of dances in character, wherein the passions were so happily expressed, and the whole story so intelligibly told by a mute narration of gesture only, that even thinking spectators allowed it both a pleasing and a rational entertainment; though at the same time, from our distrust of its reception, we durst not venture to decorate it with any extraordinary expense of scenes or habits; but upon the success of this attempt, it was rightly concluded, that if a visible expense in both were added to something of the same nature, it could not fail of drawing the town proportionably after it. From this original hint then (but every way unequal to it) sprung forth that succession of monstrous medleys that have so long infested the stage, and which arose upon one another alternately at both houses, outvying in expense, like contending bribes on both sides at an election, to secure a majority of the multitude. But so it is; truth may complain, and merit murmur, with what justice it may; the few will never be a match for the many, unless authority should think fit to interpose and put down these poetical drams, these ginshops of the stage, that intoxicate its auditors, and dishonour their understanding with a levity for which I want a name.

If I am asked (after my condemning these fooleries myself) how I came to assent, or continue my share of expense to them, I have no better excuse for my error than confessing it. I did it against my conscience, and had not virtue enough to starve by opposing a multitude that would have been too hard for me. Now let me ask an odd question: had Harry the Fourth of France a better excuse for changing his religion? I was still in my heart, as much as he could be, on the side of truth and sense, but with this difference, that I had their leave to quit them when they could not support me. For what equivalent could I have found for my falling a a martyr to them? How far the hero or the comedian was in the wrong, let the clergy and the critics decide. Necessity will be as good a plea for the one as the other. But let the question go which way it will, Harry IV

has always been allowed a great man; and what I want of his grandeur, you see by the inference nature has amply supplied to me in vanity; a pleasure which neither the pertness of wit nor the gravity of wisdom will ever persuade me to part with. And why is there not as much honesty in owning as in concealing it? For though to hide it may be wisdom, to be without it is impossible; and where is the merit of keeping a secret which every body is let into? To say we have no vanity then, is showing a great deal of it; as to say we have a great deal, cannot be showing so much; and though there may be art in a man's accusing himself, even then it will be more pardonable than self-commendation. Do not we find that even good actions have their share of it-that it is as inseparable from our being as our nakedness? And though it may be equally decent to cover it, yet the wisest man can no more be without it, than the weakest can believe he was born in his clothes. If then what we say of ourselves be true, and not prejudicial to others, to be called vain upon it, is no more a reproach than to be called a brown or a fair man. Vanity is of all complexions; it is the growth of every clime and capacity; authors of all ages have had a tincture of it; and yet you read Horace, Montaigne, and sir William Temple, with pleasure. Nor am I sure, if it were curable by precept, that mankind would be mended by it. Could vanity be eradicated from our nature, I am afraid that the reward of most human virtues would not be found in this world. And happy is he who has no greater sin to answer for in the next!

But what is all this to the theatrical follies I was talking of. Perhaps not a great deal, but it is to my purpose; for though I am an historian, I do not write to the wise and learned only; I hope to have readers of no more judgment than some of my quondam auditors; and I am afraid they will be as hardly contented with dry matters of fact, as with a plain play without entertainments. This rhapsody therefore has been thrown

in as a dance between the acts, to make up for the dulness of what would have been by itself only proper. But I now come to my story again.

Notwithstanding then this our compliance with the ulgar taste, we generally made use of these pantomimes but as crutches to our weakest plays; nor were we so lost to all sense of what was valuable, as to dishonour our best authors in such bad company; we had still a due respect to several select plays, that were able to be their own support; and in which we found our constant account without painting and patching them out, like prostitutes, with these follies in fashion. If therefore we were not so strictly chaste in the other part of our conduct, let the error of it stand among the silly consequences of two stages. Could the interest of both companies have been united in one only theatre, I had been one of the few that would have used my utmost endeavour of never admitting to the stage any spectacle that ought not to have been seen there; the errors of my own plays, which I could not see, excepted. And though probably the majority of spectators would not have been so well pleased with a theatre so regulated, yet sense and reason cannot lose their intrinsic value, because the giddy and the ignorant are blind and deaf, or numerous; and I cannot help saying it is a reproach to a sensible people, to let folly so publicly govern their pleasures.

