh ! I am itain'd all over ! Murder ! Murder ! 
 
 {Runs of. 
 
 Ell. My lord, this fit may prove a dangerous frenzy. 
 
 Nor. Our lives are fet upon this fingle caft. 
 Retire we to fome fafe retreat a while, 
 Where we may watch th' event. [Exit. 
 
 Ell. What fliall I do ? 
 
 Fly
 
 176 SIR THOMAS OVERBURY. 
 
 Fly from my poft I cannot that pleads guilty ! 
 Poor Overbury comes ! 
 
 Enter Sir Thomas Overbury. 
 
 How fares my noble prifoner ? 
 
 Over. Why juft as noble prifoners ever fare, 
 Like lambs encompafs'd by devouring wolves, 
 Or harmlefs birds with kites and ravens round 'em. 
 
 Ell. I cannot hear him fpeak his prefence pains 
 me. [Exit. 
 
 Over. I know not why, but I am fhock'd of late ! 
 My dreams are dreadful Be it as it may ; 
 While virtue arms me, what have I to fear ? 
 This cold clay cottage is but the foul's prifon, 
 And death, at worft, is but a furly friend, 
 Who conquers to give liberty. 
 
 Enter Somerfet. 
 
 'Tis well, my lord, you can at lail remember me, 
 But had my Somerfet been thus confin'd, 
 I had not learnt to fliun him. 
 
 Som. Oh, my friend ! 
 
 I'm not the Somerfet, whom once you knew ; 
 I'm alter'd much of late. 
 
 Over. Ay, thou art marry'd ! 
 
 Som. That was the fatal rock we both have fplit on ! 
 
 You,
 
 SIR THOMAS OVERBURY. 177 
 
 You, like a fkilful mariner, difcern'd it 
 But I, bewitch'd by the curft firen's voice 
 Sail'd on, regardlefs, 'till we ftruck on ruin. 
 
 Over. Why doft thou repent it ? 
 
 Sam. Repent it, faid you ? 
 Oh ! I cou'd rave ! but, 'tis too late a penitence, 
 For I have wrong'd thy friendfliip, and undone thee ! 
 
 Over. Nay, that I ftill believe thou cou'dft not do ! 
 
 Som. Thou doft not know how bafe thy friend has 
 
 been ! 
 
 Oh ! that fair devil has enfnar'd my foul, 
 And ftain'd it o'er with falfhood A , led by her, 
 Accus'd thee to the king. 
 
 Over. Forbid it, heav'n ! 
 Left I grow tick of life and curfe mankind ! 
 
 Som. Oh ! 'tis too true ! Wrought by my faithlefs 
 
 wife, 
 And curft Northampton I contriv'd thy ruin ! 
 
 Over. Why look'ft thou, then, like man, who art 
 a monfter ? 
 
 Sam. Yet by the memory of our dear friendfliip ! 
 
 Over. How dares thy tongue profane the name of 
 
 friendfliip ? 
 
 Hafte to the king ! clear up my fully'd fame, 
 Or, may 'ft thou always bear fome mark of traitor, 
 That every one may know, defpife, and fluin thee. 
 
 VOL. I. M Som.
 
 j 7 8 SIR THOMAS OVERBURY, 
 
 Som. Hear me but fpeak 
 
 Over. Why fhould'ft thou grate my ear ? 
 The bird of death's fhrill fcreain thehifs of ferpentJ, 
 Are mufic to thy voice ! my fick'ning foul 
 Faints at thy prefence and thy ftay wou'd kill me ! 
 
 So;n. Yet I muft ftay 'till you forgive, or pity me. 
 
 Over. Name not forgivenefs norexpeft my pity. 
 Be gone ! there's treachery couch'd in this delay ! 
 Mean'ft thou to bear more mifchief to the king ? 
 
 Som. Rather than pierce me with fuch words as 
 
 thefe, 
 Strike through my heart, that bleeds to 've done you 
 
 wrong, 
 
 Here take my fvvord kill me but, as I fall, 
 Reach me thy hand fay, but thou haft forgiv'n me ! 
 And I fliall die in peace. 
 
