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202 WILLIAM CONGREVE [ACT i<br />
or as if she were carrying her linen to the papcrmill, to<br />
be converted into folio books of warning to all young<br />
maids, not to prefer poetry to good sense, or lying in the<br />
arms of a needy wit, before the embraces of a wealthy fool.<br />
Enter SCANDAL.<br />
Scan. What, Jeremy holding forth?<br />
Val. The rogue has (with all the wit he could muster up)<br />
been declaiming against wit.<br />
Scan. Ay? why then I'm afraid Jeremy has wit: for<br />
wherever it is, it's always contriving its own ruin.<br />
Jer. Why, so I have been telling my master, sir; Mr,<br />
Scandal, for Heaven's sake, sir, try if you can dissuade<br />
him from turning poet.<br />
Scan. Poet! he shall turn soldier first, and rather depend<br />
upon the outside of his head, than the lining. Why, what<br />
the devil! has not your poverty made you enemies enough?<br />
must you needs show your wit to get more?<br />
Jer. Ay, more indeed; for who cares for anybody that<br />
has more wit than himself?<br />
Seem. Jeremy speaks like an oracle. Don't you see how<br />
worthless great men, and dull rich rogues, avoid a witty<br />
man of small fortune? Why, he looks like a writ of inquiry<br />
into their titles and estates; and seems commissioned by<br />
Heaven to seize the better half.<br />
Val. Therefore I would rail in my writings, and be revenged.<br />
Scan. Rail? at whom? the whole world? Impotent and<br />
vain! who would die a martyr to sense in a country where<br />
the religion is folly? you may stand at bay for a while; but<br />
when the full cry is against you, you shan't have fair play<br />
for your life. If you can't be fairly run down by the hounds,<br />
you will be treacherously shot by the huntsmen. No, turn<br />
pimp, flatterer, quack, lawyer, parson, be chaplain to an<br />
atheist, or stallion to an old woman, anything but poet; a<br />
modern poet is worse, more servile, timorous and fawning<br />
than any I have named: without you could retrieve the<br />
ancient honours of the name, recall the stage of Athens, and<br />
be allowed the force of open, honest satire.<br />
Val. You are as inveterate against our poets as if your<br />
character had been lately exposed upon the stage.—Nay, I<br />
am not violently bent upon the trade.—{Knocking at the<br />
door.] Jeremy, sec who's there.—[Exit JEREMY.] But tell me
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