Cheat. Why, put the case, you are indebted to me twenty pounds upon a scire facias; I extend this up to an outlawry, upon affidavit upon the nisi prius: I plead to all this matter, non est inventus upon the pannel: what is to be done more in this case, as it lies before the bench, but to award out execution upon the posse comitatus, who are presently to issue out a certiorari.

Lolp. I understand a little of sizes, nisi prizes, affidavi, sussurai! but by the mass I cannot tell what to mack of aw this together, not I.

Belf. Ha, ha, puppy! Owl! Loggerhead! O silly country put! Here's a prig indeed: he 'll ne'er find out what 'tis to cut a sham or banter.

Lolp. Sham and banter are heathen Greek to me: but yeow have cut out fine wark for yoursel last neeght: I went to see the hause yeow had brocken, aw the windows are pood dawne. I askt what was the matter, and by th' mass they haw learnt your name too: they saiden Squire Belfond had done it . . . ; and that they hadden gotten the Lord Chief Justice warren for you, and wooden bring a pair of actions against yeow.

Belf. Is this true?

Lolp. Ay, by the mass.

Cheat. No matter; we'll bring you off with a wet finger; trust me for that.

Belf. Dear friend, I rely upon you for every thing.

Sham. We value not twenty such things of a rush. Hack. If any of their officers dare invade our privileges, we'll send 'em to hell without bail or mainprize.

(From Act i. sc. 2.)

Shadwell's works were published, with a Life, in four volumes in 1720. An edition of The Lancashire Witches was printed by Mr Halliwell (afterwards Halliwell-Phillipps) in 1853.

William Wycherley (1640?-1716), born at Clive near Shrewsbury, where his father possessed a handsome property, was, next to Congreve, chief of the school of the comedy of manners. Though bred to the law, Wycherley did not practise his profession, but lived gaily 'upon town.' Pope says he had 'a true nobleman look,' and he was one of the favourites of the Duchess of Cleveland. He wrote four comedies-Love in a Wood (1672), The Gentleman Dancing-master (1673), The Country Wife (1675), and The Plain Dealer (1677). The first was received with applause; the second, a farcical comedy of intrigue, was not so popular; the Country Wife, greatly cleverer, is much coarser in plot and details than Molière's École des Femmes, on which it is largely based; the Plain Dealer, his masterpiece, is founded on Le Misanthrope. The first was written when the author was only nineteen; the last was acted in 1674. In spite of its naughtiness, the Country Wife was praised by Steele as a 'very pleasant and instructive satire ;' Dryden calls Wycherley 'my dear friend' and an excellent poet, speaks of 'the satire, wit, and strength of manly Wycherley,' and commends the Plain Dealer as 'one of the most bold, most general, and most useful satires which has ever been presented in the English theatre.' The phrase 'manly Wycherley' must surely have had

in it something of the nature of a complimentary pun, and an allusion to the chief character in the Plain Dealer. Voltaire says: 'All Wycherley's strokes are stronger and bolder than those of our Misanthrope, but then they are less delicate, and the rules of decorum are not so well observed.' Pope was proud to receive the notice of the author of the Country Wife. Their published correspondence is well known, and is interesting from the superiority maintained in their intercourse by the boy-poet of sixteen over his mentor of sixty-four. The pupil grew too great for his master, and the unnatural friendship was dissolved, renewed, and broken again. Wycherley represents the comedy of manners, not the comedy of human nature; wit, humour, sprightly conversation, mirthful situations and

talk, are aimed at rather than strength of plot or credibility. The whole is utterly artificial, and therefore the nastiness is perhaps less offensive. Congreve is vastly more brilliant in Wycherley's own line. Macaulay has vehemently impeached Wycherley's profligacy and the indecency and artificiality of his plays, and has justly said that his verse, of which a volume was published late in his life, was beneath criticism. Leigh Hunt thought some of the detached Maxims and Reflections written by Wycherley in his old age not unworthy of his reputation, and quoted as specially good, 'The silence of a wise man is more wrong to mankind than the slanderer's speech.' Wycherley married the young widow the Countess of Drogheda, lived unhappily with her, and after her death was constantly in debt or money troubles. spent some years in the Fleet; but James II., having seen the Plain Dealer, paid his debts and gave him a pension. At the age of seventy-five

He

Wycherley married a young girl in order to defeat the expectations of his nephew, and died eleven days afterwards. The extracts that follow are both from the Plain Dealer.