 Over. Take back thy fvvord I wouM not ufe it 
 
 bafely, 
 
 Thou know'ft, I wou'd not Go, for ever from me ' 
 And when I hear of an ungrateful wretch, 
 A fawning flave, who fmiles, while he betrays 
 Then will I think of SomerTet. 
 
 Som. DiftradionJ 
 
 Canft thou ? but, peace I have deferv'd it all ! 
 Life's a difeafe, which I want ftrength to bear, 
 And wiih for death to care me What was I born to ? 
 
 Shams-
 
 SIR THOMAS OVER BURY. 179 
 
 Shame on the guilt that bids me bear thefe fcorns, 
 And not dare think 'em injuries. 
 
 Over. (After a long paufe) Oh ! Somerfet ! 
 
 \Botbfland filent : Overbury obfcrvti the 
 
 pojlureof Somerfet. 
 Can all this grief be real ? 
 
 Som. What fliall I fay ? 
 
 Over. Had any other thus contriv'd my ruin, 
 I cou'd have borne it with a manly patience ! 
 But from thy hand ! my friend ! my very felf ! 
 Such unexpected wrongs have Ihook my foul! 
 But I forgive thee all 
 
 Som. Oh ! joy ! Oh, friend- 
 Forgive my foftnefs too 1 my tears will flow, 
 While I re-join thee, thus, to my glad breait. 
 
 Over. I feel my heart bound high with throbbing 
 
 tranfport ! 
 
 And wou'd fpeak more, but the flow-riling words 
 Die in big, unborn accents on my tongue. 
 I feel, e'en now, a faintifli damp all o'er me, 
 And I am lick at heart But here comes one, 
 Whofe heav'nly brightness can difperfe all clouds ! 
 My life ! my Ifabella ! 
 
 Enter Ilabella, running Into bis anas. 
 
 * 
 
 Jfa. Live live, my Overbury ! 
 
 M z Scarce
 
 i8o SJR THOMAS OVERBURY. 
 
 Scarce can I fpeak my tranfport ! but the king ! 
 The gracious king 
 
 Over. What of the king, my love ? 
 
 Ifa. Has yielded to my fuit in thy behalf, 
 And giv'n thee liberty ! 
 
 Over. 1 thank thy goodnefs ! 
 And blelfmgs croud about his royal head, 
 Who heard my Ifabella's prayer with pity. 
 How my foul fwells with ecftafy ! my friend ! 
 My Ifabella ! Why do you not rejoice ? 
 Rejoice in love ! in friendlhip ! liberty ! 
 
 Som. Live long thus blefs'd. 
 
 Over. Here, in foft fighs, I'll pour my pleafures 
 
 forth 
 
 Gaze ! 'till I ? en grow giddy with delight ! 
 Now, heav'n, thou art too kind. 
 
 Ifa. Oh happy day ! 
 
 So fweet a calm, as my late cares are hufli'd in, 
 Ne'er yet fucceeded fuch a threatning tempeft ? 
 But you, methinks, look pale ! 
 
 Over. No fay not fo 5 
 
 My heart is but opprefs'd, and fick with tranfport ! 
 Another ftart ! that rapture was fo ftrong, 
 It (hot quite thro', and trembled to my foul ! 
 Another yet ! nay, now I fcarce fupport it nidi 
 My fpirits fink, exhaulted with delight, 
 
 And
 
 SIR THOMAS OVERBURY. 181 
 
 And nature reels beneath it. 
 
 Ifa. Oh ! help ! he faints ! 
 
 Som. Heav'n ! a cold dew, 
 Like that of death, o'eripreads his icy temples. 
 Help ! who waits there ? {Enter Attendants. 
 
 Ifa. My love ! my Overbury ! 
 Return to life 'tis Ifabella calls ! 
 
 Over. Where, where are now my joys ? 
 All fled at once Oh ! Somerfet ! I'm poifon'd ! 
 
 Som. Good heaven forbid ! 
 
 Over. The wine ! the wine you fent ! 
 
 Som. Say 'ft, thou, I fent ? 
 Alas ! you are impos'd on ! 
 
 Over. Then 'twas thy wife, 
 And flie diiguis'd it with thy powerful name. 
 
