The Rehearsal/Act 1-1

by George Villiers

THE

REHEARSAL.

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ACTUS I. SCÆNA I.

Johnson and Smith.

Johns.Honest Frank! I'm glad to see thee with all my heart: how long hast thou been in Town?

Smi. Faith, not above an hour: and, if I had not met you here, I had gone to look you out; for I long to talk with you freely, of all the strange new things we have heard in the Country.

Johns. And, by my troth, I have long'd as much to laugh with you, at all the impertinent, dull, fantastical things, we are tir'd out with here.

Smi. Dull and fantastical! that's an excellent composition. Pray, what are our men of business doing?

Johns. I ne'er enquire after 'em. Thou know'st my humour lyes another way. I love to please my self as much, and to trouble others as little as I can: and therefore do naturally avoid the company of those solemn Fops; who, being incapable of Reason, and insensible of Wit and Pleasure, are always looking grave, and troubling one another, in hopes to be thought men of Business.

Smi. Indeed, I have ever observed, that your grave lookers are the dullest of men.

Johns. I, and of Birds, and Beasts too: your gravest Bird is an Owl, and your gravest Beast is an Ass.

Smi. Well; but how dost thou pass thy time?

Johns. Why, as I use to do; eat and drink as well as I can, have a She-friend to be private with in the afternoon, and sometimes see a Play: where there are such things (Frank) such hideous, monstrous things, that it has almost made me forswear the Stage, and resolve to apply my self to the solid nonsence of your pretenders to Business, as the more ingenious pastime.

Smi. I have heard, indeed, you have had lately many new Plays, and our Country-wits commend 'em.

Johns. I, so do some of our City-wits too; but they are of the new kind of Wits.

Smi. New kind? what kind is that?

Johns. Why, your Blade, your frank Persons, your Drolls: fellows that scorn to imitate Nature; but are given altogether to elevate and surprise.

Smi. Elevate, and surprise? pr'ythee make me understand the meaning of that.

Johns. Nay, by my troth, that's a hard matter: I don't understand that my self. 'Tis a phrase they have got among them, to express their no-meaning by. I'l tell you, as well as I can, what it is. Let me see; 'tis Fighting, Loving, Sleeping, Rhyming, Dying, Dancing, Singing, Crying; and every thing, but Thinking and Sence.

Mr. Bayes passes o'er the Stage.

Bayes. Your most obsequious, and most observant, very servant, Sir.

Johns. Godso, this is an Author: I'l fetch him to you.

Smi. Nay, pr'ythee let him alone.

Johns. Nay, by the Lord, I'l have him. Goes after him. Here he is. I have caught him. Pray, Sir, for may sake, will you do a favour to this friend of mine?

Bayes. Sir, it is not within my small capacity to do favours, but receive 'em; especially from a person that does wear the honourable Title you are pleas'd to impose, Sir, upon this.———Sweet Sir, your servant.

Smi. Your humble servant, Sir.

Johns. But wilt thou do me a favour, now?

Bayes. I, Sir: what is't?

Johns. Why, to tell him the meaning of thy last Play.

Bayes. How, Sir, the meaning? do you mean the Plot.

Johns. I, I; any thing.

Bayes. Faith, Sir, the Intrigo's now quite out of my head; but I have a new one, in my pocket, that I may say is a Virgin; 't has never yet been blown upon. I must tell you one thing, 'Tis all new Wit; and, though I say it, a better than my last: and you know well enough how that took. In fine, it shall read, and write, and act, and plot, and shew, ay, and pit, box and gallery, I gad, with any Play in Europe. This morning is its last Rehearsal, in their habits, and all that, as it is to be acted; and if you, and your friend will do it but the honour to see it in its Virgin attire; though, perhaps, it may blush, I shall not be asham'd to discover its nakedness unto you.———I think it is o' this side. Puts his hand in his pocket.

Johns. Sir, I confess I am not able to answer you in this new way; but if you please to lead, I shall be glad to follow you; and I hope my friend will do so too.

Smi. I, Sir, I have no business so considerable, as should keep me from your company.

Bayes. Yes, here it is. No, cry your mercy: this is my book of Drama Common places; the Mother of many other Plays.

Johns. Drama Common places! pray what's that?

Bayes. Why, Sir, some certain helps, that we men of Art have found it convenient to make use of.

