tines. Let us be careful to distinguish between character in life, greater or more valuable than virtue and the appearance of it. Guard if pos- that of the truly devout-nor any thing more sible against doing honour to hypocrisy-But, noble or more beautiful, than the fervor of a at the same time, let us allow there is no sincere piety. [Exeunt.

SUSANNA CENTLIVRE.

soon pre

This lady was daughter of one Mr. Freeman, of Holbeach, in Lincolnshire, It is not decided whether she was born in Ireland or England; but it must have been in the year 1680. Be it as it may, we find her left to the wide world, by the death of her parents, before she had completed her twelfth year. There is a romantic story told of her having been met on her journey to London on foot, whither she went to avoid the tyranny of her stepmother, by a young gentleman from the university of Cambridge, (the afterwards well-known Anthony Hammond), who was so extremely struck with her youth and beauty, and so affected with the distress which her circumstances naturally declared in her countenance, that he fell instantly in love with her; and, inquiring into the particulars of her story, vailed on her inexperienced innocence to seize on the protection he offered her, and go with him to Cambridge, where, ipping her in boy's clothes, he introduced her to his intimates at college as a relation, who was come down to see the university, and pass some time with him there. If this story is true, it must have happened when she was extremely young; Whincop, as well as the other writers, acknowledging that she was married in her sixteenth year, to a nephew of Sir Stephen Fox. But that gentleman not living with her above a twelvemonth, her wit and beauty soun procured her a second husband, whose name was. Carrol, and who was an officer in the army; but he having the misfortune to be killed in a duel, within about a year and a half after their marriage, she became a second time a widow. Soch an attachment she seems to have had to the theatre, that she even became herself a performer in 1706 and performing the part of Alexander the Great, in Lee's Rival Queens, at Windsor, where the court then was, she wounded the heart of one Mr. Joseph Centlivre, yeoman of the mouth to Her Majesty, who soon married her; and after passing several years happily together, she died at his house in Spring-Gardens, Charing Cross, on the first of December 1723. -That Mrs. Centlivre was perfectly acquainted with life, and closely read the minds and manners of mankind, no one, we think, can doubt who reads her comedies; but what appears to us the most extraordinary is, when we consider her history, the disadvantages she must have laboured under, by being so early left to bustle with the world, and that all the education she could have had, must have been owing to her own application and assiduity; when, we say, consider her as an absolutely self-cultivated genius, it is astonishing to find the traces of so much reading and learning as we meet with in many of her pieces; since, for the drawing of the various characters she has presented us with, she mast have perfectly well understood the French, Dutch, and Spanish languages, all the provincial dialects of her own, and somewhat even of the Latin, since all these she occasionally makes use of, and whenever she does so, it is constantly with the utmost propriety and the greatest accuracy.

we

A BOLD STROKE FOR A WIFE,

Was produced at Lincoln's-inn Fields in the year 1718. Mrs. Centlivre was indebted to Mr. Mottley for two scenes of this comedy. Notwithstanding this piece has been accused by some for its numerous violations of all rule, nature, or probability, the business is so extremely active, in the course of the whole, that we are not stopped by ennui at any one scene of the play; but laughingly get on to the very end. It does not very materially tend to correct any particalar vice; but seems to invite us for once to lay aside all our gravity, and open our hearts to playful gaiety and cheerfulness.

ACT I.

SCENE I.-COLONEL FEIGNWELL and FREEMAN
are discovered over a Bottle.
Free. COME, colonel, his majesty's health.-
You are as melancholy as if you were in love!
I wish some of the beauties of Bath 1) -han't
snapt your heart.

Col. F. Why, faith 2), Freeman, there is Something in't: I have seen a lady at Bath, who has kindled such a flame in me, that all the waters there can't quench.

Free. Is she not to be had, colonel? Col. F. That's a difficult question to answer; however, I resolve to try; perhaps you may 1) The seasons, in England, are generally managed by the be able to serve me; you merchants know great people, so as to produce their different pleasures: one another. The lady told me herself she for instance, London is overflowing in the Spring, till was under the charge of four persons.

