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LONDON MAGAZINE,

For JUNE, 1769.

THE BRITISH THEATRE.

N pursuance of the plan secretly attached to a young gentle

adopted by the Britif man named Hargrave, whom the conI

Theatre to give an trives to see by the aflirtance of her accurate account of maid Prue; and Mrs. Ailwou'd, who all the new producti- is many, very many years her husons that make their band's junior, notwithstanding the af

appearance upon the fectation of á most passionate regard refpe&ive stages of the capital, the for him, is nevertheless impatient for fubfcribers to the London Magazine his death, and as impatient also to are here presented with a critical exa get her daughter-in-law disposed of, mination of the two new pieces now that the may be the better able to graexhibiting at Mr. Foote's in the Hay, tify the purposes of her private intea market. The first is a comedy of reit. Such is the state of matters three acts, called Dr. Laf in bis Cha. when Dr. Last gets a footing in the rist, the characters in which, together house, and acquires so great an influ. with the performers, are,

ence, in consequence of his supposed Dr. Laft Mr. Wefton.

skill in physic, that Mr. Ailwoud, who Ailwou'd Mr. Foote.

is charmed with his draughts, and Hargrave Mr. Davis,

yet unwilling to pay for them, proFriendly Mr. Sowdon.

poses his eldest daughter to the Dr. Balruddery Mr. Sparks.

quack for a wife, who listens to the Dr, Coffin Mr. Sharpless. overture with uncommon satisfaction, Dr. Skeleton Mr. Arthur.

and gives the father reason to think Miss Ailwou'd Mifs Ogilvie.

he will not only take her off his Polly Miss Rose.

hands, but furnish him with gratis Prue

Mrs. Gardner medicines into the bargain. Miss Mrs. Ailwou'd Mrs. Jefferies. Ailwou'd, however, treats Last with THE FABLE.

the utmost contempt, and even quarDr. Last, a quack, who on the suc. rels with her mother-in-law on this cess of his medicines, that is, not account, who gladly seizes that opthe efficacy of his noftrums, but the portunity to prejudiceber father greatness of their sale, having in a against the young lady, and obtains thort time, from the profeffion of a his permission to go for a lawyer, in Shoemaker, acquired a sufficiency to order that a will may be made in keep a chariot, he is, among many every respect agreeable to her own others, sent for by Mr. Ailwou'd, an inclination. elderly man of fortune, who is conti. While she is absent on this business, nually dying with a rage for life, and Friendly, Ailwou'd's brother-in-law, killing himself incessantly with a thon a man of sense and a gentleman, fand heterogeneous prescriptions, from comes in, to propose a marriage bean absurd supposition that he is af. tween Hargrave and his eldest niece. fieted with a number of contradic. Ailwou'd on this bursts into a violent tory complaints. Mr. Ailwou'd's fa paffion, but the other supporting his mily consists of Miss Ailwou'd, a proposition with firmness, and throwdaughter by a first wife, Mrs. Ail. ing out some very clear hints at thear. wou'd, and Polly, a child of little more rifices of Mrs. Ailwou'd, the Hypo. than four years old. Miss Ailwou'd is chondriac, who cannot bear the least

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THE BRITISH THEATRE. June imputation on the conduct of his wife, rule, but we must nevertheless accomes into a scheme suggested by knowledge that there are many cir. Prue, of pretending to be dead, that circumstances in it exceedingly divert. Friendly, upon her return home, may, ing; though, on the other hand, from the extravagance of her grief, in there are many which, with every al. fome measure judge the sincerity of lowance for the stage of our modern her affection. The scheme is accord. Aristophanes, are justly reprehenfible. ingly tried, and poor : Ailwou'd has Compositions of humour, however, the mortification of hearing his turtle are not so easy as people may imagine not only rejoice at his supposed death, them; the same story of distress but of hearing her, moreover, treat his will throw a whole audience into tears, memory with the greatest disrespect. when the same ftroke of humour He, however, has some consolation, will affect them very differently; even under this misfortune, by the fin- there is a constant unison between the

