Plays, written by Sir John Vanbrugh, volume the firstVanbrugh, John
General
Plays, written by Sir John Vanbrugh, volume the first
Vanbrugh, John
Comedy plays; English drama -- 18th century; English drama -- Restoration, 1660-1700
_Esop._ [_To ~Euph~._] Will your Ladyship please, Ma'am, to give me
your fair Hand----Hey-dey!
[_She refuses her Hand._
_Lear._ I'll give it you, my noble Lord, if she won't. [_Aside._] A
stubborn, self-will'd, stiff-neck'd Strumpet.
[_~Learchus~ holds out her Hand to ~Esop~, who takes it;
~Oronces~ stands on ~Esop~'s left Hand, and the Priest
before 'em._
_Esop._ Let my Rival stand next me: Of all Men, I'd have him be
satisfy'd.
_Oron._ Barbarous, inhuman Monster!
_Esop._ Now, Priest, do thy Office.
[_Flourish with the Trumpets._
_Priest._ Since the eternal Laws of Fate decreed,
That he thy Husband, she thy Wife shou'd be,
May Heaven take you to its Care,
May _Jupiter_ look kindly down, }
Place on your Heads Contentment's Crown! }
And may his Godhead never frown }
Upon this happy Pair.
[_Flourish again of Trumpets._
[_As the Priest pronounces the last Line, ~Esop~ joins ~Oronces~
and ~Euphronia~'s Hands._
_Oron._ O happy Change! Blessings on Blessings wait on the generous
_Esop_!
_Esop._ Happy, thrice happy, may you ever be, }
And if you think there's something due to me, }
Pay it in mutual Love and Constancy. }
_Euph._ _to ~Esop~._] You'll pardon me, most generous Man,
If in the present Transports of my Soul,
Which you yourself have by your Bounty caus'd,
My willing Tongue is ty'd from uttering
The Thoughts that flow from a most grateful Heart.
_Esop._ For what I've done, I merit little Thanks,
Since what I've done, my Duty bound me to.
I wou'd your Father had acquitted his:
But he who's such a Tyrant o'er his Children,
To sacrifice their Peace to his Ambition,
Is fit to govern nothing but himself.
_To ~Lear~._] And, therefore, Sir, at my return to Court,
I shall take care this City may be sway'd
By more Humanity than dwells in you.
_Lear. aside._] I shall be a great man!
_Euph. To ~Esop~._] Had I not Reason, from your constant Goodness,
To judge your Bounty, Sir, is infinite,
I shou'd not dare to sue for farther Favours:
But pardon me, if imitating Heaven and you,
I easily forgive my aged Father,
And beg that _Esop_ would forgive him too.
[_Kneeling to him._
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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