SHERIDAN'S PLAYS. 
 
The authentic version of Sheridan's Plays is 
 SIK HENKY IKVING 
 
 AND 
 
 SIK SQUIEE BANCEOFT, 
 
 IN GRATEFUL ACKNOWLEDGMENT OF THE ARTISTIC AND- 
 
 CRITICAL COMMENTS ON ShERIDAN'S DRAMATIC 
 
 CAPACITY AND ACHIEVEMENTS WHICH THEY KINDLY 
 
 CONTRIBUTED TO MY " BIOGRAPHY " OF HIM. 
 
Sheridan's Flags 
 
 NOW PRINTED AS HE WROTE THEM 
 
 AND HIS MOTHER'S UNPUBLISHED COMEDY 
 
 S. cJourneg to IBath. 
 
 EDITED BY 
 
 W. FRASER RAE 
 
 (Author of ' Sheridan: a Biography,' &c.). 
 
 Wif/i an Jntroducfioij 
 
 BY 
 SHERIDAN'S GREAT-GEANDSON 
 
 THE MARQUESS OF DUFFERIN AND AVA. 
 
 London: DAVID NUTT. 
 At the Sign of the Ph(enix, Long Aobb, 
 
LOAN STACK 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 MAIN 
 
 Introduction 
 
 Prefatory Notes 
 
 The Kivals 
 
 St. Patrick's Day ; or, the Scheming Lieu- 
 tenant 
 
 The Duenna 
 
 The School for Scandal 
 
 The Critic 
 
 A Journey to Bath 
 
 PASE 
 VII 
 
 76 
 
 97 
 147 
 222 
 263 
 
 .S07 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 aMONG the marvels of existence, nothing 
 is more surprising than the birth of 
 genius in unlooked-for places. Evolu- 
 tionists can trace the development of species from 
 stage to stage ; but almost imperceptible pro- 
 gression seems to be the law of Nature, while all 
 their science will not enable them to account for 
 the *' avatar " of Burns and Keats, or of many 
 another star that has suddenly bm-st out of darkness 
 into being. Neither can they explain with greater 
 ease how it came about that Richard Brinsley 
 Sheridan, a young man of four-and-twenty, without 
 more experience of the world than a couple of 
 seasons of Bath society could afford, should have 
 produced several plays which at once raised him 
 into the first rank of the world's lighter drama- 
 tists, and are now, after a century and a quarter, 
 as universally popular as on the occasion when 
 they were first applauded. 
 
VIII INTRODUCTION. 
 
 Pope has said, " What lasts a century can have 
 no flaw," and henceforth ' The Kivals,' ' '\ he School 
 for Scandal,' ' The Duenna,' and ' The Critic ' will 
 continue to hold a foremost place in the living 
 literature of England. 
 
 It is true Sheridan was descended from a family 
 that had been intellectually remarkable for many 
 generations ; but, though his grandfather had wit, 
 its playful flashes did not survive in his son, the 
 actor and author of an English dictionary, who, 
 though a man of exceptional parts, was, I appre- 
 hend, both tiresome and unamiable. Perhaps, how- 
 ever, it was from his mother that Sheridan inherited 
 the subtle attribute which sublimates talent into 
 genius, for the authoress who wrote ' Sidney 
 Bidulph,' a novel which Charles James Fox, Lord 
 North, and Richardson pronounced the best of the 
 day, as well as ' The Discovery,' a comedy con- 
 taining one of Garrick's favourite characters, must 
 have had something of the divine essence. 
 
 I do not now intend to enter upon an examina- 
 tion of the relative merits of Sheridan's plays, 
 or the causes of their enduring popularity. The 
 impression produced by each depends a good deal 
 upon the way in which it is acted. There are 
 characters in two of them which it requires great 
 delicacy and discernment to impersonate adequately. 
 For instance, in ' The Rivals ' there is always a 
 danger of the innocent rusticity of Bob Acres 
 becoming loutish vulgarity at the hands of a 
 second-rate comedian, while perhaps even greater 
 skill is required to prevent the fire-eating ten- 
 
INTRODUCTION. IX 
 
 dencies of Sir Lucius 0' Trigger from dimming the 
 charm of his liigh-bred and chivalrous demeanour. 
 
 I have always imagined that there must be few 
 more difficult personages to represent than Joseph 
 Surface in ' The School for Scandal/ for the success 
 of the piece requires that the sympathy of the 
 audience should remain with Lady Teazle, and the 
 thought of her yielding to his wiles, were he a 
 mere vulgar hypocrite, would lower her too much 
 in their estimation. To maintain her, therefore, 
 upon the plane she is intended to occupy, the 
 presentment of her lover, both as regards his 
 apj^earance and behaviour, ought to be rendered 
 sufficiently attractive to account for the com- 
 plaisance with which slie seems to tolerate his 
 advances. 
 
 Again, I have sometimes seen the effect of Mrs. 
 Malaprop's charming eccentricities of diction marred 
 by the actress showing her consciousness of their 
 nature, and her expectation of the amusement they 
 are intended to excite, whereas the real artist 
 exhibits sublime ignorance of the mistakes she is 
 making, and seems to ask, through the medium 
 of that subtle telegraphy which is in perpetual 
 action between those on either side of the foot- 
 lights, "My good friends, what on earth are you 
 laughing at ? " 
 
 It might also prove interesting to speculate as 
 to whether the remoteness of the time and fashion 
 in which the scenes of these comedies are laid adds 
 to or detracts from their pleasing effects. In the 
 days when swords, powder, bag-wigs, and paniers- 
 
X INTRODUCTION. 
 
 were the fashion, the element of realism they con- 
 tained might, perhaps, have proved an agreeable 
 stimulus to the sympathies of the audience, while 
 undoubtedly those portions of the dialogue which 
 now appear somewhat stilted and artificial would 
 have been tacitly accepted as consonant to what 
 were then the current modes both of feeling and 
 •of expression. On the other hand, the shifting 
 pictures of the personages now presented to our 
 view in an unfamiliar garb, and the gay appoint- 
 ments which brightened the world a century and 
 a quarter ago, have a tendency to involve the 
 modern spectator in an atmosphere of illusion, 
 which helps him to forget for the moment his own 
 surroundings, and follow with more intense interest 
 the varying fortunes of these representatives of a 
 vanished age. 
 
 Owing to my residence abroad for so long a 
 period, it has not been my good fortune to witness 
 many representations either of ' The Rivals ' or of 
 ' The School for Scandal,' nor have I seen ' The 
 Critic ' played more than once, and that was many 
 years ago ; but I remember having had the satis- 
 faction of admiring in a play, at Bologna, a remark- 
 able achievement of Sheridan himself, who rescued 
 Miss Linley, the beautiful '' Maid of Bath," from 
 the clutches of her persecutor by bringing a gondola 
 under the windows of her house in Bond Street. I 
 also assisted, in 1845, at a remarkable representa- 
 tion of ' The School for Scandal ' at some private 
 theatricals at our Embassy in Paris, when the part 
 of Lady Teazle was taken by the late Countess 
 
INTRODUCTION. XI 
 
 Granville, who had known Sheridan personally, 
 that of Mrs. Candour being played by my mother, 
 and that of Charles Surface by my uncle, Charles 
 Sheridan. Lately, however, all the theatre-going 
 world of London has had an opportunity of seeing 
 both ' The Rivals ' and ' The School for Scandal ' 
 admirably staged and acted at the Haymarket 
 Theatre. 
 
 As to the circumstances which have led to the 
 issue of the present edition of Sheridan's Plays, 
 Mr. Fraser Rae, who edits them, has given full 
 explanations in his prefatory remarks. 
 
 It has sometimes been objected that Sheridan 
 took too much pains in polishing his work, as 
 though the straining after perfection, which is an 
 instinct innate in the breast of every true artist, 
 were blameworthy. But, in his review of Moore's 
 ^ Memoirs of Sheridan,' Jeffrey admirably \dndicated 
 my great-grandfather's methods. Jeffrey wrote : 
 ^' He, who was for thirty years the most brilliant 
 talker — the greatest conversational wit of the 
 splendid circle in which he moved — could not 
 possibly have been a man to whom preparation 
 was generally necessary in order to shine ; and 
 cannot be suspected of having had a cold or slug- 
 gish fancy, which did not give its golden har- 
 vests till it was diligently laboured and manured. 
 Sheridan's conceptions, on the contrary, seem 
 always to have flowed from him with great 
 copiousness and rapidity. But he had taste as 
 well as genius — and ambition as well as facility. 
 He was not always satisfied with the first 
 
XII INTRODUCTION. 
 
 suggestions of his mind ; but his labour was almost 
 always employed, not in making what was bad, 
 tolerable, but in making what was good, better and 
 best." 
 
 In these circumstances, it seems highly desirable 
 that the public should be enabled to judge of 
 Sheridan's work exactly as it was when it first 
 left his hands. 
 
 DUFFERIN AND AVA. 
 
PREFATORY NOTES. 
 
 IN the preface to my Biography of Sheridan 
 I described how much information I had 
 obtained from the library at Frampton Court, 
 where many of Sheridan's manuscripts are 
 very carefully preserved. Sheridan's grandfather 
 gave much time and care to arranging the manu- 
 scripts of ' The Rivals,' ' The Duenna,' ' The School 
 for Scandal,' and ' The Critic,' and he had them 
 bound in handsome volumes. With the exception 
 of ' The Rivals,' none of these plays was given to 
 the world in print by Sheridan himself. All the 
 other published copies were reproductions of those 
 used on the stage. Many changes had been made 
 in them for histrionic purposes. 
 
 The only important manuscript of which there is 
 no trace is that of ' The Rivals,' which was acquired 
 by Mr. Harris, the manager of Covent Garden 
 Theatre, the manuscript being probably destroyed 
 when that theatre was burnt to the ground. If it 
 had been preserved we should have known the 
 number and character of the alterations which were 
 made between the first representation of the piece 
 on the 17th January, 1775, and the second on the 
 28th. When the success of * The Rivals ' was 
 assured, Sheridan prepared a copy for publication. 
 
XIV PREFATORY NOTES. 
 
 This is now a scarce book. It is a valuable one, 
 however, because it contains Sheridan's own acting 
 version of his comedy. The version which is now 
 put on the stage differs from it. 
 
 The many reprints of Sheridan's plays are made 
 from the edition in two volumes published by 
 Murray in 1821. Tom Moore prefixed an intro- 
 duction in which he disclaimed responsibility for the 
 edition, and apologized for the delay in the appear- 
 ance of ' M emoirs ' which he had undertaken to 
 write. I am indebted to Mr. John Murray for 
 information gathered from the books of his firm to 
 the effect that his grandfather paid Tom Moore 
 and Mr. Wilkie for their labours with regard to 
 preparing Sheridan's plays for the press. I assume, 
 then, that Mr. Wilkie acted as editor. 
 
 The paramount duty of an editor is to exhibit 
 strict loyalty to his author, and either to put the 
 author's text before the public as its author would 
 have done, or else to take the responsibility for alter- 
 ations. Mr. Wilkie did not like some things in 
 Sheridan's published version of ' The Rivals,' and 
 he drew his pen through them without notice. The 
 result is that readers of that play have now before 
 them the truncated version which Mr. Wilkie 
 prepared for Mr. Murray, and which subsequent 
 editors have copied. Some of the alterations 
 are trivial, yet none should have been concealed. 
 In Sheridan's version of the dramatis personce 
 one of the men is styled " coachman," and the 
 first act is headed with "coachman crosses the 
 stage," while in that act Fag's conversation is 
 
PREFATORY NOTES. XV 
 
 carried on with the '* coachman,'* but Thomas is 
 substituted by Mr. Wilkie for the '* coachman.'^ 
 He asks Fag what sort of place Bath is. Fag says in 
 his reply, *' at present we are, like other great 
 assemblies, divided into parties — High-roomians- 
 and Low-roomians ; however, for my part, I have 
 resolved to stand neuter ; and so I told Bob Brush 
 at our last committee." Mr. Wilkie struck his pen 
 through the words just quoted. Among several 
 other passages which met the like fate is one 
 in the conversation between Mrs. Malaprop and 
 Sir Anthony Absolute. Sir Anthony having de- 
 nounced circulating libraries, Mrs. Malaprop 
 says: "Well, Sir Anthony, your wife, Lady 
 Absolute, was fond of books.'' Sir Anthony, 
 " Aye — and injury sufficient they were to her, 
 Madam — But were I to chuse another help- 
 mate, the extent of her erudition should consist in 
 her knowing her simple letters, without their mis- 
 chievous combinations ; — and the summit of her 
 science be — her ability to count as far as twenty. 
 The first, Mrs. Malaprop, would enable her to work 
 A. A. upon my linen ; — and the latter quite sufficient 
 to prevent her giving me a shirt No. 1 and a stock 
 No. 2." The careful reader, who compares Sheridan's 
 version, printed with absolute fidelity in this volume, 
 with that commonly current, will wonder why Mr. 
 Wilkie took so much trouble to so little purpose. 
 I must add that he did not spare Mrs. Malaprop 
 when she was writing to Sir Lucius 0' Trigger. 
 He cut out these words from her letter: — " As my 
 motive is interested, you may be assured my love 
 
XVI PKEFATORY NOTES. 
 
 shall never be miscellaneous," and those which 
 preceded her signature "Yours, while mere- 
 tricious," Delia. 
 
 The fate of ' The Rivals ' was very doubtful at 
 the first performance. Had the comedy been 
 damned, then there was an end to Sheridan as a 
 playwright. But this piece having succeeded, his other 
 plays had an easier ordeal. I have thought that 
 the story of ' The Rivals ' and its fate on the stage 
 could not be told better than in the words of con- 
 temporary writers in newspapers, and the passages 
 in chronological order which follow give a vivid 
 account of what occurred. This critique (published 
 on the morning after the first performance) is 
 probably from the pen of William Woodfall : — 
 
 The Morning " In consideration of that plea [in the prologue, that the author 
 Chronicle,^ ^ is a novice], and in tenderness to a young bard, who betrays not, 
 *' as is sometimes the case, any unbecoming forwardness, but rather 
 
 discovers an ingenuous diffidence of his abilities,^ — in respect to 
 such a situation, we should rather wish to abate the edge of 
 public censure, than to animadvert with severity on the lapses 
 of an inexperienced writer, in the midst of whose very imper- 
 fections we may trace the man of genius, the gentleman, and the 
 scholar. His fable indeed is not happily chosen, nor skilfully 
 conducted ; nor are his characters faithfully copied from natvire ; 
 but many parts of the dialogue, the graver scenes especially, are 
 chaste and elegant ; and the defects of the other parts of the 
 drama do not appear to be the oflspring of dulness or ignorance. 
 A very little more acquaintance with the business of the stage 
 would have instructed the author to curtail some of the scenes, 
 which were last night insufferably tedious ; and some of that 
 stage art, much of which Gibber derived from his connexion with 
 the theatre, would have taught our juvenile poet to give more 
 effect to the part of Jack Absolute, who is, in some sort, a second 
 Atall, Double Galant. The romantic vein of Lydia Languish is 
 
PREFATORY NOTKS. XVII 
 
 not so well imagined, or so ably sustained as Steele's Ljidy (we 
 forget her name*) in the Accomplished Fools; and the characters 
 of Falkland and Julia are even beyond the pitch of sentimental 
 comedy, and may be not improperly stiled metaphysical. We 
 would wish, however, to make a particular exception to the scene 
 between them in the beginning of the fifth act, in which we are 
 at a loss to determine whether the author or the actress (Mrs. 
 Bulkley) were most to be commended. What evil spirit could 
 influence the writer and the managers to assign the pai-t of 
 Sir Lucius 0' Trigger to Mr. Lee, or Mr. Lee himself to receive it ? 
 One would imagine they had intended, in Mr. Lee's person, to 
 realize the unjust satire of Sir Charles Hanbury Williams on the 
 whole Irish nation : — 
 
 • But nature, who denied them sense 
 Ban given them legs and imputience, 
 Which beatu all understanding.' 
 
 This representation of Sir Lucius, is indeed an affront to the 
 common sense of an audience, and is so far from giving the 
 manners of our brave and worthy neighbours, that it scarce 
 equals the picture of a respectable Hotentot ; gabbling in an 
 uncouth dialect, neither Welch, English, nor Irish. Shuter 
 [Sir Anthony Absolute] was pleasant, but, as usual, shamefully 
 imperfect. Woodward [Captain Absolute] has often appeared to 
 more advantage. Mr. Lewis [Faulkland] struggled with a very 
 (lifficult character, and acquitted himself creditably. Quick's 
 character [Acres] betrayed him into farce ; and Lee-Lewes [Fag], 
 and Dunstall [David], exhibited their accustomed pert valet and 
 country bumpkin. The ladies, Mrs. Bulkley especially [Julia], 
 did great justice to their parts, and we want woi-ds to express 
 the satisfaction the last-mentioned lady gave by her just elegant 
 manner of speaking one of the most excellent and poetical 
 Epilogues we ever remember to have heaid. The scenes and 
 dresses were many of them new, but we think we remember 
 
 * The lady's name is Bridget Tipkin. She is far less attractive than 
 Lydia Languish. Her most brilliant remark is, " It looks so ordinary, to 
 go out of a door to be married. Indeed, I ought to be taken out of a 
 window and run away with." 
 
 h 
 
XVIII PREFA'IORY NOTES. 
 
 a better view of the North Parade at Bath in a play of 
 Dr. Kenrick's exhibited some years ago at Drury Lane Theatre." 
 
 The Public "The Rivals, as a Comedy, requires much castigation, and 
 18 T 17-'^ *^^ pruning hand of judgment, before it can ever pass on the 
 Town as even a tolerable Piece. In language it is defective to 
 an extreme, in Plot outr6 and one of the Characters is an absolute 
 exotic in the wilds of nature. The author seems to have con- 
 sidered puns, witticisms, similes and metaphors, as admirable 
 substitutes for polished diction ; hence they abound in every 
 sentence ; and hence it is that instead of the ' Metmorphosis ' of 
 Ovid, one of the characters is made to talk of Ovid's ' Meat-for- 
 Hopes,' a Lady is called the ' Pine Apple of beauty,' the Gentle- 
 man in return ' an Orange of perfection.' A Lover describes 
 the sudden change of disposition in his Mistress by saying, that 
 'she flies off in a tangent born down by the current of disdain'; 
 and a second Tony Lumkin, to describe how fast he rode, compares 
 himself to a ' Oomet with a tail of dust at his heels.' 
 
 " These are shameful absurdities in language, which can suit 
 no character, how widely soever it may depart from common life 
 and common manners. 
 
 "Whilst thus censure l«( freely passed, not to say that there 
 are various sentiments in the Piece which demonstrate the 
 Author's no stranger to the finer feelings, would be shameful 
 partiality. 
 
 " Time will not permit a thorough investigation of this 
 Comedy ; but if the ' Rivals ' rests its claim to ]3ublic favour, 
 solely on the basis of merit, the hisses of the auditors on the first 
 night of representation, gives reason to suspect a most fatal 
 disappointment. However, that it may be suffered to have the 
 usual nine nights run, is what, on the Author's account, we most 
 sincerely wish ; but this we can assure him, that if the dulness 
 of law writers have made him yawn, the dulness of the ' Rivals ' 
 lulled several of the middle gallery spectators into a profound sleep. 
 
 "The Prologue was delivered by Mr. Lee in the olmracter of 
 a Serjeant-at-Law who received the author's brief to plefid liis 
 cause before the Jury of spectators. 
 
PREFATORY NOTES. XIX 
 
 "The Epilogue was spoken by Mrs. Bulkley. 
 
 "Many of the parts were improperly cast. Mr. Lee [Sir 
 Lucius O'Trigger] is a most execrable Irishman. Miss Barsanti 
 [Lydia Languish] is calculated only for a mimio ; she ha.s the 
 archness of look and manner, that shrug of the shoulders, which 
 must for ever unqualify her for genteel Comedy ; and when she 
 is represented as a girl of thii-ty thousand pounds foi-tune, we 
 curse the blind Goddess for bestowing her favours so absurdly ; 
 then she has the agreeable lisp of Thomas Hull, and cannot be 
 expected to articulate her words so as to be understood, unless 
 her tongue first undergoes a cutting." 
 
 After a sketch of the })iece, tlie critic says : " Tliis Comedy The Morningf 
 said to be written by Mr. Sheridan, Jun., seems to be the hasty ' 
 
 ■^- f f ■ ^x. .., Jan., 1775- 
 
 composition or a young man or more genius than present know- 
 ledge of the English drama ; hence those defects in the main 
 pillars, which are the only support of a dramatic composition. 
 
 " The fable is not the most natural or intelligible, nor have the 
 characters any great claim to novelty. — Sir Lucius O'Trigger 
 and Sir Anthonj/ Absolute, indifferent as they are, were most 
 barbarously handled by the inattention of the performers, neither 
 of the two being perfect in one sentence of their parts: Shameful ! 
 that the fame of an author should be thus sported with by 
 persons, to whom he is under the necessity of intrusting it ; for 
 to their conduct we attribute a part of the bad i-eception which 
 attended the representation. 
 
 " The dialogue, in many scenes, was natural and pleasing ; in 
 one or two, far superior to that of the modern race of comic 
 writers ; — the situation between Capt. Absolute and Mrs. Malaproj) 
 was well conceived and wrought up. We think the writer has 
 here and there mistaken ribaldry for humour, at which the 
 audience seemed displeased. — All the performers, the two already 
 excepted, exerted themselves to the utmost. — A prologue by 
 Mr. Lee, in the character of a Serjeant-at-Law, and Mr. Quick, 
 as an Attorney, wlio brings the former a fee to plead for the 
 bard, tho' novel, was not much relished. The Epilogue, however, 
 made amends ; for it struck us as one of the most harmonious, 
 pretty pieces of the kind we have hetu-d for some time. 
 
 h 2 
 
>^X PREFATOm' NOTES. 
 
 " There ■vveie tliiee new scenes uj^on the occasion, one of which, 
 ii perspective view througli the South Parade at Bath, to the- 
 late Mr. Allen's delightful Villa, was universally iidmired." 
 
 Scorpion. 
 
 The Morning " The modesty of the author of The Rivals is as commendable' 
 as the effrontery of some dramatic authors is censurable. The 
 
 19 Jan , 1775. 
 
 Rivals is presented for the first time ; the toAvn see its deficiencies ;. 
 some displeasure is expressed in the Theatre at particular- 
 passages, and the next day the reprehensible parts are marked! 
 by the critics ; the Author willing to show his obedience to- 
 the Avill of the town, withdraws his comedy that he may prune,, 
 correct, and alter it, till he thinks it worthy the public favour. 
 .... The new comedy of the Rivals was, in the Green Room of 
 Covent Garden Theatre, but last Aveek, deemed the ne jjI'I's nltra 
 of Comedy." 
 
 The Morning " The Comedy of tlie Rii'als, at Covent Garden, is withdrawn 
 ' ^. for the present, to undergo some severe prunings, trimmings, 
 
 1 *7 J £111 1 I 1 / / t' . 
 
 and patchings, before its second appearance : the Author, we are 
 informed, seeing the geneial disapprobation with which it was 
 received, was very desirous of withdrawing it entirely, but the 
 managers woidd not consent to it, determined to stand the event 
 of a second embarcation, let the consequences be what they may."" 
 
 The Morning " To the Printer, Sir, There is certainly some evil geniu« 
 Chronic e, ^^^gj-^jg ^i^g proceedings of Covent Garden Theatre. Our expecta- 
 20 Jan., 1775. ^ "^ . .,.,,, , , 
 
 tions have been some time raised with the hope that they were 
 
 at last to produce us a truly good comedy ; the hour of proof 
 arrives, and we are presented with a piece got up with such 
 flagrant inattention, that half the performers appear to know 
 nothing of their parts, and the play itself is a full hour longer 
 in the representation than any piece on the stage. — This last 
 circumstance is an error of such a nature as shows either great 
 obstinacy in the Author, or excessive ignorance in the managers ; 
 but the casting Mr. Lee for the part of Sir Lucius 0' Trigger, is 
 a blunder of the first brogue, which Mr. Lee plainly shewed a!> 
 
PKEFATOKY NOTES. XXI 
 
 lie was not Irishman enough to have committed for himself. If 
 there had been no one in the theatre fit foi- the part, it should 
 have been taken out of the piece which is full exubeiant enough 
 to spare it. As I find the further representation of it is put off' 
 for the present, I suppose this will be the case ; foi' to attempt 
 to continue him in the character Avill inevitably damn the play. 
 There seemed to be a little malice fi-om one corner of the gallery, 
 which shewed itself too early to produce any effect ; but it was 
 absolutely impossible for the Author's warmest well wishers to 
 over-rule the disappiobation that was shewn to Lee's horrid 
 medley of discordant brogues. The character of Faulkland is 
 touched with a delicate and masterly hand, yet Lewis was perfect 
 -enough to be at home in it : it is just such a part as Mr. Garrick 
 twenty years ago would have marked among his first pei'form- 
 ances. There is us \\\\\q\\ true humour in Acres and David as in 
 any character on the stage Avhatever. What the charactei-s of 
 Sir Anthony and Sir Liicius ought to have appeared I cannot 
 take upon me to say, biit Shuter, from being imperfect appeared 
 'to ruin some scenes, which, from the situations, seemed to 
 promise noble effects from his vis Comica. The versification of 
 the Prologue was sadly marred in the delivery, foi- we cannot 
 suppose it to have been written by the Author of the Epilogue; 
 which, aftei- a vein of elegant humour, runs to the conclusion 
 in some as beautiful lines as ever did ci'edit to our language. 
 Yours &c. A Friend to Corned)/." 
 
 " Sir, — I cannot iivoid taking the earliest opportunity of 
 
 The Morning 
 
 repi-ehending, in the severest manner, one of the performers of Chronicle, 
 
 €ovent Garden Theatre, for his shameful negligence, in not l)eing " ^"•' ^'^^' 
 
 perfect in a single sentence, at the representation of The liivals 
 
 on Tuesday last. Before I name the man, every lover of the 
 
 drama, will, I am persuaded, point him out : for fear, however, 
 
 the town should be wrong in their conjecture, and any other 
 
 person should suffer by it, I will give you, Mr. Printer, his 
 
 name in capitals. The person I allude to is Mr. Siiuter. 1 will 
 
 treat him like a gentleman in my appellation, though he 
 
 probably may not deserve it. If liis incorrectness arises from 
 
XXII PREFATORY NOTES. 
 
 liis strong feelings, I really pity his condition, and a public 
 declaration of this kind would do hiin service, but if it is the 
 eflect of inaUeniion, I Avill be liold to tell him, that, in an 
 equitalile consideration, he is more immoral and unjust than a 
 highwayman ; for by this shameful usage, he, in all probability 
 may i-ob the author of four or five hundred pounds, besides what 
 is as dear to a man as his existence — his reputation. 
 
 " Mr. S. has often been admonished upon this subject ; still 
 he continues to insult his best friends, for surely it is an insult 
 of the highest nature to the audience, for a man to be inattentive 
 to the duties of his profession, when that profession obliges him 
 to appear before that awful tribunal, the public. 
 
 " Before I conclude. Sir, I will take the liberty to observe, 
 that the Rivals is a piece extremely irregular and inconsistent y 
 it abounds with metaphors of the lowest kind ; the miserable pun 
 used by a footman to a coachman of meat for horses, instead of 
 metamorphosis, is much too contemptible even for a postilion. Two 
 or three pathetic scenes are however delicately touched ; and the 
 Epilogue as is asserted by your Theatrical Intelligencer, is very 
 pleasing and poetical ; but the characters, for the most part, 
 are extremely oiUre. Mr. Lee Lewes, Mrs. Green, and Mrs. 
 Bulkley, deserved the highest commendation for their several 
 endeavours to please the town, and serve the author, and I could 
 not help regretting the miserable situation of Messrs. Woodward 
 and Lee, whose characters were injudiciovisly cast. I am. Sir,. 
 Your most obedient servant, One of the Pitt. 
 
 " Bedford Cofiee house, January 18, 1775." 
 
 The Gazetteer, " Thursday morning, January 20 [19?]. Amidst the general 
 20 Jan., 1776. imuidation of criticisms on the new comedy of The Rivals, 
 permit your correspondent to give his impartial opinion in as few 
 words as possible. It appears to him, that the dramatic piece in 
 question has more beauties in some scenes, and more egregious 
 deficiencies in others, than any one modern production of a similar 
 nature ; and if the young Poet's genius sometimes breaks out 
 unexpectedly like a flash of lightening, it seems to shine the 
 brightest through the thick cloud of vapours that surroundeth it. 
 
 Latonse Filius." 
 
PREFATORY NOTES. XXIII 
 
 "Sir, Next to the torment of sitting out a very dull Comedy, The Morning 
 I know not a more uneasy situation than that of hearing an • 
 
 apparently good one mangled in the representation. I think I 
 never saw a performance more disgraceful to a Theatre- Royal 
 than tlie manner in which the Rivals was performed at Covent 
 Garden ; none of the performers seemed to be tolerably perfect 
 except Mrs. Bulkley and Miss Barsanti ; Shuter did not know 
 any two lines together, and whenever he was out, he tried to fill 
 the interval with oaths and buffoonery ; in all his scenes with 
 Woodward he put him out ; and for the Irishman, of all the 
 disgusting attempts that ever was damn'd in a strolling company, 
 nothing ever came up to this. The audience shewed gi-eat 
 partiality and lenity for the author, in making a distinction 
 between the merit of the piece, and the excessive demerit of the 
 representation of this character ; which one would have thought 
 must have damned the best play that ever was written : as it 
 stands, it is absolutely impossible that the piece can go on ; the 
 otliers may get perfect, and do justice to their parts, but Lee 
 never can be suffered in this character, and his deportment in it, 
 is literally such, as will bully even the Author's friends into 
 hissing. Yours, »fec. Hibernicus." 
 
 " Mr. Editor, I hold nothing more sacred than private character. The Morning 
 but when anyone affects singularity in public, the public, I „„ ^ \77ri 
 presume, have a right to animadvert on his conduct. 
 
 " I aui invited to this correspondence, by the intreaties of a 
 large party of my friends, who were seated in the front-boxes at 
 Covent Garden last night, for the purpose of seeing a new repre- 
 aentiition, which the town had been promised some days before. 
 We met with a good deal of interruption in our design early in 
 the evening, from a young man who liad planted himself in our 
 neighbourhood, and who seemed determined to create a prejudice 
 against the performance, by every mode that malevolence could 
 suggest. I do not mean to enter into a particular disquisition of 
 the piece ; if it had its objections, it is agreed even by con- 
 noisseurs to have its merits ; consequently should have been 
 allowed a candid hearing. With candour, Sir, it was received by 
 
XXIV PKEFATORY NOTES. 
 
 eveiy pai-t of tlie lioiise, a- few in one corner of the two shilling 
 gallei-y, and this gentleman excepted. But what tended to 
 inflame our indignation against this zealot for mischief, was a 
 knowledge that he himself stands indebted to the emanations of 
 a benevolent heart, and the dictates of a truly liberal mind, for 
 his present situation, and every other advantage in life. For 
 such is the nothingness of the man, that less than the fostering 
 hand of the very best of Princes could never have rai-^ed him 
 from his original obscurity. 
 
 " Should this awaken M. B — d to a recollection of his own 
 good foi'tune, he may, perhaps, in future, instead of discovering 
 a malicious and disgusting singularity, be induced to join the 
 generous and quick-sighted public, who, dread as their tribunal 
 may appear, never fail shewing indulgence, if genius be discerned, 
 —though but in Embrio. 
 
 Yours, A Librarian." 
 
 Wednesday, January 18, 1775. 
 
 The Mornine " ^® ^^'^ assured that the part of the Hil)ernian Baionet, in 
 
 Post, the new Comedy of The Rivals, was undei'taken by Mr. Lee, 
 
 ^°'' entirely as a matter of necessity, and at the instance of the 
 
 author himself ; and as it appeal's a walk not suited to him, we 
 
 hear the Comedy will be deferred a few days till another will be 
 
 ready in the character." 
 
 " Mr. Editor, Though poetry despises mediocrity, the critic 
 that steers the middle course, like the most experienced pilot, is 
 the likeliest to escape the gulj^h of malevolence, or the rocks of 
 partiality. In this line, permit the present writer to convey to 
 the public his weak, but unbiassed judgment, on the new Comedy 
 of The Rivals. Short criticisms, if they are dull, are the least 
 tedious. — To the point : — The fable is indifferent, but not bad ; 
 the characters, in general, partly in, and partly out of nature ; — 
 Faulkland, in most respects, a new, and a very good character, but 
 badly sustained by Mr. Lewes ; — Julia (considered in the line of 
 elegant and sentimental Comedy) is an honoiu' to the drama ; and 
 the representation is no less an honour to Mrs. Bulkley; — Sir 
 Lucius O'Trigger is a very indifferent Irishman as drawn by the 
 poet, and much worse so represented by the player ; — Jack 
 
PKEFATOKY NOTES. XXV 
 
 Absolute, rather a little too unimportant, but in representation, 
 sat very easy upon Mr. Woodward ; — Sir Anthony Absolute, a 
 stmnge kind of heterogeneous animal, though, perhaps, not 
 badly conceived; — - Shuter shamefully imperfect in his part, 
 though he occasionally exerted his usual drollery; — the play, in 
 general, leceived little or no advantage from the j)eiformers ; — 
 the author seems to be possessed of real genius, though his Muse 
 is a very capricious kind of Lady ; when in a good humour, she 
 produces the most noble and refined sentiments, and at another 
 time, she sinks unaccountably into ribaldiy, and almost nonsense. 
 The play was attempted to be damned in the most illiberal 
 manner; the hisses were cruel, though sometimes not injudicious; 
 — but as there are some scenes in this pkiy that transcend any 
 modern production, it is hoped their excellency will atone for the 
 manifest deficiency of the rest. A little pruning very necessary. 
 The Epilogue is so exceedingly refined, elegant, and classical, 
 that it equals, if not exceeds, anything of the sort that Roscius 
 [Clari-ick] himself hath evei- produced ; it breathes thi-oughout, 
 the elegant effusion of refined sentiments, and concludes with tlie 
 noble ideas of ' lighting the lamp of wisdom with the torch of 
 love.' — Mrs. Bidkley .spoke the Epilogue exceedingly well. 
 
 Impartialist." 
 Wednesday morning, Jan. 18, 1775. 
 
 " I did not till this day see that you had declared me remiss ji^q Morning 
 
 and impei'fect in mv part in the new comedy of 2'he Rivals : had Cnronic e, 
 
 ^ . . 21 Jan., 1775. 
 
 you only blamed my incapacity to act the part, I should have 
 
 remained silent ; as the reason of my performing it will be made 
 known to the public. But a tenderness foi- my reputation is 
 ■what I hold the most material point, (I mean, that of diligence 
 in my profession, in oi^der to shew a proper respect to the patrons 
 and encouragers of theatrical enteitainments) induces me to 
 acquaint you, that the author of the piece, the managers, and 
 every person conversant with the rehearsals of it, will vouch for 
 my being perfect in the words of the character, to a minute 
 exactness, long before the representation of tiie play. 
 
 John Lee." 
 19 January, 1775. 
 
XXVI PREFATORY NOTES. 
 
 The London '< Tliere never was so much ciowdine: known as at the new 
 Chronicle, ° 
 
 21-24 Jan. ^'omedy of the Eivals on Tuesday last; and it was remarked that 
 
 1775, 
 
 there had not been seen so many Ladies and people of fashion at a 
 first night's representation for a long time. Several people in the 
 galleries, who were evidently planted to disturb the performance, 
 were turned out before the third act ; and it is said a challenge 
 was given in the boxes." 
 
 TheGazetteer, "Friday morning, 20 Jan. 1775 to my letter of yesterday, 
 21 Jan., 1775. pipj^^^ ^o add the following postcript. The Epilogue to the 
 Rivals, in the beginning, somewhat resembles the stile and 
 humour of Roscius : but it is much more refined : the latter part 
 runs a good deal into the diction and sentiment of Pope or 
 Dryden ; it is, perhaps, upon the whole, the best composition 
 of the sort that the Theatre has been honoured with for some 
 years. Latonae Filius." 
 
 Errata in my letter. — For the biightest, read the brighter. 
 
 The Morning " Mr. Editor, I am the last man in the world who would step 
 21 Jan 1725 ^*^^'*^^ *^ upbraid a degraded poet, but when I find a performer is 
 execrated by the wretched pufis of the author's friends, in order 
 to throw the principal part of the odium from his own shoulders 
 on those of the player, I own I cannot help taking fire. I shall 
 be acknowledged no partizan, either of Mr. Lee or Mr. Shuter, 
 when I confess their performance was in every way reprehensible, 
 nay shocking — but at the same time I will aver, that neither of 
 them were invested with anything like a character : Sir Liiciiis 
 O'Trigger was so ungenerous an attack upon a nation, that must 
 justify any severity with which the piece will hereafter be 
 treated : it is the first time I ever remember to have seen so 
 villainous a portrait of an Irish Gentleman, permitted so openly 
 to insult that country upon the boards of an English theatre. 
 For the rest of the piece, the author has my pity ; but for this 
 unjustifiable attack, my warmest resentment. 
 
 Yours, Ac. A Briton." 
 Pall Mall, Friday Noon. 
 
PREFATORY NOTES. XX VII 
 
 Notice is given to the effect that the play will be performed, The Gazetteer, 
 "for the second time," on Saturday next, with alterations, and ^"•' ""^' 
 that another performer will take the part which had been filled 
 by Mr. Lee. 
 
 A pai-agi-aph runs thus : — " One of the pit advises Mr. Sheridan The Morning 
 to proceed vigorously in the great work of castration, and ' 
 
 congi-atulates him on the present length of his piece. The 
 representation must be shortened at least three quarters of an 
 hour ; — surely so capital a mutilation must remove the objection 
 of the coyest critic. 
 
 "The same friend takes the liberty to hint to the celebrated 
 Hugh Kelly Esqre ; that the motives of his generosity, in patron- 
 ising this young author, are liable to misrepresentation ; men so 
 public as he is, are often injuriously accused of vanity and 
 presumption." 
 
 " It was yesterday reported that overtures had been made to The Morning 
 Mr. Sheridan, to give him one hundred pounds each night for „- y ,--- 
 his wife's singing at Drury Lane Oratorios, or for his having 
 half the profits ; and should he accept of either, the band need 
 not be under the least appreheJision of playing to empty benches." 
 
 " At the second representation of the new Comedy of the jjjg British 
 Rivals, it was received with the warmest bursts of approbation Chronicle, 
 by a crowded, and apparently impartial audience. The Author it:5. 
 has very judiciously removed everything that could give ofi'ence 
 in the character of Sir Lucius O'Trigger ; and Mr. Shuter 
 exerted himself in a manner which entirely recovered his credit." 
 
 *• Sir, I was present at Mr. Lee's performance in the Comedy xhe Morning 
 
 Post, 
 •27 Jan., 1775. 
 
 of the Rivals, and said to my friend, I think Mr. Lee is very ^^ ^°^^ 
 
 imperfect in his part : Don't you hear the prompter very plain, 
 replied I? Yes, I do, (we were next to the music) said my 
 friend, and I am sorry for it, pai'ticul;u-ly on the author's account. 
 
XXVIII PREFATORY NOTES. 
 
 — But, however, Mr. Editor, liad it been otherwise, I am very- 
 well persuaded, if he had continued this ill-adopted character, it 
 would have been equally impossible for either the actor or author 
 to have succeeded. I am, your humble servant, Candour." 
 
 The, Morning "This evening we find the Comedy of the Rivals, having been 
 28 Jan 1775 *"^®" ^^*^ ^^^^^ again, to undergo some repaii\s, and have a new- 
 keel, is to be re-launched in Covent-Garden bay: we wish she 
 may run foul of nothing this tide, but quitting her stocks glibly, 
 may sit like a duck on the water. 
 
 "We hear that the admired Epilogue to the Rivals is the 
 composition of Mrs. Sheridan. There is a delicacy in the 
 thoughts and in the expi-essions of this poem, that claim the 
 warmest approbation, and leave us in doubt which we shall most 
 applaud, Mrs. Sheridan's excellence in music, or in poetry." 
 
 Advertise- " ^^^ '^ ^®^^ days will be published price 1/6'^ The Rivals, a 
 
 ment in Comedy. As it is now performing at the Theatre Royal Covent 
 
 Chronicle Garden. Printed for John Wilkie, No. 71, St. Paul's Church 
 
 for 30 Jan. to Yard." 
 
 1 Feb. 
 
 _, _ " The new Comedy of The Rivals, which was performed for the 
 
 30 Jan., 1775 second time on Saturday night, [the 28th] was received with very 
 
 great applause, and will be repeated tomorrow for the benefit of 
 
 the Author, with the new musical entertainment of The two 
 
 Misers." 
 
 The Morning " On Saturday evening last, Mr. Sheridan's Comedy of the 
 ' Rivals, was performed for the second time with additions and 
 alterations, at the theatre-royal, Covent Gai'den. It's present 
 state is widely difiei-ent from that, in which we found it on the 
 first night's i-epresentation. Sir Lucius 0' Trigger being re- 
 touched, has now the appearance of a character; and his assigning 
 Beverley's I'eflection on his country, as the grounds for his desire 
 to quarrel with him, is a reasonable pretence, and wipes ofl" the 
 former stigma undeservedly thrown on the sister kingdom : — it 
 is due to the merit of Mr. Clinch to say, he did the strictest 
 
PREFATORY NOTKS. XXIX 
 
 justice to tlie part, and from his eiise in this cliaracter we soon 
 expect to see him fill more ca[)ital walks in genteel comedy with 
 credit to himself, and pleasure to his audience : — we hope Mr. 
 Lee was behind the scenes, and discovered the reward paid to 
 modest merit, in opposition to that which occasioned his effusions- 
 of conceit. 
 
 *' An alteration of a principal incident, gave a very favourable 
 turn to the fable and the whole piece ; viz. that where young Acres 
 now delivers his challenge to his friend Absolute, begging to Ciirry 
 it to his rival Beverley, not knowing the two characters com}X)sed 
 but one man ; it's being at first given to Sir Lucius, the person 
 who indited it, Avas highly inconsistent. — The cuttings have 
 been everywhere judicious, except where they have deprived 
 Lydia of that comic and picturesque description of her lover, 
 standing like a dripping-statue in the garden, kc. — [this has been 
 restored] the hiss that occasioned this cut, was that of party 
 or ignorance, not of judgment. — "We think the play still too long, 
 and would i-ecommend the total deprivation of the scene, where 
 J. Absolute meets his father upon the parade, as he goes out to 
 fight ; it being an obvious obstruction to the business, and that 
 to answer no pui-pose whatever. 
 
 " The [)erformers were very attentive to the discharge of their 
 duty : and though honest Xed Shuter was unfortunately repre- 
 hensil)le the first night, he has now wiped out the odium, and 
 charmed as much as he had before displeased. — Mrs. Bulkley, 
 though struggling with a violent cold, was excellent in the 
 character of Julia. 
 
 " Upon the Avhole, if we could once bring ourselves to be 
 reconciled to the extraordinary circumstance of Ensign Beverley s 
 losing the affections of a woman who doated upon him, merely 
 because she found him a Captain and a man of family and 
 fortune, we should be induced from many evident traits of 
 literary genius to pronounce the Rivals, a good Comedy 
 
 " We heartily wish it was a general custom for authoi-s to with- The Morning 
 
 draw their pieces after a first peiformance, in order to remove _. . ,,I. 
 ^ ^ ' 30 Jan., 1 1 1:>. 
 
 the objectionable passages, heighten the favourite characters, and 
 
XXX PREFA'IORY NOTES. 
 
 generally amend the play. The author of the Rivals has made 
 good use of his time ; his comedy is altered much for the better 
 since it was first acted. The cast of it is improved, and all the 
 performers are now perfect, and better acquainted with their 
 several parts. It comes within a reasonable compass as to the 
 time taken up in the representation, and the sentiments thrown 
 into the mouth of Sir Lucius O'Trigger produce a good effect, at 
 the same time that they take away every possible idea of the 
 character's being designed as an insult on our neighbours on the 
 other side of St. George's Channel. In the room of the objec- 
 tionable and heavy scenes which are cut out, two new ones of a 
 very different turn are introduced, and we remarked more than 
 one judicious alteration in the Prologue. — The Rivals will now 
 stand its ground ; and although we cannot pronounce it, Avith all 
 its amendments, a comic chef-d'ouvre, it certainly encourages us 
 to hope for a very capital play from the same Avriter at a future 
 season ; he therefore, from motives of candour and encourage- 
 ment, is entitled to the patronage and favour of a generous 
 public." 
 
 31 Jan., 1775. 
 
 The Morning " To Mr. S. on his Comedy of The Rivals. 
 
 Chronicle^^ . u j^^^^. ^_^ j ^f^gj-^ jjg.^^, yo^^^. friends declar( 
 
 The merits of your ' Rivals ' must prevail : 
 But I who know what rival poets are. 
 Sincerely wish youi- Rivals still to fail. 
 Your's, Fighting Bob." 
 
 The Morning " A correspondent observe)^, that Mr. Clinch supported the part 
 
 ' of O'Trigger, in the new play of The Rivals, beyond what could 
 31 Jan,, 1775. 
 
 be expected, considering that he appeared to great disadvantage, 
 
 after such a great man as Mr. Lee." 
 
 " Mr. Garrick was at the play of The RiA'^als last Saturday, and 
 
 was very attentive ; he told a gentleman who sat next to him, 
 
 and a friend to the author, ' I see this play will creep ' ; the 
 
 gentleman made no answer, but at the end of the play (after 
 
 repeated peals of appi-obation) he told him ' I see this play will 
 
PREFATOKV NOTES. XXXI 
 
 " The litei-iuy plunderers, und .sentimental blocklieuds, so much 
 admired by the gaping multitude of our century, were not a little 
 disappointed at the success of Mr. Sheridan. The first night of 
 performing his Comedy, they took particular care to station the 
 serpents of envy in every corner of the house, in order to nip 
 the young adventurer in the bud, but Mr. Sheridan, Herculea- 
 like, even tji the cradle of genius, tore the serpents iusunder by the 
 \ igour of his mind, and baulked the cjinkered malice of his foes." 
 
 " Advertisement extraordinary. Wherefi-s a gentleman to -fjie Morning 
 produce a comedy at Covent Garden Theatre, without having Chronicle, 
 ever been properly entered into the Company of Scribblers, and 
 whereas he has endeavoured to support it by humour, spirited 
 and elegant dialogue, and incident alone, without endeavouring 
 to preach up the moral duties, and benevolent feelings; and 
 whereas by such a conduct the sttige will inevitably relapse into 
 a theatre, and be no more regarded as a school for public lectures, 
 and consequently the sentimental professors will lose their bread, 
 and the Cardinal virtues receive no other support than from the 
 pulpits. — "We whose names are not for shame underwritten, in 
 consequence of this alarming attempt, do severally covenant and 
 agree, to labour to the best of our abilities, in aspersing and decry- 
 ing the performance of the said author ; and in order that this 
 may be more eSectually done, notice is hereby given, that a 
 duncial committee will sit every day in some place appointed for 
 the purpose, where we shall be able to agree together ; where 
 calumny and slander, po.st paid, will be thankfully received. 
 Signed by order of the Chair, Whalebone Sec. N.B. The in- 
 genious are desired not to trouble us with their Correspond- 
 ence." 
 
 " Sir, I was one among many who attended both representa- xhe Morning 
 tions of The Rivals : and I cannot help congratulating the lovers Chronicle, 
 of Comedy on the present success of a piece, which, from some 
 levities and want of experience, was near being crushed the first 
 night : — but now on the strength of it* own merit, and an 
 acquiescence to the taste of the public, will certainly stand fore- 
 most in the list of modern comedies. 
 
XXXII PEEFATORY NOTES. 
 
 " Tliei-e was a candour, at tlie same time a spirit, in tlie 
 alterations in the Prologue, which had a happy effect — I need 
 not say that the Serjeant was inimitably supported by Wood- 
 wai-d. Mr. Clincli makes the genteelest Irishman we have on 
 the stage, and there are some true Hibernian touches (which 
 passed unnoticed before), but which now appeared admirably 
 characteristic. All the most laboured portraits of Hibernian 
 assurance, do not perhaps amount to so humourous an instance 
 as Sir Lucius O'Trigger's forgetting the very name of modesty. 
 Lucy tells him, her Mistress won't like him if he 's so impudent. 
 ' Faith she will, Lucy (says the Baronet) that same — pho — what's 
 the name of it ? Ilodesty, &c.' The contrast between him and 
 Acres in the duel scene, is finely pursued, and is particularly 
 excellent, when he finds his valour oozing away at the approach 
 of his antagonist ; Shuter in Sir Anthony seemed piqued to 
 exert himself, threw the house absolutely into a convulsion of 
 laughter. It may be said that Woodward is too old for his 
 character, Init I will venture to assert that there is no man in 
 England could noio play it better, and that there never was one 
 of his age could play half so Well. The character of Faulkland 
 will improve on the avidience the more it is understood ; and 
 Mrs. Bulkeley never appeared to more advantage than in the 
 amiable and elegant Julia. I am, Sir, yours &c. Aristarchus." 
 
 The Morning " ^I^'- Editor, I desire you will inform the Author of the 
 ^°®^' Rivals that his attack upon Circulating Libraries in his first act 
 is unjust, and very impertinent : Besides his sentiments are so 
 inconsistent — He pretends to make such fine speeches in his 
 play about love, and to pay such a compliment in the Epilogue to 
 the Ladies, yet would decry novels, which form the very food 
 and sustenance of love. I shovild be glad to know what are most 
 of the modei'n comedies but dialogue novels ? Are the two Play- 
 houses better than circulating libraries ? Only that at Mr. 
 Noble's we may chuse our entertainment, and there the managers 
 chuse it for us ; — So, as our club consequently honour your papei- 
 with a place at our breakfast-table, I desix-e you will give this 
 
PREFATORY NOTES. XXXIII 
 
 notice a place in it instantly, that the Author may expunge the 
 malicious scene, or we will let him know that Ladies can kiaa as 
 well as smile. Yours &c. Sukey Saunter." 
 
 " I have not read all the theatrical squibs in your paper and 
 others ; therefore cannot know wliat may have been said for and chronicle 
 against the new Comedy of the Rivals : I went however last 10 Feb., 1775. 
 Tuesday to the Representation, and confess I was much pleased ; 
 but the reason of my troubling you with this is to desire Mr. 
 Sheridan to expunge the word spunk out of Sir Andrew [sic] 
 Absolute's part ; which, if taken in its literal meaning, is non- 
 sense : and considered in any other light, conveys an indelicate 
 idea. — It shocks the delicate ear, and hurts the feelings of the 
 refined Sbnsibilitt." 
 
 •* Three comic poets in three distant streets 
 
 All wrote at once ; — a thing one seldom meete : The Morning 
 
 Chronicle, 
 The first in liveliness of thought surpassed ; ^ jpeit 1775 
 
 In sentiment the next ; — in both the last : — 
 
 Thalia wished her credit to encrease, — 
 
 So bad the Rivals form one perfect piece." 
 
 n. 
 
 Two months after ^ The Rivals ' had become a 
 favourite with London playgoers — which it con- 
 tinues to be though a century and a quarter have 
 elapsed — it was represented at Bath. Mary Linley 
 wrote to her sister, Mrs. Sheridan, an account of 
 the proceedings, which I have printed elsewhere,* 
 the mo8t interesting piece of information being, 
 " but, in my life, I never saw anything go off with 
 such uncommon applause.'' 
 
 In the Bath Chronicle for 9 March, 1775, it is 
 written : *' Mr. Sheridan's comedy of ' The Rivals' 
 * * Sheridan : a Biography,' vol. i. pp. 285-87. 
 
XXXIV PREFATORY NOTES. 
 
 was performed for the first time at our theatre last 
 night ; and we have the pleasure to say that it 
 was received with every mark of approbation and 
 applause from a numerous and polite audience.' 
 Unfortunately the file of Keene's Bath Journal^ 
 one of the oldest newspapers in the kingdom, 
 having been founded in 1742, is imperfect, and 
 the volume for the year 1775 is one of those 
 missing; hence its verdict cannot be given. I 
 may add, however, that when ' The Duenna ' 
 appeared, the Bath Chronicle wrote: "The piece 
 is said to be written by Mr. Sheridan, author of 
 ' The Rivals ' ; if that gentleman continues to 
 improve as much as he has done in the course 
 of the last year, he will shortly be one of the 
 best comic writers for the stage in existence — 
 he has by this opera given proof that he possesses 
 those grand and essential requisites for dramatic 
 authorship — a fertile imagination, great ability, and 
 real genius." 
 
 In Bath, as in London, versifiers celebrated 
 Sheridan's theatrical triumph. The following lines 
 appeared in the Bath Chronicle with the heading, 
 " On seeing the Comedy of ' The Rivals ' on Tues- 
 day evening '' : — 
 
 *' The comic muse Thalia droop'd her head, 
 Lamenting Wicherly and Congreve dead ; 
 Lamenting with a sigh her sad disgrace, 
 That few alas ! remain'd of all her race : — 
 Lo ! Sheridan a Candidate,— the name 
 Reviv'd at once the laughter-loving dame ; 
 On him she fix'd, her credit to regain. 
 His Rivals plac'd him foremost in her train. 
 Bath. An admirer of Merii." 
 
PREFATORY NOTES. XXXV 
 
 III. 
 
 Four montlis after ' The Rivals ' had been ap- 
 plauded by the public, a farce, ' The Scheming 
 Lieutenant,' was performed at Drury Lane for the 
 benefit of Mr. Clinch. The version taken from 
 Sheridan's manuscript differs in a few unimportant 
 particulars from that published in Murray's edition 
 and succeeding ones. The only noteworthy point is 
 that the handwriting of several pages towards the 
 end is in that of Sheridan's wife. 
 
 His next piece was ' The Duenna,' of which the 
 manuscript is incomplete, and I have had to fill up 
 gaps from the current versions. It is noteworthy 
 that Mrs. Sheridan wrote several parts of the manu- 
 script. ' The Duenna ' was first represented on 
 21 November, 1775, at Drury Lane. Moore happily 
 characterized it as one of the very few English operas 
 which combines the merits of legitimate comedy 
 with the attractions of poetry and song. A printed 
 version appeared in Sheridan's lifetime, but he had 
 no hand in it. Whether Mr. Wilkie copied from 
 it I do not know, neither can I tell whether the 
 variations between the edition he edited for Murray 
 and Sheridan's own words are due to him. Some 
 specimens have already been published.* I shall 
 now supplement them with a few more. The first 
 four lines of the second song were written thus : — 
 
 " The crimson dawn bids hence the niglit, 
 Unveil those beauteous eyes my Fair 
 For till the morn of Love is there, 
 I feel no Day, I own no Light." 
 
 ♦ ' ISheridan : a Biography,' vol. i. pp. 305-7. 
 
XXXVI PREFATORY NOTES. 
 
 The editor made these lines run : — 
 
 "The breath of morn bids forth the night, 
 Unveil those beauteous eyes my fair ; 
 For till the dawn of love is there, 
 I feel no day, I own no light." 
 
 While many lines are altered for the worse, the 
 prose is treated in as high-handed a manner. In 
 scene third of the first act Sheridan made the 
 Duenna utter the following words: " O rare effects 
 of Passion and Obstinacy ! The Jirst will blind him 
 to the cheat — and the second will continue him in his 
 Delusion?^ The sentence which I have italicized 
 does not appear in all the printed copies. I must 
 add that the omissions are many in number and 
 seem to have been made at haphazard. At the 
 beginning of the third scene of act second Don 
 Jerome and Don Ferdinand are discovered in a 
 library. In defending Don Anthonio, Ferdinand 
 says that he never sullied his Honour which, with 
 his Title, had outlived his means. Don Jerome 
 replies: "Have they? More shame for them! 
 What business have Honours or Titles to survive 
 when his property is extinct? Nobility is but a 
 help-mate to a good Fortune, and like a Japanese 
 Wife, should perish on the funeral Pile of the 
 Estate." Ferdinand answers : " Not with us, sir. 
 Poverty here, can no more disgrace a Gentleman 
 than Wealth can make one — for my part I think 
 Anthonio's worth more evident since he lost the 
 advantage of Fortune — it is well known that the 
 costly setting of the Jewel more frequently serves 
 to hide its Flaws than help its lustre." The fore- 
 going paragraphs were cancelled. Those who have 
 
PREFATORY NOTES. XXXVII 
 
 read * The Duenna ' before, will read the original 
 version with increased pleasure. If put on the 
 stage again, it would probably be quite as success- 
 ful as Sheridan's other plays. 
 
 IV. 
 
 On 8 May, 1777, ' The School for Scandal ' was 
 performed for the first time ; as an attractive acting 
 Comedy it has held the stage ever since. The 
 detractors by whom Sheridan was followed during 
 life, and who were reinforced after his death by 
 others as spiteful and prejudiced, could not deny 
 that the comedy was fine, but they affirmed that it 
 was the work of a young lady, from whom it was 
 stolen and who died soon after its production. How- 
 ever, the manuscript of it in Sheridan's own hand- 
 writing is preserved at Frampton Court and is now 
 printed in this volume. This version differs in 
 many respects from that which is generally known, 
 and I think it is even better than that which has 
 hitherto been read and acted. As I have endea- 
 voured to reproduce the works of Sheridan as he 
 wrote them, I may be told that he was a bad hand 
 at punctuating and very bad at spelling. Very 
 little good punctuation is due to an author, because 
 but few understand it, and the compositor generally 
 deserves what praise may be merited for rightly 
 placing commas, colons, semicolons, and full stops. 
 The compositor, also, deserves much credit where 
 the spelling is correct. But Sheridan's shortcomings 
 as a speller have been exaggerated. When a boy at 
 Harrow he wrote frequently to his uncle, the word 
 
XXXVIII PREFATORY NOTES. 
 
 " uncle " being spelt as is now done. In the ' School 
 for Scandal ' and other plays he repeatedly writes 
 " Unkle." This is not a sign of ignorance, but it 
 is a proof that he followed the fashion. Writing 
 to his niece Mary White in 1781, the Rev. Gilbert 
 White, of Selborne ends his letter, *' With all due 
 respects I remain Y' loving UnHe " (for that is the 
 modish way of spelling the relationship).* 
 
 The lines with which, according to Moore, the 
 manuscript of the comedy ends are not in the 
 original manuscript. When Sheridan's grandson 
 prepared the manuscript for binding, he noticed 
 that the last leaf had been abstracted, on which it 
 is said to have been written : '' Finished at last, 
 Thank God, R. B. Sheridan. Amen ! W. Hopkins, 
 the Prompter." 
 
 ' The Critic,' Sheridan's last original play, was 
 first represented on 30 October, 1779. There are 
 several additions in the manuscript to the current 
 version, but they are unimportant. However, the 
 reader of the plays in this volume will have the 
 satisfaction of perusing Sheridan's original words. 
 At a future time an edition may appear with 
 various readings. 
 
 T. 
 
 Some writers who were both ill-informed and ill- 
 intentioned have stated that Sheridan could not 
 have produced ' The Rivals ' if his mother had not 
 
 * ' Life aad Letters of Gilbert White,' vol. ii. p. 74. 
 
PREFATORY NOTES. XXXIX 
 
 first penned ' A Journey to Bath.' The readers of 
 that comedy, at the end of this volume, can decide 
 this matter for themselves. It may be questionable 
 whether the fragment now printed from the manu- 
 script in the British Museum represents all that 
 was composed. It is true that Mr. Thomas 
 Sheridan wrote to Samuel Whyte from Blois on 
 23 December, 1764, saying his wife had finished 
 a comedy which was '' spick and span new 
 throughout." It appears to have been submitted 
 to Garrick through Mrs. Victor as an intermediary. 
 Garrick objected to the piece, urging, among other 
 drawbacks, that all the scenes were detached. 
 Mrs. Sheridan made a long defence, saying that 
 all the scenes contribute to the main purpose of 
 the play, which is divulged in the last lines, adding 
 that the fate of two innocent young people " is not 
 decided till the very last scene." Now, if the piece 
 had been before Garrick in a finished form, what 
 need was there of telling him the nature of the 
 conclusion ?* 
 
 After Sheridan's death his elder sister, Mrs. 
 Joseph Lefanu, wrote as follows to Lady Morgan : 
 "My mother's sketch of a comedy, unfinished, was 
 put into my brother Richard's hands by my father 
 at Bath, when we were resident there; but my 
 father never hinted that he had made any use of it 
 in ' The Rivals.' Of my own knowledge I can say 
 nothing, for I never read it."t It is a mistake to 
 say that Sheridan made no use of his mother's 
 
 * 'Private Correspondence of David Garrick,' vol. i. pp. 17 18. 
 t ' Lady Morgan's Memoirs,' vol. ii. p. 61. 
 
XXXX PREFATORY NOTES. 
 
 handiwork, though it is true his indebtedness is 
 but slight. He took a few phrases out of Mrs. 
 Tryfort's mouth and put them into Mrs. Mala- 
 prop's. The name of Savage, given by his mother 
 to the keeper of a lodging - house, he applied to 
 two of the chief characters in ' The School for 
 Scandal.' 
 
THE RIVALS. 
 
 A COMEDY. 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 A PREFACE to a play seems generally to be considered as a kind of 
 Closet- prologue, in which — if hia Piece has been successful the 
 Author solicits that indulgence from the Reader which he had before 
 experienced from the Audience : But as the scope and immediate 
 object of a Play is to please a mixed assembly in Representation 
 (whose judgment in the Theatre at least is decisive), its degree of 
 reputation is usually as determined by the public, before it can 
 be prepared for the cooler tribunal of the Study. Thus any farther 
 solicitude on the part of the Writer becomes unnecessary at least, 
 if not an intrusion ; and if the Piece has been condemned in the 
 Performance, I fear an Address to the Closet, like an Appeal to 
 posterity, is constantly regarded as the procrastination of a suit, 
 from a consciousness of the weakness of the cause. From these 
 considerations, the following Comedy would certainly have been 
 submitted to the Reader, without any further introduction than 
 what it had in the Representation, but that its success has probably 
 been founded on a circumstance which the Author is informed has 
 not before attended a theatrical trial, and which consequently ought 
 not to pass unnoticed. 
 
 I need scarcely add, that the circumstance alluded to was the 
 withdrawing of the Piece, to remove those imperfections in the 
 first Representation which were too obvious to escape reprehension, 
 and too numerous to admit of a hasty correction. There are few 
 writers, I believe, who, even in the fullest consciousness of error, do 
 not wish to palliate the faults which they acknowledge ; and, 
 however trifling the performance, to second their confession of its 
 deficiencies, by whatever plea seems least disgraceful to their ability. 
 In the present instance, it cannot be said to amount either to 
 candour or modesty in me, to acknowledge an extreme inexperience 
 and want of judgment on matters, in which, without guidance from 
 practice, or spur from success, a young man should scarcely boast 
 
2 THE RIVALS. 
 
 of being an adept. If it be said that under such disadvantages no one 
 should attempt to write a play — I must beg leave to dissent from the 
 position, while the first point of experience that I have gained on the 
 subject is, a knowledge of the candour and judgment with which an 
 impartial Public distinguishes between the errors of inexperience and 
 incapacity, and the indulgence which it shews even to a disposition to 
 remedy the defects of either. 
 
 It were unnecessary to enter into any farther extenuation of what 
 was thought exceptionable in this Play, but that it has been said, that 
 the Managers should have prevented some of the defects before its 
 appearance to the public — and in particular the uncommon length of 
 the piece as represented the first night. — It were an ill return for the 
 most liberal and gentlemanly conduct on their side, to suflfer any 
 censure to rest where none was deserved. Hurry in writing has long 
 been exploded as an excuse for an author ; — however, in the dramatic 
 line, it may happen, that both an Author and a Manager may wish to 
 fill a chasm in the entertainment of the Public with a hastiness not 
 altogether culpable. The season was advanced when I first put the 
 play into Mr. Harris's hands : — it was at that time at least double the 
 length of any acting comedy. — I profited by his judgment and ex- 
 perience in the curtailing of it — 'till, I believe, his feeling for the 
 vanity of a young Author got the better of his desire for correctness, 
 and he left many excrescences remaining, because he had assisted in 
 pruning so many more. Hence, though I was not uninformed that 
 the Acts were still too long, I flattered myself that, after the first trial, 
 I might with safer judgment proceed to remove what should appear to 
 have been most dissatisfactory. Many other errors there were, which 
 might in part have arisen from my being by no means conversant with 
 plays in general, either in reading or at the theatre. —Yet I own that, 
 in one respect, I did not regret my ignorance : for as my first wish in 
 attempting a Play was to avoid every appearance of plagiary, I thought 
 I should stand a better chance of eflfecting this from being in a walk 
 which I had not frequented, and where consequently the progress of 
 invention was less likely to be interrupted by starts of recollection : 
 for on subjects on which the mind has been much informed, invention 
 is slow of exerting itself. — Faded ideas float in the fancy like half- 
 forgotten dreams ; and the imagination in its fullest enjoyments 
 becomes suspicious of its ofispring, and doubts whether it has created 
 or adopted. 
 
 With regard to some particular passages which on the First Night's 
 Representation seemed generally disliked, I confess, that if I felt any 
 emotion of surprise at the disapprobation, it was not that they were 
 
THE RIVALS. 3 
 
 disapproved of, but that I had not before perceived that they deserved 
 it. As some part of the attack on the Piece was begun too early to 
 pass for the sentence of Judgment, which is ever tardy in condemning, 
 it has been suggested to me, that much of the disapprobation must 
 have arisen from virulence of Malice, rather than severity of Criticism : 
 but as I was more apprehensive of there being just grounds to 
 excite the latter, than conscious of having deserved the former, I con- 
 tinue not to believe that probable, which I am sure must have been 
 unprovoked. However, if it was so, and I could even mark the 
 quarter from whence it came, it would be ungenerous to retort ; for 
 no passion suflFers more than malice from disappointment. For my 
 own part, I see no reason why the Author of a Play should not regard 
 a First Night's Audience as a candid and judicious friend attending, 
 in behalf of the Public, at his last Rehearsal. If he can dispense with 
 flattery, he is sure at least of sincerity, and even though the annotation 
 be rude, he may rely upon the justness of the comment. Considered 
 in this light, that Audience, whose Jiat is essential to the Poet's claim, 
 whether his object be Fame or Profit, has surely a right to expect 
 some deference to its opinion, from principles of Politeness at least, if 
 not from Gratitude. 
 
 As for the little puny Critics, who scatter their peevish strictures in 
 private circles, and scribble at every Author who has the eminence of 
 being unconnected with them, as they are usually spleen-swoln from a 
 vain idea of increasing their consequence, there will always be found 
 a petulance and illiberality in their remarks, which should place them 
 as far beneath the notice of a Gentleman, as their original dulness had 
 sunk them from the level of the most unsuccessful Author. 
 
 It is not without pleasure that I catch at an opportunity of justifying 
 myself from the charge of intending any national reflection in the 
 character of Sir Lucius O'Trigger. If any Gentlemen opposed the 
 Piece from that idea, I thank them sincerely for their opposition ; and 
 if .the condemnation of this Comedy (however misconceived the provo- 
 cation) could have added one spark to the decaying flame of national 
 attachment to the country supposed to be reflected on, I should have 
 been happy in its fate ; and might with truth have boasted, that it had 
 done more real service in its failure, than the successful morality of a 
 thousand stage-novels will ever effect. 
 
 It is usual, I believe, to thank the Performers in a new Play, for 
 the exertion of their several abilities. But where (as in this instance) 
 their merit has been so striking and uncontroverted, as to call for the 
 warmest and truest applause from a number of judicious Audiences, 
 the Poet's after-praise comes like the feeble acclamation of a child to 
 
 n 2 
 
4 THE RIVALS. 
 
 close the shouts of a multitude. The conduct, however, of the Prin- 
 cipals in a theatre cannot be so apparent to the Public. — I think it 
 therefore but justice to declare, that from this Theatre (the only one 
 I can speak of from experience) those Writers who wish to try the 
 Dramatic Line will meet with that candour and liberal attention, 
 which are generally allowed to be better calculated to lead genius into 
 excellence, than either the precepts of judgment, or the guidance of 
 
 experience. 
 
 THE AUTHOR. 
 
THE RIVALS. 
 DRAMATIS PERSONS. 
 
 AS ORIGINALLY ACTED AT COVENT GARDEN THEATRE IN 1776. 
 
 Sir Anthony Ab- 
 solute . . . Mr. Shnter. 
 
 Captain Absolute Mr. Woodward. 
 
 Faulkland . . Mr. Lewis. 
 
 AoRKs .... Mr. Quick. 
 
 Sir Lucius 
 
 O'Trigger . . Mr. Lee. 
 
 Fag Mr. Lee Lewes. 
 
 David .... Mr. Dunstcd. 
 Thomas . . . Mr. Fearon. 
 Mrs. Malaprop. Mrs. Green. 
 LvDiA Languish Miss Barsanti. 
 Julia .... Mrs. Bulkley. 
 Lu(;y .... Mrs. Lessingham. 
 
 Maid, Boy, Servants, &c. 
 
 SCENE.— Bath. 
 Time of Action — Five Hours. 
 
 PROLOGUE. 
 
 By the Author. 
 
 spoken by MR. woodward AND MR. QUICK. 
 
 Enter Serjeant- at-Law, and Atvori^ey follotoing, and giving a paper, 
 
 Serj. What 'a here ! — a vile cramp hand ! I cannot see 
 Without my spectacles. 
 
 Att. He means his fee. 
 
 Nay, Mr. Serjeant, good sir, try again. [Gives money. 
 
 Serj. The scrawl improves ! [mo>e] O come, 'tis pretty plain. 
 Hey ! how 's this ? The Poet's Brief again. ho ! 
 A poet's brief ! a poet and a fee ! 
 
 Att. Yes, sir ! though you without reward, I know. 
 Would gladly plead the Muse's cause. 
 
 Serj. So ! — so ! 
 
 Att. And if the fee offends your wrath should fall 
 On me. 
 
 Serj. Dear Dibble, no offence at all. 
 
 Att. Some sons of Phrebus in the courts we meet, 
 
 Serj. And fifty sons of Phcebus in the Fleet ! 
 
 Att. Nor pleads he worse, who with a decent sprig 
 Of bays adorns his legal waste of wig. 
 
 Serj. Full-bottomed heroes thus, on signs, unfurl 
 A leaf of laurel in a grove of curl ! 
 Yet tell your client, that, in adverse days. 
 This wig is warmer than a bush of bays. 
 
 Att. Do you, then, sir, my client's place supply. 
 
 Profuse of robe, and prodigal of tie 
 
 Do you, with all those blushing powers of face. 
 
6 TEE EIVALS. 
 
 And wonted bashful hesitating grace, 
 
 Rise in the court and flourish on the case. [Exit, 
 
 Serj. For practice then suppose — this brief will show it, — 
 Me, Serjeant Woodward, — Council for the Poet, 
 Us'd to the ground — I know 'tis hard to deal 
 With this dread Court, from whence there 's no appeal ; 
 No Tricking here, to blunt the edge of Law, 
 Or, damn'd in Equity, escape by Flaw : 
 But Judgment given — your Se^itence must remain ; 
 No Writ of Error lies — to Drury Lane ! 
 
 Yet when so kind you seem — 'tis past dispute 
 We gain some favour, if not Costs of Siiit. 
 No spleen is here ! 1 see no hoarded fury ; — 
 I think I never faced a milder Jury ! 
 Sad else our plight ! where frowns are transportation, 
 A hiss the gallows, and a groan, damnation ! 
 But such the public candour, without fear 
 My Client waives all right of challenge here. 
 No Newsman from our Session is diamiss'd, 
 Nor Wit nor Critic ice scratch off the list ; 
 His faults can never hurt another's ease. 
 His crime at worst — a bad attempt to please : 
 Thus, all respecting, he appeals to all. 
 And by the general voice will stand or fall. 
 
 PROLOGUE. 
 
 By the Author. 
 
 SPOKEN ON THE TENTH NIGHT, BY MRS. BULKLEY. 
 
 Granted our cause, our suit and trial o'er. 
 The worthy serjeant need appear no more : 
 In pleasing I a different client choose. 
 He served the Poet— I would serve the Muse, 
 Like him, I '11 try to merit your applause, 
 A female counsel in a female's cause. 
 
 Look on this form,*— where humour, quaint and sly, 
 Dimples the cheek, and points the beaming eye ; 
 Where gay invention seems to boast its wiles 
 In amourous hint, and half-triumphant smiles ; 
 
 * Pointing to the figure of Comedy. 
 
THE RIVALS. 
 
 While her light mask or covers satire's strokes, 
 Or hides the conscious blush her wit provokes. 
 Look on her well— does she seera'd form'd to teach ? 
 Should you expect to hear this lady preach ? 
 Is grey experience suited to her youth ? 
 Do solemn sentiments become that mouth ? 
 Bid her be grave, those lips should rebel prove 
 To every theme that slanders mirth or love. 
 Yet, thus adorn'd with every graceful art 
 
 To charm the fancy and yet reach the heart 
 
 Must we displace her, and instead advance 
 The goddess of the woful countenance — 
 The sentimental Muse ?— Her emblems view. 
 The Pilgrim's Progress, and a sprig of rue ! 
 View her— too chaste to look like flesh and blood — 
 Primly portray 'd on emblematic wood ! 
 There, fix'd in usurpation, should she stand. 
 She '11 snatch the dagger from her sister's hand : 
 And having made her votaries weep a flood, 
 Good heaven ! she '11 end her comedies in blood — 
 Bid Harry Woodward break poor Dunstals crown ! 
 Imprison Quick, and knock Ned Shuter down ; 
 While sad Barsanti, weeping o'er the scene. 
 Shall stab herself— or poison Mrs. Green. 
 
 Such dire encroachments to prevent in time, 
 Demands the critic's voice— the poet's rhyme. 
 Can our light scenes add strength to holy laws 
 Such puny patronage but hurts the cause : 
 Fair virtue scorns our feeble aid to ask ; 
 And moral truth disdains the trickster's mask 
 For here their favourite stands,* whose brow severe 
 And sad, claims youth's respect, and pity's tear ; 
 Who, when oppress'd by foes her worth creates, 
 Can point a poniard at the guilt she hates. 
 
 * Pointing to Tragedy. 
 
8 THE RIVALS. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 Scene l.—A Street in Bath. 
 
 Coachman crosses the Stage ; enter Fag, looking after him. 
 
 Fag. What ! Thomas ! sure 'tis he ?— What ! Thomas ! Thomas ! 
 
 Coach. Hay !— Odd's life ! Mr. Fag !— give us your hand, my old 
 fellow-servant. 
 
 Fag. Excuse ray glove, Thomas : — 1 'm devilish glad to see you, my 
 lad. Why, my prince of charioteers, you look as hearty ! — but who 
 the deuce thought of seeing you in Bath ? 
 
 Coach. Sure, master, Madam Julia, Harry, Mrs. Kate, and the 
 postilion be all come. 
 
 Fag. Indeed ! 
 
 Coach. Ay, master thought another fit of the gout was coming to 
 make him a visit ; so he 'd a mind to gi't the slip, and whip ! we 
 were all off at an hour's warning. 
 
 Fag. Aye, aye, hasty in everything, or it would not be Sir Anthony 
 Absolute ! 
 
 Coach. But tell us, Mr. Fag, how does young Master? Odd ! Sir 
 Anthony will stare to see the Captain here ! 
 
 Fag. I do not serve Captain Absolute now. 
 
 Coach. Why sure ! 
 
 Fag. At present I am employ'd by Ensign Beverley. 
 
 Coach. I doubt, Mr. Fag, you ha'n't changed for the better. 
 
 Fag. I have not changed, Thomas. 
 
 Coach. No ! Why didn't you say you had left young Master ? 
 
 Fag. No. — Well, honest Thomas, I must puzzle you no farther : — 
 briefly then — Captain Absolute and Ensign Beverley are one and the 
 same person. 
 
 Coach. The devil they are ! 
 
 Fag. So it is indeed, Thomas ; and the Ensign half of my master 
 being on guard at present — the Captain has nothing to do with me. 
 
 Coach. So, so ! — What, this is some freak, I warrant ! — Do, tell us, 
 Mr. Fag, the meaning o't — you know I ha' trusted you. 
 
 Fag. You '11 be secret, Thomas ] 
 
 Coach. As a coach-horse. 
 
 Fag. Why then the cause of all this is — Love, — Love, Thomas, who 
 (as you may get read to you) has been a masquerader ever since the 
 days of Jupiter. 
 
THE RIVALS. 9 
 
 Coach. Aye, aye ; — I guessed there was a lady in the case : — but 
 pray, why does your Master pass only for Ensign ? — Now if he had 
 shamm'd General indeed 
 
 Fag. Ah ! Thomas, there lies the mystery o' the matter. Hark'ee, 
 Thomas, my Master is in love with a lady of a very singular taste : a 
 lady who likes him better as a half- pay Ensign than if she knew he 
 was son and heir to Sir Anthony Absolute, a baronet with three 
 thousand a year. 
 
 Coach. That is an odd taste indeed !— But has she got the stuflf, 
 Mr. Fag ? Is she rich, hey 1 
 
 Fag. Rich ! — Why, I believe she owns half the stocks ! Z— ds ! 
 Thomas, she could pay the national debt as easily as I could my 
 washerwoman ! She has a lapdog that eats out of gold,— she feeds 
 her parrot with small pearls, — and all her thread-papers are made of 
 bank-notes ! 
 
 Coach. Bravo ! faith .'—Odd ! I warrant she has a set of thousands 
 at least : — but does she draw kindly with the Captain ? 
 
 Fag. As fond as pigeons. 
 
 Coach. May one hear her name ? 
 
 Fag. Miss Lydia Languish. — But there is an old tough auut in the 
 way ; though, by-the-by, she has never seen my Master — for we got 
 acquainted with Miss while on a visit in Gloucestershire. 
 
 Coach. Well — I wish they were once harnessed together in matri- 
 mony.— But pray, Mr. Fag, what kind of a place is this Bath ?— I 
 ha' heard a deal of it — here^s a mort o' merry-making, hey ? 
 
 Fag. Pretty well, Thomas, pretty well— 'tis a good lounge. Though 
 at present we are, like other great assemblies, divided into parties — 
 High-roomians and Low-roomians ; however for my part, I have 
 resolved to stand neuter, and so I told Bob Brush at our last com- 
 mittee. 
 
 Coach. But what do the folks do here ? 
 
 Fag. Oh ! there are little amusements enough ; in the morning we 
 go to the pump-room (though neither my Master nor I drink the 
 waters) ; after breakfast we saunter on the parades or play a game 
 at billiards ; at night we dance ; but d — n the place, I 'm tired of it : 
 their regular hours stupefy me — not a fiddle nor a card after eleven ! — 
 However Mr. Faulkland's gentleman and I keep it up a little in private 
 parties ; —I '11 introduce you there, Thomas— you '11 like him much. 
 
 Coach. Sure I know Mr. Du-Peigne— you know his Master is to 
 marry Madam Julia. 
 
 Fag. I had forgot.— But, Thomas, you must polish a little— indeed 
 you must. — Here now— this wig ! What the devil do you dt) with a 
 
10 TEE BIVALS. 
 
 wig, Thomas ? — None of the London whips of any degree of Ton wear 
 wigs now. 
 
 Coach. More 's the pity ! more '3 the pity ! I say. — Odd's life ! when 
 I heard how the lawyers and doctors had took to their own hair, I 
 thought how 'twould go next : — odd rabbit it ! when the fashion had 
 got foot on the Bar, I guessed 'twould mount to the Box ! — but 'tis all 
 out of character, believe me, Mr, Fag : and look'ee, I '11 never gi' up 
 mine — the lawyers and doctors may do as they will. 
 
 Fag. Well, Thomas, we '11 not quarrel about that. 
 
 Coach. Why, bless you, the gentlemen of they professions ben't all 
 of a mind — for in our village now thoff Jack Gauge, the exciseman, has 
 ta'en to his carrots, there 's little Dick the farrier swears he '11 never 
 forsake his bob, tho' all the college should appear with their own 
 
 Fag. Indeed ! well said, Dick ! — but hold — mark ! mark ! Thomas. 
 
 Coach. Zooks ! 'tis the captain. — Is that the lady with him ? 
 
 Fag. No ! no ! that is Madam Lucy, my Master's mistress's maid. 
 They lodge at that house — but I must after him to tell him the news. 
 
 Coach. Odd ! he 's giving her money ! — Well, Mr. Fag 
 
 Fag. Good-bye, Thomas. I have an appointment in Gydes' Porch 
 this evening at eight ; meet me there, and we '11 make a little party. 
 
 [Exeunt severally. 
 
 Scene II. — A Dressing-room mMus. Malaprop's Lodgings. 
 
 Lydia sitting on a sofa, with a book in her hand. Lucy, as just returned 
 from a message. 
 
 Luc. Indeed, Ma'am, I transferr'd half the town in search of it ! 
 I don't believe there 's a circulating library in Bath I han't been at. 
 
 Lyd. And could not you get The Reward of Constancy ? 
 
 Lucy. No, indeed. Ma'am. 
 
 Lyd. Nor The Fatal Connection? 
 
 Lucy. No, indeed. Ma'am. 
 
 Lyd. Nor The Mistakes of the Heart ? 
 
 Lucy. Ma'am, as ill luck would have it, Mr. Bull said Miss Sukey 
 Saunter had just fetched it away. 
 
 Lyd. Heigh-ho ! Did you inquire for The Delicate Distress ? 
 
 Lucy. Or, The Memoirs of Lady Woodford ? Yes, indeed. Ma'am. 
 I asked everywhere for it ; and I might have brought it from Mr. 
 Frederick's, but Lady Slattern Lounger, who had just sent it home, had 
 so soiled and dog's-eared it, it wa'n't fit for a christian to read. 
 
 Lyd. Heigh-ho ! Yes, I always know when Lady Slattern has been 
 
THE RIVALS. 11 
 
 before me. She haa a moat observing thumb ; and I believe cherishes 
 her nails for the convenience of making marginal notes. — Well, child, 
 what have you brought me ? 
 
 Lucy. Oh ! here, ma'am.— [rafctngr books from binder her cloke, and 
 from her jiockets.] This is The Gordian Knot, — &nd this Peregrine 
 Pickle. Here are The Tears of Sensibility, and Humphry Clinker. 
 This is The Memoirs of a Lady of Quality, written by herself, and here 
 the second volume of Tlie Sentimental Journey. 
 
 Lyd. Heigh-ho !— What are those books by the glass ? 
 
 Lricy. The great one is only The Whole Duty of Man, where I press 
 a few blonds, Ma'am. 
 
 Lyd. Very well — give me the sal volatile. 
 
 Lucy. Is it in a blue cover, Ma'am ? 
 
 Lyd. My smelling-bottle, you simpleton ! 
 
 Lucy. Oh, the drops ! — here. Ma'am. 
 
 Lyd. No note, Lucy ? 
 