Free. Odso!) 'tis miss Ann Lovely.
Cot. F. The same-do you know her?
Free. Know her! ay-Faith, colonel, your

the month of June; then all the families whirl off to Brighton, Weymouth, or other watering-places till the summer is passed. In autumn the gentlemen shoot away their time at their country-seals, while their ladies are employed yawning over the last novels, rusticating; Winter comes to enliven them once more and then condition is more desperate than you imagine: the quiet good-natured people of Bath, are pestered why, she is the talk and pity of the whole with their routing and disturbance, tile the Spring. sends them off to London again. This, of course, means in War-time.

2) In faith.

5) From God.

town and it is the opinion of the learned, nel: her father, my old master, was the most that she must die a maid. whimsical, out-of-the-way temper'd man, 1 Col. F. Say you so? That's somewhat odd, ever heard of, as you will guess by his last in this charitable city. She's a woman, I hope? will and testament.-This was his ouly child: Free. For aught I know-but it had been and I have heard him wish her dead a thouas well for her, had nature made her any sand times. He died worth thirty thousand other part of the creation. The man who pounds, which he left to his daughter, prokeeps this house served her father; he is a vided she married with the consent of her. very honest fellow, and may he of use to you: guardians; but that she might be sure never we'll send for him to take a glass with us to do so, he left her in the care of four men, he'll give you her whole history, and 'tis as opposite to each other as the four elements: worth your hearing. each has his quarterly rule, and three months in the year she is obliged to be subject to

Col. F. But may one trust him?

Free. With your life: I have obligations each of their humours, and they are pretty enough upon him, to make him do any thing; different, I assure you. She is just come from I serve him with wine. Rings. Bath. Col. F. Nay, I know him very well myself. I once used to frequent a club that was kept here.

Enter DRAWER.

Draw. Gentlemen, d'ye call?
Free. Ay, send up your master.
Draw. Yes, sir.

Col. F. Do you know any of this guardian's, Freeman?

Free. I know two of them very well.

Enter SACKBUT.

Col. F. 'Twas there I saw her.

Sack. Ay, sir, the last quarter was her beau guardian's. She appears in all public places during his reign.

Col. F. She visited a lady who boarded in the same house with me: I liked her person, and found an opportunity to tell her so. She [Exit. replied, she had no objection to mine; but if lady's I could not reconcile contradictions I must not think of her, for that she was condemned to the caprice of four persons, who never yet agreed in any one thing, and she was obliged to please them all.

Free. Here comes one will give you an ac- Sack. 'Tis most true, sir: I'll give you a count of them all.-Mr. Sackbut, we sent for short description of the men, and leave you you to take a glass with us. 'Tis a maxim to judge of the poor lady's condition. One among the friends of the bottle, that as long is a kind of virtuoso, a silly half-witted fellow, as the master is in company, one may be sure but positive and surly, fond of every thing of good wine. antique and foreign, and wears his clothes Sack. Sir, you shall be sure to have as good of the fashion of the last century, dotes upon wine as you send in. - Colonel, your most travellers, and believes more of sir John Manhumble servant; you are welcome to town. deville') than he does of the Bible. Col. F. I thank you, Mr. Sackbut. Sack. I am as glad to see you as I should a hundred tun of French claret, custom free. -My service to you, sir. [Drinks] You don't look so merry as you used to do; aren't you well, colonel?

Free. He has got a woman in his head, landlord: can you help him?

Sack. If 'tis in my power, I shan't scruple to serve my friend.

Col. F. That must be a rare odd fellow. Sack. Another is a change-broker: a fellow that will out-lie the devil for the advantage of stock, and cheat his father that got him in bargain: he is a great stickler for trade, and hates every man that wears a sword.

a

Free. He is a great admirer of the Dutch management, and swears they understand trade better than any nation under the sun.

a

Sack. The third is an old beau, that has Col. F. Tis one perquisite of your calling. May in his fancy and dress, but December in Sack. Ay, at t'other end of the town, where his face and his heels: he admires all new you officers use, women are good forcers of fashions, and those must be French; loves trade: a well-customed house, a handsome bar- operas, balls, masquerades, and is always the keeper, with clean obliging drawers, soon get most tawdry of the whole company on the master an estate; but our citizens seldom do any thing but cheat within the walls.But as to the lady, colonel, point you at particulars? or have you a good Champaign stomach? Are you in full pay, or reduced, colonel?