Smi. How, Sir, help for Wit?

Bayes. I, Sir, that's my position. And I do here averr, That no man yet the Sun e'er shone upon, has parts sufficient to furnish out a Stage, except it be with the help of these my Rules.

Johns. What are those Rules, I pray?

Bayes. Why, Sir, my first Rule is the Rule of Transversion, or Regula Duplex: changing Verse into Prose, or Prose into verse, alternative as you please.

Smi. How's that, Sir, by a Rule, I pray?

Bayes. Why, thus, Sir; nothing more easie when understood: I take a Book in my hand, either at home, or elsewhere, for that's all one, if there be any Wit in't, as there is no Book but has some, I Transverse it; that is, if it be Prose, put it into Verse, (but that takes up some time) if it be Verse, put it into Prose.

Johns. Methinks, Mr. Bayes, that putting Verse into Prose should be call'd Transprosing.

Bayes. By my troth, a very good Notion, and hereafter it shall be so.

Smi. Well, Sir, and what d'ye do with it then?

Bayes. Make it my own. 'Tis so alter'd that no man can know it. My next Rule is the Rule of Record, and by way of Table-Book. Pray observe.

Johns. Well, we hear you: go on.

Bayes. As thus. I come into a Coffee-house, or some other place where wittie men resort, I make as if I minded nothing; (do you mark?) but as soon as any one speaks, pop I slap it down, and make that, too, my own.

Johns. But, Mr. Bayes, are not you sometimes in danger of their making you restore, by force, what you have gotten thus by Art?

Bayes. No, Sir; the world's unmindful: they never take notice of these things.

Smi. But pray, Mr. Bayes, among all your other Rules, have you no one Rule for Invention?

Bayes. Yes, Sir; that's my third Rule that I have here in my pocket.

Smi. What Rule can that be?

Bayes. Why, Sir, when I have any thing to invent, I never trouble my head about it, as other men do; but presently turn o'er this Book, and there I have, at one view, all that Perseus, Montaigne, Seneca's Tragedies, Horace, Juvenal, Claudian, Pliny, Plutarch's lives, and the rest, have ever thought, upon this subject: and so, in a trice, by leaving out a few words, or putting in others of my own, the business is done.

Johns. Indeed, Mr. Bayes, this is as sure, and compendious a way of Wit as ever I heard of.

Bayes. I, Sirs, when you come to write your selves, o' my word you'l find it so. But, Gentlemen, if you make the least scruple of the efficacie of these my Rules, do but come to the Play-house, and you shall judge of 'em by the effects.

Smi. We'l follow you, Sir. [Exeunt.

Enter three Players upon the Stage.

1 Play. Have you your part perfect?

2 Play. Yes, I have it without book; but I do not understand how it is to be spoken.

3 Play. And mine is such a one, as I can't ghess for my life what humour I'm to be in: whether angry, melancholy, merry, or in love. I don't know what to make on't.

1. Phoo! the Author will be here presently, and he'l tell us all. You must know, this is the new way of writing; and these hard things please forty times better than the old plain way. For, look you, Sir, the grand design upon the Stage is to keep the Auditors in suspence; for to ghess presently at the plot, and the sence, tires 'em before the end of the first Act: now, here, every line surprises you, and brings in new matter. And, then, for Scenes, Cloaths and Dancing, we put 'em quite down, all that ever went before us: and these are the things, you know, that are essential to a Play.

2 Play. Well, I am not of thy mind; but, so it gets us money, 'tis no great matter.

Enter Bayes, Johnson and Smith.

Bayes. Come, come in, Gentlemen. Y'are very welcome Mr. ———a———Ha' you your Part ready?

1 Play. Yes, Sir.

Bayes. But do you understand the true humour of it?

1 Play. I, Sir, pretty well.

Bayes. And Amarillis, how does she do? Does not her Armor become her?

3 Play. O, admirably!

Bayes. I'l tell you, now, a pretty conceipt. What do you think I'l make 'em call her anon, in this Play?

Smi. What, I pray?

Bayes. Why I'l make 'em call her Armarillis, because of her Armor: ha, ha, ha.

Johns. That will be very well, indeed.

