Chapter XVI: Epilogue

SPOKEN BY SERINA.

You've seen one Orphan ruined here; and I
May be the next, if old Acasto die.
Should it prove so, I'd fain amongst you find
Who 'tis would to the fatherless be kind.
To whose protection might I safely go?
Is there amongst you no good-nature? No.
What should I do? Should I the godly seek,
And go a conventicling twice a week;
Quit the lewd stage, and its profane pollution,
Affect each form and saint-like institution;
So draw the brethren all to contribution?
Or shall I (as I guess the poet may
Within these three days) fairly run away?
No; to some city-lodgings I'll retire;
Seem very grave, and privacy desire;
Till I am thought some heiress rich in lands,
Fled to escape a cruel guardian's hands:
Which may produce a story worth the telling,
Of the next sparks that go a fortune-stealing.

_THE SOLDIER'S FORTUNE._

Quem recitas, meus est, O Fidentine, libellus;
Sed male quum recitas, incipit esse tuus.[24]--

MARTIAL, Lib. I., Ep. 39.

This Play is neither more nor less indecent than Otway's other comedies, but less uninteresting, on account of its autobiographical allusions to the writer's own adventures in Flanders, and the disbandment without their pay of the troops he was sent to join. Like most of the old comedies, this one throws light upon the manners, customs, and costumes of the period represented. Its distinctive quality is a certain rollicking vein of fun and mere buffoonery, together with a rapidity of movement and variety of incident, that vindicate the work from any charge of absolute dulness--nay, it is undeniably amusing to those whose stomach is strong enough not to be nauseated with the dirt. The play is not a mere jumble of bustling incidents, as many of the contemporary comedies are, written by one who "faggoted his notions as they fell." At least the main intrigue is regular and connected, and the characters speak naturally.

Otway wrote hastily, and "lived to please," since he must "please to live." _The Soldier's Fortune_ is the kind of thing that pleased very much. For Downes tells us that the play was extraordinarily successful, bringing both profit and reputation to the theatre. Betterton acted the part of Beaugard, and Mrs. Barry played Lady Dunce. The dedication to Bentley, the publisher, is unique and curious, while the Epilogue shows the gloomy and bitter feelings to which the writer was now frequently a prey. Langbaine and Thornton have respectively drawn attention to the many different sources from which much of the plot and material of the play seems to have been taken. Thus Lady Dunce's scheme for conveying the ring and letter to her lover may be found in several earlier plays, and Otway probably derived it from Molière's _L'Ecole des Maris_; the story comes originally from Boccaccio.

_The Soldier's Fortune_ was acted in 1681 and printed in 4to in the same year. In 1748 a farce, founded upon it, was brought out at Covent Garden, but was never printed.

TO MR. BENTLEY.

I have often (during this play's being in the press) been importuned for a preface; which you, I suppose, would have speak something in vindication of the comedy: now, to please you, Mr. Bentley, I will, as briefly as I can, speak my mind upon that occasion, which you may be pleased to accept of, both as a dedication to yourself, and next as a preface to the book.

And I am not a little proud that it has happened into my thoughts to be the first who in these latter years has made an epistle dedicatory to his stationer: it is a compliment as reasonable as it is just. For, Mr. Bentley, you pay honestly for the copy; and an epistle to you is a sort of an acquittance, and may be probably welcome; when to a person of higher rank and order, it looks like an obligation for praises, which he knows he does not deserve, and therefore is very unwilling to part with ready money for.

As to the vindication of this comedy, between friends and acquaintance, I believe it is possible that as much may be said in its behalf as heretofore has been for a great many others. But of all the apish qualities about me, I have not that of being fond of my own issue; nay, I must confess myself a very unnatural parent, for when it is once brought into the world, e'en let the brat shift for itself, I say.

The objections made against the merit of this poor play, I must confess, are very grievous--

First, says a lady, that shall be nameless because the world may think civilly of her: "Faugh! Oh, sherreu! 'tis so filthy, so bawdy, no modest woman ought to be seen at it: let me die, it has made me sick!" When the world lies, Mr. Bentley, if that very lady has not easily digested a much ranker morsel in a little ale-house towards Paddington, and never made a face at it. But your true jilt is a creature that can extract bawdy out of the chastest sense, as easily as a spider can poison out of a rose; they know true bawdy, let it be never so much concealed, as perfectly as Falstaff did the true prince by instinct; they will separate the true metal from the alloy, let us temper it as well as we can. Some women are the touchstones of filthiness: though I have heard a lady (that has more modesty than any of those she-critics, and I am sure more wit) say, she wondered at the impudence of any of her sex, that would pretend to understand the thing called _bawdy_. So, Mr. Bentley, for aught I perceive, my play may be innocent yet, and the lady mistaken in pretending to the knowledge of a mystery above her; though to speak honestly, she has had, besides her wit, a liberal education; and if we may credit the world, has not buried her talent neither.

This is, Mr. Bentley, all I can say in behalf of my play: wherefore I throw it into your arms; make the best of it you can; praise it to your customers; sell ten thousand of them, if possible, and then you will complete the wishes of

Your Friend and Servant,
THO. OTWAY.

FOOTNOTES:

[24]

"The lines you read were writ by me alone,
But your bad reading makes them half your own."--H. S.