 Lucy No, indeed, Ma'am — but I have seen a certain person — 
 
 Lyd. What, my Beverley ! Well Lucy ? 
 
 Lucy. O Ma'am he looks so desponding and melancholic ! 
 
 Lyd. Hold ! Lucy — here 's some one coming — quick ! see who it is. 
 {Exit Lucy.) — Surely I heard my cousin Julia's voice. 
 
 Re-enter Lucy. 
 
 Lucy. Lud ! Ma'am, here is Miss Melville. 
 
 Lyd. Is it possible ! — 
 
 Enter Julia. 
 
 Lyd. My dearest Julia, how delighted am I ! — [Embrace.} How 
 unexpected was this happiness ! 
 
 Jxd. True, Lydia — and our pleasure is the greater. — But what has 
 been the matter I — you were denied to me at first ! 
 
 Lyd. Ah, Julia, I have a thousand things to tell you '.—But first 
 inform me what has conjur'd you to Bath I — Is Sir Anthony here ? 
 
 Jid. He is — we are arrived within this hour — and I suppose he will 
 be here to wait on Mrs. Malaprop as soon as he is dress'd. 
 
 Lyd. Then before we are interrupted, let me impart to you some of 
 my distress ! I know your gentle nature will sympathize with me, 
 tho' your prudence may condemn me ! My letters have informed 
 you of my whole connexion with Beverley ; but I have lost him, 
 Julia ! My aunt has discovered our intercourse by a note she inter- 
 cepted, and has confin'd me ever since ! Yet, would you believe it ? 
 she has absolutely fallen in love with a tall Irish baronet she met one 
 night since she has been here, at Lady Macshuffle's rout. 
 
12 TEE RIVALS. 
 
 Jul. You jest, Lydia ! 
 
 Lxjd. No, upon my word, — She really carries on a kind of cor- 
 respondence with him, under a feigned name though, till she chooses 
 to be known to him ; — but it is a Delia or a Celia, I assure you. 
 
 Jill. Then, surely, she is now more indulgent to her niece. 
 
 Lyd. Quite the contrary. Since she has discovered her own frailty, 
 she is become more suspicious of mine. Then I must inform you of 
 another plague !— That odious Acres is to be in Bath to-day ; so that 
 I protest I shall be teased out of all spirits ! 
 
 Jul. Come, come, Lydia, hope the best — Sir Anthony shall use his 
 interest with Mrs. Malaprop. 
 
 Lyd. But you have not heard the worst. Unfortunately I had 
 quarrelled with my poor Beverley, just before my aunt made the dis- 
 covery, and I have not seen him since, to make it up. 
 
 Jtd. What was his offence ? 
 
 Lyd. Nothing at all ! — But, I don't know how it was, as often as we 
 had been together, we had never had a quarrel ! And, somehow I was 
 afraid he would never give me an opportunity. — So, last Thursday, 
 I wrote a letter to myself, to inform myself that Beverley was at that 
 time paying his addresses to another woman. — I sign'd it your FrievA 
 unknown, showed it to Beverley, charg'd him with his falsehood, put 
 myself in a violent passion, and vow'd I 'd never see him more. 
 
 Jid. And you let him depart so, and have not seen him since ? 
 
 Lyd. 'Twas the next day my aunt found the matter out. I intended 
 only to have teased him three days and a half, and now I 've lost him 
 for ever. 
 
 Jid. If he is as deserving and sincere as you have represented him 
 to me, be will never give you up so. Yet, consider, Lydia, you tell 
 me he ia but an ensign, and you have thirty thousand pounds ! 
 
 Lyd. But you know I lose most of my fortune, if I marry without 
 my aunt's consent, till of age ; and that is what I have determin'd to 
 do, ever since I knew the penalty. Nor could I love the man, who 
 would wish to wait a day for the alternative. 
 
 Jul. Nay, this is caprice ! 
 
 Lyd. What, does Julia tax me with caprice ?— I thought her lover 
 Faulkland had enured her to it. 
 Jul. 1 do not love even his faults. 
 Lyd. But a-propos — you have sent to him, I suppose ? 
 Jul. Not yet, upon my word — nor has he the least idea of my being 
 in Bath. — Sir Anthony's resolution was so sudden, I could not inform 
 him of it. 
 
 Lyd. Well, Julia, you are your own mistress (though under the 
 
THE RIVALS. 13 
 
 protection of Sir Anthony), yet have you, for this long year, been the 
 slave to the caprice, the whim, the jealousy of this ungrateful Faulk- 
 land, who will ever delay assuming the right of a husband, while you 
 suffer him to be equally imperious as a lover, 
 
 Jul. Nay, you are wrong entirely. We were contracted before my 
 father's death. — That, and some consequent embarrassments, have 
 delay'd what I know to be my Faulkland's most ardent wish. — He is 
 too generous to trifle on such a point — and for his character, you 
 wrong him there, too. — No, Lydia, he is too proud, too noble to be 
 jealous ; if he is captious, 'tis without dissembling ; if fretful, without 
 rudeness. — Unus'd to the foppery of love, he is negligent of the little 
 duties expected from a lover — but being unhackney'd in the passion, 
 his love is ardent and sincere ; and as it engrosses his whole soul, he 
 expects every thought and emotion of his mistress to move in unison 
 with his. — Yet, though his pride calls for this full return — his humility 
 makes him undervalue those qualities in him, which should entitle 
 him to it ; and not feeling why he should be lov'd to the degree he 
 wishes, he still suspects that he is not lov'd enough. — This temper, I 
 must own, has cost me many unhappy hours ; but I have learned to 
 think myself his debtor, for those imperfections which arise from the 
 ardour of his love. 
 
 Lyd. Well, I cannot blame you for defending him. — But tell me 
 candidly, Julia, had he never sav'd your life, do you think you should- 
 have been attach'd to him as you are ? — Believe me, the rude blast 
 that overset your boat was a prosperous gale of love to him. 
 
 Jnl. Gratitude may have strengthened my attachment to Mr. Faulk- 
 land, but I loved him before he had preserv'd me ; yet surely that 
 alone were an obligation sufficient. 
 
 Lyd. Obligation ! — why a water spaniel would have done as much I 
 — Well, I should never think of giving my heart to a man because he 
 could swim ! 
 
 Jul. Come, Lydia, you are too inconsiderate. 
 
 Lyd. Nay, I do but jest — What 's here ? 
 
 Enter Llxy in a hurry, 
 
 Lucy. Ma'am, here is Sir Anthony Absolute just come home with 
 your aunt. 
 
 Lyd. They'll not come here. — Lucy do you watch. [E.i:it Lucv. 
 
 Jxd. Yet I must go.— Sir Anthony does not know I am here, and if 
 we meet, he '11 detain me, to show me the town. I '11 take another 
 opportunity of paying my respects to Mrs. Malaprop, when she shall 
 treat me, as long as she chooses, with her select words so ingeniously 
 misapplied, without being mispron(yunced. 
 
14 THE RIVALS. 
 
 Re-enter Lucy. 
 
 Lucxj. O Lud ! Ma'am, they are both coming upstairs. 
 
 Lyd. Well, I'll not detain you, Coz. — Adieu, my dear Julia, I'm 
 sure you are in haste to send to Faulkland. — There — through my room 
 you '11 find another staircase. 
 
 Jul. Adieu ! {Emhrace.'] {Eddt Julia. 
 
 Lyd. Here, my dear Lucy, hide these books. Quick, quick ! — 
 Fling Peregrine Pickle under the toilet— throw Roderick Random into 
 the closet — put The Innocent Adtdtery into The Wlwle Duty of Man — ■ 
 thrust Lord Aimworth under the sofa — cram Ovid behind the bolster 
 — there — put The Man of Feeling into your pocket — so, so — now lay 
 Mrs. Chapone in sight, and leave Fordyces Sermons open on the table. 
 
 Lucy. burn it, Ma'am ! the hair-dresser has torn away as far as 
 Proper Pride. 
 
 Lyd. Never mind — open at Sobriety. — Fling me Lord Chesterfield's 
 Letters. — Now for 'em. [Exit Lucy. 
 
 Enter Mrs. Maxapkop, and Sir Anthony Absolute. 
 
 Mrs. 2Ial. There, Sir Anthony, there sits the deliberate Simpleton 
 who wants to disgrace her family, and lavish herself on a fellow not 
 worth a shilling. 
 
 Lyd. Madam, I thought you once 
 
 3Irs. 2Ial. You thought, Miss ! — I don't know any business you 
 have to think at all — thought does not become a young woman ; the 
 point we would request of you is, that you will promise to forget this 
 fellow — to illiterate him, I say, quite from your memory. 
 
 Lyd. Ah, Madam ! our memories are independent of our wills. It 
 is not so easy to forget. 
 
 Mrs. 3Ial. But I say it is, Miss ; there is nothing on earth so easy 
 as to forget, if a person chooses to set about it. — I 'm sure I have as 
 much forgot your poor dear uncle as if he had never existed — and I 
 thought it my duty so to do ; and let me tell you, Lydia, these violent 
 memories don't become a young woman. 
 
 Sir Anth. Why sure she won't pretend to remember what she 's 
 ordered not ! — aye, this comes of her reading ! 
 
 Lyd. What crime. Madam, have I committed, to be treated thus ? 
 
 Mis. Mai. Now don't attempt to extirpate yourself from the matter ; 
 you know I have proof controvertible of it. — But tell me, will you 
 promise to do as you 're bid ?— Will you take a husband of your friends 
 choosing 1 
 
 Lyd. Madam, I must tell you plainly, that had I no preference for 
 any one else, the choice you have made would be my aversion. 
 
THE RIVALS. 15 
 
 Mrs. Mai. What business have you, Miss, with preference and 
 aversiottj ? They don't become a young woman ; and you ought to know, 
 that as both always wear off, 'tis safest in matrimony to begin with a 
 little aversion. I am sure I hated your poor dear uncle before marriage 
 as if he 'd been a black-a-moor — and yet, Miss, you are sensible what a 
 wife I made ! — and when it pleas'd Heaven to release me from him, 
 'tis unknown what tears I shed ! — But suppose we were going to give 
 you another choice, will you promise us to give up this Beverley ? 
 
 Lyd. Could I belie my thoughts so far, as to give that promise, my 
 actions would certainly as far belie my words. 
 
 Mrs. Mai. Take yourself to your room. — You are fit company for 
 nothing but your own ill-humours. 
 
 Lijd. Willingly, Ma'am — I cannot change for the worse. [Exit Lydia. 
 
 Mrs. Mai. There 's a little intricate hussy for you ! 
 
 Sir Anth. It is not to be wondered at, Ma'am, — all this is the 
 natural consequence of teaching girls to read. Had I a thousand 
 daughters, by Heavens ! I 'd as soon have them taught the black art 
 as their alphabet ! 
 
 Mrs. Mai. Nay, nay. Sir Anthony, you are an absolute misanthropy. 
 
 Sir Anth. In my way hither, Mrs. Malaprop, I observed your niece's 
 maid coming forth from a circulating library ! — She had a book in each 
 hand — they were half-bound volumes, with marbled covers ! — From that 
 moment I guess'd how full of duty I should see her mistress ! 
 
 Mrs. Mai. Those are vile places, indeed ! 
 
 Sir Anth, Madam^ a circulating library in a town is, as an evergreen 
 tree, of diabolical knowledge ! — It blossoms through the year ! — And 
 depend on it, Mrs. Malaprop, that they who are so fond of handling 
 the leaves, will long for the fruit at last. 
 
 Airs. Mai. Well, but Sir Anthony, your wife, Lady Absolute, was 
 fond of books. 
 
 Sir Anth. Aye— and injury sufficient they were to her. Madam — But 
 were I to chuse another helpmate, the extent of her erudition should 
 consist in knowing her simple letters, without their mischievous 
 combinations ; — and the summit of her science be — her ability to 
 count as far as twenty. — The first, Mrs. Malaprop, would enable her 
 to work A. A. upon my linen ; — and the latter would be quite suffi- 
 cient to prevent her giving me a Shirt, No. 1, and a Stock No. 2. 
 
 Mrs. Mai. Fie, fie. Sir Anthony ! you surely speak laconically ! 
 
 Sir Anth. Why, Mrs. Malaprop, in moderation now, what would 
 you have a woman know ? 
 
 Mrs. Mai. Observe me, Sir Anthony. I would by no means wish a 
 daughter of mine to be a progeny of learning ; I don't think so much 
 
16 THE RIVALS. 
 
 learning becomes a young woman ; for instance, I would never let her 
 meddle with Greek, or Hebrew, or Algebra, or Simony, or Fluxions, 
 or Paradoxes, or such iuflaiumatory branches of learning— neither 
 would it be necessary for her to handle any of your mathematical, 
 astronomical, diabolical instruments. — But, Sir Anthony, I would send 
 her, at nine years old, to a boarding-school, in order to learn a little 
 ingenuity and artifice. Then, Sir, she should have a supercilious 
 knowledge in accounts ; — and as she grew up, I would have her 
 instructed in geometry, that she might know something of the con- 
 tagious countries ;— but above all. Sir Anthony, she should be mistress 
 of orthodoxy, that she might not mis-spell, and mis-pronounce words 
 so shamefully as girls usually do ; and likewise that she might repre- 
 hend the true meaning of what she is saying. — This, Sir Anthony, is 
 what I would have a woman know ; — and I don't think there is a 
 superstitious article in it. 
 
 Sir Anth. Well, well, Mrs. Malaprop, I will dispute the point 
 no further with you ; though I must confess, that you are a truly 
 moderate and polite arguer, for almost every third word you say is on 
 my side of the question. — But, Mrs. Malaprop, to the more important 
 point in debate — you say, you have no objection to my proposal ? 
 
 Mrs. Mai. None, I assure you. — I am under no positive engagement 
 with Mr. Acres, and as Lydia is so obstinate against him, perhaps 
 your son may have better success. 
 
 Sir Anth. Well, Madam, I will write for the boy directly. — He 
 knows not a syllable of this yet, though I have for some time had the 
 proposal in my head. He is at present with his regiment. 
 
 Mrs. 2Ial. We have never seen your son, Sir Anthony ; but I hope 
 no objection on his side. 
 
 Sir Anth. Objection ! — let him object if he dare ! — No, no, Mrs. 
 Malaprop, Jack knows that the least demur puts me in a frenzy 
 directly.— My process was always very simple — in their younger days, 
 'twas "Jack do this" ; — if he demurred, I knocked him down — and if 
 he grumbled at that, I always sent him out of the room. 
 
 Mrs. Mai. Aye, and the properest way, o' my conscience ! — nothing 
 is so conciliating to young people as severity. — Well, Sir Anthony, I 
 shall give Mr. Acres his discharge, and prepare Lydia to receive 
 your son's invocations ; — and I hope you will represent her to the 
 Captain as an object not altogether illegible. 
 
 Sir Anth. Madam, I will handle the subject prudently, — Well, I 
 must leave you ; and let me beg you, Mrs. Malaprop, to enforce this 
 matter roundly to the girl. — Take my advice — keep a tight hand ; if 
 she rejects this proposal, clap her under lock and key ; and if you 
 
THE RIVALS. 17 
 
 were just to let the servants forget to bring her dinner for three or 
 four days, you can't conceive how she 'd come about. [Exit Sir Axth. 
 
 Mrs. Mai. Well, at any rate, I shall be glad to get her from under 
 my intuition. — She has somehow discovered my partiality for Sir 
 Lucius O'Trigger — sure, Lucy can't have betray'd me I — No, the girl 
 is such a simpleton, I should have made her confess it. — Lucy ! — 
 Lucy! — \(jaUs.'\ Had she been one of your artificial ones, I should 
 never have trusted her. 
 
 Enter Lucy. 
 
 Lv,cy. Did you call, Ma'am ? 
 
 Mrs. Mai. Yes, girl. — Did you see Sir Lucius while you was out ? 
 
 Lxicy. No, indeed, Ma'am, not a glimpse of him. 
 
 Mrs. M'd. You are sure, Lucy, that you never mention'd 
 
 Lucy. O Gemini ! I 'd sooner cut my tongue out. 
 
 Mrs. Mai. Well, don't let your simplicity be imposed on. 
 
 lAicy. No, Ma'am. 
 
 Mrs. Mai. So, come to me presently, and I '11 give you another letter 
 to Sir Lucius ; — but mind, Lucy — if ever you betray what you are 
 entrusted with— (unless it be other people's secrets to me) you forfeit 
 my malevolence for ever : — and your being a simpleton shall be no 
 excuse for your locality. [Exit Mrs. Malaprop. 
 
 Lucy. Ha ! ha ! ha ! — So, my dear simplicity, let me give you a 
 little respite. — [Altering her manner.'] Let girls in my station be as 
 fond as they please of appearing expert, and knowing in their trusts ; 
 — commend me to a mask of silliness, and a pair of sharp eyes for my 
 own interest under it ! — Let me see to what account have I turn'd my 
 simplicity lately.— [Loofca at a paper.] For abetting Miss Lydia 
 Languish in a design of running away with an Ensign ! — in money 
 sundry times, twelve iyound twelve; gowns, Jive; hats, ruffles, caps, d-c, 
 (tc, numberless! — From the said Ensign, within this last month, six 
 guineas and a half. — About a quarter's pay !— Item, from Mrs. Mala- 
 prop, for betraying the young people to her — when I found matters were 
 likely to be discovered — two guineas, and a black paduasoy. — Item, 
 from Mr. Acres, for carrying divers letters — which I never deliver'd — 
 two guineas, and a pair of buckles — Item, from Sir Lucius O'Trigger, 
 three crowns, tioo gold pocket-pieces, and a silver swiff-box ! — Well done, 
 simplicity ! — Yet I was forced to make my Hibernian believe that he 
 was corresponding, not with the Aunt, but with the Niece : for though 
 not over rich, I found he had too much pride and delicacy to sacrifice 
 the feelings of a gentleman to the necessities of his fortune. [Exit. 
 
 END OF THE FIRST ACT. 
 
18 THE RIVALS. 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 Scene I. — Captain Absolute's Lodgings. 
 Captain Absolute and Fag. 
 
 Fag. Sir, while I was there, Sir Anthony came in : I told him you 
 had sent me to inquire after his health, and to know if he was at 
 leisure to see you. 
 
 Ahs. And what did he say, on hearing I was at Bath 1 
 
 Fag. Sir, in my life I never saw an elderly gentleman more 
 astonished ! He started back two or three paces, rapt out a dozen 
 inter jectoral oaths, and asked what the devil had brought you here ! 
 
 Ahs. Well, sir, and what did you say ? 
 
 Fag. Oh, I lied, Sir — I forgot the precise lie ; but you may depend 
 on't, he got no truth from me. Yet, with submission, for fear of 
 blunders in future, I should be glad to fix what has brought us to 
 Bath : in order that we may lie a little consistently. Sir Anthony's 
 servants were curious, Sir, very curious indeed. 
 
 Ahs. You have said nothing to them 1 
 
 Fag. Oh, not a word. Sir, — not a word ! Mr. Thomas, indeed, the 
 coachman (whom I take to be the discreetest of whips) 
 
 Ahs. 'Sdeath ! — you rascal ! you have not trusted him ! 
 
 Fag. Oh, no, sir — no — no — not a syllable, upon my veracity ! — He 
 was, indeed, a little inquisitive ; but I was sly, sir — devilish sly ! My 
 Master (said I), honest Thomas (you know, Sir, one says honest to one's 
 inferiors), is come to Bath to recruit. — Yes, sir, I said to recruit — and 
 whether for men, money, or constitution, you know, Sir, is nothing to 
 him, nor any one else. 
 
 Ahs. Well, recruit will do — let it be so. 
 
 Fag. Oh, Sir, recruit will do surprisingly — indeed, to give the thing 
 an air, I told Thomas that your honour had already inlisted five 
 disbanded chairmen, seven minority waiters, and thirteen billiard- 
 markers. 
 
 Ahs. You blockhead, never say more than is necessary. 
 
 Fag. I beg pardon, Sir — I beg pardon— But, with submission, a lie 
 is nothing unless one supports it. Sir, whenever I draw on my 
 invention for a good current lie, I always forge indorsements as well as 
 the bill. 
 
 Ahs. Well, take care you don't hurt your credit by ofiiering too 
 much security. — Is Mr. Faulkland returned ? 
 
 Fag. He is above, Sir, changing his dress. 
 
THE RIVALS. 19 
 
 Abs. Can you tell whether he has been informed of Sir Anthony's 
 and Miss Melville's arrival ? 
 
 Fag. I fancy not, Sir ; he has seen no one since he came in, but his 
 gentleman, who was with him at Bristol. — I think, Sir, I hear Mr. 
 Faulkland coming down 
 
 Abs. Go, tell him, I am here. 
 
 Fag. Yes, Sir. — [Gomg.] I beg pardon. Sir, but should Sir 
 Anthony call, you will do me the favour to remember that we are 
 recruiting, if you please. 
 
 Abs. Well, well. 
 
 Fag. And, in tenderness to my character, if your Honour could 
 bring in the chairmen and waiters, I should esteem it as an obligation ; 
 for though I never scruple a lie to serve my Master, yet it hurts one's 
 conscience to be found out. [Fxit. 
 
 Abs. Now for my whimsical friend — if he does not know that his 
 mistress is here, I '11 tease him a little before I tell him 
 
 Enter Faulkxand. 
 Faulkland, you're welcome to Bath again ; you are punctual in your 
 return. 
 
 Faulk. Yes ; I had nothing to detain me when I had finished the 
 business I went on. Well, what news since I left you ? how stand 
 matters between you and Lydia ? 
 
 Abs. Faith, much as they were ; I have not seen her since our 
 quarrel ; however, I expect to be recalled every hour. 
 
 Faulk. Why don't you persuade her to go off with you at once 1 
 
 Abs. What, and lose two-thirds of her fortune ? You forget that, 
 my friend. — No, no, I could have brought her to that long ago. 
 
 Faulk. Nay, then, you trifle too long — if you are sure of her, 
 propose to the aunt in your oion character, and write to Sir Anthony 
 for his consent. 
 
 Abs. Softly, softly ; for though I am convinced my little Lydia 
 would elope with me as Ensign Beverley, yet am I by no means 
 certain that she would take me with the impediment of our friends' 
 consent, a regular humdrum wedding, and a reversion of a good 
 fortune on my side ; no, no ; I must prepare her gradually for the 
 discovery, and make myself necessary to her, before I risk it. — Well, 
 but Faulkland, you'll dine with us to-day at the Hotel ? 
 
 Faulk. Indeed, I cannot : I am not in spirits to be of such a party. 
 
 Abs. By Heavens ! I shall forswear your company. You are the 
 most teasing, captious, incorrigible lover ! — Do, love like a man. 
 
 Faulk. I own I am unfit for company. 
 
 c 2 
 
20 THE RIVALS. 
 
 Abs. Am I not a lover ; ay, and a romantic one too 1 Yet do I 
 carry everywhere with me such a confounded farrago of doubts, fears, 
 hopes, wishes, and all the flimsy furniture of a country Miss's brain ! 
 
 Faxdk. Ah ! Jack, your heart and soul are not, like mine, fixed 
 immutably on one only object. — You throw for a large stake, but 
 losing — you could stake, and throw again : — but I have set my sum 
 of happiness on this cast, and not to succeed, were to be stript 
 of all. 
 
 Abs. But, for Heaven's sake ! what grounds for apprehension can 
 your whimsical brain conjure up at present ? Has Julia missed writing 
 this last post ? or was her last too tender, or too cool ; or too grave, 
 or too gay ; or — 
 
 Faulk. Nay, nay, Jack. 
 
 Abs. Why, her love — her honour — her prudence, you cannot 
 doubt. 
 
 Faulk. ! upon my soul, I never have ; — but what grounds for 
 apprehension, did you say ? Heavens ! are there not a thousand ! I 
 fear for her spirits — her health — her life. — My absence may fret her ; 
 her anxiety for my return, her fears for me, may oppress her gentle 
 temper. And for her health — does not every hour bring me cause to 
 be alarmed ? If it rains, some shower may even then have chilled her 
 delicate frame ! — If the wind be keen, some rude blast may have 
 affected her ! The heat of noon, the dews of the evening, may 
 endanger the life of her, for whom only I value mine. ! Jack ! when 
 delicate and feeling souls are separated, there is not a feature in the 
 aky, not a movement of the elements ; not an aspiration of the breeze, 
 but hints some cause for a lover's apprehension ! 
 
 Abs. Aye, but we may choose whether we will take the hint or no. 
 — Well then, Faulkland, if you were convinced that Julia was well and 
 in spirits, you would be entirely content. 
 
 Faulk. I should be happy beyond measure — I am anxious only for 
 that. 
 
 Abs. Then to cure your anxiety at once — Miss Melville is in perfect 
 health, and is at this moment in Bath. 
 
 Faulk. Nay, Jack — don't trifle with me. 
 
 Abs. She is arrived here with my father within this hour. 
 
 Faulk. Can you be serious ? 
 
 Abs. 1 thought you knew Sir Anthony better than to be surprised at 
 a sudden whim of this kind. — Seriously, then, it is as I tell you — upon 
 my honour. 
 
 Faulk. My dear friend! — Hollo, Du-Peigne ! my hat — my dear 
 Jack — now nothing on earth, can give me a moment's uneasiness. 
 
THE RIVALS. 21 
 
 Enter Fag. 
 
 Fay. Sir, Mr. Acres just arrived ia below. 
 
 Abs. Stay, Faulkland, this Acres lives within a mile of Sir Anthony, 
 and he shall tell you how your mistress has been ever since you left 
 her. — Fag, show the gentleman up. [Exit Fao. 
 
 Faiilk. What, is he much acquainted in the family ? 
 
 Abs. Oh, very intimate : I insist on your not going : besides, hia 
 character will divert you. 
 
 Fanlk. Well, I should like to ask him a few questions. 
 
 ^4 6s. He is likewise a rival of mine — that is of my other selfs, for he 
 does not think his friend Captain Absolute ever saw the lady in 
 question ; — and it is ridiculous enough to hear him complain to me of 
 one Beverley, a concealed skulking rival, who 
 
 Faulk. Hush ! — He's here. 
 
 Enter Acres. 
 
 Acres. Hah ! my dear friend, noble captain, and honest Jack, how 
 do'st thou ? just arrived faith, as you see. — Sir, your humble servant. 
 Warm work on the roads, Jack! — Odds, whips and wheels, I've 
 travelled like a Comet, with a tail of dust all the way as long as the 
 Mall. 
 
 Abs. Ah ! Bob, you are indeed an excentric planet, but we know 
 your attraction hither — give me leave to introduce Mr. Faulkland to 
 you ; Mr. Faulkland, Mr. Acres. 
 
 Acres. Sir, I am most heartily glad to see you : Sir, I solicit your 
 connections. — Hey, Jack — what, this is Mr. Faulkland, who 
 
 Abs. Aye, Bob, Miss Melville's Mr. Faulkland. 
 
 Acres. Od'so ! she and your father can be but just arrived before 
 me — I suppose you have seen them. — Ah ! Mr. Faulkland, you are 
 indeed a happy man. 
 
 Faulk. I have not seen Miss Melville yet, Sir ; — I hope she enjoyed 
 full health and spirits in Devonshire ? 
 
 Acres. Never knew her better in my life, Sir, — never better. Odds 
 Blushes and Blooms ! she has been as healthy as the German Spa. 
 
 Faulk. Indeed ! — I did hear that she had been a little indisposed. 
 
 Acres. False, false. Sir — only said to vex you : quite the reverse, I 
 assure you. 
 
 Faulk. There, Jack, you see she has the advantage of me ; I had 
 almost fretted myself ill. 
 
 Abs. Now are you angry with your mistress for not having been sick 
 
 Faulk. No, no, you misunderstand me : — yet surely a little trifling 
 indisposition is not an unnatural consequence of absence from those 
 
22 THE RIVALS. 
 
 we love. — Now confess — isn't there something unkind in this violent, 
 robust, unfeeling health ? 
 
 Abs. Oh, it was very unkind of her to be well in your absence to be 
 sure ! 
 
 Acres. Good apartments, Jack. 
 
 Faulk. Well, Sir, but you were saying that Miss Melville has been 
 ao exceedingly well — what then she has been merry and gay I sup- 
 pose ? — Always in spirits — hey ? 
 
 Acres. Merry, Odds Crickets ! she has been the belle and spirit of 
 the company wherever she has been — so lively and entertaining ! so 
 full of wit and humour ! 
 
 Faulk. There, Jack, there. — O, by my soul ! there is an innate levity 
 in woman, that nothing can overcome. — What ! happy and I away ! 
 
 Ahs. Have done : How foolish this is ! just now you were only 
 apprehensive for your mistress' spirits. 
 
 Faulk. Why, Jack, have I been the joy and spirit of the 
 company ? 
 
 Abs. No, indeed, you have not. 
 
 Faulk. Have I been lively and entertaining ? 
 
 Abs. O, upon my word, I acquit you. 
 
 Faulk. Have I been full of wit and humour ? 
 
 Abs. No, faith, to do you justice, you have been confoundedly 
 stupid indeed. 
 
 Acres. What 's the matter with the gentleman ? 
 
 Abs. He is only expressing his great satisfaction at hearing that 
 Julia has been so well and happy — that 's all — hey, Faulkland 1 
 
 Faulk. Oh ! I am rejoiced to hear it — yes, yes, she has a happy 
 disposition ! 
 
 Acres. That she has indeed — then she is so accomplished — so sweet 
 a voice — so expert at her Harpsichord — such a mistress of flat and sharp, 
 Bquallante, rumblante, and quiverante ! — There was this time month 
 — Odds Minims and Crotchets ! how she did chirrup at Mrs. Piano's 
 Concert ! 
 
 Faulk. There again, what say you to this ? you see she has been all 
 mirth and song — not a thought of me ! 
 
 Abs. Pho ! man, is not music the food of love ? 
 
 Faulk. Well, well, it may be so. — Pray, Mr. •, what's his d — d 
 
 name 1 — Do you remember what Songs Miss Melville sung ? 
 
 Acres. Not I indeed. 
 , Abs. Stay, now, they were some pretty melancholy, purling- stream 
 airs, I warrant ; perhaps you may recollect ; — did she sing. When 
 absent from my soul's delight ? 
 
THE RIVALS. 23 
 
 Acres. No, that wa'n't it. 
 
 Ahs. Or — Go, gentle Gales! " Go, gentle Gales .'" [Sings. 
 
 Acres. no ! nothing like it. Odds slips ? now I recollect one 
 of them — "My heart's my own, my ivill is free." [Sings. 
 
 Faulk. Fool ! fool that I am ! to fix all my happiness upon such a 
 trifler ! 'Sdeath ! to make herself the pipe and ballad-monger of a 
 circle ! to sooth her light heart with catches and glees ! — What can 
 you say to this, Sir ? 
 
 Abs. Why, that I should be glad to hear my mistress had been so 
 merry. Sir. 
 
 Faulk. Nay, nay, nay — I 'm not sorry that she has been happy — no, 
 no, I am glad of that — I would not have had her sad or sick — yet 
 surely a sympathetic heart would have shown itself even in the choice 
 of a song — she might have been temperately healthy, and somehow, 
 plaintively gay ; — but she has been dancing too, I doubt not ! 
 
 Acres. What does the gentleman say about dancing? 
 
 .46s. He says the lady we speak of dances as well as she sings. 
 
 Acres. Ay, truly, does she — there was at our last race ball 
 
 Faulk. Hell and the devil !— There !— there— I told you so ! Oh ! 
 she thrives in my absence ! — Dancing ! But her whole feelings have 
 been in opposition with mine ! — I have been anxious, silent, pensive, 
 sedentary — my days have been hours of care, my nights of watchful- 
 ness. — She has been all health ! Spirit ! Laugh ! Song ! Dance ! — 
 Oh ! d— nd, d— e'd levity ! 
 
 Abs. For Heaven's sake, Faulkland, don't expose yourself so ! — 
 Suppose she has danced, what then ? — does not the ceremony of society 
 often oblige 
 
 Faulk. Well, well, I '11 contain myself — perhaps as you say — for form 
 sake. — What, Mr. Acres, you were praising Miss Melville's manner of 
 dancing a minv,et — hey ? 
 
 Acres. O, I dare insure her for that — but what I was going to speak 
 of was her country dancing. Odds swimmings ! she has such an air 
 with her ! 
 
 Faulk. Now disappointment on her ! — -Defend this, Absolute ; why 
 don't you defend this ? — Country-dances ! jiggs and reels ! am I to 
 blame now? A Minuet I could have forgiven — I should not have 
 minded that — I say I should not have regarded a Minuet — but 
 Country dances ! — Z — ds ! had she made one in a Cotillon — I believe 
 I could have forgiven even that — but to be monkey-led for a night ! — 
 to run the gauntlet thro' a string of amorous palming puppies ! — 
 to show paces like a managed filly ! — Oh, Jack, there never can be but 
 one man in the world, whom a truly modest and delicate woman ought 
 
24 THE RIVALS. 
 
 to pair with in a country- dance ; and, even then, the rest of the 
 couples should be her great- uncles and aunts ! 
 
 Ahs. Aye, to be sure ! — grandfathers and grandmothers ! 
 
 Faulk. If there be but one vicious mind in the Set, 'twill spread 
 like a contagion — the action of their pulse beats to the lascivious 
 movement of the jigg — their quivering, warm-breathed sighs im- 
 pregnate the very air — the atmosphere becomes electrical to love, and 
 each amorous spark darts thro' every link of the chain ! — I must 
 leave you — I own I am somewhat flurried — and that confounded looby 
 has perceived it. [Ooing. 
 
 Abs. Aye, aye, you are in a hurry to throw yourself at Julia's feet. 
 
 Faulk. I 'm not in a humour to be trifled with — I shall see her only 
 to upbraid her. 
 
 Abs. Nay, but stay, Faulkland, and thank Mr. Acres for his good 
 
 Faulk. D — n his news ! [Exit Faulkland. 
 
 -46s. Ha! ha! ha! poor Faulkland five minutes since — "nothing 
 on earth could give him a moment's uneasiness !" 
 
 Acres. The gentleman wa'n't angry at my praising his mistress, was 
 he? 
 
 Abs. A little jealous, I believe. Bob. 
 
 Acres. You don't say so ? Ha ! ha ! jealous of me — that 's a good 
 joke. 
 
 Abs. There 's nothing strange in that, Bob : let me tell you, that 
 sprightly grace and insinuating manner of your's will do some mischief 
 among the girls here. 
 
 Acres. Ah ! you joke — ha ! ha ! mischief — ha ! ha ! but you know 
 I am not my own property, my dear Lydia has forestalled me. She 
 could never abide me in the country, because I used to dress so badly 
 — but odds frogs and tambours ! I shan't take matters so here, now 
 ancient Madam has no voice in it — I'll make my old clothes know 
 who 's master. I shall straitway cashier the hunting-frock — and 
 render my leather breeches incapable. My hair has been in training 
 some time. 
 Abs. Indeed 1 
 
 Acres. Ay — and tho'flf the side curls are a little restive, my hind-part 
 takes to it very kindly. 
 Abs. O, you '11 polish, I doubt not. 
 
 Acres. Absolutely I propose so — then if I can find out this Ensign 
 Beverley, odds triggers and flints ! I '11 make him know the diff'erence o't. 
 Abs. Spoke like a man ! But pray. Bob, I observe you have got an 
 odd kind of a new method of swearing 
 
THE RIVALS. 25 
 
 Acres. Ha ! ha ! you 've taken notice of it — 'tis genteel, isn't it ? — I 
 didn't invent it myself though ; but a commander in our militia — a 
 great scholar, I assure you — says that there is no meaning in the 
 common oaths, and that nothing but their antiquity makes them 
 respectable ; because, he says, the ancients would never stick to an 
 oath or two, but would say, by Jove ! or by Bacchus ! or by Mars ! 
 or by Venus ! or by Pallus, according to the sentiment — so that to 
 swear with propriety, says my little Major, the ' oath should be an 
 echo to the sense ' ; and this we call the oath referential, or sentimental 
 swearing — ha ! ha ! ha ! 'tis genteel, isn't it. 
 
 Ahs. Very genteel, and very new, indeed — and I dare say will 
 supplant all other figures of imprecation. 
 
 Acres. Aye, aye, the best terms will grow obsolete. — D — ns have 
 had their day. 
 
 Enter Fag. 
 
 Fag. Sir, there is a gentleman below desires to see you — Shall I 
 
 show him into the parlour 1 
 
 Abs. Aye — you may. 
 
 Acres. Well, I must be gone 
 
 Abs. Stay ; who is it, Fag ? 
 
 Fag. Your father, sir. 
 
 Abs. You puppy, why didn't you show him up directly ? 
 
 [E.vit Fao. 
 
 Acres. You have business with Sir Anthony.— I expect a message 
 from Mrs. Malaprop at my lodgings. I have sent also to my dear 
 friend. Sir Lucius O'Trigger. Adieu, Jack ! we must meet at night. 
 Odds bottles and glasses ! you shall give me a dozen bumpers to little 
 Lydia. 
 
 Abs. That I will with all my he&rt.— [Exit Acres.] Now for a 
 parental lecture — I hope he has heard nothing of the business that 
 brought me here — I wish the gout had held him fast in Devonshire, 
 with all my soul ! 
 
 Enter Sir Anthony. 
 
 Abs. Sir I am delighted to see you here ; looking so well ! your 
 sudden arrival at Bath made me apprehensive for your health. 
 
 Sir Anth. Very apprehensive, I dare say. Jack. — What, you are 
 recruiting here, hey ? 
 
 Abs. Yes, Sir, I am on duty. 
 
 Sir Anth. Well, Jack, I am glad to see you, tho' I did not expect 
 it, for I was going to write to you on a little matter of business. — 
 Jack, I have been considering that I grow old and infirm, and shall 
 probably not trouble you long. 
 
29 THE RIVALS. 
 
 Abs. Pardon me, Sir, I never saw you look more strong and hearty ; 
 and I pray frequently that you may continue so. 
 
 Sir Anth. I hope your prayers may be heard with all my heart. 
 Well, then. Jack, I have been considering that I am so strong and 
 hearty, I may continue to plague you a long time. Now, Jack, I am 
 sensible that the income of your commission, and what I have hitherto 
 allowed you, is but a small pittance for a lad of your spirit. 
 Abs. Sir, you are very good. 
 
 Sir Anth. And it is my wish, while yet I live, to have my Boy make 
 some figure in the world. — I have resolved, therefore, to fix you at 
 once in a noble independence. 
 
 Abs. Sir, your kindness overpowers me — such generosity makes the 
 gratitude of reason more lively than the sensations even of filial 
 affection. 
 
 Sir Anth. I am glad you are so sensible of my attention — and you 
 shall be master of a large estate in a few weeks. 
 
 Abs. Let my future life. Sir, speak my gratitude : I cannot express 
 the sense I have of your munificence. — Yet, sir, I presume you would 
 not wish me to quit the army ? 
 
 Sir Anth. Oh, that shall be as your wife chooses. 
 Abs. My wife. Sir ! 
 
 Sir Anth. Aye, aye, settle that between you — settle that between you. 
 . Abs. A wife, Sir, did you say ? 
 Sir Anth. Aye, a wife — why ; did not I mention her before ? 
 Abs. Not a word of it, Sir. 
 
 Sir Anth. Odd so ! — I mus'n't forget her tho'. — Yes, Jack, the 
 independence I was talking of is by a marriage — the fortune is saddled 
 with a wife — but I suppose that makes no difference. 
 Abs. Sir ! Sir ! — you amaze me ! 
 
 Sir Anth. Why, what the d — 1 's the matter with the fool ? Just 
 now you were all gratitude and duty. 
 
 Abs. I was, Sir — you talked to me of independence and a fortune, 
 but not a word of a wife. 
 
 Sir Anth. Why — what difference does that make ? Odds life. Sir ! 
 if you have the estate, you must take it with the live stock on it, as it 
 stands. 
 
 Abs. If my happiness is to be the price, I must beg leave to decline 
 the purchase, — Pray, Sir, who is the lady ? 
 
 Sir Anth. What's that to you, Sir? — Come, give me your promise 
 to love, and to marry her directly. 
 
 Abs. Sure, Sir, this is not very reasonable, to summon my affections 
 for a lady I know nothing of ! 
 
THE RIVALS. 27 
 
 Sir Anth. I am sure, Sir, 'tis more unreasonable in you to object to a 
 lady you know nothing of. 
 
 ylt.s. Then, Sir, I must tell you plainly that my inclinations are 
 fix'd on another. 
 
 Sir Anth. They are, are they ? Well that 's lucky— because you will 
 have more merit in your obedience to me. 
 
 Abs. Sir, my heart is engaged to an Angel. 
 
 Sir Anth. Then pray let it send an excuse. It is very sorry — but 
 bunness prevents its waiting on her. 
 
 Abs. But my vows are pledged to her. 
 
 Sir Anth. Let her foreclose. Jack ; let her foreclose ; they are not 
 worth redeeming : besides, you have the Angel's vows in exchange, I 
 suppose ; so there can be no loss there. 
 
 Abs. You must excuse me, Sir, if I tell you, once for all, that in 
 this point I cannot obey you. 
 
 Sir Anth. Hark 'ee, Jack; — I have heard you for some time with 
 patience— I have been cool — quite cool ; but take care — you know I 
 am compliance itself — when I am not thwarted ; — no one more easily 
 led — when I have my own way ; — but don't put me in a frenzy. 
 
 Ahs. Sir, I must repeat — in this I cannot obey you. 
 
 Sir Anth. Now d — n me ! if ever I call you Jack again while I 
 live ! 
 
 Abs. Nay, Sir, but hear me. 
 
 Sir Anth. Sir, I won't hear a word — not a word 1 not one word 1 so 
 give me your promise by a nod — and I '11 tell you what. Jack — I mean, 
 you Dog — if you don't, by 
 
 Abs. What, Sir, promise to link myself to some mass of ugliness ! 
 
 Sir Anth. Zounds ! sirrah ! the lady shall be as ugly as I choose : 
 she shall have a hump on each shoulder ; she shall be as crooked as 
 the Crescent ; her one eye shall roll like the Bull's in Cox's Rluseum ; 
 she shall have a skin like a mummy, and the beard of a Jew— she 
 shall be all this, sirrah !— yet I '11 make you ogle her all day, and sit 
 up all night to write sonnets on her beauty. 
 
 Ahs. This is reason and moderation indeed ! 
 
 Sir Aiith. None of your sneering, puppy ! no grinning, jackanapes ! 
 
 Abs. Indeed, Sir, I never was in a worse humour for mirth in my life. 
 
 Sir Anth. 'Tis false, Sir ! I know you are laughing in your sleeve : 
 I know you will grin when I am gone, sirrah ! 
 
 Abs. Sir, I hope I know my duty better. 
 
 Sir Anth. None of your passion. Sir ! none of your violence, if you 
 please ! — It won't do with me, I promise you. 
 
28 THE RIVALS. 
 
 Abs. Indeed, Sir, I never was cooler in my life. 
 
 Sir Anth. 'Tis a confounded lie ! — I know you are in a passion in your 
 heart ; I know you are, you hypocritical young dog ! but it won't do. 
 
 Abs. Nay, Sir, upon my word. 
 
 Sir Anth. So you will fly out ! can't you be cool, like me ? What 
 the devil good can Passion do ? — Passion is of no service, you 
 impudent, insolent, overbearing Reprobate ! — There, you sneer again ! 
 don't provoke me ! — but you rely upon the mildness of my temper — 
 you do, you Dog ! you play upon the weakness of my disposition ! — 
 Yet take care — the patience of a saint may be overcome at last ! — but 
 mark ! I give you six hours and a half to consider of this : if you then 
 agree, without any condition, to do everything on earth that I choose, 
 why — confound you ! I may in time forgive you. — If not, z — da ! 
 don't enter the same hemisphere with me ! don't dare to breathe the 
 same air, or use the same light with me ; but get an atmosphere and a 
 sun of your own ! I '11 strip you of your commission ; I '11 lodge a five- 
 and-threepence in the hands of trustees, and you shall live on the 
 interest.— I'll disown you, I'll disinherit you, I '11 unget you! and 
 d — n me, if ever I call you Jack again ! [Exit Sir Anthony. 
 
 Absolute sohis. 
 
 Abs. Mild, gentle, considerate father — I kiss your hands ! — What a 
 tender method of giving his opinion in these matters Sir Anthony 
 has ! I dare not trust him with the truth. — I wonder what old 
 wealthy Hag it is that he wants to bestow on me ! — Yet he married 
 himself for love ! and was in his youth a bold Intriguer, and a gay 
 Companion ! 
 
 E^iter Fag. 
 
 Fag. Assuredly, Sir, our Father is wrath to a degree ; he comes 
 down stairs eight or ten steps at a time — muttering, growling, and 
 thumping the bannisters all the way : I, and the Cook's dog stand 
 bowing at the door — rap ! he gives me a stroke on the head with his 
 cane ; bids me carry that to my master, then kicking the poor 
 Turnspit into the area, d — ns us all, for a puppy triumvirate ! — 
 Upon my credit. Sir, were I in your place, and found my father such 
 very bad company, I should certainly drop his acquaintance. 
 
 Abs. Cease your impertinence, Sir, at present. — Did you come in for 
 nothing more ? — Stand out of the way ! 
 
 [Pushes him aside, and Exit. 
 
 Fag, solus. 
 Fag. Soh ! Sir Anthony trims my Master ; He is afraid to reply to 
 his Father — then vents his spleen on poor Fag ! — When one is vexed 
 by one person, to revenge one's self on another, who happens to come 
 
THE RIVALS. 29 
 
 in the way, is the vilest injustice ! Ah ! it shows the worst temper — 
 
 the basest 
 
 Enter Errand-Boy. 
 
 Bofj. Mr, Fag ! Mr. Fag ! your Master calls you. 
 
 Fag. Well, you little dirty puppy, you need not haul so ! — The 
 meanest disposition ! the 
 
 Boy. Quick, quick, Mr. Fag ! 
 
 Fag. Qxiich ! quick ! you impudent Jackanapes ! am I to be com- 
 manded by you too ? you little, impertinent, insolent, kitchenbred 
 
 [Exit, kicking and heating him. 
 
 Scene II.— ne North Parade. 
 Filter Lucy. 
 
 Liicy. So — I shall have another Rival to add to my mistress's list — 
 Captain Absolute. However, I shall not enter his name till my purse 
 has received notice in form. Poor Acres is dismissed ! — Well, I have 
 done him a last friendly office, in letting him know that Beverley was 
 here before him. — Sir Lucius is generally more punctual, when he 
 expects to hear from his clear Dalia, as he calls her: I wonder he 's not 
 here ! — I have a little scruple of conscience from this deceit ; tho' 
 I should not be paid so well, if my hero knew that Delia was near fifty, 
 and her own mistress. — I could not have thought he would have been 
 80 nice, when there 's a golden egg in the case, as to care whether he 
 has it from a pullet or an old hen. 
 
 Enter Sir Lucius O'Tkigger. 
 
 Sir Luc. Hah ! my little ambassadress — upon my conscience, I 
 have been looking for you ; I have been on the South Parade this half 
 hour. 
 
 Lucy. [Speaking simply.] O gemini ! and I have been waiting for 
 your worship here on the North, 
 
 Sir Luc. Faith ! — may be, that was the reason we did not meet ; and 
 it is very comical too, how you could go out and I not see you — for I 
 was only taking a nap at the Parade Coffee-house, and I chose the 
 ^m'>ulow on purpose that I might not miss you. 
 
 Lucy. My stars ! Now I 'd wager a sixpence I went by while you 
 were asleep. 
 
 Sir Luc. Sure enough it must have been so — and I never dreamt it 
 was so late, till I waked. Well, but my little girl, have you got 
 nothing for me ? 
 
 Liicy. Yes, but I have : — I 've got a letter for you in my pocket. 
 
30 THE RIVALS. 
 
 Sir Luc. O faith ! I guessed you weren't come empty-handed. — Well 
 — let me see what the dear creature says. 
 
 Lucy. There, Sir Lucius. [Gives him a letter. 
 
 Sir Luc. [Reads.] Sir — there is often a sudden incentive impulse in 
 love, that has a greater induction than years of domestic combination : 
 such was the commotion I felt at the first superfluous view of Sir Lucius 
 O'Trigger. — Very pretty, upon my word. — As my motive is interested^ 
 you may be assured imj love shall never be miscellaneous. Very well. 
 
 Female punctuation forbids me to say more; yet let me add, that it 
 will give me joy infallible to find Sir Lucius worthy the last criterion of 
 my affections. Yours, while meretricious. — Delia. Upon my con- 
 science ! Lucy, your lady is a great mistress of language. — Faith, 
 she 'a quite the queen of the dictionary ! — for the devil a word dare 
 refuse coming at her call — though one would think it was quite out of 
 hearing. 
 
 Lucy. Aye, Sir, a lady of her experience 
 
 Sir Luc. Experience ! what, at seventeen ? 
 
 Lucy. O true, Sir — but then she reads so — my stars ! how she will 
 read oflF-hand ! 
 
 Sir Luc. Faith, she must be very deep read to write this way — 
 the' she is rather an arbitrary writer too — for here are a great many 
 poor words pressed into the service of this note, that would get their 
 habeas corpus from any court in Christendom. — However, when affection 
 guides the pen, Lucy, he must be a brute who finds fault with the 
 style. 
 
 Lucy. Ah ! Sir Lucius, if you were to hear how she talks of you 
 
 Sir Luc. Oh, tell her, I 'II make her the best husband in the world, 
 and Lady O'Trigger into the bargain ! — But we must got the old 
 gentlewoman's consent — and do everything fairly. 
 
 Lucy. Nay, Sir Lucius, I thought you wa'n't rich enough to be so 
 nice. 
 
 Sir Luc. Upon my word, young woman, you have hit it : — I am so 
 poor, that I can't afford to do a dirty action. — If I did not want money, 
 I 'd steal your mistress and her fortune with a great deal of pleasure. — • 
 However, my pretty girl, [gives her money,] here 's a little something 
 to buy you a ribband ; and meet me in the evening, and I 'II give you 
 an answer to this. So, hussy, take a kiss beforehand to put you in 
 mind. [Kisses her. 
 
 Lucy. lud ! Sir Lucius — I never seed such a gemman ! My lady 
 won't like you if you 're so impudent. 
 
 Sir Luc. Faith she will, Lucy ! — That same — pho ! what 's the name 
 of it ? — Modesty — is a quality in a lover more praised by the women 
 
THE RIVALS. 31 
 
 than liked ; so, if your mistress asks you whether Sir Lucius ever gave 
 you a kiss, tell her Jift)j — my dear. 
 
 Lucy, What, would you have me tell her a lie ? 
 
 Sir Luc. Ah, then, you baggage ! I '11 make it a truth presently. 
 
 Lucy. For shame now ; here is some one coming. 
 
 Sir Luc. Oh, faith, I '11 quiet your conscience ! 
 
 [Sees Fag. — Exit, humming a hine. 
 
 Enter Fag. 
 
 Fng. So, so, Ma'am ! I humbly beg pardon. 
 
 Liicy. O lud ! now, Mr. Fag, you flurry one so. 
 
 Fag. Come, come, Lucy, here 's no one bye — so a little less simplicity, 
 with a grain or two more sincerity, if you please. — You play false 
 with us, Madam. — I saw you give the baronet a letter. — My master 
 shall know this — and if he don't call him out, I will. 
 
 Liicy. Ha ! ha ! ha ! you gentlemen's gentlemen are so hasty. — That 
 letter was from Mrs. Malaprop, simpleton. — She is taken with Sir 
 Lucius's address. 
 
 Fag. What tastes some people have ! — Why, I suppose I have walked 
 by her window an hundred times. — But what says our young lady 1 
 any message to my master 1 
 
 Liicy. Sad news. Mr. Fag. — A worse Rival than Acres ! Sir 
 Anthony Absolute has proposed his son. 
 
 Fag. What, Captain Absolute ? 
 
 Lxicy. Even so — I overheard it all. 
 
 Fag. Ha ! ha ! ha ! very good, faith. Good bye, Lucy, I must away 
 with this news. 
 
 Lticy. Well,. ..you may laugh. ..but it is true, I assure you. — [Going.] 
 But. ..Mr. Fag.. .tell your master not to be cast down by this. 
 
 Fag. O he '11 be so disconsolate ! 
 
 Liicy. And charge him not to think of quarrelling with young 
 Absolute. 
 
 Fag. Never fear !... never fear ! 
 
 I/iicy. Be sure... bid him keep up his spirits. 
 
 Fag. We will... we will, [Exeunt severally. 
 
 End of thb Second Act. 
 
32 TEE RIVALS. 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 Scene I. — The North Parade. 
 JEnter Absolute. 
 'Tis just as Fag told me, indeed... .Whimsical enough, faith 1 My 
 Father wants to force me to marry the very girl I am plotting to run 
 away with ! — He must not know of my connection with her yet a- while. 
 — He has too summary a method of proceeding in these matters... and 
 Lydia shall not yet lose her hopes of an elopement. — However, I'll 
 read my recantation instantly. — My conversion is something sudden, 
 indeed. ..but I can assure him it is very sincere. So, so. ..here he 
 comes. He looks plaguy gruflF. [Steps aside. 
 
 Enter SiK Anthony. 
 
 No. ..I '11 die sooner than forgive him. ...Die, did I say! I '11 live 
 these fifty years to plague him. — At our last meeting, his impudence 
 had almost put me out of temper.... An obstinate, passionate, self- 
 willed boy '...."Who can he take after? This is my return for getting 
 him before all his brothers and sisters !... for putting him at twelve 
 years old, into a marching regiment, and allowing him fifty pounds a 
 year, beside his pay, ever since !...But I have done with him;. ..he 's 
 anybody's son for me. — I never will see him more, never... never... 
 never... never. 
 
 Abs. Now for a penitential face. 
 
 Sir Anth. Fellow, get out of my way. 
 
 Abs. Sir, you see a penitent before you. 
 
 Sir Anth. I see an impudent scoundrel before me. 
 
 Abs. A sincere penitent. — I am come, Sir, to acknowledge my error, 
 and to submit entirely to your will. 
 
 Sir Anth. What 's that ? 
 
 Abs. I have been revolving, and reflecting, and considering on your 
 past goodness, and kindness, and condescension to me. 
 
 Sir Anth. Well, sir ? 
 
 Abs. I have been likewise weighing and balancing what you were 
 pleased to mention concerning duty, and obedience, and authority. 
 
 Sir Anth. Well, Puppy ? 
 
 Abs. Why then. Sir, the result of my reflections is... a resolution to 
 sacrifice every inclination of my own to your satisfaction. 
 
 Sir Anth. Why now you talk sense... absolute sense.... I never heard 
 anything more sensible in my life.... Confound you ; you shall be Jocfc 
 again. 
 
 Abs. I am happy in the appellation. 
 
THE RIVALS. 33 
 
 Sir Anth. Why, then, Jack, my dear Jack, I will now inform you... 
 who the lady really is. — Nothing but your passion and violence, you 
 silly fellow, prevented my telling you at first. Prepare, Jack, for 
 wonder and rapture — prepare. — What think you of Miss Lydia 
 Languish i 
 
 Ahs. Languish ! What, the Languishes of Worcestershire ? 
 
 Sir Anth. Worcestershire ! no. Did you never meet Mrs. Malaprop 
 and her Niece, Miss Languish, who came into our country just before 
 you were last ordered to your regiment ? 
 
 Ahs. Malaprop ! Languish ! I don't remember ever to have heard 
 the names before. Yet, stay — I think I do recollect something. — 
 Languish! Lamjuish ! She squints, don't she? — A little, red-haired 
 girl? 
 
 Sir Anth. Squints ? — A red-haired girl ! — Z — ds ! no. 
 
 Abs. Then I must have forgot ; it can't be the same person. 
 
 Sir Anth. Jack ! Jack ! what think you of blooming, love-breathing 
 seventeen ? 
 
 Ahs. As to that. Sir, I am quite indifferent. — If I can please you in 
 the matter, 'tis all I desire. 
 
 Sir Anth. Nay, but Jack, such eyes ! such eyes ! so innocently wild ! 
 so bashfully irresolute ! not a glance but speaks and kindles some 
 thought of love ! Then, Jack, her cheeks ! her cheeks, Jack ! so 
 deeply blushing at the insinuations of her tell- tale eyes I Then, Jack, 
 her lips ! — O, Jack, lips smiling at their own discretion ; and if not 
 smiling, more sweetly pouting ; more lovely in suUenness. 
 
 Ahs. That 'a she, indeed... .Well done, old gentleman. 
 
 Sir Anth. Then, Jack, her neck ! — Jack ! Jack I 
 
 Abs. And which is to be mine, Sir ; the Niece or the Aunt ? 
 
 Sir Anth. Why, you unfeeling, insensible Puppy, I despise you ! 
 When I was of your age, such a description would have made me fly 
 like a rocket ! The AvAit, indeed ! Odds life ! when I ran away 
 with your mother, I would not have touched anything old or ugly to 
 gain an empire. 
 
 Abs. Not to please your father, sir ? 
 
 Sir Anth. To please my father ! z — ds ! not to please — Oh, my 
 father — odd so ! — yes — yes ; if my father indeed had desired — that 's 
 quite another matter. Tho' he wa'n't the indulgent father that I am, 
 Jack. 
 
 Ahs. I dare say not, Sir. 
 
 Sir Anth. But, Jack, you are not sorry to find your mistress is so 
 beautiful ? 
 
 Abs. Sir, I repeat it ; if I please you in this affair, 'tis all I desire. 
 
 u 
 
34 THE RIVALS. 
 
 Not that I think a woman the worse for being handsome ; but, Sir, 
 if you please to recollect, you before hinted something about a hump 
 or two, one eye, and a few more graces of that kind — now, without 
 being very nice, I own I should rather chuse a wife of mine to have 
 the usual number of limbs, and a limited quantity of back : and tho' 
 one eye may be very agreeable, yet as the prejudice has always run in 
 favour of two, I would not wish to affect a singularity in that article. 
 
 Sir Anth. What a phlegmatic sot it is ! Why, sirrah, you 're an 
 anchorite ! — a vile, insensible stock. You a soldier ! — you 're a walking 
 block, fit only to dust the company's regimentals on ! — Odds life ! I 
 have a great mind to marry the girl myself ! 
 
 Ahs. I am entirely at your disposal, sir : if you should think of 
 addressing Miss Languish yourself, I suppose you would have me 
 marry the Aunt ; or if you should change your mind, and take the old 
 lady — 'tis the same to me — I '11 marry the Niece. 
 
 Sir A7ith. Upon my word, Jack, thou 'rt either a very great hypo- 
 crite, or — but, come, I know your indifference on such a subject must 
 be all a lie— I 'm sure it must — come, now— d — n your demure face ! 
 — come, confess Jack — you have been lying, ha'n't you ? You have 
 been lying, hey ! — I '11 never forgive you, if you ha'n't : — So now, own, 
 my dear Jack, you have been playing the hypocrite, hey ! I '11 never 
 forgive you, if you ha'n't been lying and playing the hypocrite. 
 
 Abs. I 'm sorry, sir, that the respect and duty which I bear to you 
 should be so mistaken. 
 
 Sir Anth. Hang your respect and duty ! But come along with me, 
 I '11 write a note to Mrs. Malaprop, and you shall visit the lady directly. 
 
 Ahs. Where does she lodge. Sir ? 
 
 Sir Anth. What a dull question ! Only on the Grove here. 
 
 Ahs. O ! then I can call on her in my way to the coffee-house. 
 
 Sir Anth. In your way to the coffee-house ! You '11 set your heart 
 down in your way to the coffee-house, hey ? Ah ! you leaden-nerv'd, 
 wooden-hearted dolt ! But come along, you shall see her directly ; her 
 eyes shall be the Promethean torch to you — come along, I '11 never 
 forgive you, if you don't come back, stark mad with rapture and 
 impatience — if you don't, egad, 1 '11 marry the girl myself ! [Exe^mt. 
 
 Scene II. 
 
 Julia's Dressing-room, 
 
 Faulkland sohis. 
 
 Faulk. They told me Julia would return directly ; I wonder she is 
 
 not yet come ! — How mean does this captious, unsatisfied temper of 
 
THE RIVALS. 36 
 
 mine appear to my cooler judgment ! Yet I know not that I indulge 
 it in any other point : but on this one subject, and to this one object, 
 whom I think I love beyond my life, I am ever ungenerously fretful, 
 and madly capricious ! I am conscious of it — yet I cannot correct 
 myself ! What tender, honest joy sparkled in her eyes when we met 1 
 How delicate was the warmth of her expression ! — I was ashamed to 
 appear less happy — though I had come resolved to wear a face of 
 coolness and upbraiding. Sir Anthony's presence prevented my 
 proposed expostulations ; yet I must be satisfied that she has not been 
 80 re/;/ happy in my absence. She is coming ! Yes ! — I know the 
 nimbleness of her tread, when she thinks her impatient Faulkland 
 counts the momenta of her stay. 
 
 Enter Julia. 
 
 Jul. I had not hop'd to see you again so soon. 
 
 Faulk. Could I, Julia, be contented with my first welcome — 
 restrained aa we were by the presence of a third person ? 
 
 Jtd. Faulkland, when your kindness can make me thus happy, let 
 me not think that I discovered more coolness in your first salutation 
 than my long- hoarded joy could have presaged. 
 
 Faulk. Twas but your fancy, Julia. I v:o.s rejoiced to see you — to 
 see you in such health. Sure I had no cause for coldness ? 
 
 Jul. Nay then, I see you have taken something ill. You must not 
 conceal from me what it is. 
 
 Fav.ll:. Well, then — shall I own to you — but you will despise me, 
 Julia — nay, I despise myself for it. — Yet I will own that my joy at 
 hearing of your health and arrival here, by your neighbour Acres, was 
 somewhat damped by his dwelling much on the high spirits you had 
 enjoyed in Devonshire — on your mirth — your singing — dancing, and I 
 know not what ! For such is my temper, Julia, that I should regard 
 every mirthful moment in your absence as a treason to constancy : — 
 The mutual tear that steals down the cheek of parting lovers is a com- 
 pact, that no smile shall live there till they meet again. 
 
 Jul. Must I never cease to tax my Faulkland with this teasing 
 minute caprice ? Can the idle reports of a silly boor weigh in your 
 breast against my tried aflFection ? 
 
 Faulk. They have no weight with me, Julia : No, no — I am happy If 
 you have been so — yet only say, that you did not sing with mhih — say 
 that you thought of Faulkland in the dance. 
 
 Jxd. I never can be happy in your absence. — If I wear a countenance 
 of content, it is to shew that my mind holds no doubt of ray Faulk- 
 land's truth. If I seemed sad, it were to make malice triumph ; and 
 
 D 2 
 
36 THE RIVALS. 
 
 say, that I fixed my heart on one, who left me to lament his roving, 
 and my own credulity. — BeHeve me, Faulkland, I mean not to upbraid 
 you, when I say, that I have often dressed sorrow in smiles, lest my 
 friends should guess whose unkindness had caused my tears. 
 
 Faulk. You were ever all goodness to me. 0, I am a brute, when I 
 but admit a doubt of your true constancy ! 
 
 Jul. If ever, without such cause from you, as I will not suppose 
 possible, you find my affections veering but a point, may I become a 
 proverbial scoff for levity, and base ingratitude. 
 
 Faulk. Ah ! Julia, that lad word is grating to me. I would I had 
 no title to your gratitude ! Search your heart, Julia ; perhaps what 
 you have mistaken for Love, is but the warm effusion of a too 
 thankful heart. 
 
 Jul. For what quality must I love you ? 
 
 Faulk. For no quality ! To regard me for any quality of mind or 
 understanding, were only to esteem me. And for person — I have often 
 wish'd myself deformed, to be convinced that I owed no obligation 
 there for any part of your affection. 
 
 JkL Where Natixre has bestowed a shew of nice attention in the 
 features of a man, he should laugh at it, as misplaced. I have seen 
 men, who in this vain article perhaps might rank above you ; but my 
 heart has never asked ray eyes if it were so or not. 
 
 Faulk. Now this is not well from you, Julia— I despise person in a 
 man — yet if you loved me as I wish, though I were an ^■Ethiop, you 'd 
 think none so fair. 
 
 Jul. I see you are determined to be unkind ! The contract which 
 my poor father bound us in gives you more than a lover's privilege. 
 
 Faulk. Again, Julia, you raise ideas that feed and justify my doubts. 
 I would not have been more free — no — I am proud of my restraint. 
 Yet — yet — perhaps your high respect alone for this solemn compact 
 has fettered your inclinations, which else had made a worthier choice. 
 How shall I be sure, had you remained unbound in thought and 
 promise, that I should still have been the object of your persevering 
 love ? 
 
 Jul. Then try me now. Let us be free as strangers as to what is 
 past : — my heart will not feel more liberty ! 
 
 Faulk. There now ! so hasty, Julia ! so anxious to be free ! If your 
 love for me were fixed and ardent, you would not lose your hold, even 
 tho' I wish'd it ! 
 
 Jul. Oh ! you torture me to the heart ! I cannot bear it. 
 
 Faulk. I do not mean to distress you. If I loved you less I should 
 never give you an uneasy moment. — But hear me. — All my fretful 
 
THE RIVALS. 37 
 
 doubts arise from this— Women are not used to weigh, and separate 
 the motives of their affections : — the cold dictates of prudence, grati- 
 tude, or filial duty, may sometimes be mistaken for the pleadings of 
 the heart. I would not boast — yet let me say, that I have neither age, 
 person, or character, to found dislike on ; my fortune such as few ladies 
 could be charged with indiscretunb in the match. O Julia ! when Love 
 receives such countenance from PnuU nee, nice minds will be suspicious 
 of its birth. 
 
 Jul. I know not whither your insinuations would tend : — but as 
 they seem pressing to insult me, I will spare you the regret of having 
 done so. — I have given you no cause for this ! [E-cit in tears. 
 
 Faulk. In Tears ! stay, Julia : stay but for a moment. — The door ia 
 fastened ! — Julia ! — my soul — but for one moment ! — I hear her 
 sobbing !— 'Sdeath ! what a brute am I to use her thus ! Yet stay ! 
 Aye— she is coming now : — how little resolution there is in women ! — 
 how a few soft words can turn them ! — No, faith !— she is not coming 
 either. — Why, Julia — my love — say but that you forgive me — come 
 but to tell me that — now this is being too resentful. Stay ! she is 
 coming too — I thought she would — no steadiness in anything ! her 
 going away must have been a mere trick then — she sha'n't see that I 
 was hurt by it. — I'll affect indifference — [Hums a tune; then listens.] 
 No z— ds ! she 's not coming ! — nor don't intend it, I suppose. — This is 
 not steadiness, but obstimicy ! Yet I deserve it. — What, after so long 
 an absence to quarrel with her tenderness ! — 'twas barbarous and 
 unmanly ! — I should be ashamed to see her now. — I '11 wait till her just 
 resentment is abated — and when I distress her so again, may I lose her 
 for ever ! and be linked instead to some antique virago, whose gnawing 
 passions, and long-hoarded spleen, shall make me curse my folly half 
 the day, and all the night. [Exit. 
 
 Scene III. 
 
 Mrs. Malaprop's Lodgings, 
 
 Mrs. Malaprop and Captain Absolute. 
 
 Mrs. Mai. Your being Sir Anthony's son, Captain, would itself be a 
 
 sufficient accommodation ; but from the ingenuity of your appearance, 
 
 I am convinced you deserve the character here given of you. 
 
 Abs. Permit me to say, madam, that as I never yet have had the 
 pleasure of seeing Miss Languish, my principal inducement in this 
 affair at present is the honour of being allied to Mrs. Malaprop ; of 
 whose intellectual accomplishments, elegant manners, and unaffected 
 learning, no tongue is silent. 
 
 Mrs. Mai. Sir, you do me infinite honour ! I beg. Captain, you'll 
 
38 THE RIVALS. 
 
 be seated. — [Sit] Ah ! few gentlemen, now a days, know how to value 
 the ineffectual qualities in a woman ! — few think how a little knowledge 
 become a gentlewoman. — Men have no sense now but for the worth- 
 less flower, beauty ! 
 
 Abs. It is but too true, indeed, Ma'am ; — yet I fear our ladies should 
 share the blame — they think our admiration of beauty so great, that 
 knoivledge in them would be superfluous. Thus, like garden-trees, they 
 seldom show fruits till time has robb'd them of more specious blossom. 
 — Few, like Mrs. Malaprop and the Orange-tree, are rich in both at 
 once ! 
 
 Mrs. 3IaL Sir, you overpower me with good-breeding. — He is the 
 very Pine-apple of politeness ! — You are not ignorant, Captain, that 
 this giddy girl has somehow contrived to fix her aff'ections on a 
 beggarly, strolling, eves-dropping ensign, whom none of us have seen, 
 and nobody knows anything of. 
 
 Abs. Oh, I have heard the silly affair before. — I 'm not at all 
 prejudiced against her on that account. 
 
 Mrs. Mai. You are very good and very considerate, Captain. I 
 am sure I have done everything in my power since I exploded the 
 affair ; long ago I laid my positive conjunction on her, never to think 
 on the fellow again; — I have since laid Sir Anthony's preposition before 
 her ; but, I am sorry to say, she seems resolved to decline every particle 
 that I enjoin her. 
 
 -46s. It must be very distressing, indeed, Ma'am. 
 
 Mrs. Mai. Oh ! it gives me the hydrostatics to such a degree. — I 
 thought she had persisted from corresponding with him ; but behold 
 this very day, I have interceded another letter from the fellow ! I 
 believe I have it in my pocket, 
 
 Abs. Oh, the devil ! my last note. [Aside. 
 
 Mrs. Mai. Ay, here it is. 
 
 Abs. Ay, my note indeed ! Oh, the little traitress Lucy. [Aside. 
 
 Mrs. Mai. There, perhaps you may know the writing. 
 
 [Gives him the letter. 
 
 Abs. I think I have seen the hand before — yes, I certainly must 
 have seen this hand before : — 
 
 Mrs. 3Ial. Nay, but read it. Captain. 
 
 Abs, [Beads] ^^ My soul's idol, my adored Lydia ! " — Very tender, 
 indeed ! 
 
 Mrs. Mai. Tender ! aye, and prophane too, o' my conscience. 
 
 Abs. [Eeads] "Jam excessively alarmed at the intelligence you send 
 me, the more so as my neto rival " 
 
 Mrs. Mai. That 's you, sir. 
 
THE RIVALS. 39 
 
 Abs. ^^ Hcis iiniversalhj the character of being an accomplished geiitle- 
 man, and a )nan of honour." — Well, that 'a handsome enough. 
 
 Mrs. Mid. Oh, the fellow has some design in writing so. 
 
 Ahs. That he had, I '11 answer for him, Ma'am. 
 
 Mrs. Mai. But go on, Sir — you '11 see presently. 
 
 Abs. ^^ As for the old weather-beaten she-dragon who guards you." — 
 Who can he mean by that ? 
 
 3Irs. Mid. Me, Sir ! — me / — he means me there — what do you 
 think now / — but go on a little further. 
 
 Abs. Impudent scoundrel I — " it shall go hard but I will elude her 
 vigilance, as I am told that the same ridiculous vanity, which makes her 
 dress vp her coarse features, and deck her dull chativith hard tvords %vhich 
 she don't understand'' 
 
 Mrs. Mai. There, Sir I an attack upon my language ! what do you 
 think of that? — an aspersion upon my parts of speech ! was ever such 
 a brute ! save if I reprehend any thing in this world, it is the use of 
 my oracular tongue, and a nice derangement of epitaphs ! 
 
 Abs. He deserves to be hang'd and quartered! let me see — ^^ same 
 ridiculous vanity " 
 
 Mrs. Mai. You need not read it again, Sir. 
 
 Abs. I beg pardon, Ma'am — *^ does also lay her open to the grossest 
 deceptions from flattery and pretended admiration" — an impudent 
 coxcomb I — ^^so that I have a scheme to see you shortly unth the old 
 Harridan's coiisent, and eveyi to make her a go-between in our inter- 
 views.*' — Was ever such assurance I 
 
 Mrs. Mai. Did you ever hear anything like it ? — he '11 elude my 
 vigilance, will he ? — Yes, yes ! ha ! ha ! he 's very likely to enter these 
 floors ; — we '11 try who can plot best ! 
 
 Abs. Hal ha! ha! a conceited puppy, ha ! ha! ha! — Well, but Mrs. 
 Malaprop, as the girl seems so infatuated by this fellow, suppose you 
 were to wink at her corresponding with him for a little time — let her 
 even plot an elopement with him — then do you connive at her escape 
 — while I, just in the nick, will have the fellow laid by the heels, and 
 fairly contrive to carry her off in his stead. 
 
 Mrs. Mai. I am delighted with the scheme ; never was anything 
 better perpetrated ! 
 
 Abs. But, pray, could not I see the lady for a few minutes now ? — I 
 should like to try her temper a little. 
 
 Mrs. Mai. Why, I don't know — I doubt she is not prepared for a 
 first visit of this kind. There is a decorum in these matters. 
 
 Abs. O Lord ! she won't mind me — only tell her Beverley 
 
 Mrs. Mai. Sir ! 
 
40 THE RIVALS. 
 
 Abs. Gently, good tongue. [Aside. 
 
 Mrs. Mai. What did you say of Beverley ? 
 
 Abs. Oh, I was going to propose that you should tell her, by way of 
 jest, that it was Beverley who was below ; she 'd come down fast 
 enough then — ha ! ha ! ha ! 
 
 Mrs. Mai. 'Twould be a trick she well deserves ; besides, you know 
 the fellow tells her he'll get my consent to see her- — ha! ha! Let 
 him if he can, I say again. Lydia, come down here! — {Gallimj.'] 
 He '11 make me a go-bettoeen in their interviews ! — ha ! ha ! ha I Come 
 down, I say, Lydia ! I don't wonder at your laughing, ha ! ha ! ha I 
 his impudence is truly ridiculous. 
 
 Abs. 'Tis very ridiculous, upon my soul. Ma'am, ha ! ha ! ha ! 
 
 Mrs. Mai. The little hussy won't hear. Well, I '11 go and tell her 
 at once who it is — she shall know that Captain Absolute is come to 
 wait on her. And I '11 make her behave as becomes a young woman. 
 
 Abs. As you please. Ma'am. 
 
 Mrs. Mai. For the present, captain, your servant. Ah I you 've 
 not done laughing yet, I see — elude my vigilance ; yes, yes ; ha ! ha ! 
 ha ! [Exit. 
 
 Abs. Ha ! ha ! ha ! one would think now that I might throw off all 
 disguise at once, and seize my prize with security ; but such is Lydia's 
 caprice, that to undeceive were probably to lose her. I '11 see whether 
 she knows me. 
 
 [Walks aside, and seems engaged in looking at the ijictures. 
 
 Enter Lydia. 
 
 Lyd. What a scene am I now to go through ! surely nothing can be 
 more dreadful than to be obliged to listen to the loathsome addresses 
 of a stranger to one's heart. I have heard of girls persecuted as I am, 
 who have appealed in behalf of their favoured lover to the generosity 
 of his rival : suppose I were to try it — there stands the hated rival — 
 an officer too ! — but 0, how unlike my Beverley ! I wonder he don't 
 begin— truly he seems a very negligent wooer ! — quite at his ease, upon 
 my word ! — I '11 speak first — Mr. Absolute. 
 
 Abs. Madam. [Turns round. 
 
 Lyd. O Heav'ns ! Beverley ! 
 
 Abs. Hush ! — hush, my life ! softly ! be not surprised ! 
 
 Lyd. I am so astonished ! and so terrified ! and so overjoy'd ! — for 
 Heav'n's sake ! how came you here ? 
 
 Abs. Briefly, I have deceived your Aunt — I was informed that my 
 new rival was to visit here this evening, and contriving to have him 
 kept away, have passed myself on her for Capt. Absolute. 
 
THE RIVALS. 41 
 
 Lijd. 0, charming ! And she really takea you for young Absolute. 
 
 Abs. O, she 'a convinced of it. 
 
 Lud. Ha ! ha ! ha ! I can't forbear laughing to think how her 
 sagacity is overreached ! 
 
 Ab^. But we trifle with our precious moments — such another oppor- 
 tunity may not occur ; then let me conjure my kind, my condescending 
 angel, to fix the time when I may rescue her from undeserved 
 persecution, and with a licensed warmth plead for my reward . 
 
 Lyd. Will you then, Beverley, consent to forfeit that portion of my 
 paltry wealth ? — that burden on the wings of love ? 
 
 Abs. Oh, come to me — rich only thus — in loveliness ! Bring no 
 portion to me but thy love — 'twill be generous in you, Lydia, — 
 for well you know it is the only dower your poor Beverley can 
 repay. 
 
 Lml. How persuasive are his words ! — how charming will poverty 
 be with him ! 
 
 Abs. Ah ! my soul, what a life will we then live ! Love shall be our 
 idol and support ! we will worship him with a monastic strictness ; 
 abjuring all worldly toys, to center every thought and action there. — 
 Proud of calamity, we will enjoy the wreck of wealth ; while the 
 surrounding gloom of adversity shall make the flame of our pure love 
 show doubly bright. By Heav'ns ! I would fling all goods of fortune 
 from me with a prodigal hand, to enjoy the scene where I might clasp 
 my Lydia to my bosom, and say, the world afl'ords no smile to me — 
 but here — [Embracing her.] If she holds out now, the devil is 
 in it ! [Aside. 
 
 Lyd. Now could I fly with him to the Antipodes ! but my persecution 
 is not yet come to a crisis. [Aside. 
 
 Re-enter Mrs. Malaprop, listening. 
 
 Mrs. Mai. I am impatient to know how the little huzzy deports 
 herself. [Aside. 
 
 Abs. So pensive, Lydia ! — is then your warmth abated ? 
 
 3Irs. Mai. Warmth abated .'—so \—&he has been in a passion, I 
 suppose. [Aside. 
 
 Lyd. No — nor ever can while I have life. 
 
 Mrs. Mai. An ill-temper'd little devil ! She '11 be in a ^xcA;>tu?i all 
 her life— wiU she ? [Aside. 
 
 Lyd. Think not the idle threats of my ridiculous aunt can ever have 
 any weight with me. 
 
 Mrs. Mai. Very dutiful, upon my word ! [Aside. 
 
 Lyd. Let her choice be Capt. Absolute, but Beverley is mine. 
 
42 THE RIVALS. 
 
 Mrs. Mai. I am aatonished at her assurance ! — to his face — this to 
 his face! [Aside. 
 
 Abs. Thus then let me enforce my suit. [Kneeling. 
 
 Mrs. Mai. [Aside] Aye, poor young man ! — down on his knees 
 entreating for pity ! — I can contain no longer. — Why, huzzy ! huzzy ! — 
 I have overheard you. 
 
 Abs. Oh, confound her vigilance ! [Aside. 
 
 Mrs. Mai. Capt. Absolute, — I know not how to apologize for her 
 shocking rudeness. 
 
 Abs. [Aside] So— all 's safe, I &nd.— [Aside] I have hopes, Madam, 
 that time will bring the young lady 
 
 Mrs. Mai. Oh, there 's nothing to be hoped for from her ! she 'a as 
 headstrong as an allegory on the banks of Nile. 
 
 Lyd. Nay, Madam, what do you charge me with now ? 
 
 Mrs. Mai. Why, thou unblushing rebel— didn't you tell this gentle- 
 man to his face that you loved another better ? — didn't you say you 
 never would be his ? 
 
 Lyd. No, Madam — I did not. 
 
 Mrs. Mai. Good Heav'ns ! what assurance ! — Lydia, Lydia, you 
 ought to know that lying don't become a young woman ! — Didn't you 
 boast that Beverley, that stroller Beverley, possessed your heart ? — 
 Tell me that, I say. 
 
 Lyd. 'Tis true. Ma'am, and none but Beverley 
 
 Mrs. Mai. Hold ; — hold, Assurance ! — you shall not be so rude. 
 
 Abs. Nay, pray, Mrs. Malaprop, don't stop the young lady's speech : 
 she 's very welcome to talk thus — it does not hurt me in the least, I 
 assure you. 
 
 Mrs. Mai. You are too good, captain — too amiably patient — but 
 come with me, Miss. — Let us see you again soon, Captain— remember 
 what we have fixed. 
 Abs. I shall, Ma'am. 
 Mrs. Mai. Come, take a graceful leave of the gentleman. 
 
 Lyd. May every blessing wait on my Beverley, my lov'd Bev 
 
 Mrs. Mai. Huzzy! I'll choke the word in your throat! — come 
 along — come along. 
 
 [Exeunt severally ; Captain Absolute kissing his hand to Lydia— 
 Mrs. Malapkop stopping her from speaking.] 
 
THE RIVALS. 43 
 
 Scene IV. 
 Acres' Lodgings. 
 Acres and David. 
 Acres, as just dressd. 
 
 Acres. Indeed, David — do you think I become it ao ? 
 
 Dav. You are quite another creature, believe me, Master, by the 
 Mass ! an' we 've any luck we shall see the Devon monkeyrony in all 
 the print-shops in Bath ! 
 
 Acres. Dress does make a difference, David. 
 
 Dav. 'Tia all in all, I think — difference ! why, an' you were to go 
 now to Clod Hall, I am certain the old lady wouldn't know you : 
 Master Butler wouldn't believe his own eyes, and Mrs. Pickle would 
 cry, " Lard presarve me ! " our dairy-maid would come giggling to the 
 door, and I warrant Dolly Tester, your Honour's favourite, would blush 
 like my waistcoat. — Oons ! I '11 hold a gallon, there an't a dog in the 
 house but would bark, and I question whether Phillis would wag a 
 hair of her tail ! 
 
 Acres. Aye, David, there 's nothing like^^oZis/im*/. 
 
 Dai'. So I says of your Honour's boots ; but the boy never heeds 
 me ! 
 
 Acres. But, David, has Mr. De-la-Grace been here ? I must rub up 
 my balancing, and chasing, and boring. 
 
 Dav. I '11 call again. Sir. 
 
 Acres. Do — and see if there are any letters for me at the post-ofBce. 
 
 Dav. 1 will. — By the Mass, I can't help looking at your head ! — if I 
 hadn't been by at the cooking, I wish I may die if I should have 
 known the dish again myself. [Exit. 
 
 [Acres comes forward, practising a dancing-step.] Acres. Sink, elide 
 — coupee. — Confound the first inventors of cotillons ! say I — they are 
 as bad as algebra to us country gentlemen. — I can walk a Minuet 
 easy enough when I am forced ! — and I have been accounted a good 
 stick in a Country-dance. — Odds jigs and tabors ! I never valued 
 your cross-over two couple— figure in — right and left — and I 'd foot 
 it with e'er a captain in the county ! — but these outlandish heathen 
 AUemandes and Cotillons are quite beyond me ! — I shall never prosper 
 at 'em, that 's sure — mine are true-born English legs — they don't 
 understand their curst French lingo ! — their Pas this, and Pas that, 
 and Pas t'other ! — d — n me ! my feet don't like to be called Paws ! 
 no, 'tis certain I have most Antigallican Toes ! 
 
