Mr Vannbrugghe, after his Devotions at the Barbers, was all improved by Powder, Washballs and Perfume so that he was as fragrant as a Bermoodoes Breez or any sweet-bag: here is a self- conceited Puppy who was born a Boy and will die before he is a Man.
Coming too soon for the Play we took a Turn in the Lobby, which is nothing but a Rendez-vous of all Extravagances, or rather the Shambles where young and old are expos'd to Sale. For among the Saunterers with their Hands in their Pockets come the Ladies from the Stews: all of them patched and painted, where beneath they are Old and Yellow and fit only to turn Stomachs. And then on a sudden Glance I observed the Harlot who had encounter'd me on that fa tall Night: at once I turned away from her and busied myself in the reading of Advertisements fix'd to the Pillars.
Well, well, says she walking up close to me and talking to some black Devil in a Mask, do you see how the Captain stared at us and gnashed his Teeth as if he could eat us for looking at Him? Captain, says she again coming beside me, you turn your Back upon me as you have done before. And she laugh'd as I shuddered and burned. Here now, she goes on taking my sweating Hands in her own, these are mighty Hands which could work much Mischief. Before I could speak, the Porter moved among the Company saying, The Play begins when it is exactly six by your Watches, will you please to go in, will you please to go in? Another Day then, Captain, says she, or let it be another Night?
And she took herself off with a Smile.
After a Pause to find my Breath I walked into the Pit where the others were already sat upon the Benches: they were not the best Seats neither, since the Gentlemen in front of us had so powdered their Perriwigs that they endangered my Eyes as soon as they turned round to stare at the Company. At first I beleeved they stared at me for the most part, since I was sadly discomfited after my Discourse with the Harlot, but my Perturbation soon passed when I saw that there was no Meaning to their Looks, either to Themselves or each other. So it was with an easier Mien that I settled my self down to watch this Assembly with its Amorous Smirks, its A la Mode Grins, its Antick Bows -the World being but a Masquerade, yet one in which the Characters do not know their Parts and must come to the Play-House in order to studdy them. Let there be no Stop to Bawdy so that those in the Pit can see themselves; fill the Stage with Villainy, with Swearing and Blaspheming and Open Lewdness. The grossest Touches will be most true.
And now the Curtain was drawn to show a dark Room where some one was playing a Pack of Cards; above him some dozen Clouds were trimm'd with Black, and there was a new Moon something decay'd.
And then for a moment I was environ'd by these painted Scenes and lived among them even as I sat in the Pitt: now my Lord All-Pride leads Doll Common away, and the Scene is drawn to show a Chamber of Tortures where he says, Do you like this Ribbon (pointing to a Whip), this Cutt of the Sleeve (pointing to a Knife), this Stocking (pointing to a hanging Rope)? And I was a Child again, watching the bright World.
But the Spell broke when at this Juncture some Gallants jumped from the Pitt onto the Stage and behaved as so many Merry-Andrews among the Actors, which reduced all to Confusion. I laugh'd with them also, for I like to make Merry among the Fallen and there is pleasure to be had in the Observation of the Deformity of Things. Thus when the Play resumed after the Disturbance, it was only to excite my Ridicule with its painted Fichons, wicked Hypocrisies and villainous Customs, all depicted with a little pert Jingle of Words and a rambling kind of Mirth to make the Insipidnesse and Sterility pass. There was no pleasure in seeing it, and nothing to burden the Memory after: like a voluntarie before a Lesson it was absolutely forgotten, nothing to be remembered or repeated.
When this Masquerade was complete, the prattler Vanbrugghe led us on to the Grey Bear tavern, where the whimzey-headed and the slender-witted and the shallow-brained come to sip their Brandy and make their Chit-chat on what they have just view'd. And so sir, he cried as we waited for the Tapster, how did you like the Play?
I have forgot it, sir.
So soon?