 Som. Ten thoufand plagues o'ertake her for thff 
 
 deed ! 
 
 Oh ! if fhe afted this unnatural guilt, 
 May all the woes of vengeance be her portion ! 
 Haunt her, pale ghofts ! Eternal anguifh grind her! 
 Lam, her, ye furies ! Adders, twift around her! 
 And let defpair and enulefs torment feize her ! 
 
 Over. Ha ! what a flioot was there ! my blood 
 
 boils in me ! 
 
 Flames wind about my bread my brain burns red, 
 And my eyes fwim in a blue fea of fulphur ! 
 
 3 Stand
 
 i82 SIR THOMAS OVERBURY. 
 
 Stand off ! and let me breathe ! what's that grins 
 
 form, 
 
 That (talks along ! and creeps fo pale upon me ? 
 I know the meagre phantom now ! 'tis death ! 
 He's gone ! and now the heav'ns all open to me! 
 A flight of angels fwoop upon my head, 
 And clap their wings about me ! 
 
 Som. What aflave is man, when paffion maftera him? 
 My want of reafon is the curled lource 
 Of all their miferies : But I'm trebly curs'd ! 
 I feel for him, for her, and for myi'elf. 
 What place in hell is there relerv'd for me ? 
 Sure that which holds the greateft mare of pain ! 
 
 O'i'cr. There's death again ! 
 What unmov'd ! beamlefs ! hollow ! limy eyes 
 The bone-built moufter flares with ! there he itruck 
 
 me ! 
 
 'Tis done ! I mount ! I rife above the clouds ! 
 My brain grows giddy ! now 'tis wond'rous hot ! 
 The rays icorch itrong the liars fpout (beaming fire ! 
 I'll {hade me in the moon's dark body ! Hold ! 
 The fun's reflection's there Oh ! help! defend me! 
 
 Som. What can I do to eafe thee ? 
 
 Over. Who touch'd me ? 'twas a cold, and 
 deadly hand ! 
 
 It
 
 SIR THOMAS OVERBURY. 185 
 
 It makes me fiirink ! fave me ! where am I now ? 
 I'm chain'd in the chill region of the north ! 
 My blood's all froft ! and palling my hot veins, 
 It hifles in its motion ! The bleak winds 
 Dip their broad wings in feas of melted Inow, 
 And fweep whole winter o'er me ! I fhiver at it ! 
 My teeth are turn'd to ice, and, as they chatter, 
 Break in their flriking Where's friendfhip now to 
 warm me ? 
 
 Som. My friend ! my Overbury ! 
 
 Over. Oh, Somerfet ! 
 
 Where have I been r my life is at a period ! 
 Poor Ilabella ! fhe's o'erwhelm'd with grief ! 
 Let me conjure thee, by my dying friendfhip, 
 To comfort all her forrows ! 
 
 , Sofa. W T herefore do I not rave ? But heav'n is juft ! 
 To lofe my fenfes, is to lofe my pain. 
 Oh ! I refign me to th' impartial hand 
 Of juftice, nor dare murmur at my fate. 
 
 Qver. Hark ! the wind roars ! the feas begin to 
 
 I jjj, fwell 1 
 
 The billows roll ! now ! now they drive upon me ! 
 Oh ! fave me, or I'm loft ! what ! muft I perifli ? 
 Is there no hold ? not one kind, friendly plank ! 
 Helplefs indeed ! thus in the gulf, I fink 
 -Never to rife again. [Diet. 
 
 Jfa,
 
 184 SIR THOMAS OVERBURV, 
 
 Ifa. Hover a \vhile, dear fliade, and I'll o'ertakfi 
 
 thee. 
 
 Oh ! for a dagger now ! Death, give me eafe ! 
 He comes ! I feel him at my heart already ! 
 He brings me all I wifh ! 
 
 Som. Alas ! flie fwoons ! ^ -. 
 
 Be quick, and bear ger gently from the body 
 But, be fure, guard her with the tendered care, 
 Left her diftradtion fhou'd commit (elf-violence. 
 
 [Ifa/rtw off. 
 
 Now dear, departed friend 'twere juft, that I, 
 The wretch, whofe crimes have been the caufe of all, 
 Shou'd, en thefe clay-cold lips, breathe out my laft. 
 
