INTRODUCTION TO DOCTOR DODYPOLL.

After reading the passages from "Dr. Dodypoll" in Lamb's "Extracts from the Garrick Plays," many students must have felt a desire to have the play in its entirety. I fear that in gratifying their desire I shall cause them some disappointment; and that, when they have read the play through, they will not care to remember much beyond what they knew already. "Dr. Dodypoll" affords a curious illustration of the astounding inequality in the work of the old dramatists. The opening scene, between Lucilia and Lord Lassenbergh, shows rich imagination and a worthy gift of expression. The writer, whoever he may have been, scatters his gold with a lavish hand. In the fine panegyric[47] on painting, there is a freedom of fancy that lifts us into the higher regions of poetry; and dull indeed must be the reader who can resist the contagion of Lassenbergh's enthusiasm. But this strain of charming poetry is brought too quickly to a close, and then begins the comic business. Haunce, the serving-man, is just tolerable, but the French doctor, with his broken English, is a desperate bore. Soon the stage is crowded with figures, and we have to set our wits on work to follow the intricacies of the plot. Flores, the jeweller, has two daughters, Cornelia and Lucilia. The elder of the two, Cornelia, an ill-favoured virgin, whose affections are fixed on the young Lord Alberdure, has two contending suitors in the doctor and the merchant. Alberdure is in love with Hyanth, but he has a rival in the person of his own father, the Duke of Saxony, who had been previously contracted to the Lady Catherine. Meanwhile Lord Lassenbergh, who is living disguised as a painter under Flores' roof, has gained the affections of Lucilia. In the conduct of the complicated plot no great dexterity is shown. There is a want of fusion and coherence. The reader jumbles the characters together, and would fain see at least one couple cleared off the stage in order to simplify matters. In making Earl Cassimeere marry the deformed Cornelia and share his estate with her father, the author (as Laugbaine observed) has followed Lucian's story of Zenothemis and Menecrates (in "Toxaris, vel De Amicitia"). The third scene of the third act, where Lassenbergh in the hearing of the enchanter chides Lucilia for following him, is obviously imitated from "Midsummer Night's Dream," and in single lines of other scenes we catch Shakespearean echoes. But the writer's power is shown at its highest in the scene (iii. 6) where Lucilia's faltering recollection strives to pierce the veil of her spell-bound senses, gains the light for an instant, and then is lost again in the tumult of contending emotions. The beauty of that scene is beyond the reach of any ordinary poet. And what shall be said of that exquisite description of the cameo in ii. 1?

"Flores. See, then, (my Lord) this Aggat that containes The image of that Goddesse and her sonne, Whom auncients held the Soveraignes of Love; See, naturally wrought out of the stone (Besides the perfect shape of every limme, Besides the wondrous life of her bright haire) A waving mantle of celestiall blew Imbroydering it selfe with flaming Starres.

Alber. Most excellent: and see besides (my Lords) How Cupids wings do spring out of the stone As if they needed not the helpe of Art."

Is there in the whole Greek Anthology anything more absolutely flawless?

As to the authorship of "Dr. Dodypoll" I am unable to form a conjecture. We learn from Henslowe's Diary that a play called the "French Doctor" was popular in 1594; but we are not justified in identifying this piece with "Dr. Dodypoll." Steevens states that the present play was composed before 1596, but he gives no authority for the statement. The song on p. 102, "What thing is love"? is found in William Drummond's MS. extracts from Peele's "Hunting of Cupid" (apud Dyce's Peele).[48]

The Wisdome of Doctor Dodypoll.

As it hath bene sundrie times Acted by the Children of Powles.

LONDON Printed by Thomas Creede, for Richard Oliue, dwelling in Long Lane. 1600.

The Wisdome of Doctor Dodypoll.

Actus Prima.

A Curtaine drawne, Earle Lassingbergh is discovered (like a Painter) painting Lucilia, who sits working on a piece of Cushion worke.

Lassinberge.[49] Welcome, bright Morne, that with thy golden rayes Reveal'st the variant colours of the world, Looke here and see if thou canst finde disper'st The glorious parts of faire Lucilia: Take[50] them and joyne them in the heavenly Spheares, And fix them there as an eternall light For Lovers to adore and wonder at: And this (long since) the high Gods would have done, But that they could not bring it back againe When they had lost so great divinitie.

Lu. You paint your flattering words, [Lord] Lassinbergh, Making a curious pensill of your tongue; And that faire artificiall hand of yours Were fitter to have painted heavens faire storie Then here to worke on Antickes and on me. Thus for my sake you (of a noble Earle) Are glad to be a mercinary Painter.