concern Miss Ailwou'd ex-, hearts of men, and a frequent oppofipresses to the imaginary widow for her tion between their rifible faculties. lors, and the readiness which Har- Besides this, an author who gives a grave thews, who enters with her, second part to any particular work during her hopeful step-mother's which has greatly succeeded, writes Thort-lived exultation, to take her to a material disadvantage; he has all without a fortune. In a little time the reputation of the first part to the virtue of the lovers is amply re combat with, and raises his auditors to warded, for Mrs. Ailwou'd going in. a pinnacle of expectation he is seldom, to an adjoining room, to feast her eyes if ever, capable of answering : this with the fight of her dead husband, was the case with Gay in his conti. forieks with the loudest astonishment nuation of the Beggar's Opera, with to find him still living, and runs out; Farquhar in his continuation of the he follows to upbraid her with her hy- Trip to the Jubilee, and with many pocrisy, and Last comes in to ad- other éminent poets in their continuminister one of his medicines; when ations, Shakespeare alone, in his Fal. being charged with the murder of Mr. fioft, is the only continuer that ever Ailwou'd, and threatened with an im- rcle upon the world, and gratified mediate prosecution by Friendly, he the increased curioity of mankind. intists on the impossibility of his per. For these reasons we cannot be (arpetrating such a crime, as his noftrum prized if Dr. Laji in bis Chariot, on the was nothing more than fiinple chalk first representation, was received rather and vinegar. Ailwou'd, who over unfavourably by the audience. On the hears this declaration, makes' his second exhibition, whatever gave ofappearance, and in a transport of fence was omitted, and it is now repaflion drives the quack out of the ceiving the approbation of the public, houfe ; but still retains luch a fond. ness for physic, that he advises Hargrave

THE CAPTI V E. to study medicine, as he winds up the

TI

H E second piece brought out at cataitrophe, and bleNes the young Mr. Foote's, during the course couple with his consent to their union of the last month, was the Captive, Gneral Rrfections on Dr. Laji in pis taken by Mr. Bickeritaff, the author Charior.

of the foregoing performance, from This piece, which is chiefly taken a comic episode of Dryden's Don Sefrom Moliere's Le Maladie Inanciré, baitian, converted to a musical enteris intended as a requel to Mr Foore's tainment. Dizzl z pon trvo Sticks, and as the performances of the Haymarket are of The Persons of the Drama and the Pere a peculiar species, is not to be tried

formers are, by the leverer standards of criticism, The Cadi

117. Parmter, At the Haymarket we look for no. Ferdinand

17r. Dubellamy, ibing more than the auhinnad of con Fatima

Mrs. siteur. meuy, and fu we lough; we are wholy Zorayil? indifferent about the source of our

TH E F A B L I. amfoment. The present prodution is Zoraydin, daughter to an igerine xrirren in a profefe dilicaard 10 , Cadi, having froin her window (allen

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1769, THE BRITISH THEATRE.

285 in love with Ferdinand, a Spanish Fat. But I am neither Zorayda, nor dave, belonging to the admiral of the Cadi's daughter. the Dey's gallies, contrives by letter Ferd, I know not that; but I am to acquaint him with her sentiments, sure he is old enough to be your faand even sends him a sum of money ther. sufficient to purchase his liberty. The Fat. But once again - How came young Spaniard, in conformity to a you to name Zorayda ? plan concerted between him and his Ferd. Another mistake of mine ; for mistress, procures a note from his alking one of your faves, when I came master to the Cadi, requelting per into the garden, who were the chief miffion for him to stay among the ladies about the house, he answered flaves of the latter, till a velel should me Zoraydâ and Fatima; but she, it be ready to carry him home, as the seems, is his daughter, (with a plague Cadi's bouse stood more contiguous to to her) and you are his beloved wife. the sea port, than the then place, we Fat. Say your beloved mistress, if are to suppose, of the admiral's resi- you please, for that's the title I delire. dence.-The Cadi receives him to his Ferd. Ay, but I have a qualm of wish, and directs him to attend the conscience. garden ; but Fatima, the Cadi's wife, Fat. Your conscience was very quiet treats him ftill more favourably, and when you took me for Zorayda. on the first opportunity, after he has Ferd. I must be plain with you just parted with Zorayda, who con. You are married to a reverend man, sents to turn Christian, and go off the head of your law. Go back to with him to Spain, she comes to him your chamber, madam; go back. veiled, and the following scenes are Fat. No, firrah ; but I'll teach you, the consequences.

to your cost, what vengeance is in Ferdinand alone in the Garden.

store for refufing a lady who has offer.

ed you her love. [Enter Fatima. ]

For vengeance dire, thou wretch preFat. Thus far my love has carried

pare, me almost without my knowledge Nought shall my resentment stay;" Yonder he is—Shall I proceed-Shall To a lion, to a bear, I discover myself ?