Col. F. Reduced, reduced, landlord!

Free. To the miserable condition of a lover! Sack. Pish! that's perferable to half-pay: a woman's resolution may break before the peace: push her home, colonel, there's no parlying with the fair sex.

Col. F. Were the lady her own mistress, I have some reasons to believe I should soon command in chief,

Free. You know miss Lovely, Mr. Sackbut? Saek. Know her! Ay, poor Nancy: I have carried her to school many a frosty morning. Alas! if she's the woman, I pity you, colo

birth-day 2).

Col. F. These are pretty opposite one to another, truly; and the fourth, what is he, landlord?

Sack. A very rigid quaker, whose quarter began this day.-I saw miss Lovely go in, not above two hours ago.-Sir Philip set her 1) The Voiage and Travaille of Sir John Mandeville. knight, which treateth of the way to Hierusalem, and marvayles of Inde; and it is well known that this bold seeker, and fearless assertor, of incredible adventures, left England in 1522; visited Tartary about half a century after, Marco Polo; religiously declined marrying the Soldan of Egypt's daughter, because he would not renounce Christianity, and, after wandering 54 years through the realms of Inde, and being long reputed dead, returned to publish his adventures, scrapufously qualifying his most astounding relations with some such words as these:-thei seyne, or men seyne. but I have not sene it.

2) The king's birth day, at which time all the great people pay their court.

down. What think you now, colonel, is not the poor lady to be pitied?

Col. F. Ay, and rescued too, landlord. Free. In my opinion that's impossible. Col. F. There is nothing impossible to a lover. What would not a man attempt for a fine woman and thirty thousand pounds? Be-a sides, my honour is at stake: I promised to deliver her, and she bid me win her and wear her. Sack. That's fair, faith!

Betty. What can you not do, if you will but give your mind to it? Marry, madam. Miss L. What! and have my fortune go to build churches and hospitals?

Betty. Why, let it go.-If the colonel loves you, as he pretends, he'll marry you without fortune, madam; and I assure you a colonel's lady is no despicable thing.

Miss L. So you would advise me to give up my own fortune, and throw myself upon

Betty. I would advise you to make yourself

Free. If it depended upon knight-errantry, the colonel's! I should not doubt your setting free the damsel; but to have avarice, impertinence, hypocrisy, easy, madam. and pride, at once to deal with, requires more Miss L. That's not the way, I'm sure. No, cunning than generally attends a man of honour, no, girl, there are certain ingredients to be Col. F. My fancy tells me I shall come off mingled with matrimony, without which I may with glory. I resolve to try, however.-Do as well change for the worse as the better. you know all the guardians, Mr, Sackbut? Sack. Very well; they all use my house. Col. F. And will you assist me, if occasion requires?

Sack. In every thing I can, colonel.
Free. I'll answer for him.

Col. F. First I'll attack my beau guardian: where lives he?

Sack. 'Faith, somewhere about St. James's; though to say in what street I cannot; but any chairman will tell you where sir Philip Modelove lives.

Free, Oh! you'll find him in the Park at eleven every day; at least I never pass through at that hour without seeing him there-But what do you intend?

When the woman has fortune enough to make the man happy, if he has either honour or good manners, he'll make her easy. Love makes but a slovenly figure in a house, where po verty keeps the door.

Betty. And so you resolve to die a maid, do you, madam?

Miss L. Or have it in my power to make the man I love master of my fortune.

Betty. Then you don't like the colonel so well as I thought you did, madam, or you would not take such a resolution.

Miss L. It is because I do like him, Betty, that I do take such a resolution.

Betty. Why, do you expect, madam, the colonel can work miracles? Is it possible for him to marry you with the consent of all your

Col. F. To address him in his own way, and find what he designs to do with the lady. guardians? Free. And what then?

Col. F. Nay, that I can't tell; but I shall take my measures accordingly. Sack. Well, 'tis a mad undertaking, in my mind; but here's to your success, colonel.

[Drinks. Col. F. Tis something out of the way, I confess; but fortune may chance to smile, and succeed.

I

Miss L. Or he must not marry me at all; and so I told him; and he did not seem displeased with the news. He promised to set me free; and I, on that condition, promised to make him master of that freedom.