Lass. A Painter, faire Luci[li]a? Why, the world With all her beautie was by painting made. Looke on the heavens colour'd with golden starres, The firmamentall ground of it all blew: Looke on the ayre where, with a hundred changes, The watry Rain-bow doth imbrace the earth: Looke on the sommer fields adorn'd with flowers,— How much is natures painting honour'd there? Looke in the Mynes, and on the Easterne shore, Where all our Mettalls and deare Jems are drawne, Thogh faire themselves made better by their foiles: Looke on that little world, the twofold man, Whose fairer parcell is the weaker still, And see what azure vaines in stream-like forme Divide the Rosie beautie of the skin. I speake not of the sundry shapes of beasts, The severall colours of the Elements, Whose mixture shapes the worlds varietie In making all things by their colours knowne. And to conclude, Nature, her selfe divine, In all things she hath made is a meere Painter.

[She kisses her hand.

[Lu.] Now by this kisse, th'admirer of thy skill, Thou art well worthie th'onor thou hast given (With so sweet words) to thy eye-ravishing Art, Of which my beauties can deserve no part.

Lass. From[51] these base Anticks where my hand hath spearst Thy severall parts, if I uniting all Had figur'd there the true Lucilia, Then might'st thou justly wonder at mine Art And devout people would from farre repaire, Like Pilgrims, with there dutuous sacrifice, Adoring[52] thee as Regent of their loves. Here, in the Center of this Mary-gold, Like a bright Diamond I enchast thine eye; Here, underneath this little Rosie bush, Thy crimson cheekes peers forth more faire then it; Here Cupid (hanging downe his wings) doth sit, Comparing Cherries to thy Ruby lippes: Here is thy browe, thy haire, thy neck, thy hand, Of purpose all in severall shrowds disper'st, Least ravisht I should dote on mine own worke Or Envy-burning eyes should malice it.

Lu. No more, my Lord; see, here comes Haunce our man.

Enter Haunce.

Haunce. We have the finest Painter here at boord wages that ever made Flowerdelice, and the best bedfellow, too; for I may lie all night tryumphing from corner to corner while he goes to see the Fayries, but I for my part see nothing, but here [sic] a strange noyse sometimes. Well, I am glad we are haunted so with Fairies, for I cannot set a cleane pump down but I find a dollar in it in the morning. See, my Mistresse Lucilia, shee's never from him: I pray God he paints no pictures with her; but I hope my fellowe hireling will not be so sawcie. But we have such a wench a comming for you (Lordings) with her woers: A, the finest wench.

Wink, wink, deare people, and you be wise, And shut, O shut, your weeping eyes.

Enter Cornelia sola, looking upon the picture of Alberdure in a little Jewell, and singing. Enter the Doctor and the Merchant following and hearkning to her.

THE SONG.

What thing is love? for sure I am it is a thing, It is a prick, it is a thing, it is a prettie, prettie thing; It is a fire, it is a cole, whose flame creeps in at every hoale; And as my wits do best devise Loves dwelling is in Ladies eies.

Haunce. O rare wench!

Cor. Faire Prince, thy picture is not here imprest With such perfection as within my brest.

Mar. Soft, maister Doctor.

Doct. Cornelia, by garr dis paltry marshan be too bolde, is too sawcie by garr. Foole, holde off hand, foole; let de Doctor speake.

Han. Now my brave wooers, how they strive for a Jewes Trump.

Doct. Madam, me love you; me desire to marry you. Me pray you not to say no.

Cor. Maister Doctor, I think you do not love me; I am sure you shall not marry me, And (in good sadnes) I must needs say no.

Mar. What say you to this, maister Doctor. Mistresse, let me speake. That I do love you I dare not say, least I should offend you; that I would marry you I had rather you should conceive then I should utter: and I do live or die upon your Monasi[la]ble, I or no.

Doct. By gar if you will see de Marshan hang himselfe, say no: a good shasse by garr.

Han. A filthy French jest as I am a Dutch gentleman.

Mar. Mistresse, Ile bring you from Arabia, Turckie, and India, where the Sunne doth rise, Miraculous Jemmes, rare stuffes of pretious worke, To beautifie you more then all the paintings Of women with their coullour-fading cheekes.