Mr Manly and Lord Plausible. Manly. Tell not me, my good Lord Plausible, of your decorums, supercilious forms, and slavish ceremonies! your little tricks, which you, the spaniels of the world, do daily over and over, for and to one another; not out of love or duty, but your servile fear.

Plausible. Nay, i' faith, i' faith, you are too passionate; and I must humbly beg your pardon and leave to tell you they are the arts and rules the prudent of the world walk by.

Man. Let 'em. But I'll have no leading-strings; I can walk alone. I hate a harness, and will not tug on in a faction, kissing my leader behind, that another slave may do the like to me.

Plaus. What, will you be singular then? like nobody? follow, love, and esteem nobody?

Man. Rather than be general, like you, follow everybody; court and kiss everybody; though perhaps at the same time you hate everybody.

Plaus. Why, seriously, with your pardon, my dear friend

Man. With your pardon, my no friend, I will not, as you do, whisper my hatred or my scorn, call a man fool or knave by signs or mouths over his shoulder, whilst you

have him in your arms. For such as you, like common

whores and pickpockets, are only dangerous to those you embrace.

Plaus. Such as I! Heavens defend me! upon my honour

Man. Upon your title, my lord, if you'd have me believe you.

Plaus. Well, then, as I am a person of honour, I never attempted to abuse or lessen any person in my life.

Man. What, you were afraid?

Plaus. No, but seriously, I hate to do a rude thing; no, faith, I speak well of all mankind.

Man. I thought so: but know, that speaking well of all mankind is the worst kind of detraction; for it takes away the reputation of the few good men in the world, by making all alike. Now, I speak ill of most men, because they deserve it; I that can do a rude thing, rather than an unjust thing.

Plaus. Well, tell not me, my dear friend, what people deserve; I ne'er mind that. I, like an author in a dedication, never speak well of a man for his sake, but my own. I will not disparage any man to disparage myself: for to speak ill of people behind their backs is not like a person of honour, and truly to speak ill of 'em to their faces is not like a complaisant person. But if I did say or do an ill thing to anybody, it should be sure to be behind their backs, out of pure good manners.

Man. Very well, but I that am an unmannerly seafellow, if I ever speak well of people (which is very seldom indeed) it should be sure to be behind their backs; and if I would say or do ill to any, should be to their faces. I would jostle a proud, strutting, overlooking coxcomb, at the head of his sycophants, rather than put out my tongue at him when he were past me; would frown in the arrogant, big, dull face of an over

Plaus. I would not have my visits troublesome. Man. The only way to be sure not to have 'em troublesome, is to make 'em when people are not at home; for your visits, like other good turns, are most obliging when made or done to a man in his absence. A pox! why should any one, because he has nothing to do, go and disturb another man's business?

Plaus. I beg your pardon, my dear friend. What, you have business?

Man. If you have any, I would not detain your lordship.

Plaus. Detain me, dear sir! I can never have enough of your company.

Man. I'm afraid I should be tiresome: I know not what you think.

Plaus. Well, dear sir, I see you'd have me gone. [Aside.
Man. But I see you won't.

Plaus. Your most faithful-
Man. God be w' ye, my lord.
Plaus. Your most humble-
Man. Farewell.

Plaus. And eternally

Man. And eternally ceremonythe devil take thee eternally.

[Aside.] Then

Plaus. You shall use no ceremony, by my life.
Man. I do not intend it.

Plaus. Why do you stir then?

Man. Only to see you out of doors, that I may shut 'em against more welcomes.

Plaus. Nay, faith, that shall not pass upon your most faithful humble servant.

Man. Nor this any more upon me.

Plaus. Well, you are too strong for me.

[Aside.

