his cravat before his mistress; and being asked by her, when he intended to begin his court, replied, he had been doing it all this while. Yet thus it happens, my Lord, that self will come into all addresses of this nature, though it is the most unmannerly word of the world in civil conversation, and the most ungrateful to all hearers. For which reason, I who have nothing to boast of but my misfortunes, ought to be the first to banish it; especially since I have so large a field before me as your inborn goodness, your evenness of temper, your humility in so ample a share of fortune as you possess; your humanity to all men, and your kindness to your friends; besides your natural and acquired endowments, and your brotherly love to your relations. Notus in fratres animo paterno, was the great commendation which Horace gave to one of his patrons ;* and it is that praise which

allowed only to the gallants of the boxes and the stage, and that the practice was not permitted in the pit:

"We take all in good part, and never rage,

66

Though the shrill pit be louder than the stage:

There you must sit demure, without a word,

"No peruke comb'd, nor pocket-tortoise stirr'd;
"Here you may give the lie, or draw your sword."

* Proculeius, whose sister, Terentia, was married to Mæcenas. The two brothers of Proculeius, having lost their fortunes in the civil wars of Rome, he divided his patrimony with them.-Our author is inaccurate in his quotation from Horace (lib. ii. ode 2). All the copies that I have seen, read

particularly crowns your other virtues. But here, my Lord, I am obliged in common prudence to stop short; and to cast under a veil some other of your praises,* as the chymists use to shadow the secret of their great elixir, lest if it were made publick, the world should make a bad use of it. To enjoy our own quiet, without disturbing that of others, is the practice of every moral man; and for the rest, to live cheerfully and splendidly, as it is becoming of your illustrious birth, so it is likewise to thank God for his benefits in the best manner. It is unnecessary to wish you more worldly happiness, or content of mind, than you enjoy; but the continuance of both, to yourself and your posterity, is earnestly desired by all who have the honour to be known to you, and more particularly by,

My LORD,

Your Lordship's most obedient,

And most humbly devoted servant,

JOHN DRYDEN.

The celata virtus here alluded to, with so much caution, was probably Lord Salisbury's fidelity and attachment to the abdicated King, whose restoration, it was suspected, he had endeavoured to effect.

)

PREFACE

TO THE

HUSBAND HIS OWN CUCKOLD".

I HAVE thought convenient to acquaint the reader with somewhat concerning this comedy, though perhaps not worth his knowledge. It was sent me from Italy some years since, by my second son, to try its fortune on the stage; and being the essay of a young unexperienced author, to confess the truth, I thought it not worthy of that honour. It is true I was not willing to discourage him so far, as to tell him plainly my opinion, but it seems he guessed somewhat of my mind, by my long delays of his expectation; and therefore, in my absence from the town last summer, took the boldness to dedicate his play to that person of honour3 whose name you will find before his Epistle. It was received by that noble gentleman with so much

This comedy, which was written by our author's second son, John, was acted at the theatre in Little Lin, coln's Inn Fields, and first printed in 1696. The author was at this time at Rome, with his elder brother, Charles, who was Usher of the Palace to the Pope.

Our anthor's brother-in-law, Sir Robert Howard.

candour and generosity, as neither my son nor I
could deserve from him. Then the play was no
longer in my power; the patron demanding it in
his own right, it was delivered to him: and he
was farther pleased, during my sickness, to put it
into that method in which you find it; the loose
scenes digested into order, and knit into a tale.

The

As it is, I think it may pass amongst the rest
of our new plays: I know but two authors, and
they are both my friends, who have done better
since the Revolution. This I dare venture to
maintain, that the taste of the age is wretchedly
depraved in all sorts of poetry; nothing almost
but what is abominably bad can please.
young hounds, who ought to come behind, now
lead the pack; but they miserably mistake the
scent. Their poets, worthy of such an audience,
know not how to distinguish their characters; the
manners are all alike inconsistent, and interfering
with each other. There is scarce a man or woman
of God's making in all their farces, yet they raise
an unnatural sort of laughter, the common effect
of buffoonery; and the rabble which takes this
for wit, will endure no better, because it is above
their understanding. This account I take from
the best judges; for I thank God, I have had the
grace hitherto to avoid the seeing or reading of
their gallimaufries. But it is the latter end of a
century, and I hope the next will begin better.

Without doubt).

4 Probably, Southerne and Congreve.

A

This page wonderfully each pichen of the print time (1800).

This play, I dare assure the reader, is none of those; it may want beauties, but the faults are neither gross, nor many. Perfection in any art is not suddenly obtained: the author of this, to his misfortune, left his country at a time when he was to have learned the language. The story he has treated, was an accident which happened at Rome, though he has transferred the scene to England. If it shall please GOD to restore him to me, I may perhaps inform him better of the rules of writing; and if I am not partial, he has already shewn that a genius is not wanting to him. All that I can reasonably fear is, that the perpetual good success of ill plays may make him endeavour to please by writing worse, and by accommodating himself to the wretched capacity and liking of the present audience, from which heaven defend any of my progeny! A poet, indeed, must live by the many; but a good poet will make it his business to please the few. I will not proceed farther on a subject which arraigns so many of the readers.

For what remains, both my son and I are extremely obliged to my dear friend, Mr. Congreve, whose excellent Prologue was one of the greatest ornaments of the play. Neither is my Epilogue the worst which I have written; though it seems at the first sight to expose our young clergy with too much freedom. It was on that consideration that I had once begun it otherwise, and delivered the copy of it to be spoken, in case the first part of it had given offence. This I will give you,