My nature turns, Ferd. (not seeing ber) Oh, sweet 20 While my bosom burns rayda !

To seize my destin'd prey. Fat. What's that he says?

Oh, object to my soul how sweet! Ferd. Where is my flute? I will fit To see you grovling at my feet, down upon this stump of a tree, and While I no pity thew; whittle away the minutes till the comes To spurn your tears, back,

To mock your fears, Fat. Zorayda !

And tread you to the shades below. Ferd. What melancholy love-tune

SCENE IV. hall I play now ? (hits down and plays) Ferdinand, Fatima, and afterwards the Fat. I can hold no longer.

Cadi. (haps him upon the shoulder) Ferd. What do you mean, madam ; Ferd. My dear Zorayda ! - so soon For heaven's sake, peace. returned !

Far. Ungrateful wretch! What do Fat. Again!-What's the meaning I mean! Help, help, husband ! my of this ? Do you take me for the Cadi's lord Cadi! I shall be undone ; the vildaughter? (unveiling)

lain will be too strong for me. Help, Ferd. By all that's good, the nau- for pity of a poor dittressed creature. seous wife!

Ferd. Then I have nothing but iinFat. You are confounded.

pudence to affift me. I must drown Ferd. Somewhat nonplust, I confess, the clamour, whate'er comes on it. (he to hear you deny your name so pori- takes out his flute and plays as loud as be tively. Why, are you not Zorayda, posibly can, and she continues crying out) the Cadi's daughter? Did not I see Cadi. What's here! What's here! you with him but just now ? Nay, were Fat. On, sweetelt! I'm glad you're you not to charitable as to give me come; this Christian slave was going money?

to be rude with me.

Caut,

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THE BRITISH THEATRE.

JC Cadi. Oh, horrid ! abominabie ! the family in order to corrupt it? Th villain-the monster-take him away, cause enough of death. Once ma flay and impale him, rid the world again, away with him. of such a viper.

Fat. Well, but, loveFerd. First hear me, worthy fir. Cadi. Speak not for him, What have you seen to provoke you? Fat. I must speak, and you hear a

Cadi. I have heard the outcries of Cadi. Away with him ; I fay. my wife, the bleatings of the poor in Fai. Whail for an intended tri nocent lamb. What have I seen, pass? No harm has been done, whe quotha! If I see the lamb lie expiring, ever may be. Then contider he do and the wolf by her, is not that evi not belong to you, and is recommen dence sufficient of the murder ? ed by a friend you would not chute

Ferd. Pray think in reason, fir. Is disoblige. a man to be put to death for a Cadi. Why that's true. fimilitude? No violence has been com Ferd. I see the'll bring me off if a mitted ; none intended. The lamb's alive ; and, if I durst tell you so, no Cadi. And are you sure, rascal, yo more a lamb than I am a wolf,

meant no harm? Fat. How's that, villain!

Ferd. No harm, upon my reputa Ferd. Be patient, madam, and speak tion, -no more than the child un but truth, I'll do any thing to serve born. I was playing bere by myself

(such is my foolish custom) and too Fat. Well. Hear him speak, inadam, as the says, for one of the te husband; perhaps he may say lome. male Naves employed in your garden. thing for himself I know not.

Cadi. Well, firrah, to your kennel Cadi. But did he mean no mischief? mortify your fell, and confider in Was he endeavouring nothing? whose family, you are..

Fat. In my conscience I begin to Ferd. Yes, sir, I'll confider. doubt he did not.

Fat. And learn another time to treat Cadi. Then what meant all those the Cadi's wife as she would have you. outcries ?

Cadi. What do you mean by that? Far. I heard music in the garden, Fat. What do I mean !...I'll thew and I stole fostly down, imagining it you what I mean--.give the puppy a might be he.

remembrancer... Cadi. How's that! Imagining it Cadi. Come, come,-- enough. might be he?

Fat. Do let me beat him a little, Fat. Yes, to be sure, my lord. Am husband. not I the mistress of the family; and Cadi. No, wife.--no :-.-Get in be. is it not my place to see good order fore me.-kept in it? I thought he might have Fat. Why sure ! allured some of the The Daves to him, Cadi. Get in I say. and was resolved to prevent what Fat. I wont. might have been betwixt them ; when Cadi. March. on a sudden he rushed out upon me, Fat. Well, I will march; but if I and caught me in his arms with such am not revenged on you for this, you a fury

old tyrant, the devil take me. Cadi. I have heard enough-away Cadi.

