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Nor, like those peevish wits, his play maintain,

Who, to assert their sense, your taste arraign.



Some plot we think he has, and some new thought;

Some humour too, no farce--but that's a fault.



Satire, he thinks, you ought not to expect;

For so reformed a town who dares correct?



To please, this time, has been his sole pretence,

He'll not instruct, lest it should give offence.



Should he by chance a knave or fool expose,

That hurts none here, sure here are none of those.



In short, our play shall (with your leave to show it)

Give you one instance of a passive poet,



Who to your judgments yields all resignation:

So save or damn, after your own discretion.



DRAMATIS PERSONAE.

MEN.



FAINALL, in love with Mrs. Marwood,--Mr. Betterton

MIRABELL, in love with Mrs. Millamant,--Mr. Verbruggen



WITWOUD, follower of Mrs. Millamant,--Mr. Bowen

PETULANT, follower of Mrs. Millamant,--Mr. Bowman



SIR WILFULL WITWOUD, half brother to Witwoud, and nephew to Lady

Wishfort,--Mr. Underhill



WAITWELL, servant to Mirabell,--Mr. Bright

WOMEN.



LADY WISHFORT, enemy to Mirabell, for having falsely pretended love

to her,--Mrs. Leigh



MRS. MILLAMANT, a fine lady, niece to Lady Wishfort, and loves

Mirabell,--Mrs. Bracegirdle



MRS. MARWOOD, friend to Mr. Fainall, and likes Mirabell,--Mrs. Barry

MRS. FAINALL, daughter to Lady Wishfort, and wife to Fainall,



formerly friend to Mirabell,--Mrs. Bowman

FOIBLE, woman to Lady Wishfort,--Mrs. Willis



MINCING, woman to Mrs. Millamant,--Mrs. Prince

DANCERS, FOOTMEN, ATTENDANTS.



SCENE: London.

The time equal to that of the presentation.



ACT I.--SCENE I.

A Chocolate-house.



MIRABELL and FAINALL rising from cards. BETTY waiting.

MIRA. You are a fortunate man, Mr. Fainall.



FAIN. Have we done?

MIRA. What you please. I'll play on to entertain you.



FAIN. No, I'll give you your revenge another time, when you are not

so indifferent; you are thinking of something else now, and play too



negligently: the coldness of a losing gamester lessens the pleasure

of the winner. I'd no more play with a man that slighted his ill



fortune than I'd make love to a woman who undervalued the loss of

her reputation.



MIRA. You have a taste extremely delicate, and are for refining on

your pleasures.



FAIN. Prithee, why so reserved? Something has put you out of

humour.



MIRA. Not at all: I happen to be grave to-day, and you are gay;

that's all.



FAIN. Confess, Millamant and you quarrelled last night, after I

left you; my fair cousin has some humours that would tempt the



patience of a Stoic. What, some coxcomb came in, and was well

received by her, while you were by?



MIRA. Witwoud and Petulant, and what was worse, her aunt, your

wife's mother, my evil genius--or to sum up all in her own name, my



old Lady Wishfort came in.

FAIN. Oh, there it is then: she has a lastingpassion for you, and



with reason.--What, then my wife was there?

MIRA. Yes, and Mrs. Marwood and three or four more, whom I never



saw before; seeing me, they all put on their grave faces, whispered

one another, then complained aloud of the vapours, and after fell






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