I asked him what he said, for there was such a mish-mash of Conversation around us that I could scarcely understand him -the frequenters of Taverns have Hearts of Curd and Souls of Milk Sop, but they have Mouths like Cannons which stink of Tobacco and their own foul Breath as they cry What News? What's a Clock? Methinks it's Cold to Day! Thus is it a Hospital For Fools: DRAMATIS PERSONAE John Vanbrugghe: An Architect in Fashion Nicholas Dyer: A Nothing, a Neighbour Sir Philip Bareface: A Courtier Moneytrap: A Jobber Various Gentlemen of the Town, Rakes, Bullies and Servants vannbrugghe. (Taking up his glass) I said, sir, forgot so soon? dyer. (Sits down) There was nothing that I recall save that the Sunne was a Round flat shining Disc and the Thunder was a Noise from a Drum or a Pan. vannbrugghe. (Aside) What a Child is this! (To Dyer) These are only our Devices, and are like the Paint of our Painted Age. dyer. But in Meditation the Sunne is a vast and glorious Body, and Thunder is the most forcible and terrible Phaenomenon: it is not to be mocked, for the highest Passion is Terrour. And why was it, too, that this Scribbler mock'd Religion? It is a perilous Case. vannbrugghe. Amen to that. I pray the Lord. Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha! But let me tell you plainly, sir, this Scribbler was just; Religion is only the quaint Leger-de-main of strong-pated Statesmen who, to overawe the Capriciousness of the giddy Multitude, did forge the Image of some Punisher of all Humane actions. dyer. (Aside) A small rational Sir Fopling this! vannbrugghe. Have I told you this Story? When a Widow, hearing in a Sermon of the Crucifixion, came to the Priest after, dropped him a Courtsie and asked him how long ago this sad Accident happened?
When he answered, about 15 or 16 hundred Years ago, she began to be comforted and said, Then by the grace of God it may not be true.
(Laughing). dyer. (In a low tone) Interest is the God of your World, who may be sacrificed to Hypocrisie. vannbrugghe. (Aside) I find he knows me! (To Dyer) What was that? dyer. It was nothing, nothing at all.
There is an uneasy Silence between them vannbrugghe. And how do your Churches, Mr Dyer? dyer. (In alarm) They do very well, sir. vannbrugghe. You build in Greenwich next? dyer. (Wiping sweat from his brow) I build first in Bloomsbury, and then in Greenwich. vannbrugghe. How interesting. (He pauses) The Play was well received, was it not? dyer. The Audience had so humble an Opinion of itself tonight that it thought what pleased the People of Fashion ought also to please it. vannbrugghe. And yet there was that to please alclass="underline" the Language was enrich'd with beautiful Conceptions and inimitable Similitudes.
(He stares at Dyer) Are you not of my Mind in this at least? dyer. No, I am not of your Mind, for the Dialogue was fitted up with too much Facility. Words must be pluckt from Obscurity and nourished with Care, improved with Art and corrected with Application.
Labour and Time are the Instruments in the perfection of all Work. (Aside) Including churches. vannbrugghe. (Coughs in his glass) Here is a Speech that would fright me into Nothing! (To the Boy) Fill some Brandy, sirrah! (To Dyer) But the greatest Art is to speak agreeably about the smallest Things, to spread a general evenness of Humour and a natural decency of Style. dyer. (Looking at him scornfully) So that is why Wits swarm like Egypt's Frogs. If I were a Writer now, I would wish to thicken the water of my Discourse so that it was no longer easy or familiar. I would chuse a huge lushious Style! vannbrugghe. (Interrupting) Ah the music of Erudition, it is unimaginable to weaker Wits. dyer. (Ignoring him) I would imploy outlandish Phrases and fantasti-call Terms, thus to restore Terrour, Reverence and Desire like wild Lightning. vannbrugghe. (Offended) I do not wish for meer Words: I wish for Matter. dyer. And what is matter, according to the Greshamites, but blind Attomes? vannbrugghe. (Laughing) Well let us drop that Matter.