44 THE RIVALS. 
 
 Enter Servant. 
 
 Serv. Here is Sir Lucius O'Trigger to wait on you, Sir. 
 
 Acres. Show him in. 
 
 Enter Sir Lucius. 
 
 Sir Luc. Mr. Acres, I am delighted to embrace you. 
 
 Acres. My dear Sir Lucius, I kiss your hands. 
 
 Sir Luc. Pray, my friend, what has brought you so suddenly to 
 Bath? 
 
 Acres. Faith ! I have followed Cupid's Jack-a-lantern, and find 
 myself in a quagmire at last. — In short, I have been very ill used, Sir 
 Lucius. — I don't choose to mention names, but look on me as on a 
 very ill-used gentleman. 
 
 Sir Luc. Pray what is the case ? — I ask no names. 
 
 Acres. Mark me, Sir Lucius, I falls as deep as need be in love with a 
 young lady — her friends take my part — I follow her to Bath — send 
 word of my arrival ; and receive answer, that the lady is to be other- 
 wise disposed of. — This, Sir Lucius, I call being ill-used. 
 
 Sir Luc. Very ill, upon my conscience. — Pray, can you divine the 
 cause of it ? 
 
 Acres. Why, there 's the matter ; she has another lover, one 
 Beverley, who, I am told, is now in Bath. — Odds slanders and lies ! he 
 must be at the bottom of it. 
 
 Sir Luc. A rival in the case, is there ? — and you think he has 
 supplanted you unfairly ? 
 
 Acres. Unfairly ! to be sure he has. — He never could have done it 
 fairly. 
 
 Sir Luc. Then sure you know what is to be done ! 
 
 Acres. Not I, upon my soul ! 
 
 Sir Luc. We wear no swords here, but you understand me. 
 
 Acres. What ! fight him. 
 
 Sir Luc. Aye, to be sure : what can I mean else ? 
 
 Acres. But he has given me no provocation. 
 
 Sir Luc. Now, I think he has given you the greatest provocation in 
 the world. — Can a man commit a more heinous offence against another 
 than to fall in love with the same woman ? 0, by my soul ! it is the 
 most unpardonable breach of friendship. 
 
 Acres Breach of friendship ! aye, aye ; but I have no acquaintance 
 with this man. I never saw him in my life. 
 
 Sir Luc, That 's no argument at all — he has the less right then to 
 take such a liberty. 
 
 Acres. 'Gad, that's true — I grow full of anger, Sir Lucius ! — I fire 
 apace ! Odds hilts and blades ! I find a man may have a deal of 
 
THE RIVALS. 4& 
 
 valour in him, and not know it ! But couldn't I contrive to have a 
 little right of my side ? 
 
 Sir Luc. What the d — 1 signifies riyht, when your honour is 
 concerned ? Do you think Achilles, or my little Alexander the Great, 
 ever inquired where the right lay ? No, by my soul, they drew 
 their broad-swords, and left the lazy sons of peace to settle the justice 
 of it. 
 
 Acres. Your words are a grenadier's march to my heart ! I believe 
 courage must be catching ! — I certainly do feel a kind of valour rising 
 as it were — a kind of courage, as I may say. — Odds flints, pans, and 
 triggers ! I '11 challenge him directly. 
 
 Sir Liic. Ah, my little friend, if I had Blumlerhuss Hall here, I 
 could show you a range of ancestry, in the old O'Trigger line, that 
 would furnish the new room ; every one of whom had killed his 
 man ! — For though the mansion-house and dirty acres have slipt 
 through my fingers, I thank God our honour and the family-pictures 
 are as fresh as ever. 
 
 Acres. O, Sir Lucius ! I have had ancestors too ! — every man of 'em 
 colonel or captain in the militia !— Odds balls and barrels ! say no 
 more — I'm brac'd for it — my nerves are become catgut ! my sinews 
 wire ! and my heart Pinchbeck ! The thunder of your words has 
 soured the milk of human kindness in my breast : — Z — ds ! as the 
 man in the play says, " I could do such deeds ! " 
 
 Sir Luc. Come, come, there must be no passion at all in the case — 
 these things should always be done civilly. 
 
 Acres. I must be in a passion, Sir Lucius — I must be in a rage. — 
 Dear Sir Lucius, let me be in a rage, if you love me. Come, here 's 
 pen and paper. —[*Sf/iA' doxon to write.'] I would the ink were red ! — 
 Indite, I say, indite ! — -How shall I begin ? Odds bullets and blades ! 
 I '11 write a good hold hand, however. 
 
 Sir Luc. Pray compose yourself. 
 
 Acres. Come — now shall I begin with an oath ? Do, Sir Lucius, 
 let me begin with a damme. 
 
 Sir Luc. Pho ! pho ! do the thing decently, and like a Christian. 
 Begin now — '* Sir " 
 
 Acres. That 'a too civil by half. 
 
 Sir Luc. " To prevent the confitsion that miijht arisc.^' 
 
 Acres. Well 
 
 Sir Luc. '^ From our both addressing the same lady." 
 
 Acres, Aye, there 's the reason — " same lady " — Well 
 
 Sir Luc. " I shall expect the honour of your company." 
 
 Acres. Z — ds ! I 'm not asking him to dinner. 
 
46 THE RIVALS. 
 
 Sir Luc. Pray be easy. 
 
 Acres. Well, then, " honour of your company." 
 
 Sir Luc. " To settle our pretensions." 
 
 Acres. Well. 
 
 Sir Luc. Let me see, aye, King' s-Mead-Jields will do — " In King's- 
 Mead fields." 
 
 Acres. So, that 's done — Well, I '11 fold it up presently ; my own 
 crest — a hand and dagger — shall be the seal. 
 
 Sir Luc. You see now this little explanation will put a stop at once 
 to all confusion or misunderstanding that might arise between you. 
 
 Acres. Aye, we fight to prevent any misunderstanding. 
 
 Sir Luc. Now, I '11 leave you to fix your own time. — Take my advice, 
 and you '11 decide it this evening if you can ; then let the worst come 
 of it, 'twill be off your mind to-morrow. 
 
 Acres. Very true. 
 
 Sir Luc. So I shall see nothing of you, unless it be by letter, till the 
 evening. — I would do myself the honour to carry your message ; but, 
 to tell you a secret, I believe I shall have just such another affair on 
 my own hands. There is a gay captain here, who put a jest on me 
 lately, at the expence of my country, and I only want to fall in with 
 the gentleman, to call him out. 
 
 Acres. By my valour, I should like to see you fight first ! Odds 
 life ! I should like to see you kill him, if it was only to get a little 
 lesson. 
 
 Sir Luc. I shall be very proud of instructing you. — Well for the 
 present — but remember now, when you meet your antagonist, do 
 every thing in a mild and agreeable manner. — Let your courage be as 
 keen, but at the same time as polished as your sword. 
 
 [Exeunt severally. 
 
 End of the Thikd Aot. 
 
THE RIVALS. 47 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 SCBNB I. 
 
 Acres' Lodgings. 
 
 Acres and David. 
 
 David. Then, by the Mass, Sir ! I would do no such thing— ne'er 
 
 a St. Lucius O'Triyger in the kingdom should make me fight, when 
 
 I wa'n't so minded. Oons I what will the old lady say, when she 
 
 hears o 't ? 
 
 Acres. Ah ! David, if you had heard Sir Lucius ! — Odds sparks and 
 flames ! he would have roused your valour. 
 
 David. Not he, indeed. I hates such bloodthirsty cormorants. 
 Look'ee, Master, if you 'd wanted a bout at boxing, quarter-staff, or 
 short-staff, I should never be the man to bid you cry off : but for 
 your curst sharps and snaps, I never knew any good come of 'em. 
 
 Acres. But my honour, David, my honour! I must be very careful 
 of my honour. 
 
 David. Aye, by the Mass ! and I would be very careful of it ; and 
 I think in return my honour couldn't do less than to be very careful 
 of me. 
 
 Acres. Odds blades ! David, no gentleman will ever risk the loss of 
 his honour ! 
 
 David. I say then, it would be but civil in honour never to risk the 
 loss of the gentleman — Look'ee, Master, this honotir seems to me to 
 be a marvellous false friend : aye, truly, a very courtier-like servant. 
 — Put the case, I was a gentleman (which, thank God, no one can 
 say of me ;) well — my honour makes me quarrel with another 
 gentleman of my acquaintance. — So — we fight. (Pleasant enough 
 that !) Boh ; — I kill him — (the more's my luck !) now, pray who gets 
 the profit of it ? — Why, my honour. But put the case that he kills 
 me ! — by the Mass ! I go to the worms, and my honour whips over 
 to my enemy. 
 
 Acres. No, David — in that case ! — odds crowns and laurels ! your 
 honour follows you to the grave. 
 
 David. Now, that's just the place where I could make a shift to 
 do without it. 
 
 Acres. Z — ds ! David, you are a coward ! — It doesn't become 
 my valour to listen to you. — What, shall I disgrace my ancestors? 
 — Think of that, David — think what it would be to disgrace my 
 ancestors ! 
 
48 THE RIVALS. 
 
 David. Under favour, the surest way of not disgracing them, is to 
 keep as long as you can out of their company. Look'ee now. Master, 
 to go to them in such haste — with an ounce of lead in your brains — I 
 should think might as well be let alone. Our ancestors are very good 
 kind of folks ; but they are the last people I should choose to have a 
 visiting acquaintance with. 
 
 Acres. But, David, now, you don't think there is such very, very, 
 very great danger, hey ? — Odds life ! people often fight without any 
 mischief done ! 
 
 David. By the Mass, I think 'tis ten to one against you ! — Oons ! 
 here to meet some lion-headed fellow, I warrant, with his d — n'd 
 double-barrelled swords, and cut-and-thrust pistols ! Lord bless us ! 
 it makes me tremble to think o't — Those be such desperate bloody- 
 minded weapons ! Well, I never could abide 'em ! — from a child I 
 never could fancy 'em ! — I suppose there an't so merciless a beast in 
 the world as your loaded pistol ! 
 
 Acres. Z — ds ! I won't be afraid ! — Odds fire and fury ! you shan't 
 make me afraid. — Here is the challenge, and I have sent for my dear 
 friend Jack Absolute to carry it for me. 
 
 David. Aye, i' the name of michief, let him be the messenger. — 
 For my part, I wouldn't lend a hand to it for the best horse in your 
 stable. By the Mass ! it don't look like another letter ! It is, as I 
 may say, a designing and malicious-looking letter ! and I warrant 
 smells of gunpowder like a soldier's pouch ! — Oons ! I wouldn't swear 
 it mayn't go ofif ! 
 
 Acres. Out, you poltroon ! you han't the valour of a grasshopper. 
 
 David. Well, I say no more — 'twill be sad news, to be sure, at Clod 
 Hall ! but I ha' done. How Phillis will howl when she hears of it ! — 
 Aye, poor bitch, she little thinks what shooting her Master 's going 
 after ! And I warrant old Crop, who has carried your honour, field 
 and road, these ten years, will curse the hour he was born. 
 
 [WTiimpering. 
 
 Acres. It won't do, David — I am determined to fight — so get along, 
 you Coward, while I 'm in the mind. 
 
 Enter Servant. 
 
 Ser. Captain Absolute, Sir. 
 
 Acres. O ! show him up. [Exit Servant. 
 
 David. Well, Heaven send we be all alive this time to-morrow. 
 
 Acres. What 's that ! — Don't provoke me, David ! 
 
 David. Good-bye, Master. [Wliimjyering. 
 
 Acres. Get along, you cowardly, dastardly, croaking raven ! 
 
 [Exit David. 
 
THE RIVALS. 49 
 
 Enter Captain Absolute. 
 
 Abs. What 's the matter, Bob ? 
 
 Acres. A vile, sheep-hearted blockhead ! If I hadn't the valour of 
 St. George and the dragon to boot 
 
 Alis. But what did you want with me, Bob ? 
 
 Acres. Oh ! — There \Gives him the challenge. 
 
 Abs. To Ensign Beverley. — So — what's going on now? [^4.'>'!VZe] — 
 [Alowl.] Well, what's this ? 
 
 Acres. A challenge ! 
 
 Abs. Indeed ! Why, you won't fight him ; will you, Bob ? 
 
 Acres. 'Egad, but I will, Jack. Sir Lucius has wrought me to it. 
 He has left me full of rage — and I '11 fight this evening, that so much 
 good passion mayn't be wasted. 
 
 Abs. But what have I to do with this ? 
 
 Acres. Why, as I think you know something of this fellow, I want 
 you to find him out for me, and give him this mortal defiance. 
 
 Abs. Well, give it to me, and trust me he gets it. 
 
 Acres. Thank you, my dear friend, my dear Jack ; but it is giving 
 you a great deal of trouble. 
 
 Abs. Not in the least — I beg you won't mention it. — No trouble in 
 the world, I assure you. 
 
 Acres. You are very kind. — What it is to have a friend ! — You 
 couldn't be my second, could you. Jack ? 
 
 Abs. Why no. Bob — not in this aflfair — it woiild not be quite so 
 proper. 
 
 Acres. W^ell, then, I must fix on my friend Sir Lucius. I shall have 
 your good wishes, however. Jack ? 
 
 Abs. Whenever he meets you, believe me. 
 
 Enter Servant. 
 
 Ser. Sir Anthony Absolute is below, inquiring for the Captain. 
 
 Abs. I '11 come instantly. — Well, my little hero, success attend you. 
 
 [Going. 
 
 Acres. Stay — stay. Jack. — If Beverley should ask you what kind of 
 a man your friend Acres is, do tell him I am a devil of a fellow — will 
 you. Jack \ 
 
 Abs. To be sure I shall. I '11 say you are a determined dog— hey. 
 Bob? 
 
 Acres. Aye, do, do — and if that frightens him, 'egad, perhaps he 
 mayn't come. So tell him I generally kill a man a week ; will you, 
 Jack? 
 
60 THE RIVALS. 
 
 Ahs. I will, I will ; I '11 say you are called in the country " Fighting 
 Bob." 
 
 Acres. Right — right — 'tis all to prevent naischief ; for I don't want 
 to take his life if I clear my honour. 
 
 Abs. No ! — that 's very kind of you. 
 
 Acres. Why, you don't wish me to kill him — do you, Jack ? 
 
 Abs. No, upon my soul, I do not. But a devil of a fellow, hey ? 
 
 [Going. 
 
 Acres. True, true — but stay — stay Jack,— you may add, that you 
 never saw me in such a rage before — a most devouring rage 1 
 
 Abs. I will, I will. 
 
 Acres. Remember, Jack — a determined dog ! 
 
 Abs. Aye, aye, '^ Fighting Bob ! " [Exeunt severally. 
 
 Scene II. 
 3Irs. Malaprop's Lodgings. 
 Mrs. Malaprop and Lydia. 
 
 Mrs. Mai. Why, thou perverse one I — tell me what you can object to 
 him ? Isn't he a handsome man ? — tell me that. A genteel man ? a 
 pretty figure of a man ? 
 
 Lyd. [Aside] She little thinks whom she is praising I— [Aloud.] So 
 is Beverley, Ma'am. 
 
 Mrs. Med. No caparisons, Miss, if you please. Caparisons don't 
 become a young woman. No ! Captain Absolute is indeed a fine 
 gentleman ! 
 
 Lyd. Aye, the Captain Absolute you have seen. [Aside. 
 
 Mrs. Mai. Then he 's so well bred ; — so full of alacrity, and adulation ! 
 — and has so much to say for himself : — in such good language, too ! 
 His physiognomy so grammatical ! Then his presence is so noble ! I 
 protest, when I saw him, I thought of what Hamlet says in the play : 
 — " Hesperian curls — the front of Job himself ! — An eye, like March, 
 to threaten at command ! — A Station, like Harry Mercury, new — " 
 Something about kissing — on a hill — however, the similitude struck me 
 directly. 
 
 Lyd. How enraged she'll be presently, when she discovers her 
 mistake ! [Aside. 
 
 Enter Servant. 
 
 Ser. Sir Anthony, and Captain Absolute are below, Ma'am. 
 
 Mrs. Mai. Show them up here.— [Exit Serv.] Now, Lydia, I insist 
 on your behaving as becomes a young woman. Shew your good 
 breeding, at least, though you have forgot your duty. 
 
THE RIVALS. 51 
 
 Liid. Madam, I have told you my resolution ; — I shall not only give 
 him no encouragement, but I won't even speak to, or look at him. 
 
 [Flings herself into a chair, with her face from the door. 
 
 Enter Sir Anthony and Absolute. 
 
 Sir Anth. Here we are, ]\fra. Malaprop ; come to mitigate the frowns 
 of unrelenting beauty, — and difficulty enough I had to bring this 
 fellow. — I don't know what's the matter ; but if I hadn't held him by 
 force, he 'd have given me the slip. 
 
 Mrs. Mai. You have infinite trouble. Sir Anthony, in the affair. 
 I am ashamed for the cause ! Lydia, Lydia, rise, I beseech you I — 
 pay your respects ! [Aside to her] 
 
 Sir Anth. I hope, madam, that Miss Languish has reflected on the 
 worth of this gentleman, and the regard due to her aunt's choice, and 
 my alliance.— Now, Jack, speak to her ! [Aside to him.] 
 
 Abs. What the d— 1 shall I do ! [Aside.]— [Aside] You see. Sir, 
 she won't even look at me, whilst you are here. I knew she wouldn't ! 
 I told you so. Let me entreat you, Sir, to leave us together ! 
 
 [Absolute seems to exposUdate with his father. 
 
 Lyd. [Aside. ] I wonder I han't heard my Aunt exclaim yet ! sure 
 she can't have looked at him !— perhaps their regimentals are alike, and 
 she is something blind. 
 
 Sir A nth. I say. Sir, I won't stir a foot yet ! 
 
 Mrs. Med. I am sorry to say, Sir Anthony, that my affluence over 
 my Niece is very small. — Turn round, Lydia : I blush for you ! [Aside 
 to her.] 
 
 Sir Anth, May I not flatter myself that Miss Languish will assign 
 what cause of dislike she can have to my son ! — Why don't you begin, 
 Jack 1 — Speak, you puppy — speak ! [Aside to him.] 
 
 Mrs. 2Ial. It is impossible. Sir Anthony, she can have any. She 
 will not say she has. — Answer, hussy ! why don't you answer ? [Aside 
 to her.] 
 
 Sir Anth. Then, Madam, I trust that a childish and hasty predilection 
 will be no bar to Jack's happiness. — Z — ds ! sirrah ! why don't you 
 speak ? [Aside to him.] 
 
 Lyd. [Aside.] I think my lover seems as little inclined to conversa- 
 tion as myself. — How strangely blind my Aunt must be ! 
 
 Abs. Hem ! h«m I Madam — hem ! — [As^iOLVTE attemjyts to speak, then 
 returns to Sir Anthony.] Faith ! Sir, I am so confounded ! — and — so 
 — 30 — confused ! — I told you I should be so. Sir — I knew it. — The 
 — the — tremor of my passion entirely takes away my presence of 
 mind. 
 
 E 2 
 
52 THU RIVALS. 
 
 Sir Anth. But it don't take away your voice, fool, does it ? — Go up, 
 and speak to her directly ! 
 
 [Absolute makes nigns to Mrs. Mal. to leave them together. 
 
 Airs. Mid. Sir Anthony, shall we leave them together ? — Ah ! you 
 stubborn, little vixen ! [Aside to her.] 
 
 Sir Ajith. Not yet. Ma'am, not yet ! — What the d — 1 are you at? 
 
 unlock your jaws, sirrah, or [Aside to him.'] [Absolute draws 
 
 near Lydia.] 
 
 Ahs. Now Heav'n send she may be too sullen to look round ! — I 
 must disguise my voice. — [Speaks i?i a loxo hoarse to^ie.] Will not Miss 
 Languish lend an ear to the mild accents of true love ? Will not 
 
 Sir Anth. What the d — 1 ails the fellow ? why don't you speak 
 out 1 — not stand croaking like a frog in a quinsey ! 
 
 Ahs. The — the — excess of my awe, and my — my — modesty quite 
 choak me ! 
 
 Sir Anth. Ah ! your modesty again ! — I '11 tell you what. Jack, if 
 you don't speak out directly, and glibly too, I shall be in such a rage ! 
 — Mrs. Malaprop, I wish the lady would favour us with something 
 more than a side-front. 
 
 [Mks. Malapkop seems to chide Lydia. 
 
 Abs. So ! — all will out, I see ! — [Goes i*p to Lydia, sjjeaks softly.] 
 Be not surprised, my Lydia, suppress all surprise at present. 
 
 Lyd. [Aside.] Heav'ns ! 'tis Beverley's voice ! Sure he can't have 
 imposed on Sir Anthony too ! — [Looks round by degrees, then starts up.] 
 Is this possible ! — my Beverley ! — how can this be ? — my Beverley ? 
 
 Abs. Ah ! 'tis all over. [Aside. 
 
 Sir Anth. Beverley !— the devil — Beverley ! — What can the girl 
 mean 1 — this is my son. Jack Absolute. 
 
 Mrs. Mal. For shame, hussy ! for shame ! your head runs so on that 
 fellow, that you have him always in your eyes ! — beg Captain Absolute's 
 pardon directly. 
 
 Lijd. I see no Captain Absolute, but my loved Beverley ! 
 
 Sir Anth. Z — ds ! the girl 's mad ! — her brain 's turned by reading. 
 
 Mrs. Mal. 0' my conscience, I believe so ! — What do you mean by 
 Beverley, hussey ? — You saw Captain Absolute before to-day ; there he 
 is — your husband that shall be. 
 
 Lyd. With all my soul, Ma'am — when I refuse my Beverley 
 
 Sir Anth. Oh ! she 's as mad as Bedlam ! — or has this fellow been 
 playing us a rogue's trick ! — Come here, sirrah, who the d— 1 are 
 you ! 
 
 Abs. Faith, Sir, I am not quite clear myself ; but I '11 endeavour to 
 recollect. 
 
THi: lili^ALii. 53 
 
 Sir Anth. Are you ray son or not ? — answer for your raother, you 
 dog, if you won't for me. 
 
 Mrs. Mai. Aye, Sir, who are you ? O mercy ! I begin to 
 suspect ! 
 
 Abs. Ye Powers of Impudence, befriend me ! — [Axicle.] Sir Anthony, 
 most assuredly I am your wife's son ; and that I sincerely believe 
 myself to be yaiir's also, I hope my duty has always shewn. — Mrs. 
 Malaprop, I am your moat respectful admirer, and shall be proud to 
 add affixtionate nephew. — I need not tell my Lydia, that she sees her 
 faithful Beverley, who, knowing the singular generosity of her temper, 
 assum'd that name, and a station, which has proved a test of the most 
 disinterested love, which he now hopes to enjoy in a more elevated 
 character. 
 
 Lijcl. So ! — there will be no elopement after all ! [Sullenly. 
 
 Sir Anth. Upon my soul. Jack, thou art a very impudent fellow ! 
 to do you justice, I think I never saw a piece of more consummate 
 assurance ! 
 
 Ahs. Oh, you flatter me, sir — you compliment — 'tis my modesty, you 
 know, sir — my modesty that has stood in my way. 
 
 Sir Anth. Well, I am glad you are not the dull, insensible varlet 
 you pretended to be, however ! — I 'm glad you have made a fool of 
 your father, you dog — I am. So this was your penitence, your duty 
 and obedience ! — I thought it was d — n'd sudden ! — You never heard 
 their names before, not you ! — what, Languishes of Worcestershire, 
 hey ? — if yo\h could please me in the ajfair, 'twas all you desired ! — Ah ! 
 you dissembling villain ! — What \— {pointing io Lydia] she squints don't 
 she ? — a little red-haired girl ! — hey ? — Why, you hypocritical young 
 rascal ! — I wonder you a'n't ashamed to hold up your head ! 
 
 Abs. 'Tis with difficulty, Sir. — I am confus'd — very much confua'd, 
 as you must perceive. 
 
 Mrs. Mai. Lud ! Sir Anthony ! — a new light breaks in upon me 1 
 — hey ! — how ! what ! Captain, did you write the Letters then ? — 
 What — I am to thank you, for the elegant compilation of ' an old 
 weather -beaten she-dragon ' — hey ? — mercy ! — was it you that reflected 
 on my parts of speech ? 
 
 Abs. Dear Sir ! my modesty will be overpower'd at last, if you don't 
 assist me. — I shall certainly not be able to stand it ! 
 
 Sir Anth. Come, come, Mrs. Malaprop, we must forget and 
 forgive ; — odds life ! matters have taken so clever a turn all of a 
 sudden, that I could find in my heart to be so good-humoured I and so 
 gallant ! hey ! Mrs. Malaprop ! 
 
 Mrs. Mai. Well, Sir Anthony, since you desire it, we will not 
 
54 THE BIVALS. 
 
 anticipate the past ; — so mind, young people — our retrospection will be 
 
 all to the future. 
 
 Sir Anth. Come, we must leave them together ; Mrs. Malaprop, 
 
 they long to fly into each other's arms, I warrant ! — Jack, isn't the 
 
 cheek as I said, hey? — and the eye, you dog? — and the lip — hey? 
 
 Come, Mrs. Malaprop, we '11 not disturb their tenderness — theirs is 
 
 the time of life for happiness ! — " Youth 's the season made for joy" — 
 
 [Sings] — hey ! — Odds life ! I 'm in such spirits, — I don't know what 
 
 I couldn't do ! — Permit me, Ma'am — [Gives his hand to Mrs. Mala- 
 
 PKOP.] {Sings) Tol-de-rol — 'gad, I should like to have a little fooling 
 
 myself — Tol-de-rol ! de-rol. 
 
 [Exit singing, and handing Mrs. Mal. 
 
 Lydia sits srdlenly in her chair. 
 
 Abs. So much thought bodes me no good. — [J.side.] So grave, 
 Lydia ! 
 
 Lyd. Sir ! 
 
 Abs. So !— egad ! I thought as much ! — that d — n'd monosyllable 
 has froze me ! — [J^side.] What, Lydia, now that we are as happy in 
 our friends co7isent, as in our mutual voivs 
 
 Lyd. Friends consent, indeed ! [Peevishly. 
 
 Abs. Come, come, we must lay aside some of our romance — a little 
 wealth and comfort may be endur'd after all. And for your fortune, 
 the lawyers shall make such settlements as 
 
 Lyd. Lawyers ! I hate lawyers I 
 
 Abs. Nay then, we will not wait for their lingering forms, but 
 instantly procure the licence, and 
 
 Lyd. The licence ! — I hate licence 1 
 
 Abs. Oh my Love ! be not so unkind ! — thus let me intreat 
 
 [Kneeling. 
 
 Lyd Pshaw ! — what signifies kneeling, when you know I mud have 
 you ? 
 
 Abs. [Rising.] Nay, Madam, there shall be no constraint upon your 
 inclinations, I promise you. — If I have lost your heart — T resign the 
 rest — 'Gad, I must try what a little spirit will do. [Aside.] 
 
 Lyd. [Rising.] Then, Sir, let me tell you, the interest you had 
 there was acquired by a mean, unmanly imposition, and deserves the 
 punishment of fraud. — What, you have been treating me like a child I 
 — humouring my romance ! and laughing, I suppose, at your success ! 
 
 Abs. You wrong me, Lydia, you wrong me — only hear 
 
 Lyd. So, while I fondly imagined we were deceiving my relations, 
 and flatter'd myself that I should outwit and incense them all — 
 behold ! my hopes ai-e to be crush'd at once, by my Aunt's consent and 
 
TEE RIVALS. 55 
 
 approbation — and Jam myself the only dupe at last ! — [Walking about 
 in heat.] 
 
 Abs Nay, but hear me 
 
 Lyd. No, Sir, you could not think that such paltry artifices could 
 please me, when the mask was thrown off ! But I suppose since your 
 tricks have made you secure of my fortune, you are little solicitous 
 about my affections. — But here, Sir, here is the picture — Beverley's 
 picture I [taking a miniature from her bosom] which I have worn, 
 night and day, in spite of threats and entreaties ! — There, Sir ; [flings 
 it to him] and be assured I throw the original from my heart as 
 easily ! 
 
 Abs. Nay, nay. Ma'am, we will not differ as to that — Here [taking 
 out a picture] here is Miss Lydia Languish. — What a difference ! — aye, 
 there is the heav'nly assenting smile, that first gave soul and spirit to 
 my hopes ! — those are the lips which seal'd a vow, as yet scarce dry 
 in Cupid's calendar ! and there the half resentful blush, that would 
 have check'd the ardour of my thanks I — -Well, all that 's past ?— all 
 over indeed I — There, Madam — in beauty, that copy is not equal to 
 you, but in my mind it's merit over the original, in being still the 
 same, is such — that — I cannot find in my heart to part with it. 
 
 [Pids it up again. 
 
 Lyd [Softening.] 'Tis your oum doing. Sir — I, I, I suppose you are 
 perfectly satisfied. 
 
 Abs. 0, most certainly — sure, now this is much better than being in 
 love ! — ha ! ha ! ha ! — there 's some spirit in this ! — What signifies 
 breaking some scores of solemn promises, half an hundred vows, under 
 one's hand, with the marks of a dozen or two angels to witness — all 
 that 's of no consequence, you know. To be sure people will say, that 
 Miss don't know her own mind — ^but never mind that :— Or, perhaps, 
 they may be ill-natured enough to hint, that the gentleman grew tired 
 of the lady and forsook her — but don't let that fret you. 
 
 Lyd. There is no bearing his insolence. [B\irsts into tears. 
 
 Enter Mrs Malaprop and Sir Anthoxy. 
 Mrs. yial. [Entering.] Come, we must interrupt your billing and 
 cooing a while. 
 
 Lyd. This is icorse than your treachery and deceit, you base ingrate ! 
 
 [Snhhing. 
 Sir Anth. What the devil's the matter now i* — Z — ds ! Mrs. Mala- 
 prop, this is the oddest hilling and cooing I ever heard ! — but what the 
 deuce is the meaning of it ? — I am quite astonished I 
 Abs. Ask the lady. Sir. 
 
56 THE RIVALS. 
 
 Mrs. Mai. O mercy ! — I 'm quite analyzed for ray part 1 — Why, 
 Lydia, what is the reason of this ? 
 
 Lyd. Ask the gentleman, Ma'am. 
 
 Sir Anth. Z — ds ! I shall be in a phrenzy I — Why, Jack, you 
 scoundrel, you are not come out to be any one else, are you 1 
 
 Mrs. Mai. Aye, Sir, there 's no more trick, is there ? — you are not 
 like Cerberus, three Gentlemen at once, are you ? 
 
 Abs. You '11 not let me speak — I say the lady can account for this 
 much better than I can. 
 
 Lyd. Ma'am, you once commanded me never to think of Beverley 
 again — there is the man — I now obey you : for, from this moment, I 
 renounce him for ever. [Exit Lydia. 
 
 Mrs. Mai. O mercy ! and miracles ! what a turn her« is — why, 
 sure Captain, you haven't behaved disrespectfully to my Niece ? 
 
 Sir A7ith. Ha ! ha ! ha !— ha ! ha ! ha ! — now I see it. Ha ! ha ! 
 ha I — now I see it — you have been too lively, Jack. 
 
 Abs. Nay, sir, upon my word 
 
 Sir Anth. Come, no lying. Jack — I'm sure 't^xis so. 
 
 3Irs. Mai. O Lud ! Sir Anthony ! — fie. Captain ! 
 
 Abs. Upon my soul. Ma'am 
 
 Sir Anth. Come, no excuse, Jack ; why, your father, you rogue, 
 was so before you ! — the blood of the Absolutes was always impatient. 
 — Ha ! ha ! ha ! poor little Lydia ! why, you 've frightened her, you 
 Dog, you have. 
 
 Abs. By all that 's good, sir 
 
 Sir Anth. Z — ds ! say no more, I tell you. Mrs. Malaprop shall make 
 your peace. You must make his peace, Mrs. Malaprop : — you must 
 tell her 'tis Jack's way — tell her 'tis all our ways — it runs in the blood 
 of our family ! Come, get on. Jack. Ha ! ha ! ha ! — Mrs. Malaprop 
 — a young villain ! [Pushing him out. 
 
 3Irs. Mai. O ! Sir Anthony ! — fie, Captain ! [Exeunt severally. 
 
 Scene HI. 
 
 The North Parade. 
 
 Enter Sir Lucius O'Trigger. 
 
 Sir Lvc. wonder where this Capt. Absolute hides himself I Upon my 
 
 conscience ! these oflicers are always in one's way in love afiairs : — I 
 
 remember I might have married Lady Dorothy Carmine, if it had not 
 
 been for a little rogue of a major, who ran away with her before she 
 
 could get a sight of me ! And I wonder too what it is the ladies can 
 
THE RIVALS. 57 
 
 Bee in them to be so fond of them — unless it be a touch of the old 
 serpent in 'em, that makes the little creatures be caught, like vipers 
 with a bit of red cloth. Hah ! isn't this the Captain coming ? — faith 
 it is ! — ^There is a probability of succeeding about that fellow, that is 
 mighty provoking ! Who the devil is he talking to ? [Steps aside. 
 
 Enter Capt, Absolute. 
 
 Ahs. To what fine purpose I have been plotting ! a noble reward for 
 all my schemes, upon my soul !— a little f/ypsey ! — I did not think her 
 romance could have made her so d — n'd absurd either. 'Sdeath, I 
 never was in a worse humour in my life ! — I could cut my own throat, 
 or any other person's with the greatest pleasure in the world I 
 
 Sir Luc. O, faith ! I 'm in the luck of it. I never could have found 
 him in a sweeter temper for my purpose— to be sure I 'm just come in 
 the nick ! Now to enter into conversation with him, and so quarrel 
 genteelly. — [Sir Lucius goes up to Absolute. With regard to that 
 matter. Captain, I must beg leave to differ in opinion with you. 
 
 Ahs. Upon my word, then, you must be a very subtle disputant : — 
 because, Sir, I happened just then to be giving no opinion at all. 
 
 Sir Luc. That 's no reason. For give me leave to tell you, a man 
 may thinh an untruth as well as speak one. 
 
 Ahs. Very true, Sir ; but if a man never utters his thoughts, I 
 should think they might stand a chance of escaping controversy. 
 
 Sir Luc. Then, sir, you diflfer in opinion with me, which amounts to 
 the same thing. 
 
 Ahs. Hark'ee, Sir Lucius ; if I had not before known you to be a 
 gentleman, upon my soul, I should not have discovered it at this 
 interview : for what you can drive at, unless you mean to quarrel with 
 me, I cannot conceive ! 
 
 Sir Luc. I humbly thank you. Sir, for the quickness of your appre- 
 hension. — [Boiving.] — you have named the very thing I would be at. 
 
 Ahs. Very well. Sir ; I shall certainly not baulk your inclinations. — 
 But I should be glad you would please to explain your motives. 
 
 Sir Luc. Pray, Sir, be easy — the quarrel is a very pretty quarrel as 
 it stands — we should only spoil it, by trying to explain it. — However, 
 your memory is very short, or you could not have forgot an affront 
 you paas'd on me within this week. So no more, but name your time 
 and place. 
 
 Ahs. Well, Sir, since you are so bent on it, the sooner the better ; 
 let it be this evening— here, by the Spring Gardens. — We shall scarcely 
 be interrupted. 
 
 Sir Luc. Faith ! that same interruption in affairs of this nature 
 
58 THE RIVALS. 
 
 shows very great ill-breeding. I don't know what 'a the reason, but in 
 England, if a thing of this kind gets wind, people make such a pother, 
 that a gentleman can never fight in peace and quietness. However, if 
 it's the same to you, Captain, I should take it as a particular kindness, 
 if you 'd let us meet in King's- Mead-Fields, as a little business will call 
 me there about six o'clock, and I may despatch both matters at once. 
 
 Ahs. 'Tis the same to me exactly. A little after six, then we will 
 discuss this matter more seriously. 
 
 Sir Luc. If you please. Sir ; there will be very pretty small-sword 
 light, though it won't do for a long shot. So that matter 'a settled, 
 and my mind 's at ease ! [Exit. 
 
 Enter Faulkland meeting Absolute. 
 Ahs. Well met — I was going to look for you. O Faulkland ! all the 
 D.iemons of spite and disappointment have conspired against me ! I 'm so 
 vex'd, that if I had not the prospect of a resource in being knock'd o' the 
 head by and bye, I should scarce have spirits to tell you the cause. 
 
 Faulk. What can you mean ? — Has Lydia changed her mind ? — I 
 should have thought her duty and inclination would now have pointed 
 to the same object. 
 
 Ahs. Aye, just as the eyes do of a person who squints : when her 
 love-eye was fixed on me, t'other, her eye of duty, was finely obliqued : 
 but when duty bid her point that the same way, off t'other turned on 
 a swivel, and secured its retreat with a frown ! 
 
 Fanlk. But what 's the resource you 
 
 Ahs. O, to wind up the whole, a good-natured Irishman here has— 
 [Mimicking Sir Lucius] beg'd leave to have the pleasure of cutting 
 my thr'>at — and I mean to indulge him — that 's all. 
 Fanlk. Prithee, be serious ! 
 
 Ahs. 'Tis fact, upon my soul ! Sir Lucius O'Trigger — you know him 
 by sight — for some affront, which I am sure I never intended, has 
 obliged me to meet him this evening at six o'clock : 'tis on that 
 account I wished to see you — you must go with me. 
 
 Favlk. Nay, there must be some mistake, sure. — Sir Lucius shall 
 explain himself — and I dare say matters may be accommodated : but 
 this evening did you say ? I wish it had been any other time 
 
 Ahs. Why ? there will be light enough : — there will (as Sir Lucius 
 says) "be very pretty small sword light, tho' it won't do for a long 
 shot." Confound his long shots ! 
 
 Fanlk. But I am myself a good deal ruffled by a difference I have 
 had with Julia — my vile tormenting temper has made me treat her so 
 cruelly, that I shall not be myself till we are reconciled. 
 
THE RIVALS. 59 
 
 Ahs. By Heav'ns ! Faulkland, you don't deserve her ! 
 Enter Servant, gives Faulkland a Utter. 
 
 Fanlk. Oh, Jack ! this is from Julia— T dread to open it— I fear it 
 may be to take a last leave — perhaps to bid me return her letters — and 
 restore- 0, how I suffer for my folly ! 
 
 Ahs. Here, let me see. — [Takes the letter and opens it.} Ay, a final 
 sentence, indeed ! — 'tis all over with you, faith ! 
 
 Faidk. Nay, Jack, don't keep me in suspense ! 
 
 AIh<t. Hear then — As " I am convinced that my dear Faulkland' s own 
 reflections have already upbraided him for his last utikindness to me, I 
 will not add a xvord on the subject. I loish to speak with you as soon as 
 possible. Your's ever and tridy, JvLiA." There's stubbornness and 
 resentment for you ! — [Gives him the letter.] Why, man, you don't 
 seem one whit happier at this ! 
 
 Fatdk. yes, I am ; but — but 
 
 Ahs. Confound your hvts. — You never hear anything that would make 
 another man bless himself, but you immediately d — n it with a but. 
 
 Faidk. Now, Jack, as you are my friend, own honestly — don't you 
 think there is something forward — something indelicate in this haste to 
 forgive ? Women should never sue for reconciliation : that should alivays 
 come from us. They should retain their coldness till ivoo'd to kindness ; 
 and their pardon, like their love, should " not unsought be won." 
 
 Abs. I have not patience to listen to you : — thou 'rt incorrigible I 
 80 say no more on the subject. — I must go to settle a few matters. 
 Let me see you before six — remember — at my lodgings. — A poor 
 industrious devil like me, who have toil'd, and drudg'd, and plotted to 
 gain my ends, and am at last disappointed by other people's folly — 
 may in pity be allowed to swear and grumble a little ; — but a captious 
 sceptic in love — a slave to fretfulness and whim — who has no difficulties 
 but of his own creating — is a subject more fit for ridicule than com- 
 passion ! [Exit Absolute. 
 
 Fardk. I feel his reproaches ! — yet I would not change this too 
 exquisite nicety for the gross content with which he tramples on the 
 thorns of love. — His engaging me in this duel, has started an idea in 
 my head, which I will instantly pursue. — I '11 use it as the touchstone 
 of Julia's sincerity and disinterestedness — if her love prove pure and 
 sterling ore — my name will rest on it with honour ! and once I 've 
 stamped it there, I lay aside my doubts for ever : — but if the dross of 
 selfishness, the allay of pride predominate, 'twill be best to leave her 
 as a toy for some less cautious Fool to sigh for I [Exit Faulkland. 
 
 End of the Fourth Act. 
 
60 TEE RIVALS. 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 Scene I. 
 
 Julia's Dressiny-Boom. 
 Julia, sola. 
 How this message has alarmed me ! what dreadful accident can he 
 mean ! why such charge to be alone ?— O Faulkland ! — ^how many 
 unhappy moments ! — how many tears have you cost me ! 
 
 Enter Faulkland, mitffled up in a Riding-coat. 
 
 Jul. What means this ? — why this caution, Faulkland ? 
 
 Faulh. Alas ! Julia, I am come to take a long farewell. 
 
 Jul. Heav'ns ! what do you mean ? 
 
 Faulk. You see before you a wretch, whose life is forfeited. Nay, 
 start not ! — the infirmity of my temper has drawn all this misery on 
 me. — I left you fretful and passionate — an untoward accident drew me 
 into a quarrel — the event is, that I must fly this kingdom instantly. 
 O Julia, had I been so fortunate as to have called you mine intirely, 
 before this mischance had fallen on me, I should not so deeply dread 
 my banishment ! — But no more of that — your heart and promise were 
 given to one happy in friends, character and station ! They are not 
 bound to wait upon a solitary, guilty exile. 
 
 Jill. My soul is opprest with sorrow at the nature of your misfortune : 
 had these adverse circumstances arisen from a less fatal cause I should 
 have felt strong comfort in the thought that I could noio chase from 
 your bosom every doubt of the warm sincerity of my love.^My heart 
 has long known no other guardian — I now entrust my person to your 
 honour — we will fly together. — When safe from pursuit, my Father's 
 will may be fulfilled — and I receive a legal claim to be the partner of 
 your sorrows, and tenderest comforter. Then on the bosom of your 
 wedded Julia, you may lull your keen regret to slumbering ; while 
 virtuous love, with a Cherub's hand, shall smoothe the brow of 
 upbraiding thought, and pluck the thorn from compunction. 
 
 Faulk. O Julia ! I am bankrupt in gratitude ! but the time is so 
 pressing, it calls on you for so hasty a resolution. — Would you not 
 wish some hours to weigh the advantages you forego, and what little 
 compensation poor Faulkland can make you beside his solitary love ? 
 
 Jul. I ask not a moment. No, Faulkland, I have lov'd you for 
 yourself : and if I now, more than ever, prize the solemn engagement 
 
THE RIVALS. 61 
 
 which so long has pledged us to each other, it is because it leaves no 
 room for hard aspersions on my fame, and puts the seal of duty to an 
 
 act of love. — But let us not linger. — Perhaps this delay 
 
 Faulk. 'Twill be better I should not venture out again till dark. — 
 Yet am I grieved to think what numberless distresses will press heavy 
 on your gentle disposition ! 
 
 Jill. Perhaps your fortune may be forfeited by this unhappy act. — 
 I know not whether 'tis so ; but sure that alone can never make ua 
 unhappy. The little I have will be sufficient to support us ; and exile 
 never should be splendid. 
 
 Faulk. Aye, but in such an abject state of life, my wounded pride 
 perhaps may increase the natural fretfulness of my temper, till I 
 become a rude, morose companion, beyond your patience to endure. 
 Perhaps the recollection of a deed, my conscience cannot justify, may 
 haunt me in such gloomy and unsocial fits, that I shall hate the 
 tenderness that would relieve me, break from your arms, and quarrel 
 with your fondness ! 
 
 Jid. If your thoughts should assume so unhappy a bent, you will 
 the more want some mild and affectionate spirit to watch over and 
 console you ! one who can, by bearing your infirmities with gentleness 
 and resignation, may teach you .so to bear the evils of your fortune. 
 
 Faulk. O Julia, I have proved you to the quick ! and with this 
 useless device I throw away all my doubts. How shall I plead to be 
 forgiven this last unworthy eflect of my restless, unsatisfied dis- 
 position ? 
 
 Jul. Has no such disaster happened as you related ? 
 Faulk. I am ashamed to own that it was pretended ; yet in pity, 
 Julia, do not kill me with resenting a fault which never can be 
 repeated : But sealing, this once, my pardon, let me to-morrow, in the 
 face of Heaven, receive my future guide and monitress, and expiate 
 my past folly, by years of tender adoration. 
 
 Jul. Hold, Faulkland ! — that you are free from a crime, which I 
 before feared to name. Heaven knows how sincerely I rejoice ! — These 
 are tears of thankfulness for that ! But that your cruel doubts should 
 have urged you to an imposition that has wrung my heart, gives me 
 now a pang more keen than I can express. 
 
 Faulk. By Heav'ns ! Julia 
 
 Jul. Yet hear me, — My Father loved you, Faulkland ! and you 
 preserv'd the life that tender parent gave me ; in his presence I 
 pledged my hand — joyfully pledged it — where before I had given my 
 heart. When, soon after, I lost that parent, it seemed to me that 
 Providence had, in Faulkland, shown me whither to transfer without 
 
62 THE RIVALS. 
 
 a pause, my grateful duty, as well as my aflfection : hence I have been 
 conteut to bear from you what pride and delicacy would have forbid 
 me from another. I will nut upbraid you, by repeating how you have 
 
 trifled with my sincerity 
 
 Faulk. I confess it all ! yet hear 
 
 Jul. After such a year of trial — I might have flattered myself that I 
 should not have been insulted with a new probation of my sincerity, 
 as cruel as unnecessary ! A trick of such a nature, as to shew me 
 plainly, that when I thought you lov'd me best, you even then regarded 
 me as a mean dissembler ; an artful, prudent hypocrite. 
 Faulk. Never ! never ! 
 
 Jul. I now see it is not in your nature to be content or confident in 
 love. With this conviction— I never will be yours. While I had 
 hopes that my persevering attention, and unreproaching kindness 
 might in time reform your temper, I should have been happy to have 
 gain'd a dearer influence over you ; but I will not furnish you with a 
 licensed power to keep alive an incorrigible fault, at the expense of 
 one who never would contend with you. 
 
 Faulk. Nay, but, Julia, by my soul and honour, if after this 
 
 Jul, But one word more. — As my faith has once been given to you, 
 I never will barter it with another. — I shall pray for your happiness 
 with the truest sincerity ; and the dearest blessing I can ask of Heaven 
 to send you, will be to charm you from that unhappy temper, which 
 alone has prevented the performance of our solemn engagement. — All 
 I request of you is, that you will yourself reflect upon this infirmity, 
 and when you number up the many true delights it has deprived you 
 of, let it not be your least regret, that it lost you the love of one who 
 would have foUow'd you in beggary through the world ! [Fxit. 
 
 Faulk. She 'a gone ! — for ever ! — There was an awful resolution 
 in her manner, that rivetted me to my place. — Fool I — Dolt ! — 
 Barbarian ! Cursed as I am, with more imperfections than my fellow- 
 wretches, kind Fortune sent a heaven-gifted cherub to my aid, and, 
 like a rufiian, I have driven her from my side ! — I must now haste to 
 my appointment. Well my mind is tuned for such a scene. I shall 
 wish only to become a principal in it, and reverse the tale my cursed 
 folly put me upon forging here. — Love ! — Tormenter ! — Fiend ! — 
 whose influence, like the Moon's, acting on men of dull souls, makes 
 idiots of them, but meeting subtler spirits, betrays their course, and 
 urges sensibility to madness ! [Exit. 
 
 Enter Maid and Lydia. 
 2Iaid. My Mistress, Ma'am, I know, was here just now — perhaps 
 she is only in the next room. [Eo:it Maid. 
 
TEi: lilVALS. 03 
 
 L\jd, Heigh ho I Though he has used me so, this fellow runs 
 strangely in my head. I believe one lecture from my grave Cousin 
 will make me recall him. 
 
 Enter Julia. 
 
 L>jd. O Julia, I have come to you with such an appetite for conaola- 
 tion. — Lud I Child, what's the matter with you I You have been 
 crying I — I '11 be hanged, if that Faulkland has not been tormenting 
 you. 
 
 J^d. You mistake the cause of my uneasiness ! — Something has 
 flurried me a little. Nothing that you can guess at — I would not 
 accuse Faulkland to a Sister ! [^J.sv'cZu.] 
 
 Lijd. Ah ! whatever vexations you may have, I can assure you mine 
 surpass them. You know who Beverley proves to be ? 
 
 Jul. I will now own to you, Lydia, that Mr. Faulkland had before 
 informed me of the whole affair. Had young Absolute been the 
 person you took him for, I should not have accepted your confidence 
 on the subject, without a serious endeavour to counteract your 
 caprice. 
 
 Lyd. So, then, I see I have been deceived by every one ! But I 
 don't care — I '11 never have him. 
 
 Jul. Nay, Lydia 
 
 L^ld. Why, ia it not provoking ; when I thought we were coming to 
 the prettiest distress imaginable, to find myself made a mere Smith- 
 field bargain of at last ! There had I projected one of the most 
 sentimental elopements I — so becoming a disguise I — so amiable a 
 ladder of Ropes ! — Conscious Moon — four horses — Scotch parson— 
 with such surprise to Mrs. Malaprop— and such paragraphs in the 
 News-papers ! — Oh, I shall die with disappointment ! 
 
 Jul. I don't wonder at it ? 
 
 Lyd. Now— sad reverse !— what have I to expect, but, after a deal 
 of flimsy preparation with a bishop's licence, and my Aunt's blessing, 
 to go simpering up to the Altar ; or perhaps be cried three times in a 
 country- church, and have an unmannerly fat clerk ask the consent 
 of every butcher in the parish to join John Absolute and Lydia 
 Languish, Spinster! O, that I should live to hear myself called 
 Spinster ! 
 
 Jid. Melancholy, indeed ! 
 
 Lrjd. How mortifying, to remember the dear deHcious shifts I 
 used to be put to, to gain half a minute's conversation with this 
 fellow !— How often have I stole forth, in the coldest night in 
 January, and found him in the garden, stuck like a dripping statue \ 
 There would he kneel to me in the snow, and sneeze and cough so 
 
64 THE RIVALS. 
 
 pathetically ! he shivering with cold, and I with apprehension ! and 
 while the freeaing blast numb'd our joints, how warmly would he 
 press me to pity his flame, and glow with mutual ardour ! — Ah, Julia, 
 that was something like being in love. 
 
 Jul. If I were in spirits, Lydia, I should chide you only by laughing 
 heartily at you : but it suits more the situation of my mind, at 
 present, earnestly to entreat you not to let a man, who loves you with 
 since rity, suffer that unhappiness from your caprice, which I know too 
 well caprice can inflict, 
 
 Lyd. Lud ! what has brought my Aunt here? 
 
 Enter Mbs. Malaprop, Fag, and David. 
 
 Mrs. Mai. So ! so ! here 'a fine work ! — here 's fine suicide, para- 
 cide, and salivation going on in the fields ! and Sir Anthony not to be 
 found to prevent the antistrophe ! 
 
 Jul. For Heaven's sake, Madam, what 's the meaning of this ? 
 
 Mrs. Mai. That gentleman can tell you — 'twas he enveloped the 
 affair to me. 
 
 Lyd. Do, Sir, will you, inform us ? [Tu Fag. 
 
 Fag. Ma'am, I should hold myself very deficient in every requisite 
 that forms the man of breeding, if I delay'd a moment to give all the 
 information in my power to a lady so deeply interested in the affair as 
 you are. 
 
 Lyd. But quick ! quick, sir ! 
 
 Faq. True, Ma'am, as you say, one should be quick in divulging 
 matters of this nature ; for should we be tedious, perhaps while we 
 are flourishing on the subject, two or three lives may be lost ! 
 
 Lyd. patience ! — do. Ma'am, for Heaven's sake ! tell us what is 
 the matter ? 
 
 Mrs. Med. Why, murder 's the matter ! slaughter 's the matter ! 
 killing 's the matter ! — but he can tell you the perpendiculars. 
 
 Lyd. Then, prythee. Sir, be brief. 
 
 Fag. Why, then, Ma'am, as to murder — I cannot take upon me to 
 say — and as to slaughter, or man-slaughter, that will be as the jury 
 finds it. 
 
 Lyd. But who, Sir — who are engaged in this ? 
 
 Fa<j. Faith, Ma'am, one is a young gentleman whom I should be 
 very sorry anything was to happen to — a very pretty behaved gentle- 
 man ! We have lived much together, and always on terms. 
 
 Lyd. But who is this ? who ? who 1 who ? 
 
 Fag. My Master, Ma'am — my Master — I speak of my Master, 
 
 Lyd. Heavens ! What, Captain Absolute ! 
 
THE RIVALS. 65 
 
 Mis. Mai. Oh, to be sure, you are frightened now ! 
 
 Jul. But who are with him, Sir I 
 
 Fag As to the rest, Ma'am, his gentleman can inform you better 
 than I ? 
 
 Jnl. Do speak, friend. [To David. 
 
 Dav. Look'ee, my Lady — by the Mass ! there's niiachief going on. 
 Folks don't use to meet for amusement with firearms, firelocks, fire- 
 engines, fire-screens, fire-office, and the devil knows what other 
 crackers beside ! — This, my Lady, I say, has an angry savour. 
 
 Jul. But who is there beside Captain Absolute, friend ? 
 
 Dav. My poor Master — under favour for mentioning him first. 
 You know me, my Lady — I am David — and my Master of course is 
 or was, Squire Acres. — Then comes Squire Faulkland. 
 
 Jul. Do, Ma'am, let us instantly endeavour to prevent mischief. 
 
 Mrs. Mai. O fie ! it would be very inelegant in ua : — we should only 
 participate things. 
 
 Dav. Ah ! do, Mrs. Aunt, save a few lives — they are desperately 
 given, believe me. — Above all, there is that bloodthirsty Philistine, 
 Sir Lucius O'Trigger. 
 
 Mrs. Mai. Sir Lucius O'Trigger ? mercy ! have they drawn poor 
 little dear Sir Lucius into the scrape ? — Why, how you stand, girl ! 
 you have no more feeling than one of the Derbyshire Putrifactions ! 
 
 Li/d. What are we to do. Madam ? 
 
 3Irs. Mai. Why, fly with the utmost felicity, to be sure, to prevent 
 mischief ! — Here, friend, you can show us the place ? 
 
 Fag. If you please, Ma'am, I will conduct you. — David, do you look 
 for Sir Anthony. [Exit David. 
 
 Mrs. Mai. Come, girls ! this gentleman will exhort us. — Come, Sir, 
 you 're our envoy — lead the way, and we '11 precede. 
 
 F(Uf. Not a step before the ladies for the world ! 
 
 Mrs. yial. You 're sure you know the spot t 
 
 Fag. I think I can find it, Ma'am ; and one good thing is, we shall 
 hear the report of the pistols as we draw near, so we can't well miss 
 them ; — never fear. Ma'am, never fear. [Exeunt, he talking. 
 
 Scene II. 
 
 South-Parade. 
 
 Enter Absolutk, putting his sirord binder his great-coat. 
 
 Ahs. A sword seen in the streets of Bath would raise as great an 
 alarm as a mad-dog. — How provoking this is in Faulkland ! — never 
 
 P 
 
66 THE RIVALS, 
 
 punctual ! I shall be obliged to go without hira at last. — 0, the 
 devil ! here 's Sir Anthony ! how shall I escape him ? 
 
 [Muffles up his face, and takes a circle to go off. 
 
 Enter Sir Anthony. 
 
 Sir Anth. How one may be deceived at a little distance 1 Only 
 that I see he don't know me, I could have sworn that was Jack ! — 
 Hey ! 'Gad's life ! it is. — Why, Jack, you Dog ! — what are you afraid 
 of ? hey — sure I 'm right. Why Jack, Jack Absolute ! 
 
 [Goes tip to him. 
 
 Abs. Really, sir, you have the advantage of me : — I don't remem- 
 ber ever to have had the honour — my name is Saunderson, at your 
 service. 
 
 Sir Anth. Sir, I beg your pardon — I took you — hey ! — why, z — ds ! 
 it is — Stay — [Looks up) to his face.'] So, so — your humble servant, Mr. 
 Saunderson ! Why, you scoundrel, what tricks are you after now ? 
 
 Abs. Oh, a joke, Sir, a joke ! I came here on purpose to look for 
 you. Sir. 
 
 Sir Anth. You did ! well, I am glad you were so lucky : — but what 
 are you muffled up so for ? — what 's this for ? — hey ? 
 
 Ahs. 'Tis cool. Sir, isn't it? — rather chilly somehow : — but I shall be 
 late — I have a particular engagement. 
 
 Sir Anth. Stay I — Why, I thought you were looking for me ? — Pray, 
 Jack, where is 't you are going ? 
 
 Abs. Going, sir? 
 
 Sir Anth. Ay, where are you going ? 
 
 Abs. Where am I going ? 
 
 *S'/)- Anth. You unmannerly puppy ! 
 
 Ahs. I was going, sir, to — to — to — to Lydia-^Sir, to Lydia — to make 
 matters up if I could ; — and I was looking for you. Sir, to — to — 
 
 Sir Anth. To go with you, I suppose. — Well, come along. 
 
 Abs. Oh ! z — ds ! no, Sir, not for the world I — I wished to meet 
 with you. Sir, — to — to — to — You find it cool, I 'm sure, Sir — you 'd 
 better not stay out. 
 
 Sir Anth. Cool! — not at all. — Well, Jack — and what will you £(ky 
 to Lydia ? 
 
 Abs. Oh, Sir, beg her pardon, humour her — promise and vow : but 
 I detain you. Sir — consider the cold air on your gout. 
 
 Sir Anth. Oh, not at all I — not at all ! I 'm in no hurry. — Ah ! Jack, 
 you youngsters, when once you are wounded here [Puttinrj his hand to 
 Absolute's breast ] Hey ! what the deuce have you got here ? 
 
 Abs. Nothing, Sir — nothing. 
 
THE KIVALS. (i7 
 
 Sir Anth. What 's this ? — here 'a something d — d hard. 
 
 Abs. Oh, trinkets, Sir ! trinkets ! — a bauble for Lydia. 
 
 Sir Anth. Nay, let me see your i&ate. -[P^dls his coat open, the 
 sivord falli.] Trinkets ! a bauble for Lydia ! — z — ds ! sirrah, you are 
 not going to cut her throat, are you ? 
 
 Ahs. Ha 1 ha ! ha ! — I thought it would divert you, Sir, tho' I 
 didn't mean to tell you till afterwards. 
 
 Sir Anth. You didn't? — Yes, this is a very diverting trinket, truly ! 
 
 Ahs. Sir, I '11 explain to you. — You know, Sir, Lydia is romantic, 
 dev'liah romantic, and very absurd of course : — now. Sir, I intend, if 
 she refuses to forgive me, to unsheath this sword, and swear — I '11 fall 
 upon its point, and expire at her feet ! 
 
 Sir Anth. Fall upon fiddlestick's end ! — why, I suppose it is the 
 very thing that would please her.^Get along, you Fool ! 
 
 Ahs. Well, Sir, you shall hear of my success — you shall hear. — "0 
 Lydia ! — forgive me, or this pointed steel " — says I. 
 
 Sir Anth. "0, booby! stab away and welcome" — says she. — Get 
 along ! and damn your trinkets ! [Exit Absolute. 
 
 Enter David, running. 
 
 Dav. Stop him ! stop him ! Murder ! Thief ! Fire ! — Stop fire ! Stop 
 fire ! — O Sir Anthony — call ! call ! bid 'em stop ! Murder ! 'Fire I 
 
 Sir Anth. Fire ! Murder !— Where ? 
 
 Dav. Oons ! he 's out of sight, and I 'm out of breath for my part, 
 O Sir Anthony, why didn't you stop him ? why didn't you stop him ? 
 
 Sir Anth. Z — ds ! the fellow 's mad ! — Stop whom ? stop Jack ? 
 
 Dav. Ay, the Captain, Sir ! — there's murder and slaughter 
 
 Sir Anth. Murder ! 
 
 Dav. Ay, please you. Sir Anthony, there 's all kinds of murder, all 
 sorts of slaughter to be seen in the fields : there 's fighting going on, 
 Sir — bloody sword-and-gun fighting ! 
 
 Sir Anth. Who are going to fight, Dunce ? 
 
 Dav. Everybody that I know of, Sir Anthony : — everybody is going to 
 fight, my poor Master, Sir Lucius O'Trigger, your son, the Captain 
 
 Sir Anth. Oh, the Dog ! I see his tricks. — Do you know the place ? 
 
 Dav. King's- Mead-Fields. 
 
 Sir Anth. You know the way I 
 
 Dav. Not an inch ; but I '11 call the mayor — aldermen — constables 
 — churchwardens — and beadles — we can't be too many to part them. 
 
 Sir Anth. Come along — give me your shoulder ! we '11 get assistance 
 as we go — the lying villain ! — Well, I shall be in such a frenzy I — So — 
 this was the history of his d — d trinkets ! I '11 bauble him I [Exeunt. 
 
 p 2 
 
68 THE RIVALS. 
 
 Scene III. 
 
 Kinr/s-Mead-Fields. 
 Enter Sir Lucius and Acres, ^vith instoh. 
 
 Acres. By my valour ! then, Sir Lucius, forty yards is a good 
 distance. Odds levels and aims ! — I say it is a good distance. 
 
 Sir Luc. Is it for muskets or small field-pieces ? Upon my con- 
 science, Mr. Acres, you must leave those things to me. — Stay now — 
 I '11 show you. — [Measures paces along the stage.l There now, that is a 
 very pretty distance — a pretty gentleman's distance. 
 
 Acres. Z — ds ! we might as well fight in a centry-box ! I tell you 
 Sir Lucius, the farther he is ofi", the cooler I shall take my aim. 
 
 Sir Luc. Faith ! then I suppose you would aim at him best of all if 
 he was out of sight ! 
 
 Acres. No, Sir Lucius ; but I should think forty or eight and 
 thirty yards 
 
 Sir Luc. Pho ! pho ! nonsense ! three or four feet between the 
 mouths of your pistols is as good as a mile. 
 
 Acres. Odds bullets, no ! — by my valour ! there is no merit in 
 killing him so near : do, my dear Sir Lucius, let me bring him down 
 at a long shot : — a long shot. Sir Lucius, if you love me ! 
 
 Sir Luc. Well — the gentleman's friend and I must settle that. — 
 But tell me now, Mr. Acres, in case of an accident, is there any little 
 will or commission I could execute for you ? 
 
 Acres. I am much obliged to you, Sir Lucius, but I don't 
 understand 
 
 Sir Luc. Why, you may think there 's no being shot at without a 
 little risk — and if an unlucky bullet should carry a Quietus with it — I 
 say it will be no time then to be bothering you about family matters. 
 
 Acres. A Quietus ! 
 
 Sir Luc. For instance, now — if that should be the case — would you 
 chuse to be pickled and sent home ? — or would it be the same to you 
 to lie here in the Abbey ? I 'm told there is very snug lying in the 
 Abbey. 
 
 Acres. Pickled ! — Snug lying in the Abbey ! — Odds tremors ! Sir 
 Lucius, don't talk so ! 
 
 Sir Luc. I suppose, Mr. Acres, you never were engaged in an affair 
 of this kind before ? 
 
 Acres. No, Sir Lucius, never before. 
 
 Sir Luc. Ah ! that 's a pity ! — there 's nothing like being used to a 
 thing. Pray now, how would you receive the gentleman's shot ? 
 
THE RIVALS. 69 
 
 Acres. Odds files !— I 've practised that — there, Sir Lucius — there. 
 [Puts himself in an attitude.] A side-front, hey ? Odd ! I '11 make 
 myself small enough ? I '11 stand edgeways. 
 
 Sir Iaic. Now — you 're quite out — for if you stand so when I take 
 my aim [Leoellui/j at him. 
 
 Acres. Z — ds ! Sir Lucius — are you sure it is not cocked ? 
 
 Sir Iaic. Never fear. 
 
 Acres. But — but — you don't know — it may go off of its own head ! 
 
 Sir Luc. Pho ! be easy. — Well, now if I hit you in the body, my 
 bullet has a double chance — for if it misses a vital part of your right 
 side — 'twill be very hard if it don't succeed on the left ! 
 
 Acres. A vital part ! 0, my poor vitals ! 
 
 Sir Luc. But, there — fix yourself so — [Placing him] — let him see 
 the broad-side of your full front — there — now a ball or two may pass 
 clean through your body, and never do any harm at all. 
 
 Acres. Clean through me ! — a ball or two clean through me ! 
 
 Sir Iaic. Aye — may they — and it ia much the genteelest attitude 
 into the bargain. 
 
 Acres. Look'ee ! Sir Lucius — I 'd just as lieve be shot in an awkward 
 posture as a genteel one ; so, by my valour ! I will stand edge- ways. 
 
 Sir Luc. [Looking at hi.s loatch.] Sure they don't mean to disappoint 
 us — Hah ? — no faith — I think I see them coming. 
 
 Acres. Hey ! — what ! — coming ! 
 
 Sir Iaic. Aye. — Who are those yonder getting over the stile ? 
 
 Acres. There are two of them indeed ! — well — let them come — hey, 
 Sir Lucius !— 'we — we — we — we — won't run. 
 
 Sir Iaic. Run ! 
 
 Acres. No — I say — we won't run, by my valour ! 
 
 Sir Iaic. What the devil 's the matter with you ? 
 
 Acres. Nothing — nothing — my dear friend — my dear Sir Lucius — 
 but I — I — I don't feel quite so bold, somehow, as I did. 
 
 Sir Luc. O fie ! — consider your honour. 
 
 Acres. Aye — true — my honour. Do, Sir Lucius, hedge in a word or 
 two every now and then about my honour. 
 
 Sir Luc. Well, here they 're coming. [Looking. 
 
 Acres. Sir Lucius — if I wa'n't with you, I should almost think I was 
 afraid. — If my valour should leave me ! — Valour will come and go. 
 
 Sir Luc. Then pray keep it fast, while you have it. 
 
 Acres. Sir Lucius — I doubt it is going — yes — my valour is certainly 
 going ! — it is sneaking off ! — I feel it oozing out as it were at the palms 
 of my hands ! 
 
 Sir Luc. Your honour — your honour. — Here they are. 
 
70 THE RIVALS. 
 
 Acres. mercy ! — now — that I was safe at Clod-Hall ! or could be 
 shot before I was aware ! 
 
 Entei- Faulkland and Absolute. 
 Sir Luc. Gentlemen, your most obedient. — Hah I — what, Captain 
 Absolute I— So, I suppose, sir, you are come here, just like myself — 
 to do a kind office, first for your friend — then to proceed to busiueas 
 on your own account. 
 
 Acres. What, Jack ! — my dear Jack ! — my dear friend ! 
 Ahs. Hark'ee, Bob, Beverley's at hand. 
 
 Sir Luc. Well, Mr. Acres — I don't blame your saluting the gentle- 
 man civilly. — So, Mr. Beverley, [To Faulkxand] if you'll chuse 
 your weapons, the Captain and I will measure the ground. • 
 
 Faulk. My weapons, Sir ! 
 
 Acres, Odds life ! Sir Lucius, I 'm not going to fight Mr. Faulk- 
 land ; these are my particular friends. 
 
 Sir Luc. What, Sir, did you not come here to fight Mr. Acres ? 
 
 Faxdh. Not I, upon my word. Sir. 
 
 Sir Luc. Well, now, that 's mighty provoking ! But I hope, Mr. 
 Faulkland, as there are three of us come on purpose for the game — 
 you won't be so cantanckerous as to spoil the party by sitting out. 
 
 Ahs. O pray, Faulkland, fight to oblige Sir Lucius. 
 
 Faulk. Nay, if Mr. Acres is so bent on the matter 
 
 Acres. No, no, Mr. Faulkland ; I 11 bear my disappointment like a 
 Christian. — Look'ee, Sir Lucius, there 's no occasion at all for me to 
 fight ; and if it is the same to you, I 'd as lieve let it alone. 
 
 Sir Luc. Observe me, Mr. Acres — I must not be trifled with. You 
 have certainly challenged somebody — and you came here to fight him. 
 Now, if that gentleman is willing to represent him — I can't see, for my 
 soul, why it isn't just the same thing. 
 
 Acres. 7t — nds, — Sir Lucius — I tell you, 'tis one Beverley I 've 
 challenged — a fellow, you see, that dare not show his face ! — if he were 
 here, I 'd make him give up his pretensions directly ! 
 
 Ahs. Hold, Bob — let me set you right — there is no such man as 
 Beverley in the case. — The person who assumed that name is before 
 you ; and as his pretensions are the same in both characters, he is 
 ready to support them in whatever way you please. 
 
 Sir Luc. Well, this is lucky.— Now you have an opportunity 
 
 Acres. What, quarrel wij;h my dear friend. Jack Absolute ? — not if he 
 were fifty Beverleys ! Z — ds ! Sir Lucius, you would not have me be 
 so unnatural. 
 
 Sir Luc. Upon my conscience, Mr. Acres, your valour has oozed 
 away with a vengeance ! 
 
THE RIVALS. 71 
 
 Acres. Not in the least ! Odds Backs and Abettors ! I '11 be your 
 second with all my heart — and if you should get a Q\deti(s, you may 
 command me entirely. I'll get you a .s/ti';/ hjin<i in the Ahheij here ; or 
 picJde you, and send you over to Blunderbiias-hall, or any of the kind, 
 with the greatest pleasure. 
 
 Sir Lvc. Pho I pho ! you are little better than a coward. 
 
 Acres. Mind, gentlemen, he calls me a Coward; Coward was the 
 word, by my valour I 
 
 Sir Lnc. W^ll, Sir ? 
 
 Acres. Look'ee, Sir Lucius, 'tisn't that I mind the word Coward — 
 Cuirard may be said in joke — But if you had called me a Poltroon, 
 odds Daggers and Balls 
 
 Sir Luc. Well, sir ] 
 
 Acres. — I should have thought you a very ill-bred man. 
 
 Sir Luc. Pho ! you are beneath my notice. 
 
 Ahs. Nay, Sir Lucius, you can't have a better second than my friend 
 Acres. — He is a most determined dofj — called in the country, Firjhtiwj 
 Boh. — He generally Jdlls a man a loeek -don't you Bob ? 
 
 Acres. Aye — at home ! 
 
 Sir Lnc. Well, then, Captain, 'tis we must begin — so come out, my 
 little counsellor — {Drciws his sword] — and ask the gentleman, whether 
 he will resign the lady, without forcing you to proceed against 
 him ? 
 
 Ahs. Come on then, sir— [Drctws] ; since you won't let it be an 
 amicable suit, here's my reply. 
 
 Enter Sir Anthony, David, and the Women. 
 
 David. Knock 'em all down, sweet Sir Anthony ; knock down my 
 Master in particular ; and bind his hands over to their good behavio ur 
 
 Sir Anth. Put up, Jack, put up, or I shall be in a frenzy — how came 
 you in a duel, Sir ? 
 
 Ahs. Faith, Sir, that gentleman can tell you better than I ; 'twas he 
 call'd on me, and you know. Sir, I serve his Majesty. 
 
 Sir Anth. Here 's a pretty fellow ; I catch him going to cut a man's 
 throat, and he tells me he serves his Majesty ! — Zounds ! sirrah, then 
 how durst you draw the King's sword against one of his subjects ? 
 
 Ahs. Sir ! T tell you, that gentleman called me out, without expl ai n 
 ing his reasons. 
 
 Sir Anth. Gad I Sir, how came you to call my son out, without 
 explaining your reasons ! 
 
 Sir L)ir. Your son. Sir, insulted me in a manner which my honour 
 could not brook. 
 
72 THE RIVALS. 
 
 Sir Anth. Zounds ! Jack, how durst you insult the gentleman in a 
 manner which his honour could not brook ? 
 
 Mrs. Mai. Come, come, let 's have no Honour before ladies — Captain 
 Absolute, come here — How could you intimidate ua so ? — Here 's 
 Lydia has been terrified to death for you. 
 
 AJ)S. For fear I should be kill'd, or escape. Ma'am ? 
 
 Mrs. Mai. Nay, no delusions to the past — Lydia is convinc'd ; speak, 
 child. 
 
 Sir Luc. With your leave, Ma'am, I must put in a word here — I 
 believe I could interpret the young lady's silence — Now mark 
 
 Lyd. What is it you mean, Sir ? 
 
 Sir Luc. Come, come, Delia, we must be serious now — this is no 
 time for trifling. 
 
 Lyd. 'Tis true, Sir ; and your reproof bids me oflFer this gentleman 
 my hand, and solicit the return of his aftections. 
 
 Abs. ! my little angel, say you so ? — Sir Lucius — I perceive there 
 must be some mistake here — with regard to the affront which you 
 affirm I have given you — I can only say, that it could not have been 
 intentional. And aa you must be convinced, that I should not fear 
 to support a real injury — you shall now see that I am not ashamed to 
 atone for an inadvertency— I ask your pardon. — But for this lady, 
 while honour'd with her approbation, I will support my claim against 
 any man whatever. 
 
 Sir Anth. Well said, Jack, and I '11 stand by you, my Boy. 
 
 Acres. Mind, I give up all my claim — I make no pretensions to any- 
 thing in the world ; and if I can't get a wife, without fighting for her, 
 by my Valour ! I '11 live a bachelor. 
 
 Sir Luc. Captain, give me your hand — an affront handsomely 
 acknowledged becomes an obligation — and as for the Lady, if she 
 chuaes to deny her own handwriting here [Tcokes out letters. 
 
 3Irs. Mai. 0, he will disolve my mystery ! — Sir Lucius, perhaps 
 there 's some mistake — perhaps, I can illuminate 
 
 Sir Luc. Pray, old gentlewoman, don't interfere where you have no 
 business. — Miss Languish, are you my Delia, or not ? 
 
 Lyd. Indeed, Sir Lucius, I am not. 
 
 [Lydia and Absolute icalk aside. 
 
 Mrs. Mai. Sir Lucius O'Trigger — ungrateful as you are — I own the 
 soft impeachment — pardon my blushes, I am Delia. 
 
 ^(7- Luc. You Delia — pho ! pho ! be easy. 
 
 Mrs. 2Ial. Why, thou barbarous Vandyke — those letters are mine. 
 — When you are more sensible of my benignity — perhaps I may be 
 brought to encourage your addresses. 
 
THE RIVALS. 73 
 
 Sx7- Luc. Mrs. Malaprop, I am extremely sensible of your con- 
 descension ; and whether you or Lucy have put this trick on me, I am 
 equally beholden to you. — And to show you I am not ungrateful, 
 Captain Absolute ! since you have taken that lady from me, I '11 give 
 you my Delia into the bargain. 
 
 Aba. I am much obliged to you, Sir Lucius ; but here 's our friend, 
 fighting Bob, unprovided for. 
 
 Sir Luc. Hah ! little Valour — here, will you make your fortune ? 
 
 Acres. Odds Wrinkles ! No. — But give me your hand. Sir Lucius, 
 forget and forgive ; but if ever I give you a chance of imklinfj me 
 again, say Bob Acres is a Dunce, that's all. 
 
 Sir Anth. Come, Mrs. Malaprop, don't be cast down — you are in 
 your bloom yet. 
 
 Mrs. Mai. O Sir Anthony — men are all barbarians. 
 
 [All retire hut Julia and Faulkland. 
 
 Jul. \_Aside.'\ He seema dejected and unhappy — not sullen ; there 
 was some foundation, however, for the tale he told me — woman ! 
 how true should be your judgment, when your resolution is so weak ! 
 
 FavXk. — Julia ! — how can I sue for what I so little deserve ? I 
 dare not presume — yet Hope is the child of Penitence. 
 
 Jul. Oh ! Faulkland, you have not been more faulty in your unkind 
 treatment of me, than I am now in wanting inclination to resent it. 
 As my heart honestly bids me place my weakness to the account of 
 love, I should be ungenerous not to admit the same plea for yours. 
 
 Faxdli. Now I shall be blest indeed ! {Sir Anthony comes forward.) 
 
 Sir Anth. What 's going on here ? — So you have been quarrelling 
 too, I warrant ? Come, Julia, I never interfered before ; but let me 
 have a hand in the matter at last. — All the faults I have ever seen in 
 my friend Faulkland, seemed to proceed from what he calls the delicacy 
 and xoarmth of his affection for you.— There, marry him directly, Julia, 
 you'll find he'll mend surprisingly ! {The rest come forward. 
 
 Sir Luc. Come, now, I hope there is no dissatisfied person, but 
 what is content ; for as I have been disappointed myself, it will be 
 very hard if I have not the satisfaction of seeing other people succe ed 
 better 
 
 Acres. You are right. Sir Lucius.— So Jack, I wish you joy. — Mr. 
 Faulkland the same. — Ladies, — come now, to show you I 'm neither 
 vex'd nor angry. Odds Tabors and Pipes I I '11 order the fiddles in half 
 an hour to the New Rooms — and I insist on your all meeting me there. 
 
 Sir Anth. 'Gad ! Sir, I like your spirit ; and at night we single 
 lada will drink a health to the young couples, and a husband to Mrs. 
 Malaprop. 
 
74 THE RIVALS. 
 
 Favll:. Our partners are stolen from ua, Jack — I hope to be con- 
 gratulated by each other — yours for having checked in time the errors 
 of an ill-directed Imagination, which might have betray'd an innocent 
 heart ; and mine, for having, by her gentleness and candour, reformed 
 the unhappy temper of one, who by it made wretched whom he loved 
 most, and tortured the heart he ought to have ador'd. 
 
 Abs. Well, Jack, [Faulkland ?] we have both tasted the Bitters, as 
 well as the Sweets of Love ; with this diflference only, that you always 
 prepared the bitter cup for yourself, while I 
 
 Lycl. Was always obliged to me for it, hey ! Mr. Modesty 1 But 
 
 come, no more of that — our happiness is now as unallay'd as general. 
 
 Jul. Then let us study to preserve it so : and while Hope pictures 
 to u« a flattering scene of future Bliss, let us deny its pencil those 
 colours which are too bright to be lasting.— When Hearts deserving 
 Happiness would unite their fortunes. Virtue would crown them with 
 an unfading garland of modest, hurtless flowers ; but ill- judging 
 Passion will force the gaudier Rose into the wreath, whose thorn 
 offends them, when its Leaves are dropped ! [Exeunt omnes. 
 
 EPILOGUE. 
 
 BY THE AUTHOR. 
 SPOKEN BY ME6. BULKLEY. 
 
 Ladies, for You — I heard our Poet say — 
 
 He 'd try to coax some Moral from his Play : 
 
 ' One moral 's plain — cried I — without more fuss ; 
 
 Man's social happiness all rests on Us — • 
 
 Thro' all the Drama — whether d — n'd or not — 
 
 Love gilds the Scene, and Women guide the plot. 
 
 From every rank — obedience is our due — 
 
 D 'ye doubt 1 — The world's great stage shall prove it true. 
 
 The Cit — well skill'd to shun domestic strife — 
 Will sup abroad ; — but first — he '11 ask his wife : 
 John Trot, his friend — for once, will do the same, 
 But then — he'll just step home to tell my dame. 
 
 The surly Squire — at noon resolves to rule, 
 And half the day — zounds ! Madam is a fool ! 
 Convinced at night, the vanquish'd Victor says, 
 Ah, Kate ! you ^L■omen have such coaxing ways. 
 
THE RIVALS, 76 
 
 The Jolhj Topi-.v chides each tardy blade,— 
 Till reeling Bacchus calls on Love for aid : 
 Then with each Toast he sees fair bumpers swim, 
 And kisses Chloe on the sparkling Brim ! 
 
 Nay, I have heard that Statesmen— great and wise — 
 Will somdime.-i counsel with a Lady's eyes I 
 The servile suitors — watch her various face, 
 She smiles preferment — or she frowns disgrace, 
 Curtsies a pension here — there nods a place. 
 
 Nor with less awe, in scenes of humbler life, 
 la vkwd the mistress, or is hecvcl the u-ifc. 
 The poorest Peasant of the poorest soil, 
 The child of Poverty, and heir to Toil, 
 Early from radiant Love's impartial light 
 Steals one small spark, to cheer his world of night : 
 Dear spark !— that oft through winter's chilling woes 
 Is all the warmth his little cottage knows ! 
 
 The wandering To;-— who, not for years has press'd, 
 The widow 'd Partner of his day of rest, 
 On the cold deck — far from her arms remov'd, — 
 Still hums the ditty which his Susan loved : 
 And while around the cadence rude is blown, 
 The Boatswain whistles in a softer tone. 
 
 The Soldier, fairly proud of wounds and toil, 
 Pants for the triumph of his Nancy's smile : 
 But ere the battle should he list' her cries. 
 The Lover trembles — and the Hero dies 1 
 That heart, by war and honour steel'd to fear. 
 Droops on a sigh, and sickens at a tear ! 
 
 But ye more cautious — ye nice judging few, 
 Who give to Beauty only Beauty's due, 
 Tho' friends to Love— 1> view with deep regret 
 
 Our conquests marr'd — our triumphs incomplete, 
 'Till polish'd wit more lasting charms disclose. 
 
 And Judgment fix the darts which Beauty throws ! 
 In female breasts did Sense and Merit rule, 
 The Lover's mind would ask no other school ; 
 
 Sham'd into sense— the Scholars of our eyes. 
 
 Our Beaux from Gallantnj would soon be wise ; 
 
 Would gladly light, their homage to improve, 
 
 The Lamp of Knowledge at the Torch of Love ! 
 
ST. PATRICK'S DAY; 
 
 OR, THE SCHEMING- LIEUTENANT. 
 
 A FARCE. 
 
 DRAMATIS PERSONS. 
 
 AS OKIGINALLY ACTED AT COVENT GARDEN THEATRE IN 1775. 
 
 Lieutenant 
 
 I' Mr. Clinch. 
 
 Lauretta . . , Mrs. Cargill. 
 Mrs. Bridget } ^.^^^ 
 
 Credulous . . ) 
 
 Drummer, Soldiers, Countrymen, 
 
 O'Connor . . ) 
 Dr. Rosy . . . Mr. Quick. 
 Justice Credulous Mr. Lee Lewes. 
 Serjeant Trounce Mr. Booth. 
 Corporal Flint . I and Servant. 
 
 SCENE— A Town in England. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 Scene I. — Lieutenant O'Connor's Lodgings. 
 Enter Serjeant Trounce, Corporal Flint, and four Soldiers. 
 
 1 Sol. I say you are wrong ; we should all speak together, each for 
 himself and all at once, that we may be heard the better. 
 
 2 Sol. Right, Jack, we '11 argue in platoons. 
 
 3 Sol. Ay, ay, let him have our grievances in a volley, and if we 
 be to have a spokesman, there 'a the corporal is the lieutenant's 
 countryman, and knows his humour. 
 