Betty. Well! I have read of enchanted castles, ladies delivered from the chains of magic, giants killed, and monsters overcome; so that I shall be the less surprised if the colonel shall conjure you out of the power of your four guardians: if he does, I am sure he deserves your fortune.

Bold' was the man who ventur'd first to sea, But the first vent'ring lovers bolder were. The path of love's dark and dang'rous way, Without a landmark or one friendly star. Miss. L. And shall have it, girl, if it were And he that runs the risk deserves the fair. ten times as much-For I'll ingenuously con[Exeunt. fess to thee, that I do love the colonel above SCENE II.—An Apartment in PRIM's House. all the men I ever saw: There's something so jantée in a soldier, a kind of je ne scais Enter MISS LOVELY and her maid BETTY. quoi air, that makes them more agreeable than Betty. Bless me, madam! why do you fret all the rest of mankind. They command reand teaze yourself so? This is giving them the gard, as who shall say, We are your defenadvantage, with a witness. ders; we preserve your beauties from the inMiss L. Must I be condemned all my life sults of rude and unpolished foes, and ought to the preposterous humours of other people, to he preferred before those lazy indolent morand pointed at by every boy in town!-Oh! tals, who, by dropping into their father's estates, I could tear my flesh and curse the hour I set up their coaches, and think to rattle themwas born. Isn't it monstrously ridiculous that selves into our affections,

they should desire to impose their quaking Betty. Nay, madam, I confess that the army dress upon me at these years? When I was has engrossed all the prettiest fellows-A laced a child, no matter what they made me wear; coat and a feather have irresistible charms. but nowMiss L. But the colonel has all the beauties Betty. I would resolve against it, madam; of the mind as well as the body. O all ye rd see 'em hanged before I'd put on the pinch'd powers that favour happy lovers, grant that cap again. The may be mine! Thou god of love, if thou be'st aught but name, assist my Feignwell!

Miss L. Then I must never expect one moment's ease: she has rung such a peal in my ears already, that I shan't have the right use of them this month.-What can I do?

Point all thy darts to aid his just design, And make his plots as prevalent as thine. [Exeunt.

ACT II.

SCENE I.-The Park.

SIR PHILIP MODELOVE discovered upon a
Bench, with a Woman masked.

Sir P. Well but, my dear, are you really constant to your keeper?

Wom. Yes, really, sir.-Hey-day! who comes yonder? He cuts a mighty figure.

Sir P. Ha! a stranger, by his equipage keeping so close at his heels. He has the appearance of a man of quality.-Positively French, by his dancing air.

Wom. He crosses, as if he meant to sit down here.

Sir P. He has a mind to make love to thee, child.

Enter COLONEL.

Col. F. Oh! that's included under the article of pleasure.

Sir P. Parbleu! c'est un homme d'esprit. May I crave your name, sir?

Col. F. My name is La Feignwell, sir, at your service.

nu

Sir P. The La Feignwells are French, I know; though the name is become very Wom. It will be to no purpose if he does. merous in Great Britain of late years-I was Sir P. Are you resolved to be cruel then? sure you was French the moment I laid my Col. F. You must be very cruel indeed, if eyes upon you; I could not come into the you can deny any thing to so fine a gentleman, supposition of your being an Englishman: this madam. [Takes out his Watch. island produces few such ornaments. Wom. I never mind the outside of a man. Col. F. And I'm afraid thou art no judge of the inside.

Sir P. I am positively of your mind, sir; for creatures of her function seldom penetrate beyond the pocket.

Col. F. Are you married, sir Philip? Sir P. No; nor do I believe I shall ever enter into that honourable state: I have an absolute tendre for the whole sex.

Col. F. That's more than they have for you, I dare swear. [Aside] I find I was very much Wom. Coxcombs! [Aside, and exit. mistaken-I imagined you had been married Sir P. Pray what says your watch? mine to that young lady whom I saw in the chariot is down. [Pulling out his Watch. with you this morning in Gracechurch-street. Col. F. I want thirty-six minutes of twelve, sir. Sir P. Who, Nancy Lovely? I am a piece [Puts up his Watch, and takes out of a guardian to that lady: You must know her father, I thank him, joined me with three of the most preposterous old fellows that, upon my soul, I am in pain for the poor girl: she must certainly lead apes, 1) ha, ha!

his Snuff-box.