Man. [Aside.] I'd sooner be visited by the plague; for that only would keep a man from visits, and his doors shut. [Exit thrusting out Lord PLAUSIBLE; re-enters with FREEMAN.

Freeman. Faith, I am sorry you would let the fop go, I intended to have had some sport with him.

Man. Sport with him! A pox! then, why did you not stay? You should have enjoyed your coxcomb, and had him to yourself for me.

Free. No, I should not have cared for him without you neither; for the pleasure which fops afford is like that of drinking, only good when 'tis shared; and a fool, like a bottle, which would make you merry in company, will make you dull alone. But how the devil could you turn a man of his quality down stairs? You use a lord with very little ceremony, it seems.

Man. A lord! What, thou art one of those who esteem men only by the marks and value fortune has set upon 'em, and never consider intrinsic worth! but counterfeit honour will not be current with me: I weigh the man, not his title; 'tis not the king's stamp can make the metal better or heavier. Your lord. is a leaden shilling, which you bend every way,

and debases the stamp he bears, instead of being raised by it.

Widow Blackacre and her Lawyers. Widow. Let's see, Jerry, where are my minutes? Come, Mr Quaint, pray go talk a great deal for me in chancery, let your words be easy, and your sense hard; my cause requires it: branch it bravely, and deck my cause with flowers, that the snake may lie hidden. Go, go, and be sure you remember the decree of my Lord Chancellor, Tricesimo quart' of the queen.

Quaint. I will, as I see cause, extenuate or examplify matter of fact; baffle truth with impudence; answer exceptions with questions, though never so impertinent; for reasons give 'em words; for law and equity, tropes and figures; and so relax and enervate the sinews of their argument with the oil of my eloquence. But when my lungs can reason no longer, and not being able to say anything more for our cause, say everything of our adversary, whose reputation, though never so clear and evident in the eye of the world, yet with sharp invectives

Wid. Alias, Billingsgate.

Quaint. With poignant and sour invectives, I say, I will deface, wipe out, and obliterate his fair reputation, even as a record with the juice of lemons; and tell such a story (for the truth on 't is, all that we can do for our client in chancery, is telling a story), a fine story, a long story, such a story

Wid. Go, save thy breath for the cause; talk at the bar, Mr Quaint you are so copiously fluent, you can weary any one's ears sooner than your own tongue. Go, weary our adversaries' counsel, and the court; go, thou art a fine-spoken person: adad, I shall make thy wife jealous of me, if you can but court the court into a decree for us. Go, get you gone, and remember-[Whispers. -Exit QUAINT]-Come, Mr Blunder, pray bawl soundly for me, at the King's-bench, bluster, sputter, question, cavil; but be sure your argument be intricate enough to confound the court; and then you do my business. Talk what you will, but be sure your tongue never stand still; for your own noise will secure your sense from censure: 'tis like coughing or hemming when one has got the belly-ache, which stifles the unmannerly noise. Go, dear rogue, and succeed; and I'll invite thee, ere it be long, to more soused venison.

Blunder. I'll warrant you, after your verdict, your judgment shall not be arrested upon if's and and's. [Exit. Wid. Come, Mr Petulant, let me give you some new instructions for our cause in the Exchequer. Are the barons sat?

Petulant. Yes, no; may be they are, may be they are not: what know I? what care I?

Wid. Heyday! I wish you would but snap up the counsel on t'other side anon at the bar as much; and have a little more patience with me, that I might instruct you a little better.

Pet. You instruct me! what is my brief for, mistress? Wid. Ay, but you seldom read your brief but at the bar, if you do it then.

Pet. Perhaps I do, perhaps I don't, and perhaps 'tis time enough pray hold yourself contented, mistress.

Wid. Nay, if you go there too, I will not be contented, sir; though you, I see, will lose my cause for want of speaking, I wo' not: you shall hear me, and shall be instructed. Let's see your brief.

Pet. Send your solicitor to me. Instructed by a woman! I'd have you to know, I do not wear a bar-gown

Wid. By a woman! and I'd have you to know I am no common woman, but a woman conversant in the laws of the land, as well as yourself, though I have no bar-gown.

Pet. Go to, go to, mistress, you are impertinent, and there's your brief for you: instruct me!