 Flint. Let me alone for that. I served three years, within a bit, 
 under his honour, in the Royal Inniskillions, and I never will see a 
 sweeter tempered gentleman, nor one more free with his purse. I put 
 a great shamraock in his hat this morning, and I '11 be bound for him 
 he'll wear it, was it as big as Steven's Green. 
 
 4 Sol. I say again then you talk like youngsters, like militia strip- 
 lings : there 'a a discipline, look'ee in all things, whereof the serjeant 
 must be our guide ; he 'a a gentleman of words ; he understands your 
 foreign lingo, your figures, • and such like auxiliaries in scoring. 
 Confess now for a reckoning, whether in chalk or writing, ben't he 
 your only man ? 
 
 Flint. Why the serjeant is a scholar to be sure, and has the gift of 
 reading. 
 
ST. PATRICK'S DAY. 77 
 
 Trounce. Good soldiers, and fellow-gentlemen, if you make me your 
 spokesman, you will show the more judgment ; and let me alone for 
 the argument. I '11 be as loud as a drum, and point blank from the 
 purpose. 
 
 All. Agreed, agreed. 
 
 Flint. Oh, faith ! here comes the lieutenant. — Now, Serjeant. 
 
 Troimce. So then, to order. — Put on your mutiny looks ; every 
 man grumble a little to himself, and some of you hum the Deserter's 
 March. 
 
 Enter Lieutenant O'Connor. 
 
 O'Con. Well, honest lads, what is it you have to complain of ? 
 
 Sol. Ahem ! hem ! 
 
 Trounce. So please your honour, the very grievance of the matter 
 is this : — ever since your honour differed with Justice Credulous, our 
 inn-keepers use us most scurvily. By my halbert, their treatment is 
 such, that if your spirit was willing to put up with it, flesh and blood 
 could by no means agree ; so we humbly petition that your honour 
 would make an end of the matter at once, by running away with the 
 justice's daughter, or else get us fresh quarters, — hem ! hem ! 
 
 O'Gon. Indeed ! Pray which of the houses use you ill? 
 
 1 Sol. There's the Red Lion an't half the civility of the old Red Lion. 
 
 2 Sol. There's the White Horse, if he wasn't casehardened, ought to 
 be ashamed to show his face. 
 
 O'Con. Very well ; the Horse and the Lion shall answer for it at the 
 quarter sessions. 
 
 Trounce. The two Magpies are civil enough ; but the Angel uses us 
 like devils, and the Rising Sun refuses us light to go to bed by. 
 
 O'Con. Then, upon my word, I '11 have the Rising Sun put down, 
 and the Angel shall give security for his good behaviour; but are you 
 sure you do nothing to quit scores with them ? 
 
 Flint. Nothing at all, your honour, unless now and then we happen 
 to fling a cartridge into the kitchen fire, or put a spatterdash or so into 
 the soup ; and sometimes Ned drums up and down stairs a little of a 
 night. 
 
 O'Con. Oh, all that's fair; but hark'ee, lads, I must have no 
 grumbling on St. Patrick's day ; so here, take this, and divide it 
 amongst you. But observe me now, — show yourselves men of spirit, 
 and don't spend sixpence of it in drink. 
 
 Trounce. Nay, hang it, your honour, soldiers should never bear 
 malice ; we must drink St. Patrick's and your honour's health. 
 
 All. Oh, damn malice ! St. Patrick's and his honour's by all 
 means. 
 
78 ST. PATRICK'S DAY. 
 
 Flint. Come away, then, lads, and first we '11 parade round the 
 Market-cross, for the honour of King George. 
 
 1 Sol. Thank your honour. — Come along ; St. Patrick, his honour, 
 and strong beer for ever ! [E.'^eunt Soldiers. 
 
 O'Con. Get along, you thoughtless vagabonds ! yet, upon my 
 conscience, 'tis very hard these poor fellows should scarcely have 
 bread from the soil they would die to defend. 
 
 Enter Doctor Rosy. 
 Ah, my little Dr. Rosy, my Galen a-bridge, what's the news ? 
 
 Rosij. All things are as they were, my Alexander ; the justice is as 
 violent as ever : I felt his puke on the matter again, and, thinking his 
 rage began to intermit, I wanted to throw in the bark of good advice, 
 but it would not do. He says you and your cut-throats have a plot 
 upon his life, and swears he had rather see his daughter in a scarlet 
 fever than in the arms of a soldier. 
 
 O'Gon. Upon my word the army is very much obliged to him. 
 Well, then, I must marry the girl first, and ask his consent afterwards. 
 Rosy. So, then, the case of her fortune is desperate, hey ? 
 O'Gon. Oh, hang fortune, — let that take its chance ; there is a 
 beauty in Lauretta's simplicity, so pure a bloom upon her charms. 
 
 Rosy. So there is, so there is. You are for beauty as nature made 
 her, hey ! No artificial graces, no cosmetic varnish, no beauty in 
 grey, hey ! 
 
 O'Gon. Upon my word, doctor, you are right ; the London ladies 
 were always too handsome for me ; then they are so defended, such a 
 circumvallation of hoop, with a breastwork of whale-bone that would 
 turn a pistol-bullet, much less Cupid's arrows, — then turret on turret 
 on top, with stores of concealed weapons, under pretence of black pins, 
 — and above all, a standard of feathers that would do honour to a 
 knight of the Bath. Upon my conscience, I could as soon embrace an 
 Amazon, armed at all points. 
 Rosy. Right, right, my Alexander ! my taste to a tittle. 
 O'Gon. Then, doctor, though I admire modesty in women, I like 
 to see their faces. I am for the changeable rose ; but with one of 
 these quality Amazons, if their midnight dissipations had left them 
 blood enough to raise a blush, they have not room enough in their 
 cheeks to show it. To be sure, bashfulness is a very pretty thing ; 
 but, in my mind, there is nothing on earth so impudent as an ever- 
 lasting blush. 
 
 Rosy. My taste, my taste ! — Well, Lauretta is none of these. Ah ! 
 I never see her but she puts me in mind of my poor dear wife. 
 
.bT. PATRICK'S DAY. 79 
 
 O'Con. Ay, faith ; in my opinion she can't do a worse thing. Now 
 he is going to bother me about an old hag that has been dead these 
 six years. [Asidv. 
 
 Rosy. Oh, poor Dolly ! I never shall see her like again ; such an arm 
 for a bandage — veins that seemed to invite the lancet. Then her skin, 
 smooth and white as a gallipot ; her mouth as large and not larger than 
 the mouth of a penny phial ; her lips conserve of roses ; and then her 
 teeth — none of your sturdy fixtures — ache as they would, it was but 
 a small pull, and out they came. I believe I have drawn half a score 
 of her poor dear pearls — [u'eejw] — But what avails her beauty ? Death 
 has no consideration — one must die as well as another. 
 
 O'Gon. [Aside.] Oh, if he begins to moralize 
 
 [Takes out his simff-hox. 
 
 Rosy. Fair and ugly, crooked or straight, rich or poor — flesh is grass 
 — flowers fade ! 
 
 O'C'o/i. Here, doctor, take a pinch, and keep up your spirits. 
 
 Rosy. True, true, my friend ; grief can't mend the matter — all 's 
 for the best ; but such a woman was a great loss, lieutenant. 
 
 O'Con. To be sure, for doubtless she had mental accompliahments 
 equal to her beauty. 
 
 Rosy. Mental accomplishments ! she would have stuffed an alligator, 
 or pickled a lizard, with any apothecary's wife in the kingdom. Why, 
 she could decipher a prescription, and invent the ingredients, almost 
 as well as myself : then she was such a hand at making foreign waters ! 
 — for Seltzer, Pyrmont, Islington, or Chalybeate, she never had her 
 equal ; and her Bath and Bristol springs exceeded the originals. — Ah, 
 poor Dolly I she fell a martyr to her own discoveries. 
 
 O'Con. How so, pray ? 
 
 Rosy. Poor soul ! her illness was occasioned by her zeal in trying 
 an improvement on the Spa- water, by an infusion of rum and acid. 
 
 O'Con. Ay, ay, spirits never agree with water-drinkers. 
 
 Rosy. No, no, you mistake. Rum agreed with her well enough ; it 
 was not the rum that killed the poor dear creature, for she died of a 
 dropsy. Well, she is gone, never to return, and has left no pledge of 
 our loves behind. No little babe, to hang like a label round papa's 
 neck. Well, well, we are all mortal — sooner or later — flesh is grass — 
 flowers fade. 
 
 O'Con. Oh, the devil I — again I [Aside. 
 
 Rosy. Life 's a siiadow — the world a stage — we strut an hour. 
 
 O'Con. Here, doctor. [(Jff'<?rs snuff. 
 
 Rvsy. True, true, my friend : well, high grief can't cure it. AU'a 
 for the best, hey ! my little Alexander ? 
 
80 ST. PATRICK'S DAY. 
 
 O'Con. Right, right ; an apothecary should never be out of spirits. 
 But come, faith, 'tis time honest Humphrey should wait on the 
 justice ; that must be our first scheme. 
 
 Bosy. True, true ; you should be ready : the clothes are at my 
 house, and I have given you such a character, that he is impatient to 
 have you : he swears you shall be his body-guard. Well, I honour 
 the army, or I should never do so much to serve you. 
 
 O'Con. Indeed I am bound to you for ever, doctor ; and when once 
 I 'm possessed of my dear Lauretta, I will endeavour to make work 
 for you as fast as possible. 
 
 Easy. Now you put me in mind of my poor wife again. 
 
 O'Con. Ah, pray forget her a little : we shall be too late. 
 
 Bosy. Poor Dolly ! 
 
 O'Con. 'Tis past twelve. 
 
 Bosy. Inhuman dropsy ! 
 
 O'Con. The justice will wait. 
 
 Bosy. Cropped in her prime ! 
 
 O'Con. For heaven's sake, come ! 
 
 Bosy. Well, flesh is grass. 
 
 O'Con. O, the devil ! 
 
 Bosy. We must all die 
 
 O'Con. Doctor ! 
 
 Bosy. Kings, lords, and common whores 
 
 [Exeunt Lieutenant O'Connor /oj-cmi^ Rosy oj^. 
 
 Scene TI. — A Boom in Justice Credulous' House. 
 Enter Lauretta and Mrs. Bridget Credulous. 
 
 Lav. 1 repeat it again, mamma, officers are the prettiest men in the 
 world, and Lieutenant O'Connor is the prettiest officer I ever saw. 
 
 Mrs. Bri. For shame, Laura ! how can you talk so ? — or if you must 
 have a military man, there 's Lieutenant Plow, or Captain Haycock, 
 or Major Dray, the brewer, are all your admirers ; and though they 
 are peaceable, good kind of men, they have as large cockades, and 
 become scarlet, as well as the fighting folks. 
 
 Lau. Psha ! you know, mamma, I hate militia officers ; a set of 
 dunghill cocks with spurs on — heroes scratched off a church door — 
 clowns in military masquerade, wearing the dress without supporting 
 the character. No, give me the bold upright youth, who makes love 
 to-day, and his head shot ofi" to-morrow. Dear ! to think how the 
 sweet fellows sleep on the ground, and fight in silk stockings and lace 
 ruffles. 
 
ST. FATIUCK'S DAY. 81 
 
 Mrs. Bri. Oh, barbarous ! to want a husband that may wed you 
 to-day, and be sent the Lord knows where before night ; then in a 
 twelvemonth perhaps to have him come like a Colossus, with one leg 
 at New York, and the other at Chelsea Hospital. 
 
 Lan. Then I'll bo his crutch, mamma. 
 
 Mrs. Bri. No, give me a husband that knows where his limbs are, 
 though he want the use of them : — and if he should take you with 
 him, to sleep in a baggage-cart, and stroll about the camp like a gipsy, 
 with a knapsack and two children at your back ; then, by way of 
 entertainment in the evening, to make a party with the sergeant's wife 
 to drink bohea tea, and play at all-fours on a drumhead : — 'tis a 
 precious life, to be sure ! 
 
 Lau. Nay, mamma, you shouldn't be against my lieutenant, for I 
 heard him say you were the best natured and best looking woman in 
 the world. 
 
 Mrs. Bri. Why, child, I never said but that Lieutenant O'Connor 
 was a very well-bred and discerning young man ; 'tis your papa is so 
 violent against him. 
 
 Lau. Why, Cousin Sophy married an officer. 
 
 Mrs. Bri, Ay, Laura, an officer of the militia. 
 
 Lau. No, indeed, ma'am, a marching regiment. 
 
 Mrs. Bri. No, child, I tell you he was a major of militia. 
 
 Lav. Indeed, mamma, it wasn't. 
 
 Enter Justice Credulous. 
 
 Just. Bridget, my love, I have had a message. 
 Lau. It was Cousin Sophy told me so. 
 
 Jmt. I have had a message, love 
 
 Mrs. Bri. No, child, she would say no such thing. 
 
 JvM: A message, I say. 
 
 Lau. How could he be in the militia when he was ordered abroad ? 
 
 Mrs. Bri. Ay, girl, hold your tongue I — Well, my dear. 
 
 Ju^t. I have had a message from Doctor Rosy. 
 
 Mrs. Bri. He ordered abroad ! He went abroad for his health. 
 
 Just. Why, Bridget ! 
 
 Mrs. Bri. Well, deary. — Now hold your tongue, miss. 
 
 Just. A message from Dr. Rosy, and Dr. Rosy says 
 
 Lau. I 'm sure, mamma, his regimentals 
 
 Jxist. Damn his regimentals I — Why don't you listen ? 
 Mrs. Bri. Ay, girl, how durst you interrupt your papa / 
 Lan. Well, papa. 
 Just. ' Dr. Rosy says he '11 bring 
 
82 ST. PATRICK'S DAY. 
 
 Lau. Were blue turned up with red, mamma. 
 
 Just. Laury I — says he will bring the young man 
 
 Mrs. Bri. Red ! yellow, if you please, miss. 
 
 Just. Bridget ! — the young man that is to be hired 
 
 Mrs. Bri, Besides, miss, it is very unbecoming in you to want to 
 have the last word with your mamma ; you should know 
 
 Jiist. Why, zovinds ! will you hear me or no ? 
 
 Mrs. Bri. I am listening, my love, I am listening ! — But what 
 signifies my silence, what good is my not speaking a word, if this girl 
 will interrupt and let nobody speak but herself I— Ay, I don't wonder, 
 my life, at your impatience ; your poor dear lips quiver to speak ; but 
 I suppose she '11 run on, and not let you put in a word. — You may very 
 well be angry ; there is nothing, sure, so provoking as a chattering, 
 talking — ^ 
 
 Laii. Nay, I'm sure, mamma, it is you will not let papa speak now. 
 
 Mrs. Bri. Why, you little provoking minx 
 
 Just. Get out of the room directly, both of you — get out ! 
 
 Mrs. Bri. Ay, go, girl. 
 
 Just. Go, Bridget, you are worse than she, you old hag. I wish you 
 were both up to the neck in the canal, to argue there till I took you 
 out. 
 
 Enter Servant. 
 
 Ser. Doctor Rosy, sir. 
 
 Jxhst. Show him up. {Exit Servant. 
 
 Lau. Then you own, mamma, it was a marching regiment ? 
 
 Mrs. Bri. You 're an obstinate fool, I tell you ; for if that had been 
 the case 
 
 Just. You won't go ? 
 
 Mrs. Bri. We are going, Mr. Surly. — If that had been the case, I 
 say, how could 
 
 Lau. Nay, mamma, one proof 
 
 Mrs. Bri. How could Major 
 
 Lau. And a full proof [Justice Credulous drives them off. 
 
 Just. There they go, ding dong in for the day. Good lack ! a fluent 
 tongue is the only thing a mother don't like her daughter to resemble 
 her in. 
 
 Enter Doctor Rosy. 
 
 Well, doctor, where 's the lad — where 's Trusty ? 
 
 Bosy. At hand ; he '11 be here in a minute, I '11 answer for 't. He 's 
 such a one as you an't met with, — brave as a lion, gentle as a saline 
 draught. 
 
ST. PATRICK'S DAY. 83 
 
 Jii.st. Ah, he comes in the place of a rogue, a dog that was corrupted 
 by the lieutenant. But this is a sturdy fellow, ia he, doctor ? 
 
 Eosij. As Hercules ; and the best back-sword in the country. Egad, 
 he '11 make the red coats keep their distance, 
 
 Jud. O the villains ; this is St. Patrick's day, and the rascals have 
 been parading ray house all the morning. I know they have a design 
 upon me ; but I have taken all precautions : I have magazines of arms, 
 and if this fellow does but prove faithful, I shall be more at ease. 
 
 jRo.si/. Doubtless he '11 be a comfort to you. 
 
 Re-enter Servant. 
 
 Ser. There is a man below, inquires for Doctor Rosy. 
 
 Romj. Show him up. 
 
 Just, Hold ! a little caution — how does he look ? 
 
 Ser. A country-looking fellow, your worship. 
 
 Jiist. Oh, well, well, for Doctor Rosy ; these rascals try all ways to 
 get in here. 
 
 Ser. Yes, please your worship ; there was one here this morning 
 wanted to speak to you ; he said his name was Corporal Breakbones. 
 
 Just. Corporal Breakbones ! 
 
 Ser. And drummer CrackskuU came again. 
 
 Jv.st Ay, did you ever hear of such a damned confounded crew ? 
 Well, show the lad in here ! [Exit Servant. 
 
 Rosy. Ay, he '11 be your porter ; he '11 give the rogues an answer. 
 
 Enter Lieutenant O'Connor, disfjuised. 
 
 Just. So, a tall — Efacks ! what ! has lost an eye ? 
 
 Rosy. Only a bruise he got in taking seven or eight highwaymen. 
 
 Jmt. He has a damned wicked leer somehow with the other. 
 
 Roify. Oh, no, he 's bashful — a sheepish look 
 
 Just. Well, my lad, what 's your name ? 
 
 O'Con. Humphrey Hum. 
 
 Just. Hum — I don't like Hum ! 
 
 O'Con But I be mostly called honest Humphrey 
 
 Rosy. There, I told you so, of noted honesty. 
 
 Just. Well, honest Humphrey, the doctor has told you my terms, 
 and you are willing to serve, hey ? 
 
 O'Con. And please your worship I shall be well content. 
 
 Just, Well, then, hark'ye, honest Humphrey, — you are sure now, 
 you will never be a rogue — never take a bribe, hey, honest Humphrey ? 
 
 O'Con. A bribe I what 's that ? 
 
 Just. A very ignorant fellow indeed ! 
 
 G 2 
 
84 ST. PATRICK'S DAY. 
 
 Eosy. Hia worship hopes you will not part with your honesty for 
 money. 
 
 O'Con. Noa, noa. 
 
 Just. Well said, Humphrey — my chief business with you is to watch 
 the motions of a rake-helly fellow here, one Lieutenant O'Connor. 
 
 Bosy. Ay, you don't value the soldiers, do you, Humphrey 1 
 
 O'Gon. Not I ; they are but zwaggerers, and you'll see they '11 be as 
 much afraid of me as they would of their captain. 
 
 Just. And i' faith, Humphrey, you have a pretty cudgel there ! 
 
 O'Con. Ay, the zwitch is better than nothing, but I should be glad 
 of a stouter : ha' you got such a thing in the house as an old coach- 
 pole, or a spare bed-post ? 
 
 Just. Oons ! what a dragon it is ! — Well, Humphrey, come with me. 
 — I'll just show him to Bridget, doctor, and we'll agree. — Come 
 along, honest Humphrey. [Exit. 
 
 O'Con. My dear doctor, now remember to bring the justice presently 
 to the walk : I have a scheme to get into his confidence at once. 
 
 Bosy. I will, I will. [They shake hands. 
 
 Be-enter Justice Ckedulous. 
 
 Just. Why, honest Humphrey, hey ! what the devil are you at ? 
 
 Bosy. I was just giving him a little advice. — Well, I must go for the 
 present. — Good-morning to your worship — you need not fear the lieu- 
 tenant while he is in your house. 
 
 Just. Well, get in, Humphrey. Good-morning to you doctor. — 
 [Exit Doctor Rosy.] Come along, Humphrey. — Now I think I am a 
 match for the lieutenant and all his gang. [Exeunt. 
 
6T. PATRICKS DAY. 85 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 Scene I. — A Street. 
 Enter Serjea.nt Trounce, Drummer and Soldiers. 
 
 Trounce. Come, silence your drum — there is no valour stirring 
 to-day. I thought St. Patrick would have given us a recruit or two 
 to-day. 
 
 Sol. Mark, Serjeant ! 
 
 Enter two Countrymen. 
 
 Trounce. Oh ! these are the lads I was looking for ; they have the 
 look of gentlemen. — An't you single, my lads? 
 
 1 Conn. Yes, an please you, I be quite single : my relations be all 
 dead, thank heavens, more or less. I have but one poor mother left in 
 the world, and she's an helpless woman. 
 
 Trounce. Indeed ! a very extraordinary case — quite your own master 
 then — the fitter to serve his Majesty. — Can you read ? 
 
 1 Goun. Noa, I was always too lively to take to learning ; but John 
 here is main clever at it. 
 
 Trounce. So, what you're a scholar, friend ? 
 . 2 Coun. I was born so, measter. Feyther kept grammar-school. 
 
 Trounce. Lucky man — in a campaign or two put yourself down 
 chaplain to the regiment. And I warrant you have read of warriors 
 and heroes ? 
 
 2 Coun. Yes, that I have : I have read of Jack the Giant Killer, and 
 the Dragon of Wantly, and the— Noa, I believe that 's all in the hero 
 way, except once about a comet. 
 
 Trounce. Wonderful knowledge ! — Well, my heroes, I '11 write word 
 to the king of your good intentions, and meet me half an hour hence 
 at the Two Magpies. 
 
 Coun. We will, your honour, we will. 
 
 Trounce. But stay ; for fear I shouldn't see you again in the crowd, 
 clap these little bits of ribbon into your hats. 
 
 1 Coun. Our hats are none of the best. 
 
 Trounce. Well, meet me at the Magpies, and I '11 give you money to 
 buy new ones. 
 
 Coun. Bless your honour, thank your honour. [Exeunt. 
 
 Trounce. [ Winkiwj at Soldiers.] Jack ! [Exeunt Soldiers. 
 
86 .ST. PATBICK'S DAY. 
 
 Enter Lieutenant O'Connor. 
 So, here comes one would make a grenadier — Stop, friend, will you 
 list? 
 
 O'Con. Who shall I serve under ? 
 
 Trounce. Under me, to be sure. 
 
 O'Con. Isn't Lieutenant O'Connor your officer ? 
 
 Trounce. He is, and I am commander over him. 
 
 O'Con. What ! be your Serjeants greater than your captains? 
 
 Trounce. To be sure we are ; 'tis our business to keep them in order. 
 For instance, now, the general writes to me, dear Serjeant, or dear 
 Trounce, or dear Serjeant Trounce, according to his hurry, if your 
 lieutenant does not demean himself accordingly, let me know. — Yours, 
 General Deluge. 
 
 O'Con. And do you complain of him often ? 
 
 Trounce. No, hang him, the lad is good-natured at the bottom, so I 
 pass over small things. But hark'ee, between ourselves, he is most 
 confoundedly given to wenching. 
 
 Enter Corporal Flint. 
 Flint. Please your honour, the doctor is coming this way with his 
 worship — We are all ready, and have our cues. [Exit. 
 
 O'Con. Then, my dear Trounce, or my dear Serjeant, or my dear 
 Serjeant Trounce, take yourself away. 
 
 Trounce. Zounds ! the lieutenant — I smell of the black hole already. 
 
 [Exit. 
 Enter Justice Credulous and Doctor Rosy. 
 Just. I thought I saw some of the cut-throats. 
 
 Bosy. I fancy not ; there 's no one but honest Humphrey. Ha ! 
 Odds life, here comes some of them — we '11 stay by these trees, and let 
 them pass. 
 
 Just. Oh, the bloody-looking dogs ! 
 
 [Walks aside with Doctor Rosy. 
 
 Re-enter Corporal Flint and txvo Soldiers. 
 Flint. Halloa, friend ! do you serve Justice Credulous ? 
 O'Con. I do. 
 Flint. Are you rich ? 
 O'Con. Noa. 
 
 F%int. Nor ever will be with that old stingy booby. Look here — 
 take it. [Gives Mm a purse. 
 
 O'Con. What must I do for this ? 
 Flint. Mark me, our lieutenant is in love with the old rogue's 
 
ST. PATRICK'S DAY. 87 
 
 daughter : help us to break his worship's bones, and carry off the girl, 
 and you are a made man. 
 
 O'Con. I '11 see you hanged first, you pack of skurry villains ! 
 
 [Throws away the purse. 
 
 Flint. What, sirrah, do you mutiny 1 Lay hold of him. 
 
 O'Con. Nay, then, I '11 try your armour for you. [Beats them. 
 
 All. Oh I oh ! — quarter ! quarter ! 
 
 [Exeunt Corporal Flint and Soldiers. 
 
 Just. [Cominfi fonmrd.] Trim them, trounce them, break their 
 bones, honest Humphrey — What a spirit he has ! 
 
 Rosy. Aquafortis. 
 
 O'Con. Betray your master ! 
 
 Rosy. What a miracle of fidelity I 
 
 J^ist. Ay, and it shall not go unrewarded — I '11 give him sixpence on 
 the spot. Here, hont'st Humphrey, there 's for yourself : as for this 
 bribe, [takes ^(j) the jmrse,] such trash is best in the hands of justice. 
 Now, then, doctor, I think I may trust him to guard the women : while 
 he is wirh them I may go out with safety. 
 
 Rosy. Doubtless you may — I '11 answer for the lieutenant's behaviour 
 whilst honest Humphrey is with your daughter. 
 
 Just. Ay, ay, she shall go nowhere without him. Come along, 
 honest Humphrey. How rare it is to meet with such a servant ! 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene II. — A Garden. 
 
 Lauretta discovered. Enter Justice Credulous and 
 Lieutenant O'Connor. 
 
 Just. Why, you little truant, how durst you wander so far from 
 the house without my leave ? Do you want to invite that scoundrel 
 lieutenant to scale the walls and carry you ofi^. 
 
 Lau. Lud, papa, you are so apprehensive for nothing. 
 
 Just. Why, hussy 
 
 Lau. Well, then, I can't bear to be shut up all day so like a nun. 
 I am sure it is enough to make one wish to be run away with — and I 
 wish I was run away with — I do — and I wish the lieutenant knew it. 
 
 Just. You do, do you, hussy ? Well, I think I '11 take pretty good 
 care of you. Here, Humphrey. I leave this lady in your care. Now 
 you may walk about the garden, Miss Pert ; but Humphrey shall go 
 with you wherever you go. So mind, honest Humphrey, I am obliged 
 to go abroad for a little while ; let no one but yourself come near her; 
 
88 ST. PATRICKS DAY. 
 
 don't be shame-faced, you booby, but keep close to her. And now, 
 miss, let your lieutenant or any of his crew come near you if they 
 can. [Exit. 
 
 Lau. How this booby stares after him 1 [Sits down and sings. 
 
 O'Gon. Lauretta ! 
 
 Lau. Not so free, fellow ! • [Sinys. 
 
 O'Gon. Lauretta ! look on me. 
 
 Lau. Not so free, fellow ! 
 
 O'Gon. No recollection ! 
 
 Lau. Honest Humphrey, be quiet. 
 
 O'Gon. Have you forgot your faithful soldier ? 
 
 Laii. Ah ! Oh preserve me ! 
 
 O'Gon. 'Tis, my soul ! your truest slave, passing on your father in 
 this disguise. 
 
 Lau. Well now, I declare this is charming — you are so disguised, 
 my dear lieutenant, and you look so delightfully ugly. I am sure no 
 one will find you out, ha ! ha^ ! ha ! — You know I am under your 
 protection ; papa charged you to keep close to me. 
 
 O'Gon. True, my angel, and thus let me fulfil 
 
 Lau. O pray now, dear Humphrey 
 
 O'Gon. Nay, 'tis but what old Mittimus commanded. 
 
 [Offers to kiss her. 
 
 Re-enter Justice Credulous. 
 
 Just. Laury, my — hey ! what the devil 's here ? 
 
 Lau. Well now, one kiss, and be quiet. 
 
 Just. Your very humble servant, honest Humphrey ! Don't let me — 
 pray don't let me interrupt you ! 
 
 Lau. Lud, papa ! Now that 's so good-natured — indeed there 's no 
 harm. You did not mean any rudeness, did you, Humphrey ? 
 
 O'Gon. No, indeed, misa ; his worship knows it is not in me. 
 
 Just. I know that you are a lying, canting, hypocritical scoundrel ; 
 and if you don't take yourself out of my sight 
 
 Lau. Indeed, papa, now I '11 tell you how it was. I was sometime 
 taken with a sudden giddiness, and Humphrey seeing me beginning to 
 totter, ran to my assistance, quite frightened, poor fellow, and took me 
 in his arms. 
 
 Just. Oh ! was that all — nothing but a little giddiness, hey ! 
 
 O'Gon. That 's all, indeed, your worship ; for seeing miss change 
 colour, I ran up instantly. 
 
 Just. Oh, 'twas very kind in you ! 
 
 O'Gon. And luckily recovered her. 
 
ST. PATRICK'S DA Y. 89 
 
 Just. And who made you a doctor, you impudent rascal, hey >. Get 
 out of my sight, I say, this instant, or by all the statutes 
 
 Laic. Oh now, papa, you frighten me, and I am giddy again I — Oh, 
 help! 
 
 O'Con. O dear lady, she '11 fall ! [Takes her into his arms. 
 
 Jicst. Zounds ! what before my face — why then, thou miracle of 
 impudence ! — [Lays hold of him and discovers him.] — Mercy on me, 
 who have wo here ? — Murder ! Robbery ! Fire ! Rape ! Gunpowder ! 
 Soldiers ! John ! Susan ! Bridget ! 
 
 O'Gon. Good sir, don't be alarmed ; I mean you no harm. 
 
 Jxist. Thieves ! Robbers ! Soldiers ! 
 
 O'Con. You know my love for your daughter 
 
 Just. Fire ! Cut-throats ! 
 
 O'Con. And that alone 
 
 Just. Treason ! Gunpowder ! 
 
 Enter a Servant with a blunderbuss. 
 Now, scoundrel ! let her go this instant. 
 
 Lau. O papa, you '11 kill me ! 
 
 J^cst. Honest Humphrey, be advised. Ay, miss, this way, if you 
 please . 
 
 O'Con. Nay, sir, but hear me 
 
 Just. I '11 shoot. 
 
 O'Con. How injurious 
 
 Jvst. I '11 shoot — and so your very humble servant, honest Humphrey 
 Hum. [Exeunt separately. 
 
 Scene 3d.— The Walk.* 
 Dr. Rosy. 
 Rosy. Well — I think my Friend is now in a fair way of succeeding. 
 Ah !— I warrant He's full of hope— and Doubt— and Fear— and Anxiety 
 — Truly he has the Fever of Love strong upon him — Faint Peevish 
 — Languishing all Day — with burning — restless Nights. — Ah ! just my 
 Case — when first I pined for my poor dear Dolly — when she used to 
 have daily Cholics and her little Doctor be sent for, then would I 
 interpret the language of her Pulse — declare my own suffering in my 
 recipes for hers — send her a pearl Necklace in a Pill-box — or a cordial 
 Draught with an acrostic on the Label ! well those Days are over ! No 
 happiness lasting ! all 's Vanity ! now sunshine, now cloud ! — we are 
 as we were made King and Peasant — then what avails ! — 
 
 * The sheets of manuscript which have been preserved begin here. 
 
90 ST. PATRICK'S DAY. 
 
 Enter Lieutenant. 
 
 Lieu. Doctor ruined and undone 
 
 Dr. The Pride of Beauty 
 
 Lieu. I am discovered and 
 
 Dr. The gaudy Palace 
 
 Lieu. The Justice is 
 
 Dr. The pompous Wig ! 
 
 Lieu. More enraged than ever 
 
 Dr. The gilded cane ! 
 
 Lieu. Why Doctor ! (loud.) 
 
 Dr. Hey? 
 
 Lieu. Confound your morals ! I tell you I am discovered ! 
 discomfited ! disappointed ! ruined ! 
 
 Dr. Indeed ! Good Lack — to think of the Instability of human 
 Affairs ! — Nothing certain in this world ! — most deceived when most 
 confident I — Fools of Fortune all ! 
 
 Lieu,. My dear Doctor, I want at present a little practical Wisdom 
 — I am resolved this instant to try the Scheme we were going to put 
 into execution last week. The present event will give probability to 
 the Plan — I have the letter ready written — and only want your 
 assistance to recover my Ground 
 
 Dr. With all my Heart — I warrant I '11 bear my Part in it : but 
 how the Deuce were you discover'd ? 
 
 Lieu. I '11 tell you as we go — There 's not a Moment to be lost. 
 
 Dr. Well, Heaven send we succeed better at present— but there's 
 no knowing. 
 
 Lieu. Very true 
 
 Dr. We may and we may not. 
 
 Lieu. Right 
 
 Dr. Time must show 
 
 Lieu. Certainly 
 
 Dr. We are but blind Guessers 
 
 Lieu. Nothing more 
 
 Dr. Short-sighted Mortals. 
 
 Liexi. Remarkably ! 
 
 Dr. Wandr'ing in Error. 
 
 L^e^^i. Even so 
 
 Dr. Futurity is Dark. 
 
 Lieut. As a Cellar. 
 
 Dr. Men are moles. [Exe. Dr. moralizing. 
 
ST. PATRICK'S DAY. 91 
 
 Scene 4th. — The Justice's House. 
 Justice and Bridget. 
 
 Just. Odcla life Bridget, you are enough to make one mad — I tell 
 you He would have deceived a Chief Justice — The Dog seem'd as 
 ignorant aa my Clerk— and talked of Honesty as if he had been a 
 Church- warden 
 
 Bri. Pho I Nonsense, Honesty indeed — what had you to do pray 
 with Honesty ? a fine Business you have made of it with your Hum- 
 phrey Hum : and miss too — She must have been privy to it — Lauretta ! 
 indeed — aye you n-uuld have her call'd so — but for my Part I never 
 knew any good come of giving girls these Heathen Christian Names — 
 if you had called her Deborah — or Tabitha — or Ruth — or Rebecca — 
 nothing of this would have happened — but I always knew Lau,retta 
 was a Runaway Name. 
 
 Just. Pshaw, you 're a Fool 
 
 Bri. No Mr. Credulous 'tis you are a Fool — and no one but such a 
 simpleton would have been so imposed on 
 
 Just. Why, z — ds ! Madam, how durst you talk so — If you have no 
 Respect for your Husband — I should think unus Quorum might com- 
 mand a little Deference. 
 
 Bri. Don't tell me — Unus Fiddledtick — you ought to be ashamed to 
 show your Face at the Sessions — you '11 be the Laughing-stock of the 
 Bench and byeword with all the pig-tailed Lawyers and bob-wig 
 Attorneys. 
 
 Just. Is this Language to his Majesty's Representative ? By the 
 statutes 1 'tis high Treason and petty Treason, both at once I 
 
 Enter Servant. 
 
 (Ser. A Letter for your Worship. 
 
 Jtist. Who brought it ? 
 
 Ser. A Soldier — your Worship. 
 
 Just. Take it away and bury it. — Combustible stuff I warrant it — 
 A threatening Letter — put ten Pound under Stone — with d — d 
 infammatory spelling — and the bloody Hands of a Dozen Rogues at 
 Bottom— — 
 
 Bri. Stay now — you're in such a Hurry — 'tis some canting Scrawl 
 from the Lieutenant I suppose — here — (takes the letter) let me see — 
 ay, 'tis sign'd Lieutenant O'Connor. 
 
 Just. Well — come — read it out. 
 
 Bri. (reads) Sir, Revenge is sweet. 
 
92 ST. PATRICK'S DAY. 
 
 Jnd. It begins so, does it ? I 'm glad of that — I '11 let the Dog 
 [know] I am of his Opinion. 
 
 Mrs. Bri. And though disappointed of my Designs upon ynur 
 Daughter — I have still the satisfaction of knowing I am revenged <m 
 her unnatural Father — for this morning, in your Chocolate, I had the 
 pleasure of administering to you a Dose of Poison ! — Mercy— on us ! 
 
 Just. No Tricks, Bridget — come now you know 'tis not so ! you 
 know 'tis a lie. 
 
 Bri. Read it yourself — (crying) 
 
 Just. Pleasure of Administering a Dose of Poison I — Oh, horrible — 
 Cut-throat Villain !— Bridget ! 
 
 Bri. Lovee ! — stay here 's a Postscript — N.B. 'tis not in the power of 
 medicine to save you I — Oh ! Oh ! 
 
 Just. Odds Life, Bridget why don't you call for help — I 've lost my 
 Voice. — My Brain 's Giddy — I shall burst, and no assistance — John !— 
 Laury ! — John ! 
 
 Bri. Oh I — you see, my Lovee, what you have brought on yourself ! 
 
 Enter John. 
 
 John. Your Worship 
 
 Jiost. Stay John — did you perceive anything in my Chocolate Cup 
 this morning 
 
 Ser. Nothing your Worship — unless it was a little Grounds — 
 
 Just. Aye Arsenick — Arsenic — 'tis plain enough — Why don't you run 
 for Dr. Rosy you Rascal ? 
 
 Ser. Now your Worship.— 
 
 Bri. Oh Lovee — you may be sure 'tis in vain — let him go for the 
 Lawyer to witness your will my Life 
 
 Just. Z — ds ! go for the Dr. you scoundrel — you are all confederate 
 murderers. 
 
 Ser. O here he is your Worship 
 
 Just. Now Bridget — hold your tongue — let me see if my horrid 
 situation is apparent. 
 
 Enter Dr. 
 
 Dr. I have but just call'd in to inform — hey ! bless me what 's the 
 matter with your Worship ? 
 
 Just. There — He sees it already — Poison in my Face, in Capitals — 
 Yes — yes, I 'm a sure Job — for the Undertakers indeed 
 
 Mrs. Bri. Oh ! oh ! alas. Doctor ! 
 
 Just. Peace — Bridget — why Doctor — my dear old Friend — do — you 
 really— see — any change in me — hey ? 
 
ST. PATRICK'S DAY. 93 
 
 Dr. Change — never was man so alter'd ! How came these black 
 spots on your Nose ? 
 Just. Spots on my Nose ! 
 Dr. And that wild Stare in your right Eye ! 
 
 Jicst. In my right eye ? O look ! 
 
 Dr. Ay, and, alack, Efack ! how you are swell'd. 
 Jxt^t. Swell'd ! 
 
 Dr. Aye don't you think He is Madam ? 
 
 Bri. 'tis in vain to conceal it ! — indeed, Lovee, you are as big 
 again as you were in the morning ? 
 
 Just. Yes — I feel it now — I'm poisoned Dr. — help me for the love 
 of Justice — Give me Life to see my murderer hang'd. 
 Dr. What? 
 
 Just. I 'm poison'd — I say 
 
 Dr. Speak out 
 
 Ju.it. What — can't you hear me ? 
 
 Dr. Your voice is so low and Hollow as it were I can't hear a word 
 
 you say 
 
 J^tst. I am gone then — Hie jacet — many years one of his Majesty's 
 Justices ! 
 
 Bri. Read that Dr. — Ah ! Lovee the Will — consider my Life, how 
 soon you '11 be dead. 
 
 Just. No — Bridget I shall die by Inches 
 
 Bri. Well Lovee — and at twelve inches a Day and that 's good slow 
 
 Dying — you 'II be gone, in five days and a half 
 
 Just. — 'Tis false — Oocatrice — I 'm five foot eight. 
 Dr. I never heard such monstrous Iniquity — Ah ! you are gone 
 indeed my Friend — The Mortgage of your little bit of clay is up — and 
 the sexton has nothing to do but foreclose — Well all's for the Best — 
 we must all go, sooner or Later — High or Low — Death 's a Debt — his 
 mandamus binds all alike — to bail — no demurrer. 
 
 Just. Silence — Dr. Croaker — will you cure me or will you not ? 
 Dr. Alas ray Friend, it isn't in my Power — but I 'II certainly see 
 Justice done on your Murderer. 
 Just. I thank you my dear Friend — but I had rather see it myself. 
 
 Dr. Aye but if you recover, the Villain will escape 
 
 Bri. Will He ? then indeed Lovee 'twould be a Pity you should 
 recover — I 'm so enraged against the Villain — that I can't bear the 
 
 thought of his escaping the Halter 
 
 Just. That 's very kind my Dear — but if it is the same thing to you 
 I had as lieve recover notwithstanding. Doctor — No assistance ! 
 Dr. Efacks — I can do nothing — but here is the German Quack, 
 
94 ST. PA THICK'S DAY. 
 
 whom you wanted to send from the town — I met him at the next Door 
 — I know he has Antidotes for all Poisons. 
 
 Jffst. Fetch hira, my dear Friend, fetch him ! I '11 get him a 
 Diploma if he cures me. 
 
 Dr. Well there 's no time to be lost — you continue to swell im- 
 mensely. [Exit Dk. 
 
 Bii. What my Dear, will you submit to be cured by a Quack — a 
 Nostrum-Monger ? — there 's something creditable in being kill'd in a 
 regular way — For my Part — as much as I love you — I had rather 
 follow you to the Grave — than see you owe your Life to any one but a 
 regular- Bred Physician. 
 
 Just. I 'm sensible of your Affection, Dearest — and believe me 
 nothing consoles me in my present melancholy situation — so much as 
 the Thought of leaving you behind my Angel ! — 
 (Enter Dr. and the Lieut, dressed with Wig and Cloak as a Physician.) 
 
 Dr. Great luck — I met him passing by the door. (They salute.) 
 
 Lieu. Metto dowsin Pulsum. 
 
 Dr. He desires to feel your Pulse. 
 
 Jiist. Can't He speak English ? 
 
 Dr. Not a word. 
 
 Lieu. Palio vivem mortem soonem. 
 
 Dr. He says you haven't six hours to live. 
 
 Just. O mercy — does he know my Distemper ? 
 
 Dr. I believe not. 
 
 Just. Tell him 'tis Arsenic they have given me. — 
 
 Dr. Geneable illi arsnecca. 
 
 Lieu. Poiaonatus. 
 
 Just. What does He say ? 
 
 Dr. He says that you are poisoned. 
 
 Just. "We know that — but what will be the Effect ? 
 
 Dr. Quid affectum. — 
 
 Lieu. Diable tutellum. 
 
 Dr. He says you '11 die presently. 
 
 Just. Horrible ! What no Antidote 1 
 
 Lieu. Curum benakere bono fullum. 
 
 Bosy. He says He '11 undertake to cure you for three thousand 
 Pounds. 
 
 Bri. Three thousand Halters— No Lovee, you shall never submit to 
 such an imposition. Die at once, my Life, and be a customer obliged 
 to None of them. 
 
 Just. I will not die, Bridget !— I don't like death. 
 
 Bri. Pshaw ! there 's nothing in it— a moment and it is over. 
 
ST. PATBICK'S DAY. 95 
 
 J%ist. Aye, but it leaves a Numbness behind that lasts for a Plaguy 
 long time. 
 
 Enter Laureita. 
 
 Leu I. my Father ! what is it I hear ? 
 
 Lieu. Quiddam seomriam deos toUam rosam. 
 
 Dr. The Doctor is astonish'd at the sight of your Daughter. 
 
 Jud. How so ! 
 
 Lieic. Damsellum livivum suvum rislibani. 
 
 Dr. He says that He has lost his heart to her — and that if you will 
 give him leave to pay his addresses to the young Lady, and promise 
 your consent to the Union if he should gain her Affections, He will 
 on those conditions cure you instantly without Fee or Reward. 
 
 Just. The Devil ! did he say all that in so few Words ? — What a fine 
 Language it is ! Well I agree if he can prevail on the Girl. — And that 
 I 'm sure He never will (aside). 
 
 Dr. Great 
 
 Lieu. Writhum Bothum. 
 
 Dr. He says you must give this under your hand while he writes 
 you a miraculous Recipe. [Both write at the Table. 
 
 Lau. Do mama tell me the meaning of all this. 
 
 Bri. Don't speak to me Girl, unnatural Parasite ! 
 
 Just. There Doctor ; that's what he requires. — 
 
 Dr. And here 's your Recipe — read it yourself. 
 
 Just. Hey — what 'share? plain English ? 
 
 Dr. Read it out ; a wondrous Nostrum I '11 answer for 't. 
 (While the Just, reads, Lieu, throws off his Disguise and kneels with 
 Laura.) 
 
 {Jvst. reads.) On reading this you are cured, by your affectionate 
 Son-in-law, O'CoxxoR. — Who in the name of Beelzebub, sirrah, who 
 are you ? 
 
 Jxist. What the Deuce is the meaning of all this ? — 
 
 Bri. Oh monstrous imposition. 
 
 Just. In the name of Beelzebub, who have we here ? 
 
 Lieu. Lieutenant O'Connor at your service and your faithful Servant 
 honest Humphrey. 
 
 Bri. So, so another Trick. 
 
 Jus. Out of my sight Varlet, I '11 be off the Bargain — I '11 be poison'd 
 again, and you shall be hang'd. — 
 
 Dr. Come, come my dear friend don't put yourself in a passion — a 
 Man just escaped from the Jaws of Death should'nt be so violent. — 
 Come make a merit of Necessity and let your Blessing join those, 
 whom nothing on Earth can keep asunder. 
 
96 ST. PATRICK'S DAY. 
 
 Jus. I'll not do it — I'd sooner die and leave my fortune to Bridget. 
 
 Bri. To be sure. O' my conscience I'd rather you should Die and 
 leave me ten Estates than consent to such a thing. 
 
 Jus. You had, had you ? Hearkee Bridget, you behav'd so affection- 
 ately just now that I'll never follow your advice again while I live. — 
 So Mr. Lieutenant 
 
 lAeu. Sir 
 
 Jus. You 're an Irishman and an Officer arn't you ? 
 
 Lieu. I am, and proud of both. 
 
 Jus. The two things in the World I hate most— so mark me — 
 forswear your Country and quit the Army and I '11 receive you as my 
 Son-in-Law — 
 
 Lieu. You Mr. Justice, if you were not the Father of your Daughter 
 there, I'd pull your Nose for mentioning the first, and break your 
 bones for proposing the latter. — 
 
 Dr. You 're right Lieutenant 
 
 J\{,s. Is he ? Why then I must be wrong — here Lauretta — you 're a 
 sly tricking little Baggage, and I believe no one so fit for managing 
 you as my honest friend here who is the most impudent Dog I ever 
 saw 
 
 lAeu. With such a gift every word is a Compliment. 
 
 Bri. Come then, since everything 's settled I give my Consent and 
 this Days adventure Lovee, will be a good scolding subject for you and 
 me this ten years. 
 
 Jus. So it will my Dear — tho' we are never much at a loss 
 
 Dr. Come I insist on one Day without wrangling — the Capt. shall 
 give us a Dinner at the two Magpies, and your Worship shall put 
 every man in the Stocks who is sober at eight o'clock — so joy to you 
 my little favourite (to Laur.) I wish you may make just such a Wife as 
 my poor Dear Dolly 
 
 «&c. &c.* 
 
 Finis. 
 
 * The manuscript from " Enter Lauretta " is in Mrs. Sheridan's hand- 
 writing, and an L. is written between " &c." and " Finis." 
 
THE DUENNA, 
 
 Don Jerome. 
 
 Ferdinaxd, his Son. 
 
 axthonio. 
 
 Isaac. 
 
 Manuel. Ferdinand's Servant, 
 
 o fPAUL. 
 
 TTrio^c 1 Francis. 
 
 DRAMATIS PERSONS. 
 
 Luisa, Don Jerome's Daughter. 
 
 Clara, Daughter Don Pedro, 
 Cousin to Clara. 
 
 Catherine, The Duenna. 
 
 LisETTE, Luisa's Maid. 
 
 Masks and Servants. 
 
 SCENE.— Seville. 
 
 ACT VK Scene 1^'. 
 
 A Piaza before Don Jerome's House. 
 
 The Morning breaking — Clock strike.s 3. 
 
 Enter Manuel from the House with a Dark Lantern in his Hand. 
 
 Man. (listening). Past 3 o'clock ! — Soh ! a notable hour for one of my 
 regular Disposition to be strolling like a Bravo through the Streets of 
 Senile ! Well of all services to serve a Young Lover is the hardest — ! 
 truly a prudent Domestick would do well to make a Clause in favour 
 of double Wages when his Master shall think proper to fall in Love. — 
 Don Ferdinand is much too gallant to eat, drink, or Sleep : — now for 
 my part Love gives me an appetite — then I am fond of dreaming of 
 my mistress, and I like dearly to toast her — neither this can't be done 
 without good sleep and good Liquor : hence my partiality to a Feather- 
 bed and a Bottle ! But a Plague on these haughty Damsels say I — 
 when they play their airs on their whining gallants — they ought to 
 consider that we are the chief sufferers. — we have all their ill-humours 
 at second-hand — Donna Luisa's cruelty to my master usually con- 
 verts itself into Blows by the time it gets to me — she can frown me 
 black and blue at any time, and I shall carry the marks of the last box 
 on the Ear she gave him — to my Grave — nay if she smiles on any one 
 else — I 'm the sufferer for it. If she says a civil word to a Rival — I 
 am a Rogue and a Scoundrel — and if she sends him a Letter my Back 
 is sure to pay the Postage ! What a pity, now, that I have not further 
 time for Reflections ! but my master expects thee, honest Manuel, to 
 
98 TH£ DUENNA. 
 
 secure his Retreat from Donna Luisa's window ! Hey ! sure, I heard 
 music ! So ! so ! Who have we here ? Oh ! Don Anthonio, my 
 master's Friend, come from the masquerade, to serenade my young 
 mistress, I suppose — soh ! we shall have the old gentleman up pre- 
 sently.— Lest He should miss his [son] I had best lose no time in 
 getting to my Post. [Exit. 
 
 Enter Anthonio and Masks with Music. 
 
 Anth sings — Song — soft symphony. 
 
 Tell me, my Lute, can thy fond strain 
 So gently speak thy master's Pain ? 
 So sweetly sing, so humbly sigh. 
 
 That tho' my sleeping Love shall know 
 
 Who sings— who sighs below. 
 Her rosy slumbers shall not fly] 
 
 Thus may some vision whisper more 
 
 Than ever I dare speak before. 
 
 1 Mask. Anthonio — your mistress will never wake while you sing so 
 dolefully : — Love, like a cradled Infant, is lulled by a sad melody. 
 
 Ant. I do not wish to disturb her rest. 
 
 2'^ Mas. The reason is because you know She does not regard you 
 enough to appear if you wak'd her. 
 
 Ant. Nay then I '11 convince you. [Sings. 
 
 Song. 
 
 Anth. Sings.) The crimson Dawn bids hence the J^ight — 
 
 Unveil those beauteous eyes my Fair ; 
 For till the morn of Love is there, 
 
 I feel no Day, I own no Light. 
 
 (Clara replies from ye window.) 
 Waking I heard thy Numbers chide. 
 
 Waking the dawn did bless my sight ; 
 'Tis Phoebus sure that woos, I cried, 
 
 Who speaks in song — who moves in Light. 
 
 (Don Jerome appears at another window.) 
 
 Trio. 
 Don Jer. What Vagabonds are these I hear. 
 
 Fiddling — fluting— rhyming ranting 
 Pipifig scraping — whining, canting — 
 Hence scurvy Minstrels, fly ! 
 
 Trio. 
 
 Clara Prithee Father why so rough— 
 
 A nth. An humble Lover I. 
 
 Don Jer. Daughter how durst you lend an ear 
 
 To such deceitful stuff — 
 Quick from the window fly ! 
 
THE DUE^^NA. < 
 
 Clara Adieu, Anthonio ! (Ajitk.) — must you go? 
 
 Anth. We soon perhaps may meet again. 
 
 For though hard Fortune is our Foe, 
 The God of Love will fight for us 
 Do7i Jer, Get me the Blunderbuss. 
 
 Antk.and Clara The God of Love who knows our Pain — 
 Don Jer. Hence ! or these are slugs thro' your Brain. 
 
 {Exe, Anth. and Mask^ and Don, Jer, ani Clara from the window.) 
 
 Scene 2<i A Street- 
 Enter Ferdinajnd and Manuel. 
 
 Man. Truly, sir, I think a little sleep once in week or so 
 
 Ferd. Peace Fool ! don't mention sleep to me — 
 
 Man. No — no — Sir — I don't recommend your lowbred vulgar sound 
 sleep — but I can't help thinking that a genteel slumber or half an hour's 
 dozing — if it were only for the novelty of the thing 
 
 Ferd. Peace Booby, 1 say — Oh Luisa dear cruel disturber of my 
 Rest— 
 
 Man. And of mine too ! 
 
 Ferd. 'Sdeath to trifle with me at such a juncture as this ! — now to 
 stand on Punctilios 1 — love me ! I don't believe she ever did. 
 
 Man. Nor I either. 
 
 Ferd. Or is [it] that her Sex never know their Desires for an hour 
 together ! 
 
 Man. Ah ! they know them oftener than they '11 own them. 
 
 Don Ferd. Is there in the world so inconsistent a creature as 
 Luisa. 
 
 Man. I could name one. 
 
 Ferd. Yes — the Tame Fool that submits to her Caprice. 
 
 Man. I thought he couldn't miss it. 
 
 Fcr. By my Life now it were justice to renounce her for ever ! 
 
 Man. I was always of that Opinion — 
 
 Don. Ferd. Is she not capricious — teasing, tyrannical — obstinate — 
 perverse — absurd ? 
 
 Man. Yes — yes — a very wilderness of Faults and Follies — 
 
 Fer. Her looks are scorn, and her very smiles — 'Sdeath ! I wish I 
 hadn't mention'd her smiles — for when she does — such beaming 
 Loveliness — such fascinating Brightness — Death madness I shall 
 die if I lose her — 
 
 Man. Ah ! those damn'd smiles have undone all ! 
 
 H 2 
 
100 THE DUENNA. 
 
 Song 
 
 Ferd. Could I her Faults remember 
 
 Forgetting every charm — 
 Soon would impartial Reason 
 
 The Tyrant Love disarm : 
 But while enraged I number 
 
 Each Failing of her mind 
 Love still suggests her Beauty, 
 
 And sees while Reason 's blind. 
 
 Man. Here comes Don Anthonio, Sir. 
 
 Don Ferd. Well go you home — I shall be there presently. 
 
 Man. Ah ! those curst smiles ! [Exit. 
 
 Enter Ajs^thonio. 
 
 Anth. Ferdinand — ! Soh ! another troubled spirit come from 
 hovering round the walls that entomb his mistress and sculking from 
 Daybreak — 
 
 Ferd. A troubled Spirit indeed — of one inhumanly murder'd by — 
 a barbarous Disapointment ! — but Manuel tells me he left you 
 chanting before our door — was my father waked ? 
 
 Anth. Yes yes — He has a singular affection for music — so I left him 
 roaring at his barr'd [window] like the print of Bajazet in the cage — 
 but what ! no festal Disapointment I hope ! 
 
 Ferd. Worse than ever was outlived by a Lover before — I am just 
 returned from Luisa's Bedchamber — 
 
 Anth. What then 'tis she that 's Disapointed 
 
 Ferd. I believe I told you, that to-morrow was the Day fixed by 
 Don Gusman and Luisa's unnatural stepmother for her to enter 
 a Convent — in order that her brat might possess her fortune : made 
 desperate by this, I procured a Key to the Door, and bribed Luisa's 
 maid to leave it unbolted — at two this morning I enter'd unperceived 
 and stole to Luisa's chamber ! — I found her waking and weeping. 
 
 Anth. Aye — aye this was at first — 
 
 Ferd. No such thing I tell you — she call'd her maid— who Slep'd 
 in the next room — I urged every argument — to persuade her to elope 
 with me, but all in vain ! She vow'd to die in a convent sooner — and 
 threatened to raise her Father if I did not instantly leave her. 
 
 Anth. Well, but at last 1 
 
 Ferd. At last ! — why I was forced to leave the House as I came in, 
 
 Anth. And did you do nothing to offend her ? 
 
 Ferd. Nothing as I hope to be saved — I believe I might snatch a 
 dozen or two kisses. 
 
 Anth. Was that all — and you were really forced to decamp ? 
 
THE DUENNA. 101 
 
 Ferd. Aye — and treated like a Dog — 
 
 Anth. Well I think — I never heard of such assurance — Lord ! I 
 don't mean you, but in her — 
 
 Ferd. Aye — did you ever hear anything equal — to it ? 
 
 Anth. Never ! Well the confidence of some women is amazing — 1 
 and the curst maid too — what business had she to hear — ? 
 
 Ferd. Aye a treacherous confounded Huzzy that came with ray 
 Ducats clinking in her Pocket 
 
 Anth. But hearken Ferdinand did you leave your Key with them ? 
 
 Ferd. Yes ; the maid who saw me out, took it from the door. 
 
 Anth. Then my life for it, her mistress elopes after you. 
 
 Ferd. Aye to bless some Rival perhaps — I am in a humour to suspect 
 everybody. — You, Anthonio, loved her once and thought her an Angel, 
 as I do now — 
 
 Ant. Yes, I loved her till I found she wouldn't love me — and then 
 I discovered that she hadn't a good Feature in her Face. 
 
 Air. 
 I ne'er could any Lustre see 
 In eyes that would not look on me ; 
 I ne'er saw Nectar on a Lip, 
 But where my own did hope to sip. 
 Has the Nymph who seeks my Heart 
 Cheeks of Rose, untouch'd by Art 1 
 I will own the coulour true, 
 When yielding Blushes aid their hue. 
 
 le her Hand so soft and pure? 
 I must press it to be sure; 
 Nor can I e'en be certain then, 
 Till it grateful press again. 
 Must I, with attentive eye. 
 Watch her heaving bosom sigh? 
 I will do so, when [IJ see 
 That heaving Bosom sigh for me ! 
 
 Besides, Ferdinand, you have full security in my Love for your Sister 
 — help me there and I can never disturb you with Luisa. 
 
 Ferd. As far as I can, consistently with the Honour of our Family 
 —you know I will — but there must be no Eloping, 
 
 Anth. And yet, now, you would carry oflF Luisa ? 
 
 Ferd. Aye that 's a diflferent case — we never mean that others 
 should act to our sisters or wives as we do to theirs. — but tomorrow 
 Luisa is to be forced into a convent. 
 
 Anth. Well am not I as unfortunately circumstanced? — to-morrow 
 your Father forces Clara to marry Isaac the Portuguese ! — but come 
 with me — and we 'U devise something I warrant. 
 
102 THE DUENNA. 
 
 Ferd. I must go home first— 
 
 Anth. And I to lay aside these Trappings, adieu — let us meet 
 presently. 
 
 Don Ferd. But Anthonio, if you did not love my sister you have 
 too much honour — Friendship and Honour — to think of supplanting 
 me with Luisa — 
 
 Song. 
 
 Anth. Friendship is the Bond of Reason ; 
 
 But if Beauty disapprove — 
 Heaven absolves all other Treason 
 
 In the Heart that 's true to Love. 
 The Faith which to my Friend I swore, 
 
 As a civil oath I view ; 
 But to the Charms which I adore, 
 
 'Tis religion to be true. 
 And if to one I false must be 
 
 Can I doubt which to prefer ? 
 A Breach of social Faith with thee 
 
 Or sacrilege to Love and Her. 
 
 [Exit 
 
 Ferd. There is always a Levity in Anthonio's manner of replying to 
 
 me on this subject that is very alarming. — 'Sdeath, if Luisa should 
 
 love him after all. 
 
 Song. 
 
 Tho' cause for suspicion appears. 
 
 Yet Proofs of her Love too are strong 
 — I 'm a wretch if I 'm right in my Fears, 
 And unworthy of Bliss if I 'm wrong. 
 What heart-breaking Torments from jealousy flow, 
 Ah None but the Jealous, the Jealous can know 1 
 When blest with the smiles of my Fair, 
 
 I know not how much I adore 
 Those smiles let another but share. 
 And I wonder I priz'd them no more ! 
 Then whence can I hope a relief from my woe, 
 When the falser she seems still the fonder I grow ? 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Scene 3^. 
 A Room in Don Jerome's House. 
 Luisa and the Duenna. 
 Luisa. But, my dear Margaret, my charming Duenna, do you think 
 we shall succeed ? 
 
 Duen. I tell you again — have no doubt on 't — but it must be 
 instantly put to the Trial. Everything is prepared in your Room — 
 and for the rest we must trust to Fortune. 
 
THJE DUEXXA. 103 
 
 Iniisa. My Father's oath was never to see me till I had consented 
 to 
 
 Duen. 'Twaa thus I overheard him say to his confident — Don 
 Guzman, — ' I will demand of her to-morrow morning, once for all 
 whether she will consent to marry Isaac if she hesitates I will make a 
 solemn oath never to see or speak to her from that hour till she 
 returns to her duty.' — Those were his very wordf". 
 
 Luim. And on his known obstinate adherence to what he has once 
 
 said — you have formed this plan for my escape but have you 
 
 secured my maid in our Interests ? 
 
 Duen. She is a Party in the whole — but remember if we succeed 
 you resign all right and tittle in this little Jew over to me. 
 
 Don. Luisa. That I do with all my soul^ — get him if you can, and I 
 shall wish you joy most heaitily — 
 
 AlK.* 
 
 Thou canst not boast of fortune's store, 
 My love, ^vliile nie they wealthy call : 
 But I was glad to find thee poor — 
 For witli my heart I "d give thee nil. 
 And then the grateful youth shall own 
 I loved him for himself alone. 
 But when his worth my hand shall gain. 
 
 No word or look of mine shall show 
 That I the smallest thought retain 
 Of what my bounty did bestow ; 
 
 Yet still his grateful heart shall own 
 1 loved him for himself alone. 
 
 Duen. I hear don Jerome coming — quick give me the last Letter I 
 
 brought you from Anthonio — you know that is to be the ground of 
 
 my dismission. — I must slip out to seal it up, as undelivered — 
 
 Exit. 
 
 Enter Don Jerome and Ferdinand. 
 
 Don Jer. What I suppose you have been serenading too ! disturb- 
 ing some peaceable Neighbourhood with villanous catgut and lascivious 
 piping ! — Out on't ! you set your Sister here a vile example — But I'm 
 come to tell you Madam — that I '11 suffer no more of these midnight 
 incantations — these amorous orgies that steal the senses in the 
 hearing : as they say, Egyptian embalmers serve mummies — extract- 
 ing the brain thro' their ears. 
 
 Luisa. If young men will divert themselves at my window can I 
 
 * " Song " was written here and the pen was drawn through it. The 
 words were not added; these now given are taken from the printed 
 
104 THE DUENNA. 
 
 help it ? and if the music is pleasing my eara have a will of their own, 
 and yield attention in spite of Duty ! 
 
 Don Jer. No — nor you can't help rising and opening the window 
 and replying the Rakes I suppose ? What, I warrant your legs and 
 your Tongue have a will of their own too 1* 
 
 Lnisa. Never, while I have life ! 
 
 Ferd. Indeed, sir, T wonder how you can think of such a man for a 
 son-in-law. 
 
 Don Jer. Sir, you are very kind to favour me with your sentiments 
 — and pray, what is your objection to him ? 
 
 Don Ferd. He is a Portuguese, in the first place. 
 
 Don Jer. No such thing, boy ; he has forsworn his country. 
 
 Don. Luisa. He is a Jew. 
 
 Don Jer. Another mistake : he has been a Christian these six 
 weeks. 
 
 Don Ferd. Ay, he left his old religion for an estate, and has not 
 had time to get a new one. 
 
 Don. Luisa. But stands like a dead wall between church and 
 synagogue, or like the blank leaves between the Old and New 
 Testament. 
 
 Don Jer. Anything more ? 
 
 Don Ferd. But the most remarkable part of his character is his 
 passion for deceit and tricks of cunning. 
 
 Don. Luisa. Though at the same time the fool predominates so much 
 over the knave, that I am told he is generally the dupe of his own art. 
 
 Don Ferd. True ; like an unskilful gunner, he usually misses his 
 aim, and is hurt by the recoil of his own piece. 
 
 Don Jer. Anything more ? 
 
 Don. Luisa. To sum up all, he has the worst fault a husband can 
 have — he 's not my choice. 
 
 Don Jer. But you are his ; and choice on one side is sufficient — two 
 lovers should never meet in marriage — be you sour as you please, he 
 is sweet-tempered ; and for your good fruit, there 's nothing like 
 ingrafting on a crab. 
 
 Don. Luisa. I detest him as a lover, and shall ten times more as 
 a husband. 
 
 Don. Jer. I don't know that — marriage generally makes a great 
 change — but, to cut the matter short, will you have him or not ? 
 
 * The following words, which do not appear in the manuscript, are in 
 he printed version, and they are required to make the context intel- 
 ligible: "However, there's an end of your frolics. Isaac Mendoza will 
 be here presently, and to-morrow you shall marry him." 
 
THE J)rt:XXA. 105 
 
 Don Luisa. There is nothing else I could disobey you in. 
 
 Don Jer. Do you value your father's peace ? 
 
 Don. Luisa. So much, that I will not fasten on him the regret 
 of making an only daughter wretched. 
 
 Don. Jo: Very well, ma'am, then mark me— never more will I see 
 or converse with you till you return to your duty — no reply — this and 
 your chamber shall be your apartments ; I never will stir out without 
 leaving you under lock and key, and when I 'm at home no creature 
 can approach you but through my library : we '11 try who can be most 
 obstinate. Out of my sight I— there remain till you know your duty. 
 
 [Pushes her out. 
 
 Don Ferd. Sui'ely, sir, my sister's inclinations should be consulted 
 in a matter of this kind, and some regard paid to Don Antonio, being 
 my particular friend 
 
 Don Jer. That, doubtless, is a very great recommendation !— I 
 certainly have not paid sufficient respect to it. 
 
 Don Ferd. There is not a man living I would sooner choose for a 
 brother-in-law 
 
 Don Jer. Very possible ; and if you happen to have e'er a sister, 
 who is not at the same time a daughter of mine, I 'm sure I shall 
 have no objection to the relationship ; but at present, if you please, 
 we 'II drop the subject. 
 
 Don Ferd. Nay, sir, 'tis only my regard for my sister makes me 
 speak. 
 
 Don Jer. Then, pray sir, in future, let your regard for your father 
 make you hold your tongue. 
 
 Don Ferd. I have done, sir. I shall only add a wish that you 
 would reflect what at our age you would have felt, had you been 
 crossed in your affection for the mother of her you are so severe to. 
 
 Don Jer. Why, I must confess I had a great affection for your 
 mother's ducats, but that was all, boy. I married her for her fortune, 
 and she took me in obedience to her father, and a very happy couple 
 we were. We never expected any love from one another, and so we 
 were never disappointed. If we grumbled a little now and then, it 
 was soon over, for we were never fond enough to quarrel ; and when 
 the good woman died, why, why, — I had as lieve she had lived, and I 
 wish every widower in Seville could say the same. I shall now go 
 and get the key of this dressing room — so, good son, if you have any 
 lecture in support of disobedience to give your sister, it must be 
 brief ; so make the best of your time d' ye hear ? [Exit. 
 
 Don Ferd. I fear, indeed, my friend Anthoniohas little to hope for ; 
 however, Louisa has firmness, and my father's anger will probably 
 
106 THE DUENNA. 
 
 only increase her affection. — In our intercourse with the world, it is 
 natural for us to dislike those who are innocently the cause of our 
 distress ; but in the heart's attachment a woman never likes a man 
 with ardour till she has suffered for his sake. — [iVot.se.] So ! what 
 bustle is here — between my father and the Duenna too I '11 e'en get 
 out of the way. [Exit. 
 
 Be-enter Don Jeeome with a letter, imlling in Duenna. 
 
 Bon Jer. I'm astonished! I'm thunderstruck! here's treachery 
 with a vengeance ! You, Antonio's creature, and chief manager of 
 this plot for my daughter's eloping ! — you, that I placed here as a 
 scarecrow I 
 
 Duen. What? 
 
 Don Jer. A scarecrow — to prove a decoy-duck ! What have you to 
 say for yourself 1 
 
 Duen. Well Sir, since you have forced that letter from me, and 
 discovered my real sentiments, I scorn to renounce them. — I am 
 Anthonio's Friend — and it was my intention that your Daughter should 
 have served you as all such old tyrannical Sots should be served — I 
 delight in the tender Passions and would befriend all under their 
 influence. 
 
 Don Jer. The tender passions ! yes, they would become those 
 impenetrable features ! Why, thou deceitful hag ! I placed thee as 
 a guard to the rich blossoms of my daughter's beauty. I thought that 
 dragon's front of thine would cry aloof to the sons of gallantry : steel 
 traps and spring guns seemed writ in every wrinkle of it. — But you 
 shall quit my house this instant. The tender passions, indeed ! go, 
 thou wanton sibyl, thou amorous woman of Endor, go ! 
 
 Duen. You base, scurrilous, old — ^but I won't demean myself by 
 naming what you are. — Yes, savage, I 'II leave your den ; but I 
 suppose you don't mean to detain my apparel — I may have my things, 
 I presume 1 
 
 Don Jer. I took you, mistress, with your wardrobe on — what have 
 you pilfered, eh ? 
 
 Duen. Sir, I must take leave of my mistress ; she has valuables of 
 mine : besides, my cardinal and veil are in her room. 
 
 Don Jer. Your veil, forsooth ! what, do you dread being gazed at ? 
 or are you afraid of your complexion ? Well, go take your leave, and 
 get your veil and cardinal ! so ! you quit the house within these five 
 minutes. — In — in — quick ! — [Exit Duenna.] Here was a precious 
 plot of mischief ! — these are the comforts daughters bring us ! 
 
THE DUENNA. 107 
 
 AlK. 
 If a daughter you have, she 's tlie plague of your Life — 
 Xo Peace shall you know — tho you 've buried your Wife I 
 At twenty she mocks at the Duty you taught her — 
 Oh what a plague is an obstinate Daughter ! 
 
 Sighing and whining, 
 
 Dying and pining. 
 Oh, what a plague is an obstinate daughter ! 
 
 When scarce in their teens they have wit to perplex us, 
 With letters and lovers for ever they vex us ; 
 While each still rejects the (air suitor you've brought her ; 
 Oh, what a plague is an obstinate daughter ! 
 
 Wranj;ling and jangling. 
 
 Flouting and pouting, 
 Oh, what a plague is an obstinate daughter ! 
 
 Reenter Duexxa — her veil on seeming to cry — 
 This way, mistress, this way. — What, I warrant a tender Parting ; 
 soh ! tears of turpentine down those deal cheeks. — aye you may well 
 hide your head — yes whine till your heart breaks — but I '11 not hear 
 one word of excuse— so you are right to be dumb. This way, this 
 way. [^Excunt. 
 
 Enter Duenxa. 
 
 Duen. So — speed you well, sagacious Don Jerome ! rare effects 
 of Passion and Obstinacy ! The first will blind him to the cheat — and 
 the second will continue him in his Delusion — now shall I try whether 
 I can't play the fine Lady as well as my mistress — and if I succeed I 
 may be a fine Lady for the rest of my Life — ^I '11 lose no time to 
 equip myself. [Exit. 
 
 ScEXE IV. — The Court Yard before Dox Jerome's House. 
 
 Enter Don Jerome and Dcenxa. 
 
 He unlocks the Gate. 
 
 Don Jer. Come— mistress — there lies your way — the world lies 
 before you, so troop thou antiquated Eve, thou original Sin — hold 
 yonder is some fellow skulking — perhaps it is Anthonio — go to him, 
 d 'ye hear, and tell him to make you amends d'ye hear — as he has got 
 you turn'd away, tell him I say it is but just he should take you 
 himself; go — [Exit Doxxa Louisa.] Soh ! I am rid of her thank 
 Heaven ! and now I shall be able to keep my Oath — and confine ray 
 Daughter with better security ! (Reenters the House.) 
 
108 THE DUENNA. 
 
 Scene Y.—The Piazza. 
 Enter Donna Clara and Maid. 
 
 Maid. But where, madam, is it you intend to go ? 
 
 Don. Clara. Anywhere to avoid the selfish violence of my mother-in- 
 law, and Ferdinand's insolent importunity. 
 
 Maid. Indeed, ma'am, since we have profited by Don Ferdinand's 
 key, in making our escape, I think we had best find him, if it were 
 only to thank him. 
 
 Don. Clara. No — he has offended me exceedingly. [Retires. 
 
 Enter Donna Louisa. 
 
 Don. Louisa. So I have succeeded in being turned out of doors — 
 but how shall I find Antonio ? I dare not inquire for him, for fear of 
 being discovered ; I would send to my friend Clara, but then I doubt 
 her prudery would condemn me. 
 
 Maid.. Then suppose, ma'am, you were to try if your friend Donna 
 Clara would not receive you ? 
 
 Don. Louisa. No, her notions of filial piety are so severe, she 
 would certainly betray me. Clara is of a cold temper, and would 
 think this step of mine highly forward. Her respect for her father 
 is so great, she would not credit the unkindness of mine. 
 
 [Donna Louisa turns, and sees Donna Claka and Maid. 
 
 Don. Louisa. Ha ! who are those ? sure one is Clara — if it be, I '11 
 trust her. Clara ! [Advances. 
 
 Don. Clara. Louisa ! and in masquerade too ! 
 
 Don. Louisa. You will be more surprised when I tell you, that I 
 have run away from my father. 
 
 Don. Clara. Surprised indeed ! and I should certainly chide you 
 most horridly, only that I have just run away from mine. 
 
 Don. Louisa. My dear Clara ! [Embrace. 
 
 Don. Clara. Dear sister truant ! and whither are you going ? 
 
 Don. Louisa. To find the man I love, to be sure ; and, I presume, 
 you would have no aversion to meet with my brother ? 
 
 Don. Clara. Indeed I should : he has behaved so ill to me, I don't 
 believe I shall ever forgive him. 
 
 Am. 
 
 When sable night, each drooping plant restoring, 
 
 AVept o'er the flowers her breath did cheer, 
 As some sad widow o'er her babe deploring, 
 
 Wakes its beauty with a tear ; 
 
TUE DUEKXA. 109 
 
 Wlien all did sleep whose weary hearts did borrow 
 
 One hour from love and care to rest, 
 Lo 1 as I press'd my couch in silent sorrow, 
 My lover caught me to his breast ! 
 He vow'd he came to save me 
 From those who would enslave me ! 
 Then kneeling, 
 Kisses stealing. 
 Endless faith he swore ; 
 
 But soon I chid him thence, 
 For had his fond pretence 
 Obtain'd one favour then. 
 And he had press'd again, 
 I fear'd my treacherous heart might grant him more. 
 
 Don. Louisa. Well, for all this, I would have sent him to plead his 
 pardon, but that I would not yet awhile have him know of my flight. 
 And where do you hope to find protection ? 
 
 Don. Clara. The Lady Abbess of the convent of St. Catherine is a 
 relation and kind friend of mine — I shall be secure with her, and you 
 had best go thither with me. 
 
 Don. Louisa. No ; I am determined to find Antonio first ; and, as I 
 live, here comes the very man I will employ to seek him for me. 
 
 Don. Clara. Who is he ? he 's a strange figure. 
 
 Don. Louisa. Yes ; that sweet creature is the man whom my father 
 has fixed on for my husband. 
 
 Don. Clara. And will you speak to him ? are you mad ? 
 
 Don, Louisa. He is the fittest man in the world for my purpose ; 
 for, though T was to have married him to-morrow, he is the only man 
 in Seville who, I am sure, never saw me in his life. 
 
 Don. Clara. And how do you know him ? 
 
 Don. Louisa. He arrived but yesterday, and he was shown to me 
 from the window, as he visited my father. 
 
 Don. Clara. Well, I '11 begone. 
 
 Don. Louisa. Hold, my dear Clara — a thought has struck me : will 
 you give me leave to borrow your name, as I see occasion ? 
 
 Don. Clara. It will but disgrace you ; but use it as you please : I 
 dare not stay. — [Going.] — But, Louisa, if you should see your brother, 
 be sure you don't inform him that 1 have taken refuge with the Dame 
 Prior of the convent of St. Catherine, on the left hand side of the 
 piazza which leads to the church of St. Anthony. 
 
 Don. Louisa. Ha ! ha ! ha I I '11 be very particular in my direc- 
 tions where he may not find you. — [Exeunt Donna Clara and Maid. 
 — So I my swain, yonder, has done admiring himself, and draws 
 nearer. [Hetires. 
 
110 THE DUENNA. 
 
 Enter Isaac and Don Caklos. 
 
 Isaac. [Looking in a pocket-glass.] 1 tell you, friend Carlos, I will 
 please myself in the habit of my chin. 
 
 Don Car. But, my dear friend, how can you think to please a lady 
 with such a face ? 
 
 Isaac. Why, what 's the matter with the face ! I think it is a very 
 engaging face ; and, I am sure, a lady must have very little taste who 
 could dislike my beard.— [Sees Donna Louisa.]— See now I I'll die if 
 here is not a little damsel struck with it already. 
 
 Don. Louisa. Signor, are you disposed to oblige a lady who greatly 
 wants your assistance. [Unveils. 
 
 Isaac. Egad, a very pretty black-eyed girl ! she has certainly taken a 
 fancy to me, Carlos. First, ma'am, I must beg the favour of your name. 
 
 Don. Louisa. [Aside.] So ! it 's well I am provided.— [J.ZomcZ.]— My 
 name, sir, is Donna Clara d'Almanza. 
 
 Isaac. What? Don Guzman's daughter? I' faith, I just now heard 
 she was missing. 
 
 Don. Louisa. But sure, sir, you have too much gallantry and honour 
 to betray me, whose fault is love ? 
 
 Isaac. So ! a passion for me ! poor girl ! Why, ma'am, as for 
 betraying you, I don't see how I could get anything by it ; so, you 
 may rely on my honour ; but as for your love, I am sorry your case is 
 so desperate. 
 
 Don. Louisa. Why so, signor ? 
 
 Isaac. Because I am positively engaged to another — an't I, Carlos ? 
 
 Don. Louisa. Nay, but hear me. 
 
 Isaac. No, no ; what should I hear for ? It is impossible for me to 
 court you in an honourable way ; and for anything else, if I were to 
 comply now, I suppose you have some ungrateful brother, or cousin, 
 who would want to cut my throat for my civility — so, truly, you had 
 best go home again. 
 
 Don. Louisa. [Aside.] Odious wretch !—[^?oitcL]— But, good signor, 
 it is Antonio d'Ercilla, on whose account I have eloped. 
 
 Isaac. How ! what ! it is not with me, then, that you are in love ? 
 
 Don. Louisa. No, indeed, it is not. 
 
 Isaac. Then you are a forward, impertinent simpleton ! and I shall 
 certainly acquaint your father. 
 
 Don. Louisa. Is this your gallantry ? 
 
 Isaac. Yet hold— Antonio d'Ercilla, did you say ? egad, I may make 
 something of this — Antonio d'Ercilla ? 
 
 Fi Don. Louisa. Yes ; and if ever you wish to prosper in love, you will 
 bring me to him. 
 
TBE DUENNA. Ill 
 
 Isaac. By St. lago and I will too ! — Carlos, thia Antonio is one who 
 rivals me (as I have heard) with Louisa— now, if I could hamper him 
 with this girl, I should have the field to myself ; hey, Carlos ! A 
 lucky thought, isn't it ? 
 
 Don. Car. Yes, very good — very good ! 
 
 Isaac. Ah ! this little br<iin is never at a loss — cunning Isaac ! 
 cunning rogue ! Donna Clara, will you trust yourself awhile to my 
 friend's direction ? 
 
 Don. Louisa. May I rely on you, good signor ? 
 
 Don. Car. Lady, it is impossible I should deceive you. 
 
 Air. 
 
 Had 1 a heart for falsehood framed, 
 
 I ne'er could injure you ; 
 For tliougli your tongue no promise claim'd, 
 
 Your charms would make me true. 
 To you no soul shall bear deceit, 
 
 ^'o stranger offer wrong; 
 But friends in all the aged you '11 meet, 
 
 And lovers in the young. 
 
 But when they learn that you have blest 
 
 Another with your heart, 
 They'll bid aspiring passion rest, 
 
 And act a brother's part : 
 Then, lady, dread not here deceit, 
 
 Nor feir to suffer wrong ; 
 For fi iends in all the aged you '11 meet, 
 
 And brothers in the young. 
 
 Isaac. Conduct the lady to my lodgings, Carlos ; I must haste to 
 Don Jerome. Perhaps you know Louisa, ma'am. She 's divinely 
 handsome, isn't she 1 
 
 Don. Loxiisa. You must excuse me not joining with you. 
 
 Isaac. Why I have heard it on all hands. 
 
 Don. Louisa. Her father is uncommonly partial to her ; but I believe 
 you will find she has rather a matronly air. 
 
 Isaac. Carlos, this is all envy. — Y^'ou pretty girls never speak well 
 of one another. — [To Dox Carlos.] Hark ye, find out Antonio, 
 and I '11 saddle him with this scrape, I warrant. Oh, 'twas the 
 luckiest thought ! Donna Clara, your very obedient. Carlos to your 
 post. 
 
 Duet. 
 
 Isaac . . My mistress expects me, and I must go to her. 
 Or how can I hope for a smile? 
 
112 TBI] DUENNA. 
 
 Don. Louisa. Soon may you return a prosperous wooer, 
 
 But til ink what I suffer the while 1 
 Alone, and away from the man whom I love. 
 
 In strangers I'm forced to confide. 
 Isaac . . . Dear lady, my friend you may trust, and he '11 prove 
 
 Your servant, protector, and guide. 
 
 Air. 
 
 Don Car. . Gentle maid, ah ! why suspect me ] 
 Let me serve thee — then reject me. 
 Canst thou trust, and I deceive thee] 
 Art thou sad, and shall I grieve thee ? 
 Gentle maid, ah ! why suspect me ? 
 Let me serve thee— then reject me. 
 
 Trio. 
 
 Don. Louisa . . Never mayst thou happy he. 
 
 If in aught thou 'rt false to me. 
 Isaac Never may he happy be. 
 
 If in aught he 's false to thee. 
 Don Car. . . . Never may 1 happy be, 
 
 If in aught I 'm false to thee. 
 Don. Louisa . . Never mayst thou, &c. 
 
 Isaac Never may he, &c. 
 
 Don Car. . . . Never may I, &c. [Exeunt. 
 
THE DUENNA. 113 
 
 ACT 2"''.* 
 
 Scene 1"^ 
 
 A Library in Don Jerome's House. 
 
 Enter Dox Jerome and Isaac. 
 
 Don Jer. Ha ! ha ! ha ! run away from her Father has she ? given 
 him the slip, hey ? Ha ! ha ! poor Don Guzanan ! 
 
 Isaac. Aye and I am to conduct her to Anthonio — by which means 
 you see I shall hamper him so that he can give me no disturbance 
 with your daughter — this is a Trap, isn't it ? a nice stroke of cunning 
 —hey? 
 