Sir P. May I presume, sir. Col. F. Sir, you honour me. [Presenting the Box, Sir P. He speaks good English-though he must be a foreigner. [Aside]-This snuff is extremely good-and the box prodigious fine: the work is French, I presume, sir.

Col. F. I bought it in Paris, sir.-I do think the workmanship pretty neat.

Col. F. That's a pity, sir Philip. If the lady would give me leave, I would endeavour to avert that curse.

Sir P. As to the lady, she'd gladly be rid of us at any rate, I believe; but here's the mischief: he who marries miss Lovely, must Sir P. Neat! 'tis exquisitely fine, sir. Pray, have the consent of us all four-or not a penny sir, if I may take the liberty of inquiring of her portion. For my part, I shall never what country is so happy to claim the birth of the finest gentleman in the universe? France, I presume.

Col. F. Then you don't think me an Englishman?

Sir P. No, upon my soul, don't I.
Col. F. I am sorry for't.

approve of any but a man of figure-and the rest are not only averse to cleanliness, but have each a peculiar taste to gratify.-For my part, declare I would prefer you to all men I ever saw. Col. F. And I her to all women

I

Sir P. I assure you, Mr. Feignwell, I am for marrying her, for I hate the trouble of a Sir P. Impossible you should wish to be guardian, especially among such wretches; but an Englishman! Pardon me, sir, this island resolve never to agree to the choice of any could not produce a person of such alertness. one of them-and I fancy they'll be even with Col. F. As this mirror shows you, sir. [Puts me, for they never came into any proposal of up a pocket-glass to Sir Philip's Face] Imine yet. know not how to distinguish you, sir: but your mien and address speak you right honourable. Sir P. Thus great souls judge of others by themselves-I am only adorned with knighthood: that's all, I assure you, sir; my name is sir Philip Modelove.

a

Col. F. I wish I had leave to try them, sir Philip. Sir P. With all my soul, sir; I can refuse person of your appearance nothing. Col. F. Sir, I am infinitely obliged to you. Sir P. But do you really like matrimony? Col. . I believe I could with that lady. Sir P. The only point in which we differ. -But you are master of so many qualifications, Col. F. One may plainly perceive it-There that I can excuse one fault: for I must think is a certain gaiety peculiar to my nation (for it a fault in a fine gentleman; and that you I will own myself a Frenchman) which dis- are such, I'll give it under my hand.

Col. F. Of French extraction?

Sir P. My father was French.

tinguishes us every where.-A person of your figure would be a vast addition to a coronet.

Sir P. I must own I had the offer of a

1) The inevitable fate of all young ladies dying old maids, according to the English proverb, is, that they shall lead apes in hell.

Mrs. P. Tabitha is one of the faithful: he

Col. F. I wish you'd give me your consent servant Tabitha: the evil spirit was at that time to marry miss Lovely under your hand, sir Philip. too strong, and they both became subject to Sir P. I'll do't, if you'll step into St. James's its workings-not from any outward provoCoffee-house, where we may have pen and ink cation-but from an inward call: he was not -though I can't foresee what advantage my tainted with the rottenness of the fashions, nor consent will be to you, without you can find did his eyes take in the drunkenness of beauty. a way to get the rest of the guardians. - But Miss L. No! that's plainly to be seen. I'll introduce you, however. She is now at a quaker's, where I carried her this morning, fell not with a stranger. when you saw us in Gracechurch-street. -I Miss L. So! then you hold wenching no assure you she has an odd ragoût of guardians, crime, provided it be within the pale of your as you will find when you hear the characters, own tribe.-You are an excellent casuist, truly! which I'll endeavour to give you as we go along.-Hey! Pierre, Jacque, Kenno.-Where are you all, scoundrels?-Order the chariot to St. James's Coffee-house.

Col. F. Le Noir, Le Brun, Le Blanc-Morbleu, où sont ces coquins là? Allons, monsieur le Chevalier.

Sir P. Ah! Pardonnez moi, monsieur. Col. F. Not one step upon my soul, sir Philip. Sir P. The best bred man in Europe, positively. [Exeunt.

