The Works of John Dryden, Vol. II | Page 6

That is to say, 'tis as 'tis taken still. _1 Ast_. But, brother,
Ptolemy the learned says, 'Tis the fifth house from whence we judge of
plays. Venus, the lady of that house, I find Is Peregrine; your play is
ill-designed; It should have been but one continued song, Or, at the
least, a dance of three hours long. Ast. But yet the greatest mischief
does remain, The twelfth apartment bears the lords of Spain; Whence I
conclude, it is your author's lot, To be endangered by a Spanish plot.
Prolo. Our poet yet protection hopes from you, But bribes you not with
any thing that's new; Nature is old, which poets imitate, And, for wit,
those, that boast their own estate, Forget Fletcher and Ben before them
went, Their elder brothers, and that vastly spent; So much, 'twill hardly
be repair'd again, Not, though supplied with all the wealth of Spain,
This play is English, and the growth your own; As such, it yields to
English plays alone. He could have wish'd it better for your sakes, But
that, in plays, he finds you love mistakes: Besides, he thought it was in
vain to mend, What you are bound in honour to defend; That English
wit, howe'er despised by some, Like English valour, still may
overcome.

PROLOGUE,
WHEN REVIVED.
As some raw squire, by tender mother bred, 'Till one-and-twenty keeps
his maidenhead; (Pleased with some sport, which he alone does find;
And thinks a secret to all humankind;) 'Till mightily in love, yet half
afraid, He first attempts the gentle dairy maid: Succeeding there, and,
led by the renown Of Whetston's park, he comes at length to town;
Where entered, by some school-fellow or friend, He grows to break
glass windows in the end: His valour too, which with the watch began,

Proceeds to duel, and he kills his man. By such degrees, while
knowledge he did want, Our unfledged author writ a Wild Gallant. He
thought him monstrous lewd, (I lay my life) Because suspected with his
landlord's wife; But, since his knowledge of the town began, He thinks
him now a very civil man; And, much ashamed of what he was before,
Has fairly play'd him at three wenches more. 'Tis some amends his
frailties to confess; Pray pardon him his want of wickedness: He's
towardly, and will come on apace; His frank confession shows he has
some grace. You baulked him when he was a young beginner, And
almost spoiled a very hopeful sinner; But if once more you slight his
weak endeavour, For aught I know, he may turn tail forever;

DRAMATIS PERSONAE.
Lord NONSUCH, an old rich humorous lord. Justice TRICE, his
neighbour. Mr LOVEBY, the Wild Gallant. Sir TIMOROUS, a bashful
knight. FAILER, } _hangers-on of_ Sir TIMOROUS. BURR, }
BIBBER, a tailor. SETSTONE, a jeweller.
Lady CONSTANCE, Lord NONSUCH'S _daughter_, Madam
ISABELLA, her cousin. Mrs BIBBER, the tailors wife.
_Serjeants, Boy to LOVEBY, Servants, a Bawd and Whores, Watch
and Constable_.

SCENE.--London.

THE WILD GALLANT.
ACT I.
SCENE I.--_FAILER entering to BURR, who is putting on his
buff-coat_.
Fail. What! not ready yet, man?
Burr. You do not consider my voyage from Holland last night.
Fail. Pish, a mere ferry; get up, get up: My cousin's maids will come
and blanket thee anon; art thou not ashamed to lie a-bed so long?
Burr. I may be more ashamed to rise; and so you'll say, dear heart, if
you look upon my clothes: the best is, my buff-coat will cover all.

Fail. Egad, there goes more cunning than one would think to the
putting thy clothes together. Thy doublet and breeches are Guelphs and
Ghibellins to one another; and the stitches of thy doublet are so far
asunder, that it seems to hang together by the teeth. No man could ever
guess to what part of the body these fragments did belong, unless he
had been acquainted with 'em as long as thou hast been. If they once
lose their hold, they can never get together again, except by chance the
rags hit the tallies of one another. He, that gets into thy doublet, must
not think to do it by storm; no, he must win it inch by inch, as the Turk
did Rhodes.
Burr. You are very merry with my wardrobe; but, till I am provided of
a better, I am resolved to receive all visits in this truckle-bed.
Fail. Then will I first scotch the wheels of it, that it may not run: Thou
hast cattle enough in it to carry it down stairs, and break thy neck; 'tis
got a yard nearer the door already.
Enter Boy.
Boy. Sir, Mr Bibber your tailor's below, and desires to speak with you.
Fail. He's an honest fellow, and a