 Don Jer. Excellent ! excellent ! yea, yes, carry her to him, hamper 
 him by all means, ha ! ha ! ha ! Poor Don Guzman ! an old fool ! — 
 imposed on by a Girl ! 
 
 Isaac. Nay they have the cunning of Serpents, that's the truth 
 of it. 
 
 Don Jer. Pshaw ! they are cunning only when they have fools to 
 deal with. — why don't my Girl play me such a Trick 1 let her cunning 
 over- reach my caution, I say, hey little Isaac ? — 
 
 Isaac. True — true — or let me see any of the Sex make a Fool of 
 me — no — no — egad ! little Solomon (as my Aunt used to call me) 
 understands tricking a little too well. 
 
 Don Jer. Aye, but such a Driveller as Don Guzman ! 
 
 Isaac. And such a dupe as Anthonio ! 
 
 Don Jer. True — Sure never were seen such a couple of credulous 
 Simpletons ! But come, 'tis time you should see my Daughter — you 
 must carry on the Siege by yourself friend Isaac- 
 Isaac. Sure, you '11 introduce me ? 
 
 Don Jer. No — I have sworn a solemn Oath not to see or to speak 
 to her till she renounces her Disobedience ; win her to that, and she 
 gains a Father and a Husband at once. 
 
 Isaac. Gad ! I shall never be able to deal with her alone. — nothing 
 keeps me in such awe as perfect Beauty— now there is something 
 consoling and encouraging in Ugliness. 
 Song. 
 
 Give Isaac the Nymph who no Beauty can boast 
 But healtli and uood Humour to make her my Toast ; 
 If straight I clont mind whether slender or Fat, 
 And six Foot or four — I '11 ne'er quarrel for that. 
 
 * Several sheets of the manuscript from this part onwards are in Mrs. 
 Sheridan's handwriting, 
 
 I 
 
114 THE DUENNA. 
 
 Whate'er her complexion— I vow I don't care 
 I f Brown — it is lasting — more pleasing if fair : 
 And tlio' in her Cheeks I no Dimples should see, 
 Let her smile— and each Dell is a Dimple to me. 
 Let her Locks be the reddest that ever were seen, 
 And her Eyes may be — e"en any Colour but Green ; 
 For in Eyes, th'o so various in lustre and hue, 
 1 swear I 've no choice — only let her have two. 
 
 'Tis true I 'd dispense with a Throne on her Back, 
 
 And white Teeth, I own, are geateeUr than black; 
 
 A little round Chin too 's a Beauty, I 've heard ; 
 
 But 1 only desire she mayn't have a Beard. 
 
 To one thus accomplish'd 1 durst speak my Mind 
 
 And flattery doubtless would soon make her kind 
 
 For the Man who should praise her she needs must adore 
 
 Who ne'er in her Life received praises before. 
 
 But the frowns of a Beauty in hopes to remove 
 
 Should I prate of her Charms and tell of my Love 
 
 No thanks wait the praise which she knows to be true 
 
 Nor smiles for the Homage she takes as her due. 
 
 Don Jer. You will change your Note, my Friend, when you 've seen 
 Louisa. 
 
 Isaac. Oh, Don Jerome the Honour of your Alliance 
 
 Don Jer. Aye but her Beauty will affect you — she is, tho' I say it, 
 who am her Father, a very prodigy — There you will see Features — 
 with an Eye — like mine — yes, e'faith, there is a kind of wicked 
 sparkling — sometimes of a roguish brightness, that shows her to be 
 my own. 
 
 Isaac. Pretty rogue ! 
 
 Don Jer. Then when she smiles, you '11 see a little Dimple in one 
 Cheek only — a Beauty it is certainly — yet you shall not say which is 
 prettiest, the cheek with the Dimple, or the Cheek without. 
 
 Isaac. Pretty rogue ! 
 
 Don Jer. Then the Roses on those Cheeks are shaded with a sort of 
 velvet Down, that gives a Delicacy to the Glow of Health, 
 
 Isaac. Pretty rogue ! 
 
 Do7i Jer. Her skin pure Dimity — yet more fair being spangled here 
 and there with a golden Freckle. 
 
 Isaac. Charming pretty rogue ! 
 
 Duet. 
 Do7i Je. Dominion was given 
 
 To Beauty from Heav'n 
 — Pleasing Bondage to the Mind ! — 
 
 Will you then alone 
 Its AVorship disown ] — 
 
THE DUENNA. 116 
 
 Isaac Never ! — could I favour find 
 
 But when for my Pain 
 
 I meet with Disdain 
 Don Je : Coax her, kiss her, till she 's kind. 
 
 Come courage Man — you must not be dismay'd if you find Louisa a 
 little haughty at first — 
 
 Isaac. Pray how is the Tone of her Voice ? 
 
 Don Jer. Remarkably pleasing — but if you could prevail on her to 
 sing, you would be enchanted — She is a Nightingale — a Virginia 
 Nightingale — but come — come — her Maid shall conduct you to her 
 antichamber. 
 
 Isaac. Well egad I'll pluck up Resolution, and meet her frowns 
 intrepidly. 
 
 Don Jer. Aye — woo her briskly — win her — and give me a proof 
 of your address, my little Solomon. 
 
 Isaac. But hold — I expect my friend Carlos to call on nie liere— 
 if he comes, will you send him to me ? 
 
 Don Jer. I will — I will Lisetta ! — Come— she '11 show y(ju to the 
 Room — what ! do you di'oop 1 here 's a mournful Face to make Love 
 with ! [Exeunt. 
 
 Don Jer. Song. 
 
 When the Mail whom we love 
 No entreaties can move, 
 Who "d lead a Life of pining? 
 If her charms will excuse 
 The fond rashness we use 
 — Away with idle whining ! 
 
 Never stand like a Fool 
 
 With looks sheepish and cool — 
 
 Such bashful Love is tiezing : 
 
 But with Spirit address 
 
 And your sure of success 
 
 — For honest warmth is pleasing. 
 
 Nay tho' Wedlock 's your view 
 
 Like a Rake if you '11 woo 
 
 Girls sooner quit their coldness 
 
 They know Beauty inspires 
 
 Less Respect than Desires 
 
 — Hence Love is prov'd by boldnes'. 
 
 So ne'er stand like a Fool, &c. [Ex*. 
 
116 THE DUENNA. 
 
 Scene 2*^ : — Louisa's Dressing- Room. 
 
 (Maid crosses the Stage and goes to the Door in the back Scene — 
 Enter Isaac.) 
 
 Maid. Sir my mistress will wait on you presently. 
 
 Isaac. When she 's at leisure — don't hurry her.— [Exit Maid.] — I 
 wish I had ever practised a Love Scene — I doubt I shall make a 
 poor Figure here — I could'nt be more afraid if I was going before the 
 [nquisition. Soh I the Door opens — yes — she 's coming — the very 
 rustling of her 8ilk8 has a disdainful sound. 
 
 Enter Duenna, dress'd as Louisa. 
 
 Isaac. Now darn't I look round for the Soul of me — her Beauty will 
 certainly strike me dumb if I do. — I wish she'd speak first. 
 
 Duen. Sir, I attend your Pleasure. 
 
 Isaac. So — the ice is broke — and a pretty civil beginning too ! — 
 Hem — Madam — Miss — Madam — I 'm all attention. 
 
 Duen. Nay Sir, 'tis I who should listen, and you propose. 
 
 Isaac. Egad ! this isn't so disdainful neither. — I believe I may 
 venture to look. — No — I dar'n't — one Glance of those roguish sparklers 
 would fix me again. 
 
 Duen. You seem thoughtful Sir. Let me persuade you to sit down. 
 
 Isaac. So, so ; she mollifies apace — she 's struck with my Figure — 
 this attitude has had its efifect. 
 
 Duen. Come Sir — here 's a Chair. — 
 
 Isaac. Madam — the greatness of your Goodness overpowers me — 
 that a lady so lovely should deign to turn her beauteous Eyes on one 
 so. (She takes his hand, he turns and sees her.) 
 
 Duen. You seem surprised at my Condescension. 
 
 Isaac. Why yes Ma'am, I am a little sui"prised at — at — Z — ds ! 
 this can never be Louisa ! — she 's as old as my Mother. (Aside.) 
 
 Duen. But former prepossessions give way to my Father's com- 
 mands. 
 
 Isaac. Her Father ! — Yes, 'tis she then. — Lord, Lord ? how blind 
 Parents are ! — (Aside) 
 
 Duen. Signor Isaac ! 
 
 Isaac. Truly the little Damsel was right. — She has rather a Matronly 
 air indeed ! — ah ! 'tis well my Afi^ections are fixed on her Fortune, 
 and not her Person. 
 
 Duen. Signor Isaac won't you sit ? She sits. 
 
 Isaac. Pardon me Madam — I have scarce recover'd my astonishment 
 at — your Condescension Madam. — She has the Devil's own Dimples, 
 to be sure ! (Aside.) 
 
THE DUENNA. 117 
 
 Duen. Signer Mendoza ! 
 
 Isaac. Yes Madam. — her Roguish sparklera too ! by St. Jago I 
 believe she has but one eye. (Aside.) 
 
 Duenn. Nay, you shall stand. (Both sit.) 
 
 Duen. I do not wonder Sir that you are surprised at my affability — 
 I own Signor — I was vastly prepossessed against you, and, being 
 tiesed by my Father, I did give some encouragement to Anthonio 
 — but then Sir you were described to me as a quite different 
 Person. 
 
 Isaac. Aye — and so you were to me, upon my soul Ma'am — 
 
 Duen. But when I saw you I was never more struck in my Life. 
 
 Isaac. That was just my case, too, Ma'am — I was struck all of a 
 heap for my part. — 
 
 Duen. Well Sir, I see our Misapprehension has been mutual — you 
 expected to find me haughty and averse, and I was taught to believe 
 you a little black, snub-nosed fellow without Person, Manners or 
 address. 
 
 Isaac. Egad !— I wish she had answer'd her picture as well ! 
 
 Duen. But Sir, your air is so noble — something so liberal in 
 your Carriage, with so penetrating an Eye, and so bewitching a 
 Smile ! 
 
 Isaac. E'faith, now I look at her again, I don't think she is so ugly ! 
 
 Duen. So little like a Jew, and so much like a gentleman ! 
 
 Isaac. Well there certainly is something pleasing in the Tone of her 
 Voice . 
 
 Daen. You will pardon this breach of Decorum in my praising you 
 thus — but my joy at being so agreeably deceived has given me such a 
 flow of Spirits ! 
 
 Isaac. O Dear Lady may I thank those sweet Lips for this good- 
 ness 1— [Kisses her.] Why she has a pretty sort of Velvet Down, 
 that 's the truth on 't. (Aside.) 
 
 Duen. O sir you have the most insinuating manner — but indeed 
 you should get rid of that odious Beard— one might as well kiss a 
 Hedge Hog. 
 
 Isaac. [Aside.] Yes— yes Ma'am, the B^zor wouldn't be amiss — 
 for either of us.— [.4sirfe]. Pray Madam could you favour me with a 
 Song? 
 
 Duen. Willingly Sir. — tho' I 'ra rather hoarse— ahem I 
 
 [Begins to sing. 
 
 Isaac. [Aside.] Very like a Virginia nightingale ! — [Aloud.] Ma'am, 
 I perceive you 're hoarse — I beg you will not distress 
 
 Duen. O, not in the least Distress ! Now sir. 
 
118 THE DUENNA. 
 
 Song* 
 When a tender maid 
 Is first assiiy'd 
 By some admiring swain. 
 
 How her blushes rise — if she meets his eyes 
 While He unfolds his Pain — 
 If he takes her Hand, she trembles quite ! 
 Touch her lip and she swoons outright ! 
 While a pit-a-pat, &c. 
 Her Heart avows her Fright. 
 
 But in time appear Fewer signs of Fear — 
 The Youth she boldly views : 
 
 If her Hand he grasp — or her Bosom clasp 
 No mantling blush ensues ! 
 Then to Church well pleased the Lovers move, 
 While her smiles her Contentment prove ; 
 And a pit-a-pat, &;c. 
 Her heart avows her love. 
 
 Isaac. Charming, ma'am ! enchanting ! and, truly, your notes put 
 me in mind of one that 's very dear to me — a Lady indeed whom you 
 greatly resemble ! 
 
 Duen. How— is there then another so dear to you ? 
 
 Isaac. No, Ma'am, you mistake me — — 
 
 Diien.f No — no you offer me your hand — then another has your 
 Heart — 
 
 Isaac. Oh Lud ! no ma'am — 'twas my Mother I meant as I hop'd to 
 be saved. 
 
 Duen. What — Sir — am I like your Mother ? 
 
 Isaac. Stay, dear ma'am, I meant that you put me in mind of what 
 my mother was when a Girl ! — Yes— yes — ma'am my Mother was 
 formerly a great Beauty I assure you — and when she married my 
 Father about thirty years ago — as you may perhaps remember Ma'am — 
 
 Duen. I Sir — I remember thirty years ago ? 
 
 Isaac. good lack- — no ma'am — thirty years ! No^no Ma'am it 
 was thirty months I said — yes — yes Ma'am thirty months ago on her 
 marriage with my Father who was as I was saying a great Beauty — 
 but catching cold the year afterwards in Child Bed of your humble 
 Servant. 
 
 Duen. Of i/oit Sir — and married within these thirty months ? 
 
 Isaac. O the Devil I 've made myself out but a year old ! 
 
 Duen. Come, sir, I see you are amazed and confounded at my 
 condescension, and know not what to say. 
 
 * This song is in the handwriting of Sheridan. 
 
 + From " No — no" down to "a year old " the handwritirig is Sheridan's. 
 
THE DUENNA. 119 
 
 Isaac. 'Tis very true indeed Ma'am ; but I look on it as a Judgment, 
 for delaying to urge the time when you '11 permit me to compleat my 
 happiness, by acquainting Don Jerome with your Condescension. 
 
 Duen. Sir I must frankly own to you that I can never be yours with 
 my Father's Consent. 
 
 Isaac. Good lack ! how so ? 
 
 Duen. When my Father in his Passion swore he would not see me 
 again till I acquiesced in his will, I also made a vow that I would 
 never take a Husband from his Hand — nothing shall make me break 
 that Oath : but if you have Spirit and Contrivance enough to carry me 
 off without his knowledge, I 'm yours. — 
 
 Isaac. Humph ! — 
 
 Duen. Nay Sir if you hesitate 
 
 Isaac. E'faith no bad whim this — If I take her at her word I shall 
 secure her fortune, and avoid making any Settlement in return — thus 
 I shall not only cheat the Lover, but the Father too. Oh cunning 
 rogue, Isaac! aye aye let this little Brain alone ! Egad, I '11 take her 
 in the mind ! 
 
 Duen. Well Sir — what 's your Determination ? 
 
 Isaac. Madam I was dumb only from Rapture— I applaud your 
 spirit, and joyfully close with your Proposal — for which thus let me on 
 this Lilly Hand express my Gratitude. (Kisses he hand.) 
 
 Duen. Well Sir, you must get my Father's Consent to walk with rae 
 in the Garden. — but by no means inform him of my kindness to you. 
 
 Isaac. No, to be sure — that would spoil all — but trust me — when 
 tricking is the word — let me alone for a piece of Cunning ; this very 
 Day you shall be out of his Power. 
 
 Duen. Well— I leave the management of it all to you ; I perceive 
 plainly that you are not one that can be easily outwitted. 
 
 Isaac. Egad ! you 're right, ma'am— you are right, e'faith. 
 
 Enter Maid. 
 
 Maid. Here is a gentleman at the Door — who begs permission to 
 speak with Signer Isaac. 
 
 Isaac. O a friend of mine. Madam— and a trusty Friend— let him 
 come in — [Exit Maid.] He is one to be depended on. Ma'am. 
 
 Enter Don Carlos. 
 Isaac. So coz. (Aside to him.) 
 
 Don Car. I have left Donna Clara safe at your lodgings, but can 
 
 nowhere find Don Anthonio. 
 Isaac. Well — I will search him out myself anon. Carlos, you rogue, 
 
 I thrive, I prosper ! 
 
120 THE DUENNA. 
 
 Don Car. Where is your Mistress ? 
 
 Isaac. There you Booby there she stands. 
 
 Don Car. Why, she 's D — d ugly ! 
 
 Isaac. Hush ! [Stojjs his mouth, 
 
 Duen. What is your friend saying, Signer 1 
 
 Isaac. O Ma'am, he is expressing his Raptures at such Charms as 
 he never saw before, hey, Carlos ? 
 
 Do7i Car. Aye such as I never saw before indeed ! 
 
 Duen. You are a very obliging gentleman. Well, Signor Isaac 
 I believe we had better part for the present. — remember our Plan. 
 
 Isaac. 0, Madam — it is written in my Heart — fixed as the Image of 
 those divine Beauties. Adieu — Idol of my Soul ! — yet once more 
 permit me [Kisses her. 
 
 Duen. Sweet — Courteous Sir — adieu ! — 
 
 Isaac. Your slave eternally ! Come Carlos, say something civil at 
 taking leave. 
 
 Don Car. E'faith, Isaac — she is the hardest woman to compliment 
 I ever saw — however I'll try something I had studied for the 
 occasion. 
 
 Song. 
 
 Ah ! sure a Pair was never seen 
 
 So justly form'd to meet by Nature ! 
 The Youth excelling so in mien, 
 The Maid in ev'ry grace of Feature. 
 O how happy are such Lovers — 
 When kindre i Beauties each discovers ; 
 For surely she 
 Was made for thee, 
 And Thou to bless this lovely Creature 1 
 
 So mild your looks — your Children thence 
 
 Will early learn the Task of Duty ! 
 The Boys with all their Father's Sense, 
 The Girls with all their Mother's Beauty 1 
 Oh, how Charming to inherit 
 At once such Graces and such Spirit ! 
 Thus while you live 
 May Fortune give 
 Each Blessing equal to your Merit ! [Hxeunt. 
 
 Scene 3"^. — A Library. 
 Don Jerome & Ferdinand discovered. 
 Don Jer. Object to Anthonio ! — I have said it — his Poverty can 
 you acquit him of that ? 
 
 Ferd. Sir, I own he is not over rich — but he is of as ancient and 
 as reputable a Family as any in the Kingdom. — 
 
THE DUENNA. 121 
 
 Don Jer. Yes — I know the Beggars are a very ancient Family in 
 most kingdoms — but never in any great repute, Boy. 
 
 Ferd. Anthonio Sir, has many amiable qualities. — 
 
 Don Jer. But he is poor — can you clear him of that I say ] — is he 
 not a gay, dissipated Rake, that has scjuandered his Patrimony ■; 
 
 Ferd. Sir, he inherited but little — and that, his Generosity, more 
 than his Profuseness has stripped him of — but he has never sullied 
 his Honour, which, with his Title, has outliv'd his Means. 
 
 Don Jer. Have they ? More shame for them ! — What business 
 have Honours or Titles to survive when his Property is extinct? 
 Nobility is but a help-mate to a good Fortune, and like a Japanese 
 Wife should Perish on the funeral Pile of the Estate I — 
 
 Fer. Not with us. Sir. — Poverty here, can no more disgrace a 
 Oentleman than Wealth can make one — for my part I think Anthonio's 
 worth more evident since he has lost the advantage of Fortune— it is 
 well known that the costly setting of the Jewel more frequently serves 
 to hide its Flaws than help its Lustre. 
 
 Don Jer. Pshaw ! you talk like a Blockhead ! Nobility without an 
 Estate is as ridiculous as Gold Lace on a Frize Coat. 
 
 Ferd. This Language Sir, would better become a Dutch or English 
 trader than a Spaniard. — 
 
 Don Jer. Yes — and those Dutch, and English Traders, as you call 
 them, are the wiser People. — ^Why, Booby, — in England they were 
 formerly as nice as to Birth and Family as we are — but they have 
 long discovered what a wonderful purifier Gold is — and now— no one 
 there regards Pedigree in anything but a Horse. 
 
 Fer. True Sir, and the Consequence is, that a Nobleman there is 
 surer of the Breed of his Poney than the Legitimacy of his Heir. 
 
 Don Jer. Ferdinand— I insist on it that this subject be dropt once 
 for all. O, here comes Isaac. I hope he has prospered in his 
 suit. 
 
 Ferd. Doubtless that agreeable Figure of his must have helped his 
 Cause surprisingly 
 
 Don Jer. How now ? [Ferdinand walks aside. 
 
 Enter Isaac. 
 
 Well my Friend — have you softened her ? 
 Isaac. O yes — I have softened her. 
 Don Jer. What — does she come to ? 
 
 Isaac. Why truly she was kinder than I expected to find her. 
 Don Jer. And the dear pretty little Angel was civil, hey ? 
 Isaac. Yes, the pretty little Angel was very civil. 
 
122 THE DUENNA. 
 
 Don Jer. I 'm transported to hear it ! Well — and you were aston- 
 ished at her Beauty hey ? 
 
 Isaac. I was astonished, indeed ! — pray, how old is Miss ! 
 
 Don Jer. How old ? let me see — eight and twelve — She ia just 
 twenty. 
 
 Isaac. Twenty ! 
 
 Don Jer. Aye to a month. 
 
 Isaac. Then, upon my Soul she is the oldest-looking Girl of her 
 age in Christendom ! 
 
 Don Jer. Do you think so ? But I believe you will not see a 
 prettier girl 
 
 Isaac. Here and there one — 
 
 Don Jer. Louisa has the family face. 
 
 Isaac. Yes, egad I should have taken it for a family Face, and 
 one that has been in the family some time too. (Half aside.) 
 
 Don Jer. She has her Father's Eyes. 
 
 Isaac. Truly I should have guessed them to have been so — and if 
 she had her Mother's Spectacles I believe she would not see the 
 worse. {Aside. 
 
 Don Jer. Her aunt Ursula's Nose — and her Grandmother's Forehead 
 to a Hair. 
 
 Isaac. Aye, faith and her Grandfather's Chin to a hair I think. 
 
 (Aside.) 
 
 Don Jer. Well — if She was but as Dutiful as She 's handsome ! — 
 and harkee, friend Isaac, she is none of your made-up Beauties — her 
 charms are of the lasting kind. 
 
 Isaac. E'faith so they should — for if she be but Twenty now. She 
 may double her age before her years will overtake her Face. 
 
 Don Jer. Why Z — ds ! Master Isaac, you are not sneering, are 
 you ? 
 
 Isaac. Why now — seriously Don Jerome, do you think your 
 Daughter handsome ? 
 
 Don Jer. By this Light She is as handsome a Girl as any in Seville. 
 
 Isaac. Then by these Eyes I think her as plain a Woman as ever I 
 beheld. 
 
 Don Jer. By St. Jago ! you must be blind ! 
 
 Isaac. No, no ; 'tis you are partial. 
 
 Do7i Jer. How ! have I neither Sense [n]or Taste 1 — if a fair Skin — 
 fine eyes — Teeth of Ivory— with a lovely Bloom — and a delicate Shape 
 —if these — with a heavenly Voice and a world of Grace, are not 
 Charms— I know not what you call beautiful. 
 
 Isaac. Good lack, with what Eyes a Father sees ! as I have Life 
 
27/iv' DUENNA. 123 
 
 she is the very reverse of ;ill this— as for the Dimity Skin you told 
 one of, I swear 'tis a thorough Nankeen as ever I saw — for her Eyes 
 — their utmost merit is in not squinting — for her Teeth — where there 
 is one of Ivory, its Neighbour is pure Ebony — black and white alter- 
 nately, just like the keys of a Harpsichord. — then, as to her singing 
 and heavenly Voice — by this hand — she has a shrill cracked Pipe, that 
 sounds for all the world like a Child's Trumpet. 
 
 Don Jer. Why you little Hebrew scoundrel— do you mean to insult 
 me ? Out of my house out I say ! 
 
 Ferd. Dear Sir what 's the matter 1 
 
 Don Jer. Why— this Israelite here has the impudence to say your 
 Sister 's ugly. 
 
 Ferd. He must be either blind or insolent. 
 
 Isaac. So— I find they are all in a Story ! egad, I believe I have 
 gone too far — 
 
 Ferd. Or sure Sir, there must be some mistake — it can't be my 
 Sister whom he has seen. 
 
 Don Jer. 'Sdeath ! you are as great a fool as he ! — what mistake 
 can there be?— did not I lock up Louisa myself and haven't I the 
 Key in my own Pocket 1 and didn't her maid show him into the 
 Dressing Room ? and yet you talk of a Mistake ! No - the Portuguese 
 meant to insult me— and, but that this roof protects him — old as I am 
 —this Sword should do me justice. — 
 
 Isaac. I must get oflf as well as I can — her Fortune is not the less 
 handsome. (Aside.) 
 
 Duet. 
 
 Isaac. Believe me, good Sir, I ne'er meant to offend ; 
 
 My Mistress I love and I value my Friend : 
 
 To win her and wed her is still my request, 
 
 For better for worse — I swear I don't jest. 
 Don Jer. Z— ds ! you 'd best not provoke me — my Rage is so high J 
 Isa'tc. Hold him fast I beseech you his Rage is so high ] 
 
 Good Sir, you 're too liot and this place I must fly. 
 Don Jer. You 're a Knave and a Sot, and this place you 'd best fly. 
 
 Isaac. Don Jerome — come now — yet let us lay aside all joking — 
 and be serious. 
 
 Don Jer. Joking ! 
 
 Isa^c. Aye— why sure you did not think I was in earnest? 
 
 Don Jer. How ! 
 
 Isaac. Ha ! ha ! ha I I '11 be hanged if you haven't taken my 
 abuse of your Daughter seriously. 
 
 Don Jer. You meant it so didn't you ? 
 
124 THE DUENNA. 
 
 Isaac. O mercy ! no ! a Joke — a Joke — just to try how angry it 
 would make you. 
 
 Don Jer. Was that all, efaith 1 I didn't kaow you had been such 
 a wag. Ba ! ha ! ha ! By St. Jago ! you made me very angry, tho' 
 — well — and you do think Louisa handsome ? 
 
 Isaac. Handsome ! Venus de Medtcis was a Sibil to her ! 
 
 Don Jer. Give me your hand you little jocose Rogue I — egad, I 
 thought we had been all off. 
 
 Ferd. Soh ! I did hope this would have been a Quarrel— but I find 
 the Jew is too cunning. 
 
 Don Jer. As I live — that little gust of Passion has made me dry — I 
 am but seldom ruffled. Boy — bring some wine — let us drink the 
 Girl's Health. Poor Louisa ! ugly, hey ! ha ! ha ! it was a very good 
 joke indeed. 
 
 Isaac. And a very true one for all that. (Aside.) 
 
 Don Jer. And here Ferdinand— I insist upon your drinking Success 
 to my Friend. 
 
 Ferd. Sir— I will drink Success to my Friend with all my heart. 
 
 Don Jer. Come— little Solomon— if any sparks of Anger had 
 remain'd this would be the only way to quench them. 
 
 Trio. 
 
 A Bumper of good Liquor 
 Will end a Contest quicker 
 Than Justice, Judge, or Vicar ; 
 
 So fill a chearful Glass, 
 
 And let good humour pass. 
 But if more deep the Quarrel, 
 Why, sooner drain the Barrel 
 Than be the hateful Fellow 
 That 's crabbed when he 's Mellow. [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene 4**^ — Isaac's Lodgings. 
 Louisa alone.* 
 
 Louisa. Was ever Truant Daughter so whimsically circumstanced 
 as I am ? I have sent my intended husband to look after my Lover — 
 The Man of my father's choice is gone to bring me the Man of my 
 own ! but how dispiriting is this interval of Expectation 1 
 
 * Here the handwriting is Sheridan's and the ink is red. 
 
Till:: DUENNA. 125- 
 
 Song. 
 What Bard— Time, discover— 
 
 Willi Wings first made thee move 1 
 All ! sure He whs some Lover 
 
 Who ne'er had left his Love ! 
 
 For who that once did prove 
 The Pangs which ahsence brings, 
 
 Tho' but one Day 
 
 He were away. 
 Could picture thee with wings 1 
 What bard, &c. 
 
 Enter Dun Carlos. 
 
 Lou. So Friend, is Anthonio found ? 
 
 Don Car. I could not meet with him Lady — but I doubt not Isaac 
 will be here with him presently. 
 
 Louisa. O Shame ! ye have used no Diligence ! — Is this your 
 courtesy to a Lady, who has trusted herself to your Protection 1 
 
 Don Car. Indeed Ma'am — I have not been remiss. 
 
 Louisa. Well, well— but if either of you had known how each 
 Moment of Delay weighs upon the Heart of her who loves, and waits 
 the Object of her Love— o ye would not then have trifled thus ! 
 
 Don Car. Alas ! I know it well — 
 
 Louisa. Were you ever in Love then 1 i 
 
 Don Car. I was Lady ; but while I 've Life will never be again. 
 
 Louisa. Was your Mistress so cruel ? 
 
 Don Car. If she had always been so — I should have been happier. 
 
 Song. 
 
 O had my Love ne'er smiled on me, 
 
 I ne'er had known such Anguish ; 
 But think how false, bow cruel she 
 
 To bid me cease to Languish ; 
 To bid me hope her hand to gain, 
 
 Breathe on a b'lame half pevish'd ; 
 And then with cold, and fix'd Disdain, 
 
 To kill the Hope she cherished. 
 
 Not worse his fate — who on a Wreck, 
 
 That drove as Winds did blow it, 
 Silent had left the shatter'd Deck, 
 
 To find a Grave below it, 
 Then Land was cried — no more resign'd, 
 
 He glow'd with joy to hear it ; 
 Not worse his Fate — his Woe, to find 
 
 The wreck must sink ere near it ! 
 
 Louisa. As I live — here is your friend coming with Anthonio ! I '11 
 retire for a moment to surprise him. [Exit. 
 
126 THE DUENNA. 
 
 Enter Isaac and Anthonio. 
 
 Anth. Indeed, my Friend Isaac you must be mistaken — Clara 
 de Almanza in love with me, and employ you to bring me here to meet 
 her ! it is impossible ! 
 
 Isaac. That you shall see in an instant. Carlos, where is the 
 Lady? — [Don Carlos points to the closet.'] In the next Room is 
 she? 
 
 Anth. Nay — if that Lady is really here — she certainly wants me to 
 conduct her to a Dear Friend of mine who has long been her Lover. 
 
 Isaac. Pshaw ! I tell you 'tis no such thing — you are the man she 
 wants, and nobody but you — here 's ado indeed to persuade you to 
 take a pretty Girl that 's dying for you ! 
 
 Anth. But I have no affection for this Lady. 
 
 Isaac. And you have for Louisa, hey ? but take my word for it 
 Anthonio, you have no chance there -so you may as well secure the 
 good that offers itself to you. 
 
 Anth. And could you reconcile it to your Conscience to supplant 
 your Friend ? 
 
 Isaac. Pish ! Conscience has no more to do with Gallantry than it 
 has with Politicks, why you are no honest Fellow, if Love can't make 
 a Rogue of you — so come — do go in and speak to her at least. 
 
 Anth. Well, I have no objection to that. 
 
 Isaac. l^Opens the door.] There — there she is — yonder by the window 
 — get in do. — [/le pushes him in and half shuts the Door.) Now 
 Carlos now I shall hamper him, I warrant ! stay, I '11 peep how they go 
 on. (looks thro' the Door) egad — he looks confoundedly posed. — now 
 She 's coaxing him. See Carlos — he begins to come to — aye, aye, 
 he '11 soon forget his Conscience ! 
 
 Car. Look — now they are both laughing — 
 
 Isaac. Aye — so they are — both laughing — yes, yes, they are 
 laughing at that dear Friend he talked of — aye, poor Devil they 've 
 outwitted him. 
 
 Don Gar. Now he 's kissing her hand. 
 
 Isaac. Yes!— yes! faith they're agreed — he's caught, he's en- 
 tangled ! My dear Carlos — we have brought it about ! Oh, this little 
 cunning Head ! I'm a Machiavel ! — a very Machiavel ! 
 
 Don Gar. 1 hear somebody inquiring for you — I '11 see who it is. 
 
 [Exit. 
 Enter Anth. and Donna Lou. 
 
 Anth. Well — my good Friend — this Lady has so entirely convinced 
 me of the certainty of your success at Don Jerome's — that I now 
 resign my pretensions there. 
 
THE DUENNA. 127 
 
 Isaac. Yoii never did a wiser thiog, believe me — and as for deceiv- 
 ing your friend — that 'a nothing at all. Tricking is all fair in Love, 
 isn't it Ma'am ? 
 
 Louisa. Certainly Sir, — and T am particularly glad to find you are of 
 that opinion. 
 
 Isaac. O Lud ! yes, Ma'am — let any one outwit nn that can, I say 
 — but here — let me join your hands. — There, you lucky Rogue I wish 
 you happily married from the bottom of my Soul ! 
 
 Louisa. And I am sure if you wish it — no one else should prevent it. 
 
 Isaac. Now, Anthonio — we are rivals no more, so let us be Friends 
 — will you ? 
 
 Antic. With all my heart Isaac. 
 
 Isaac. It isn't every Man let me tell you would have taken such 
 pains, or been so generous to a Rival. 
 
 Anth. No faith — I don't believe there 's another beside yourself in 
 Spain. 
 
 Isaac. Well— but you resign all pretensions to the other Lady ? 
 
 Anth. That I do most sincerely. 
 
 Isaac. I doubt you have a little hankering there still. 
 
 Anth. None in the least upon my Soul. 
 
 Isaac. I mean after her Fortune. 
 
 Anth. No — believe me you are heartily welcome to every thing she 
 has. 
 
 Isaac. Well — efaith, you have the best of the Bargain as to beauty, 
 twenty to one— but now I'll tell you a Secret — I am to carry oflF 
 Louisa this very Evening. 
 
 Louisa. Indeed ! 
 
 Isaac. Yes, she has sworn not to take a Husband from her Father's 
 hand— so I've persuaded him to trust her to walk with me in the 
 Garden and then we shall give him the Slip. 
 
 Louisa. And is Don Jerome to know nothing of this ? 
 
 Isaac. O Lud, no ! there lies the jest— don't you see that, by this 
 step, I over-reach him— and shall be entitled to the girl's fortune, 
 without settling a Ducat on her. Ha ! ha ! I 'm a cunning Dog, an't 
 I ? a sly little villain ? hey ? 
 
 Anth. Ha ! ha ! you are indeed ! 
 
 Isaac. Roguish, you '11 say, but keen, hey ? devilish keen. 
 
 Anth. So you are indeed — keen, very keen. 
 
 Isaac. And what a laugh we shall have at Don Jerome's when the 
 truth comes out — hey ? 
 
 Louisa. Yes— yes I'll answer for't, we shall have a good Laugh, 
 when the truth comes out. Ha ! ha ! 
 
128 THE DUENNA. 
 
 Enter Don Carlos. 
 
 Don Car. Here are the dancers come to practice the fandango you 
 intended to have honoured Donna Louisa with. 
 
 Isaac. O I shan't want them — but, as I must pay 'em, I '11 see a 
 Caper for my Money. Will you excuse me ? 
 
 Louisa. Willingly. 
 
 Isaac. Here 's my Friend — whom you may command for any 
 Services — Madam— your most obedient — Anthonio, I wish you all 
 happiness — the easy Blockhead ! what a Fool I have made of him ! 
 — This was a masterpiece ! [Exit. 
 
 Louisa. Carlos, will you be my Guard again, and conduct me to the 
 convent of St. Catharine ? 
 
 Anth. Why, Louisa— why should you go thither ? 
 
 Louisa. I have my Reasons — and you must not be seen to go with 
 me — I shall write from thence to my Father — perhaps, when he finds 
 what he has driven me to, he may relent. 
 
 Anth. I have no hope from him. O Louisa in these Arms should be 
 your Sanctuary. 
 
 Louisa. Be patient but for a little while — my Father cannot force 
 me thence — but let me see you there before Evening, and I will 
 explain myself. 
 
 Anth^ I shall obey. 
 
 Louisa. Come Friend. Anthonio, Carlos has been a lover himself. 
 
 Anth. Then he knows the value of his trust. 
 
 Gar. You shall not find me unfaithful. 
 
 Trio. 
 
 Soft pity never leaves the gentle breast 
 
 Where Love has been receiv'd a welcome Guest; 
 
 As wandering Saints poor Huts have sacred made, 
 
 He hallows every Heart he once has sway'd, 
 
 And when obliged to quit the kind Abode 
 
 Still leaves a Relick that bespeaks the God. [Exeunt. 
 
 End of Act 2^1 
 
THE DUENNA. 129 
 
 ACT III.* 
 
 Scene I. — A Library in Don Jerome's House. 
 Enter Don Jerome and Servant. 
 
 DonJer. Why, I never was so amazed in ray life ! Louisa gone off 
 with Isaac Mendoza 1 What ! steal away with the very man whom I 
 wanted her to marry — elope with her own husband, as it were — it is 
 impossible I 
 
 Ser. Her maid says, sir, they had your leave to walk in the garden, 
 while you were abroad. The door by the shrubbery was found open, 
 and they have not been heard of since. \^Exit. 
 
 Don Jer. Well, it is the most unaccountable affair ! 'sdeath ! there 
 is certainly some infernal mystery in it I can't comprehend ! 
 Enter Second Servant, with a letter. 
 
 Ser. Here is a letter, sir, from Signor Isaac. [Exit, 
 
 Don Jer. So, so, this will explain — ay, Isaac Mendoza— let me 
 
 see [Reads. 
 
 Dearest Sir, 
 
 You must, doubtless, be much surprised at my flight xoith your 
 daughter ! —jes, 'faith, and well I may — I had the happiness to gain 
 her heart at our first interview — The devil you had ! — But, she having 
 unfortunately made a vow not to receive a husband from your hands, I 
 was obliged to comply with her lohim ! — So, so ! — We shall shortly throiv 
 ourselves at your feet, and I hope you toill have a blessing ready for one, 
 who ivill then be your son-in-laio. Isaac Mendoza. 
 
 A whim, hey ? Why, the devil 's in the girl, I think ! This morning, 
 she would die sooner than have him, and before evening she runs 
 away with him I Well, well, my will 's accomplished — let the motive 
 be what it will — and the Portuguese, sure, will never deny to fulfil 
 the rest of the article. 
 
 Re-enter Servant, toith another letter. 
 
 Ser. Sir, here 's a man below, who says he brought this from ray 
 young lady. Donna Louisa. [Exit. 
 
 Don Jer. How I yes, it 's my daughter's hand, indeed I Lord, 
 there was no occasion for them both to write ; well, let 's see what 
 she says [Reads. 
 
 * Several sheets of the manuscript are missing from the beginning of 
 this Act to the duet at the end of scene vi. 
 
 K 
 
130 THE DUENNA. 
 
 My dearest father. 
 How shall I entreat your pardon for the rash step 1 have taken — 
 hotv confess the motive? — Pish ! hasn't Isaac just told me the motive? 
 — one would think they weren't together when they wrote. — If I have 
 a spirit too resentf id of ill usage, I have also a heart as easily affected 
 by kindness. — So, so, here the whole matter comes out ; her resent- 
 ment for Antonio's ill usage has made her sensible of Isaac's kindness 
 — yes, yes, it is all plain enough. Well. I am not married yet, 
 though with a man who, I am convinced, adores me. — Yes, yes, I dare 
 say Isaac is very fond of her. But I shall anxiously expect your 
 answer, in which, should I be so fortunate as to receive your consent, you 
 will make completely happy your ever affectionate daughter, Louisa. 
 My consent ! to be sure she shall have it ! Egad, I was never better 
 pleased — I have fulfilled my resolution — I knew I should. Oh, there 's 
 nothing like obstinacy ! Lewis ! [Calls. 
 
 Be-enter Servant. 
 Let the man who brought the last letter, wait ; and get me a pen 
 and ink below. — [Exit Servant.] I am impatient to set poor Louisa's 
 heart at rest. Holloa ! Lewis ! Sancho ! [Calls. 
 
 Enter Servants. 
 See that there be a noble supper provided in the saloon to-night ; 
 serve up my best wines, and let me have music, d' ye hear 1 
 Ser. Yes, sir. 
 
 Don Jer. And order all my doors to be thrown open ; admit all 
 guests, with masks or without masks. — [Exeunt Servants.] I' faith, 
 we '11 have a night of it ! and I '11 let them see how merry an old man 
 can be. 
 
 Song. 
 
 Oil, the days when I was young, 
 
 When I laugh'd in fortune's spite ; 
 Talk'd of love the while day long, 
 
 And with nectar crown'd the night ! 
 Then it was, old Father Care, 
 
 Little reck'd I of thy frown ; 
 Half thy malice youth could bear. 
 
 And the rest a bumper drown. 
 
 Truth, they say, lies in a well. 
 
 Why, 1 TOW I ne'er could see; 
 Let the water-drinkers tell. 
 
 There it always lay for me. 
 For when sparkling wine went round, 
 
 Never saw I falsehood's mask ; 
 But still honest truth I found 
 
 In the bottom of each flask. 
 
THE DUENNA. 131 
 
 True, at length my vigour's flown, 
 
 I have years to bring decay; 
 Few the locks that now I own, 
 
 And the few I have are grey. 
 Yet, old Jerome, thou mayst boast, 
 
 While thy spirits do not tire ; 
 Still beneath thy ajje's frost 
 
 Glows a spark of youthful fire. Exit 
 
 Scene II. — The New Piazza. 
 Enter Don Ferdinand and Lopez. 
 
 Don Ferd. What, could you gather no tidings of her ? nor guess 
 where she was gone ? O Clara ! Clara ! 
 
 Lop. In truth, sir, I could not. That she was run away from her 
 father, was in everybody's mouth ; and that Don Guzman was in 
 pursuit of her, was also a very common report. Where she was gone, 
 or what was become of her, no one could take upon them to say. 
 
 Don Ferd. 'Sdeath and fury, you blockhead ! she can't be out of 
 Seville. 
 
 Lop. So I said to myself, sir. 'Sdeath and fury, you blockhead, 
 says I, she can't be out of Seville. Then some said, she had hanged 
 herself for love ; and others have it, Don Antonio had carried her off. 
 
 Don Ferd. 'Tis, false, scouudrel ! no one said that. 
 
 Lop. Then I misunderstood them, sir. 
 
 Don Ferd. Go, fool, get home ! and never let me see you again 
 till you bring me news of her. — [Exit Lopez.] Oh, how my fondness 
 for this ungrateful girl has hurt my disposition. 
 Enter Isaac. 
 
 Isaac. So, I have her safe, and have only to find a priest to marry 
 us. Antonio now may marry Clara, or not, if he pleases. 
 
 Don Ferd. What ! what was that you said of Clara ? 
 
 Isaac. Oh, Ferdinand ! ray brother-in-law that shall be, who 
 thought of meeting you ? 
 
 Don Ferd. But what of Clara ? 
 
 Isaac. I' faith, you shall hear. This morning, as I was coming down, 
 I met a pretty damsel, who told me her name was Clara d'Alraanza, 
 and begged my protection. 
 
 Don Ferd. How ! 
 
 Isaac. She said she had eloped from her father, Don Guzman, but 
 that love for a young gentleman in Seville was the cause. 
 
 Don Ferd. Oh, Heavens ! did she confess it ? 
 
 K 2 
 
132 THE DUENNA. 
 
 Isaac. Oh, yes, she confessed at once. But then, says she, my 
 lover is not informed of my flight, nor suspects my intention. 
 
 Don Ferd. [Aside.] Dear creature ! no more I did indeed ! Oh, I 
 am the happiest fellow ! — [Aloud.] Well, Isaac ? 
 
 Isaac. Why then she entreated me to find him out for her, and 
 bring him to her. 
 
 Don Ferd. Good Heavens, how lucky ! Well, come along, let 's 
 lose no time. [Pulling him. 
 
 Isaac. Zooks ! where are we to go ? 
 
 Don Ferd. Why, did anything more pass ? 
 
 Isaac. Anything more ! yes ; the end on 't was, that I was moved 
 with her speeches, and complied with her desires. 
 
 Don Ferd. Well, and where is she 1 
 
 Isaac. Where is she 1 why, don't I tell you ? I complied with her 
 request, and left her safe in the arms of her lover. 
 
 Don Ferd. 'Sdeath, you trifle with me ! — I have never seen her. 
 
 Isaac. You ! Lud, no ! how the devil should you 1 'Twas Antonio 
 she wanted ; and with Antonio I left her. 
 
 Don Ferd. [Aside.] Hell and madness ! — [Aloud.] What, Antonio 
 d'Ercilla ? 
 
 Isaac. Ay, ay, the very man ; and the best part of it was, he was 
 shy of taking her at first. He talked a good deal about honour, and 
 conscience, and deceiving some dear friend ; but, Lord, we soon over- 
 ruled that ! 
 
 Do7i Ferd. You did ! 
 
 Isaac. Oh, yes, presently. — Such deceit! says he. — Pish ! says the 
 lady, tricking is all fair in love. But then, my friend, says he. — 
 Psha ! damn your friend, says I. So, poor wretch, he has no chance. 
 — No, no ; he may hang himself as soon as he pleases. 
 
 Don Ferd. I must go, or I shall betray myself. [Aside. 
 
 Isaac. But stay, Ferdinand, you han't heard the best of the joke. 
 Don Ferd. Curse on your joke ! 
 
 Isaac. Good lack ! what 's the matter now ? I thought to have 
 diverted you. 
 
 Don Ferd. Be racked ! tortured 1 damned ! 
 
 Isaac. Why, sure you are not the poor devil of a lover, are you ? — 
 I' faith, as sure as can be, he is ! This is a better joke than t' other. 
 Ha ! ha ! ha ! 
 
 Don Ferd. What ! do you laugh 1 you vile, mischievous varlet ! — 
 [Collars him.] But that you 're beneath ray anger, I 'd tear your 
 heart out. [Throws him from him. 
 
 Isaac. O mercy ! here 's usage for a brother-in-law ! 
 
THE DUENNA. 133 
 
 Don Ferd. But, hark ye, rascal ! tell me directly where these false 
 friends are gone, or, by my soul [Drmos. 
 
 Isaac. For Heaven's sake, now, my dear brother-in-law, don't be 
 in a rage ! I '11 recollect as well as I can. 
 
 Don Ferd. Be quick, then ! 
 
 Isaac. I will, I will !— but people's memories differ ; some have a 
 treacherous memory : now mine is a cowardly memory — it takes to its 
 heels at sight of a drawn sword— it does i' faith ; and I could as soon 
 fight as recollect. 
 
 Don Ferd. Zounds ! tell me the truth, and I won't hurt you. 
 
 Isaac. No, no, I know you won't, my dear brother-in-law ; but that 
 ill-looking thing there 
 
 Don Ferd. What, then yoii won't tell me ? 
 
 Isaac. Yes, yes, I will ; I '11 tell you all, upon my soul '.—but why 
 need you listen, sword in hand ? 
 
 Don Ferd. Why, there. — [Puts iqi.] Now. 
 
 Isaac. Why, then, I believe they are gone to — that is, my friend 
 Carlos told me, he had left Donna Clara— dear Ferdinand, keep your 
 hands off— at the convent of St. Catharine. 
 
 Don Ferd. St. Catharine ! 
 
 Isaac. Yes ; and that Antonio was to come to her there. 
 
 Don Ferd. Is this the truth ? 
 
 Isaac. It is indeed ; and all I know, as I hope for life ! 
 
 Don Ferd. Well, coward, take your life ; 'tis that false, dishonour- 
 . able Antonio, who shall feel my vengeance. 
 
 Isaac. Ay, ay, kill him ; cut his throat, and welcome. 
 
 Don Ferd. But, for Clara ! infamy on her ! she is not worth my 
 resentment. 
 
 Isaac. No more she is, my dear brother-in-law. I' faith, I would 
 not be angry about her ; she is not worth it, indeed. 
 
 Don Ferd. 'Tis false ! she is worth the enmity of princes ! 
 
 Isaac. True, true, so she is ; and I pity you exceedingly for having 
 loat her. 
 
 Don Ferd. 'Sdeath, you rascal ! how durst you talk of pitying 
 me? 
 
 Isaac. Oh, dear brother-in-law, I beg pardon ! I don't pity you in 
 the least, upon my soul ! 
 
 Don Ferd. Get hence, fool, and provoke me no further ; nothing 
 but your insignificance saves you ! 
 
 Isaac. [Aside.] I 'faith, then, my insignificance is the best friend I 
 have.— [Aloud.] I 'm going, dear Ferdinand.— [^sic/e.] What a curst 
 hot hot-headed bully it is ! [Exexmt severally. 
 
134 THE DUENNA. 
 
 Scene III. — The Garden of the Corwent. 
 Enter Donna Louisa and Donna Clara. 
 
 Don. Louisa. And you really wish my brother may not find you out? 
 
 Don. Clara. Why else have I concealed myself under this disguise 1 
 
 Don. Louisa. Why, perhaps, because the dress becomes you : for 
 you certainly don't intend to be a nun for life. 
 
 Don. Clara. If, indeed, Ferdinand had not offended me so last 
 night 
 
 Don Louisa. Come, come, it was his fear of losing you made him 
 80 rash. 
 
 Don. Clara. Well, you may think me cruel, but I swear, if he were 
 here this instant, I believe I should forgive him. 
 
 Song. 
 By him we love offended, 
 
 How soon our anger flies ! 
 One day apart, 'tis ended ; 
 
 Behold him, and it dies. 
 Last night, your roving brother, 
 
 Enraged, I bade depart ; 
 And sure his rude presumption 
 
 Deserved to lose my heart. 
 Yet, were he now before me. 
 
 In spite of injured pride, 
 I fear my eyes would pardon 
 
 Before my tongue could chide. 
 
 Don. Louisa. I protest, Clara, I shall begin to think you are seriously 
 resolved to enter on your probation. 
 
 Don. Clara. And, seriously, I very much doubt whether the character 
 of a nun would not become me best. 
 
 Don. Louisa. Why, to be sure, the character of a nun is a very 
 becoming one at a masquerade : but no pretty woman, in her senses, 
 ever thought of taking the veil for above a night. 
 
 Don. Clara. Yonder I see your Antonio is returned — I shall only 
 interrupt you ; ah, Louisa, with what happy eagerness you turn to 
 look for him ! [Exit. 
 
 Enter Don Anthonio. 
 
 Don Ant. Well, my Louisa, any news since I left you ? 
 
 Don. Louisa. None. The messenger is not yet returned from my 
 father. 
 
 Don Ant. Well, I confess, I do not perceive what we are to expect 
 from him. 
 
 Do7i. Louisa. I shall be easier, however, in having made the trial : I 
 do not doubt your sincerity, Antonio ; but there is a chilling air around 
 
THE DUENNA. 135 
 
 poverty, that often kills affection, that was not nursed in it. If we 
 would make love our household god, we had best secure him a comfort- 
 able roof. 
 
 Song. — Don Antonio. 
 
 How oft, Louisa, hast thou told, 
 
 (Nor wilt thou the fond boast disown,) 
 Thou wouldst not lose Antonio's love 
 
 To reign the partner of a throne ! 
 And by those lips that spoke so kind, 
 
 And by that hand I 've press'd to mine, 
 To be the lord of wealth and power. 
 
 By heavens, I would not part with thine ! 
 Then how, my soul, can we be poor. 
 
 Who own what kingdoms could not buy ? 
 Of this true heart thou shalt be queen. 
 
 In serving thee, a monarch 1. 
 Thus uncontroll'd, in mutual bliss, 
 
 I rich in love's exhaustless mine. 
 Do thou snatch treasures from my lips, 
 
 And I'll take kingdoms back from thine ! 
 
 Enter Maid iinth a letter. 
 
 Don. Louisa. My father's answer, I suppose. 
 
 Don Ant. My dearest Louisa, you may be assured that it contains 
 nothing but threats and reproaches. 
 
 Don. Louisa. Let us see, however. — [Reads]. Dearest daughter, make 
 your lover happy : you have my full consent to marry as your tvhim has 
 chosen, but be sure come home and sup unth your affectionate father. 
 
 Don Ant. You jest, Louisa ! 
 
 Don. Louisa. {Gives him the letter. '\ Read ! read ! 
 
 Don Ant. 'Tis so, by heavens ! Sure there must be some mistake ; 
 
 but that's none of our business. Now, Louisa, you have no excuse 
 
 for delay. 
 
 Don. Louisa. Shall we not then return and thank my father ? 
 
 Don Ant. But tirst let the priest put it out of his power to recall his 
 word. — I'll fly to procure one. 
 
 Don. Louisa. Nay, if you part with me again, perhaps you may lose 
 me. 
 
 Don Ant. Come, then — there is a friar of a neighbouring convent is 
 my friend ; you have already been diverted by the manners of a nun- 
 nery ; let us see whether there is less hypocrisy among the holy fathers. 
 
 Don. Louisa. I 'm afraid not, Antonio — for in religion, as in friend- 
 ahip, they who profess most are the least sincere. [Exeunt. 
 
 Ee-enter Donna Clara. 
 Don. Clara. So, yonder they go, as happy as a mutual and confessed 
 
136 THE DUENNA. 
 
 affection can make them, while I am left in solitude. Heigho ! love 
 may perhaps excuse the rashness of an elopement from one's friend, 
 but I am sure nothing but the presence of the man we love can support 
 it. Ha ! what do I see ! Ferdinand, as I live ! How could he gain 
 admission ? By potent gold, I suppose, as Anthonio did. How eager 
 and disturbed he seems ! He shall not know me as yet. 
 
 [Lets down her veil. 
 Enter Don Fekdinand. 
 
 Doll Ferd. Yes, those were certainly they — my information was 
 right. [Going. 
 
 Don. Clara. [Sto2)s him.] Pray, signor, what is your business 
 here? 
 
 Don Ferd. No matter — no matter ! Oh ! they stop. — [Looks 
 out.] 
 Yes, that is the perfidious Clara indeed ! 
 
 Don. Clara. So, a jealous error — I'm glad to see him so moved. 
 
 [Aside. 
 
 Don Ferd. Her disguise can't conceal her — no, no, I know her too 
 well. 
 
 Don. Clara. [Aside.] Wonderful discernment ! — [Aloud.] But, 
 signor 
 
 Don Ferd. Be quiet, good nun ; don't tease me ! — By heavens, she 
 leans upon his arm, hangs fondly on it ! O woman, woman ! 
 
 Don. Clara. But, signor, who is it you want ? 
 
 Don Ferd. Not you, not you, so prythee don't tease me. Yet pray 
 stay — gentle nun, was it not Donna Clara d'Almanza just parted from 
 you? 
 
 Don. Clara. Clara d'Almanza, signor, is not yet out of the garden. 
 
 Don Ferd. Ay, ay, I knew I was right ! And pray is not that 
 gentleman, now at the porch with her, Antonio d'Ercilla ? 
 
 Do7i. Clara. It is indeed, signor. 
 
 Don Ferd. So, so ; but now one question more — can you inform me 
 for what purpose they have gone away ? 
 
 Don. Clara. They are gone to be married, I believe. 
 
 Don Ferd. Very well — enough. Now if I don't mar their wedding ! 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Don Clara. [Unveils.] I thought jealousy had made lovers quick- 
 sighted, but it has made mine blind. Louisa's story accounts to me 
 for this error, and I am glad to find I have power enough over him 
 to make him so unhappy. But why should not I be present at his 
 surprise when undeceived ? When he 's through the porch, I '11 follow 
 him ; and, perhaps, Louisa shall not singly be a bride. 
 
THE DUENNA. 137 
 
 Song. 
 Adieu, thou dreary pile, where never dies 
 The sullen echo of repentant sighs 1 
 Ye sister mourners of each lonely cell 
 Inured to hymns and sorrow, fare ye well ! 
 For happier scenes I fly this darksome grove. 
 To saints a prison, but a tomb to love ! [ExiL 
 
 Scene IV. — A Court before the Priorij. 
 Enter Isaac, crossing the stage, Don Antonio following. 
 
 Don Ant. What, my friend Isaac ! 
 
 Isaac. What, Antonio ! wish me joy ! I have Louisa safe. 
 
 Don Ant. Have you ? I wish you joy with all my soul. 
 
 Isaac. Yes, I come here to procure a priest to marry us. 
 
 Don Ant. So, then, we are both on the same errand ; I am come to 
 look for Father Paul. 
 
 Isaac. Ha ! I 'm glad on 't — but, i' faith, he must tack me ; first my 
 love is waiting. 
 
 Don Ant. So is mine — I left her in the porch. 
 
 Isaac. Ay, but I 'm in haste to go back to Don Jerome. 
 
 Don Ant. And so am I too. 
 
 Isaac. Well, perhaps he'll save time, and marry us both together 
 — or I '11 be your father, and you shall be mine. Come along — but 
 you are obliged to me for all this. 
 
 Don Ant. Yes, yes. [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene V. — A Room in the Priory. 
 
 Father Paul, Father Francis, Father Augustine, and other 
 Friars, discovered at a table drinking. 
 
 Glee and Chorus. 
 This bottle 's the sun of our table, 
 
 His beams are rosy wine : 
 AVe, planets, that are not able 
 
 Without his help to shine. 
 
 Let mirth and glee abound I 
 
 You'll soon grow bright 
 
 With borrow'd light, 
 And shine as he goes round. 
 
 Paul. Brother Francis, toss the bottle about, and give me your 
 toast. 
 
 Fran. Have we drunk the Abbess of St. Ursuline ? 
 
138 THE DUENNA. 
 
 Paul. Yes, yes ; she was the last. 
 
 Frail. Then I '11 give you the blue-eyed nun of St. Catherine's. 
 
 Paul. With all my heart. — [Drinks.] Pray, brother Augustine, 
 were there any benefactions left in my absence ? 
 
 Aug. Don Juan Corduba has left a hundred ducats, to remember 
 him in our masses. 
 
 Paul. Has he ? let them be paid to our wine merchant, and we '11 
 remember him in our cups, which will do just as well. Anything 
 more ? 
 
 Aug. Yes ; Baptista, the rich miser, who died last week, has 
 bequeathed us a thousand pistoles, and the silver lamp he used in 
 his own chamber, to burn before the image of St. Anthony. 
 
 Paul. 'Twas well meant, but we '11 employ his money better — 
 Baptista's bounty shall light the living, not the dead. St. Anthony 
 is not afraid to be left in the dark, though he was. — [Knocking.] See 
 who 's there. [Father Francis goes to the door and opens it. 
 
 Enter Porter. 
 
 Port. Here 's one without, in pressing haste to speak with Father 
 Paul. 
 
 Fran. Brother Paul ! 
 
 [Father Paul comes from behind a curtain, with a 
 glass of wine, and in his hand a piece of cake. 
 
 Paul. Here! how durst you, fellow, thus abruptly break in upon 
 our devotions ? 
 
 Port. I thought they were finished. 
 
 Paul. No, they were not — were they, brother Francis ? 
 
 Fran. Not by a bottle each. 
 
 Paul. But neither you nor your fellows mark how the hours go ; 
 no, you mind nothing but the gratifying of your appetites ; ye eat, 
 and swill, and sleep, and gourmandise, and thrive, while we are 
 wasting in mortification. 
 
 Port. We ask no more than nature craves. 
 
 Paul. 'Tis false, ye have more appetites than hairs ! and your 
 flushed, sleek, and pampered appearance is the disgrace of our order 
 — out on 't ! If you are hungry, can't you be content with the 
 wholesome roots of the earth ? and if you are dry, isn't there the 
 crystal spring? — [Drinks.] Put this away. — [Gives the glass] and 
 show me where I'm wanted. — [Porter di-ains the glass. — Paul, 
 going, turns.] So you would have drunk it if there had been any 
 left ! Ah, glutton ! glutton ! [Exeunt. 
 
THE DUENNA. 139 
 
 Scene VI. — The Court before the Priory. 
 Enter Isaac and Don Antonio. 
 
 Isaac. A plaguey while coming, this same father Paul. — He '» 
 detained at vespers, I suppose, poor fellow. 
 Don Ant. No, here he comes. 
 
 Enter Father Paul. 
 Good father Paul, I crave your blessing. 
 
 Isaac. Yes, good father Paul, we are come to beg a favour. 
 
 Paid. What is it, pray ? 
 
 Isaac. To marry us, good father Paul ; and in truth thou dost look 
 like the priest of Hymen. 
 
 Paul. In short, I may be called so ; for I deal in repentance and 
 mortiBcation. 
 
 Isaac. No, no, thou seemest an officer of Hymen, because thy 
 presence speaks content and good humour. 
 
 Paul Alas, my appearance is deceitful. Bloated I am, indeed ! for 
 fasting is a windy recreation, and it hath swollen me like a bladder. 
 
 Don Ant. But thou hast a good fresh colour in thy face, father ; rosy, 
 i' faith ! 
 
 Paul. Yes, I have blushed for mankind, till the hue of my shame is 
 as fixed as their vices. 
 
 Isaac. Good man ! 
 
 Paul. And I have laboured, too, but to what purpose ? they continue 
 to sin under my very nose. 
 
 Isaac. Efecks, father, I should have guessed as much, for your nose 
 seems to be put to the blush more than any other part of your face. 
 
 Paul. Go, you 're a wag. 
 
 Don Ant. But to the purpose, father — will you officiate for us ? 
 
 Paul. To join young people thus clandestinely is not safe : and, 
 indeed, I have in my heart many weighty reasons against it. 
 
 Don Ant. And I have in my hand many weighty reasons for it. 
 Isaac, haven't you an argument or two in our favour about you ? 
 
 Isaac. Yes, yes ; here is a most unanswerable purae. 
 
 Paul. For shame ! you make me angry : you forget who I am, and 
 when importunate people have forced their trash — ay, into this pocket 
 here — or into this — why, then the sin was theirs. — [Theij jmt money 
 into his pockets.] Fie, now how you distress me ! I would return it, 
 but that I must touch it that way, and so wrong my oath. 
 
 Don Ant. Now, then come with us. 
 
 Isaac. Ay, now give us our title to joy and rapture. 
 
140 THE DUENNA. 
 
 Paul. Well, when your hour of repentance comes, don't blame me. 
 Don Ant. [Aside.] No bad caution to my friend Isaac. — [Aloud.] 
 Well, well, father, do you do your part, and I'll abide the consequence. 
 Isaac. Ay, and so will I. 
 
 Enter Donna Louisa, running. 
 
 Don. Louisa. O Antonio, Ferdinand is at the porch, and inquiring 
 for us. 
 
 Isaac. Who? Don Ferdinand ! he 's not inquiring for me, I hope. 
 
 Do7i Ant. Fear not, my love ; I '11 soon pacify him. 
 
 Isaac. Egad, you won't. Antonio, take my advice, and run away ; 
 this Ferdinand is the most unmerciful dog, and has the cursed est long 
 sword ! and, upon my soul, he comes on purpose to cut your throat. 
 
 Don Ant. Never fear, never fear. 
 
 Isaac. Well, you may stay if you will ; but I '11 get some one to 
 marry me : for by St. lago, he shall never meet me again, while I am 
 master of a pair of heels. 
 
 [i?K)is out. — Donna Locjisa lets doicn her veil. 
 
 Enter Don Ferdinand. 
 
 Don Ferd. So, sir, I have met with you at last. 
 
 Don Ant. Well, sir. 
 
 Don Ferd. Base, treacherous man ! whence can a false, deceitful 
 soul, like yours, borrow confidence, to look so steadily on the man 
 you've injured ! 
 
 Don Ant. Ferdinand, you are too warm : 'tis true you find me on 
 the point of wedding one I loved beyond my life ; but no argument of 
 mine prevailed on her to elope. — I scorn deceit, as much as you. By 
 heaven I knew not that she had left her father's till I saw her ! 
 
 Don Ferd. What a mean excuse ! You have wronged your friend, 
 then, for one, whose wanton forwardness anticipated your treachery — 
 of this, indeed, your Jew pander informed me ; but let your conduct 
 be consistent, and since you have dared to do a wrong, follow me, and 
 show you have a spirit to avow it. 
 
 Don. Louisa. Antoaio, I perceive his mistake— leave him to me. 
 
 Paul. Friend, you are rude, to interrupt the union of two willing 
 hearts. 
 
 Don Ferd. No, meddling priest ! the hand he seeks is mine. 
 
 Paul. If so, I '11 proceed no further. Lady, did you ever promise 
 this youth your hand ? [To Donna Louisa, tuho shakes her head. 
 
 Don Ferd. Clara, I thank you for your silence — I would not have 
 heard your tongue avow such falsity ; be 't your punishment to 
 remember I have not reproached you. 
 
THE DUENNA. 141 
 
 Enter Donna Clara, veiled. 
 Don. Clara. What mockery is this ? 
 Do7i Ferd. Antonio, you are protected now, but we shall meet. 
 
 [Goinfj, Donna Claka holds one arm, and Donna Louisa the other. 
 Duet. 
 Don. Louisi'. Turn thee round, I pray thee, 
 
 Calm awhile thy rage. 
 Don. Clara. I must help to stay thee, 
 And thy wrath assuage. 
 Don. Louisa. Couldst thou not discover 
 
 One so dear to thee] 
 Don. Clara. Canst thou be a lover, 
 
 And thus tly from me? [Both unveil. 
 
 Ferd. How 'a this ? My Sister ? Clara too — I 'm confounded. 
 Louisa. 'Tis even bo good brother. 
 
 Ferd. How ! what — Impiety — did the man want to marry his own 
 sister ] 
 
 Louisa. And an't you ashamed of yourself to have come hithtr and 
 behaved so rashly. 
 
 Clara. And arn't you ashamed of your own sagacity — 
 Louisa. Not to know your own sister — 
 
 Clara. And to turn away your own Mistress 
 
 Louisa. Don't you see when jealousy blinds People ? 
 
 Clara. Aye, and will you ever be jealous again ? 
 
 Ferrd. Never— never I— You — Sister I know will forgive me — but 
 
 how, Clara, shall I presume 
 
 jDo>i. Clara. No, no ; just now you told me not to tieze you — " Who 
 do you want, good signor?" "Not you, not you !" Oh you blind 
 wretch ! but swear never to be jealous again and I '11 forgive you. 
 
 Ferd. By all 
 
 Clara. There that will do — you '11 keep the oath just as well. 
 
 [Gives Iter Hand. 
 Louiia. But Brother — Here is one whom some apology is due to. 
 
 Ferd. Anthonio, I am ashamed to think 
 
 Anth. Not a word of excuse — Ferdinand — I have not been in Love 
 myself without learning that a Lover's Anger should never be resented 
 — but come let us retire, with this good Father, and we '11 explain to you 
 the cause of your error. 
 
 Glee and Chorus. 
 Oft does Hymen smile to hear 
 
 Wordy vows of feign 'd regard ; 
 Well he knows when they 're sincere, 
 
 Never slow to give reward : 
 For his glory is to prove 
 Kind to those who wed for love. [Exeunt.. 
 
142 THE DUENNA. 
 
 Scene VII. — A Grand Saloon in Don Jerome's House. 
 Enter Don Jerome, Lopez, and Servants. 
 
 Do7i Jer. Be sure, now, let everything be in the best order — let all 
 my servants have on their merriest faces : but tell them to get as little 
 drunk as possible, till after supper, — [Exeunt Servants ] So, Lopez, 
 where 's your master ? shan't we have him at supper 1 
 
 Lop. Indeed, I believe not, sir — he 's mad, I doubt ! I 'm sure he 
 has frighted me from him. 
 
 Don Jer. Ay, ay, he 's after some wench, I suppose : a young rake ! 
 Well, well, we '11 be merry without him. [Exit Lopez. 
 
 Enter a Servant. 
 Ser. Sir, here is Signor Isaac. [Exit. 
 
 Enter Isaac. 
 
 Don Jer. So, my dear son-in-law — there, take my blessing and 
 forgiveness. But where 's my daughter ? where 's Louisa ? 
 
 Isaac. She 's without, impatient for a blessing, but aliuubD afraid to 
 «nter. 
 
 Don Jer. Oh, fly and bring her in. — [Exit Isaac] Poor girl, I long 
 to see her pretty face. 
 
 Isaac. [Without.] Come, my charmer ! my trembling angel ! 
 
 Re-enter Isaac with Duenna ; Don Jerome runs to meet them ; 
 she kneels. 
 
 Don Jer. Come to my arms, my — [Startsback.] Why, who the devil 
 have we here ? 
 
 Isaac. Nay, Don Jerome, you promised her forgiveness ; see how 
 the dear creature droops ! 
 
 Don Jer. Droops indeed ! Why, Gad take me, this is old Margaret ! 
 But where 's my daughter ? where 's Louisa ? 
 
 Isaac. Why, here, before your eyes — nay, don't be abashed, my 
 sweet wife ! 
 
 Don Jer. Wife with a vengeance ! Why, zounds ! you have not 
 married the Duenna ! 
 
 Duen. [Kneeling.'] Oh, dear papa ! you '11 not disown me, sure ! 
 
 Don Jer. Papa ! papa ! Why, zounds ! your impudence is as great 
 as your ugliness ! 
 
 Isaac. Rise, my charmer, go throw your snowy arms about his neck, 
 and convince him you are 
 
 Duen. Oh, sir, forgive me ! [Embraces him. 
 
 Don Jer. Help ! murder ! 
 
THE DUENNA. 143 
 
 Eiiter Servants. 
 
 Ser. What 's the matter, sir ? 
 
 Don Jer. Why, here, this damned Jew has brought an old harridan 
 to strangle me. 
 
 Isaac. Lord, it is his own daughter, and he is so hard-hearted he 
 won't forgive her ! 
 
 Elder Don Antonio and Duenna Louisa ; they kneel. 
 
 Dun Jer. Zounds and fury ! what 's here now ? who sent for you, 
 sir, and who the devil are you ? 
 
 Dun Ant. This lady's husband, sir. 
 
 Isaac. Ay, that he is, I '11 be sworn ; for I left them with a priest, 
 and was to have given her away. 
 
 Don Jtr. You were ? 
 
 Isaac. Ay ; that 's my honest friend, Antonio ; and that 's the little 
 girl I told you I had hampered him with. 
 
 Do7i Jer. Why, you are either drunk or mad — this is my daughter. 
 
 Isaac. No, no ; 'tis you are both drunk and mad, I think — here 's 
 your daughter. 
 
 Don Jer. Hark ye, old iniquity ! will you explain all this, or not ? 
 
 Duen. Come then, Don Jerome, I will — though our habits might 
 inform you all. Look on your daughter, there, and on me. 
 
 Isaac. What 's this I hear ? 
 
 Duen. The truth is, that in your passion this morning you made a 
 small mistake ; for you turned your daughter out of doors, and locked 
 up your humble servant 
 
 Isaac. O Lud ! O Lud ! here 's a pretty fellow, to turn his daughter 
 out of doors, instead of an old Duenna ! 
 
 Don Jer. And, O Lud ! O Lud ! here 's a pretty fellow, to marry an 
 old Duenna instead of my daughter ! But how came the rest about ? 
 
 Duen,. I have only to add, that I remained in your daughter's place, 
 and had the good fortune to engage the affections of my sweet husband 
 here, 
 
 Isaac. Her husband ! why, you old witch, do you think I '11 be your 
 husband now ? This is a trick, a cheat ! and you ought all to be 
 ashamed of yourselves. 
 
 Don Aiit. Hark ye, Isaac, do you dare to complain of tricking ? Don 
 Jerome, I give you my word, his cunning Portuguese has brought all 
 this upon himself, by endeavouring to overreach you, by getting your 
 daughter's fortune, without making any settlement in return. 
 Don Jer. Overreach me ! 
 
 Don. Louisa. 'Tis so, indeed, sir, and we can prove it to you. 
 Don Jer. Why, Gad, take me, it must be so, or he never could put 
 
144 THE DUENNA. 
 
 up with such a face as Margaret's — so, little, Solomon, I wish you joy 
 of your wife, with all my soul. 
 
 Don. Louisa. Isaac, tricking is all fair in love — let you alone for the 
 plot! 
 
 Don Ant. A cunning dog, arn't you ? A sly little villain, eh ? 
 
 Don. Louisa. Roguish, perhaps ; but keen, devilish keen ! 
 
 Don Jer. Yes, yes ; his aunt always called him little Solomon. 
 
 Isaac. Why, the plagues of Egypt upon you all ! but do you think 
 I '11 submit to such an imposition ? 
 
 Don Ant. Isaac, one serious word — you 'd better be content as you 
 are ; for, believe me, you will find that, in the opinion of the world, 
 there is not a fairer subject for contempt and ridicule than a knave 
 become the dupe of his own art. 
 
 Isaac. I don't care — I '11 not endure this. Don Jerome, 'tis you 
 have done this — you would be so cursed positive about the beauty of 
 her you locked up, and all the time I told you she was as old as my 
 mother, and as ugly as the devil. 
 
 Duen. Why, you little insignificant reptile ! 
 
 Don Jer. That 's right ! — attack him, Margaret. 
 
 Duen. Dare such a thing as you pretend to talk of beauty 1 — A 
 walking rouleau ? — a body that seems to owe all its consequence to 
 the dropsy ! a pair of eyes like two dead beetles in a wad of brown 
 dough ! a beard like an artichoke, with dry shrivelled jaws that would 
 disgrace the mummy of a monkey ? 
 
 Don Jer. Well done, Margaret ! 
 
 Duen. But you shall know that I have a brother who wears a sword 
 — and, if you don't do me justice 
 
 Isaac. Fire seize your brother, and you too ! I '11 fly to Jerusalem 
 to avoid you 1 
 
 Duen. Fly where you will, I '11 follow you. 
 
 Don Jer. Throw your snowy arms about him, Margaret, — \_Exeunt 
 Isaac and Dxtenna.] But here, Louisa, are you really married to this 
 modest Gentleman 1 
 
 Louisa. Sir, in obedience to your commands I gave him my hand 
 within this hour. 
 
 Don Jer. My commands ! 
 
 Don Ant. Yes, Sir — here is your consent, under your own hand, and 
 I thank you sincerely for your kindness. 
 
 Don Jer. How ! would you rob me of my child by a trick, a false 
 pretence 1 and do you think to get her fortune by the same means 1 
 Why, 'slife ! you are as great a rogue as Isaac ! 
 
 Don Ant. No, Don Jerome ; though I have profited by this paper 
 
THE DUENNA. 145 
 
 in gaining your daughter's hand, I scorn to obtain her fortune by 
 deceit. There, sir — [Gives a letter.] Now give her your blessing for 
 a dower, and all the little I possess shall be settled on her in return. 
 Had you wedded her to a prince, he could do no more. 
 
 Don Jer. Why, Gad, take me, but you are a very extraordinary 
 fellow ! But have you the impudence to suppose no one can do a 
 generous action but yourself ? Here, Louisa, tell this proud fool of 
 yours that he 's the only man I know that would renounce your 
 fortune ; and, by my soul ! he 's the only man in Spain that 's worthy 
 of it. There, bless you both : I 'm an obstinate old fellow when I 'm 
 in the wrong ; but you shall now find me as steady in the right. 
 
 Enter Don Ferdinand and Donna Clara. 
 
 Another wonder still ! Why, sirrah ! Ferdinand, you have not stole 
 a nun, have you ? 
 
 Don Ferd. She is a nun in nothing but her habit, sir — look nearer, 
 and you will perceive 'tis Clara d'Almanza, Don Guzman's daughter ; 
 and, with pardon for stealing a wedding, she is also my wife. 
 
 Don Jer. Gadsbud, and a great fortune ! Ferdinand, you are a 
 prudent young rogue, and I forgive you : and, ifecks, you are a pretty 
 little damsel. Give your father-in-law a kiss, you smiling rogue I 
 
 Dim. Clara. There, old gentleman ; and now mind you behave well 
 to us. 
 
 Do7i Jer. Ifecks, those lips ha'n't been chilled by kissing beads ! 
 Egad, I believe I shall grow the best-humoured fellow in Spain. 
 Lewis ! Sancho ! Carlos ! d 'ye hear ? are all my doors thrown open ? 
 Our children's weddings are the only holidays our age can boast ; and 
 then we drain, with pleasure, the little stock of spirits time has left 
 us. — [Music withhc] But, see, here come our friends and neigh- 
 bours 1 
 
 Enter Masqueraders. 
 And, i' faith, we '11 make a night on 't, with wine, and dance, and 
 catches — then old and young shall join us. 
 
 Finale. 
 
 Do7i Jer. . . Come now for jest and smiling, 
 Both old and young beguiling, 
 Let us laugh and play, so blithe and gay, 
 Till we banish care away. 
 Don. Louisa. Thus crown'd with dance and song, 
 The hours shall glide along, 
 With a heart at ease, merry, merry glees 
 Can never fail to please. 
 
146 THE DUENNA. 
 
 Don Ferd. Each bride with blushes glowing, 
 Our wine as rosy flowing, 
 
 Let us laugh and play, so blithe and gay, 
 Till we banish care away. 
 
 Don Ant. Then healths to every friend 
 
 The night's repast shall end, 
 With a heart at ease, merry, merry glees 
 Can never fail to please. 
 
 Don. Clar. Nor, while we are so joyous, 
 Shall anxious fear annoy us ; 
 
 Let us laugh and play, so blithe and gay, 
 Till we banish care away. 
 
 Don Jer, For generous guests like these 
 
 Accept the wish to please, 
 
 So we '11 laugh and play, so blithe and gay, 
 
 Your smiles drive care away. [_Exeunt omnes. 
 
THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL. 
 
 A COMEDY. 
 
 DRAMATIS PERSON.E. 
 
 Sir Peter Teazle . Mr. King. 
 Sir Oliver Surface Mr. Yates. 
 
 Young Surface . 
 Charles 
 
 (his Brothev) . 
 Crabtree. . . 
 Sir Benjamin- 
 
 Backbite 
 Rowtley . . . 
 Spunge . . . 
 
 Mr. Palmer. 
 
 Mr. Smith. 
 Mr. Parsons. 
 
 Mr. 
 Mr. 
 
 Dodd. 
 Aikin. 
 
 Moses 
 
 Snake 
 
 Careless — and other 
 
 companions to Charles. 
 
 Lady Teazle 
 Maria .... 
 Lady Sneerwell 
 Mrs. Candour . 
 Miss Verjuice. 
 
 ACT l:'t.— Scene l:''. 
 
 Lady Sneerwell's House. 
 
 Lady Sneerwell at her dresshwj table loith Lappet; Miss Verjuice 
 drinking chocolate. 
 
 Lady Sneerivell. The Paragraphs you say were all inserted: 
 
 Verj. They were Madam— and as I copied them myself in a feigned 
 Hand there can be no suspicion whence they came. 
 
 Ladij Sneer. Did you circulate the Report of Lady Brittle's Intrigue 
 with Captain Boastall ? 
 
 Verj. Madam by this Time Lady Brittle is the Talk of half the Town 
 — and I doubt not in a week the Men will toast her as a Demirep. 
 
 Lady Sn. What have you done as to the insinuation as to a certain 
 Baronet's Lady and a certain Cook. 
 
 Verj. That is in as fine a Train as your Ladyship could wish. I 
 told the story yesterday to my own maid with directions to communi- 
 cate it directly to my Hairdresser. He I am informed has a Brother 
 who courts a Milliners' Prentice in Pallmall whose mistress has a first 
 cousin whose sister is Feme de Chambre to Mrs. Clackit— so that in the 
 common course of Things it must reach Mrs. Clackit's Ears within 
 four-and-twenty hours and then you know the Business is as good as 
 done. 
 
 L 2 
 
148 THE SCHOOL FOB SCANDAL. 
 
 Lady Sneer. Why truly Mrs. Clackit has a very pretty Talent — a 
 great deal of industry — yet — yes — been tolerably successful in her way 
 — To my knowledge she has been the cause of breaking off six matches 
 of three sons being disinherited and four Daughters being turned out 
 of Doors. Of three several Elopements, aa many close confinements — 
 nine separate maintenances and two Divorces. — nay I have more than 
 once traced her causing a Tete-d-Tete in the Town and Country 
 Magazine — when the Parties perhaps had never seen each other's 
 Faces before in the course of their Lives. 
 
 Verj. She certainly has Talents. 
 
 Lady S. But her manner is gross. 
 
 Verj. ' Tis very true. She generally designs well has a free tongue 
 and a bold invention — but her colouring is too dark and her outline 
 often extravagant — She wants that delicacy of Tint — and mellowness 
 of sneer — which distinguish your Ladyship's Scandal. 
 
 Lady Sneer. Ah you are Partial Verjuice. 
 
 Verj. Not in the least — everybody allows that Lady Sneer well can 
 do more with a word or a Look than many can with the most laboured 
 Detail even when they happen to have a little truth on their side to 
 support it. 
 
 Lady Sneer. Yes my dear Verjuice. I am no Hypocrite to deny the 
 satisfaction I reap from the Success of my Efforts. Wounded myself, 
 in the early part of my Life by the envenomed Tongue of Slander I 
 confess I have since known no Pleasure equal to the reducing others to 
 the Level of my own injured Reputation. 
 
 Verj. Nothing can be more natural — But my dear Lady Sneerwell 
 There is one affair in which you have lately employed me, wherein, I 
 confess I am at a Loss to guess your motives. 
 
 Lady Sneer. I conceive you mean with respect to my neighbour, Sir 
 Peter Teazle, and his Family — Lappet. — And has my conduct in this 
 matter really appeared to you so mysterious ? Exit Maid. 
 
 Verj. Entirely so. 
 
 Lady Sneer. An old Batchelor as Sir Peter was having taken a young 
 wife from out of the Country — as Lady Teazle is — are certainly fair 
 subjects for a little mischievous raillery — but here are two young men — 
 to whom Sir Peter has acted as a kind of Guardian since their Father's 
 death, the eldest possessing the most amiable Character and universally 
 well spoken of the youngest the most dissipated and extravagant young 
 Fellow in the Kingdom, without Friends or caracter — the former one 
 an avowed admirer of yours and apparently your Favourite the latter 
 attached to Maria Sir Peter's ward — and confessedly beloved by her. 
 Now on the face of these circumstances it is utterly unaccountable to 
 
THE SCHOOL FOB SCANDAL. 149 
 
 me why you a young Widow with no great jointure — should not close 
 with the passion of a man of such character and expectations as Mr. 
 Surface — and moro so why you should be so uncommonly earnest to 
 destroy the mutual Attachment subsisting between his Brother Charles 
 and Maria. 
 
 Ladij Sneey. Then at once to unravel this mistery — I must inform 
 you that Love has no share whatever in the intercourse between Mr. 
 Surface and me. 
 Verj. No ! 
 
 Ladij Sneer. His real attachment is to Maria or her F(jrtune — but 
 finding in his Brother a favoured Rival, He has been obliged to mask 
 his Pretensions — and profit by my Assistance. 
 
 Verj. Yet still I am more puzzled why you should interest yourself 
 in his success. 
 
 Ladij Sneer. Heavens ! how dull you are ! cannot you surmise the 
 weakness which I hitherto, thro' shame have concealed even from you 
 — must I confess that Charles — that Libertine, that extravagant, that 
 Bankrupt in Fortune and Reputation — that He it is for whom I am 
 thus anxious and malicious and to g-iin whom I would sacrifice — every- 
 thing 
 
 Verj. Now indeed — your conduct appears consistent and I no longer 
 wonder at your enmity to Maria, but how came you and Surface so 
 confidential ? 
 