SCENE II.-OBADIAH PRIM'S House. Enter Miss LOVELY and MRS. PRIM. Mrs. P. Then thou wilt not obey me: and thou dost really think those fallals become thee? Miss L. I do, indeed.

Mrs. P. Now will I be judged by all sober people, if I don't look more like a modest woman than thou dost, Anne.

Enter OBADIAH PRIM.

Obad. Not stripped of thy vanity yet, Anne! Why dost thou not make her put if off, Sarah? Mrs. P. She will not do it.

Obad. Verily thy naked bosom troubleth my outward man: I pray thee hide it, Anne: put on a handkerchief, Anne Lovely.

Miss L. I hate handkerchiefs when 'tis not cold weather, Mr. Prim.

Mrs. P. I have seen thee wear a handker

chief, nay, and a mask to boot,1) in the middle of July.

Miss L. Ay, to keep the sun from scorching me. Obad. If thou couldst not bear the sunbeams, how dost thou think man can bear thy beams? Those breasts inflame desire: let them be hid, I say.

Miss L. Let me be quiet, I say.-Must I be tormented thus for ever? Sure no woman's Miss L. More like a hypocrite you mean, condition ever equalled mine! Foppery, folly, Mrs. Prim. avarice, and hypocrisy are, by turns, my conMrs. P. Ah! Anne, Anne, that wicked Philip stant companions-I cannot think my father Modelove will undo thee. - Satan so fills thy meant this tyranny! No, you usurp an authorheart with pride, during the three months of ity which he never intended you should take. his guardianship, that thou becomest a stumb- Obad. Hark thee, dost thou call good counsel ling-block to the upright. tyranny? Do I or my wife tyrannise, when we desire thee in all love to put off thy tempting attire?

Miss L. Pray who are they? Are the pinched cap and formal hood the emblems of sanctity? Does your virtue consist in your dress, Mrs.

Miss L. I wish I were in my grave! Kill me rather than treat me thus.

Prim? Mrs. P. It doth not consist in cut hair, Obad. Kill thee! ha, ha! thou thinkest thou spotted face,) and a bare neck.-Oh the wicked-art acting some lewd play sure:-Kill thee! ness of the generation! the primitive women Art thou prepared for death, Anne Lovely? knew not the abomination of hooped petticoats. No, no, thou wouldst rather have a husband, Miss L. No; nor the abomination of cant Anne:-Thou wantest a gilt coach, with six neither. Don't tell me, Mrs. Prim, don't. I lazy fellows behind, to flant it in the ring of know you have as much pride, vanity, self- vanity, among the princes and rulers of the conceit, and ambition among you, couched land-who pamper themselves with the fatness under that formal habit and sanctified coun-thereof; but I will take care that none shall tenance, as the proudest of us all; but the squander away thy father's estate; thou shalt world begins to see your prudery. marry none such, Anne.

Miss L. Would you marry me to one of your own canting sect?

I

Miss L. And I do assure thee, Óbadiah, that
will as soon turn Papist, and die in a convent.
Mrs. P. O wickedness!
Miss L. O stupidity!

Obad. O blindness of heart!

Mrs. P. Prudery! What! do they invent new words as well as new fashions? Ah! poor fantastic age, I pity thee.-Poor deluded Anne, Obad. Yea, verily, no one else shall ever which dost thou think most resembleth the get my consent, I do assure thee, Anne. saint, and which the sinner, thy dress or mine? Thy naked bosom allureth the eye of the bystander-encourageth the frailty of human nature-and corrupteth the soul with evil longings. Miss L. And pray who corrupted your son Tobias with evil longings? Your maid Tabitha Miss L. Thou blinder of the world, don't wore a handkerchief, and yet he made the provoke me-lest I betray your sanctity, and saint a sinner. leave your wife to judge of your purity? Mrs. P. Well, well, spit thy malice. I con- What were the emotions of your spirit-when fess satan did buffet my son Tobias, and my you squeez'd Mary by the hand last night in 1) The fashions of the times in which that piece was the pantry.-When she told you, you bussed written. Addison, in his Spectator No. 81, gives a very so filthily? Ah! you had no aversion to naked willy account of the ladies showing the political party bosoms, when you begged her to show you a to which they belonged, by the manner in which they wore these patches.

1) To boot, signifies, besides.