 Enter Officer of the guards. "' . 
 
 Of. My lord, your pardon, but you're here a 
 
 prifoner : 
 
 Your wife has, in a fit of raving frenzy, 
 Confefs'd the murder on Sir Thomas Overbury, 
 Sir Gervas Ell'ways, and the reft impeach'd, 
 Are feiz'd and fay, the wine was fent from you. 
 Som. Oh ! the vile traitrefs ! guard her from my 
 
 fight- 
 But leave me here and let me flow expire. 
 
 Clofe
 
 SIR THOMAS OVERBURY. it; 
 
 Clofe by the trueft friend, and beft of men ! 
 
 Oh !- wou'd the world be warh'd by my exartiple I 
 
 Fly, ye fond youth, the guilty fair-one's alms, 
 Nor judge their excellence by outward charms ; 
 They, who, for faithlefs love, true friends betray, 
 Chufe glitt'ring toys, and throw rich pearls away. 
 
 VOL. I. N E P f .
 
 EPILOGUE. 
 
 WRITTEN BY AARON HILL, ESQ^ 
 
 SPOKEN BY MRS. BRET, 
 IN THE C H A R A C T E R OF ISABELLA. 
 
 VV ELL ! 'tis a fhameful breach, In honour's laws, 
 To court the credit, and betray the caufe ! 
 But, faithful to my fex Pray ladies ! hear me 
 And if the poet murmurs, fmile, and clear me. 
 
 He bids me fay, Sir Tom was juir, brave witty ! 
 Troth ! he was e'en too good for woman's pity 
 I find, by hift'ries of the poor foul's life, 
 He wrote that frightful poem, call'd THE WIFE. 
 There, with cold rules, he damps the glow of beauty ; 
 And fetters free-born will, by fneaking duty ! 
 His hufbands are mere tyrants and no wonder ! 
 They 've natural right, he fays, to keep us under. 
 Pleas'd or not pleas'd we muft, it feems, lie quiet: 
 And rather flarve to death than mend our diet ! 
 Prompt, in obedience, wait the fovereign's motion, 
 And do, or fuffer, with refign'd devotion ! 
 
 'Tis a fine leflbn, truly ! Blaft Sir Thomas 
 Or keep the galling yoke of wedlock from us ! 
 Cou'd wives but once fuch paffive grace inherit, 
 Blefs us ! ~ what active hufbands wou'd they merit ! 
 i This
 
 EPILOGUE. 
 
 This the fine Overbury ! whofe juft fate 
 You 've feen, to-night, drefs'd out in tragic ftate ! 
 He make a hero ! He attract compaffion ! 
 Heaven keep thefe witty hulbands out of fafhion ! 
 Had he been mine, I'd paid him for his poem ; 
 And made him feel, what thanks we women owe him ! 
 
 Though lovers pleafe and mine is a ftark new one, 
 My feign'd Sir Thomas fuffers, for the true one : 
 Blefs'd be the dofe, by which our match mifcarry'd ; 
 Heavens ! how I'd hated him, had we been marry'd! 
 
 As to my errand Ere your fmiles I pray, 
 Thus make him mend the moral of his play : 
 Truft not repenting Somerfet's opinion, 
 Nor ftrive to fhake our fex's fix'd dominion. 
 Woman does, ev'n in yielding, conqueft gain ; 
 And man, howe'er contending, toils in vain ! 
 Learn, ye loft things ! for difobedience hated, 
 To what fure fuff' rings rafli mens lives are fated ! 
 Wifely be rul'd : move on the way we draw ye 
 And let due fenfe of power fuperior awe ye 
 Elfe, will your ev'ry woe be flill kept waking, 
 And your proud hearts, wafte half an age in breaking : 
 Care fhall corrode your thoughts Defpair invade ye ! 
 Dangers rife round ! and horns want power to fliade ye.
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA AT LOS ANGELES 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY LIBRARY 
 This book is DUE on the last date stamped below 
 
 
 APR 3 19 
 
 APR 9 197.1 
 
 MOV 1 9 1986 
 
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 JOL 11955 
 
 JUN 11 1955 
 
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