 Ladij Sneer. For our mutual interest — but I have found out him a 
 long time since altho' He has contrived to deceive everybody beside — 
 I know him to be artful selfish and malicious — while with Sir Peter, 
 and indeed with all his acquaintance, He passes for a youthful Miracle 
 of Prudence — good sense and Benevolence. 
 
 Verj. Yes yes — I know Sir Peter vows He has not his equal in 
 England ; and, above all. He praises him as a man of sentiment. 
 
 Lady Sneer. True and with the assistance of his sentiments and 
 hypocrisy he has brought Sir Peter entirely in his interests with respect 
 to Maria and is now I believe attempting to flatter Lady Teazle into 
 the same good opinion towards him — while poor Charles has no Friend 
 in the House — though I fear he has a powerful one in Marin's Heart, 
 against whom we must direct our schemes. 
 Ser. Mr. Surface. 
 
 Lady Sneer. Shew him up. He generally calls about this Time. I 
 4on't wonder at People's giving him to me for a Lover. 
 Enter Surface. 
 Surface. My dear Lady Sneerweli, how do you do to-day — your 
 most obedient. 
 
150 THE SCHOOL FOB SCANDAL. 
 
 Lady Sneer. Miss Verjuice has just been arraigning me on our 
 mutual attachment now ; but I have informed her of our real views 
 and the Purposes for which our Geniuses at present co-operate. You 
 know how useful she has been to us — and believe me the confidence is 
 not ill-placed. 
 
 Surf. Madam, it is impossible for me to suspect that a Lady of Miss 
 Verjuice's sensibility and discernment 
 
 Lady Sneer. Well — well — no compliments now — but tell me when 
 you saw your mistress or what is more material to me your Brother. 
 
 Surf. I have not seen either since I saw you— but I can inform you 
 that they are at present at Variance — some of your stories have taken 
 good effect on Maria. 
 
 Lad]/ Sneer. Ah ! my dear Verjuice the merit of this belongs to you. 
 But do your Brother's Distresses encrease ? 
 
 Siirf. Every hour. I am told He had another execution in hia 
 house yesterday — in short hia Dissipation and extravagance exceed 
 anything I have ever heard of. 
 
 Lady Sneer. Poor Charles ! 
 
 Surf. True Madam — notwithstanding his Vices one can't help feeling 
 for him — ah poor Charles ! I 'm sure I wish it was in my Power to be 
 of any essential Service to him — for the man who does not share in 
 the Distresses of a Brother — even though merited by his own 
 misconduct — deserves 
 
 Lady Sneer. Lud you are going to be moral, and forget that you 
 are among Friends. 
 
 Surf. Egad, that 's true — I '11 keep that sentiment till I see Sir Peter. 
 However it is certainly a charity to rescue Maria from such a Libertine 
 who — if He is to be reclaim'd, can be so only by a Person of your 
 Ladyship's superior accomplishments and understanding. 
 
 Verj. 'Twould be a Hazardous experiment. 
 
 Surface. But — Madam — let me caution you to place no more con- 
 fidence in our Friend Snake the Libeller — I have lately detected hint 
 in frequent conference with old Rowland [Rowley] who was formerly 
 my Father's Steward and has never been a friend of mine. 
 
 Lady Sneer. I 'm not disappointed in Snake, I never suspected the 
 fellow to have virtue enough to be faithful even to his own Villany. 
 
 Enter Maria. 
 Maria my dear — how do you do — what 's the matter ? 
 
 Mar. O there is that disagreeable lover of mine. Sir Benjamin 
 Backbite, has just call'd at my guardian's with his odious Uncle 
 Crabtree — so I slipt out and ran hither to avoid them. 
 
THE SCHOOL FOB SCANDAL. 151 
 
 Ladtj Sneer. Is that alii 
 
 Verj. Lady Sneerwell — I '11 go and write the Letter I mention'd to 
 you. 
 
 Surf. If my Brother Charles had been of the Party, madam, perhaps 
 you would not have been so much alarmed. 
 
 Lady Sneer. Nay now — you are severe for I dare swear the Truth of 
 the matter is Maria heard you were here — ^but my dear — what has 
 Sir Benjamin done that you should avoid him so 
 
 Mar. Oh He has done nothing — but his conversation is a perpetual 
 Libel on all his Acquaintance. 
 
 Surf. Aye and the worst of it is there is no advantage in not 
 knowing Them, for He '11 abuse a stranger just as soon as his beat 
 Friend — and Crabtree is as bad. 
 
 Lady Sneer. Nay but we should make allowance Sir Benjamin is a 
 wit and a poet. 
 
 Mar. For my Part — I own madam — wit loses its respect with me, 
 when I see it in company with malice. — What do you think, Mr. 
 Surface"? 
 
 Surf. Certainly, Madam, to smile at the jest which plants a Thorn 
 on another's Breast is to become a principal in the mischief. 
 
 Lady Sneer. Pshaw — there 's no possibility of being witty without 
 a little nature — the malice of a good thing is the Barb that makes it 
 stick. — What 's your opinion, Mr. Surface ? 
 
 Surf. Certainly madam — that conversation where the Spirit of Rail- 
 lery is suppressed will ever appear tedious and insipid — 
 
 Mar. Well I '11 not debate how far Scandal may be allowable — but 
 in a man I am sure it is always contemtable.— We have Pride, envy, 
 Rivalship, and a Thousand motives to depreciate each other — but the 
 male-slanderer must have the cowardice of a woman before He can 
 traduce one. 
 
 Lady Sneer. 1 wish my Cousin Verjuice hadn't left us — she should 
 embrace you. 
 
 Surf. Ah ! she 's an old maid and is privileged of course. 
 
 Enter Serv! 
 
 Madam Mrs. Candour is below and if your Ladyship's at leisure will 
 leave her carriage. 
 
 Ladtj Sneer. Beg her to walk in. Now, Maria however here is a 
 Character to your Taste, for tho' Mrs. Candour is a little talkative 
 everybody allows her to be the best-natured and best sort of woman. 
 
 Mar. Yes with a very gross affectation of good Nature and Benevo- 
 lence — she does more mischief than the Direct malice of old Crabtree. 
 
152 THE SCHOOL FOB SCANDAL. 
 
 Surf. Efaith 'tia very true Lady Sneerwell — Whenever I hear the 
 current running again the characters of my Friends, I never think them 
 in such Danger as when Candour undertakes their Defence. 
 
 Lady Sneer. Hush here she is — 
 
 Enter Mrs. Candour. 
 
 Mrs. Can. My dear Lady Sneerwell how have you been this Century 
 I have never seen you tho' I have heard of you very often. — Mr. 
 Surface — the World says scandalous things of you — but indeed it 
 is no matter what the world says, for I think one hears nothing else 
 but scandal. 
 
 Sxirf. Just so, indeed, Ma'am. 
 
 Mrs. Can. Ah Maria Child — what is the whole affair off between 
 you and Charles 1 His extravagance, I presume — The Town talks of 
 nothing else — 
 
 Ma7\ I am very sorry. Ma'am, the Town has so little to do. . 
 
 Mrs. Can. True, true, Child ; but there 's no stopping people's 
 Tongues. I own I was hurt to hear it — as I indeed was to learn from 
 the same quarter that your guardian, Sir Peter and Lady Teazle have 
 not agreed lately so well as could be wish'd. 
 
 Mar. 'Tis strangely impertinent for people to busy themselves so. 
 
 Mrs. Can. Very true. Child ; but what 's to be done ? People will 
 talk — there 's no preventing it. — why it was but yesterday I was told 
 that Miss Gadabout had eloped with Sir Filagree Flirt. But, Lord ! 
 there is no minding what one hears ; tho' to be sure I had this from 
 very good authority. 
 
 Mar. Such reports are highly scandalous. 
 
 Mrs. Can. So they are Child — shameful ! shameful ! but the world 
 is so censorious no character escapes. Lord, now ! who would have 
 suspected your friend. Miss Prim, of an indiscretion Yet such is the 
 ill-nature of people, that they say her unkle stopped her last week just 
 as she was stepping into a Postchaise with her Dancing- master. 
 
 Mar. I '11 answer for't there are no grounds for the Report. 
 
 Mrs. Can. Oh, no foundation in the world I dare swear no more 
 probably than for the story circulated last month, of Mrs. Festino's 
 affair with Colonel Cassino — tho' to be sure that matter was never 
 rightly clear'd up. 
 
 Surf. The license of invention some people take is monstrous indeed. 
 
 Mar. 'Tis so but in my opinion, those who report such things are 
 equally culpaple. 
 
 Mrs. Can. To be sure they are Tale Bearers are as bad as the Tale 
 makers — 'tis an old observation and a very true one — but what 's to be 
 
THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL. 153 
 
 done as I said before — how will you prevent People from talking — 
 to-day, Mrs. Ciackitt assured me, Mr. and Mrs. Honeymoon were at 
 last become mere man and wife — like acquaintance— ahe likewise 
 hinted that a certain widow in the next street had got rid of her Dropsy 
 and recovered her shape in a most surprising manner — -at the same 
 Miss Tattle, who was by affirm'd, that Lord Boflalo had discover'd his 
 Lady at a house of no extraordinary Fame — and that Sir Harry 
 Bouquet and Tom Saunter were to measure swords on a similar 
 Provocation, but — Lord ! do you think I would report these Things — 
 No, no Tale Bearers as I said before are just as bad as the tale-makers. 
 
 Surf. Ah ! Mrs. Candour, if everybody had your Forbearance and 
 good nature — 
 
 Mrs. Can. I confess Mr. Surface I cannot bear to hear People 
 traduced behind their Backs and when ugly circumstances come out 
 against our acquaintances I own I always love to think the best — by 
 the bye I hope 'tis not true that your Brother is absolutely ruin'd — 
 
 Surf. I am afraid his circumstances are very bad indeed, Ma'am — 
 
 Mrs. Can. Ah ! I heard so — but you must tell him to keep up his 
 Spirits — everybody almost is in the same way — Lord Spindle, Sir 
 Thomas Splint, Captain Quinze, and Mr. Nickit — all up, I hear, 
 within this week ; so, if Charles is undone. He '11 find half his 
 Acquaintance ruin'd too, and that, you know, is a consolation — 
 
 Surf. Doubtless, Ma'am — a very great one . 
 
 Enter Serv. 
 Ser. Mr. Crabtree and Sir Benjamin Backbite. 
 
 Lady Sneer. Soh ! Maria, you see your lover pursues you — Positively 
 you shan't escape. 
 
 Enter Crabtree and Sir Benjamin Backbite. 
 
 Grab. Lady Sneerwell, I kiss your hand. Mrs. Candour I don't 
 believe you are acquainted with my Nephew Sir Benjamin Backbite — 
 Egad, Ma'am, He has a pretty wit — and is a pretty Poet too isn't He 
 Lady Sneerwell ? 
 
 Sir Ben. O fie. Uncle ! 
 
 Grab. Nay egad it 's true — I back him at a Rebus or a Charade 
 against the best Rhymer in the Kingdom — has your Ladyship heard 
 the Epigram he wrote last week on Lady Frizzle's Feather catching 
 Fire — Do Benjamin repeat it — or the Charade you made last Night 
 extempore at Mrs. Drowzie's conversazione — Come now your first is 
 the Name of a Fish, your second a great naval commander — and 
 
 Sir Ben. Dear Uncle — now — prithee 
 
154 THE SCHOOL FOB SCANDAL. 
 
 Crab. Efaith, Ma'am — 'twould surprise you to hear how ready he 
 is at all these Things. 
 
 Lady Sneer. I wonder Sir Benjamin you never publish anything. 
 Sir Ben. To say truth, Ma'am, 'tis very vulgar to Print and as my 
 little Productions are mostly Satires and Lampoons I find they 
 circulate more by giving copies in confidence to the Friends of the 
 Parties — however I hare some love-Elegies, which, when favoured 
 with this lady's smile I mean to give to the Public. 
 
 [Pointing to Makia. 
 Crah. 'Fore Heaven, ma'am, they '11 immortalize you — you '11 be 
 handed down to Posterity, like Petrarch's Laura, or Waller's Sacha- 
 rissa. 
 
 Sir Ben. Yes Madam I think you will like them— when you shall 
 see in a beautiful Quarto Page how a neat rivulet of Text shall meander 
 thro' a meadow of margin — 'fore Gad, they will be the most elegant 
 Things of their kind — 
 
 Grab. But Ladies, have you heard the news ? 
 
 Mrs. Can. What, Sir, do you mean the Report of 
 
 Crab. No ma'am that's not it. — Miss Nicely is going to be married 
 to her own Footman. 
 Mrs. Can. Impossible ! 
 Crab. Ask Sir Benjamin. 
 
 Sir Ben. 'Tis very true, Ma'am — everything is fixed and the wedding 
 Livery bespoke. 
 
 Orab. Yes and they say there were pressing reasons for 't. 
 Mrs. Can. It cannot be — and I wonder any one should believe such 
 a story of so prudent a Lady as Miss Nicely. 
 
 Sir Ben. O Lud ! ma'am, that 's the very reason 'twas believed at 
 once. She has always been so cautious and so reserved, that every- 
 body was sure there was some reason for it at bottom. 
 
 Lady Sneer. Yes a Tale of Scandal is as fatal to the Reputation of 
 a prudent Lady of her stamp as a Fever is generally to those of the 
 strongest Constitutions, but there is a sort of puny sickly Reputation, 
 that is always ailing yet will outlive the robuster characters of a 
 hundred Prudes. 
 
 Sir Ben. True Madam there are Valetudinarians in Reputation as 
 well as constitution — who being conscious of their weak Part, avoid 
 the least breath of air, and supply their want of Stamina by care and 
 circumspection — 
 
 Mrs. Can. Well but this may be all mistake — You know. Sir Ben- 
 jamin very trifling circumstances often give rise to the most injurious. 
 Tales. 
 
THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL. 15& 
 
 Grab. That they do 1 '11 be sworn Ma'am— did you ever hear how 
 Miss Shepherd came to lose her Lover and her Character last summer 
 at Tunbridge — Sir Benjamin you remember it — 
 
 Sir Ben. O to be sure the most whimsical circumstance — 
 
 Lady Sneer. How was it Pray — 
 
 Crab. Why one evening at Mrs. Ponto's Assembly — the conversation 
 happened to turn on the difficulty of breeding Nova-Scotia Sheep in 
 this country — says a young Lady in company I have known instances 
 of it for Miss Letitia Shepherd, a first cousin of mine, had a Nova- 
 Scotia Sheep that produced her Twins. — What ! cries the old Dowager 
 Lady Dundizzy (who you know is as deaf as a Post), has Miss Letitia 
 Shepherd had twins — This Mistake — as you may imagine, threw the 
 whole company into a fit of Laughing — However 'twas the next morn- 
 ing everywhere reported and in a few Days believed by the whole 
 Town, that Miss Letitia Shepherd had actually been brought to Bed of 
 a fine Boy and Girl — -and in less than a week there were People who 
 could name the Father, and the Farm House where the Babies were 
 put out to Nurse. 
 
 Lady Sneer. Strange indeed ! 
 
 Grab. Matter of Fact, I assure you — O Lud ! Mr. Surface pray is it 
 true that your uncle Sir Oliver is coming home — - 
 
 Surf. Not that I know of indeed Sir. 
 
 Grab. He has been in the East Indies a long time — you can scarcely 
 remember him — I believe — sad comfort on his arrival to hear how your 
 Brother has gone on ! 
 
 Surf. Charles has been imprudent Sir to be sure but I hope no 
 Busy people have already prejudiced Sir Oliver against him — He may 
 reform — 
 
 Sir Ben. To be sure He may— for my Part I never believed him to 
 be so utterly void of Principle as People say — and tho' he has lost all 
 hi8 Friends I am told nobody is better spoken of — by the Jews. 
 
 Grab. That's true egad nephew — if the Old Jewry was a Ward I 
 believe Charles would be an alderman— no man more popular there, 
 'fore Gad I hear He pays as many annuities as the Irish Tontine and 
 that whenever He 's sick they have Prayers for the recovery of his 
 Health in the synagogue — 
 
 Sir Ben, Yet no man lives in greater Splendour : — they tell me when 
 He entertains his Friends — He can sit down to dinner with a dozen of 
 his own Securities, have a score Tradesmen waiting in the Anti-Chamber, 
 and an officer behind every guest's Chair. 
 
 Surf. This may be entertainment to you Gentlemen but you pay 
 very little regard to the Feelings of a Brother. 
 
156 THE SCHOOL FOB SCANDAL. 
 
 Mar. Their malice is intolerable — Lady Sneerwell I must wish you 
 a good morning 1 'm not very well. [Ex. Mar. 
 
 Mrs. Can O dear she chang'd colour very much ! 
 
 Lady Sneer. Do Mrs. Candour follow her — she may want assistance, 
 
 Mrs. Can. That I will with all my soul ma'am. — Poor dear Girl — 
 who knows — -what her situation may be ! [Ex. Mrs. Can. 
 
 Ladij Sneer. 'Twas nothing but that she could not bear to hear 
 Charles reflected on notwithstanding their difference. 
 
 Sir Ben. The young Lady's Penchant is obvious. 
 
 Grab. But Benjamin — you mustn't give up the Pursuit for that — 
 follow her and put her into good humour — repeat her some of your 
 verses — come, I '11 assist you — 
 
 Sir Ben. Mr. Surface I did not mean to hurt you — but depend on 't 
 your Brother is utterly undone — (going). 
 
 Crab. Lud ! aye — undone — as ever man was — can't raise a guinea. 
 
 Sir Ben. And everything sold — I 'm tojd — that was movable — {going). 
 
 Crab. I was at his house— not a thing left but some empty Bottles 
 that were overlooked and the Family Pictures, which I believe are 
 framed in the Wainscot. {Going.) 
 
 Sir Ben. And I 'm very sorry to hear also some bad stories against 
 him, (Going.) 
 
 Crab. He has done many mean things — that 's certain I 
 
 Sir Ben. But however as He is your Brother (Going.) 
 
 Crab. We '11 tell you all another opportunity. [Exe. 
 
 Lady Sneer. Ha ! ha ! ha ! 'tis very hard for them to leave a subject 
 they have not quite run down. 
 
 Surf. And I believe the Abuse was no more acceptable to your 
 Ladyship than Maria. 
 
 Lady Sneer. I doubt her Affections are farther engaged than we 
 imagin'd but the Family are to be here this Evening so you may as 
 well dine where you are and we shall have an opportunity of observing 
 farther — in the meantime, I '11 go and plot Mischief and you shall study 
 Sentiments. [Exe. 
 
 Scene II. — Sir Peter's House. 
 Enter Sir Peter, 
 Sir Pet. When an old Bachelor takes a young Wife — what is He to 
 expect — 'Tis now six months since Lady Teazle made me the happiest 
 of men — and I have been the most miserable Dog ever since that ever 
 committed wedlock. We tift a little going to church — and came to a 
 Quarrel before the Bells had done ringing — I was more than once nearly 
 
THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL. 157 
 
 chok'd with gall during the Honeymoon — and had lost all comfort in 
 Life before my Friends had done wishing me Joy — yet I chose with 
 caution — a girl bred wholly in the country — who never knew luxury 
 beyond one silk gown — nor dissipation above the annual Gala of a 
 Race-Ball — Yet she now plays her Part in all the extravagant Fopperies 
 of the Fashion and the Town, with as ready a Grace as if she had never 
 seen a Bush nor a grass Plot out of Grosvenor-Square ! I am sneered 
 at by my old acquaintance — paragraphed — in the news Papers — She 
 dissipates my Fortune, and contradicts all my Humours — yet the worst 
 of it is I doubt I love her or I should never bear all this. However 
 I 'II never be weak enough to own it. 
 
 Enter Rowley. 
 
 Edir. Sir Peter, your servant : — how is 't with you Sir — 
 
 Sir Pet. Very bad — Master Rowley — ^very bad I meet with nothing 
 but crosses and vexations — 
 
 Row. What can have happened to trouble you since yesterday ? 
 
 Sir Pet. A good — question to a married man — 
 ' Row. Nay I 'm sure your Lady Sir Peter can't be the cause of your 
 uneasiness. 
 
 Sir Pet. Why has anybody told you she was dead 
 
 Row. Come, come. Sir Peter, you love her, notwithstanding your 
 tempers do not exactly agree. 
 
 Sir Pet. But the Fault is entirely hers, Master Rowley — I am myself, 
 the sweetest temper'd man alive, and hate a teasing temper ; and so I 
 tell her a hundred Times a day — 
 
 Roto. Indeed ! 
 
 Sir Pet. Aye and what is very extraordinary in all our disputes she 
 is always in the wrong ! But Lady Sneerwell, and the Set she meets 
 at her House, encourage the perverseness of her Disposition — then to 
 complete my vexations — Maria — my Ward — whom I ought to have the 
 Power of a Father over, is determined to turn Rebel too and absolutely 
 refuses the man whom I have long resolved on for her husband — 
 meaning I suppose, to bestow herself on his profligate Brother. 
 
 Rmv. You know Sir Peter I have always taken the Liberty to difi'er 
 with you on the subject of these two young Gentlemen — I only 
 wish you may not be deceived in your opinion of the elder. For 
 Charles, my life on 't ! He will retrieve his errors yet — their worthy 
 Father, once my honour'd master, was at his years nearly as wild a 
 spark. 
 
 Sir Pet. You are wrong, Master Rowley — on their Father's Death 
 you know I acted as a kind of Guardian to them both — till their uncle 
 
158 THE SCHOOL FOB SCANDAL. 
 
 Sir Oliver's Eastern Bounty gave them an early independence. Of 
 course no person could have more opportunities of judging of their 
 Hearts — and I was never mistaken in my life. Joseph is indeed a 
 model for the young men of the Age — He is a man of Sentiment — and 
 acts up to the Sentiments he professes — but for the other take my word 
 for 't [if] he had any grain of Virtue by descent — he has dissipated it 
 with the rest of his inheritance. Ah ! my old Friend, Sir Oliver will 
 be deeply mortified when he finds how Part of his Bounty has been 
 misapplied. 
 
 Row. I am sorry to find you so violent against the young man 
 because this may be the most critical Period of his Fortune. I came 
 hither with news that will surprise you. 
 
 Sir Pet. What ! let me hear— 
 
 Itotv. Sir Oliver is arrived and at this moment in Town. 
 
 Sir Pet. How ! — you astonish me — I thought you did not expect him 
 this month ! — 
 
 Bow. I did not — but his Passage has been remarkably quick. 
 
 Sir Pet. Egad 1 shall rejoice to see my old Friend — 'Tis sixteen 
 years since we met — We have had many a Day together — but does he 
 still enjoin us not to inform his Nephews of his Arrival ? 
 
 Boto. Most strictly — He means, before He makes it known to make 
 some trial of their Dispositions and we have already planned some- 
 thing for the purpose. 
 
 Sir Pet. Ah there needs no art to discover their merits — however he 
 shall have his way — but pray does he know I am married ! 
 
 Bow. Yes and will soon wish you joy. 
 
 Sir Pet. You may tell him 'tis too late — ah Oliver will laugh at me— 
 we used to rail at matrimony together — but He has been steady to his 
 Text — well He must be at my house tho' —I '11 instantly give orders for 
 his Reception — but Master Rowley — don't drop a word that Lady 
 Teazle and I ever disagree. 
 
 Bow. By no means. 
 
 Sir Pet. For I should never be able to stand Noll's jokes ; so I 'd 
 have him think that we are a very happy couple. 
 
 Bow. I understand you — but then you must be very careful not to 
 differ while He 's in the House with you. 
 
 Sir Pet. Egad — and so we must — that 's impossible. Ah ! Master 
 Rowley when an old Batchelor marries a young wife — He deserves — 
 no the crime carries the Punishment along with it. [Exe. 
 
 End of Act 1st. 
 
THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL. 159 
 
 ACT 2d— Scene Ist. 
 
 Sir Peter and Lady Teazle. 
 
 Sir Pet. La-iy Teazle — Lady Teazle I '11 not bear it. 
 Lcfdy Tea-:. Sir Peter — Sir Peter you — may scold or amile, according 
 to your Humour but I ought to have my own way in everything, and 
 what 's more I will too — what ! tho' I was educated in the country I 
 know very well that women of Fashion in London are accountable 
 to nobody after they are married. 
 
 »Sit> Pet. Very well ! ma'am very well ! so a husband is to have no 
 influence, no authority ? 
 
 Lcuhj Teaz. Authority ! no, to be sure^if you wanted authority over 
 me, you should have adopted me and not married me I am sure you 
 were old enough. 
 
 Sir Pet. Old enough — aye there it is— well — well — Lady Teazle, tho' 
 my life may be made unhappy by your Temper— I '11 not be ruined by 
 your extravagance — 
 
 Lcuhj Tea::. My extravagance ! I 'm sure I 'm not more extravagant 
 than a woman of Fashion ought to be. 
 
 Sir Pet. No no Madam, you shall throw away no more sums on such 
 unmeaning Luxury — 'Slife to spend as much to furnish your Dressing 
 Room with Flowers in winter as would suffice to turn the Pantheon 
 into a Greenhouse, and give a Fete Ch/impetre at Christmas. 
 
 Lady Teaz. Lord ! Sir Peter am I to blame because Flowers are 
 dear in cold weather ? You should find fault with the Climate, and 
 not with me. For my Part I 'm sure I wish it was spring all the year 
 round — and that Roses grew under one's Feet ! 
 
 »S'iV Pet, Oons ! Madam — if you had been born to those Fopperies 
 I shouldn't wonder at your talking thus ; — but you forget what your 
 situation was when I married you — 
 
 Lady Tea::. No, no, I don't — 'twas a very disagreeable one or I 
 should never have married you. 
 
 Sir Pet. Yes, yes, madam, you were then in somewhat a humbler 
 Style — the daughter of a plain country Squire. Recollect Lady Teazle 
 when I saw you first — sitting at your tambour in a pretty figured linen 
 gown — with a Bunch of Keys at your side, and your apartment hung 
 round with Fruits in worsted, of your own working — 
 
 Lad{i Tea::. O horrible ! — horrible ! — don't put me in mind of it ! 
 Sir Pet. Yes, yes Madam and your daily occupation to inspect the 
 Dairy, superintend the Poultry, make extracts from the Family 
 Receipt-book, and comb your aunt Deborah's Lap Dog. 
 
160 THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL. 
 
 Lady Teaz. Abominable ! 
 
 Sir Pet. Yes Madam — and what were your evening amusements? 
 to draw Patterns for Ruffles, which you hadn't the materials to make- 
 play Pope Joan with the Curate— to read a sermon to your Aunt — or 
 be stuck down to an old Spinet to strum your father to sleep after a 
 Fox Chase. 
 
 Ladij Teaz. Scandalous— Sir Peter not a word of it true — 
 Sir Pet. Yes, Madam — These were the recreations I took you from 
 — and now — no one more extravagantly in the Fashion — Every Fopery 
 adopted — a head-dress to o'er top Lady Pagoda with feathers pendant 
 horizontal and perpendicular — you forget Lady Teazle — when a little 
 wired gauze with a few Beads made you a fly Cap not much bigger than 
 a blew-bottle, and your Hair was comb'd smooth over a Roll — 
 Lady Teaz. Shocking ! horrible Roll ! ! 
 
 Sir Pet. But now — you must have your coach — Vis-d-vis, and three 
 powder'd Footmen before your Chair — and in the summer a pair of 
 white cobs to draw you to Kensington Gardens— no recollection when 
 you were content to ride double, behind the Butler, on a docked 
 Coach- Horse ? 
 
 Lady Teaz. Horrid ! — I swear I never did. 
 
 Sir Pet. This, madam, was your situation — and what have I not 
 done for you ? I have made you woman of Fashion of Fortune of 
 Rank — in short I have made you my wife. 
 
 Lady Teaz. Well then and there is but one thing more you can make 
 me to add to the obligation. 
 Sir Pet. What 's that pray ? 
 Lady Teaz. Your widow, — 
 
 Sir Pet. Thank you Madam — but don't flatter yourself for though 
 your ill-conduct may disturb my Peace it shall never break my 
 Heart I promise you— however I am equally obliged to you for the 
 Hint. 
 
 Lady Teaz. Then why will you endeavour to make yourself so 
 disagreeable to me — and thwart me in every little elegant expense. 
 
 Sir Pet. 'Slife — ^Madam I pray, had you any of these elegant expenses 
 when you married me ? 
 
 Lady Teaz. Lud Sir Peter would you have me be out of the Fashion ? 
 Sir Pet. The Fashion indeed ! — what had you to do with the Fashion 
 before you married me 1 
 
 Lady Teaz. For my Part — I should think you would like to have 
 your wife thought a woman of Taste — 
 
 Sir Pet. Aye there again — Taste ! Zounds Madam you had no 
 Taste when you married me — 
 
THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL. 161 
 
 Lady Tea::. That 's very true indeed Sir Peter ! after having married 
 you I should never pretend to Taste again I allow. 
 
 Sir Pet. So — so then— Madam — if these are your Sentiments pray 
 how came I to be honour'd with your Hand ? 
 
 Lachj Tea-.. Shall I tell you the Truth ? 
 
 Sir Pet. If it 's not too great a Favour. 
 
 Lady Tua,:. Why the Fact is I was tired of all those agreeable 
 Recreations which you have so good naturally Described — and having 
 a Spirit to spend and enjoy a Fortune — I determined to marry the 
 first rich man that would have me. 
 
 Sir Pet. A very honest confession^ — truly — but pray madam was 
 there no one else you might have tried to ensnare but me. 
 
 Lady Teaz. O lud — I drew my not at several but you were the only 
 one I could catch. 
 
 Sir Pet. This is plain dealing indeed — 
 
 Lady Teaz. But now Sir Peter if we have finiah'd our daily Jangle 
 I presume I may go to my engagement at Lady Sueerwell's ? 
 
 Sir Pet. Aye — there 'a another Precious circumstance — a charming 
 set of acquaintance — you have made there ! 
 
 Lady Teaz. Nay Sir Peter they are People of Rank and Fortune — 
 and remarkably tenacious of reputation. 
 
 Sir Pet. Yes egad they are tenacious of Reputation with a vengeance, 
 for they don't chuse anybody should have a Character but themselves ! 
 Such a crew ! Ah ! many a wretch has rid on hurdles who has done 
 less mischief than these utterers of forged Tales, coiners of Scanda', 
 and clippers of Reputation. 
 
 Lady Teaz. What would you restrain the freedom of speech 1 
 
 Sir Pet. Aye they have made you just as bad [as] anyone of the Society. 
 
 Lady Teaz. Why — I believe I do bear a Part with a tolerable Grace 
 — But I vow I bear no malice against the People I abuse, when I say 
 an ill-natured thing, 'tis out of pure Good Humour — and I take it for 
 granted they deal exactly in the same manner with me, but Sir Peter 
 you know you promised to come to Lady Sneerwell's too. 
 
 Sir Pet. Well well I '11 call in, just to look after my own character. 
 
 Lady Teaz. Then, indeed, you must make Haste after me, or you '11 
 be too late — so good bye to ye. 
 
 Sir Pet. So — I have gain'd much by my intended expostulation — 
 yet with what a charming air she contradicts everything I say — and 
 how pleasingly she shows her contempt of my authority — Well tho' 
 I can't make her love me, there is certainly a great satisfaction in 
 quarrelling with her; and I think she never appears to such advantage 
 as when she is doing everything in her Power to plague me. [Exit. 
 
 M 
 
162 THE SCHOOL FOB SCANDAL. 
 
 Scene 2ad 
 
 At Lady Sneerwell's. 
 
 Lady Sneerwell, Mrs. Candour, Crabtree, Sir Benjamin 
 Backbite, and Surface. 
 
 Lady Sneer. Nay, positively, we will hear it. 
 
 Jos. Sxtrf. Yes — yes the Epigram by all means. 
 
 Sir Ben O plague on 't unkle — 'tis mere nonsense — 
 
 Crab. No no ; 'fore gad very clever for an extempore ! 
 
 Sir Ben. But ladies you should be acquainted with the circum- 
 stances. You must know that one day last week as Lady Betty 
 Curricle was taking the Dust in High Park, in a sort of duodecimo 
 Phaeton — she desired me to write some verses on her Ponies — upon 
 which I took out my Pocket- Book— and in one moment produced — 
 the following : — 
 
 'Sure never were seen two sucli beautiful Ponies ; 
 Other Horses are Clowns — and these macaronies, 
 Nay to give 'em this Title, I 'm sure isn't wrong, 
 Tlieir Legs are so slim — and their Tails are so long. 
 
 Crab. There Ladies — done in the smack of a whip and on Horse- 
 back too. 
 
 Jos. Sicrf. A very Phoebus, mounted — indeed Sir Benjamin. 
 Sir Ben. Oh dear Sir— Trifles— Trifles. 
 
 Enter Lady Teazle and Maria. 
 
 Mis. Can. I must have a Copy — 
 
 Lady Sneer. Lady Teazle — I hope we shall see Sir Peter ? 
 
 Lady Teaz. I believe He'll wait on your Ladyship presently. 
 
 Lady Sneer. Maria my love you look grave. Come, you shall sit 
 down to Piquet with Mr. Surface. 
 
 Mar. I take very little Pleasure in cards — however, I '11 do as you 
 Please. 
 
 Lady Teaz. I am surprised Mr. Surface should sit down with her — 
 I thought He would have embraced this opportunity of speaking to me 
 before Sir Peter came — [Aside."] 
 
 Mrs. Can. Now, I '11 die but you are so scandalous I '11 forswear 
 your society. 
 
 Lady Teaz. What 's the matter, Mrs. Candour ? 
 
 Mrs. Can. They '11 not allow our friend Miss Vermillion to be 
 handsome. 
 
 Lady Sneer. Oh, surely she is a pretty woman 
 
 [Crab.] I am very glad you think so ma'am. 
 
THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL. 163 
 
 Mrs. Can. She has a charming fresh Colour. 
 
 Crab. Yes when it is fresh put on — 
 
 Lady Teaz. fie ! I '11 swear her colour is natural — I have seen it 
 come and go — 
 
 Crab. I dare swear you have, ma'am : it goes of a Night, and comes 
 again in the morning. 
 
 Sir Ben. True, uncle, it not only comes and goes but what 's more 
 «gad her maid can fetch and carry it — 
 
 Mrs. Can. Ha ! ha ! ha ! how I hate to hear you talk so ! But 
 surely, now, her Sister, is or was very handsome. 
 
 Crab. ^ ho? Mrs. Stucco ? lud ! she's six-and-fifty if she 's an hour ! 
 
 Mrs. Can. Now positively you wrong her fifty-two, or fifty-three is 
 the utmost — and I don't think she looks more. 
 
 Sir Ben. Ah ! there 's no judging by her looks, unless one was to 
 see her Face. 
 
 Lady Sneer. Well — well — if she does take some pains to repair the 
 ravages of Time — you must allow she effects it with great ingenuity — 
 and surely that's better than the careless manner in which the widow 
 Ocre chaulks her wrinkles. 
 
 Sir Ben. Nay now — you are severe upon the widow — come — come, 
 it isn't that she paints so ill — but when she has finished her Face she 
 joins it on so badly to her Neck, that she looks like a mended Statue, 
 in which the Connoisseur sees at once that the Head 's modern tho' 
 the Trunk 's antique 
 
 Crab. Ha ! ha ! ha ! well said, Nephew ! 
 
 Mrs. Can. Ha ! ha ! ha ! Well, you make me laugh but I vow I hate 
 you for it — what do you think of Miss Simper ? 
 
 Sir Ben. Why, she has very pretty Teeth. 
 
 Lady Teaz. Yes and on that account, when she is neither speaking 
 nor laughing (which very seldom happens) — she never absolutely shuts 
 her mouth, but leaves it always on a-Jar, as it were 
 
 Mrs. Can. How can you be so ill-natured ! 
 
 Lady Teaz. Nay, I allow even that 'a better than the Pains Mrs. 
 Prim takes to conceal her losses in Front — she draws her mouth till it 
 resembles the aperture of a Poor's-Box, and all her words appear to 
 slide out edgewise. 
 
 Lady Sneer. Very well Lady Teazle I see you can be a little severe. 
 
 Lady Teaz. In defence of a Friend it is but justice, but here comes 
 Sir Peter to spoil our Pleasantry. 
 
 Enter Sir Peter. 
 
 Sir Pet. Ladies, your obedient — Mercy on me — here is the whole 
 
 set ! a character 's dead at every word, I suppose. 
 
 M 2 
 
164 TEE SCHOOL FOB SCANDAL. 
 
 Mrs. Can. I am rejoiced you are come, Sir Peter — they have been 
 so censorious and Lady Teazle as bad as any one. 
 
 Sir Pet. That must be very distressing to you, Mrs. Candour I dare 
 swear. 
 
 3Irs. Can. O they will allow good Qualities to nobody — not even 
 good nature to our Friend Mrs. Pursy. 
 
 Lady Teaz. What, the fat dpwager who was at Mrs. Codrille's last 
 Night ? 
 
 Lady S71. Nay — her bulk is her misfortune and when she takes such 
 Pains to get rid of it you ought not to reflect on her. 
 
 Mrs. Can. 'Tis very true, indeed. 
 
 Lady Teaz. Yes, I know she almost lives on acids and small whey — 
 laces herself by pulleys and often in the hottest noon of summer you 
 may see her on a little squat Pony, with her hair plaited up behind 
 like a Drummer's and pufSng round the Ring on a full trot. 
 
 Mrs. Can. I thank you Lady Teazle for defending her. 
 
 Sir Pet. Yes, a good Defence, truly ! 
 
 Mrs. Can. But for Sir Benjamin, He is as censorious as Miss Sallow. 
 
 Crab. Yes and she is a curious Being to pretend to be censorious — 
 an awkward Gawky, without any one good Point under Heaven ! 
 
 Lady Sneer. Positively you shall not be so very severe. Miss Sallow 
 is a Relation of mine by marriage, and, as for her Person great allow- 
 ance is to be made — for, let me tell you a woman labours under many 
 disadvantages who tries to pass for a girl at six-and-thirty. 
 
 3L-S. Can. Tho', surely she is handsome still — and for the weakness 
 in her eyes considering how much she reads by candle-light it is not to 
 be wonder'd at. 
 
 Lady Sneer. True and then as to her manner — upon my word I think 
 it is particularly graceful considering she never had the least Education 
 for you know her Mother was a Welch milliner, and her Father a 
 sugar-Baker at Bristow. — 
 
 Sir Ben. Ah ! you are both of you too good-natured ! 
 
 Sir Pet. Yes, damned good-natured ! Her own relation ! mercy on 
 me ! [Aside. 
 
 Mrs. Can. For my Part I own I cannot bear to hear a friend ill- 
 spoken of ? 
 
 Sir Pet. No, to be sure ! 
 
 Sir Ben. Ah you are of a moral turn Mrs. Candour and can sit for 
 an hour to hear Lady Stucco talk sentiments. 
 
 Lady Sneer. Nay I vow Lady Stucco is very well with the Dessert 
 after Dinner for she's just like the Spanish Fruit one cracks for 
 mottoes — made up of Paint and Proverb. 
 
THE SCHOOL FOB SCANDAL. 1G5 
 
 Mrs. Can. Well, T never will join in ridiculing a Friend — and so I 
 constantly tell my cousin Ogle — and you all know what pretensions she 
 has to be critical in Beauty. 
 
 Lmhj Teade. O to be sure she has herself the oddest countenance 
 that ever wa^ seen — -'tis a collection of Features from all the different 
 Countries of the globe. 
 
 Sir Ben. So she has indeed — an Irish Front 
 
 Crab. Caledonian Locks 
 
 Sir Ben. Dutch Nose 
 
 Orab. Austrian Lips 
 
 Sir Ben. Complexion of a Spaniard 
 
 Crab. And Teeth a la Chlnoise 
 
 Sir Ben. In short, her Face resembles a table cVhute at Spa — where no 
 two guests are of a nation 
 
 Crab. Or a Congress at the close of a general War — wherein all the 
 members even to her eyes appear to have a different interest and her 
 Nose and Chin are the only Parties likely to join issue. 
 
 3Ls. Can. Ha ! ha ! ha ! 
 
 Sir Pet. Mercy on my Life a Person they dine with twice a week ! 
 
 [Aside. 
 
 Lady Sneer. Go — go — you are a couple of provoking Toads. 
 
 Mrs. Can. Nay but I vow you shall not carry the Laugh oflf so — for 
 give me leave to say, that Mrs. Ogle 
 
 Sir Pet. Madam — madam — I beg your Pardon — there 's no stopping 
 these good Gentlemen's Tongues — but when I tell you Mrs. Candour 
 that the Lady they are abusing is a particular Friend of mine, I hope 
 you 'II not take her Part. 
 
 Ladij Sneer. Ha ! ha ! ha ! well said. Sir Peter — but you are a 
 cruel creature — too Phlegmatic yourself for a jest and too peevish to 
 allow wit in others. 
 
 Sir Pet. Ah Madam true wit is more nearly allow'd to good Nature 
 than your Ladyship is aware of. 
 
 Lady Sneer. True Sir Peter — I believe they are so near akin that 
 they can never be united. 
 
 Sir Ben. rather Madam suppose them man and wife because one 
 seldom sees thorn together. 
 
 Lady Teaz. tut Sir Peter is such an Enemy to Scandal I believe He 
 would have it put down by Parliament. 
 
 Sir Pet. 'Fore heaven ! Madam, if they were to consider the Sport- 
 ing with Reputation of as much importance as poaching on manors — 
 and pass an Act for the Preservation of Fame— there are many would 
 thank them for the Bill. 
 
166 THE SCBOOL FOB SCANDAL. 
 
 Lady Sneer. O Lud ! Sir Peter would you deprive us of our 
 Privileges — 
 
 Sir Pet. Aye Madam — and then no person should be permitted to 
 kill characters or run down reputations, but qualified old Maids and 
 disappointed Widows. — 
 
 Lad)/ Sneer. Go, you monster — 
 
 3Irs. Can. But sure you would not be quite so severe on those who 
 only report what they hear ? 
 
 Sir Pet. Yes Madam, I would have Law Merchant for that too — and 
 in all cases of slander currency, whenever the Drawer of the Lie was 
 not to be found, the injured Party should have a right to come on any 
 of the indorsers. 
 
 Cmb. Well for my Part I believe there never was a Scandalous Tale 
 without some foundation.* 
 
 Lad\j Sneer. Come Ladies shall we sit down to Cards in the next 
 Room ? 
 
 Eyiter Servant whispers Sir Peter. 
 
 Sir Pet. I'll be with them directly. — [Exit Servant]. I'll get 
 away unperceived. 
 
 Lady Sneer. Sir Peter you are not leaving us ? 
 
 Sir Pet. Your Ladyship must excuse me — I 'm called away by 
 particular Business — but I leave my Character behind me — Ex. 
 
 Sir Ben. Well certainly Lady Teazle that lord of yours is a strange 
 being — I could tell you some stories of him would make you laugh 
 heartily if He wern't your Husband. 
 
 Lady Teaz. O pray don't mind that — come do let's hear 'em. 
 
 [join the rest of the Company going into the Next Room. 
 
 Surf. Maria I see you have no satisfaction in this society. 
 
 Mar. How is it possible I should ? If to raise malicious smiles at 
 the infirmities or misfortunes of those who have never injured us be 
 
 * The story in Act I. Scene I., told by Crabtree about Miss Letitia Piper, ia 
 repeated here, the speaker being Sir Peter : 
 
 Sir Peter. O nine out of ten malicious inventions are founded on some ridiculous 
 misreprefentation — Mrs. Candour you remember how poor Miss Shepherd lost her 
 Lover and her Character one Summer at Tunbridge. 
 
 Mrs. C. To be sure that was a very ridiculous affa r. 
 
 Crab. Pray tell us Sir Peter how it was. 
 
 Sir P. Why madam— [The story follows.] 
 
 Mrs. C. Ha ha strange indeed — 
 
 Sir P. Matter of Fact I assure you 
 
 Lady T. As sure as can be — Sir Peter will grow scandalous himself— if you 
 encourage him to tell stories. 
 
THE SCHOOL FOB SCANDAL. 167 
 
 the province of wit or Humour, Heaven grant me a double Portion of 
 Dullness — 
 
 Surf. Yet they appear more ill-natured than they are — they have 
 no malice at heart — 
 
 Mar. Then is their conduct still more contemptible for in my 
 opinion — nothing could excuse the intemperance of their tongues but 
 a natural and ungovernable bitterness of Mind. 
 
 Surf. Undoubtedly Madam — and it.has always been a sentiment of 
 mine — that to propagate a malicious Truth wantonly — is more 
 despicable than to falsify from Revenge, but can you Maria feel thus 
 or others and be unkind to me alone — nay is hope to be denied the 
 tenderest Passion. — 
 
 Mar. Why will you distress me by renewing this subject — 
 
 Surf. Ah ! Maria ! you would not treat me thus and oppose your 
 guardian's Sir Peter's wishes — but that I see that my profligate Brother 
 is still a favour'd Rival. 
 
 Mar. Ungenerously urged — bub whatever my sentiments of that 
 unfortunate young man are, be assured I shall not feel more bound to 
 give him up because his Distresses have sunk him so low as to deprive 
 him of the regard even of a Brother. 
 
 Surf. Nay but Maria do not leave me with a Frown — by all that's 
 
 honest, I swear Gad's Life here 'a Lady Teazle — you must not — no 
 
 you shall — for tho' I have the greatest Regard for Lady Teazle 
 
 Mar. Lady Teazle ! 
 
 Surf. Yet were Sir Peter to suspect 
 
 Lady Teaz. What 's this, Pray — do you take her for me ! — Child you 
 are wanted in the next Room. — What 's all this, pray — 
 
 Surf. O the most unlucky circumstance in Nature. Maria has 
 somehow suspected the tender concern I have for your happiness, and 
 threaten'd to acquaint Sir Peter with her suspicions — and I was just 
 endeavouring to reason with her when you came. 
 
 Lad[i Teaz. Indeed but you seem'd to adopt — a very tender mode of 
 reasoning — do you usually argue on your knees ? 
 
 Surf. she 's a Child — and I thought a little Bombast- but Lady 
 
 Teazle when are you to give me your judgment on my Library as you 
 promised 
 
 Lady Teaz. No — no I begin to think it would be imprudent — and 
 you know I admit you as a Lover no farther than Fashion requires. 
 
 Surf. True — a mere Platonic Cicisbeo, what every London wife is 
 entitled to. 
 
 Ladif Teaz. Certainly one must not be out of the Fashion — however, 
 I have so much of my country Prejudices left — that — though Sir 
 
168 THE SCHOOL FOB SCANDAL. 
 
 Peter's ill humour may vex me ever bo, it never shall provoke me 
 to 
 
 Surf. The only revenge in your Power— well I applaud your 
 moderation. 
 
 Lady Teaz. Go — you are an insinuating Hypocrite — but we shall be 
 miss'd — let us join the company. 
 
 Surf. True, but we had best not return together. 
 
 Lady Teaz. Well don't stay — for Maria shan't come to hear any 
 more of your Reasoning, I promise you — Lx. 
 
 Surf. A curious Dilemma, truly my Politics have run me into. I 
 wanted at first only to ingratiate myself with Lady Teazle that she 
 might not be my enemy with Maria — and I have I don't know how — 
 become her serious Lover, so that I stand a chance of Committinsr a 
 Crime I never meditated — and probably of losing Maria by the 
 Pursuit ! — Sincerely I begin to wish I had never made such a Point of 
 gaining so very good a character, for it has led me into so many 
 curst Rogueries that I doubt I shall be exposed at last. Ex. 
 
 Scene 3rd. — At Sir Peter's. 
 — Rowley and Sir Oliver. — 
 
 Sir Oliv. Ha ! ha ! ha ! and so my old Friend is married, hey ? — a 
 young wife out of the country ! — ha ! ha ! that he should have stood 
 Bluff to old Bachelor so long and sink into a Huaband at last ! 
 
 Botv. But you must not rally him on the subject Sir Oliver — 'tis a 
 tender Point I assure you though He has been married only seven 
 months. 
 
 Sir Oliv. Ah then he has been just half a year on the stool of 
 Repentance — Poor Peter ! But you say he has entirely given up 
 Charles — never sees him, hey ? 
 
 Bow. His Prejudice against him is astonishing — and I am sure greatly 
 increased by a jealousy of him with Lady Teazle — which he has been 
 industriously led into by a scandalous Society — in the neighbourhood — 
 who have cootributed not a little to Charles's ill name. Whereas the 
 truth is I believe if the Lady is partial to either of them his Brother 
 is the Favourite. 
 
 Sir Oliv. Aye — I know — there are a set of malicious prating prudent 
 Gossips both male and Female, who murder characters to kill time, 
 and will rob a young Fellow of his good name before He has years to 
 know the value of it but I am not to be prejudiced against my 
 
THE SCUUUL FOR SCANDAL. 109 
 
 nephew by such I promise you ! No ! no — if Charles has done nothing 
 false or mean, I shall compound for his extravagance. 
 
 Roxo. Then ray life on 't, you will reclaim him. Ah, Sir, it gives me 
 new vigour to find that yo\ir heart is not turned against him — and 
 that the son of my good old master has one friend however left— 
 
 Sir Oliv. What ! shall I forget Master Rowley— when I was at his 
 house myself — egad my Brother and I were neither of us very prudent 
 youths — and yet I believe you have not seen many better men than 
 your old master was 
 
 Botv. 'Tis this Reflection gives me assurance that Charles may yet 
 be a credit to his Family — but here comes Sir Peter 
 
 Sir Oliv. Egad so He does — mercy on me — He 'a greatly altered — 
 and seems to have a settled married look — one may read Husband in 
 his Face at this Distance. — 
 
 Enter Sir Petee. 
 
 Sir Pet. Ha ! Sir Oliver — my old Friend— welcome to England — a 
 thousand Times ! 
 
 Sir Oliv. Thank you— thank you— Sir Peter— and Efaith T am as glad 
 to find you well believe me — 
 
 Sir Pet. Ah ! 'tis a long time since we met — sixteen year I doubt 
 Sir Oliver — and many a cross accident in the Time — 
 
 Sir Oliv. Aye I have had my share — but, what I find you are 
 married — hey ray old Boy — well— well it can't be help'd — and so I 
 wish you joy with all ray heart — 
 
 Sir Pet. Thank you— thanks Sir Oliver.— Yes, I have entered into 
 the happy state but we '11 not talk of that now. 
 
 Sir Oliv. True true Sir Peter old Friends shouldn't begin on 
 grievances at first meeting. No, no — 
 
 Bow. Take care pray Sir 
 
 Sir Oliv. Well — so one of my nephews I find is a wild Rogue— ^hey ? 
 
 Sir Pet. Wild ! — oh ! my old Friend — I grieve for your disappoint- 
 ment there — He's a lost young man indeed — however his Brother will 
 make you amends ; Joseph is indeed what a youth should be — 
 everybody in the world speaks well of him — 
 
 Sir Oliv. I am sorry to hear it — he has too good a character to be an 
 honest Fellow. Everybody speaks well of him ! Psha 1 then He has 
 bow'd as low to Knaves and Fools as to the honest dignity of Virtue. 
 
 Sir Pet. What Sir Oliver do you blame him for not making Enemies ? 
 
 Sir Oliv. Yea — if He has merit enough to deserve them. 
 
 Sir Pet. Well — well — you '11 be convinced when you know him — 'tis 
 edification to hear him converse — he professes the noblest Sentiments. 
 
170 THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL. 
 
 Sir Oliv. Ah plague on his Sentiments — if he salutes me with a scrap 
 sentence of morality in his mouth I shall be sick directly — but how- 
 ever don't mistake me Sir Peter I don't mean to defend Charles's 
 Errors — but before I form my judgment of either of them, I intend 
 to make a trial of their Hearts — and my Friend Rowley and I have 
 planned something for the Purpose. 
 
 Row. And Sir Peter shall own he has been for once mistaken. 
 
 Sir Pet. My life on Joseph's Honour 
 
 Sir Oliv. Well come give us a bottle of good wine — and we '11 drink 
 the Lads' Healths and tell you our scheme. 
 
 Sir Pet. Alons, then 
 
 Sir Oliv. But don't Sir Peter be so severe against your old Friend's 
 son. 
 
 Sir Pet. 'Tis his Vices and Follies have made me his Enemy. — 
 
 Roiv. Come — come — Sir Peter consider how early He was left to his 
 own guidance. 
 
 Sir Oliv. Odds my Life — I am not sorry that He has run out of the 
 course a little — for my Part, I hate to see dry Prudence clinging to the 
 green Juices of youth — 'tis like ivy round a sapling and spoils the 
 growth of the Tree. 
 
 End of Act 2. 
 
THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL. 171 
 
 ACT 3d. 
 
 Scene Ist. — At Sir Peter's. 
 
 Sir Peter — Sir Oliver — and Rowley. 
 
 Sir Pet. Well, then, we will see the Fellows first and have our wine 
 afterwards. — but how is this, Master Rowley — I don't see the Jet of 
 your scheme. 
 
 Roio. Why Sir — this Mr. Stanley whom I was speaking of, is nearly 
 related to them by their mother. He was once a merchant in Dublin 
 — but has been ruined by a series of undeserved misfortunes — and now 
 lately coming over to solicit the assistance of his friends here — has 
 been flyng into prison by some of his Creditors— where he is now with 
 two helpless Boys. — 
 
 Sir Oliv. Aye and a worthy Fellow too I remember him. But what 
 ia this to lead to — I 
 
 Boir. You shall hear — Ho has applied by letter both to Mr. Surface 
 and Charles — from the former he has received nothing but evasive 
 promises of future service, while Charles has done all that his extrava- 
 gance has left him power to do — and He is at this time endeavouring 
 to raise a sum of money — part of which, in the midst of his own dis- 
 tresses, I know He intends for the service of poor Stanley. 
 
 Sir Oliv. Ah ! he ia my Brother's Son. 
 
 Sir Pet. Well, but how is Sir Oliver personally to 
 
 Bow. Why Sir I will inform Charles and his Brother that Stanley 
 haa obtain'd permission to apply in person to his Friends — and as they 
 have neither of them ever seen him let Sir Oliver assume his character 
 — and he will have a fair opportunity of judging at least of the Benevo- 
 lence of their Dispositions. 
 
 Sir Pet. Pshaw ! this will prove nothing — I make no doubt Charles 
 is Coxcomb and thoughtless enough to give money to poor relations 
 if he had it — 
 
 Sir Oliv. Then He shall never want it — . I have brought a few 
 Rupees home with me Sir Peter — and I only want to be sure of 
 bestowing them rightly. — 
 
 Roiv. Then Sir believe me you will find in the youngest Brother 
 one who in the midst of Folly and dissipation — has still, as our immortal 
 Bard expresses it, — 
 
 "a Tear for Pity and a Hand open aa the day for melting Charity." 
 
 Sir Pet. Pish ! What signifies his having an open Hand or Purse 
 
172 THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL. 
 
 either when He has nothing left to give ! — but if you talk of humane 
 Sentiments— Joseph is the man — Well, well, make the trial, if you 
 please. But where is the fellow whom you brought for Sir Oliver to 
 examine, relative to Charles's affairs ? 
 
 Row. Below waiting his commands, and no one can give him better 
 intelligence — This, Sir Oliver, is a friendly Jew, who to do him justice, 
 has done everything in his power to bring your nephew to a proper 
 sense of his extravagance. 
 
 Sir Pet. Pray let us have him in. 
 
 Rotv. Desire Mr. Moses to walk upstairs. [Calh to Servant. 
 
 Sir Pet. But Pray why should you suppose he will speak the 
 truth ? 
 
 Row. Oh, I have convinced him that he has no chance of recovering 
 certain Sums advanced to Charles but through the bounty of Sir 
 Oliver, who He knows is arrived ; so that you may depend on his 
 Fidelity to his interest. I have also another evidence in my Power, 
 one Snake, whom I shall shortly produce to remove some of your 
 Prejudices Sir Peter relative to Charles and Lady Teazle. 
 
 Sir Pet. I have heard too much on that subject. 
 
 Roto. Here comes the honest Israelite. 
 
 Enter Moses. 
 —This is Sir Oliver. 
 
 Sir Oliv. Sir — I understand you have lately had great dealings with 
 my Nephew Charles. 
 
 Mos. Yes Sir Oliver — I have done all I could for him, but He was 
 ruined before He came to me for Assistance. 
 
 Sir Oliv. That was unlucky truly — for you have had no opportunity 
 of showing your Talents. 
 
 Mos. None at all — I hadn't the Pleasure of knowing his Distresses 
 till he was some thousands worse than nothing, till it was impossible 
 to add to them. 
 
 Sir Oliv. Unfortunate indeed ! but I suppose you have done all in 
 your Power for him honest Moses ? 
 
 Mos. Yes he knows that — This very evening I was to have brought 
 him a gentleman from the city who does not know him and will I 
 believe advance some money. 
 
 Sir Pet. What one Charles has never had money from before ? 
 
 Mos. Yea Mr. Premium, of Crutched Friars. 
 
 Sir Pet. Egad, Sir Oliver a Thought strikes me ! — Charles you say 
 does'nt know Mr. Premium ? 
 
 Mos. Not at all. 
 
THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL. 173 
 
 Sir Pet. Now then Sir Oliver you may have a better opportunity 
 of satisfying yourself than by an old romancing tale of a poor Relation 
 — go with my friend Moses and represent Mr. Premium and then I '11 
 answer for 't you '11 see your Nephew in all his glory. 
 
 Sir Oliv. Egad I like this Idea better than the other, and 1 may 
 visit Joseph afterwards as old Stanley. 
 
 Sir Pet. True so you may. 
 
 JRoit'. Well this is taking Charles rather at a disadvantage, to be 
 sure — however Moses — you understand Sir Peter and will be 
 faithful 
 
 Mos. You may depend upon me — and this is near the Time I was to 
 have gone. 
 
 Sir Oliv. I '11 accompany you as soon as you please, Mosea but 
 
 hold — I have forgot one thing^ — how the plague shall I be able to 
 pass for a Jew ? 
 
 Mos. There 's no need — the Principal is Christian, 
 
 Sir Oliv. Is He — I 'm very sorry to hear it — but then again — an't 
 I rather too smartly dressed to look like a money-Lender ? 
 
 Sir Pet. Not at all ; 'twould not be out of character, if you went in 
 your own carriage — would it, Mo.=ei I 
 
 Mos. Not in the least. 
 
 Sir Oliv. Well — but — how must I talk there 's certainly some cant 
 of usury and mode of treating that I ought to know. 
 
 Sir Pet. Oh, there 's not much to learn — the great point as I take it 
 is to be exorbitant enough in your Demands hey Moses ? 
 
 Mos. Yes that 's very great Point. 
 
 Sir Oliv. I '11 answer for 't I 'II not be wanting in that — I '11 ask 
 him eight or ten per cent, on the loan — at least. 
 
 3Ios. You '11 be found out directly — if you ask him no more than 
 that, you '11 be discovered immediately. 
 
 Sir Oliv. Hey ! — what the Plague ! — how much then ? 
 
 Mas. That depends upon the Circumstances — if he appears not very 
 anxious for the supply, you should require only forty or fifty per cent. 
 — but if you find him in great Distress, and want the monies very bad 
 — you may ask double. 
 
 Sir Pet. A good — onest Trade you 're learning. Sir Oliver — 
 
 Sir Oliv. Truly, I think so — and not unprofitable — 
 
 Mos. Then you know --you haven't the monies yourself, but are 
 forced to borrow them for him of a Friend. 
 
 Sir Oliv. O I borrow it of a Friend do T ? 
 
 Mos. And your friend is an unconscion'd Dog — but you can't help 
 it. 
 
174 THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL. 
 
 Sir Oliv. My Friend's an unconscionable Dog, is he 1 
 
 Mos. Yes— and He himself hasn't the monies by him— but is forced 
 to sell stock —at a great loss — 
 
 Sir Oliv. He is forced to sell stock is he — at a great loss, is he — well 
 that 's very kind of him — 
 
 Sir Pet. Efaith, Sir Oliver— Mr. Premium I mean — you '11 soon be 
 master of the Trade— but, Moses would have him inquire if the 
 borrower is a minor — 
 
 Mos. O yes — 
 
 Sir Pet. And in that case his Conscience will direct him — 
 
 Mos. To have the Bond in another Name to be sure. 
 
 Sir Oliv. Well — well I shall be perfect — 
 
 Sir Pet. But hearkee wouldn't you have him also run out a little 
 against the annuity Bill — that would be in character I should think — 
 
 Mos. Very much — 
 
 Bow. And lament that a young man now must be at years of discre- 
 tion before He is suffered to ruin himself ! 
 
 Mos. Aye, great Pity ! 
 
 Sir Pet. And abuse the Public for allowing merit to an act whose 
 only object is to snatch misfortune and imprudence from the rapacious 
 Relief of usury ! and give the minor a chance of inheriting his estate 
 without being undone by coming into Possession. 
 
 Sir Oliv. So-so — Moses shall give me further instructions as we go 
 together. 
 
 Sir Pet. You will not have much time for your Nephew lives hard 
 bye— 
 
 Sir Oliv. Oh Never — fear my Tutor appears so able that tho' 
 Charles lived in the next street it must be my own Fault if I am not 
 a compleat Rogue before I turn the Corner — Exe 
 
 Sir Pet. So — now I think Sir Oliver will be convinced — you shan't 
 follow them Rowley. You are partial and would have prepared 
 Charles for 'tother plot. 
 
 Roiv. No upon my word Sir Peter — 
 
 Sir Pet. Well, go bring me this Snake, and I *11 hear what he has to 
 say presently. I see Maria, and want to speak with her. — Exe R. I 
 should be glad to be convinced my suspicions of Lady Teazle and 
 Charles were unjust— I have never yet opened my mind on this subject 
 to my Friend Joseph...! am determined. I will do it — He will give 
 me his opinion sincerely. — 
 
 Enter Maria. 
 So Child— has Mr. Surface returned with you— 
 
TEE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL. 175 
 
 Mar. No Sir — He was engaged. 
 
 Sir Pet. Well — Maria — do you not reflect the more you converse 
 with that amiable young man what return his Partiality for you 
 ■deserves ? 
 
 Mar. Indeed Sir Peter — your frequent importunity on this subject 
 distresses me extremely — you compell me to Declare that I know no 
 man who has ever paid me a particular Attention whom I would not 
 prefer to Mr. Surface — 
 
 Sir Pet. Soh ! Here 's Perverseness — no — no — Maria, 'tis Charles 
 only whom you would prefer — 'tis evident his Vices and Follies have 
 wou your Heart. 
 
 Mar. This is unkind Sir — You know I have obey'd you in neither 
 aeeing nor corresponding with him — I have heard enough to convince 
 me that He is unworthy my regard — Yet I cannot think it culpable — if 
 while my understanding severely condemns his Vices, my Heart suggests 
 some Pity for his Distresses. 
 
 Sir Pet. Well well pity him as much as you please, but give your 
 Heart and Hand to a worthier object. 
 
 Mar. Never to his Brother ! 
 
 Sir Pet. Go — perverse and obstinate ! but take care, Madam — you 
 have never yet known what the authority of a Guardian is— don't 
 compel me to inform you of it. — 
 
 Mar. I can only say, you shall not have just Reason — 'tis true, by 
 my Father's will I am for a short period bound to regard you as his 
 substitute, but I must cease to think you so when you would compel 
 me to be miserable. exit. 
 
 Sir Pet. Was ever man so crossed as I am everything conspiring to 
 fret me ! I had not been involved in matrimony a fortnight before 
 her Father — a hale and hearty man, died on purpose, I believe — for the 
 
 Pleasure of plaguing me with the care of his Daughter but here 
 
 comes my Helpmate I — She appears in great good humour how 
 
 happy 1 should be if I could teaze her into loving me tho' but a 
 
 little 
 
 Enter Lady Teazle. 
 
 Lady Teaz. Lud ! Sir Peter I hope you haven't been quarrelling with 
 Maria ? It isn't using me well to be ill humour'd when I am not bye — ! 
 
 Sir Pet. Ah ! Lady Teazle you might have the Power to make me 
 good humour'd at all times — 
 
 Lady Teaz. 1 am sure — I wish I had — for I want you to be in Ji 
 charming sweet temper at this moment — do be good humour'd now — 
 and let me have two hundred Pounds will you ? 
 
 Sir Pet. Two hundred Pounds ! what an't I to be in a good humour 
 
176 THE SCHOOL FOB SCANDAL. 
 
 without paying for it — but speak to me thus — and Efaith there 's 
 nothing I could refuse you. You shall have it — but seal me a bond 
 or the repayment. 
 
 Lady Teaz. O no — there^my Note of Hand will do as well — 
 
 Si)' Pet. And you shall no longer reproach me with not giving 
 you an independent settlement — I shall shortly surprise you — and 
 you'll not call me ungenerous — but shall we always live thus — 
 hey? 
 
 Lady Teaz. If you — please — I 'm sure I don't care how soon we leave 
 oflf quarrelling provided you '11 own you were tired first — 
 
 Sir Pet. Well — then let our future contest be who shall be most 
 obliging. 
 
 Lady Teaz. I assure you Sir Peter Good Nature becomes you — you 
 look now as you did before we were married — when you used to walk 
 with me under the Elms, and tell me stories of what a Gallant you 
 were in your youth — and chuck me under the chin you would — and 
 ask me if I thought I could love an old Fellow who would deny me 
 nothing — didn't you ? 
 
 Sir Pet. Yes — yes — and you were as kind and attentive 
 
 Lady Teaz. Aye so I was — and would always take your Part, when 
 my acquaintance used to abuse you and turn you into ridicule — 
 
 Sir Pet. Indeed ! 
 
 Lady Teaz. Aye — and when my cousin Sophy has called you a stiff 
 peevish old batchelor and laugh'd at me for thinking of marrying one 
 who might be my Father — I have always defended you — and said I 
 didn't think you so ugly by any means, and that you 'd make a very 
 good sort of a husband — 
 
 Sir Pet. And you prophesied right — and we shall certainly now be 
 the happiest couple 
 
 Lady Teaz. And never differ again. 
 
 Sir Pet. No never — tho' at the same time indeed — my dear Lady 
 Teazle — you must watch your Temper very narrowly — for in all our 
 little Quarrels — my dear — if you recollect my Love you always began 
 first — 
 
 Lady Teaz. 1 beg your Pardon — my dear Sir Peter — indeed — you 
 always gave the provocation. 
 
 Sir Pet. Now — see, ray Love take care — contradicting isn't the way 
 to keep Friends. 
 
 Lady Teaz. Then don't you begin it my Love ! 
 
 Sir Pet. There now — you are going on — you don't perceive my Life, 
 that you are just doing the very thing my Love which you know 
 always makes me angry. 
 
THE SCHOOL FOB SCANDAL. 177 
 
 Lady Teaz. Nay— you know if you will be angry without any 
 reason— my Dear 
 
 Sir Pet. There now you want to quarrel again. 
 
 Lady Teaz. No — I am sure I don't — but if you will be so peevish 
 
 Sir Pet. There — now who begins first ? 
 
 Lady Teaz. Why you to be sure — I said nothing but there 's no 
 bearing your Temper. 
 
 Sir Pet. No — no— my dear — the fault 's in your own temper. 
 
 Lad]! Teaz. Aye you are just what my Cousin Sophy said you would 
 be— 
 
 Sir Pet. Your Cousin Sophy — is a forward impertinent Gipsey — 
 
 Lady Teaz. Go you great Bear — how dare you abuse my 
 Relations — 
 
 Sir Pet. Now may all the Plagues of marriage be doubled on me, 
 if ever I try to be Friends with you any more 
 
 Lady Teaz. So much the Better. 
 
 Sir Pet. No — no Madam 'tis evident you never cared a pin for me — 
 I was a madman to marry you — 
 
 Lady Teaz. And I am sure I was a Fooll to marry you — an old 
 dangling Batchelor, who was single of fifty — only because He never 
 could meet with any one who would have him. 
 
 Sir Pet. Aye — aye — Madam — but you were pleased enough to listen 
 to me — you never had such an ofi"er before — 
 
 Lady Teaz. No — didn't I refuse Sir Jeremy Terrier — who everybody 
 said would have been a better Match — for his estate is just as good as 
 yours — and he has broke his Neck since we have been married ! 
 
 Sir Pet. I have done with you Madam ! You are an unfeeling — 
 ungrateful — but there 'a an end of everything — I believe you capable of 
 anything that 's bad — Yes, Madam — I now believe the Reports relative 
 to you and Charles — Madam — yes — Madam — you and Charles are — 
 not without grounds 
 
 Lady Teaz. Take— care Sir Peter— you had better not insinuate any 
 such thing ! I '11 not be suspected without cause I promise you 
 
 Sir Pet. Very — well — Madam— very well ! a separate maintenance— 
 as soon as you Please. Yes Madam or a Divorce — I'll make an 
 example of myself for the Benefit of all old Batchelors — Let us 
 eparate, Madam. 
 Lady Teaz. Agreed — agreed — and now — my dear Sir Peter we are of 
 a mind again, we may be the happiest couple — and never differ again, 
 you know— ha ! ha ! — Well you are going to be in a Passion I see— 
 and I shall only interrupt you— so, bye ! bye ! hey— young Jockey 
 try'd and countered. ^^''^t 
 
 N 
 
178 THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL. 
 
 Sir Pet. Plagues and tortures ! She pretends to keep her temper, 
 can't I make her angry neither ! O ! I am the miserable fellow ! But 
 I '11 not bear her presuming to keep her Temper — No she may break 
 my Heart — but she shan't keep her Temper. Ex. 
 
 Scene 2d. 
 At Charles's House. 
 Enter Trip — Moses, and Sir Oliver. 
 Trip. Here Master Moses — if you '11 stay a moment— I '11 try whether 
 
 Mr. what's the Gentleman's Name ? 
 
 Sir Oliv. Mr. Moses — what is my name 
 
 Mos. Mr. Premium 
 
 Trip. Premium — very well. ex. Trip — taking snuff. 
 
 Sir Oliv. To judge by the Servants — one wouldn't believe the 
 
 master was ruin'd — but what— sure this was my Brother's House 
 
 Mos. Yes Sir Mr. Charles bought it of Mr. Joseph with the 
 Furniture, Pictures, &c — just as the old Gentleman left it — Sir Peter 
 thought it a great peice of extravagance in him. 
 
 Oliv. In my mind the other's economy in selling it to him was 
 
 more reprehensible by half. 
 
 Enter Trip. 
 Trip. My Master Gentlemen says you must wait, he has company, 
 and can't speak with you yet. 
 
 Sir Oliv. If he knew who it was wanted to see him, perhaps he 
 wouldn't have sent such a Message. , 
 
 Trip. Yes — yes— Sir — He knows you are here — I didn't forget little 
 
 Premium — no — no 
 
 Sir Oliv. Very weU— and pray Sir what may be your Name ? 
 
 Trip. Trip Sir — my Name is Trip, at your Service. 
 
 Sir Oliv. "Well then Mr. Trip — I presume your master is seldom 
 
 without company 
 
 Trip. Very seldom Sir — the world says ill-natured things of him 
 but 'tis all malice — no man was ever better beloved — Sir he seldom 
 
 sits down to dinner without a dozen particular Friends 
 
 Sir Oliv. He 's very happy indeed — you have a pleasant sort of Place 
 here I guess ? 
 
 THp. Why yes — here are three or four of us pass our time agreeably 
 enough— but then our wages are sometimes a little in arrear — and not 
 very great either — but fifty Pounds a year and find our own Bags and 
 Bouquets 
 
THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL. 179 
 
 Sir Oliv. Bags and Bouquets ! — Halters and Ba-itinadoes ! [Aside. 
 
 Trip. But o projws Moses — have you been able to get me that little 
 Bill discounted ? 
 
 Sir Oliv. Wants to raise money too ! — raeroy on me ! has his dis- 
 tresses, I warrant like a Lord — and aflfects Creditors and Duns ! [Aside. 
 
 Mos. 'Twas not be done, indeed 
 
 Trip. Good lack — you surprise me^My Friend Brush has indorsed 
 it and I thought when he put his name at the Ba^k of a Bill 'twaa as 
 good as cash. 
 
 Mos. No 'twouldn't do. 
 
 Trip. A small sum — but twenty Pound — harkee, Moses do you think 
 you could get it me by way of annuity ? 
 
 Sir Oliv. An annuity I ha ! ha ! a Footman raise money by annuity — 
 Well done Luxury egad ! [Aside. 
 
 Mos. Who would you get to join with you ? 
 
 Trip. You know my Lord Applice— you have seen him however 
 
 Mos. Yes 
 
 Trip. You must have observed what an appearance he makes — 
 nobody dresses better, nobody throws oflf faster — rery well thia 
 Gentleman will stand my security. 
 
 Mos. Well — but you must insure your Place. 
 
 Trip. O with all my Heart — I'll insure my Place, and my Life too, 
 if you please. 
 
 Sir Oliv. It 's more than I would your neck 
 
 Mos. But is there nothing you could deposit ? 
 
 Trijj. Why nothing capital of my master's wardrobe has drop'd 
 lately — but I could give you a mortgage on some of his winter Cloathu 
 with equity of redemption before November or — you shall have the 
 reversion — of the French velvet, or a post obit on the Blue and Silver — 
 these I should think Moses — with a few Pair of Point Ruffles as a 
 collateral security — hey, my little Fellow ? 
 
 Mos. Well well — we '11 talk presently — we detain the Gentlemen 
 
 Sir Oliv. pray don't let me interrupt Mr. Trip's Negotiation. 
 Trip. Harkee — I heard the Bell — I believe, Gentlemen I can now 
 introduce you — don't forget the annuity little Moses. 
 
 Sir Oliv. If the man be a shadow of his Master this is the Temple of 
 Dissipation indeed ! [Exe. 
 
 Scene 3d. 
 Charles — Careless, &c., &c. 
 At Table icith Wine. 
 Chas. 'Fore Heaven, 'tis true I — there is the great Degeneracy of 
 
180 THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL. 
 
 the age — many of our acquaintance have Taste — Spirit, and Polite- 
 ness — but plague on 't they won't drink 
 
 Care. It is so indeed — Charles — they give into all the substantial 
 Luxuries of the Table— and abstain from nothing but wine and wit — 
 Oh, certainly society suffers by it intolerably— for now instead of the 
 social spirit of Raillery that used to mantle over a glass of bright 
 Burgundy their conversation is become just like the Spa water they 
 drink which has all the Pertness and flatulence of champaine without 
 its spirit or Flavour. 
 
 1 Gent. But what are they to do who love Play better than wine 
 
 Care. True — ^there's Harry diets himself — for gaming and is now 
 
 under a hazard Regimen. 
 
 Chas, Then He '11 have the worst of it — what you wouldn't train 
 a horse for the course by keeping him from corn — For my Part egad I 
 am never so successful as when I 'm a little— merry — let me throw on a 
 Bottle of Champaine and I never lose — at least I never feel my losses 
 which is exactly the same thing. 
 
 2 Gent. Aye that may be — but it is as impossible to follow wine and 
 play as to unite Love and Politics. 
 
 Chas. Pshaw — you may do both — Caesar made Love and Laws in a 
 Breath — and was liked by the Senate as well as the Ladies — but no man 
 can pretend to be a Believer in Love, who is an abjurer of wine — 'tia 
 the Test by which a Lover knows his own Heart — fill a dozen Bumpers 
 to a dozen Beauties, and she that floats atop is the maid that has 
 bewitched you. 
 
 Care. Now then Charles — be honest and give us yours 
 
 Chas. Why I have withheld her only in compassion to you — if I 
 toast her you should give a round of her Peers, which is impossible ! 
 on earth ! 
 
 Care. O, then we'll find some canonized Vestals or heathen God- 
 desses that will do I warrant 
 
 Chas. Here then — Bumpers — you Rogues — Bumpers ! Maria — 
 
 Maria 
 
 1st Gent. Maria who ? 
 
 Chas. Oh, damn the Surname 'tis too formal to be register'd in 
 Love's calendar — but now Careless beware — beware — we must have 
 Beauty's superlative. 
 
 1st Gent. Nay Never study Careless — we '11 stand to the Toast — 
 tho' your mistress should want an eye — and you know you have a 
 
 song will excuse you 
 
 Care. Egad so I have — and I '11 give him the song instead of the 
 Lady.- — - 
 
TEE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL. 181 
 
 SONG.— AND CHORUS—* 
 Here 'a to the maiden of bashful fifteen ; 
 
 Here 's to the widow of fifty ; 
 Here 's to the fltuiiting extrtvagant quean, 
 And here 's to the housewife that 's thrifty. 
 Chorus. Let the toast pass, — 
 Drink to the lass, 
 I '11 warrant she '11 prove an excuse for a glass. 
 Here 's to the charmer whose dimples we prize; 
 
 Now to the maid who has none, sir ; 
 Here 's to the girl with a pair of blue eyes, 
 And here 'a to the nymph with but one, sir. 
 Chorus. Let the toast pass, &c. 
 Here 's to the maid with a bosom of snow : 
 Now to her that 's as brown as a berry : 
 Here 's to the wife with a face full of woe, 
 And now to the damsel that 's merry. 
 Chorus. Let the toast pass, &c. 
 
 For let 'em be clumsy, or let 'em be slim, 
 
 Young or ancient, I care not a feather ; 
 
 So fill a pint bumper quite up to the brim. 
 
 So fill up your glasses, nay, fill to the brim, 
 
 And let us e'en toast them together. 
 
 Chorus. Let the toast pass, &c. 
 
 [Enter Trip xdhispers Charles. 
 2nd Gent. Bravo Careless — Ther 'a Toast and Sentiment too 
 
 1st Gent. E' faith there 'a infinite charity in that song. 
 
 Ghcis. Gentlemen, you must excuse me a little. — Careless, take the 
 Chair, will you ? 
 
 Care. Nay prithee, Charles — what now — this is one of your Peerless 
 Beauties I suppose — has dropped in by chance / 
 
 Chas. No — Faith — to tell you the Truth 'tis a Jew and a Broker who 
 are come by appointment. 
 
 Care. O dam it let 's have the Jew in. 
 
 1 Gent. Aye and the Broker too by all meana^^ 
 
 2 Gent. Yes yes the Jew and the Broker. 
 
 Chas. Egad with all my Heart — Trip — bid the Gentlemen walk in — ■ 
 tho' there 's one of them a Stranger I can tell you 
 
 Trip. What Sir — would you chuse Mr. Premium to come up 
 with 
 
 1st Gent. Yes — yes Mr. Premium certainly. 
 
 Care. To be sure — Mr. Premium — by all means Charles, let us give 
 them some generous Burgundy, and perhaps they'll grow con- 
 Bcientious 
 
 * The words which follow this title are not inserted in the manuscript of 
 the play. 
 
182 THE SCHOOL FOB SCANDAL. 
 
 Clias. 0, Hang 'em— no — wine does but draw forth a man's natural 
 qualities ; and to make them drink would only be to whet their 
 Knavery. 
 
 Enter Tkip — Sir Oliver and Moses. 
 
 edicts. So — honest Moses — walk in — walk in pray Mr. Premium — 
 that 's the Gentleman's name isn't it Moses. 
 
 Mos. Yes Sir. 
 
 Chas. Surf. Set chairs — Trim. — Sit down, Mr. Premium. — Glasses 
 Trim. — sit down Moses. ^Come, Mr. Premium I '11 give you a senti- 
 ment — Here 's Success to Usury — Moses fill the Gentleman a bumper. 
 
 3Ios. Success to Usury ! 
 
 Care. Right Moses — Usury is Prudence and industry and deserves 
 to succeed 
 
 Sir Oliv. Then Here is — all the success it deserves ! [Drinks. 
 
 Chas. Mr. Premium you and I are but strangers yet — but I hope we 
 shall be better acquainted by and bye 
 
 Sir Oliv. Yes Sir hope we shall — more intimately perhaps than you '11 
 wish. [Aside.* 
 
 Care. No, no, that won't do ! Mr. Premium, you have demurred at 
 the toast, and must drink it in a pint bumper. 
 
 1 Gent. A pint bumper, at least. 
 
 Mos. Oh, pray, sir, consider — Mr. Premium 's a gentleman. 
 Care. And therefore loves good wine. 
 
 2 Gent. Give Moses a quart glass — this is mutiny, and a high 
 contempt for the chair. 
 
 Care : Here, now for 't ! I '11 see justice done, to the last drop of 
 my bottle. 
 
 Sir Oliv. Nay, pray, gentlemen — I did not expect this usage. 
 
 Chas. No, hang it, you shan't ; Mr. Premium 's a stranger. 
 
 Sir Oliv. Odd ! I wish I was well out of their company. [Aside. 
 
 Care. Plague on 'em then ! if they won't drink, we '11 not sit down 
 with them. Come, Harry, the dice are in the next room. — Charles, 
 you'll join us when you have finished your business with the 
 gentlemen ? 
 
 Chas. I will ! I will I— [Exeunt Sir Harry Buimper and Gentlemen; 
 Careless folloicing.] Careless. 
 
 Care. [Beturning.] Well ! 
 
 Chas. Perhaps I may want you. 
 
 Care. Oh, you know I am always ready : word, note, or bond, 'tis 
 all the same to me. [Exit. 
 
 * From this place to Scene ii. Act IV. p. 191 several sheets are missing. 
 
THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL. 183 
 
 Mos. Sir, this is Mr. Premium, a gentleman of the strictest honour 
 and secrecy ; and always performs what he undertakes. Mr. Premium, 
 
 this is 
 
 Ghas. Psha ! have done. Sir, my friend Moses is a very honest 
 fellow, but a little slow at expression : he '11 be an hour giving us our 
 titles. Mr. Premium, the plain state of the matter is this : I am an 
 extravagant young fellow who wants to borrow money ; you I take to 
 be a prudent old fellow, who have got money to lend. I am blockhead 
 enough to give fifty per cent, sooner than not have it ! and you, I 
 presume, are rogue enough to take a hundred if you can get it. Now, 
 sir, you see we are acquainted at once, and may proceed to business 
 without further ceremony. 
 
 Sir Oliv. Exceeding frank, upon my word. I see, sir, you are not a 
 man of many compliments. 
 
 Chas. Oh, no, sir ! plain dealing in business I always think best. 
 
 Sir Oliv. Sir, I like you the better for it. However, you are mis- 
 taken in one thing ; I have no money to lend, but I believe I could 
 procure some of a friend ; but then he 's an unconscionable dog. 
 Isn't he, Moses ? And must sell stock to accommodate you. Mustn't 
 he, Moses ! 
 
 Mos. Yes, indeed ! You know I always speak the truth, and scorn 
 to tell a lie ! 
 
 Chas. Right. People that speak truth generally do. But these are 
 trifles, Mr. Premium. What ! I know money is n't to be bought with- 
 out paying for 't ! 
 