Doct. You bring stuffe for her? you bring pudding. Me vit one, two, tree pence more den de price buy it from dee and her too by garr: by garr dow sella' dy fader for two pence more. Madam, me gieve you restoratife; me give you tings (but toush you) make you faire; me gieve you tings make you strong; me make you live six, seaven, tree hundra yeere: you no point so, Marshan. Marshan run from you two, tree, foure yere together: who shall kisse you dan? Who shall embrace you dan? Who shall toush your fine hand? ô shall, ô sweete, by garr.

Mar. Indeed, M. Doctor, your commodities are rare; a guard of Urinals in the morning; a plaguie fellow at midnight; a fustie Potticarie ever at hand with his fustian drugges, attending your pispot worship.

Doct. By garr, skurvy marshan, me beat dee starck dead, and make dee live againe for sav'a de law.

Han. A plaguie marshan by gar, make the doctor angre.

Doct. Now, madam, by my trot you be very faire.

Cor. You mock me, M. Doct, I know the contrary.

Doct. Know? what you know? You no see your selfe, by garr me see you; me speake vatt me see; you no point speake so:

Han. Peace, Doctor, I vise you. Do not court in my maisters hearing, you were best.

Enter Flores.

Flo. Where are these wooers heere? poore sillie men, Highly deceiv'd to gape for marriage heere Onely for gaine: I have another reache More high then their base spirits can aspire: Yet must I use this Doctors secret aide, That hath alreadie promist me a drug Whose vertue shall effect my whole desires.

Doct. O Monsieur Flores, mee be your worships servant; mee lay my hand under your Lordships foote by my trot.

Flo. O maister Doctor, you are welcome to us, And you, Albertus, it doth please me much To see you vowed rivalls thus agree.

Doct. Agree? by my trot sheele not have him.

Ma. You finde not that in your urins, M. Doctor.

Doct. Mounsieur Flores, come hedder, pray.

Flo. What sayes maister Doctor? have you remembred me?

Doct. I, by garr: heere be de powdra, you give de halfe at once.

Flo. But are you sure it will worke the effect?

Doct. Me be sure? by garr she no sooner drinke but shee hang your neck about; she stroake your beard; she nippe your sheeke; she busse your lippe, by garr.

Flo. What, wilt thou eate me, Doctor?

Doct. By garr, mee must shew you de vertue by plaine demonstration.

Flo. Well, tell me, is it best in wine or no?

Doct. By garr de Marshan, de Marshan, I tinck he kisse my sweete mistresse.

Flo. Nay, pray thee, Doctor, speake; is't best in wine or no?

Doct. O, good Lort! in vyne: vat else I pray you? you give de vench to loove vatra? be garre me be ashame of you.

Flo. Well, thankes, gentle Doctor. And now (my friends) I looke to day for strangers of great state, And must crave libertie to provide for them. Painter, goe leave your worke, and you, Lucilia, Keepe you (I charge you) in your chamber close. [Exeunt Cass. and Lucilia. Haunce, see that all things be in order set Both for our Musicke and our large Carowse, That (after our best countrie fashion) I may give entertainment to the Prince.

Han. One of your Hault-boyes (sir) is out of tune.

Flo. Out of tune, villaine? which way?

Han. Drunke (sir), ant please you?

Flo. Ist night with him alreadie?—Well, get other Musicke.

Han. So we had need in truth, sir. [Exit Hans.

Doct. Me no trouble you by my fait, me take my leave: see, de unmannerlie Marshan staie, by garr. [Exit.

Mar. Sir, with your leave Ile choose some other time When I may lesse offend you with my staie. [Exit.

Flo. Albertus, welcome.—And now, Cornelia, Are we alone? looke first; I, all is safe. Daughter, I charge thee now even by that love In which we have been partiall towards thee (Above thy sister, blest with bewties guifts) Receive this vertuous powder at my hands, And (having mixt it in a bowle of Wine) Give it unto the Prince in his carowse. I meane no villanie heerein to him But love to thee wrought by that charmed cup. We are (by birth) more noble then our fortunes; Why should we, then, shun any meanes we can To raise us to our auncient states againe? Thou art my eldest care, thou best deserv'st To have thy imperfections helpt by love.

Corn. Then, father, shall we seeke sinister meanes Forbidden by the lawes of God and men? Can that love prosper which is not begun By the direction of some heavenly fate?

Flo. I know not; I was nere made Bishop yet; I must provide for mine, and still preferre (Above all these) the honour of my house: Come, therefore, no words, but performe my charge.

Cor. If you will have it so I must consent.

[Exeunt.