Bayes. I, it's a pretty little rogue; she is my Mistress. I knew her face would set off Armor extreamly: and, to tell you true, I writ that Part only for her. Well, Gentlemen, I dare be bold to say, without vanity, I'l shew you something, here, that's very ridiculous, I gad. [Exeunt Players.

Johns. Sir, that we do not doubt of.

Bayes. Pray, Sir, let's sit down. Look you, Sir, the chief hindge of this Play, upon which the whole Plot moves and turns, and that causes the variety of all the several accidents, which, you know, are the thing in Nature that make up the grand refinement of a Play, is, that I suppose two Kings to be of the same place: as, for example, at Brentford; for I love to write familiarly. Now the people having the same relations to 'em both, the same affections, the same duty, the same obedience, and all that; are divided among themselves in point of devoir and interest, how to behave themselves equally between 'em: these Kings differing sometimes in particular; though, in the main, they agree. (I know not whether I make my self well understood.

Johns. I did not observe you, Sir: pray say that again.

Bayes. Why, look you, Sir, (nay, I beseech you, be a little curious in taking notice of this, or else you'l never understand my notion of the thing) the people being embarrast by their equal tyes to both, and the Soveraigns concern'd in a reciprocal regard, as well to their own interest, as the good of the people; may make a certain kind of a——— you understand me——— upon which, there does arise several disputes, turmoils, heart-burnings, and all that——— In fine, you'l apprehend it better when you see it. [Exit, to call the Players.

Smi. I find the Author will be very much oblig'd to the Players, if they can make any sence of this.

Enter Bayes.

Bayes. Now, Gentlemen, I would fain ask your opinion of one thing. I have made a Prologue and an Epilogue, which may both serve for either: (do you mark?) nay, they may both serve too, I gad, for any other Play as well as this.

Smi. Very well. That's, indeed, Artificial.

Bayes. And I would fain ask your judgements, now, which of them would do best for the Prologue? For, you must know, there is, in nature, but two ways of making very good Prologues. The one is by civility, by insinuation, good language, and all that, to——— a ——— in a manner, steal your plaudit from the courtesie of the Auditors: the other, by making use of some certain personal things, which may keep a hank upon such censuring persons, as cannot otherways, A gad, in nature, be hindred from being too free with their tongues. To which end, my first Prologue is, that I come out in a long black Veil, and a great huge Hang-man behind me, with a Furr'd-cap, and his Sword drawn; and there tell 'em plainly, That if, out of good nature, they will not like my Play, why I gad, I'l e'en kneel down, and he shall cut my head off. Whereupon they all clapping ——— a ———

Smi. But, suppose they do not.

Bayes. Suppose! Sir, you may suppose what you please, I have nothing to do with your suppose, Sir, nor am not at all mortifi'd at it; not at all, Sir; I gad, not one jot. Suppose quoth a!——— [Walks away.

Johns. Phoo! pr'ythee, Bayes, don't mind what he says: he's a fellow newly come out of the Country, he knows nothing of what's the relish, here, of the Town.

Bayes. If I writ, Sir, to please the Country, I should have follow'd the old plain way; but I write for some persons of Quality, and peculiar friends of mine, that understand what Flame and Power in writing is: and they do me the right, Sir, to approve of what I do.

Johns. I, I, they will clap, I warrant you; never fear it.

Bayes. I'm sure the design's good: that cannot be deny'd. And then, for language, I gad, I defie 'em all, in nature, to mend it. Besides, Sir, I have printed above a hundred sheets of papyr, to insinuate the Plot into the Boxes: and withal, have appointed two or three dozen of my friends, to be readie in the Pit, who, I'm sure, will clap, and so the rest, you know, must follow; and then pray, Sir, what becomes of your suppose? ha, ha, ha.

Johns. Nay, if the business be so well laid, it cannot miss.

Bayes. I think so, Sir: and therefore would chuse this for the Prologue. For if I could engage 'em to clap, before they see the Play, you know 'twould be so much the better; because then they were engag'd: for, let a man write never so well, there are, now-a-days, a sort of persons, they call Critiques, that, I gad, have no more wit in 'em than so many Hobby-horses; but they'l laugh you, Sir, and find fault, and censure things that, A gad, I'm sure they are not able to do themselves. A sort of envious persons, that emulate the glories of persons of parts, and think to build their fame, by calumniating of persons that, I gad, to my knowledge, of all persons in the world are, in nature, the persons that do as much despise all that, as ——— a ——— In fine, I'l say no more of 'em.