 Sir Oliv. Well, but what security could you give 1 You have no 
 land, I suppose ? 
 
 Ouis. Not a mole-hill, nor a twig, but what 'a in the bough-pots out 
 of the window ! 
 
 Sir Oliv. Nor any stock, I presume ? 
 
 Ghas. Nothing but live stock — and that 's only a few pointers and 
 ponies. But pray, Mr. Premium, are you acquainted at all with any 
 of my connections ? 
 
 Sir Oliv. Why, to say the truth, I am. 
 
 Ghas. Then you must know that I have a devilish rich uncle in the 
 East Indies, Sir Oliver Surface, from whom I have the greates 
 expectations ? 
 
 Sir Oliv, That you have a wealthy uncle, I have heard ; but how 
 your expectations will turn out is more, I believe, than you can tell. 
 
 Ghas. Oh, no ! — there can be no doubt. They tell me I 'm a pro- 
 digious favourite, and that he talks of leaving me everything. 
 
 Sir Oliv. Indeed ! this is the first I 've heard of it. 
 
184 THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL. 
 
 Chas. Yes, yes, 'tis just so. Moses knows 'tis true ; don't you, 
 Moses ? 
 
 Mos. Oh, yes ! I '11 swear to 't. 
 
 Sir Oliv. Egad, they'll persuade me presently I'm at Bengal. 
 
 [Aside. 
 
 Chas. Now I propose, Mr. Premium, if it 's agreeable to you, a 
 post-obit on Sir Oliver's life : though at the same time the old fellow 
 has been so liberal to me, that I give you my word, I should be very 
 sorry to hear that anything had happened to him. 
 
 Sir Oliv. Not more than I should, I assure you. But the bond 
 you mention happens to be just the worst security you could oflFer me 
 — for I might live to a hundred and never see the principal. 
 
 Chas. Oh, yes, you would ! the moment Sir Oliver dies, you know, 
 you would come on me for the money. 
 
 Sir Oliv. Then I believe I should be the most unwelcome dun you 
 ever had in your life. 
 
 Chas. What ! I suppose you 're afraid that Sir Oliver is too good a 
 life? 
 
 Sir Oliv. No, indeed I am not ; though I have heard he is as hale 
 and healthy as any man of his years in Christendom. 
 
 Chas. There again, now, you are misinformed. No, no, the climate 
 has hurt him considerably, poor uncle Oliver. Yes, yes, he breaks 
 apace, I 'm told — and is so much altered lately that his nearest 
 relations would not know him. 
 
 Sir Oliv. No ! Ha ! ha ! ha ! so much altered lately that his 
 nearest relations would not know him ! Ha ! ha ! ha ! egad — ha ! 
 ha ! ha ! 
 
 Chas. Ha ! ha ! — you 're glad to hear that, little Premium ? 
 
 Sir Oliv. No, no, I 'm not. 
 
 Chas. Yes, yes, you are — ha ! ha ! ha ! — you know that mends your 
 chance. 
 
 Sir Oliv. But I 'm told Sir Oliver is coming over ; nay, some say he 
 is actually arrived. 
 
 Chas. Psha ! sure I must know better than you whether he 's come 
 or not. No, no, rely on 't he 's at this moment at Calcutta. Isn't he, 
 Moses ? 
 
 Mos. Oh, yes, certainly. 
 
 Sir Oliv. Very true, as you say, you must know better than I, 
 though I have it from pretty good authority. Haven't I, Moses ? 
 
 Mos. Yes, most undoubted ! 
 
 Sir Oliv. But, sir, as I understand you want a few hundreds imme- 
 diately, is there nothing you could dispose of ? 
 
THE SCHOOL FOB SCANDAL. 185 
 
 Chas. How do you mean ? 
 
 Sir Oliv. For instance, now, I have heard that your father left 
 behind him a grt-at quantity of massy old plate. 
 
 Chas. O Lud ! that 's gone long ago. Moses can tell you how better 
 than I can. 
 
 Sir Oliv. [Aside.] Good lack ! all the family race-cups and corpora- 
 tion-bowls ! — [Aloud.] Then it was also supposed that his library was 
 one of the most valuable and compact. 
 
 Chas. Yes, yes, so it was — vastly too much so for a private gentle- 
 man. For my part, I was always of a communicative disposition, so 
 I thought it a shame to keep so much knowledge to myself. 
 
 Sir Oliv. [Aside.] Mercy upon me ! learning that had run in the 
 family like an heir-loom ! — [Aloud.] Pray, what has become of the 
 books ? 
 
 Chas. You must inquire of the auctioneer, Master Premium, for I 
 don't believe even Moses can direct you. 
 
 Mos. I know nothing of books. 
 
 Sir Oliv. So, so, nothing of the family property left, I suppose ? 
 
 Chas. Not much, indeed ; unless you have a mind to the family 
 pictures. I have got a room full of ancestors above : and if you have 
 a taste for old paintings, egad, you shall have 'em a bargain ! 
 
 Sir Oliv. Hey ! what the devil ! sure, you wouldn't sell your fore- 
 fathers, would you ? 
 
 Chas. Every man of them, to the best bidder. 
 
 Sir Oliv. What ! your great-uncles and aunts ? 
 
 Chas. Ay, and my great-grandfathei's and grandmothers too. 
 
 Sir Oliv. [Aside.] Now I give him up ! — [Aloud.] What the plague, 
 have you no bowels for your own kindred ? Odd's life ! do you take 
 me for Shylock in the play, that you would raise money of me on 
 your own flesh and blood ? 
 
 Chas. Nay, my little broker, don't be angry : what need you care, 
 if you have your money's worth ? 
 
 Sir Oliv. Well, I '11 be the purchaser : I think I can dispose of the 
 family canvas. — [Aside.] Oh, I '11 never forgive him this ! never ! 
 
 Re-enter Careless. 
 
 Care. Come, Charles, what keeps you ? 
 
 Chas. I can't come yet. I' faith, we are going'to have a sale above 
 stairs ; here 's little Premium will buy all my ancestors ! 
 
 Care. Oh, burn your ancestors ! 
 
 Chas. No, he may do that afterwards, if he pleases. Stay, Careless, 
 we want you: egad, you shall be auctioneer — so come along with us. 
 
186 THE SCHOOL FOB SCANDAL. 
 
 Care. Oh, have with you, if that 's the case. I can handle a hammer 
 as well as a dice box ! Going ! going ! 
 
 Sir Oliv. Oh, the profligates ! [Aside. 
 
 Chas. Come, Mosea, you shall be appraiser, if we want one. Gad's 
 life, little Premium, you don't seem to like the business ? 
 
 Sir Oliv. Oh, yes, I do, vastly ! Ha ! ha ! ha ! yes, yes, I think it 
 a rare joke to sell one's family by auction — ha ! ha ! — [J-sicZe.] Oh, the 
 prodigal ! 
 
 Chas. To be sure ! when a man wants money, where the plague 
 should he get assistance, if he can't make free with his own relations 1 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 Sir Oliv. I '11 never forgive him ; never! never! 
 
THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL. 187 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 Scene I. — A Picture Room in Charles Surface's Hotise. 
 Enter Charles, Sir Oliver, Moses, and Careless. 
 
 Chas. Surf. Walk in, gentlemen, pray walk in ; — here they are, the 
 family of the Surfaces, up to the Conquest. 
 
 Sir Olii\ And, in my opinion, a goodly collection. 
 
 Chas. Ay, ay, these are done in the true spirit of portrait-painting ; 
 no volontiere grace or expression. Not like the works of youi- modern 
 Raphaels, who give you the strongest resemblance, yet contrive to 
 make your portrait independent of you ; so that you may sink the 
 original and not hurt the picture. No, no ; the merit of these is the 
 inveterate likeness — all stiflf and awkard as the originals, and like 
 nothing in human nature besides. 
 
 Sir Oliv. Ah ! we shall never see such figures of men again. 
 
 Chas. I hope not. Well, you see, Master Premium, what a domestic 
 character I am ; here I sit of an evening surrounded by my family. 
 But come, get to your pulpit, Mr. Auctioneer ; here 's an old gouty 
 chair of my grandfather's will answer the purpose 
 
 Care. Ay, ay, this will do. But, Charles, I haven't a hammer; and 
 what 's an auctioneer without his hammer ? 
 
 Chas. Egad, that 's true. What parchment have we here ? Oh, our 
 genealogy in full. [Taking 2)edi(jree down.] Here, Careless, you shall 
 have no common bit of mahogany, here 's the family tree for you, you 
 rogue ! This shall be your hammer, and now you may knock down 
 my ancestors with their own pedigree. 
 
 Sir Oliv. What an unnatural rogue ! — an ex post facto parricide ! 
 
 [Aside. 
 
 Care. Yes, yes, here 's a list of your generation indeed ; — faith, 
 Charles, this is the most convenient thing you could have found for 
 the business, for 'twill not only serve as a hammer, but a catalogue 
 into the bargain. Come, begin — Agoing, a-going, a-going ! 
 
 Chas. Bravo, Careless ! Well, here 's my great uncle. Sir Richard 
 Ravelin, a marvellous good general in his day, I assure you. He 
 served in all the Duke of Marlborough's wars, and got that cut over 
 his eye at the battle of Malplaquet. What say you, Mr. Premium ? 
 look at him — there 'a a hero ! not cut out of his feathers, as your 
 modern clipped captains are, but enveloped in wig and regimentals, 
 as a general should be. What do you bid ? 
 
188 THE SCHOOL FOB SCANDAL. 
 
 Sir Oliv. [Anicle to Moses.'\ Bid him speak. 
 
 Mos. Mr. Premium would have you speak. 
 
 Chas. Why, then, he shall have him for ten pounds, and I 'm sure 
 that 's not dear for a staff-officer. 
 
 Sir Oliv. [Aside.] Heaven deliver me ! his famous uncle Richard 
 for ten pounds ! — [Aloicd.] Very well, sir, I take him at that. 
 
 Chas. Careless, knock down my uncle Richard. — Here, now, is a 
 maiden sister of his, my great-aunt Deborah, done by Kneller, in his 
 best manner, and esteemed a very formidable likeness. There she 
 is, you see, a shepherdess feeding her flock. You shall have her for 
 five pounds ten — the sheep are worth the money. 
 
 Sir Oliv. [Aside.] Ah ! poor Deborah ! a woman who set such a 
 value on herself ! — [Alo^id.] Five pounds ten — she 's mine. 
 
 Ohas. Knock down my aunt Deborah ! Here, now, are two that 
 were a sort of cousins of theirs. — You see, Moses, these pictures were 
 done some time ago, when beaux wore wigs, and the ladies their 
 own hair. 
 
 Sir Oliv. Yes, truly, head-dresses appear to have been a little lower 
 in those days. 
 
 Ohas. Well, take that couple for the same. 
 
 Mos. 'Tis a good bargain. 
 
 Chas. Careless ! — ^This, now, is a grandfather of my mother's, a 
 learned judge, well known on the western circuit. — What do you rate 
 him at, Moses ? 
 
 Mos. Four guineas. 
 
 Chas. Four guineas ! Gad's life, you don't bid me the price of his 
 wig. — Mr. Premium, you have more respect for the woolsack ; do let 
 us knock his lordship down at fifteen. 
 
 Sir Oliv. By all means. 
 
 Care. Gone ! 
 
 Chas. And there are two brothers of his, William and Walter 
 Blunt, Esquires, both members of Parliament, and noted speakers ; 
 and, what 's very extraordinary, I believe, this is the first time they 
 were ever bought or sold. 
 
 Sir Oliv. That is very extraordinary, indeed ! I '11 take them at 
 your own price, for the honour of Parliament. 
 
 Care. Well said, little Premium ! I '11 knock them down at forty. 
 Chas. Here 's a jolly fellow — I don't know what relation, but he 
 was mayor of Norwich : take him at eight pounds. 
 Sir Oliv. No, no ; six will do for the mayor. 
 
 Chas. Come, make it guineas, and I '11 throw you the two aldermen 
 here into the bargain. 
 
THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL. 189 
 
 Sir Oliv. They 're mine. 
 
 Ghas. Careless, knock down the m;iyor and aldermen. But, plague 
 on 't ! we shall be all day retailing in this manner ; do let us deal 
 •wholesale : what say you, little Premium ? Give me three hundred 
 pounds for the rest of the family in the lump. 
 
 Care. Ay, ay, that will be the best way. 
 
 Sir Oliv. Well, well, anything to accommodate you ; they are mine. 
 But there is one portrait which you have always passed over. 
 
 Cot/re. What, that ill-looking little fellow over the settee ? 
 
 Sir Oliv. Yes, sir, I mean that ; though I don't think him so ill- 
 looking a little fellow, by any means. 
 
 Chas. What, that ? Oh ; that 's my uncle Oliver ! 'Twas done 
 before he went to India. 
 
 Care. Your uncle Oliver ! Gad, then you '11 never be friends, 
 Charles. That, now, to me, is as stern a looking rogue as ever I saw ; 
 an unforgiving eye, and a damned disinheriting countenance ! an 
 inveterate knave, depend on 't. Don't you think so, little Premium ? 
 
 Sir Olir. Upon my soul, sir, I do not ; I think it is as honest a 
 looking face as any in the room, dead or alive. But I suppose uncle 
 Oliver goes with the rest of the lumber ? 
 
 Chas. No, hang it ! I '11 not part with poor Noll. The old fellow 
 has been very good to me, and, egad, I '11 keep his picture while I 've 
 a room to put it in. 
 
 Sir Oliv. [Aside.] The rogue's my nephew after all! — [Aloud.] 
 But, sir, I have somehow taken a fancy to that picture. 
 
 Chas. I 'm sorry for 't, for you certainly will not have it. Oons, 
 haven't you got enough of them ? 
 
 Sir Oliv. [Aside.] I forgive him everything ! — [Alotid.] But, sir, 
 when I take a whim in my head, I don't value money. I '11 give you 
 as much for that as for all the rest, 
 
 Chas. Don't tease me^ master broker ; I tell you I '11 not part with 
 it, and there 's an end of it. 
 
 Sir Oliv. [Aside.] How like his father the dog is. — [Alu^id.] Well, 
 well, I have done. — [Aside.] T did not perceive it before, but I think 
 I never saw such a striking resemblance. — [Aloud.] Here is a draught 
 for your sum. 
 
 Chas. Why, 'tis for eight hundred pounds ! 
 
 Sir Oliv. You will not let Sir Oliver go 1 
 
 Chas. Zounds ! no ! I tell you, once more. 
 
 Sir Oliv. Then never mind the difference, we '11 balance that another 
 time. But give me your hand on the bargain ; you are an honest 
 fellow, Charles — I beg pardon, sir, for being so free.— Come, Moses. 
 
190 THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL. 
 
 Ghas. Egad, this is a whimsical old fellow ! — But hark'ee, Premium, 
 you '11 prepare lodgings for these gentlemen. 
 
 Sir Oliv. Yes, yes, I '11 send for them in a day or two. 
 
 Chas. But, hold ; do now send a genteel conveyance for them, for, 
 
 assure you, they were most of them used to ride in their own 
 
 Sir Oliv. I will, I will — for all but Oliver. 
 
 Chas. Ay, all but the little nabob. 
 
 Sir Oliv. You 're fixed on that ? 
 
 Chas. Peremptorily. 
 
 Sir Oliv. [Aside.] A dear extravagant rogue ! — [Aloud.] Good day ! 
 Come, Moses. — [J.s^c?e.] Let me hear now who dares call him pro- 
 fligate ! [Exit with Moses. 
 
 Care. Why, this is the oddest genius of the sort I ever met with ! 
 
 Ghas. Egad, he 's the prince of brokers, I think. I wonder how the 
 devil Moses got acquainted with so honest a fellow. — Ha ! here 's 
 Rowley. — Do, Careless, say I '11 join the company in a few moments. 
 
 Care. I will — but don't let that old blockhead persuade you to 
 squander any of that money on old musty debts, or any such non- 
 sense ; for tradesmen, Charles, are the most exorbitant fellows. 
 
 Ghas. Very true, and paying them is only encouraging them. 
 
 Care. Nothing else. 
 
 Ghas. Ay, ay, never fear. — [Exit Careless.] So ! this was an odd 
 old fellow, indeed. Let me see, two-thirds of these five hundred and 
 thirty odd pounds are mine by right. Fore Heaven ! I find one's 
 ancestors are more valuable relations than I took them for ! — Ladies 
 and gentlemen, your most obedient and very grateful servant. 
 
 [Boivs ceremoniously to the x>ictures. 
 
 Enter Rowley. 
 Ha ! old Rowley ! egad, you are just come in time to take leave of 
 your old acquaintance. 
 
 Bow. Yes, I heard they were a-going. But I wonder you can have 
 such spirits under so many distresses. 
 
 Chas. Why, there 's the point ! my distresses are so many, that I 
 can't aff'ord to part with my spirits ; but I shall be rich and splenetic, 
 all in good time. However, I suppose you are surprised that I am not 
 more sorrowful at parting with so many near relations ; to be sure, 
 'tis very affecting ; but you see they never move a muscle, so why 
 should I ? 
 
 Bow. There 's no making you serious a moment. 
 
 Ghas. Yes, faith, I am so now. Here, my honest Rowley, here, get 
 
THE SCHOOL FOB SCANDAL. 191 
 
 me this changed directly, and take a hundred pounds of it immediately 
 to old Stanley. 
 
 Eoio. A hundred pounds ! Consider only 
 
 Chas. Gad's life, don't talk about it ! poor Stanley's wants are 
 pressing, and, if you don't make haste, we shall have some one call 
 that has a better right to the money. 
 
 Eoto. Ah ! there 's the point ! I never will cease dunning you with 
 the old proverb 
 
 Chas. Be just before yoxt're (jenerous. — Why, so I would if I could ; 
 but Justice is an old hobbling beldame, and I can't get her to keep 
 pace with Generosity, for the soul of me. 
 
 Boio. Yet, Charlos, believe me, one hour's reflection 
 
 Chas. Ay, ay, it 's very true ; but, hark'ee, Rowley, while I have, 
 by Heaven I '11 give ; so, damn your economy ! and now for hazard. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene 2^: the Parlour. 
 Enter Sir Oliver — Moses 
 
 Mos. Well sir, I think as Sir Peter said you have seen Mr. Charles 
 in high Glory — 'tis great Pity He 's so extravagant. 
 
 Sir Oliv. True — but he would not sell my Picture — 
 
 Mos. And loves wine and women so much^ 
 
 Sir Oliv. But He wouldn't sell my Picture. 
 
 Mos. And game so deep — 
 
 Sir Oliv. But He wouldn't sell my Picture. O — here 's Rowley ! 
 Enter Rowxey. 
 
 Row. So — Sir Oliver — I find you have made a Purchase 
 
 Sir Oliv. Yes — yes — our young Rake has parted with his Ancestors 
 like old Tapestry — sold Judges and Generals by the foot — and maiden 
 Aunts as cheap as broken China. — 
 
 Roiv. And here has he commissioned me to re-deliver you Part of 
 the purchase-money — I mean tho' in your necessitous character of old 
 Stanley 
 
 Mos. Ah ! there is the Pity of all ! He is so damned charitable. 
 
 Roiv. And I left a Hosier and two Tailors in the Hall — who I 'm sure 
 won't be paid, and this hundred would satisfy 'em. 
 
 Sir Oliv. Well — well — I '11 pay his debts and his Benevolences too — 
 I '11 take care of old Stanley — myself — But now I am no more a 
 Broker, and you shall introduce me to the elder Brother as Stanley 
 
 Roio. Not yet awhile — Sir Peter I know means to call there about 
 this time. 
 
192 THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL. 
 
 Enter Trip. 
 
 Trip. O Gentlemen — I beg Pardon for not showing you out — this 
 way — Moses, a word. [Ex. Trip with Moses. 
 
 Sir Oliv. There 's a Fellow for you — Would you believe it that 
 Puppy intercepted the Jew, on our coming, and wanted to raise money 
 before he got to his master ! 
 
 B<nv. Indeed ! 
 
 Sir Oliv. Yes — they are now planning an annuity Business — Ah 
 Master Rowley in my Day Servants were content with the Follies of 
 their Masters when they were worn a little Thread Bare but now they 
 have their Vices like their Birth Day cloaths with the gloss on. [Exe. 
 
 Scene — S:^ A Library. 
 Surface and Servant. 
 
 Surf. No Letter from Lady Teazle ? 
 
 Ser. No Sir— 
 
 Surf. I am surprised she hasn't sent if she is prevented from 
 coming—! Sir Peter certainly does not suspect me — yet I wish I 
 may not lose the Heiress, thro' the scrape I have drawn myself in 
 with the wife — However, Charles's imprudence and bad character are 
 great Points in my Favour. 
 
 Ser. Sir — I believe that must be Lady Teazle — 
 
 Surf. Hold see — whether it is or not before you go to the Door — I 
 have a particular Message for you if it should be my Brother. 
 
 Ser. 'Tis her ladyship Sir — She always leaves her Chair at the 
 milliner's in the next Street. 
 
 Surf. Stay — stay — draw that Screen before the Window — that will 
 do — my opposite Neighbour is a maiden Lady of so curious a temper ! 
 — [Servant draws the screen and exit.] I have a difficult Hand to 
 play in this Affair — Lady Teazle has lately suspected my Views on 
 Maria — but She must by no means be let into that secret, at least 
 till I have her more in my Power. 
 
 Enter Lady Teazle — 
 
 Lady Teaz. What Sentiment in soliloquy — have you been very 
 impatient now? — Lud ! don't pretend to look grave— I vow I 
 couldn't come before 
 
 Surf. O Madam Punctuality is a species of Constancy, a very 
 unfashionable quality in a Lady. 
 
THE SCHOOL FOE SCANDAL. 193 
 
 Lady Tea-.. Upon ray word you ought to pity me, do you know Sir 
 Peter is grown so ill-tempered to me of Late I and so jealous ! of 
 Charles too that's the best of the story isn't it ? 
 
 Surf. I am glad my scandalous Friends keep that up. (Aside.) 
 
 Lady Teaz. I am sure I wish He would let Maria marry him — and 
 then perhaps He would be convinced — don't you — Mr. Surface ? 
 
 Siirf. Indeed I do not. — [Aside.] O certainly I do — for then my 
 dear Lady Teazle would also be convinced how wrong her suspicions 
 were of my having any design on the silly Girl 
 
 Lady Tea::. Well — well I 'm inclined to believe you — besides I really 
 never could perceive why she should have so many admirers. 
 
 Surf. for her Fortune — nothing else — 
 
 Lady Tea::. I believe so for tho' she is certainly very pretty — yet she 
 has no conversation in the world — and is so grave and reserved — that I 
 declare I think she 'd have made an excellent wife for Sir Peter.— 
 
 Surf. So she would. 
 
 Lad. Teaz. Then — one never hears her speak ill of anybody — which 
 you know is mighty dull — 
 
 Sur. Yet she doesn't want understanding — 
 
 Lad Teaz. No more she does — yet one is always disappointed when 
 one hears [her] speak — For though her Eyes have no kind of meaning 
 in them — she very seldom talks Nonsense. 
 
 Sur. Nay — nay surely — she has very fine eyes — 
 
 Lad. Teaz. Why so she has — tho' sometimes one fancies there 's a 
 little sort of a squint — 
 
 Siir. A squint — O fie — Lady Teazle. 
 
 Lad. Teaz. Yes yes — I vow now — come there is a left-handed Cupid 
 in one eye — that 's the Truth on 't. 
 
 Sxir. Well — his aim is very direct however — but Lady Sneerwell has 
 quite corrupted you. 
 
 Lad. Teaz. No indeed — I have not opinion enough of her to be 
 taught by her, and I know that she has lately rais'd many scandalous 
 hints of me— which you know one always hears from one common 
 Friend, or other. 
 
 Surf. Why to say truth I believe you are not more obliged to her 
 than others of her acquaintance. 
 
 Lad. Teaz. But isn't [it] provoking to hear the most ill natured 
 Things said to one and there's my friend Lady Sneerwell has 
 circulated I don't know how many scandalous tales of me, and all 
 without any foundation, too ; that 's what vexes me. 
 
 Sxirf. Aye Madam to be sure that is the Provoking circumstance — 
 without Foundation — yes yes — there 's the mortification indeed — for 
 
 o 
 
194 THE SCHOOL FOB SCANDAL. 
 
 when a slanderous story is believed against one^ — there certainly is no 
 comfort like the consciousness of having deserved it— — 
 
 Lady Teaz. No to be sure — then I 'd forgive their malice — but to 
 attack me, who am really so innocent — and who never say an ill- 
 natured thing of anybody — that is, of any Friend — ! and then Sir 
 Peter too — to have him so peevish — and so suspicious — when I know 
 the integrity of my own Heart — indeed 'tis monstrous. 
 
 Surf. But my dear Lady Teazle 'tis your own fault if you suflfer it — 
 when a Husband entertains a groundless suspicion of his Wife and 
 withdraws his confidence from her — the original compact is broke 
 and she owes it to the Honour of her sex to endeavour to outwit 
 him — 
 
 Lady Teaz. Indeed — So that if He suspects me without cause it 
 follows that the best way of curing his Jealousy is to give him reason 
 for 't— 
 
 Surf. Undoubtedly — for your Husband [should] never be deceived 
 in you — and in that case it becomes you to be frail in compliment to 
 his discernment — 
 
 Lady Teaz. To be sure what you say is very reasonable — and when 
 the consciousness of my own Innocence 
 
 Surf. Ah : my dear — Madam there is the great mistake — 'tis this 
 very conscious Innocence that is of the greatest Prejudice to you — 
 what is it makes you negligent of Forms and careless of the world's 
 opinion — why the consciousness of your Innocence — what makes you 
 thoughtless in your Conduct and apt to run into a thousand little 
 imprudences — why the consciousness of your Innocence — what makes 
 you impatient of Sir Peter's temper, and outrageous at his suspicions — 
 why the consciousness of your own Innocence — 
 
 Lady Teaz. 'Tis very true 
 
 Surf. Now my dear Lady Teazle if you but once make a trifling 
 Faxix Pas you can't conceive how cautious you would grow, and how 
 ready to humour and agree with your Husband. 
 
 Lady Teaz. Do you think so — 
 
 Surf. I 'm sure on 't ; and then you'd find all scandal would cease 
 at once — for in short your Character at Present is like a Person in a 
 Plethora, absolutely dying of too much Health — 
 
 Lady Teaz. So — so — then I perceive your Prescription is that I must 
 sin in my own Defence — and part with my virtue to preserve my 
 Reputation. — 
 
 Surf. Exactly so upon my credit Ma'am 
 
 Lady Teaz. Well certainly this is the oddest Doctrine — and the 
 newest Receipt for avoiding calumny. 
 
THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL. 195 
 
 Surf. An infallible one believe me — Prudence like experience must 
 be paid for — 
 
 Ladij Teaz. Why if my understanding were once convinced 
 
 Surf. Oh, certainly Madam, your understanding should be con- 
 vinced — yea — yes — Heaven forbid I should persuade you to do 
 anything you thought wrong— no — no — I have too much honor to 
 desire it — 
 
 Lady Teaz. Don't — you think we may as well leave Honor out of 
 the Argument ? [Rists. 
 
 Surf. Ah— the ill effects of your country education I see still remain 
 with you. 
 
 Lady Teaz. I doubt they do indeed— and I will fairly own to you, 
 that If I could be persuaded to do wrong it would be by Sir Peter's 
 ill-usage — sooner than your honourable Logic, after all. 
 
 Surf. Then by this Hand, which He is unworthy of 
 
 Enter Servant. 
 Sdeath, you Blockhead— what do you want ? 
 
 Ser. I beg your Pardon Sir, but I thought you wouldn't chu^e Sir 
 Peter to come up without announcing him I 
 
 Surf. Sir Peter — Oons — the Devil ! 
 
 Lady Teaz. Sir Peter ! Lud ! I 'ra ruined ! I 'm ruin'd ! 
 
 Ser. Sir, 't wasn't I let him in. 
 
 Lady Teaz. O I 'm undone — what will become of me now Mr. Logick. 
 — Oh ! mercy. He 's on the Stairs — I '11 get behind here — and if ever 
 I 'm so imprudent again [goes behind the screen — 
 
 Surf. Give me that — Book ! 
 
 [Sits down — Serv. pretends to adjust his Hair — 
 
 Enter Sir Peter — 
 Sir Pet. Aye — ever improving himself ! — Mr. Surface — 
 Surf. Oh ! my dear Sir Peter — I beg your Pardon — (Gaping and 
 
 throws away the Book.) I have been dosing over a stupid Book ! 
 
 well — I am much obliged to you for this Call — You haven't been here 
 
 I believe since I fitted up this Room — Books you know are the only 
 
 Things I am a Coxcomb in— 
 
 Sir Pet. 'Tis very neat indeed — well well that 's proper — and you 
 
 make even your Screen a source of knowledge — hung I perceive with 
 
 Maps — 
 Surf. O yes — ^I find great use in that Screen. 
 Sir Pet. I dare say you must — certainly — when you want to find out 
 
 anything in a Hurry. 
 
 Surf. Aye or to hide anything in a Hurry either — 
 
 o 2 
 
l'J6 THE SCHOOL FOE SCANDAL. 
 
 Sir Pet. Well I have a little private Business — if we were alone — 
 
 Surf. You needn't stay. 
 
 Ser. No — Sir (Ex. Serv.) 
 
 Surf. Here 's a Chair — Sir Peter — I beg 
 
 Sir Pet. Well— now we are alone — there is a subject — my dear 
 Friend — on which I wish to unburthen my Mind to you — a Point of 
 the greatest moment to my Peace — in short, my good Friend — Lady 
 Teazle's conduct of late has made me very unhappy. 
 
 Surf. Indeed I 'm very sorry to hear it — 
 
 Sir Pet. Yes 'tis but too plain she has not the least regard for me — 
 but what 's worse, I have pretty good Authority to suspect that she 
 must have formed an attachment to another. 
 
 Surf. Indeed ! you astonish me. 
 
 Sir Pet. Yes— and between ourselves— I think I have discover'd the 
 Person. 
 
 Su7f. How — you alarm me exceedingly ! 
 
 Sir Pet. Ah : my dear Friend I knew you would sympathize with 
 me. — 
 
 Su7f. Yes — believe me Sir Peter — such a discovery wovild hurt me 
 just as much as it would you — 
 
 Sir Pet. I am convinced of it — ah — it is a happiness to have a 
 Friend whom one can trust even with one's Family secrets — but have 
 you no guess who I mean ? 
 
 Siirf. I haven't the most distant Idea — it can't be Sir Benjamin 
 Backbite. 
 
 Sir Pet. 0— No. What say you to Charles ? 
 
 Surf. My Brother — impossible !— no Sir Peter you mustn't credit 
 the scandalous insinuations you hear — no no— Charles to be sure has 
 been charged with many things but I can never think He would 
 meditate so gross an injury — 
 
 Sir Pet. Ah ! my dear Friend — the goodness of your own Heart 
 misleads you — you judge of others by yourself. 
 
 Surf. Certainly Sir Peter— the Heart that is conscious of its own 
 integrity is ever slowest to credit another's Treachery. — 
 
 Sir Pet. True — but your Brother has no sentiment you never hear 
 him talk so. — 
 
 Surf. Well there certainly is no knowing what men are capable of — 
 no— there is no knowing— yet I can't but think Lady Teazle herself 
 
 has too much Principle 
 
 Sir Pet. Aye but what 's Principle against the Flattery of a hand- 
 some—lively young Fellow — 
 Surf. That 's very true — 
 
THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL. 197 
 
 Sir Pet. And then you know the diflference of our ages makes it very 
 improbable that she should have any great affection for me — and if she 
 were to be frail and I were to make it Public — why the Town would 
 
 only laugh at the foolish old Batchelor, who had married a girl 
 
 Surf. That 's true — to be sure People would laugh. 
 Sir Pet. Lauwh — aye and make Ballads — and Paragraphs and the 
 Devil knows what of me — 
 Surf. No— you must never make it public — 
 
 Sir Pet. But then again that the Nephew of my old Friend, Sir 
 Oliver should be the Person to attempt such an injury — hurts me more 
 nearly — 
 
 Surf. Undoubtedly — when Ingratitude barbs the Dart of Injury — 
 the wound has double danger in it — 
 
 Sir Pet. Aye — I that was in a manner left his Guardian — in his 
 House he had been so often entertain'd — who never in my Life denied 
 him my advice — 
 
 Surf. O 'tis not to be credited — There may be a man capable of 
 such Baseness, to be sure — but for my Part till you can give me 
 positive Proofs you must excuse me withholding my Belief. However, 
 if this should be proved on him He is no longer a brother of mine I 
 disclaim kindred with him — for the man who can break thro' the Laws 
 of Hospitality— and attempt the wife of his Friend deserves to be 
 branded as the Pest of Society. 
 
 Sir Pet. What a difference there is between you — what noble 
 sentiments ! — 
 Surf. But I cannot suspect Lady Teazle's honor. 
 Sir Pet. I 'ra sure I wish to think well of her — and to remove all 
 ground of Quarrel between us — She has lately reproach'd me more 
 than once with having made no settlement on her — and, in our last 
 Quarrel, she almost hinted that she should not break her Heart if I 
 was dead. — now as we seem to differ in our Ideas of Expense I have 
 resoh'ed she shall be her own Mistress in that Respect for the future 
 — and if I were to die — she shall find that I have not been inattentive 
 to her Interests while living — Here my Friend are the Draughts of 
 two Deeds which I wish to have your opinion on — by one she will 
 enjoy eight hundred a year independent while I live — and by the 
 other the bulk of my Fortune after my Death. 
 
 Surf. This conduct Sir Peter is indeed truly Generous I I wish it 
 may not corrupt my pupil. — [Aside.] 
 
 Sir Pet. Yes I am determined she shall have no cause to complain — 
 tho' I would not have her acquainted with the latter instance of my 
 affection yet awhile. 
 
198 THE SCHOOL FOB SCANDAL. 
 
 Surf. Nor I — if I could help it. 
 
 Sir Pet. And now my dear Friend if you please we will talk over 
 the situation of your Hopes with Maria. 
 
 Surf. No — no — Sir Peter— another Time if you Please — (softly). 
 
 Sir Pet. I am sensibly chagrined at the little Progress you seem ta 
 make in her affection. 
 
 Surf. I beg you will not mention it — What are my Disappointments 
 when your Happiness is in Debate (softly). 'Sdeath I shall be ruined 
 every way 
 
 Sir Pet. And tho' you are so averse to my acquainting Lady Teazle 
 with ijour passion, I am sure she 's not your Enemy in the Affair. 
 
 Surf. Pray Sir Peter, now oblige me. — I am really too much 
 affected by the subject we have been speaking of to bestow a thought 
 on my own concerns — The Man who is entrusted with his Friend's 
 Distresses can never 
 
 Enter Servant. 
 Well, Sir ? 
 
 Ser. Your Brother Sir, is — speaking to a Gentleman in the Street, 
 and says He knows you 're within. 
 
 S^irf. 'Sdeath, Blockhead — I 'm not within — I 'm out for the Day. 
 
 Sir Pet. Stay — hold — a thought has struck me — you shall be at 
 home. 
 
 Surf. Well — well— let him up. — (Ex. Serv.). He'll interrupt Sir 
 Peter, however. [Aside. 
 
 Sir Pet. Now, ray good Friend — oblige me I Intreat you — before 
 Charles comes — let me conceal myself somewhere — -Then do you tax 
 him on the Point we have been talking on — and his answers may 
 satisfy me at once. — 
 
 Surf. O Fie — Sir Peter — would you have me join in so mean a 
 Trick ? to trepan my Brother too ? 
 
 Sir Pet. Nay you tell me you are sure He is innocent — if so you do 
 him the greatest service in giving him an opportunity to clear himself 
 — and — you will set my Heart at rest — come you shall not refuse me 
 — here behind this Screen will be — hey ! what the Devil — there 
 seems to be one listener here already — I '11 swear I saw a Petticoat. — 
 
 Surf. Ha ! ha ! ha ! Well this is ridiculous enough — I '11 tell you, 
 Sir Peter — tho' I hold a man of Intrigue to be a most despicable 
 Character — yet you know it doesn't follow that a man is to be an 
 absolute Joseph either — hark'ee — 'tis a little French Milliner — a silly 
 Rogue that plagues me — and having some character, on your coming 
 she I'an behind the Screen. — 
 
THE SCHOOL FOB SGANDAL. 199 
 
 Sir Pet. Ah a Rogue — but 'egad she has overheard all I have been 
 saying of my Wife. 
 
 Surf. O 'twill never go any farther, you may depend on 't. 
 
 Sir Pet. No I — then efaith let her hear it out. — Here 'a a Closet will 
 do as well. — 
 
 Surf. Well, go in there. — 
 
 Sir Pet. Sly rogue — sly Rogue. — 
 
 Surf. Gad's my Life what an Escape — ! and a curious situation I 'm 
 in ! — to part man and wife in this manner. — 
 
 Lady Teaz. [peeps out] Couldn't I steal off— 
 
 <Snr/. Keep close, my Angel ! 
 
 Sir Pet. (peeping out) Joseph— tax him home. 
 
 Surf. Back — my dear Friend 
 
 Lady Tea::, (peeping out) Couldn't you lock Sir Peter in ? — 
 
 Siirf. Be still — my Life ! 
 
 Sir Pet. [Peeping] You 're sure the little Milliner won't blab 1 
 
 Surf. In ! in ! ray good Sir Peter— 'Fore Gad, I wish I had a key 
 
 to the Door. 
 
 Enter Charles. 
 
 Chas. Hollo : Brother— what has been the matter 1 your Fellow 
 wouldn't let me up at first — What have you had a Jew or a wench 
 with you. — • 
 
 Surf. Neither Brother I assure you. 
 
 Chas. But— what has made Sir Peter steal oflt ? I thought He had 
 been with you — 
 
 Surf. He uxis Brother — but hearing you were coming He didn't 
 chuse to stay — 
 
 Gias. What was the old Gentleman afraid I wanted to borrow 
 money of him ? 
 
 Surf. No Sir— but I am sorry to find Charles— you have lately 
 given that worthy man grounds for great Uneasiness. 
 
 Chas. Yes they tell me I do that to a great many worthy men— 
 but how so Pray 1 
 
 Surf. To be plain with you Brother He thinks you are endeavour- 
 ing to gain Lady Teazle's Affections from him. 
 
 Chas. Who I— O Lud 1 not I upon my word.— Ha ! ha ! ha ! so the 
 old Fellow has found out that He has got a young wife has He ? or 
 what 's worse she has discover'd that she has an old Husband ? 
 
 Surf. This is no subject to jest on Brother — He who can laugh 
 
 Chas. True true as you were going to say — then seriously I never 
 h.id the least idea of what you charge me with, upon my honour. 
 
 Surf. Well it will give Sir Peter great satisfaction to hear this. 
 
200 THE SCHOOL FOB SCANDAL. 
 
 Chas. (Aloud.) To be sure, I once thought the lady seemed to have 
 taken a iFancy — but upon my soul I never gave her the least encourage- 
 ment, — Beside you know my Attachment to Maria— 
 
 Surf. But sure Brother even if Lady Teazle had betray'd the fondest 
 Partiality for you 
 
 Chas. Why — look'ee Joseph — I hope I shall never deliberately do a 
 dishonourable Action — but if a pretty woman was purposely to throw 
 herself in my way — and that pretty woman married to a man old 
 enough to be her Father 
 
 Surf. Well? 
 
 Oias. Why I believe I should be obliged to borrow a little of your 
 Morality, that 's all. — but, Brother do you know now that you surprize 
 me exceeding by naming me with Lady Teazle — for faith I always 
 understood you were her Favourite — 
 
 Surf. O for ahame ! Charles — This retort is Foolish. 
 
 Chas. Nay I swear I have seen you exchange such significant 
 Glances 
 
 S^trf. Nay — nay — Sir — this is no jest — 
 
 Chas. Egad — I 'm serious — Don't you remember — one Day, when I 
 called here 
 
 Surf. Nay — prithee — Charles 
 
 Clias. And found you together 
 
 Surf. Zounds, Sir — I insist 
 
 Chas. And another time when your Servant 
 
 Surf. Brother — brother a word with you — Gad I must stop him — 
 
 (aside) 
 
 Clias. Informed — me that 
 
 Surf. Hush ! — I beg your Pardon but Sir Peter has overheard all we 
 have been saying — ^I knew you would clear yourself, or I shouldn't 
 have consented — 
 
 Chas. How Sir Peter — Where is He — 
 
 Stirf. Softly, there ! (Points to the closet.) 
 
 Chas. (In the Closet !) O 'fore Heaven I '11 have him out — Sir Peter 
 come forth ! 
 
 Siirf. No — no 
 
 C]ias, I say Sir Peter — come into court. — (Pulls in Sir Peter,) 
 What — ray old Guardian — what turn inquisitor and take evidence 
 incog. — 
 
 Sir Pet. Give me your hand — Charles — I believe I have suspected 
 you wrongfully; but you mustn't be angry with Joseph — 'twas my 
 Plan— 
 
 Chas. Indeed ! — 
 
THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL. 201 
 
 Sir Pet. But I acquit you — I promise you I don't think near so ill 
 of you a3 I did — what I have heard has given me great satisfaction. 
 
 Chas. Egad then 'twaa lucky you didn't hear any more. Wasn't it 
 Joseph ? 
 
 Sir Pet. Ah ! you would have retorted on him. 
 
 CJias. Aye — aye — that was a Joke. 
 
 Sir Pet. Yes, yes, I know his honor too well. 
 
 Chas. Yet you might as well have suspected him as me in this 
 matter, for all that — mightn't He, Joseph 1 
 
 Sir Pet. Well well I believe you — 
 
 Surf. Would they were both out of the Room ! 
 
 Enter Serv. whispers Surface. 
 
 Sir Pet. And in future perhaps we may not be such Strangers. 
 
 Surf. Gentlemen — I beg Pardon — I must wait on you downstairs — 
 Here is a Person come on particular Business 
 
 Chas. Well you can see him in another Room — Sir Peter and I 
 haven't met a long time and I have something to say [to] him. 
 
 Surf. They must not be left together. — I '11 send this man away and 
 return directly— (Surface goes out). 
 
 Sir Pet. Ah — Charles if you associated more with your Brother, one 
 might indeed hope for your reformation — He is a man of Sentiment — 
 Well ! there is nothing in the world so noble as a man of Sentiment ! 
 
 Chas. Pshaw ! He is too moral by half — and so apprehensive of his 
 good Name, as he calls it, that I suppose He would as soon let a 
 Priest in his House as a Girl — 
 
 Sir Pet. No — no — come come, — you wrong him. No, no, Joseph is 
 no Rake but he is no such Saint in that respect either. I have a great 
 mind to tell him — we should have such a Laugh ! 
 
 Chas. Oh, hang him ? He 's a very Anchorite — a young Hermit ! 
 
 Sir Pet. Harkee — you must not abuse him, he may chance to hear 
 of it again I promise you. 
 
 Chas. Why you won't tell him ? 
 
 Sir Pet. No— but— this way. Egad, I '11 tell him— Harkee, have 
 you a mind to have a good laugh against Joseph ? 
 
 Chas. I should like it of all things — 
 
 Sir Pet. Then, E'faith, we will— I '11 be quit with him for discovering 
 me.— He had a girl with him when I called. (Whispers.) 
 
 Chas. What Joseph you jest — 
 
 Sir Pet. Hush !— a little French Milliner— and the best of the Jest 
 is — she 's in the room now. 
 
 Chas. The devil she is — 
 
202 THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL. 
 
 Sir Pet. Hush ! I tell you. (Points.) 
 
 Chas. Behind the screen I Odds Life, let 's unveil her ! 
 Sir Fet. No- — no ! He 's coming — you shan't indeed ! 
 Chas. Oh, egad, we '11 have a peep at the little milliner ! 
 Sir Pet. Not for the world — Joseph will never forgive me. 
 
 Chas. I '11 stand by you 
 
 Sir Fet. Odds Life ! Here He 's coming — 
 
 (Surface enters just as Charles throws down the Screen.) 
 
 Be-enter Joseph Sukface. 
 
 Chas. Lady Teazle ! by all that 's wonderful ! 
 
 Sir Pet. Lady Teazle ! by all that 's Horrible ! 
 
 Chas. Sir Peter — This is one of the smartest French Milliners I 
 ever saw ! — Egad, you seem all to have been diverting yourselves here 
 at Hide and Seek — and I don't see who is out of the Secret ! — Shall I 
 beg your Ladyship to inform me ! — Not a word ! — Brother ! — will you 
 please to explain this matter ? What ! is Honesty Dumb too ? — Sir 
 Peter, though I found you in the Dark — perhaps you are not so now — 
 all mute ! Well tho' I can make nothing of the Affair, I make no 
 doubt but you perfectly understand one another — so I '11 leave you to 
 yourselves. — [Going.] Brother I 'm sorry to find you have given that 
 worthy man grounds for so much uneasiness! — Sir Peter — there's 
 nothing in the world so noble as a man of Sentiment ! — 
 
 (Stand for some time looking at one another. Ex.) 
 
 Surf. Sir Peter — notwithstanding I confess that appearances are 
 against me. If you will afi^ord me your Patience I make no doubt 
 but I shall explain everything to your satisfaction. — 
 
 Sir Pet. If you please^ — Sir — 
 
 Surf. The Fact is Sir — that Lady Teazle knowing my Pretensions 
 to your ward Maria — I say Sir Lady Teazle — being apprehensive of 
 the Jealousy of your Temper— and knowing my Friendship to the 
 Family. She Sir — I say call'd here — in order that I might explain 
 those Pretensions — but on your coming being apprehensive — as I eaid 
 of your Jealousy- — she withdrew — and this, you may depend on 't is the 
 whole truth of the Matter. 
 
 Sir Pet. A very clear account upon the word and I dare swear the 
 Lady will vouch for every article of it. 
 
 Lady Teaz. For not one word of it Sir Peter — 
 
 Sir Pet. How don't you think it worth while to agree in the lie. 
 
 Lady Teaz. There is not one Syllable of Truth in what that Gentle- 
 man has told you. 
 
 Sir Pet. I believe you upon my soul Ma'am — 
 
THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL. 203 
 
 Surf. 'Sdeath, madam, will you bt tray me I (Aside. 
 
 Lady Teaz. Good Mr. Hypocrite by your leave T will speak for) 
 myself — 
 
 Sir Pet. Aye let her alone Sir — you '11 find she '11 make out a better 
 story than you without Prompting. 
 
 Lady Teaz. Hear me Sir Peter — I came hither on no matter relating 
 to your Ward and even ignorant of this Gentleman's pretensions to 
 her — but I came — seduced by his insidious arguments — and pretended 
 Passion at least to listen to his dishonourable Love if not to sacrifice 
 your Honour to his Baseness. 
 
 Sir Fct. Now, I believe, the Truth is coming indeed 
 
 Surf. The Woman 's mad — 
 
 Lady Teaz. No Sir — she has recovered her Senses. Your own Arts 
 have furnished her with the means. Sir Peter — I do not expect you 
 to credit me — but the Tenderness you express'd for me, when I am 
 sure you could not think I was a witness to it, has penetrated so to my 
 Heart, that had I left the Place without the Shame of this discovery — 
 my future life should have spoken the sincerity of my Gratitude — as 
 for that smooth-tongued Hypocrite — who would have seduced the wife 
 of his too credulous Friend while he pretended honourable addresses 
 to his ward — I behold him now in a light so truly despicable that I 
 shall never again Respect myself for having Listened to him. Exit. 
 
 Surf. Notwithstanding all this Sir Peter — Heaven knows 
 
 Sir Pet. That you are a Villain ! — and so I leave you to your con- 
 science — 
 
 Surf. You are too Rash Sir Peter — you shall hear me — The man 
 
 who shuts out conviction by refusing to 
 
 (Exe. Surface following and speaking. 
 
204 THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL. 
 
 ACT 5th, Scene 1st. . 
 The Library. 
 Enter Surface— Serv. 
 
 Surf. Mr. Stanley ! and why should you think I would see him ? — 
 you must know he came to ask something ! 
 
 Ser. Sir — I shouldn't have let him in but that Mr. Rowley came to 
 the Door with him. 
 
 S^irf. Pshaw ! — Blockhead to suppose that I should now be in a 
 Temper to receive visits from poor Relations ! — well why don't you 
 show the Fellow up ? 
 
 Ser. I will — Sir — Why, Sir — it was not my Fault that Sir Peter 
 discover'd my Lady 
 
 Surf. Go, fool ! — {Ex. Serv.) Sure Fortune never play'd a man of 
 my policy such a Trick before — my character with Sir Peter ! — my 
 Hopes with Maria ! — destroy'd in a moment ! — I 'm in a rare Humour 
 to listen to other People's Distresses ! — I shan't be able to bestow 
 even a benevolent sentiment on Stanley — So ! here — He comes and 
 Rowley with him — I imcst try to recover myself, and put a little 
 Charity into my Face however. ex. 
 
 Enter Sir Ol. and Rowle?. 
 
 Sir Oliv. What ! does He avoid us ? that was He — was it not ? 
 
 Koto. It was Sir — but I doubt you are come a little too abruptly — 
 his Nerves are so weak that the sight of a poor Relation may be too 
 much for him — I should have gone first to break you to him. 
 
 Sir Oliv. A Plague of his Nerves — yet this is He whom Sir Peter 
 extoUs as a Man of the most Benevolent way of thinking ! — 
 
 Bow. As to his way of thinking — I can't pretend to decide for, to do 
 him justice He appears to have as much speculative Benevolence as 
 any private Gentleman in the Kingdom — though he is seldom so 
 sensual as to indulge himself in the exercise of it 
 
 Sir Oliv. Yet [he] has a string of charitable Sentiments I suppose at 
 his Fingers' ends ! — 
 
 Bow. Or, rather at his Tongue's end Sir Oliver ; for I believe there 
 is no sentiment he has more faith in than that ' Charity begins at 
 Home.' 
 
 Sir Oliv. And his I presume is of that domestic sort which never 
 stirs abroad at all. 
 
THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL. 205 
 
 Bow. I doubt you '11 6nd it so— but He's coming — I mustn 't seem to 
 interrupt you — and you know immediately — as you leave him — I come 
 in to announce — your arrival in your real Character. 
 
 Sir Oliv. True — and afterwards you'll meet me at Sir Peter's 
 
 It<ni\ Without losing a moment. ex. 
 
 Sir Oliv. So — I see he has premeditated a Denial by the Com- 
 plaisance of his Features. 
 
 Enter Surf. 
 
 Surf. Sir — I beg you ten thousand Pardons for keeping — you a 
 moment waiting — Mr. Stanley — I presume 
 
 Sir Oliv. At your Service. 
 
 Surf. Sir — I beg you will do me the honour to sit down — I entreat 
 you Sir. 
 
 Sir Oliv. Dear Sir there 's no occasion — too civil by half ! 
 
 Jos. Surf. I have not the Pleasure of knowing you, Mr. Stanley — 
 but I am extremely happy to see you look so well — you were neai-ly 
 related to my mother — I think Mr. Stanley 
 
 Sir Oliv. I was Sir— so nearly that my present Poverty I fear may 
 do discredit to her Wealthy Children — else I should not have pre- 
 sumed to trouble you. — 
 
 Surf. Dear Sir — there needs no apology — He that is in Distress 
 tho' a stranger has a right to claim kindred with the wealthy — I am 
 sure I wish I was of that class, and had it in my power to offer you 
 even a small relief. 
 
 Sir Oliv. If your Unkle, Sir Oliver were here — I should have a 
 Friend 
 
 Surf. I wish He was Sir, with all my Heart — you should not want 
 an advocate with him — believe me Sir. 
 
 Sir Oliv. I should not need one — my Distresses would recommend 
 me. — but I imagined — his Bounty had enabled you to become the 
 agent of his Charity. 
 
 Surf. My dear Sir — you are strangely misinformed — Sir Oliver is a 
 worthy Man, a worthy man — a very worthy sort of Man — but avarice 
 
 Mr. Stanley is the vice of age 1 will tell you my good Sir in 
 
 confidence : — what he has done for me has been a mere — nothing tho' 
 People I know have thought otherwise and for my Part I never chose 
 to contradict the Report. 
 
 Sir Oliv. What I — has he never transmitted — you — Bullion — Rupees 
 — Pagodas ! 
 
 Surf. O Dear Sir — Nothing of the kind — no — no — a few Presents 
 now and then — china, shawls, congo Tea, Avadavats — and indian 
 Crackers — little more, believe me. 
 
206 THE SCHOOL FOB SCANDAL. 
 
 Sir Oliv. Here's Gratitude for twelve thousand pounds ! — Avadavats 
 and Indian Crackers. 
 
 Surf. Then my dear — Sir — you have heard, I doubt not, of the 
 extravagance of my Brother — Sir — there are very few would credit 
 what I have done for that unfortunate young man. 
 
 Sir Oliv. Not I for one ! 
 
 Surf. The sums I have lent him ! indeed — I have been exceedingly 
 to blame — it was an amiable weakness ! however I don't pretend to 
 defend it — and now I feel it doubly culpable — since it has deprived 
 me of the power of serving you Mr. Stanley as my Heart directs 
 
 Sir Oliv. Dissembler ! Then Sir — you cannot assist me 1 
 
 Surf. At Present it grieves me to say I cannot — but whenever I 
 have the ability, you may depend upon hearing from me. 
 
 Sir Oliv. I am extremely sorry 
 
 Srirf. Not more than I am believe me — to pity without the Power 
 to relieve is still more painful than to ask and be denied 
 
 Sir Oliv. Kind Sir — -your most obedient humble servant. 
 
 Surf. You leave me deeply affected Mr. Stanley— William— be 
 ready to open the door 
 
 Sir Oliv. O, Dear Sir, no ceremony — - 
 
 Surf. Your very obedient 
 
 Sir Oliv. Your most obsequious 
 
 Surf. You may depend on hearing from me whenever I can be of 
 service 
 
 Sir Oliv. Sweet Sir — you are too good 
 
 Surf. In the mean time I wish you Health and Spirits 
 
 Sir Oliv. Your ever grateful and perpetual humble Servant 
 
 Surf. Sir — yours as sincerely 
 
 Sir Oliv. Charles ! — you are my Heir. ex. 
 
 Surf. Sol. 
 Soh ! — This is one bad effect of a good Character— it invites 
 applications from the unfortunate and there needs no small degree 
 of address to gain the reputation of Benevolence without incurring 
 the expence. — The silver ore of pure Charity is an expensive article 
 in the catalogue of a man's good Qualities — whereas the sentimental 
 French Plate I use instead of it makes just as good a shew — and pays 
 no tax. 
 
 Enter Ro^vley. 
 
 Bow. Mr. Surface — your Servant : I was apprehensive of interrupt- 
 ing you, tho' my Business demands immediate attention — as this Note 
 will inform you 
 
THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL. 207 
 
 Surf. Always Happy to see Mr. Rowley — how — Oliver — Surface ! — 
 My Unkle arrived ! 
 
 Boio. He is indeed — we have just parted — quite well — after a speedy 
 voyage — and impatient to embrace his worthy Nephew. 
 
 Surf. I am astonished ! — William stop Mr. Stanley, if He 's not 
 gone 
 
 Bow. O — He 's out of reach — I believe. 
 
 Surf. Why didn't you let me know this when you came in 
 together. — 
 
 Roto. I thought you had particular — Business — but I must be gone 
 to inform your Brother, and appoint him here to meet his Uncle. He 
 will be with you in a quarter of an hour 
 
 Surf. So he says. Well — I am strangely overjoy 'd at his coming — 
 never to be sure was anything so damn'd unlucky ! 
 
 Bow. You will be delighted to see how well He looks. 
 
 Surf. O — I 'm rejoiced to hear it — just at this time 
 
 Bow. I '11 tell him how impatiently you expect him 
 
 Surf. Do— do — pray — give my best duty and affection — indeed, I 
 cannot express the sensations I feel at the thought of seeing him ! — 
 certainly his coming just at this Time is the cruellest piece of ill 
 Fortune Exe. 
 
 Scene 2d: at Sir Peter's. — House. 
 Enter Mrs. Candour ayid Madam — Servant. 
 
 Serv. Indeed Ma'am, ray Lady will see nobody at Present. 
 
 Mrs. Can. Did you tell her it was her Friend Mrs. Candour 
 
 Serv. Yes Ma'am but she begs you will excuse her 
 
 Mrs. Can. Do go again — I shall be glad to see her if it be only for a 
 moment — for I am sure she must be in great Distress ex. Maid— Dear 
 Heart — how provoking ! — I 'm not mistress of half the circumstances ! 
 — We shall have the whole affair in the newspapers with the Names of 
 the Parties at length before I have dropt the story at a dozen houses. 
 Enter Sir Benjamin. 
 
 Sir Benjamin you have heard, I suppose 
 
 Sir Ben. Of Lady Teazle and Mr. Surface 
 
 Mrs. Can. And Sir Peter's Discovery 
 
 Sir Ben. O the strangest Piece of Business to be sure 
 
 Mrs. Can. Well I never was so surprised in my life ! — I am so sorry 
 for all Parties — indeed, 
 
 Sir Ben. Now I don't Pity Sir Peter at all — he was so extravagant — 
 partial to Mr. Surface 
 
208 THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL. 
 
 Mrs. Can. Mr. Surface !— why 'twas with Charles Lady Teazle was 
 detected. 
 
 Sir Ben. No such thing Mr. Surface is the gallant. 
 
 Mrs. Can. No— no— Charles is the man — 'twas Mr. Surface brought 
 Sir Peter on purpose to discover them 
 
 Sir Ben. I tell you I have it from one 
 
 Mrs. Can. And I have it from one 
 
 Sir Ben. Who had it from one who had it 
 
 Mrs. Can. From one immediately — but here comes Lady Sneerwell 
 — perhaps she knows the whole aflfair. 
 
 Enter Lady Sneerwell ! — 
 
 Lady Sneer. So— my dear Mrs. Candour Here 's a sad aflfair of our 
 Friend Teazle 
 
 Mrs Can. Aye my dear Friend, who could have thought it. 
 
 Lady Sneer. Well there is no trusting to appearances tho' — indeed 
 she was always too lively for me. 
 
 Mrs. Can. To be sure, her manners were a little too — free — but she 
 was very young 
 
 Lady Sneer. And had indeed some good Qualities. 
 
 Mrs. Can. So she had indeed — but have you heard the Particulars ? 
 
 Lady Sneer. No— but everybody says that Mr. Surface 
 
 Sir Ben. Aye there I told you — Mr. Surface was the Man. 
 
 Mrs. Can. No — no — indeed the assignation was with Charles 
 
 Lady Sneer. With Charles ! — You alarm me Mrs. Candour ! 
 
 Mrs. Can. Yes— yes He was the Lover — Mr. Surface— do him 
 justice — was only the Informer. 
 
 Sir Ben. Well I '11 not dispute with you Mrs. Candour— but be it 
 which it may — I hope that Sir Peter's wound will not 
 
 Mrs. Can. Sir Peter's wound ! O mercy ! I didn't hear a word of 
 their Fighting 
 
 Lady Sneer. Nor I a syllable ! 
 
 Sir Ben. No — what no mention of the Duel 
 
 Mrs. Can. Not a word 
 
 Sir Ben. 0, Lord — yes — yes — they fought before they left the Room, 
 
 Lady Sneer. Pray let us hear. 
 
 Mrs. Can. Aye — do oblige — us with the Duel 
 
 Sir Ben. ' Sir ' — says Sir Peter — immediately after the Discovery, 
 ' you are a most ungrateful Fellow.' 
 
 Mrs. Can. Aye to Charles 
 
 Sir Ben. No, no — to Mr. Surface — ' a most ungrateful Fellow ; and 
 old as I am. Sir,' says He, 'I insist on immediate satisfaction.' 
 
THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL. 209 
 
 Mrs. Can. Aye that must have been to Charles for 'tis very unlikely 
 Mr. Surface should go to fight irj his own House. 
 
 Sir Ben. Gad's Life, Ma'am, not at all — giving me immediate 
 satisfaction — on this, Madam — Lady Teazle seeing Sir Peter in such 
 Danger — ran out of the Room in strong Hysterics — and Charles after 
 her calling out for Hartshorn and Water ! Then Madam — they began 
 
 to fight with Swords 
 
 Enter Crabtree. 
 
 Crab. With Pistols — Nephew — I have it from undoubted authority. 
 
 Mrs. Can. Oh, Mr. Crabtree then it is all true 
 
 Crab. Too true indeed Ma'am, and Sir Peter Dangerously 
 ■wounded 
 
 Sir Ben. By a thrust in second — quite thro' his left side 
 
 Crab. By a Bullet lodged in the Thorax 
 
 Mrs. Can. Mercy — on me Poor Sir Peter 
 
 Crab. Yes, ma'am tho' Charles would have avoided the matter if he 
 could 
 
 Mrs. Can. I knew Charles was the Person 
 
 Sir Ben. my Unkle I see knows nothing of the matter 
 
 Crab. But Sir Peter tax'd him with the basest ingratitude 
 
 Sir Ben. That I told you, you know 
 
 Crab. Do Nephew let me speak — and insisted on immediate 
 
 Sir Ben. Just as I said 
 
 Crab. Odds life ! Nephew allow others to know something too — A 
 Pair of Pistols lay on the Bureau — for Mr, Surface — it seems, had 
 come home the Night before late from Salt-Hill where He had been to 
 see the Montem with a Friend, who has a Son at Eton — so unluckily 
 the Pistols were left Charged 
 
 .S'lV Ben. I heard nothing of this 
 
 Crab. Sir Peter forced Charles to take one and they fired — it seems 
 pretty nearly together — Charles's shot took Place as I tell you— and 
 Sir Peter's miss'd — but what is very extraordinary the Ball struck 
 against a little Bronze Pliny that stood over the Fire Place — grazed 
 out of the window at a right angle — and wounded the Postman, who 
 was just coming to the Door with a double letter from Northampton- 
 shire. 
 
 Sir Ben. My Unkle's account is more circumstantial I must confess 
 — but I believe mine is the true one for all that. 
 
 Lady Sneer. I am more interested in this AflFair than they imagine — 
 and must have better information. — Ex. 
 
 Sir Ben. Ah ! Lady Sneerwell'a alarm is very easily accounted 
 for.-- 
 
210 THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL. 
 
 Grab. Yes yes, they certainly do say — but that 's neither here nor 
 there. 
 
 Mrs. Can. But pray where is Sir Peter at present 
 
 Crab. Oh ! they — brought him home and He is now in the House, 
 tho' the Servants are order'd to deny it 
 
 3Irs. Can. I believe so — and Lady Teazle — I suppose attending 
 him 
 
 Crab. Yes yes — and I saw one of the Faculty enter just before 
 me 
 
 Sir Ben. Hey — who comes here — — 
 
 Crab. Oh, this is He — the Physician depend on 'c. 
 
 Mrs. Can. certainly it must be the Physician and now we shall 
 
 know 
 
 Enter Sir Oliver. 
 
 Crab. Well, Doctor — what Hopes ? 
 
 Mrs. Can. Aye Doctor how 's your Patient ? 
 
 Sir Ben. Now Doctor isn't it a wound with a small sword 
 
 Crab. A bullet lodged in the Thorax — for a hundred I 
 
 Sir Olio. Doctor ! — a wound with a small sword ! and a Bullet in 
 the Thorax ! — oon's are you mad, good People ? 
 
 Sir Ben. Perhaps, Sir, you are not a Doctor 
 
 Sir Oliv. Truly Sir I am to thank you for my degree If I am. 
 
 Crab. Only a Friend of Sir Peter's then I presume — but, sir, you 
 must have heard of his accident — 
 
 Sir Oliv. Not a word ! 
 
 Crab. Not of his being dangerously wounded 1 
 
 Sir Oliv. The Devil he is ! 
 
 Sir Ben. Run thro' the Body 
 
 Crab. Shot in the breast 
 
 Sir Ben. By one Mr. Surface 
 
 Crab. Aye the younger. 
 
 Sir Oliv. Hey ! what the plague ! you seem to differ strangely in 
 your accounts — however you agree that Sir Peter is dangerously 
 wounded. 
 
 Sir Ben. Oh yes, we agree in that. 
 
 Crab. Yes, yes, I believe there can be no doubt in that. 
 
 Sir Oliv. Then, upon my word, for a person in that Situation, he is 
 the most imprudent man alive — For here he comes walking as if 
 nothing at all was the matter. 
 
 Enter Sir Peter. 
 Odd's heart, sir Peter ! you are come in good time I promise you, for 
 we had just given you over ! 
 
THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL. 211 
 
 Sir Ben. 'Egad, Uncle this is the most sudden Recovery ! 
 
 Sir Oliv. Why, man, what do you do out of Bed with a Small 
 Sword through your Body, and a Bullet lodg'd in your Thorax ? 
 
 Sir Pet. A Small Sword and a Bullet — 
 
 Sir Oliv. Aye these Gentlemen would have kill'd you without Law 
 or Physic, and wanted to dub me a Doctor to make me an accomplice. 
 
 Sir Pet. Why ! what is all this ? 
 
 Sir Ben. We rejoice. Sir Peter, that the Story of the Duel is not 
 true — and are sincerely sorry for your other Misfortune. 
 
 Sir Pet. So — so — all over the Town already ! [Aside 
 
 Crab. Tho', Sir Peter, you were certainly vastly to blame to marry 
 at all at your years. 
 
 Sir Pet. Sir, what Business is that of yours ? 
 
 Mrs. Can. Tho' Indeed, as Sir Peter made so good a Husband, he 's 
 very much to be pitied. 
 
 Sir Pet. Plague on your pity, Ma'am, I desire none of it. 
 
 Sir Ben. However Sir Peter, you must not mind the Laughing and 
 Jests you will meet with on the occasion. 
 
 Sir Pet. Sir, I desire to be master in my own house. 
 
 Crab. 'Tis no Uncommon Case, that 's one comfort. 
 
 Sir Pet. I insist on being left to myself, without ceremony, — I 
 insist on your leaving my house directly ! 
 
 Mrs. Can. Well, well, we are going and depend on't, we'll make 
 the best report of you we can. 
 
 Sir Pet. Leave my house ! 
 
 Crab. And tell how hardly you have been treated. 
 
 Sir Pet. Leave my House — 
 
 Sir Ben. And how patiently you bear it. 
 
 Sir Pet. Friends ! Vipers ! Furies ! Oh that their own Venom 
 would choke them ! 
 
 Sir Oliv. They are very provoking indeed. Sir Peter. 
 
 Enter Rowley. 
 
 Roto. I heard high words : what has ruffled you Sir Peter — 
 
 Sir Pet. Pshaw what signifies asking— do I ever pass a Day without 
 my Vexations ? 
 
 Sir Oliv. Well I 'm not Inquisitive— I come only to tell you, that 
 I have seen both my Nephews in the manner we proposed. 
 
 Sir Pet. A Precious Couple they are I 
 
 Roto. Yes and Sir Oliver — is convinced that your judgment was 
 right Sir Peter. 
 
 Sir Oliv. Yes I find Joseph is Indeed the Man after all. 
 
 p 2 
 
212 THE SCHOOL FOB SCANDAL. 
 
 Roio. Aye as Sir Peter says, He's a man of Sentiment. 
 
 Sir Oliv. And acts up to the Sentiments he professes. 
 
 Moiv. It certainly is Edification to hear him talk. 
 
 Sir Oliv. Oh, He 's a model for the young men of the age 1 But 
 how 's this. Sir Peter 1 you don't Join us in your Friend Joseph's 
 Praise as I expected. 
 
 Sir Pet. Sir Oliver, we live in a damned wicked world, and the 
 fewer we praise the better. 
 
 Roii\ What do you say so. Sir Peter — who were never mistaken in 
 your Life 1 
 
 Sir Pet. Pshaw — Plague on you both — I see by your sneering you 
 have heard — the whole afiair — I shall go mad among you ! 
 
 Bow. Then to fret you no longer Sir Peter — we are indeed acquainted 
 with it all — I met Lady Teazle coming from Mr. Surface's so humbled, 
 that she deigned to request me to be her advocate with you — 
 
 Sir Pet. And does Sir Oliver know all too ? 
 
 Sir Oliv. Every circumstance ! 
 
 Sir Pet. What of the closet and the screen — hey 
 
 Sir Oliv. Yes yes — and the little French Milliner. Oh, I have been 
 vastly diverted with the story ! ha ! ha ! ha ! 
 
 Sir Pet. 'Twas very pleasant ! 
 
 Sir Oliv. I never laugh'd more in my life, I assure you : ha ! ha ! 
 
 Sir Pet. O vastly diverting ! ha ! ha ! 
 
 Bow. To be sure Joseph with his Sentiments ! ha ! ha ! 
 
 Sir Pet. Yes his sentiments ! ha ! ha ! a hypocritical Villain ! 
 
 Sir Oliv. Aye and that Rogue Charles — to pull Sir Peter out of 
 the closet : ha ! ha ! 
 
 Sir Pet. Ha ! ha ! 'twas devilish entertaining to be sure — 
 
 Sir Oliv. Ha ! ha ! Egad, Sir Peter I should like to have seen 
 your Face when the screen was thrown down — ha ! ha ! 
 
 Sir Pet. Yes, my face when the Screen was thrown down : ha ! ha ! 
 ha ! 1 must never show my head again ! 
 
 Sir Oliv. But come — come it isn't fair to laugh at you neither my 
 old Friend — tho' upon my soul I can't help it — 
 
 Sir Pet. pray don't restrain your mirth on my account : it does 
 not hurt me at all — I laugh at the whole affair myself — Yes — yes — I 
 think being a standing Jest for all one's acquaintance a very happy 
 situation — yes — and then of a morning to read the Paragraphs about 
 
 Mr. S , Lady T , and Sir P , will be so entertaining ! — I 
 
 shall certainly leave town tomorrow and never look mankind in the 
 Face again ! 
 
 Botv. Without affectation Sir Peter, you may despise the ridicule 
 
THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL. 213 
 
 of Fools — but I see Lady Teazle going towards the next Room — I am 
 sure you must desire a Reconciliation as earnestly as she does. 
 
 Sir Oliv. Perhaps my being here prevents her coming to you — well 
 1 '11 leave honest Rowley to mediate between you ; but he must bring 
 you all presently to Mr. Surface's— where I am now returning— if 
 not to reclaim a Libertine, at least to expose Hypocrisy. 
 
 Sir Pet. Ah ! I '11 be present at your discovering yourself there 
 with all my heart ; though 'tis a vile unlucky Place for discoveries. 
 
 Sir Oliv. However it is very convenient to the carrying on of my 
 Plot that you all live so near one another ! Ex. Sir 0. 
 
 Eoiv. We '11 follow— 
 
 Sir Pet. She is not coming here you see, Rowley — 
 
 Roio. No but she has left the Door of that Room open you perceive. 
 — see she is in Tears—! 
 
 Sir Pet. She seems indeed to wish I should go to her.— how dejected 
 she appears — 
 
 Row And will you refrain from comforting her — 
 
 Sir Pet. Certainly a little morti6cation appears very becoming in a 
 wife — don't you think it will do her good to let her Pine a little. 
 
 Row. O this is ungenerous in you — 
 
 Sir Pet. Well I know not what to think— you remember Rowley the 
 Letter I found of her's — evidently intended for Charles ? 
 
 Roio. A mere forgery, Sir Peter — laid in your way on Purpose — this 
 is one of the Points which I intend Snake shall give you conviction 
 on — 
 
 .S'tV Pet. I wish I were once satisfied of that — She looks this way 
 
 what a remarkably elegant Turn of the Head she has 1 Rowley 
 
 ■I '11 go to her — 
 
 Row. Certainly — 
 
 Sir Pet. Tho' when it is known that we are reconciled, People will 
 laugh at me ten times more 1 
 
 Row. Let— them laugh — and retort their malice only by showing 
 them you are happy in spite of it. 
 
 Sir Pet. Efaith so I will— and, if I 'm not mistaken we may yet be 
 the happiest couple in the country — 
 
 Row. Nay Sir Peter — He who once lays aside suspicion 
 
 Sir Pet. Hold Master Rowley— if you have any Regard for me— 
 never let me hear you utter anything like a Sentiment. I have had 
 enough of them to serve me the rest of my Life. Exe. 
 
214 THE SCHOOL FOB SCANDAL. 
 
 Scene the Last. 
 
 The Library. 
 
 Surface and Lady Sxeerwell. 
 
 Lndy Sneer. Impossible ! will not Sir Peter immediately be recon- 
 ciled to Charles ? and of consequence no longer oppose his union with 
 Maria ? the thought is Distraction to me ! 
 
 Surf. Can Passion — furnish a Remedy 1 
 
 Ladij Sneer. No — nor cunning either. O I was a Fool, an Ideot — 
 to league with such a Blunderer ! 
 
 Surf. Surely Lady Sneerwell I am the greatest Sufferer— yet you 
 see I bear the accident with Calmness. 
 
 Lady Sneer. Because the Disappointment hasn't reached your Heart 
 —your interest only attached you to Maria— had you felt for her — 
 what I have for that ungrateful Libertine — neither your Temper nor 
 Hypocrisy could prevent your showing the sharpness of your Vexation. 
 
 Surf. But why should your Reproaches fall on me for this Disap- 
 pointment ? 
 
 Lady Sneer. Are not you the cause of it ? what had you to bate in 
 your Pursuit of Maria to pervert Lady Teazle by the way. — had you 
 not a sufficient field for your Roguery in blinding Sir Peter and sup- 
 planting your Brother — I hate such an avarice of crimes — 'tis an unfair 
 monopoly and never prospers. 
 
 Siirf. Well I admit I have been to blame — I confess I deviated from 
 the direct Road of wrong but I don't think we 're so totally defeated 
 neither. 
 
 Lady Sneer. No ! 
 
 Srirf. You tell me you have made a trial of Snake since we met — 
 and that you still believe him faithful to us — 
 
 Lady Sneer. I do believe so. 
 
 Stirf. And that he has undertaken should it be necessary — to swear 
 and prove that Charles is at this Time contracted by vows and Honour 
 to your Ladyship— which some of his former letters to you will serve 
 to support — 
 
 Lady Sneer. This, indeed, might have assisted — ■ 
 
 Surf. Come — come it is not too late yet — but hark ! this is probably 
 my Unkle Sir Oliver — retire to that Room — we '11 consult further when 
 He 's gone. — 
 
 Lady Sneer. Well but if He should find you out to — 
 
 Surf. I have no fear of that — Sir Peter will hold his tongue for 
 his own credit sake — and you may depend on 't I shall soon Discover 
 Sir Oliver's weak side !— 
 
THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL. 215 
 
 Lady Sneer. I have no diffidence of your abilities— only be constant 
 to one roguery at a time— (Ex.) 
 
 Surf. I will— I will— So 'tis confounded hard after such bad Fortune, 
 to be baited by one's confederate in evil — well at all events my cha- 
 racter is so much better than Charles's, that I certainly — hey — what ! 
 — this is not Sir Oliver— but old Stanley again !— Plague on 't that He 
 should return to teaze me just now — I shall have Sir Oliver come and 
 
 find him here — and 
 
 (Enter Sir Oliver.) 
 Gad's life, Mr. Stanley — why have you come back to plague me at this 
 time ? you must not stay now upon my word ! 
 
 Sir Oliv. Sir — I hear your Unkle Oliver is expected here — and tho' 
 He has been so penurious to you, I '11 try what He '11 do for me — 
 
 Surf. Sir ! 'tis impossible for you to stay now — so I must beg 
 
 come any other time and I promise you you shall be assisted. 
 
 <StV Oliv. No — Sir Oliver and I must be acquainted — 
 
 Jos. Surf. Zounds Sir then [I] insist on your quitting the — Room 
 directly — 
 
 Sir Oliv. Nay Sir 
 
 Jus. Surf. Sir — I insist on 't— here William show this Gentleman 
 out. Since you compel me Sir — not one moment — this is such 
 insolence. [Going to push him out. 
 
 Enter Charles. 
 
 Chas. Heyday I what 's the matter now ? — what the Devil have you 
 got hold of my little Broker here ! Zounds— Brother, don't hurt little 
 Premium. What's the matter — my little Fellow 1 
 
 Surf. So 1 He has been with you, too, has He— 
 
 Chns. To be sure He has ! Why, 'tis as honcbt a little But sure 
 
 Joseph you have not been borrowing money too have you ? 
 
 Surf. Borrowing — no I — But, Brother — you know sure we expect. 
 Sir Oliver every 
 
 Chas. Gad, that 's true — Noll mustn "t find the little Broker here 
 to be sure — 
 
 Surf. Yet Mr. Stanley insists 
 
 Chas. Stanley — why his name 's Premium — 
 
 Surf. No no Stanley. 
 
 Chas. No, no — Premium. 
 
 Surf. Well no matter which— but 
 
 Chas. Aye aye Stanley or Premium, 'tis the same thing as you say — 
 for I suppose He goes by half a hundred Names, besides A. B's at the 
 Coffee-House. [Knock. 
 
-'16 THE SCHOOL FOB SCANDAL. 
 
 Siuf. 'Sdeath — here 's Sir Oliver at the Door Now I beg — 
 
 Mr. Stanley 
 
 Chas. Aye aye and I beg Mr. Premium 
 
 Sir Oliv. Gentlemen 
 
 Surf. Sir, by Heaven you shall go — 
 
 Chas. Aye out with him certainly 
 
 Sir Oliv. Thia violence 
 
 Surf. 'Tis your own Fault. 
 
 Chas. Out with him to be sure. (Both forcing Sir Oliver out.) 
 
 (Enter Sir Peter Teazle, Lady Teazle, Maria, and Ro-rxey.) 
 
 Sir Pet. My old Friend, Sir Oliver ! — hey ! what in the name of 
 wonder I — Here are dutiful Nephews ! — assault their Unkle at his first 
 Visit ! 
 
 Lady Teiz. Indeed Sir Oliver 'twas well we came in to rescue you. 
 
 Bow. Truly it was — for I perceive Sir Oliver the character of old 
 Stanl'^y was no Protection to you. 
 
 Sir Oliv. Nor of Premium either — the necessities of the former 
 could not extort a shilling from that benevolent Gentleman ; and with 
 the other I stood a chance of faring worse than my Ancestors, and 
 being knocked down without being bid fur. 
 
 Surf. Charles ! 
 
 Chas. Joseph I 
 
 Surf. Tis compleat ! 
 
 Chas. Very ! 
 
 Sir Oliv. Sir Peter — my Friend and Rowley too— look on that elder 
 Nephew of mine— You know what He has already received from my 
 Bounty and you know also how gladly I would have look'd on half my 
 Fortune as held in trust for him — judge then my Disappointment in 
 discovering him to be destitute of Truth — Charity — and Gratitude — 
 
 Sir Pet. Sir Oliver — I should be more surprized at this Declaration, 
 if I had not myself found him to be selfish — treacherous and Hypo- 
 critical. 
 
 Lady Teaz. And if the Gentleman pleads not guilty to these pray 
 let him call me to his Character. 
 
 Sir Pet. Then I believe we need add no more — if He knows himself 
 He will consider it as the most perfect Punishment that He is known 
 to the world — 
 
 Chas. If they talk this way to Honesty — what will they say to me 
 by-and-bye ! 
 
 Sir Oliv. As for that Prodigal — his Brother there 
 
 Chas. Aye now comes my Turn — the damn'd Family Pictures will 
 ruin me — 
 
THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL. 217 
 
 Surf. Sir Oliver — Unkle — will you honour me with a hearing — 
 
 Chas. I wish Joseph now would make one of his long speeches and 
 I might recollect myself a little — 
 
 Sir Oliv. And I suppose you would undertake to vindicate youraelf 
 entirely — 
 
 Surf. I trust I could — 
 
 Sir Oliv. Nay — if you desert your Roguery in its Distress and try to 
 be justified — you have even less principle than I thought you had. — 
 [To Charles Surface,] Well, Sir — and yoxi could jus<(/y yourself too I 
 suppose — 
 
 Chas. Not that I know of, Sir Oliver. 
 
 Sir Oliv. What little Premium has been let too much into the secret 
 I presume. 
 
 Chas. True — Sir — but they were Family Secrets, and should not be 
 mentioned again you know. 
 
 Bow. Come Sir Oliver I know you cannot speak of Charles's Follies 
 with anger. 
 
 Sir Oliv. Odd's heart no more I can — nor with gravity either — Sir 
 Peter do you know the Rogue bargain'd with me for all his Ancestors 
 — sold me Judges and Generals by the Foot, and Maiden Aunts as 
 cheap as broken China I 
 
 Chas. To be sure. Sir Oliver, I did make a little free with the Family 
 Canvas that 's the truth on 't : — my Ancestors may certainly rise in 
 judgment against me there 's no denying it— but believe me sincere 
 when I tell you, and upon my soul I would not say so if I was not — that 
 if I do not appear mortified at the exposure of my Follies, it is because 
 I feel at this moment the warmest satisfaction in seeing you, my 
 liberal benefactor. 
 
 Sir Oliv. Charlts— I believe you — give me your hand again : the 
 ill-looking little fellow over the Couch has made your Peace. 
 
 Chas. Then Sir — my Gratitude to the original is still encreased. 
 
 Ladij Teaz. [Advancing.] Yet I believe. Sir Oliver, here is one 
 whom Charles is still more anxious to be reconciled to. 
 
 Sir Oliv. O T have heard of his Attachment there — and, with the 
 young Lady's Pardon if I construe right that Blush 
 
 Sir Pet. Well — Ciiild — speak your sentiments — you know — we are 
 going to be reconciled to Charles — 
 
 Mar. Sir — I have little to say — but that I shall rejoice to hear that 
 He is happy — For me — whatever claim I had to his A flection — I 
 willing resign to one who has a better title. 
 
 CJias. How Maria 1 
 
 Sir Pet. Heyday — what's the mystery now ? while he appeared an 
 
218 THE SCHOOL FOB SCANDAL. 
 
 incorrigible Rake, you would give your hand to no one else and now 
 that He 's likely to reform I '11 warrant you won't have him ! 
 
 Mar. His own Heart — and Lady Sneerwell know the cause. 
 
 [Chas.'] Lady Sneerwell ! 
 
 *Siitr/. Brother it is with great concern — I am obliged to speak on 
 this Point, but my Regard to Justice obliges me — and Lady Sneer- 
 well's injuries can no longer — be concealed— (goes to the Door) 
 
 Enter Lady Sneerwell. 
 
 Sir Pet. Soh ! another French milliner egad ! He has one in every 
 Room in the House I suppose — 
 
 Lady Sneer. Ungrateful Charles I Well may you be surprised and 
 feel for the indelicate situation which your Perfidy has forced me into. 
 
 Chas. Pray Unkle, is this another Plot of yours ? for as I have Life 
 I don't understand it. 
 
 Surf. I believe Sir there is but the evidence of one Person more 
 necessary to make it extremely clear. 
 
 Sir Pet. And that Person — I imagine, is Mr. Snake — Rowley— ^you 
 were perfectly right to bring him with us — and pray let him appear. 
 