While I am making this grave declaration of what I would have done, had one only stage been continued ; to obtain an easier belief of my sincerity, I ought to put my reader in mind of what I did do, even after two companies were again established.

About this time Jacobitism had lately exerted itself by the most unprovoked rebellion that our histories have handed down to us, since the Norman conquest. I therefore thought, that to set the authors and principles of that desperate folly in a fair light, by allowing the mistaken consciences of some their best excuse, and by making the artful pretenders to conscience as ridiculous as they were ungratefully wicked, was a subject fit for

the honest satire of comedy, and what might, if it succeeded, do honour to the stage, by showing the valuable use of it. And considering what numbers at that time might come to it as prejudiced spectators, it may be allowed that the undertaking was not less hazardous than laudable.

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To give life therefore to this design, I borrowed the "Tartuffe" of Moliere, and turned him into a modern Nonjuror:" upon the hypocrisy of the French character I ingrafted a stronger wickedness, that of an Englisa popish priest, lurking under the doctrine of our own church to raise his fortune upon the ruin of a worthy gentleman, whom his dissembled sanctity had seduced into the treasonable cause of a Roman Catholic outlaw. How this design in the play was executed, I refer to the readers of it; it cannot be mended by any critical remarks I can make in its favour; let it speak for itself. All the reason I had to think it no bad performance was, that it was acted eighteen days running, and that the party that were hurt by it (as I have been told) have not been the smallest number of my back friends ever since. But happy was it for this play, that the very subject was its protection; a few smiles of silent contempt were the utmost disgrace that on the first day of its appearance it was thought safe to throw upon it; as the satire was chiefly employed on the enemies of the government, they were not so hardy as to own themselves such by any higher disapprobation or resentment. But as it was then probable I might write again, they knew it would not be long before they might with more security give a loose to their spleen, and make up accounts with me. And, to do them justice, in every play I afterwards produced, they paid me the balance to a tittle. But to none was I more beholden than that celebrated author Mr Mist, whose "Weekly Journal," for about fifteen years following scarce ever failed of passing some of his party compliments upon me. The state and the stage were his frequent parallels, and the minister and mynheer Kerber the manager, were as constantly

drolled upon. Now for my own part, though I could never persuade my wit to have an open account with him (for, as he had no effects of his own, I did not think myself obliged to answer his bills;) notwithstanding I will be so charitable to his real manes, and to the ashes of his paper, as to mention one particular civility he paid to my memory, after he thought he had ingeniously killed me. Soon after the "Nonjuror" had received the favour of the town, I read in one of his journals the following short paragraph, viz. "Yesterday died Mr Colley Cibber, late comedian of the theatre-royal, notorious for writing the 'Nonjuror.'" The compliment in the latter part I confess I did not dislike, because it came from so impartial a judge; and it really so happened that the former part of it was very near being true; for I had that very day just crawled out, after having been some weeks laid up by a fever. However I saw no use in being thought to be thoroughly dead before my time, and therefore had a mind to see whether the town cared to have me alive again; so the play of the "Orphan" being to be acted that day, I quietly stole myself into the part of the Chaplain, which I had not been seen in for many years before. The surprise of the audience at my unexpected appearance on the very day I had been dead in the news, and the paleness of my looks, seemed to make it a doubt whether I was not the ghost of my real self departed; but when I spoke, their wonder eased itself by an applause which convinced me they were then satisfied that my friend Mist had told a fib of me. Now, if simply to have shown myself in broad life and about my business, after he had notoriously reported me dead, can be called a reply, it was the only one which his paper while alive ever drew from me. How far I may be vain then in supposing that this play brought me into the disfavour of so many wits and valiant auditors as afterwards appeared against me, let those who may think it worth their notice judge. In the mean time, until I can find a better excuse for their sometimes particular treatment of me, I cannot easily