2nd Fellow. Help him up higher on the ladder. Now you are above us all.

Footpad. Truly I desire you were all equal with me; I have no pride in this world.

1st Fellow. Will you not sing, Sir, before you are hanged? Footpad. No, I thank you; I am not so merrily disposed. Hangman. Come, are you ready?

Footpad. Yes, I have been preparing for you these many years. 1st Woman. Mercy on him and save his better part. 2nd Woman. You see what we must all come to.1

Officer. A reprieve! how came that?
Post. My Lady Haughty procured it.

(Horn blows a reprieve.)

Footpad. I will always say, while I live, that her Ladyship is a civil person.

1st Fellow. Pish, what must he not be hanged now?

2nd Fellow. What did we come all this way for this? 1st Woman. Take all this pains to see nothing?

Footpad. Very pious good people, I shall shew you no sport this

day.2

[Act v.3]

MAMAMOUCHI. A COMEDY [PUBLISHED 1675: PRODUCED 1671]. BY EDWARD RAVENSCROFT. [FLOURISHED 1671-1697]

Foolish Lender.

Debtor. As to my affairs, you know I stand indebted to you. Creditor. A few dribbling sums, Sir.

Debt. You lent 'em me very frankly, and with a great deal of generosity, and much like a gentleman.

Cred. You are pleased to say so.

Debt. But I know how to receive kindnesses, and to make returns according to the merits of the person that obliges me.

Cred. No man better.

Debt. Therefore pray let's see how our accounts stand.

Cred. They are down here in my table book.

Debt. I am a man that love to acquit myself of all obligations as

soon

Cred. See the memorandum.

Debt. You have set it all down?

Cred. All.

[Slight omissions and alterations throughout this scene.]

[See also "Facetiæ," page 562.]

[Ed. of 1677, pp. 91-94.]

THE HUNTINGDON DIVERTISEMENT. AN INTERLUDE, FOR THE GENERAL ENTERTAINMENT AT THE COUNTY FEAST, HELD AT MERCHANT TAYLORS' HALL, JUNE 20TH, 1678.1 BY W. M. [AUTHOR UNKNOWN]

Humour of a retired Knight.

Sir JEOFFRY DOE-RIGHT.

Master GENEROUS GOODMAN.

Gen. Sir Jeoffry, good morrow.

Sir J. The same to you, Sir.

Gen. Your early zeal condemns the rising sun
Of too much sloth; as if you did intend
To catch the Muses napping.

Sir J. Did you know

The pleasures of an early contemplation,

You'd never let Aurora blush to find

You drowsy on your bed; but rouse, and spend
Some short ejaculations,-how the night
Disbands her sparkling troops at the approach
Of the ensuing day, when th' grey-eyed sky
Ushers the golden signals of the morn;
Whilst the magnanimous cock with joy proclaims
The sun's illustrious cavalcade. Your thoughts
Would ruminate on all the works of Heaven,
And th' various dispensations of its power.
Our predecessors better did improve
The precious minutes of the morn than we
Their lazy successors. Their practice taught
And left us th' good Proverbial, that "To rise
Early makes all men healthy, wealthy, wise."

Gen. Your practice, Sir, merits our imitation;
Where the least particle of night and day's
Improv'd to th' best advantage, whilst your soul
(Unclogg'd from th' dross of melancholic cares)
Makes every place a paradise.

Sir J. Tis true,

I bless my lucky stars, whose kind aspects
Have fix'd me in this solitude.

My youth

Past thro' the tropics of each fortune, I

Was made her perfect tennis-ball; her smiles

Now made me rich and honour'd; then her frowns

1 [Not divided into Acts. See ed. of 1678, p. 2.]

Dash'd all my joys, and blasted all my hopes;
Till, wearied by such interchange of weather,
In court and city, I at length confined
All my ambition to the Golden Mean,
The Equinoctial of my fate; to amend
The errors of my life by a good end.

DEDICATIONS

TO FLETCHER'S

FAITHFUL

SHEP

HERDESS, WITHOUT DATE; PRESUMED TO BE
THE FIRST EDITION [See page 301]1

I.

To that noble and true lover of learning, Sir Walton Aston.

Sir, I must ask your patience, and be true.

This Play was never liked, except by few

That brought their judgments with them; for of late
First the infection,2 then the common prate

Of common people, have such customs got
Either to silence Plays, or like them not:
Under the last of which this Interlude

Had fal'n, for ever press'd down by the rude
That, like a torrent which the moist South feeds,
Drowns both before him the ripe corn and weeds;
Had not the saving sense of better men
Redeem'd it from corruption. Dear Sir, then
Among the better souls be you the best,
In whom as in a center I take rest,
And proper being; from whose equal eye
And judgment nothing grows but purity.
Nor do I flatter; for, by all those dead
Great in the Muses, by Apollo's head,
He that adds any thing to you, 'tis done
Like his that lights a candle to the sun.
Then be as you were ever, yourself still
Moved by your judgment, not by love or will.
And when I sing again (as who can tell
My next devotion to that holy Well?)
Your goodness to the Muses shall be all
Able to make a work Heroical.

1[See Mermaid Series, vol. ii., pp. 318-21. See also p. 533.]

The Plague: in which times, the acting of Plays appears to have been discountenanced.

II.

To the Inheritor of all Worthiness, Sir William Scipwith.

To the perfect gentleman, Sir Robert Townesend.

If the greatest faults may crave

Pardon, where contrition is,
Noble Sir, I needs must have

A long one for a long amiss.

If

you ask me how is this,

Upon my faith I'll tell you frankly;
You love above my means to thank ye.
Yet according to my talent,

As sour fortune loves to use me,
A poor Shepherd I have sent

In home-spun gray, for to excuse me :
And may all my hopes refuse me
But, when better comes ashore,
You shall have better, never more;
"Till when, like our desperate debtors,
Or our three-piled sweet "protesters,"
I must please you in bare letters!
And so pay my debts, like jesters.
Yet I oft have seen good feasters,
Only for to please the pallet,
Leave great meat, and chuse a sallet.

Apologetical Preface, following these:
To the Reader.

If you be not reasonably assured of your knowledge in this kind of Poem, lay down the Book; or read this, which I would wish had been the Prologue. It is a Pastoral Tragic-Comedy; which the people seeing when it was played, having ever had a singular gift in defining, concluded to be a play of Country hired Shepherds, in gray cloaks, with cur-tailed dogs in strings, sometimes laughing together, and sometimes killing one another; and, missing Whitsun ales, cream, wassail, and Morris dances, began to be angry. In their error I would not have you fall, lest you incur their censure.1 Understand, therefore, a Pastoral to be-a Representation o, Shepherds and Shepherdesses, with their Actions and Passionsf which must be such as agree with their natures; at least, not exceeding former fictions and vulgar traditions. They are not to be adorn'd with any art, but such improper ones as nature is said to bestow, as Singing and Poetry; or such as experience may teach them, as the virtues of herbs and fountains; the ordinary course of the sun, moon, and stars; and such like. But you are ever to remember Shepherds to be such, as all the ancient poets (and modern of understanding) have received them; that is, the Owners of Flocks, and not Hirelings.-A Tragic-comedy is not so called in respect of mirth and killing, but in respect it wants deaths (which

1 We can almost be not sorry for the ill dramatic success of this Play, which brought out such spirited apologies; in particular, the masterly definitions of Pastoral and Tragi-Comedy in this Preface.

He damns the Town: the Town before damn'd him.-ED.