[Flings her breviate at her. Wid. Impertinent to me, you saucy Jack, you! you return my breviate, but where's my fee? you'll be sure to keep that, and scan that so well, that if there chance to be but a brass half-crown in 't, one's sure to hear on't again would you would but look on your breviate half so narrowly! But pray give me my fee too, as well as my brief.

:

Pet. Mistress, that's without precedent. When did a counsel ever return his fee, pray? and you are impertinent and ignorant to demand it.

Gads

Wid. Impertinent again, and ignorant, to me! bodikins, you puny upstart in the law, to use me so! you green-bag carrier, you murderer of unfortunate causes, the clerk's ink is scarce off of your fingers,-you that newly come from lamp-blacking the judges' shoes, and are not fit to wipe mine; you call me impertinent and ignorant ! I would give thee a cuff on the ear, sitting the courts, if I were ignorant. Marry-gep, if it had not been for me, thou hadst been yet but a hearing counsel at the bar. [Exit PETULANT. Enter BUTTONGOWN.] Mr Buttongown, Mr Buttongown, whither so fast? What, won't you stay till we are heard?

But. I cannot, Mrs Blackacre, I must be at the council; my lord's cause stays there for me. Wid. And mine suffers here. But. I cannot help it. Wid. I'm undone.

But. What's that to me?

Wid. Consider the five-pound fee, if not my cause: that was something to you.

But. Away, away! pray be not so troublesome, mistress: I must be gone.

Wid. Nay, but consider a little: I am your old client, my lord but a new one; or let him be what he will, he will hardly be a better client to you than myself: I hope you believe I shall be in law as long as I live; therefore am no despicable client. Well, but go to your lord; I know you expect he should make you a judge one day; but I hope his promise to you will prove a true lord's promise. But that he might be sure to fail you, I wish you had his bond for 't.

But. But what, will you yet be thus impertinent, mistress?

Wid. Nay, I beseech you, sir, stay; if it be but to tell me my lord's case; come, in short

Wid. Well said, boy.-Come, Mr Splitcause, pray go see when my cause in Chancery comes on; and go speak with Mr Quillit in the King's-bench, and Mr Quirk in the Common-pleas, and see how matters go there.

Major Oldfox [entering]. Lady, a good and propitious morning to you; and may all your causes go as well as if I myself were judge of 'em!

Wid. Sir, excuse me; I am busy, and cannot answer compliments in Westminster Hall.-Go, Mr Splitcause, and come to me again to that bookseller's; there I'll stay for you, that you may be sure to find me.

Old. No, sir, come to the other bookseller's. I'll attend your ladyship thither. [Exit SPLITCAUSE.

Wid. Why to the other?

Old. Because he is my bookseller, lady.

Wid. What, to sell you lozenges for your catarrh? or medicines for your corns? What else can a major deal with a bookseller for?

Old. Lady, he prints for me.
Wid. Why, are you an author?

Old. Of some few essays; deign you, lady, to peruse 'em.-[Aside.] She is a woman of parts; and I must win her by showing mine.

Bookseller's Boy. Will you see Culpepper, mistress? 'Aristotle's Problems?' 'The Complete Midwife?' Wid. No; let's see Dalton, Hughs, Shepherd, Wingate.

B. Boy. We have no law books.

Wid. No! you are a pretty bookseller then.

Old. Come, have you e'er a one of my essays left? B. Boy. Yes, sir, we have enough, and shall always have 'em.

Old. How so?

B. Boy. Why, they are good, steady, lasting ware.

Old. Nay, I hope they will live; let's see. -Be pleased, madam, to peruse the poor endeavours of my pen: for I have a pen, though I say it, that

Jer. Pray let me see 'St George for Christendom,' or 'The Seven Champions of England.'

Wid. No, no; give him 'The Young Clerk's Guide.' -What, we shall have you read yourself into a humour of rambling and fighting, and studying military discipline, and wearing red breeches.

Old. Nay, if you talk of military discipline, show him my Treatise of the Art Military.'

Wid. Hold; I would as willingly he should read a play.

