The Conscious Lovers

that occasion flowed from reason and good sense, and that men ought not to be laughed at for weeping till we are come to a more clear notion of what is to be imputed to the hardness of the head and the softness of the heart; and I think it was very politely said of Mr. Wilks, to one who told him there was a General3 weeping for Indiana, “I’ll warrant he’ll fight ne’er the worse for that.” To be apt to give way to the impressions of humanity, is the excellence of a right disposition and the natural working of a well-turned spirit. But as I have suffered by critics who have got no farther than to inquire whether they ought to be pleased or not,4 I would willingly find them properer matter for their employment, and revive here a song which was omitted for want of a performer, and designed for the entertainment of Indiana. Signor Carbonelli,5 instead of it, played6 on the fiddle, and it is for want of a singer that such advantageous things are said of an instrument which were designed for a voice. The song is the distress of a lovesick maid, and may be a fit entertainment for some small critics7 to examine whether the passion is just or the distress male or female.

I

From place to place forlorn I go,
With downcast eyes a silent shade,
Forbidden to declare my woe;
To speak till spoken to, afraid.

II

My inward pangs, my secret grief,
My soft consenting looks betray.
He loves, but gives me no relief;
Why speaks not he who may?

It remains to say a word concerning Terence, and I am extremely surprised to find what Mr. Cibber told me prove a truth:8 that what I valued myself so much upon⁠—the translation of him9⁠—should be imputed to me as a reproach. Mr. Cibber’s zeal for the work, his care and application in instructing the actors and altering the disposition of the scenes, when I was, through sickness, unable to cultivate such things myself, has been a very obliging favour and friendship to me. For this reason I was very hardly persuaded10 to throw away Terence’s celebrated funeral, and take only the bare authority of the young man’s character; and how I have worked it into an Englishman, and made use of the same circumstances of discovering a daughter when we least hoped for one, is humbly submitted to the learned reader.

“Illud genus narrationis, quod in personis positum est, debet habere sermones festivitatem, animorum dissimilitudinem, gravitatem, lenitatem, spem, metum, suspicionem, desiderium, dissimulationem, misericordiam, rerum varietates, fortunae commutationem, insperatum incommodum, subitam letitiam, jucundum exitum rerum.”11

Cicero, Rhetor. ad Herenn. Lib. i.

The Conscious Lovers

Dramatis Personae

• Sir John Bevil.

• Mr. Sealand.

• Bevil, Jr., in love with Indiana.

• Myrtle, in love with Lucinda.

• Cimberton, a Coxcomb.

• Humphry, an old Servant to Sir John.

• Tom, Servant to Bevil, Jr.

• Daniel, a Country Boy, Servant to Indiana.

• Mrs. Sealand, second Wife to Sealand.

• Isabella, Sister to Sealand.

• Indiana, Sealand’s Daughter, by his first Wife.

• Lucinda, Sealand’s Daughter, by his second Wife.

• Phillis, Maid to Lucinda.

Scene⁠—London.

Prologue

By Mr. Welsted.12

Spoken by Mr. Wilks.

To win your hearts and to secure your praise,
The comic writers strive by various ways;
By subtle stratagems they act their game,
And leave untried no avenue to fame.
One writes the spouse a beating from his wife,
And says each stroke was copied from the life.
Some fix all wit and humour in grimace,
And make a livelihood of Pinkey’s13 face.
Here, one gay show and costly habits tries,
Confiding to the judgment of your eyes;
Another smuts his scene (a cunning shaver),
Sure of the rakes’ and of the wenches’ favour.
Oft have these arts prevailed, and one may guess,
If practised o’er again, would find success.
But the bold sage⁠—the poet of tonight⁠—
By new and desperate rules resolved to write;
Fain would he give more just applauses rise,
And please by wit that scorns the aids of vice;
The praise he seeks from worthier motives springs,
Such praise as praise to those that give it brings.

Your aid most humbly sought, then, Britons lend,
And liberal mirth like liberal men defend.
No more let ribaldry, with licence writ,
Usurp the name of eloquence or wit;
No more let lawless farce uncensured go,
The lewd dull gleanings of a Smithfield show.14
’Tis yours with breeding to refine the age,
To chasten wit, and moralise the stage.

Ye modest, wise and good, ye fair, ye brave,
Tonight the champion of your virtues save;
Redeem from long contempt the comic name,
And judge politely for your country’s fame.

Act I

Scene I. Sir John Bevil’s House.

	Enter Sir John Bevil and Humphry.
John Bevil	Have you ordered that I should not be interrupted while I am dressing?
Humphry	Yes, sir; I believed you had something of moment to say to me.
John Bevil	Let me see, Humphry; I think it is now full forty years since I first took thee to be about myself.
Humphry	I thank you, sir, it has been an easy forty years; and I have passed ’em without much sickness, care, or labour.
John Bevil	Thou hast a brave constitution; you are a year or two older than I am, sirrah.
Humphry	You have ever been of that mind, sir.
John Bevil	You knave, you know it; I took thee for thy gravity and sobriety, in my wild years.
Humphry	Ah, sir! our manners were formed from our different fortunes, not our different age. Wealth gave a loose to your youth, and poverty put a restraint upon mine.
John Bevil	Well, Humphry, you know I have been a kind master to you; I have used you, for the ingenuous nature I observed in you from the beginning, more like an humble friend than a servant.
Humphry	I humbly beg you’ll be so tender of me as to