Johns. I, I, you have said enough of 'em in conscience: I'm sure more than they'l ever be able to answer.

Bayes. Why, I'l tell you, Sir, sincerely, and bona fide; were it not for the sake of some ingenious persons, and choice female spirits, that have a value for me, I would see 'em all hang'd before I would e'er more set pen to papyr; but let 'em live in ignorance like ingrates.

Johns. I marry! that were a way to be reveng'd of 'em indeed: and, if I were in your place, now, I would do it.

Bayes. No, Sir; there are certain tyes upon me, that I cannot be disingag'd from; otherwise, I would. But pray, Sir, how do you like my hang-man?

Smi. By my troth, Sir, I should like him very well.

Bayes. I, but how do you like it? (for I see you can judge) Would you have it for the Prologue, or the Epilogue?

Johns. Faith, Sir, it's so good, let it e'en serve for both.

Bayes. No, no; that won't do. Besides, I have made another.

Johns. What other, Sir?

Bayes. Why, Sir, my other is Thunder and Lightning.

Johns. That's greater: I'd rather stick to that.

Bayes. Do you think so? I'l tell you then; though there have been many wittie Prologues written of late, yet I think you'l say this is a non pareillo: I'm sure no body has hit upon it yet. For here, Sir, I make my Prologue to be Dialogue: and as, in my first, you see I strive to oblige the Auditors by civility, by good nature, and all that; so, in this, by the other way, in Terrorem, I chuse for the persons Thunder and Lightning. Do you apprehend the conceipt?

Johns. Phoo, pox! then you have it cock-sure. They'l be hang'd, before they'l dare affront an Author, that has 'em at that lock.

Bayes. I have made, too, one of the most delicate, daintie Simile's in the whole world, I glad, if I knew but how to applie it.

Smi. Let's hear it, I pray you.

Bayes. 'Tis an alusion to love.

So Boar and Sow, when any storm is nigh,
Snuff up, and smell it gath'ring in the Skie:
Boar beckons Sow to trot in Chesnunt Groves,
And there consummate their unfinish'd Loves.
Pensive in mud they wallow all alone,
And snort, and gruntle to each others moan.

How do you like it now, ha?

Johns. Faith, 'tis extraordinary fine: and very applicable to Thunder and Lightning, methinks, because it speaks of a Storm.

Bayes. I gad, and so it does, now I think on't. Mr. Johnson, I thank you; and I'l put it in profecto. Come out, Thunder and Lightning.

Enter Thunder and Lightning.

Thun. I am the bold Thunder.

Bayes. Mr. Cartwright, pr'ythee speak a little louder, and with a hoarser voice. I am the bold Thunder? Pshaw! speak it me in a voice that thunders it out indeed: I am the bold Thunder.

Thun. I am the bold Thunder.

Light. The brisk Lightning, I.

Bayes. Nay, you must be quick and nimble. The brisk Lightning, I. That's my meaning.

Thun. I am the bravest Hector of the Skie.

Light. And I, fair Helen, that made Hector die.

Thun. I strike men down.

Light. I fire the Town.

Thun. Let the Critiques take heed how they grumble, For then begin I for to rumble.

Light. Let the Ladies allow us their graces.
Light. Or I'l blast all the paint on their faces,
Light. And dry up their Peter to foot.

Thun. Let the Critiques look to't.

Light. Let the Ladies look to't.

Thun. For Thunder will do't.

Light. For Lightning will shoot.

Thun. I'l give you dash for dash.

Light. I'l give you flash for flash.
Light. Gallants, I'l singe your Feather.

Thun. I'l Thunder you together.

Both. Look to't, look to't; we'l do't, we'l do't: look to't, we'l do't. [Twice or thrice repeated.

[Exeunt ambo.

Bayes. That's all. 'Tis but a flash of a Prologue: a Droll.

Smi. 'Tis short, indeed; but very terrible.

Bayes. Ay, when the simile is in, it will do to a Miracle, I gad. Come, come; begin the Play.

Enter first Player.

1 Play. Sir, Mr. Ivory is not come yet; but he'l be here presently, he's but two doors off.

Bayes. Come then, Gentlemen, let's go out and take a pipe of Tobacco. [Exeunt.

Finis Actus primi.

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