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  THE
  INCONSTANT;

  A COMEDY,
  IN FIVE ACTS;


  BY GEORGE FARQUHAR, ESQ.


  AS PERFORMED AT THE
  THEATRE ROYAL, DRURY LANE.


  PRINTED UNDER THE AUTHORITY OF THE MANAGERS
  FROM THE PROMPT BOOK.

  WITH REMARKS
  BY MRS. INCHBALD.


  LONDON:
  PRINTED FOR LONGMAN, HURST, REES, AND ORME,
  PATERNOSTER ROW.




  WILLIAM SAVAGE, PRINTER,
  LONDON.




REMARKS.


This comedy, by a favourite writer, had a reception, on the first night
of its appearance, far inferior to that of his other productions. It
was, with difficulty, saved from condemnation; and the author, in his
preface, has boldly charged some secret enemies with having attempted
its destruction.

Dramatic authors have fewer enemies at the present period, or they
have more humility, than formerly. For now, when their works are
hissed from the stage, they acknowledge they have had a fair trial,
and deserve their fate. Wherefore should an author seek for remote
causes, to account for his failures, when to himself alone, he is
certain ever to impute all his success?

Neither the wit, humour, nor the imitation of nature, in this play,
are of that forcible kind, with which the audience had been usually
delighted by Farquhar; and, that the moral gave a degree of superiority
to this drama, was, in those days, of little consequence: the theatre
was ordained, it was thought, for mere pleasure, nor did any one wish
it should degenerate into instruction.

It may be consolatory to the disappointed authors of the present day,
to find, how the celebrated author of this comedy was incommoded with
theatrical crosses. He was highly offended, that his play was not
admired; still more angry, that there was an empty house, on his sixth
night, and more angry still, that the Opera House, for the benefit of
a French dancer, was, about this time, filled even to the annoyance of
the crowded company. The following are his own words on the occasion:

"It is the prettiest way in the world of despising the French king,
to let him see that we can afford money to bribe his dancers, when he,
poor man, has exhausted all his stock, in buying some pitiful towns and
principalities. What can be a greater compliment to our generous nation,
than to have the lady on her re-tour to Paris, boast of her splendid
entertainment in England: of the complaisance, liberty, and good nature
of a people, who thronged her house so full, that she had not room to
stick a pin; and left a poor fellow, who had the misfortune of being
one of themselves, without one farthing, for half a year's pains he
had taken for their entertainment."

This complaint is curious, on account of the talents of the man who
makes it; and, for the same cause, highly reprehensible. If Farquhar,
thought himself superior to the French dancer, why did he honour her by
a comparison? and, if he wanted bread, why did he not suffer in silence,
rather than insinuate, he should like to receive it, through the medium
of a benefit?

A hundred years of refinement (the exact time since this author wrote)
may have weakened the force of the dramatic pen; but it has, happily,
elevated authors above the servile spirit of dedications, or the meaner
practice, of taking public benefits.

As the moral of this comedy has been mentioned as one of its highest
recommendations, it must be added--that, herein, the author did not
invent, but merely adopt, as his own, an occurrence which took place
in Paris, about that period, just as he has represented it in his last
act. The Chevalier de Chastillon was the man who is personated by young
Mirabel, in this extraordinary event; and the Chevalier's friend, his
betrothed wife, and his beautiful courtesan, are all exactly described
in the characters of Duretete, Oriana, and Lamorce.

Having justly abridged Farquhar of the honour of inventing a moral,
it may be equally just, to make a slight apology for his chagrin
at the slender receipts of his sixth night.--He once possessed the
income, which arose from a captain's commission in the army; and having
prudently conceived that this little revenue would not maintain a wife,
he had resolved to live single, unless chance should bestow on him a
woman of fortune. His person and address were so extremely alluring,
that a woman of family, but of no fortune, conceiving the passion she
felt for him to be love, pretended she possessed wealth, and deceived
him into a marriage, which plunged them both into the utmost poverty.

This admirable dramatist seems to have been born for a dupe. In his
matrimonial distress, he applied to a nobleman, who had professed a
friendship for him, and besought his advice how to surmount his
difficulties: The counsel given, was--"Sell your commission, for
present support, and, before the money for its sale is expended, I will
procure you another." Farquhar complied--and his patron broke his word.




DRAMATIS PERSONAE.


 OLD MIRABEL           _Mr. Dowton._
 YOUNG MIRABEL         _Mr. C. Kemble._
 CAPTAIN DURETETE      _Mr. Bannister._
 DUGARD                _Mr. Holland._
 PETIT                 _Mr. De Camp._

 BRAVOES--_Messrs. Maddocks, Webb, Evans and Sparks._

 ORIANA                _Mrs. Young._
 BISARRE               _Mrs. Jordan._
 LAMORCE               _Miss Tidswell._




THE INCONSTANT.




ACT THE FIRST.


SCENE I.

_The Street._

_Enter_ DUGARD, _and his Man_, PETIT, _in Riding Habits_.


_Dug._ Sirrah, what's o'clock?

_Petit._ Turned of eleven, sir.

_Dug._ No more! We have rid a swinging pace from Nemours, since two this
morning! Petit, run to Rousseau's, and bespeak a dinner, at a Lewis d'or
a head, to be ready by one.

_Petit._ How many will there be of you, sir?

_Dug._ Let me see--Mirabel one, Duretete two, myself three----

_Petit._ And I four.

_Dug._ How now, sir? at your old travelling familiarity! When abroad,
you had some freedom, for want of better company, but among my friends,
at Paris, pray remember your distance--Begone, sir! [_Exit_ PETIT.] This
fellow's wit was necessary abroad, but he's too cunning for a domestic;
I must dispose of him some way else.--Who's here? Old Mirabel, and my
sister!--my dearest sister!

     _Enter_ OLD MIRABEL _and_ ORIANA.

_Oriana._ My Brother! Welcome!

_Dug._ Monsieur Mirabel! I'm heartily glad to see you.

_Old Mir._ Honest Mr. Dugard, by the blood of the Mirabels, I'm your
most humble servant!

_Dug._ Why, sir, you've cast your skin, sure; you're brisk and
gay--lusty health about you--no sign of age, but your silver hairs.

_Old Mir._ Silver hairs! Then they are quicksilver hairs, sir. Whilst
I have golden pockets, let my hairs be silver, an' they will. Adsbud,
sir, I can dance, and sing, and drink, and--no, I can't wench. But Mr.
Dugard, no news of my son Bob in all your travels?

_Dug._ Your son's come home, sir.

_Old Mir._ Come home! Bob come home! By the blood of the Mirabels, Mr.
Dugard, what say you?

_Oriana._ Mr. Mirabel returned, sir?

_Dug._ He's certainly come, and you may see him within this hour or two.

_Old Mir._ Swear it, Mr. Dugard, presently swear it.

_Dug._ Sir