W.D. Clarke’s Reviews > The Comedies of William Congreve > Status Update
W.D. Clarke
is on page 318
***&1/2 for Love For Love, which started slowly but gathered steam—and wit—as it went, and from which I learned...
Sir Sampson: ...don't despise fifty; odd, fifty, in a hale constitution, is no such contemptible age.
Angelica: Fifty a contemptible age! Not at all; a very fashionable age I think.—I assure you I know very considerable beaux that set a good face upon fifty. Fifty! I have seen fifty...,
— Sep 06, 2020 11:10AM
Sir Sampson: ...don't despise fifty; odd, fifty, in a hale constitution, is no such contemptible age.
Angelica: Fifty a contemptible age! Not at all; a very fashionable age I think.—I assure you I know very considerable beaux that set a good face upon fifty. Fifty! I have seen fifty...,
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W.D.’s Previous Updates
W.D. Clarke
is on page 319
On to the final play, The Way of the World, which I read back in undergrad...but do I remember even one little thing about it?
— Sep 16, 2020 12:24PM
W.D. Clarke
is on page 213
On to Love For Love, play 3 of 4...
A young poet is liable to the same vanity and indiscretion with a young lover; and the great man that smiles upon one, and the fine woman that looks kindly upon t'other, are each of'em in danger of having the favour published with the first opportunity.
— Aug 30, 2020 09:49AM
A young poet is liable to the same vanity and indiscretion with a young lover; and the great man that smiles upon one, and the fine woman that looks kindly upon t'other, are each of'em in danger of having the favour published with the first opportunity.
W.D. Clarke
is on page 207
Could poets but forsee how plays would take,
Then they could tell what epilogues to make;
[...]
[But] poor poets the favour are denied
Even to make exceptions when they're tried.
'Tis hard that they must every one admit;
Methinks I see some faces in the pit,
Which must of consequence be foes to wit.
You who can judge, to sentence may proceed;
But though he cannot write, let him be freed [...cont'd]
— Aug 28, 2020 10:33AM
Then they could tell what epilogues to make;
[...]
[But] poor poets the favour are denied
Even to make exceptions when they're tried.
'Tis hard that they must every one admit;
Methinks I see some faces in the pit,
Which must of consequence be foes to wit.
You who can judge, to sentence may proceed;
But though he cannot write, let him be freed [...cont'd]
W.D. Clarke
is on page 140
Lady Froth: ...between you and I, I had whimsies and vapours, but I gave them vent.
Cynthia: How pray, madam?
LF: O I writ, writ abundantly—do you never write?
C: Write what?
LF: Songs, elegies, satires, encomiums, panegyrics, lampoons, plays, or heroic poems.
C: O Lord, not I madam; I'm content to be a courteous reader.
LF: O inconsistent! In love, and not write!
— Aug 26, 2020 11:46AM
Cynthia: How pray, madam?
LF: O I writ, writ abundantly—do you never write?
C: Write what?
LF: Songs, elegies, satires, encomiums, panegyrics, lampoons, plays, or heroic poems.
C: O Lord, not I madam; I'm content to be a courteous reader.
LF: O inconsistent! In love, and not write!
W.D. Clarke
is on page 133
The premise to The Double Dealer is completely mental: Mellefont is worried that his wedding tomorrow to Cynthia will be cancelled due to his aunt, who plans to ravish him and get herself pregnant by him and thereby exact revenge upon him for not loving her back: in producing an heir for her husband (M's uncle), she will be depriving M of an inheritance he will get only if she herself remains childless!
— Aug 25, 2020 11:50AM
W.D. Clarke
is on page 129
Beginning The Double Dealer...
Careless: Pox, I'm weary of guzzling.
Me (guzzling): I'm weary of the pox.
— Aug 23, 2020 02:15PM
Careless: Pox, I'm weary of guzzling.
Me (guzzling): I'm weary of the pox.
W.D. Clarke
is on page 122
2.5* for the first of the four, The Old Bachelour, bowled by an old hand of 19 summers—so not a bad innings then, pro-rated!
— Aug 17, 2020 11:07AM
W.D. Clarke
is on page 60
Nay come, I find that we are growing serious, and then we are in great danger of being dull.
— Aug 16, 2020 11:24AM
W.D. Clarke
is on page 43
Once a man comes to his soliloquies, I give him for gone.
--The Old Bachelor (I, i)
— Aug 16, 2020 09:53AM
--The Old Bachelor (I, i)
Sir Sampson: O pox, outsides, outsides, a pize take'em, mere outsides. Hang your side-box beaux; no, I'm none of those, none of your forced trees, that pretend to blossom in the fall, and bud when they should bring forth fruit. I am of a long-lived race, and inherit vigour...am of your antediluvian families, fellows the flood could not wash away.
Me: Candle-light, did you say? [Exit, in search of a taper]