Jer. O, pray forsooth, mother, let me have a play.

Wid. No, sirrah; there are young students of the law enough spoiled already by plays. They would make you in love with your laundress, or, what 's worse, some queen of the stage that was a laundress. But stay, Jerry,

is not that Mr What d'ye-call-him, that goes there, he that offered to sell me a suit in chancery for five hundred pounds, for a hundred down, and only paying the clerk's fees?

Jer. Ay, forsooth, 'tis he.

Wid. Then stay here, and have a care of the bags, whilst I follow him.-Have a care of the bags, I say.

Jer. And do you have a care, forsooth, of the statute against champarty, I say. [Exit Widow BLACKACRE.

Leigh Hunt edited the works of Wycherley, Congreve, Vanbrugh, and Farquhar (1840; new ed. 1865); and Mr W. C. Ward edited Wycherley in the Mermaid Series' (1896). See Hazlitt's English Comic Writers (1819; new ed. 1869) and Ward's Dramatic Literature (1875).

Aphra Behn (1640-89; her first name is also spelt AYFARA), the female Wycherley, was the first English professional authoress. The comedies of Mrs Behn are grossly indecorous; and of the whole seventeen which she wrote-besides various novels and poems-not one is now acted, read, or remembered. Mrs Behn was daughter of John Johnson, a barber, and born at Wye in Kent in 1640. With a relative whom she called 'father,' and who was English lieutenant - governor of Surinam, she went to the West Indies, and became acquainted with the princely slave Oroonoko, on whose story she founded a novel. In 1658 she returned to England, and soon after marrying Mr Behn, a wealthy London merchant of Dutch descent, she found her way to the English court. Her husband died before 1666, whereupon she was employed as a political spy by Charles II.; and while residing at Antwerp she was enabled, by the aid of her lovers and admirers, to give information to the British Government as to the intended Dutch attack on Chatham. Her advice was not acted on, and on her return to England she betook to literature as a profession. She wrote nearly a score of dramas, mostly comedies, which are very coarse but lively and amusing-The Forced Marriage, Abdelazer, The Rover, The Debauchee, The Town Fop, &c. She borrowed freely from older dramatists and from the French theatre. Her comedies attracted more attention in her lifetime than her novels. Of the novels, Oroonoko is the best known; both it and her story of The Nun, or the Fair Vow-breaker, were dramatised by Southerne; and in the section on Southerne (Vol. II. pp. 63-65) a passage from each is quoted. The Nun opens with a clever satire on town-fops. 'Facetious' Tom Brown, not himself very careful to avoid offence, makes a candid friend write to her and of her, 'Those were the two knacks you were chiefly happy in; one was to make libertines laugh, and the other to make modest women blush.' Mrs Keith of Ravelston's criticism is known to all lovers of Scott. The venerable lady remembered how in her youth Mrs Behn's stories were universally admired, and asked Scott to get her a sight of them. In spite of his misgivings, Scott says, 'To hear was to obey. So I sent Mrs Aphra Behn, curiously sealed up, with "Private and confidential" on the packet, to my gay old grand-aunt. next time I saw her afterwards she gave me back Aphra, properly wrapped up, with nearly these words: "Take back your bonny Mrs Behn; and, if you will take my advice, put her in the fire, for I found it impossible to get through the very first novel. But is it not," she said, "a very odd thing that I, an old woman of eighty and upwards, sitting alone, feel myself ashamed to read a book which, sixty years ago, I have heard read aloud for the amusement of large circles, consisting of the first and most creditable society in London ?"" Like so many of her contemporaries, Mrs Behn

The

wrote 'Pindaricks' on the death of Charles II. and other notable events and occasions. Her longest poem was a tedious allegorical Voyage to the Isle of Love; some of the lyrics in her plays and amongst her poems are admirable. Mr Gosse places her in the first rank of English female writers.' Her life was less scandalous than her literary work; she was the friend of Dryden and Otway; and it should be recorded to her credit that by her Oroonoko she was the first English writer to stir sympathy with the slave. As Mr Swinburne has put it: "This improper woman of genius was the first literary abolitionist-the first champion of the slave on record in the history of fiction.' That is a better justification than ought else in her plays and novels for her resting-place in Westminster Abbey, and brings her into strange companionship with Mrs Beecher Stowe. An eighth edition of her works appeared in 1735.