For all her art, with him.

I see her heart; Fat, Mistaking me, no doubt, for She counterfeits too grolly: one of the flaves that work in the gar

And, lady fair, den, With that, affrighted as I was,

I shall take care I discovered myself, and cried aloud ; To watch your waters clofely. but as soon as ever he knew me, the

I'm us'd to keep villain let me go ; and, I must needs

A rod in iteep; say, he started back as if I were a For long I've had suspicion: serpent, and was more afraid of me

And if I find than I of him.

She's ill inclin'd, Cadi. O, thou ungrateful villain ! I'll bring her to contrition." Did it thou come to get footing in my The Cadi suspecting, from his wife's

beba.

287

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1969: THE BRITISH THEATRE: behaviour, her secret attachment to and restore it, you had beft, to the ferdinand, prepares to disguise him- true owners. ut in the habit of a flave, to bave a Cadi. I am finely documented by better opportunity of observing her my own daughter. ctions, while Zorayda, who, in ano. Zor. And a great credit to me to be her interview with her lover, fixes fo. Do but think how decent a hathe time of her elopement, retires to bit you have on, and how becoming arry off her fatber, that is, to rob your function to be disguised like a he old man of all his jewels, and to have, and eves.dropping under the ake his chief effects away. Having se womens windows. sured them in a casket for this pur. Cadi. Prythee, child, reproach me pole, the returns to the garden, and no more of human failings. I am Being a person in the habit of a slave, better at bottom than thou thinkeft. rhom the supposes to be Ferdinand, I am not the man you take me for. uns to him, and produces the succeed Zor. No, to my sorrow, fir, you are ng scene, which, in the representa. not. ion, is extremely laughable.

Cadi. It was a very bad beginning ;

tho' methought to see you come runSCENE III.

ning upon me with such a warm em

brace The Cadi, Zorayda running to him with meaning of that wiolent hot hug?

-Pr’ythee, what was the ibe Casket in ber Hand.

Zor. I'm sure I meant nothing but Zer. Now I can embrace you with a the zeal and affection which I bear to good conscience.-Here are the pearls the man in the world whom I love ad jewels — here's my father. beit.

Cadi. I am indeed thy father ; but Cadi. Why this is as it should be. bow the devil didft thou know me in Take the treasure again-It will this disguise ! and what pearls and never be put into better bands. jewels doft thou mean? Zor. What have I done! and what But, pr’ythee, spare me, dearest daughwill now become of me!

ter, Cadi. Art thou mad, Zorayda ?

If ought that's past my conscience stings; Zor. I think you will make

me so.

Down my old cheeks it forces water, Cadi. Why?-What have I done to

To hear your cruel taunts and Alings. you? --Recollect thyself, and speak You should consider, child, if I

Have in my office grip'd too nigh, Zor. Then give me leave to tell 'Twas to the end that you might have you, that you are the worst of fathers. My wealth when I was in the grave.

Cadi. Did I think I had got such a My failings then no longer prels; monfter! Proceed, my dutiful child, We all have errors, more or less. proceed, proceed. Zor. You have been raking together

SCENE IV. a mass of wealth, by indirect and wicked means. The spoils of orphans The Cadi, Zorazda, Ferdinand in a are in these jewels, and the tears of

ricb babit. widows are in these pearls.

Ferd. What do you mean, my dear, Cadi. You amaze me!

to stand talking in this fufpicious Zor. I would do so. This casket place, just under Fatima's window?is loaded with your fins. 'Tis the You are well met, comrade; I know cargo of rapine and extortion, the ini, you are the friend of our flight. quity of thirty years cadilhip converted Cadi. Ferdinand in disguisé !--Now into diamonds.

I begin to smell a rat. Cadi. Would some rich railing rogue Ferd. And I another that outstinks dare say as much to me, that I might it--False Zorayda ! thus to betray Squeeze his purse for Scandal.

me to your father. Zor. Here, fir, don't think I'll be Zor. Alas! I was betrayed myself.-. the receiver of your thefts. I dir. He was here in disguise like you ; charge my conscience of them. and I, poor innocent, ran into his Here, take again your filthy mammon, hands.

Casti.

fense to me.

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