It has the luck to be well received in the Town; which (not for my Vanity) pleases me, but that thereby I find Honesty begins to come in fashion again, when Loyalty is approv'd, and Whigism becomes a Jest where'er 'tis met with. And, no doubt on't, so long as the Royal Cause has such Patrons as your Lordship, such vigorous and noble Supporters, his Majesty will be great, secure and quiet, the Nation flourishing and happy, and seditious Fools and Knaves that have so long disturb'd the Peace and Tranquility of the World, will become the business and sport of Comedy, and at last the scorn of that Rabble that fondly and blindly worshipt 'em; and whom nothing can so well convince as plain Demonstration, which is ever more powerful and prevailent than Precept, or even Preaching it self. If this have edifi'd effectual, 'tis all I wish; and that your Lordship will be pleas'd to accept the humble Offering, is all I beg, and the greatest Glory I care shou'd be done,
MY LORD, Your Lordship's most Humble and most Obedient Servant, A. BEHN.
THE CITY HEIRESS; or, Sir _Timothy Treat-all_.
PROLOGUE,
Written by Mr. _Otway_, Spoken by Mrs. _Barry_.
_How vain have proved the Labours of the Stage, In striving to reclaim a vitious Age!
Poets may write the Mischief to impeach, You care as little what the Poets teach, As you regard at Church what Parsons preach.
But where such Follies, and such Vices reign, What honest Pen has Patience to refrain?
At Church, in Pews, ye most devoutly snore And here, got dully drunk, ye come to roar: Ye go to Church to glout, and ogle there, And come to meet more loud convenient here.
With equal Zeal ye honour either Place, And run so very evenly your Race, Y' improve in Wit just as you do in Grace.
It must be so, some Daemon has possest Our Land, and we have never since been blest.
Y' have seen it all, or heard of its Renown, In Reverend Shape it staled about the Town, Six Yeomen tall attending on its Frown.
Sometimes with humble Note and zealous Lore, 'Twou'd play the Apostolick Function o'er: But, Heaven have mercy on us when it swore.
Whene'er it swore, to prove the Oaths were true, Out of its much at random Halters flew Round some unwary Neck, by Magick thrown, Though still the cunning Devil sav'd its own: For when the Inchantment could no longer last, The subtle Pug most dextrously uncas'd, Left awful Form for one more seeming pious, And in a moment vary'd to defy us; From silken Doctor home-spun Ananias: Left the leud Court, and did in City fix, Where still, by its old Arts, it plays new Tricks, And fills the Heads of Fools with Politicks.
This Daemon lately drew in many a Guest, To part with zealous Guinea for--no Feast.
Who, but the most incorrigible Fops, For ever doomed in dismal Cells, call'd Shops, To cheat and damn themselves to get their Livings, Wou'd lay sweet Money out in Sham-Thanksgivings?
Sham-Plots you may have paid for o'er and o'er; But who e'er paid for a Sham-Treat before?
Had you not better sent your Offerings all Hither to us, than Sequestrators Hall?
I being your Steward, Justice had been done ye; I cou'd have entertain'd you worth your Money_.
DRAMATIS PERSONAE.
MEN.
Sir _Timothy Treat-all_, an old seditious Knight, that keeps open House for Commonwealthsmen Mr. _Nokes_.
and true blue Protestants, Uncle to _T. Wilding_, _Tom Wilding_, a Tory, his discarded Nephew, Mr. _Bctterton_.
Sir _Anthony Meriwill_, an old Tory Knight of Mr. _Lee_.
_Devonshire_, Sir _Charles Meriwill_, his Nephew, a Tory also, in love with L. _Galliard_, and Friend to Mr. _Williams_.
_Wilding_, _Dresswell_, a young Gentleman, Friend to Mr. _Bowman_.
_Wilding_, _Foppington_, a Hanger-on on _Wilding_, Mr. _Jevon_.
_Jervice_, Man to Sir _Timothy_.
_Laboir_, Man to _Tom Wilding_.
Boy, Page to Lady _Galliard_.
Boy, Page to _Diana_.
Guests, Footmen, Musick, &c.
WOMEN.
Lady _Galliard_, a rich City-Widow, in love with Mrs. _Barry_.
_Wilding_, _Charlot_, The City-Heiress, in love with _Wilding_, Mrs. _Butler_.
_Diana_, Mistress to _Wilding_, and kept by him, Mrs. _Corror_.
Mrs. _Clacket_, a City Baud and Puritan, Mrs. _Novice_.
Mrs. _Closet_, Woman to Lady _Galliard_, Mrs. _Lee_.
Mrs. _Sensure_, Sir _Timothy's_ Housekeeper.
_Betty_, Maid to _Diana_.
Maid at _Charlot's_ lodging.
SCENE, _Within the Walls of_ London.
ACT I.
SCENE I. _The Street_.
_Enter Sir_ Timothy Treat-all, _follow'd by_ Tom Wilding bare, Sir_ Charles Meriwill, Foppington, _and Footman with a Cloke_.
Sir _Tim_. Trouble me no more: for I am resolv'd, deaf and obdurate, d'ye see, and so forth.
_Wild_. I beseech ye, Uncle, hear me.
Sir _Tim_. No.
_Wild_. Dear Uncle--
Sir _Tim_. No.
_Wild_. You will be mortify'd--
Sir _Tim_. No.
_Wild_. At least hear me out, Sir.
Sir _Tim_. No, I have heard you out too often, Sir, till you have talkt me out of many a fair Thousand; have had ye out of all the Bayliffs, Serjeants, and Constables Clutches about Town, Sir; have brought you out of all the Surgeons, Apothecaries, and pocky Doctors Hands, that ever pretended to cure incurable Diseases; and have crost ye out of the Books of all the Mercers, Silk-men, Exchange-men, Taylors, Shoemakers, and Sempstresses; with all the rest of the unconscionable City-tribe of the long Bill, that had but Faith enough to trust, and thought me Fool enough to pay.
Sir _Char_. But, Sir, consider, he's your own Flesh and Blood.
Sir _Tim_. That's more than I'll swear.
Sir _Char_. Your only Heir.
Sir _Tim_. That's more than you or any of his wise Associates can tell, Sir.
Sir _Char_. Why his wise Associates? Have you any Exception to the Company he keeps? This reflects on me and young _Dresswell_, Sir, Men both of Birth and Fortune.
Sir _Tim_. Why, good Sir _Charles Meriwill_, let me tell you, since you'll have it out, That you and young _Dresswell_ are able to debauch, destroy, and confound all the young imitating Fops in Town.