Song from 'Abdelazer.'

Love in fantastic triumph sát,

Whilst bleeding hearts around him flowed, For whom fresh pains he did create,

And strange tyrannic power he shewed. From thy bright eyes he took his fires, Which round about in sport he hurled: But 'twas from mine he took desires

Enough to undo the amorous world.

From me he took his sighs and tears,
From thee his pride and cruelty;
From me his languishment and fears,
And every killing dart from thee:
Thus thou and I the god have armed,
And set him up a deity:

But my poor heart alone is harmed,
While thine the victor is, and free.

The Dream.

The grove was gloomy all around,
Murmuring the stream did pass,
Where fond Astræa laid her down

Upon a bed of grass;

I slept and saw a piteous sight,

Cupid a-weeping lay,

Till both his little stars of light

Had wept themselves away. Methought I asked him why he cried; My pity led me on,—

All sighing the sad boy replied,

'Alas! I am undone !

As I beneath yon myrtles lay,

Down by Diana's springs, Amyntas stole my bow away,

And pinioned both my wings.'
'Alas!' I cried, "twas then thy darts
Wherewith he wounded me?
Thou mighty deity of hearts,

He stole his power from thee?
Revenge thee, if a god thou be,
Upon the amorous swain,
I'll set thy wings at liberty,
And thou shalt fly again;

And, for this service on my part,
All I demand of thee
Is, wound Amyntas' cruel heart,
And make him die for me.'
His silken fetters I untied,

And those gay wings displayed, Which gently fanned, he mounting cried, 'Farewell, fond easy maid!'

At this I blushed, and angry grew

I should a god believe

And waking found my dream too true,
For I was still a slave.

Oroonoko, the hero of the romance, was a young and gallant African prince, grandson of the reigning king; eminently accomplished and distinguished for his military prowess, he was thus shamefully betrayed into slavery by Englishmen :

Oroonoko was no sooner return'd from this last conquest, and receiv'd at court with all the joy and magnificence that could be express'd to a young victor, who was not only return'd triumphant, but belov'd like a deity, than there arriv'd in port an English ship. The master of it had often before been in these countries, and was very well known to Oroonoko, with whom he had traffick'd for slaves, and had us'd to do the same with his predecessors.

This commander was a man of a finer sort of address and conversation, better bred, and more engaging than most of that sort of men are; so that he seem'd rather never to have been bred out of a court, than almost all his life at sea. This captain therefore was always better receiv'd at court than most of the traders to those countries were; and especially by Oroonoko, who was more civiliz'd, according to the European mode, than any other had been, and took more delight in the white nations; and, above all, men of parts and wit. To this captain he sold abundance of his slaves; and for the favour and esteem he had for him, made him many presents, and oblig'd him to stay at court as long as possibly he could. Which the captain seem'd to take as a very great honour done him, entertaining the prince every day with globes and maps, and mathematical discourses and instruments; eating, drinking, hunting, and living with him with so much familiarity, that it was not to be doubted but he had gain'd very greatly upon the heart of this gallant young man. And the captain, in return of all these mighty favours, besought the prince to honour his vessel with his presence some day or other at dinner, before he should set sail; which he condescended to accept, and appointed his day. The captain, on his part, fail'd not to have all things in a readiness, in the most magnificent order he could possibly: and the day being come, the captain, in his boat richly adorn'd with carpets and velvet cushions, rowed to the shore to receive the prince; with another longboat, where was plac'd all his musick and trumpets, with which Oroonoko was extremely delighted; who met him on the shore, attended by his French governor, Jamoan, Aboan, and about an hundred of the noblest of the youths of the court: and after they had first carried the prince on board, the boats fetch'd the rest off, where they found a very splendid treat, with all sorts of fine wines, and were as well entertain'd as 'twas possible in such a place to be.

The prince having drank hard of punch and several sorts of wine, as did all the rest (for great care was taken