The Way of the World | Page 4

the disciple, but the immediate successor of
Aristotle, the first and greatest judge of poetry. These were great
models to design by; and the further advantage which Terence
possessed towards giving his plays the due ornaments of purity of style,
and justness of manners, was not less considerable from the freedom of
conversation which was permitted him with Lelius and Scipio, two of
the greatest and most polite men of his age. And, indeed, the privilege
of such a conversation is the only certain means of attaining to the
perfection of dialogue.
If it has happened in any part of this comedy that I have gained a turn
of style or expression more correct, or at least more
corrigible, than in
those which I have formerly written, I must, with equal pride and
gratitude, ascribe it to the honour of your lordship's admitting me into
your conversation, and that of a society where everybody else was so
well worthy of you, in your retirement last summer from the town: for
it was immediately after, that this comedy was written. If I have failed
in my performance, it is only to be regretted, where there were so many
not inferior either to a Scipio or a Lelius, that there should be one
wanting equal in capacity to a Terence.
If I am not mistaken, poetry is almost the only art which has not yet
laid claim to your lordship's patronage. Architecture and painting, to
the great honour of our country, have flourished under your influence
and protection. In the meantime, poetry, the eldest sister of all arts, and
parent of most, seems to have resigned her birthright, by having
neglected to pay her duty to your lordship, and by permitting others of
a later extraction to prepossess that place in your esteem, to which none
can pretend a better title. Poetry, in its nature, is sacred to the good and
great: the relation between them is reciprocal, and they are ever
propitious to it. It is the privilege of poetry to address them, and it is
their prerogative alone to give it protection.

This received maxim is a general apology for all writers who
consecrate their labours to great men: but I could wish, at this time, that
this address were exempted from the common pretence of all
dedications; and that as I can distinguish your lordship even among the
most deserving, so this offering might become remarkable by some
particular instance of respect, which should assure your lordship that I
am, with all due sense of your extreme worthiness and humanity, my
lord, your lordship's most obedient and most obliged humble servant,
WILL. CONGREVE.
PROLOGUE--Spoken by Mr. Betterton.
Of those few fools, who with ill stars are curst,
Sure scribbling fools,
called poets, fare the worst:
For they're a sort of fools which fortune
makes,
And, after she has made 'em fools, forsakes.
With Nature's
oafs 'tis quite a diff'rent case,
For Fortune favours all her idiot race.

In her own nest the cuckoo eggs we find,
O'er which she broods to
hatch the changeling kind:
No portion for her own she has to spare,

So much she dotes on her adopted care.
Poets are bubbles, by the town drawn in,
Suffered at first some
trifling stakes to win:
But what unequal hazards do they run!
Each
time they write they venture all they've won:
The Squire that's
buttered still, is sure to be undone.
This author, heretofore, has found
your favour,
But pleads no merit from his past behaviour.
To build
on that might prove a vain presumption,
Should grants to poets made
admit resumption,
And in Parnassus he must lose his seat,
If that be
found a forfeited estate.
He owns, with toil he wrought the following scenes,
But if they're
naught ne'er spare him for his pains:
Damn him the more; have no
commiseration
For dulness on mature deliberation.
He swears he'll
not resent one hissed-off scene,
Nor, like those peevish wits, his play
maintain,
Who, to assert their sense, your taste arraign.
Some plot

we think he has, and some new thought;
Some humour too, no
farce--but that's a fault.
Satire, he thinks, you ought not to expect;

For so reformed a town who dares correct?
To please, this time, has
been his sole pretence,
He'll not instruct, lest it should give offence.

Should he by chance a knave or fool expose,
That hurts none here,
sure here are none of those.
In short, our play shall (with your leave
to show it)
Give you one instance of a passive poet,
Who to your
judgments yields all resignation:
So save or damn, after your own
discretion.
DRAMATIS PERSONAE.
MEN.
FAINALL, in love with Mrs. Marwood,--Mr. Betterton
MIRABELL,
in love with Mrs. Millamant,--Mr. Verbruggen
WITWOUD, follower
of Mrs. Millamant,--Mr. Bowen
PETULANT, follower of Mrs.
Millamant,--Mr. Bowman
SIR WILFULL WITWOUD, half brother
to Witwoud, and nephew to Lady Wishfort,--Mr. Underhill

WAITWELL, servant to Mirabell,--Mr. Bright
WOMEN.
LADY WISHFORT, enemy to Mirabell, for having falsely pretended
love to her,--Mrs. Leigh
MRS. MILLAMANT, a fine lady,