 Eoiv. Walk in, Mr. Snake- 
 Enter Snake. 
 I thought his Testimony might be wanted — however it happens 
 unluckily that He comes to confront Lady Sneerwell and not to 
 support her — ■ 
 
 Lady Sneer. A Villain ! — Treacherous to me at last ! Speak, 
 Fellow, have you too conspired against me 1 
 
 Snalie. I beg your Ladyship — ten thousand Pardons — you paid me 
 extremely Liberally for the Lie in quebtion — but I unfortunately have 
 been offer'd double to speak the Truth. 
 
 Lady Sneer. The Torments of Shame and Disappointment on you 
 all! 
 
 Lady Teaz. Hold — Lady Sneerwell — before you go let me thank 
 you for the trouble you and that Gentleman have taken in writing 
 Letters from me to Charles and answering them yourself — and let me 
 also request you to make my Respects to the Scaadalous College — of 
 which you are President — and inform them that Lady Teazle, Licen- 
 tiate, begs leave to return the diploma they granted her — as she leaves 
 of[f] Practice and kills Characters no longer. 
 
 Lady Sneer. Provoking — insolent I — may your Husband live these 
 fifty years ! [Exit. 
 
 Sir Pet. Oons what a Fury 
 
 Lady Tea-.. A malicious Creature indeed ! 
 
THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL. 219 
 
 Sir Pet. Hey — not for her last wish ? — 
 
 Lady Teaz. O No— 
 
 Sir Oliv. Well Sir, and what have you to say now ? 
 
 Surf. Sir, I am so confounded, to find that Lady Sneerwell could be 
 guilty of suborning Mr. Snake in this manner to impose on U8 all that 
 
 I know not what to say however, lest her Revengeful Spirit should 
 
 prompt her to injure my Brother I had certainly better follow her 
 directly. Exit. 
 
 Sir Pet. Moral to the last drop 1 
 
 Sir Oliv. Aye and marry her Joseph if you can. — Oil and Vinegar 
 egad : — you '11 do very well together. 
 
 JRoiv. I believe we have no more occasion for Mr. Snake at 
 Present — 
 
 Snake. Before I go — I beg Pardon once for all for whatever uneasi- 
 ness I have been the humble instrument of causing to the Parties 
 present. 
 
 Sir Pet. Well — well you have made atonement by a good Deed at 
 last— 
 
 Snake. But I must Request of the Company that it shall never be 
 known — 
 
 Sir Pet. Hey I — what the Plague — are you ashamed of having done 
 a right thing once in your life ? 
 
 Snake. Ah : Sir — consider I live by the Badness of my Character I 
 — I have nothing but my Infamy to depend on ! — and, if it were once 
 known that I had been betray'd into an honest Action, I should lose 
 every Friend I have in the world. 
 
 Sir Oliv. Well — well we '11 not traduce you by saying anything 
 to your Praise never fear. Ex. Sxake. 
 
 Sir Pet. There 's a precious Rogue — Yet that fellow is a Writer and 
 a Critic. 
 
 Lady Teaz. See Sir Oliver there needs no persuasion now to recon- 
 cile your Nephew and Maria — • 
 
 Sir Oliv. Aye — aye — that 's as it should be and egad we '11 have the 
 wedding to-morrow morning — 
 
 CJins. Thank you, dear Unkle 1 
 
 Sir Pet. What I you rogue don't you ask the Girl's consent first — 
 
 Chas. Oh, I have done that a long time — above a minute ago — and 
 She has look'd yes — 
 
 Mar. For Shame — Charles — I protest Sir Peter, there has not been 
 a word 
 
 Sir Oliv. Well then the fewer the Better — may your love for each 
 other never know — abatement. 
 
220 THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL. 
 
 Sir Pet. And may you live as happily together as Lady Teazle and 
 I — intend to do — 
 
 Chas. Rowley ray old Friend — I am sure you congratulate me and I 
 suspect too that I owe you much. 
 
 Sir Oliv. You do, indeed, Charles — 
 
 Rowley. If my EfiFurts to serve you had not succeeded you would have 
 been in my debt for the attempt^but deserve to be happy — and you 
 over-repay me. 
 
 Sir Pet. Aye honest Rowley always said you would reform. 
 
 Chas. Surf. Why as to reforming Sir Peter I '11 make no promises — 
 and that I take to be a proof that I intend to set about it — But here 
 shall be my Monitor — my gentle Guide. — ah ! can I leave the Virtuous 
 path those Eyes illumine ? 
 
 Tho' thou, dear Maid, should'st wave thy Beauty's Sway, 
 
 — Thou still must Rule — because I will obey : 
 
 An humbled fugitive from Folly View, 
 
 No sanctuary near but Love and You : 
 
 You can indeed each anxious Fear remove. 
 
 For even Scandal dies if you approve. [ To the audience. 
 
 EPILOGUE. 
 
 BY MR. COLMAN. 
 SPOKEN BY LADY TEAZLE. 
 
 I, WHO was late so volatile and gay, 
 Like a trade- wind must now blow all one way, 
 Bend all my cares, my studies, and my vows, 
 To one dull rusty weathercock — my spouse I 
 So wills our virtuous bard — the motley Bayes 
 Of crying epilogues and laughing plays ! 
 Old bachelors, who marry smart young wives. 
 Learn from our play to regulate your lives : 
 Each bring his dear to town, all faults upon her- 
 London will prove the very source of honour. 
 Plunged fairly in, like a cold bath it serves, 
 When principles relax, to brace the nerves : 
 Such is my case ; and yet I must deplore 
 That the gay dream of dissipation 's o'er. 
 And say, ye fair ! was ever lively wife, 
 Born with a genius for the highest life. 
 
THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL. 221 
 
 Like me untimely blasted in her bloom, 
 
 Like me condemn'd to such a dismal doom ? 
 
 Save money— wheii I just knew how to waste it ! 
 
 Leave London — just as I began to taste it ! 
 Must I then watch the early crowing cock, 
 
 The melancholy ticking of a clock ; 
 
 In a lone rustic hall for ever pounded, 
 
 With dogs, cat', rats, and squalling brata surrounded ? 
 
 With humble curate can I now retire, 
 
 (While good Sir Peter boozes with the squire,) 
 
 And at backgammon mortify my soul, 
 
 That pants for loo, or flutters at a vole 
 
 Seven 's the main ! Dear sound that must expire, 
 
 Lost at hot cockles round a Christmas fire ; 
 
 The transient hour of fashion too soon spent, 
 
 Farewell the tranquil mind, farewell content ! 
 
 Farewell the plumed head, the cushion'd tute. 
 
 That takes the cushion from its proper seat ! 
 
 That spirit-stirring drum ! — card drums I mean, 
 
 Sf adille — odd trick — pam — basto — king and queen ! 
 
 And you, ye knockers, that, with brazen throat, 
 
 The welcome visitors' approach denote ; 
 
 Farewell all quality of high renown, 
 
 Pride, pomp, and circumstance of glorious town ! 
 
 Farewell ! your revels I partake no more, 
 
 And Lady Teazle's occupation 's o'er ! 
 
 All this I told our bard ; he smiled, and said 'twas clear, 
 
 I ought to play deep tragedy next year. 
 
 Meanwhile he drew wise morals from his play. 
 
 And in these solemn periods f talk'd away : — 
 
 " Bless'd were the fair like you ; her faults who stopp'd, 
 
 And closed her follies when the curtain dropp'd ! 
 
 No more in vice or error to engage. 
 
 Or play the fool at large on life's great stage." 
 
THE CRITIC; 
 
 OR, A TRAGEDY REHEARSED. 
 
 A DRAMATIC PIECE IN THREE ACTS. 
 
 TO MRS. GREVILLE. 
 
 Madam, — In requesting your permission to address the following pages to you, 
 whicli, as they aim themselves to be critical, require every protection and 
 allowance that approving taste or friendly prejudice can give them, I yet ventured 
 to mention no other motive than the gratification of private friendship and esteem. 
 Had I suggested a hope that your implied approbation would give a sanction to 
 their defects your particular reserve, and dislike to the reputation of critical 
 taste, as well as of poetical talent, would have made you refuse the protection of 
 your name to such a purpose. However, I am not so ungrateful as now to attempt 
 to combat this disposition in you. I shall not here presume to argue that the 
 present state of poetry claims and expects every assistance that taste and example 
 can afford it ; nor endeavour to prove that a fastidious concealment of the most 
 elegant productions of judgment and fancy is an ill return for the possession of 
 those endowments. Continue to deceive yourself in the idea that you are known 
 only to be eminently admired and regarded for the valuable qualities that attach 
 private friendships, and the graceful talents that adorn conversation. Enough of 
 what you have written has stolen into full public notice to answer my purpose, 
 and you will, perhaps, be the only person, conversant in elegant literature, who 
 sli ill read this address and not perceive that by publishing jour particular appro- 
 bation of the following drama, I have a more interested object than to boast the 
 true respect and regard with which I have the honour to be, Madam, your very 
 sincere and obedient humble servant, R. B. SHERIDAN. 
 
 DRAMATIS PERSONS. 
 
 AS ORIGINALLY ACTED AT DRURY LANE THEATRE IN 1779. 
 
 Sir Fretful 
 
 Plagiary . . 
 Puff .... 
 Dangle . . . 
 Sneer. . . . 
 SiGNOR Pasticcio 
 
 RiTORNELLO . 
 
 Interpreter 
 
 Under Prompter Mr. Phillimore. 
 
 Mr. Parsons. 
 
 Mr. King. 
 Mr. Docld. 
 Mr. Palmer. 
 
 Mr. Delpini. 
 
 Mr. Baddeley. 
 
 Mr. Hopkins . Mr. Hopkins. 
 
 Mrs. Dangle . 3Irs. Hopkins. 
 
 Signore Pas- (Miss Field 
 ticcio Ritor- < and the Miss 
 nello . . . i_ Abrams. 
 
 Scenemen, Musicians, and 
 Servants. 
 
THE CRITIC. 
 
 CHARACTERS OF THE TRAGEDY. 
 
 Mr. 
 Mr. 
 
 Lord Burleigh . 
 Governor of Til 
 
 BURY Fort . . 
 Earl of Leicester il//-, 
 Sir Walter Ra-) ^r. 
 
 LEIGH . . . / ' 
 Sir Christofher 
 
 Hatfon . . 
 Master of the 
 
 Horse . . . 
 DonFeroloWhis- \ Mr 
 
 kerandos 
 Beefeater 
 
 Moody. 
 Wrujhten. 
 Farren. 
 Burton. 
 
 Mr. Waldron. 
 
 Mr. 
 
 Kenny. 
 Bannister, 
 
 / lun. 
 Mr. Wrujht. 
 
 Justice . , 
 Son . . , 
 Constable . 
 Thames . . 
 Tilburina , 
 Confidant , 
 Justice's Lady 
 First Niece 
 Second Niece 
 
 Mr. Parker. 
 Mr. Lamash. 
 Mr. Fawcett. 
 Mr. Gawdry. 
 Miss Pope. 
 Mrs. Bradshaw. 
 3Irs. Johnston. 
 Miss Collett. 
 3Iiss Kirhy. 
 
 Knights, Guards, Constables, 
 Sentinels, Servants, Chorus, 
 Rivers, Attendants, &c., &c. 
 
 Scene, — London : in Dangle's House diiriny the First Act, and 
 throughout the rest of the Play in Drury Lane Theatre. 
 
 PROLOGUE. 
 
 BY THE honourable RICHARD FITZPATRICK. 
 
 The sister Muses, whom these realms obey, 
 Who o'er the drama hold divided sway, 
 Sometimes by evil counsellors, 'tis said. 
 Like earth-born potentates have been misled. 
 In those gay days of wickedness and wit, 
 When Villiers criticised what Dryden writ. 
 The tragic queen, to please a tasteless crowd, 
 Had learn'd to bellow, rant, and roar so loud, 
 That frighten'd Nature, her best friend before. 
 The blustering beldam's company foreswore ; 
 Her comic sister, who had wit 'tis true. 
 With all her merits, had her failings too : 
 And would sometimes in mirthful moments use 
 A style too flippant for a well-bred muse ; 
 Then female modesty abash'd began 
 To seek the friendly refuge of the fan. 
 Awhile behind that slight intrenchment stood, 
 Till driven from thence, she left the stage for good. 
 In our more pious, and far chaster times. 
 These sure no longer are the Muse's crimes I 
 But some complain that, former faults to shun, 
 The reformation to extremes has run. 
 The frantic hero's wild delirium past, 
 Now insipidity succeeds bombast : 
 
224 THE CRITIC. 
 
 So slow Melpomene's cold numbers creep, 
 
 Here dulness seems her drowsy court to keep, 
 
 And we are scarce awake, whilst you are fast asleep. 
 
 Thalia, once so ill-behaved and rude, 
 
 Reform'd, is now become an arrant prude ; 
 
 Retailing nightly to the yawning pit 
 
 The purest morals, undefiled by wit I 
 
 Our author oflfers, in these motley scenes, 
 
 A slight remonstrance to the drama's queens : 
 
 Nor let the goddesses be over nice ; 
 
 Free-spoken subjects give the best advice. 
 
 Although not quite a novice in his trade, 
 
 His cause to-night requires no common aid. 
 
 To this, a friendly, just, and powerful court, 
 
 I come ambassador to beg support. 
 
 Can he undaunted brave the critic's rage 1 
 
 In civil broils with brother bards engage ? 
 
 Hold forth their errors to the public eye, 
 
 Nay more, e'en newspapers themselves defy 1 
 
 Say, must his single arm encounter all ? 
 
 By number vanquish'd, e'en the brave may fall ; 
 
 And though no leader should success distrust. 
 
 Whose troops are willing, and whose cause is just ; 
 
 To bid such hosts of angry foes defiance, 
 
 His chief dependence must be, your alliance. 
 
THE CRITIC. 225 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 Scene I. — A Room in Dangle's House. 
 Mr. and Mrs. Dangle discovered at breal^fast, and reading newspapers. 
 
 Dang. [Reading.] Brutus to Lord North. — Letter the second on the 
 State of the Army— Pah^ ! To the first L dash D of the A dash Y. — 
 Genuine e.vtract of a Letter from St. Kitfs.—Goxheath Intelligence. — It 
 is now confidently asserted that Sir Charles Hardy — Psha ! nothing but 
 about the fleet and the nation I — and I hate all politics but theatrical 
 politics. — Where 's the Morning Chronicle ? 
 
 Mrs. Dang. Yes, that 's your Gazette, 
 
 Dang. So, here we have it.— [Reads.] Theatrical intelligence extra- 
 ordinary. — We hear there is a neiv tragedy in rehearsal at Drury Lane 
 Theatre, called the Spanish Armada, said to be ivritten by Mr. Puff, a 
 gentleman tvell knorcn in the theatrical xoorld. If we may allow our- 
 selves to give credit to the report of the performers, tvho, truth to say, are 
 in general but indifferent judges, this piece abounds with the most 
 striking and received beauties of modern composition. — So ! I am very 
 glad my friend Puflf's tragedy is in such forwardness — Mrs. Dangle, 
 my dear, you will be very glad to hear that PuiTs tragedy 
 
 Mrs. Dang. Lord, Mr. Dangle, why will you plague me about such 
 nonsense ?— Now the plays are begun I shall have no peace. — Isn't it 
 sufficient to make yourself ridiculous by your passion for the theatre, 
 without continually teasing me to join you ? Why can't you ride your 
 hobby-horse without desiring to place me on a pillion behind you, Mr. 
 Dangle ? 
 
 Dang. Nay, my dear, I was only going to read 
 
 Mrs. Dang. No, no ; you will never read anything that 's worth 
 listening to. You hate to hear about your country ; there are letters 
 every day with Roman signatures, demonstrating the certainty of an 
 invasion, and proving that the nation is utterly undone. But you 
 never will read anything to entertain one. 
 
 Dang. What has a woman to do with politics, Mrs. Dangle ? 
 
 Mrs. Dang. And what have you to do with the theatre, Mr. 
 Dangle ? Why should you affect the character of a critic ? I have no 
 patience with you !— haven't you made yourself the jest of all your 
 acquaintance by your interference in matters where you have no 
 business ? Are you not called a theatrical Quidnunc, and a mock 
 Maecenas to second-hand authors? 
 
 Dang. True ; my power with the managers is pretty notorious. 
 
 Q 
 
226 THE CRITIC. 
 
 But is it no credit to have applications from all quarters for ray 
 interest — from lords to recommend fiddlers, from ladies to get boxes, 
 from authors to get answers, and from actors to get engagements 1 
 
 Mrs. Dang. Yes, truly ; you have contrived to get a share in all 
 the plague and trouble of theatrical property, without the profit, or 
 even the credit of the abuse that attends it. 
 
 Dang. I am sure, Mrs. Dangle, you are no loser by it, however ; you 
 have all the advantages of it. Mightn't you, last winter, have had the 
 reading of the new pantomime a fortnight previous to its performance? 
 And doesn't Mr. Fosbrook let you take places for a play before it is 
 advertised, and set you down for a box for every new piece through 
 the season? And didn't my friend, Mr. Smatter, dedicate his last 
 farce to you at my particular request, Mrs. Dangle ? 
 
 Mrs. Dang. Yes ; but wasn't the farce damned, Mr. Dangle? And 
 to be sure it is extremely pleasant to have one's house made th& 
 motley rendezvous of all the lackeys of literature ; the very high 
 'Change of trading authors and jobbing critics ! — Yes, my drawing- 
 room is an absolute register-ofSce for candidate actors, and poets 
 without character. — Then to be continually alarmed with misses and 
 ma'ams piping hysteric changes on Juliets and Dorindas, Pollys and 
 Ophelias ; and the very furniture trembling at the probationary start* 
 and unprovoked rants of would-be Richards and Hamlets ! — And what 
 is worse than all, now that the manager has monopolized the Opera 
 House, haven't we the signors and signoras calling here, sliding their 
 smooth semibreves, and gargling glib divisions in their outlandish 
 throats — with foreign emissaries and French spies, for aught I know, 
 disguised like fiddlers and figure dancers ? 
 
 Dang. Mercy ! Mrs. Dangle ! 
 
 Mrs. Dang. And to employ yourself so idly at such an alarming 
 crisis as this too — when, if you had the least spirit, you would have 
 been at the head of one of the Westminster associations — or trailing 
 a volunteer pike in the Artillery Ground ! But you — o' my con- 
 science, I believe, if the French were landed to-morrow, your first 
 inquiry would be, whether they had brought a theatrical troop with 
 them. 
 
 Dang. Mrs. Dangle, it does not signify — I say the stage is the 
 mirror of Nature, and the actors are the Abstract and brief Chronicles 
 of the Time: and pray what can a man of sense study better? — 
 Besides, you will not easily persuade me that there is no credit or 
 importance in being at the head of a band of critics, who take upon 
 them to decide for the whole town, whose opinion and patronage all 
 writers solicit, and whose recommendation no manager dares refuse. 
 
TEE CRITIC. 227 
 
 Mrs. Dang. Ridiculous ! — Both managers and authors of the least 
 merit laugh at your pretensions. — The public is their critic — without 
 whose fair approbation they know no play can rest on the stage, and 
 with whose applause they welcome such attacks as yours, and laugh at 
 the malice of them, where they can't at the wit. 
 
 Dang. "Very well, madam — very well ! 
 
 Enter Servant. 
 
 Sey. Mr. Sneer, sir, to wait on you. 
 
 Datig. Oh, show Mr. Sneer up.— [Exit Servant.]— Plague on't, 
 now we must appear loving and affectionate, or Sneer will hitch us 
 into a story. 
 
 Mrs. Dang. With all my heart ; you can't be more ridiculous than 
 you are. 
 
 Dang, You are enough to provoke 
 
 Enter Sneer. 
 Ha ! my dear Sneer, I am vastly glad to see you. — My dear, here's 
 Mr. Sneer. 
 
 Mrs. Dang. Good-morning to you, sir. 
 
 Dang. Mrs. Dangle and I have been diverting ourselves with the 
 papers. Pray, Sneer, won't you go to Drury Lane Theatre the first 
 night of Puff's tragedy 1 
 
 Sneer. Yes ; but I suppose one shan't be able to get in, for on the 
 first night of a new piece they always fill the house with orders to 
 support it. But here. Dangle, I have brought you two pieces, one of 
 which you must exert yourself to make the managers accept, I can tell 
 you that ; for 'tis written by a person of consequence. 
 
 Dang. So ! now my plagues are beginning. 
 
 Sneer. Ay, I am glad of it, for now you '11 be happy. Why, my 
 dear Dangle, it is a pleasure to see how you enjoy your volunteer' 
 fatigue, and your solicited solicitations. 
 
 Dang. It's a great trouble — yet, egad, it's pleasant too. — Why, 
 sometimes of a morning I have a dozen people call on me at breakfast- 
 time, whose faces I never saw before, nor ever desire to see again. 
 
 Sneer. That must be very pleasant indeed ! 
 
 Dang. And not a week but I receive fifty letters, and not a line in 
 them about any business of my own. 
 
 Sneer. An amusing correspondence ! 
 
 Dang. [Beading.'] Bursts into tears and exit. — What, is this a 
 tragedy ? 
 
 Sneer. No, that 's a genteel comedy, not a translation — only taken 
 from the French : it is written in a style which they have lately 
 
228 THE CBITIG. 
 
 tried to run down ; the true sentimental, and nothing ridiculous in 
 it from the beginning to the end. 
 
 3Irs. Dang. Well, if they had kept to that, I should not have been 
 such an enemy to the stage ; there was some edification to be got 
 from those pieces, Mr. Sneer ! 
 
 Sneer. I am quite of your opinion, Mrs. Dangle : the theatre, in 
 proper hands, might certainly be made the school of morality ; but 
 now, I am sorry to say it, people seem to go there principally for 
 their entertainment ! 
 
 Mrs. Dang. It would have been more to the credit of the managers 
 to have kept it in the other line. 
 
 Sneer. Undoubtedly, madam ; and hereafter perhaps to have had 
 it recorded, that in the midst of a luxurious and dissipated age, they 
 preserved two houses in the capital, where the conversation was 
 always moral at least, if not entertaining ! 
 
 Dang. Now, egad, I think the worst alteration is in the nicety of 
 the audience ! — No double-entendre, no smart innuendo admitted ; 
 even Vanbrugh and Congreve obliged to undergo a bungling reforma- 
 tion ! 
 
 Sneer. Yes, and our prudery in this respect is just on a par with 
 the artificial bashfulness of a courtesan, who increases the blush upon 
 her cheek in an exact proportion to the diminution of her modesty. 
 
 Dang. Sneer can't even give the public a good word ! But what 
 have we here ? — This seems a very odd 
 
 Sneer. Oh, that 's a comedy, on a very new plan ; replete with wit 
 and mirth, yet of a most serious moral ! You see it is called The 
 Reformed House-breaker ; where, by the mere force of humour, house- 
 breaking is put in so ridiculous a light, that if the piece has its proper 
 run, I have no doubt but that bolts and bars will be entirely useless 
 by the end of the season. 
 
 Dang. Egad, this is new indeed ! 
 
 Sneer. Yes ; it is written by a particular friend of mine, who has 
 discovered that the follies and foibles of society are subjects unworthy 
 the notice of the comic muse, who should be taught to stoop only to 
 the greater vices and blacker crimes of humanity — gibbeting capital 
 offences in five acts, and pillorying petty larcenies in two. — In short, 
 his idea is to dramatize the penal laws, and make the stage a court 
 of ease to the Old Bailey. 
 Dang. It is truly moral. 
 
 Re-enter Servant. 
 Ser. Sir Fretful Plagiary, sir. 
 
THE CRITIC. 229 
 
 Dang. Beg him to walk up. — [Exit Servant.] Xow, Mrs. Dangle, 
 Sir Fretful Plagiary is an author to your own taste. 
 
 Mrs. Dang. I confess he is a favourite of mine, because everybody 
 else abuses him. 
 
 Sneer. Very much to the credit of your charity, madam, if not of 
 your judgment. 
 
 Dang. But, egad, he allows no merit to any author but himself, 
 that 'a the truth on 't — though he 's my friend. 
 
 Siieer. Never. — He is as envious as an old maid verging on the 
 desperation of six and thirty ; and then the insidious humility with 
 which he seduces you to give a free opinion on any of his works, can 
 be exceeded only by the petulant arrogance with which he is sure to 
 reject your observations. 
 
 Dang. Very true, egad — though he 's my friend. 
 
 Sneer. Then his affected contempt of all newspaper strictures ; 
 though, at the same time, he is the sorest man alive, and shrinks 
 like scorched parchment from the fiery ordeal of true criticism : yet 
 is he 8o covetous of popularity, that he had rather be abused than not 
 mentioned at all. 
 
 Dang. There 's no denying it — though he is my friend. 
 
 Sneer. You have read the tragedy he has just finished, haven't 
 you ? 
 
 Dang. Oh, yes ; he sent it to me yesterday. 
 
 Sneer. Well, and you think it execrable, don't you? 
 
 Dang. Why, between ourselves, egad, I must own — though he is 
 
 my friend — that it is one of the most — He 's here [^isiJe.J^finished 
 
 and most admirable perform 
 
 Sir Fret. [Without.] Mr. Sneer with him did you say ? 
 
 Enter Sir Fretful Plagiary. 
 
 Dang. Ah, my dear friend ! — Egad, we were just speaking of your 
 tragedy. — Admirable, Sir Fretful, admirable ! 
 
 Sneer. You never did anything beyond it, Sir Fretful — never in 
 your life. 
 
 Sir Fret. You make me extremely happy ; for without a compli- 
 ment, my dear Sneer, there isn't a man in the world whose judgment 
 I value as I do yours and Mr. Dangle's. 
 
 Mrs. Dang. They are only laughing at you. Sir Fretful ; for it was 
 but just now that 
 
 Dang. Mrs. Dangle I^Ah, Sir Fretful, you know Mrs. Dangle. — 
 My friend Sneer was rallying just now : — he knows how she admires 
 you, and 
 
230 THE CRITIC. 
 
 Sir Fret. O Lord, I am sure Mr. Sneer has more taste and sincerity 
 than to [Aside.] A damned double-faced fellow ! 
 
 Bang. Yes, yes — Sneer will jest — but a better humoured 
 
 Sir Fret. Oh, I know 
 
 Dang. He has a ready turn for ridicule — his wit costs him nothing. 
 
 Sir Fret. No, egad — or I should wonder how he came by it. [Aside. 
 
 Mrs. Dang. Because his jest is always at the expense of his friend. 
 
 [Aside. 
 
 Dang. But, Sir Fretful, have you sent your play to the managers 
 yet ? — or can I be of any service to you ? 
 
 Sir Fret. No, no, I thank you : I believe the piece had sufficient 
 recommendation with it. — I thank you though. — I sent it to the 
 manager of Covent Garden Theatre this morning. 
 
 Sneer. I should have thought now, that it might have been cast (as 
 the actors call it) better at Drury Lane. 
 
 Sir Fret. O Lud ! no — never send a play there while I live — 
 hark'ee ! [0^/iispers Sneer. 
 
 Sneer. Writes himself I — I know he does. 
 
 Sir Fret. I say nothing — I take away from no man's merit — am hurt 
 at no man's good fortune — I say nothing. — But this I will say — 
 through all my knowledge of life, I have observed — that there is not 
 a passion so strongly rooted in the human henrt as envy. 
 
 Sneer. I believe you have reason for what you say, indeed. 
 
 Sir Fret. Besides — I can tell you it is not always so safe to leave a 
 play in the hands of those who write themselves. 
 
 Sneer. What, they may steal from them, hey, my dear Plagiary % 
 
 Sir Fret. Steal ! — to be sure they may ; and, egad, serve your best 
 thoughts as gypsies do stolen children, disfigure them to make 'era 
 pass for their own. 
 
 Sneer. But your present work is a sacrifice to Melpomene, and he, 
 you know, never 
 
 Sir Fret. That 's no security : a dexterous plagiarist may do any- 
 thing. Why, sir, for aught I know, he might take out some of the 
 best things in my tragedy, and put them into his own comedy. 
 
 Sneer. That might be done, I dare be sworn. 
 
 Sir Fret. And then, if such a person j^ives you the least hint or 
 assistance, he is devilish apt to take the merit of the whole 
 
 Dang. If it succeeds 
 
 Sir Fret. Ay, but with regard to this piece, I think I can hit that 
 gentleman, for I can safely swear he never read it 
 
 Sneer. I '11 tell you how you may hurt him more. 
 
 Sir Fret. How ? 
 
THE CRITIC. 231 
 
 Sneer. Swear he wrote it. 
 
 Sir Fret. Plague on 't now, Sneer, I shall take it ill ! — I believe you 
 want to take away my character as an author. 
 
 Sneer. Then I am sure you ought to be very much obliged to me. 
 
 Sir Fret. Hey !— sir ! 
 
 Dang. Oh, you know, he never means what he says. 
 
 Sir Fret. Sincerely then — do you like the piece 1 
 
 Sneer. Wonderfully I 
 
 Sir Fret. But come, now, there must be something that you think 
 might be mended, hey ? — Mr. Dangle, has nothing struck you ? 
 
 Dang. Why, faith, it is but an ungracious thing, for the most part, 
 to 
 
 Sir Fret. With most authors it is just so, indeed ; they are in 
 general strangely tenacious I But, for my part, I am never so well 
 pleased as when a judicious critic points out any defect to me ; for 
 what is the purpose of showing a work to a friend, if you don't mean 
 to profit by his opinion ? 
 
 Sneer. Very true. — *Why then though I seriously admire the piece 
 upon the whole — yet there is one small objection which if yuu '11 give 
 me leave, I '11 mention — 
 
 Sir Fret. You can't oblige me more. 
 
 Sneer. I think it wants Incident. 
 ■ Sir Fret. Good God ! you surprise me — wants Incident— 
 
 Sneer. Yes I own I think the Incidents are too few. 
 
 Sir Fret. Believe me there is no Person for whose Judgment I have 
 a more implicit Deference. But I protest to you I am only appre- 
 hensive myself that the Incidents are too crowded — Mr. Dangle how 
 does it strike you ? 
 
 Da^ig. Really I cannot agree with Mr. Sneer — I think the Plot quite 
 sufficient — and the four first Acts by many Degrees the best I ever 
 read or saw in my Life — If I might venture to suggest anything it is 
 that the interest rather falls off in the Fifth Act. 
 
 Sir Fret. Rises I believe you mean Sir. 
 • Dang. No I don't, upon my word. 
 
 Sir Fret. Yes yes you do — :it certainly don't fall ofi — I assure you — 
 no no it don't fall off. 
 
 Dang. Now Mrs. Dangle did you say it struck you in the same 
 light ?t 
 
 Mrs. Dang. No, indeed, I did not.— I did not see a fault in any 
 part of the play, from the beginning to the end. 
 
 * The sheets of manuscript which are preserved begin here. 
 ■(• End of this part of the manuscript 
 
232 THE CRITIC. 
 
 Sir Fret. Upon my soul, the women are the best judges after all ! 
 Mrs, Dang. Or, if I made any objection, I am sure it was to nothing 
 in the piece ; but that I was afraid it was on the whole, a little too 
 long. 
 
 Sir Fret. Pray, madam do you speak aa to duration of time ; or do 
 you mean that the story is tediously spun out ? 
 
 Mis. Dang. O Lud ! no.— I speak only with reference to the usual 
 length of acting plays. 
 
 Sir Fret. Then I am very happy — very happy indeed — because the 
 play is a short play, a remarkably short play. I should not venture 
 to differ with a lady on a point of taste ; but on these occasions, the 
 watch, you know, is the critic. 
 
 Mrs. Dang. Then, I suppose, it must have been Mr. Dangle's 
 drawling manner of reading it to me. 
 
 Sir Fret. Oh, if Mr. Dangle read it, that 's quite another affair ! — 
 But I assure you, Mrs. Dangle, the first evening you can spare me 
 three hours and a half, I 'U undertake to read you the whole, from 
 beginning to end, with the prologue and epilogue, and allow time for 
 the music between the acts. 
 
 Mrs. Dang. I hope to see it on the stage next. 
 
 Dang. Well, Sir Fretful, I wish you may be able to get rid as easily 
 of the newspaper criticisms as you do of ours. 
 
 Sir Fret. The newspapers ! Sir, they are the most villainous — 
 licentious — abominable — infernal — Not that I ever read them — no — I 
 make it a rule never to look into a newspaper. 
 
 Dang. You are quite right ; for it certainly must hurt an author of 
 delicate feelings to see the liberties they take. 
 
 Sir Fret. No, quite the contrary ! their abuse is, in fact, the best 
 panegyric — I like it of all things. An author's reputation is only in 
 danger from their support. 
 
 Sneer. Why, that 's true — and that attack, now, on you the other 
 day 
 
 Sir Fret. What ? where ? 
 
 Dang. Ay, you mean in a paper of Thursday : it svas completely ill- 
 natured, to be sure. 
 
 Sir Fret. Oh, so much the better. — Ha ! ha ! ha ! I wouldn t have 
 it otherwise. 
 
 Dang. Certainly it is only to be laughed at ; for 
 
 Sir Fret. You don't happen to recollect what the fellow said, do you ? 
 
 Sneer. Pray, Dangle — Sir Fretful seems a little anxious 
 
 Sir Fret. O Lud, no ! — anxious ! — not I — not the least. — I — but one 
 may as well hear, you know. 
 
THE CRITIC. 23» 
 
 Dang. Sneer, do you recollect ? — [Aside to Sneer.] Make out some- 
 thing. 
 
 Sneer. [Aside to Dangle.] I will. — [Aloud.] Yea, yes, I remember 
 perfectly. 
 
 Sir Fret. Well, and pray now — not that it signifies — what might the 
 gentleman say ? 
 
 Sneer. Why, he roundly asserts that you have not the slightest 
 invention or original genius whatever ; though you are the greatest 
 traducer of all other authors living. 
 
 Sir Fret. Ha ! ha ! ha I — very good I 
 
 Sneer. That as to comedy, you have not one idea of your own, he 
 believes, even in your commonpluce-book — where stray jokes and 
 pilfered witticisms are kept with as much method as the ledger of the 
 lost and stolen office. 
 
 Sir Fret. Ha ! ha ! ha ! — very pleasant ! 
 
 Sneer. Nay, that you are so unlucky as not to have the skill even to 
 steal with taste : — but that you glean from the refuse of obscure 
 volumes, where more judicious plagiarists have been before you ; so 
 that the body of your work is a composition of dregs and sentiments^ 
 like a bad tavern's worst wine. 
 
 Sir Fret. Ha ! ha ! 
 
 Sneer. In your more serious efforts, he says, your bombast would be 
 less intolerable, if the thoughts were ever suited to the expression : 
 but the homeliness of the sentiment stares through the fantastic 
 encumbrance of its fine language, like a clown in one of the new 
 uniforms ! 
 
 Sir Fret. Ha ! ha ! 
 
 Sneer. That your occasional tropes and flowers suit the general 
 coarseness of your style, as tambour sprigs would a ground of linsey- 
 woolsey ; while your imitations of Shakspeare resemble the mimicry 
 of Falstaff's page, and are about as near the standard of the original. 
 
 Sir Fret. Ha! 
 
 Sneer. In short, that even the finest passages you steal are of no 
 service to you ; for the poverty of your own language prevents their 
 assimilating ; so that they lie on the surface like lumps of marl on a 
 barren moor, encumbering what it is not in their power to fertilize ! 
 
 Sir Fret. [After great agitation.] Now, another person would be 
 vexed at this I 
 
 Sneer. Oh 1 but I wouldn't have told you — only to divert you. 
 
 Sir Fret. 1 know it — I am diverted. — Ha 1 ha I ha I — not the least 
 invention I — Ha ! ha ! ha 1 — very good ! — very good ! 
 
 Sneer. Yes — no genius ! ha I ha 1 ha ! 
 
234 THE CRITIC. 
 
 Dan'i. A severe rogue ! ha ! ha ! ha ! But you are quite right, Sir 
 Fretful, never to read such nonsense. 
 
 Sir Fret. To be sure — for if there is anything to one's praise, it is a 
 
 fooliah vanity to be gratified at it ; and, if it is abuse — why one is 
 
 aUvaya sure to hear of it from one damned good-natured friend or 
 
 other ! 
 
 Enter Servant. 
 
 Ser. Sir, there is an Italian gentleman, with a French interpreter, 
 and three young ladies, and a dozen musicians, who say they are sent 
 by Lady Rondeau and Mrs. Fugue. 
 
 Dang. Gadso ! they come by appointment ! — Dear Mrs. Dangle, do 
 let them know I '11 see them directly. 
 
 3Irs. Dang. You know, Mr. Dangle, I shan't understand a word they 
 Bay. 
 
 Dang. But you hear there 'a an interpreter. 
 
 Mrs. Dang. Well, I '11 try to endure their complaisance till you 
 come. [^Exit. 
 
 Ser. And Mr. PuflF, sir, has sent word that the last rehearsal is to be 
 this morning, and that he '11 call on you presently. 
 
 Dang. That's true^I shall certainly be at home. — [Exit Servant.] 
 — Now, Sir Fretful, if you have a mind to have justice done you in the 
 way of answer, egad, Mr. Puff's your man. 
 
 Sii- Fret. Psha ! sir, why should I wish to have it answered, when I 
 tell you I am pleased at it ? 
 
 Dang. True, I had forgot that. But I hope you are not fretted at 
 what Mr. Sneer 
 
 Sir Fret. Zounds ! no, Mr. Dangle ; don't I tell you these things 
 never fret me in the least ? 
 
 Dang. Nay, I only thought 
 
 Sir Fret. And let me tell you, Mr. Dangle, 'tis damned affronting in 
 you to suppose that I am hurt when I tell you I am not. 
 
 Sneer. But why so warm, Sir Fretful ? 
 
 Sir Fret. Gad's life ! Mr. Sneer, you are as absurd as Dangle : how 
 often must I repeat it to you, that nothing can vex me but your 
 supposing it possible for me to mind the damned nonsense you have 
 been repeating to me ! — and, let me tell you, if you continue to believe 
 this, you must mean to insult me, gentlemen — and, then, your dis- 
 respect will affect me no more than the newspaper criticisms — and I 
 shall treat it with exactly the same calm indifference and philosophic 
 contempt— and so your servant. [Exit. 
 
 Sneer. Ha ! ha ! ha ! poor Sir Fretful ! Now will he go and vent 
 his philosophy in anonymous abuse of all modern critics and authors. 
 
THE CRITIC. 235 
 
 —But, Dangle, you must get your. friend Pufif to take me to the 
 rehearsal of his tragedy. 
 
 Dawj. I '11 answer for 't, he '11 thank you for desiring it. But come 
 and help me to judge of this musical family: they are recommended by 
 people of consequence, I assure you. 
 
 Sneer. I am at your disposal the whole morning ! — but I thought you 
 had been a decided critic in music as well as in literature. 
 
 Dang. So I am— but I have a bad ear. I' faith, Sneer, though, I am 
 afraid we were a little too severe on Sir Fretful— though he is my 
 friend. 
 
 Sneer. Why, 'tis certain, that unnecessarily to mortify the vanity of 
 any writer is a cruelty which mere dulness never can deserve ; but 
 where a base and personal malignity usurps the place of literary 
 emulation, the aggressor deserves neither quarter nor pity. 
 
 Dan'j. That 's true, egad ! — though he 's my friend ! 
 
 Scene II, — A Dratoing-room in Bangle's House. 
 
 Mrs. Dangle, Signor Pasticcio Ritornello, Signore Pasticcio 
 RiTORNELLO, INTERPRETER, (uicl MUSICIANS (Uncovered. 
 
 Interp. Je dis, madame, j'ai I'honneur to introduce et de vous 
 demander votre protection pour le Signor Pasticcio Ritornello et pour 
 sa charmante famille. 
 
 Signor Pad. Ah ! vosignoria, noi vi preghiamo di favoritevi colla 
 vostra protezione. 
 
 1 Signora Past. Vosignoria fatevi questi grazie. 
 
 2 Sujnora Past. Si, signora. 
 
 Interp. Madame — me interpret. — C'est c^ dire— in English — qu'ils 
 vous prient de leur faire I'honneur 
 
 Mrs. Dang. I say again, gentlemen, I don't understand a word you 
 eay. 
 
 Signor Past. Questo signore spiegherb 
 
 Inter}}. Out — me interpret. — Nous avons les lettres de recommenda- 
 tion pour Monsieur Dangle de 
 
 Mrs. Dang. Upon my word, sir, I don't understand you. 
 
 Si<jnor Past. La Contessa Rondeau e nostra padrona. 
 
 3 Signora Past. Si, padre, et Miladi Fugue. 
 
 Interp. O I — me interpret. — Madame, ils disent — in English — Qu'ils 
 ont I'honneur d'etre prott^g^s de ces dames. — You understand I 
 Mrs. Dang. No, sir, — no understand ! 
 
236 THE CRITIC. 
 
 Enter Daxgle and Sneer. 
 
 Inierp. Ah, voici, Monsieur Dangle I 
 
 All Italians Ah ! Signer Dangle ! 
 
 Mrs. Dang. Mr. Dangle, here are two very civil gentlemen trying to 
 make themselves understood, and I don't know which is the inter" 
 preter. 
 
 Damj. Eh, bien ! 
 [The Interpreter and Signor Pasticcio here spealz at the same time.'] 
 
 Interp. Monsieur Dangle, le grand bruit de voa talena pour la 
 critique, et de votre intdret avec messieurs les directeurs k tous les 
 the'atres 
 
 Signor Past. Vosignoria siete si famoso par la vostra conoscenza, e 
 vostra interessa colla le direttore da 
 
 Dang. Egad, I think the interpreter is the hardest to be understood 
 of the two ! 
 
 Sneer. Why, I thought. Dangle, you had been an admirable 
 linguist ! 
 
 Dang, So I am, if they would not talk so damned fast. 
 
 Sneer. Well, I '11 explain that — the less time we lose in hearing 
 them the better — for that, I suppose, is what they are brought here 
 for. 
 
 [Speaks to Signor Pasticcio — theg sing trios, dx., Dangle heating 
 out of time.] 
 
 Enter Servant and lohispers Dangle. 
 Dang. Show him up. — [Exit Servant.] Bravo ! admirable I bravis- 
 simo ! admirablissimo ! — Ah I Sneer ! where will you find voices such 
 as these in England ? 
 Sneer. Not easily. 
 
 Dang. But Puff is coming. — Signor and little signoras obligatissimo ! 
 — Sposa Signora Danglena — Mrs. Dangle, shall I beg you to offer them 
 some refreshments, and take their address in the next room. 
 
 [Exit Mrs. Dangle with Signor Pasticcio, Signore Pasticcio, 
 Musicians, and Interpreter, ceremoniously. 
 
 Re-enter Servant. 
 Ser. Mr. Puff, sir. [Exit. 
 
 Enter Puff* 
 Dang. My dear Puff ! 
 
 Priff. My dear Dangle, how ia 't with you ? 
 
 Dang. Mr. Sneer give me leave to introduce Mr. Puff to you. 
 
 * From this place to the end the manuscript has been followed. 
 
THE CIUTia 237 
 
 Pnff. Mr. Sneer ! Sir he is a Gentleman whom I have long panted 
 for the Honor of knowing — a Gentleman whose critical Talents and 
 transcendent Judgment 
 
 Sneer. Dear sir 
 
 Dang. Nay don't be modest Sneer — my Friend Puff only talks to 
 you in the style of his Profession. 
 
 Sneer. Of his profession ! 
 
 Pnff. Yes Sir — I make no Secret of the trade I follow— among 
 Friends and Brother Authors — Dangle knows I love to be Frank on 
 the subject — and to advertise my self viva voce. — I am Sir — a Prac- 
 titioner in Panegyric — or to speak more Plainly — a Professor of the 
 Art of Puffing, at your service or anybody else's. 
 
 Sneer. Sir, you are very Obliging—! fancy Mr. Puff I have often 
 admired your Talents in the daily Prints. 
 
 Puff. Yes I flatter myself I do as much Business in that way as any 
 six of the Fraternity in Town. — devilish hard work all the summer, 
 friend Dangle, — never worked harder ! But, hark 'ee, — the winter 
 managers were a little sore I believe. 
 
 Dang. O no I believe they took it all in good part. 
 
 Puff. Ah ! then that must have been affectation in them — for egad 
 there were some of the Attacks which there was no laughing at. 
 
 <S?ieer. Aye the humourous ones. — But I should think, Mr. Puff, 
 that Authors would in general be able to do this sort of work for 
 themselves. 
 
 Puff. Aye but in a clumsy way — besides we look on that as an 
 encroachment — and so take the opposite side. I dare say now you 
 conceive half the very civil Paragraphs and advertisements you see 
 are written by the Parties concerned or their Friends — no such thing 
 — nine out of ten [are] manufactured by me in the way of Business. 
 
 Sneer. Indeed ! 
 
 Puff. Even the auctioneers now — the auctioneers T say — tho' the 
 rogues have lately got some credit for their Language — not an article 
 of the merit [is] theirs— take 'em out of their pulpits, and they are as 
 dull as catalogues !— No Sir ; 'twas I first enrich'd their style — 'twas I 
 first taught them to crowd their Advertisements with panegyrical 
 superlatives, each epithet rising above the other like the Bidders in 
 their own auction Rooms ! From me they learned to inlay their 
 Phraseology with variegated Chips of Exotic metaphor : By me too 
 their inventive faculties were called forth — yes Sir by me they were 
 instructed to clothe ideal walls with gratuitous fruits— to insinuate 
 obsequious Rivulets into visionary Groves — to teach courteous shrubs 
 to nod their approbation of the grateful soil — or on emergencies to 
 
238 THU CRITIC. 
 
 raise upstart oaks where there never had been an Acorn — to create a 
 delightful Vicinage without the assistance of a Neighbour — waft 
 salubrious Gales or fix the temple of Hj^geia in the fens of Lincoln- 
 shire ! 
 
 Dang. I am sure you have done them infinite Service — for now 
 when a Gentleman's ruined, He parts with his House with some 
 credit. 
 
 Sneer. Service I egad if they had any gratitude they would erect a 
 statue to him — they would figure you as a presiding Mercury, the 
 God of traffic and Fiction, with a Hammer in his Hand instead of 
 a Caduceus. — But pray Mr. Puff what first put you on exercising your 
 Talents in this way ? 
 
 P^iff. Egad Sir — sheer Necessity — the proper Parent of an art so 
 nearly allied to Invention — You must know Mr. Sneer that from the 
 first Time I tried my hand at an Advertisement my success was such 
 that for some time after I led a most extraordinary Life indeed ! 
 
 Sneer. How Pray — 
 
 Pvff. Sir I supported myself two years entirely by my misfortunes. 
 
 Sneer. By your misfortunes I 
 
 Puff. Yes Sir assisted by long sickness and other occasional Dis- 
 orders ! and a very comfortable Living I had of it. 
 
 Sneer. From Sickness and misfortunes I You practised as a Doctor 
 and an Attorney at once ? 
 
 Puff. No egad both maladies and miseries were my own. 
 
 Sneer. Hey — what the Plague ! 
 
 Dang. 'Tis true, efaith. 
 
 Puff\ Hark 'ee ! — By Advertisements — To the charitable and 
 Humane ! and to those whom Providence hath blessed with Affluence ! 
 
 Sneer. Oh ! I understand you. 
 
 Puff. And, in truth, I deserved what I got ! for, I suppose never 
 man went thro such a series of Calamities in the same space of time. 
 Sir — I was five times made a bankrupt, and reduced from a state of 
 Affluence by a train of unavoidable misfortunes — then Sir, tho a very 
 industrious Tradesman I was tivice burned out and lost m,y little all 
 both Times — I lived upon those Fires a month — I soon after was con- 
 fined by a most excruciating Disorder and lost the rise of my Limbs — 
 that told very well for I had the case strongly attested and went 
 about to collect the subscriptions myself. 
 
 Dang. Egad — I believe that was when you first call'd on me. 
 
 Prtff'. In November last — O no — I was at that Time a close prisoner 
 in the Marshalsea for a Debt benevolently contracted to serve a friend. 
 I was afterwards twice tapp'd for a Dropsy which declined into a very 
 
THE CRITIC. 23» 
 
 profitable coiisumjition. I was then reduced to—0 no — then I became 
 a ividotc ivith six helpless children — after having had eleven Husbands 
 press'd and being left every time eight months gone with child, and 
 without money to get me into an Hospital — 
 
 Dang. Mercy on me — 
 
 Sneer. And you bore all with Patience, I make no Doubt— 
 
 Puff. Why yes— tho' I made some judicious attempts at Felo de 
 se— but as [I] did not find them answer, I left off killing myself very 
 soon— Well Sir at last what with Bankruptcies, Fires, Gout, Dropsies, 
 Imprisonments and other valuable calamities having got together a 
 pretty handsome sum I determined to quit a Business which had 
 always gone rather against my conscience— and in a more liberal way 
 still to indulge my Talent for Fiction and embellishment thro my 
 favourite Channels of Diurnal Communication — and so Sir you have 
 my History. 
 
 Sneer. Most obligingly communicative indeed — but surely Mr. Puff 
 there is no great mystery in your Present Profession ? 
 
 Puff. Mystery ! Sir— I will take upon me to say the matter was 
 never scientifically treated nor reduced to Rule before. 
 
 Sneer. Reduced to Rule ! 
 
 Puff. Lud Sir, you are very ignorant, I am afraid — Yes Sir — 
 • Puffing is of various Sorts — the Principal are, the Puff direct — the Puff 
 oblique — the Puff collateral, the PiffPreliminar[/, and the Puff Collusive. 
 These all as circumstances require assume the varied Forms of Letter 
 to the Editor — occasional Anecdote — impartial Critique — observation 
 from Correspondent, or Advertisement from the Party. 
 
 Sneer. The Puff direct, I can conceive 
 
 Puff. O yes that's simple enough — for instance, — A new comedy 
 or Farce is to be produced at one of the Theatres (though by-the-by 
 they don't bring out half what they ought to do) — the author, suppose 
 
 Mr. Smatter, or Mr. Flimsey — or any particular Friend of mine 
 
 very well— the Day before it is performed I write an account of the 
 
 manner in which it was received — I have the Plot from the Author 
 
 and only add — "characters strongly drawn — highly colour'd— hand of 
 a master— fund of genuine humour — mine of Invention — neat Dia- 
 logue — Attic salt." Then for the performance — "Mr. Dodd was 
 astonishingly great in the Character of young Mr. Something— that 
 universal and judicious Actor Mr. Palmer perhaps never appeared to 
 more advantage — but it is impossible for language to do justice to 
 Mr. King — indeed he more than merited those repeated Bursts of 
 applause which he drew from a most brilliant and judicious Audience 
 — as to the scenery— the miraculous Powers of Mr. Loutherbourg's 
 
240 THE CRITIC. 
 
 Pencil are universally acknowledged — in short we are at a loss which 
 to admire most, the unrivall'd Genius of the Author — the great atten- 
 tion and Liberality of the Managers — The wonderful abilities of the 
 Painter, or the incredible exertions of all the Performers." 
 
 Sneer. That 's pretty well indeed — Sir. 
 
 Puff- O cool — quite cool — to what I sometimes do. 
 
 Sneer. And you think there are any who are injBuenced by this ? 
 
 Puff. O Lud yes Sir — the number of those who go thro' the fatigue 
 of judging for themselves is very small indeed. 
 
 Sneer. Well Sir the Puff Preliminary ? 
 
 Pu^. O that Sir does well in the Form of a caution — in a matter 
 of Gallantry now — Sir Flimsy Gossimer wishes to be well with Lady 
 Fanny Fete — he applies to me — I open trenches for him with a Para- 
 graph in the Morning Post. — "It is recommended to the beautiful 
 and accomplished Lady F four stars F dash E to be on her guard 
 against that dangerous character, Sir F dash G ; who, however pleasing 
 and insinuating his manners may be, is certainly not remarkable for 
 the constancy of Ms Attachments! "—in italics. Here you see Sir 
 Flimsy Gossimer is introduced to the particular notice of Lady Fanny 
 — who perhaps never thought of him before — she finds herself publicly 
 cautioned to avoid him which naturally makes her desirous to see 
 him — the observation of their Acquaintance causes a pretty kind of 
 mutual embarrassment — this produces a sort of sympathy of interest, 
 which if Sir Flimsy is unable to improve eflfectually He at least gains 
 the credit of having their names raention'd together by a particular 
 set, and in a particular way — which nine times out of ten is the full 
 accomplishment of modern Gallantry. 
 
 Dang. Egad, Sneer, you will be quite an adept in the Business. 
 
 Puff. Now Sir the Puff Collateral is much used as an appendage 
 to advertisements, and may take the Form of Anecdote. — "Yesterday, 
 as the celebrated George Bonmot was sauntering down St. James's 
 Street, He met the lively Lady Mary Myrtle coming out of the Park : 
 — ' Good God, Lady Mary,' said George, ' I 'm surprised to meet you 
 in a white Jacket, — for I expected never to have seen you but in a 
 full-trimmed uniform and a Light Horseman's Cap ! ' — ' Heavens, 
 George, where could you have learned that?' — 'Why,' replied the 
 wit, ' I just saw a Print of you in a new Publication called the Camp 
 Magazine ; which, by the bye, is a devilish clever thing and is sold at 
 No. 3, on the right hand of the way two Doors from the Printing 
 Office, the corner of Ivy Lane, Paternoster Row." 
 
 Sneer. Ah ! that 's very ingenious indeed — 
 
 Puff. But the puff collusive is the newest of any— for it acts in the 
 
THE CRITIC. 241 
 
 disguise of determined Hostility — it is much used by Bold book- 
 sellers and enterprizing Poets. — " An indignant correspondent observes 
 — that the New Poem call'd Beelzebub's Cotillon, or Proserpine's Fete 
 Champetre, is one of the most unjustifiable Performances He ever read. 
 The severity with which certain characters are handled is quite 
 shocking — and as there are many descriptions in it too warmly 
 colour'd for female Delicacy the shameful avidity with which thi.s 
 Piece is bought by all People of Fashion is a reproach on the taste of 
 the Times, and a disgrace to the Delicacy of the Age." Here you see 
 the two strongest inducements are held forth — V^, that nobody ought 
 to read it — and secondly, that eveiybody buys it — on the strength of 
 which the Publisher boldly prints the tenth Edition, before he 
 had sold ten of the first — ^and then establishes it by threatening himself 
 with the Pillory, or absolutely indicting himself for Scan. Mag. 
 
 Dang. Ha ! ha ! gad, I know it's so — 
 
 Prtff. As to the Puff oblique, or Puff by Implication it is too various 
 and extensive to be illustrated by an Instance — it attracts in Titles 
 and Presumes in Patents — ^it lurks in the Limitation of a Subscription 
 — and invites in the assurance of crowd and incommodation at Public 
 Places, it delights to draw forth conceal'd merit, with a most disin- 
 terested assiduity — and often wears a countenance of smiling censure 
 and tender Reproach — it has a wonderful memory for Parliamentary 
 Debates and will often give the whole speech of a favoured member 
 with the most flattering accuracy. But above all it is a great Dealer 
 in Reports and Suppositions — it has the earliest intelligence of intended 
 Preferments that will reflect honour on the Patrons and embryo Pro- 
 motions of modest Gentlemen who know nothing of the matter them- 
 selves—it can hint a Ribband for implied services in the air of a 
 common Report — and with the carelessness of a casual Paragraph 
 suggest officers into commands to which they have no pretension but 
 their wishes. This — Sir is the last Principal Class of the Art of 
 Puffing — a Practice which I hope you will now agree with me is of the 
 highest Dignity — yielding a Tablature of Benevolence and Public 
 Spirit ; befriending equally Trade Gallantry Criticism and Politics- 
 The applause of Genius— The Register of Charity — The Triumph of 
 Heroism — the self Defence of Contractors — the Fame of Patriots — ■ 
 and the Gazette of Ministers. 
 
 Sneer. Sir, I am completely a convert both to the importance and 
 ingenuity of your profession ; and now, sir, there is but one thing 
 which can possibly increase my respect for you, and that is, your 
 permitting me to be present this morning at the rehearsal of your new 
 trage 
 
242 THE CRITIC. 
 
 Puff. Hush, for heaven's sake ! — Mrj tragedy ! — Egad, Dangle, I 
 take this very ill : you know how apprehensive I am of being known 
 to be the author. 
 
 Dang. I' faith I would not have told — but it 's in the papers, and 
 your name at length in the Morning Chi-onicle. 
 
 Puff. Ah ! those damned editors never can keep a secret ! — Well, 
 Mr. Sneer, no doubt you will do me great honour — I shall be infinitely 
 happy — highly flattered 
 
 Dang. I believe it must be near the time — shall we go together 1 
 
 Puff. No ; it will not be yet this hour, for they are always late at 
 that theatre : besides, I must meet you there, for I have some little 
 matters here to send to the papers, and a few paragraphs to scribble 
 before I go. — [Looking at memorandums.] Here is A conscientious 
 Baker, on the subject of the Army Bread ; and a Detester of visible 
 Brickwork, in favour of the new-invented Stucco ; both in the style of 
 Junius, and promised for to-morrow. The Thames navigation too is 
 at a stand. Misomud or Anti- shoal must go to work again directly. — 
 Here too are some political memorandums — I see ; ay — To take Paul 
 Jones, and get the Indiamen out of the Shannon — reinforce Byron — 
 compel the Dutch — to — so ! — I must do that in the evening papers, or 
 reserve it for the Morning Herald ; for I know that I have undertaken 
 to-morrow, besides, to establish the unanimity of the fleet in the Public 
 Advertiser, and to shoot Charles Fox in the Morning Post. — So, egad, 
 I ha'n't a moment to lose. 
 
 Dang. Well, we '11 meet in the Green Room. [Exeunt severally. 
 
THE CRITIC. 243 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 Scene I. 
 Dangle, Puff, and Sneer. 
 
 Fnff. I say that what Shakapeare snys of the Actors may be better 
 applied to the Purpose of Plays — TJiey ought to be "the Abstract and 
 brief Chronicle of the Times." Therefore when History, and par- 
 ticularly the History of our own country furnishes anything like a case 
 in Point to the time in which an Author writes if he knows his own 
 Interest, he '11 take advantage of it — so Sir — I call my Tragedy The 
 Spanish Armada ; and have laid the scene before Tilbury Fort. 
 
 Sneer. A most Happy Thought certainly ! 
 
 Dang. Egad it was — I told you so — but pray now I don't understand 
 how you have contrived to introduce any Love into it? and that you 
 know is as necessary to a modern Tragedy as — to a Simile, and there- 
 fore you had better not try to make one on the subject. 
 
 Pvff. Love ! nothing so easy — for it is a received Point among 
 Poets, that where History gives you a good heroic out Line for a Play, 
 you may fill up with a little love at your own Discretion : in doing 
 which nine times out of Ten you only make up a Deficiency in the 
 private History of the Times. Now I rather think I have done this 
 with some Address. 
 
 Sneer. No scandal about Queen Elizabeth I hope — 
 
 Pxiff. Lud no — no — I only suppose the Governor of Tilbury Fort's 
 Daughter to be in Love with the son of the Spanish Admiral. 
 
 tSneer. is that all 
 
 Dang. Excellent efaith — I see it at once — But won't this appear 
 rather improbable ? 
 
 Pr(ff. To be sure it will — but what the Plague ! a Play is not to 
 show occurrences that happen every Day — but things just so strange, 
 that tho' they never did they might happen. 
 
 Sneer. Certainly nothing is unnatural that is not Physically im- 
 
 Puff. Very true and for that matter Don, for that's the Lover's 
 Name, might have been over here in the train of the Spanish ambas- 
 sador ; or Tilburnia, for that is the lady's name, might have been in 
 Love with him from having heard his character, or seen his Picture • 
 or from knowing that he was the last man in tho world she ought to 
 be in Love or for any other good female Reason — however Sir the 
 Fact is that tho' she 's but a Knight's Daughter egad she is in Love 
 like any Princess ! 
 
 R 2 
 
244 THE CRITIC. 
 
 Duiuj. Poor young Lady — I feel for her already ! for I can conceive 
 how great the conflict must be between her Passion and her Duty— her 
 Love for her country and her Love for Don. 
 
 Puff. O amazing — her poor susceptible Heart is swayed to and fro 
 
 by contending Passions like 
 
 Enter Under Prompteb. 
 
 Unci. Pivmp. Sir the scene is set and everything is ready to begin if 
 you please. 
 
 Pitff. Egad then we '11 lose no Time. 
 
 Unci. Promp. Tho, I believe Sir you will find^jt very short for all the 
 Performers have profited by the kind Permission you granted them. 
 
 Puff\ Hey what ! 
 
 Unci. Promp. You know Sir you gave them leave to cut out or omit 
 whatever they found heavy or unnecessary to the Plot — and I must 
 own they have taken very liberal advantage of your Indulgence. 
 
 Puff\ Well well they are in general very good Judges and I know I 
 am luxuriant. — Now, Mr. Hopkins as soon as you please — 
 
 Unci. Promp. \_To the Orchestra.] Gentlemen will you play a few 
 Bars of something to 
 
 Puff\ Aye that 's right — for as we have the Scenes and dresses egad, 
 we '11 go to 't as if it was the first Night's Performance — but you need 
 not mind stopping between the acts — Orchestra Play. Soh stand clear 
 Gentlemen — now you know there will be a cry of Down ! Down I — 
 Hats off I — Silence ! — Then up curtain, and let us see what our 
 Painters have done for us. {Curtain rises. 
 
 Scene II.— Before Tilbury Fort. 
 " Sentinels asleep. 
 
 Dang. Tilbury Fort ! — very fine indeed ! 
 
 Puff. Now what do you think I open with — 
 
 Sneer. Faith I can't guess. 
 
 P^lff. A clock. — Hark ! — [Clock strikes.] I open with a clock striking 
 to beget an awful attention in the Audience — it also marks the time, 
 which is four o'clock in the morning and saves a Description of the 
 rising Sun and a great deal about gilding the eastern Hemisphere. 
 
 Dang. But pray are the Centinels to be asleep ? 
 
 Puff. Fast as Watchmen. 
 
 Sneer. Isn't that odd though at such an alarming crisis ? 
 
 Puff. Aye, but smaller things must give way to a striking scene at 
 the opening. And the case is that two great men are coming to this 
 
TEE CRITIC. 245 
 
 very spot to begin the Piece — it is not to be supposed now they would 
 open their Lips if these Fellows were watching them — so egad I must 
 either have sent them off their Posts — or set them asleep. 
 
 Sneer. that accounts for it — but tell us who are these coming ? 
 
 Puff. Those are they — Sir Walter Raleigh, and Sir Christopher 
 Hatton — you '11 know Sir Christopher by his turning out his Toes — 
 famous you know for his Dancing — I like to preserve all the little 
 Traits of Character — now observe — 
 
 " Enter Sir Walter Raleigh and Sir Christopher Hatton. 
 Sir Christ. True, gallant Raleigh 1 " — 
 
 Damj. What they had been talking before 
 
 Pnff. O yes all the way as they came along. — I beg Pardon Gentle- 
 men but these are Particular Friends of mine whose Remarks may be 
 of great service to us. — don't mind interrupting them whenever any- 
 thing strikes you. 
 
 " Sir Christ. True, gallant Raleigli 1 
 
 But 0, thou champion of thy Country's fame, 
 There is a Question which I yet must ask : 
 A Question which I never ask'd before — 
 What mean these mighty Armaments 1 
 This general muster and this Throng of Chiefs ? 
 
 Sneer. Pray Mr. Puff, how came Sir Christopher Hatton never to ask 
 that question before ? 
 Puff. What before the Play began I — how the plague could he ? 
 Dang. Th.at 's true, efaith ! 
 Puff. But you will hear what he thinks of the Matter. 
 
 " Sir Christ. Alas, my noble Friend, when I behold 
 Yon tented Plains in martial Symmetry 
 Array'd ; when I count o'er yon glittering lines 
 Of crested warriors, where the Proud Steeds Neigh, 
 And valour-breathing Trumpet's shrill Appeal, 
 Responsive vibrate on my listening ear ; 
 When virgin Majesty herself I view. 
 Like her Protecting Pallas, veil'd in steel, 
 With graceful Confidence exhort to Arms ! 
 When briefly all I hear — or see bears stamp 
 Of martial preparation and of stern defence, 
 I cannot but surmise — forgive, my Friend, 
 If the Conjecture 's rash — I cannot but 
 Surmise — the State some Danger apprehends ! " 
 
 Sneer. A very cautious Conjecture that. 
 
246 
 
 THE CRITIC. 
 
 Puff. Yes that 's his Character — not to give an opinion but on good 
 Grounds. — now then. 
 
 "Sir Walt. most accomplish'd Christopher ! " 
 
 Pitff. He calls him by his Christian Name, to show that they are on 
 the most familiar Terms. 
 
 "Sir Walt. most accomplish'd Christopher — I find 
 
 Thy staunch Sagacity still tracks the future, 
 In the fresh Print of the o'ertaken Past." 
 
 Puff. Figurative ! 
 
 "Sir Walt. 
 Sir Christ. 
 
 Sir Christ. 
 Sir Walt. 
 Sir Christ. 
 Sir Walt. 
 
 Sir Christ. 
 Sir Walt. 
 
 Sir Christ. 
 Sir Walt. 
 
 Sir Christ, 
 
 Sir Walt. 
 
 Thy Fears are just — 
 
 But where ? whence 1 when ? and what 
 
 The Danger is — methinks I fain would learn. 
 
 You know, my Friend, scarce two revolving suns, 
 
 And three revolving moons, have closed their course 
 
 Since Haughty Philip, in despight of Peace, 
 
 With hostile hand hath struct at England's Trade. 
 
 I know it well. 
 
 Philip, you know, is proud Iberia's king ! 
 
 He is — 
 
 His subjects in base Bigotry 
 And Catholic Oppression held — while we 
 You know the Protestant Persuasion own — 
 We do— 
 
 You know beside — his boasted Armament, 
 The famed Armada, by the Pope Baptized, 
 
 With Purpose to invade these Realms 
 
 Is sailed — 
 Our last advices so advise — 
 While the Spanish Admiral's chief hope, 
 
 his darling son 
 
 Don 
 
 The same — by chance a Prisoner hath been ta'en. 
 
 And in this fort of Tilbury 
 
 Is now 
 Confined — 'tis true, and oft from yon tall turret's top 
 I 've mark'd the youthful Spaniard's haughty mien — 
 Unconquer'd, tho' in chains. 
 
 You also know "' 
 
 Dang. Mr. Pufif, as he knows all this, why does Sir "Walter go on 
 telling him ? 
 
 Piff. But the Audience are'nt supposed to know anything of the 
 matter, are they ? 
 
 Sneer. True ; but I think you manage ill — for there certainly 
 appears no reason why Sir Walter should be so communicative. 
 
THE CRITIC. 247 
 
 Puff. Fore Gad now that 's one of the most uwjrateful observations 
 I ever heard — for the less inducement he has to tell all this, the more 
 I think you ought to be obliged to him — for I 'm sure you 'd know 
 nothing of the Plot without it — 
 
 Dang. That's very true, upon my word ! 
 
 Puff. But you '11 find He was not going on. 
 
 "Sir Christ. Enough, enough— 'tis jilain— 
 
 And I no more am in Amazement lost ! " 
 
 Puff. Here now you see Sir Christopher didn't in Fact ask any one 
 Question for his own Information. 
 
 Sneer. No, indeed his has been a most disinterested curiosity ! 
 
 Dang. Really I find that we are very much obliged to them both. 
 
 Puff. To be sure you are. Now then for the commander-in-chief, 
 the Earl of Leicester, who, you know, whs no favourite but of the 
 queen's. — We left ofi" — in atn'izement lost ! 
 
 " Sir Christ. Am in amazement lost. 
 
 But see — where noble Leicester comes — supreme 
 
 In Honours and Command. 
 Sir Walt. . . And yet, methinks, 
 
 At such a time, so perilous, so fear'd, 
 
 That Staff might well become an abler Grasp. 
 .Sir Christ. And so, by Heaven think I — but, soft He 's Here ! " 
 
 Puff. Aye they envy him I — 
 
 Sneer. But who are these with him ? 
 
 Puff. O very valiant knights ! one 's the Governor of the Fort, the 
 other the master of the horse. And now, I think, you shall hear 
 some better Language. I was obliged to be plain and intelligible in 
 the first Scene, because there was so much matter of Fact in it ; but 
 now faith ! you have trope, Figure and Metaphor, as Plenty as noun 
 substantives. 
 
 " Eater EiiiL of Leicester, Governor, Master of the Horse, 
 Knights, &c. 
 Leic. . . How 's this, my friends ! is 't thus your new-fledged zeal. 
 And plumed valour moulds in roosted sloth? 
 Why dimly glimmers that Heroic Flame, 
 Whose reddening Blaze, by patriot Spirit fed, 
 Should be the beacon of a kindling Realm? 
 Can the quick current of a Patriot Heart 
 Thus stagnate in a cold and pond-like converse, 
 Or freeze in Tideless Inactivity I 
 No rather let the Fountain of your Valour 
 Spring through each stream of enterprise, 
 E ich petty channel of conducive Daring, 
 Till the full torrent of your foaming Wrath 
 O'erwhelm the Flats of sunk Hostility ! " 
 
248 THE CRITIC. 
 
 Puff. There it is — followed up ! 
 
 " Sir Walt. No more the freshening Breath of thy Rebuke 
 Hath fill'd the swelling canvas of our Souls 
 And thus tho' fate should cut the cable of 
 
 [AU take hands. 
 Our Hopes — hi Friendship's closing line 
 We '11 grapple with despair, and if we fall, 
 We '11 fall in glory's Wake ! 
 Leie. . , There spoke old England's Genius ! 
 
 Then, are we all resolved ? 
 All. . . We are — all resolved. 
 Leic. . . To conquer— or be free ? 
 All. . . To conquer, or \ j free. 
 Leic. . . All? 
 All. , . All." 
 
 Dang. Nam. con ! egad ! 
 
 Puff. O yes ! — where they do agree on the Stage their unanimity is 
 wonderful ! 
 
 " Leic, . . Then let 's embrace — and now [Kneels." 
 
 Sneer. What the Plague, is he going to Pray ? 
 
 Puff. Yes — hush : — in great emergencies, there is nothing like a 
 Prayer. 
 " Leic. . . mighty Mars ! " 
 
 Dang. But why should he pray to Mars ? 
 
 Puff. Hush ! 
 
 "Leic. . . If in thy Homage bred, 
 
 Each Point of Discipline I 've still observed; 
 Nor but by due Promotion and the right 
 Of Service to the Rank of major General 
 H>ive risen assist thy Votary now ! 
 Gov. . . . Yet do not rise — hear me ! 
 Knight. . . And me 1 
 Sir Walt. . And me I 
 Sir Christ. . And me ! 
 All. . Behold thy votaries submissive beg, 
 
 That thou wilt deign to grant them, all they ask ! 
 Assist them to accomplish all their ends. 
 And sanctify whatever means they use 
 To gain them 1 " 
 
 (Sneer. A very orthodox Quintetto ! 
 
 Puff. Vastly well gentlemen — is that well managed or not 1 Have 
 you such a prayer as that on the stage ? 
 Sneer. Not exactly. 
 
THE ClilTia. 249 
 
 Leic. [To Puff.] But Sir — you haven't settled how we are to get 
 oflfhere. 
 
 Puff. You couldn't go oflf kneeling, could ye 1 
 
 Sir Walt. [To Puff.] O no Sir impossible ! 
 
 Puff. It would have a good effect efaith ! if you could exeunt 
 praying ! — Yes, and would vary the establish'd mode of springing off 
 with a glance at the Pit. 
 
 Sneer. Oh, never mind — so as you get them off I — I '11 answer for 't 
 the Audience won't care how. 
 
 Puff. Well then repeat the last Line standing and go off the old 
 way. 
 
 "All. . . And sanctify whatever means we use 
 
 To gain them. [Exeunt." 
 
 Dang. Bravo — a fine exit. 
 
 Sneer. Well really Mr. Puff 
 
 Piff. Stay a moment ! 
 
 " The Centinels (/el up. 
 
 1 Sent. . . All this shall to Lord Burleigh's ear. 
 
 2 jSi«n<. . . 'Tis meet it should — The General it seems is disaproved. 
 
 [Exeimt." 
 
 Dang. Hey ! — why, I thought those Fellows had been asleep 1 
 
 Puff. Only a pretence there 's the Art of it — I mean it to mark 
 Lord Burleigh's Character who you know was famous for his skill in 
 procuring Intelligence and employ'd all sorts of People as spies. 
 
 Sneer. But isn't it odd they never were taken Notice of — not even 
 by the commander-in-chief 1 
 
 Piff. O Lud Sir — if people who want to listen or overhear were not 
 always connived at in a Tragedy, there would be no carrying on any 
 Plot in the World. 
 
 Dang. That 's certain ! 
 
 Puff. But take care — my dear Dangle — the morning-gun is going 
 to fire. [Cannon fires. 
 
 Dang. Hey — Well, that will have a fine effect ! 
 
 Puff. I think so, and helps to realize the scene. There are more 
 cannon to fire, 
 
 Und. Promp. [Within.] No Sir. 
 
 Priff. Now Then for soft music, (musick) 
 
 Sneer. Pray what 's that for ? 
 
 Ptff. It shows that Tilburina is coming — nothing introduces you a 
 Heroine like soft music. Here she comes — all in tune to the minuet 
 in Ariadne. 
 
250 THE CRITIC. 
 
 Dang. And her confidant, I suppose 1 
 Puff. To be sure ! 
 
 " Enter Tilburina and Confidant. 
 Till. , . . Now has the whispering breath of gentle morn 
 
 Bid Nature's ^oice and Nature s beauty rise ; 
 
 While orient Phoebus, with unborrow'd hues, 
 
 Clothes the waked loveliness which all night slept 
 
 In heavenly drapery ! Darkness is fled. 
 
 Now Flowers unfold their Beauties to the Sun, 
 
 And blushing kiss the Beam he sends to wake them — 
 
 The strip'd Carnation, and the guarded Rose, 
 
 The vulgar Wall Flower, and smart Gillyflower, 
 
 The Polyanthus mean — the dapper Daisy, 
 
 Sweet William, and sweet Marjory— and all 
 
 The Tribe of single and of double Pinks ! 
 
 Now too the feather'd Warblers tune their Notes— 
 
 Around, and charm the listening Grove. The Lark ! 
 
 The Linnet, Chaffinch, Bullfinch, Goldfinch, Greenfinch ! 
 
 — But to me no joy can they aff"ord 
 
 Nor Rose, nor Wallflower, nor smart Gillyflow'r, 
 
 Nor Polyanthus mean, nor dapper Daisy, 
 
 Nor William sweet, nor marjory— nor Lark, 
 
 Linnet, uor all the finches of the grove ! 
 
 Puf. Your white Handkerchief, Ma'am ! • 
 
 Tilb. I thought, sir, I wasn't to use that till heart-rending woe. 
 Puff. yes, madam, at ' the Finches of the Grove,' if you please. 
 " Till. . . . Nor all the finches of the grove ! [ Weeps. 
 
 Puff. Vastly well, Ma'am ! 
 Dang. Vastly well Indeed ! 
 " Till. . . For, 0, too sure, Heart-rending woe is now 
 The Lot of wretched Tilburina ! " 
 Dang. Oh! 
 (Sneer-. Oh ! 
 " Con. . . Be comforted, sweet Lady — who knows. 
 
 But Heaven has yet some milk-white Day in store ? 
 Tilb. . . . Alas ! my gentle Nora, 
 
 Thy tender youth as yet hath never mourn"d 
 Love's fatal Dart— else wouldst thou know that when 
 The soul is sunk in comfortless Despair, 
 It cannot taste of merriment." 
 Dang. That 's certain — 
 " Con. . . But — see where your stern father comes : 
 
 It is not meet that he should find you thus." 
 
 Puff. Hey, what the Plague ! — what a cut is here ? Why, what ' 
 
THE CRITIC. 261 
 
 become of the description of her first meeting with Don— his gallant 
 behaviour in the sea-fight— and the simile of the Canary Bird ? 
 Tilb. Indeed Sir, you '11 find they will not be miss'd. 
 P^iff. Very well — very well ! 
 
 Till). [To Confidant.] The cue, ma'am, if you please. 
 " Con. . . It is not meet tliat he should find you thus. 
 Tilb. . . . Thou counsel'st right— but 'tis no easy task 
 For barefaced Grief to wear a Mask of Joy. 
 Enter Governor. 
 Gov. . . . How 's this— in Tears]— Tilburina shame I 
 Is this a Time for raaudling tenderness. 
 And Cupid's baby woes— hast thou not heard 
 That Haughty Spain's Pope— consecrated fleet 
 Advances to our Shores, while England's fate. 
 Like a clipp'd Guinea, trembles in the scale ] 
 Tilb. . . . Then is the crisis of m>/ Fate at hand ! 
 I see the fleets approach — I see ' 
 
 Puff. Now pray Gentlemen, mind. This is one of the most useful 
 Figures we Tragedy writers have by which a Hero or Heroine, in 
 consideration of their being often obliged to overlook Things that are 
 on the Stage, is allowed to hear and see a number of things that are 
 not. 
 
 Sneer. Yes— a kind of Poetical Second-sight ! 
 Pnff\ Yes. — Now then, ma'am. 
 " Tilb. . . I see their Decks 
 
 Are clear'd— I see the signal made 
 The Line is form'd— a cable's length asunder 1 
 I see the frigates station 'd in the rear ; 
 And now I hear the Thunder of the guns ! 
 1 hear the victoi-'s shouts — I also hear 
 The vanquish'd groan ! — and now 'tis smoke — and now 
 I see the loose sails shiver in the wind 
 
 I see — I see— what soon you '11 see 
 
 Oov. . . . Hold Daughter Peace— this love hath turn'd thy Brain : 
 The Spanish Fleet thou canst not see— because 
 — It is not yet in Sight ! " 
 Dang. Egad tho', the Governor seems to make no Allowance for this 
 poetical Figure you talk of. 
 
 Puf. No— a plain matter of Fact man— that 's his Character. 
 
 " Tilb. . . But will you then refuse his offer] 
 
 Oov. ... I must I will I can 1 ought I do. 
 
 Tilb. . . . Think what a noble Price. ' ' 
 
 Oov. . . . Xo more you urge in vain — 
 
 Tilb. . . . His Liberty is all he asks." 
 
252 
 
 TEE GBITIG. 
 
 Sneer. All who asks Mr. Puff? 
 
 Pr(ff. Egad Sir, I can't tell — Here has been such cutting and slash- 
 ing I don't know where they have got to myself. 
 
 Tilb. Indeed Sir, you will find it will connect very well. 
 " — And your reward secure." 
 
 Puff. O — if they hadn't been so devilish free with their cutting here, 
 you 'd [have] found that Don has been tampering for his Liberty — and 
 has persuaded Tilburina to make this Proposal to her Father — and 
 now pray observe the conciseness with which the Argument is con- 
 ducted — egad, the pro and con goes as smart as Hits in a Fencing- 
 match. It is indeed a sort of small-sword-logic, which we have 
 borrowed from the French. 
 •' Tilb. . . A Retreat in Spain ! 
 Gov. . . . Outlawry here ! 
 Tilb. . . . Your Daughter's Prayer ! 
 Gov. . . . Your Father's Oath ! 
 Tilb. ... My Lover ! 
 Gov. . . . My Country ! 
 Tilb. . . . Tilburina! 
 Gov. . . . England ! 
 Tilb. . . . A Title! 
 Gov. . . . Honour ! 
 Tilb. ... A Pension ! 
 Gov. . . . Conscience! 
 Tilb. . . , A Thousand Pounds! 
 Gov. ... Ha ! thou hast touch'd me nearly " 
 
 Puff. There you see — she threw in Tilburina. Quick parry Carte 
 with England I thrust in tierce a Title ! — parried by Honour. Ha ! 
 a Pension over the arm ! — put by by conscience. Then flankonade 
 with a thousand pounds — and a palpable Hit egad ! 
 
 Sneer. Well Push'd indeed. 
 "Tilb. . . Canst thou— 
 
 Reject the suppliant, and the Daughter too 1 
 Gov. . . . Xo More— I would not hear thee plead in Vain : 
 
 The Father softens— but the Governor's resolved. \_Ezit." 
 
 Dang. Aye that Antithesis of Persons, ia a most established Figure. 
 " Tilb. . . 'Tis well — hence then fond Hopes, — fond Passion hence; 
 
 Duty behold I am all over thine 
 
 [ JVithoiit.] Where is my love— my Tilb.. .Ha ! 
 
 Hal 
 
 [Wilhnul.] Where is my Love — my 
 
 Whisk. 
 Tilb. . 
 Don. 
 Tilb. 
 Whisk. 
 
 . My beauteous Enemy ! " 
 
 dear Ma'am, you must start a great deal more than that — 
 
THE CRITIC. 253 
 
 Consider you had just determined in favour of Duty — when in a 
 moment, the sound of his Voice revives your Passion — overthrows 
 your resolution— destroys your obedience — if you don't express all 
 that in your start— you do nothing at all. 
 
 Tilb. Well— we '11 try again. 
 
 Dang. Speaking from within has always a fine etfect. 
 
 Sneer. Very. 
 
 "Tilb.. . , Behold I am all— over thine. 
 
 Don. . . . Where ia my Love 1 my 
 
 Tilb. ... Ha! 
 
 Don. . . . 3Iy beauteous Enemy ! 
 
 My conquering Tilburina! (enter) ha! is 't thus 
 We meet— why are thy looks averse ] what means — 
 
 Pxijf. Heyday— Here 's a cut !— What are all the mutual Protesta- 
 tions out ? 
 
 Tilb. Now pray Sir, don't interrupt us here— you ruin one's feelings. 
 Sneer. No, pray don't interrupt them, 
 
 " Whisk. . One last embrace. 
 
 Tilb. . , , Now farewell — for ever. 
 
 Whisk. . . For ever 1 
 
 Tilb. . . . Aye for ever ! [Goi/ig.*' 
 
 Puff. Gad's life ! — Sir ! Ma'am ! if you go out without the Parting 
 look, you might as well dance out. Here — here I — 
 
 Con. But pray Sir — How am I to get oflf here ? 
 
 Puff. Pshaw ! what the Devil signifies how yoic get oflf! edge away 
 at the Top or where you will. Now, Ma'am — you see 
 
 Tilb. We understand you Sir. 
 
 "Both. . . Oh! [Turning back, ajid exeunt.— Scene closes." 
 
 Dang. O charming — 
 
 Puff'. Hey !— 'tis pretty well I believe— you see I don't attempt to 
 etrike out anything new — but I take it I improve on the establish'd 
 modes. 
 
 Sneer. You do indeed— but pray isn't Queen Elizabeth to appear 'i 
 
 Puff. No— not once — but she is to be talked of for ever — so that 
 egad you '11 think a hundred Times that she is on the point of coming 
 in. 
 
 Sneer. Hang it I think it 's a pity to keep her in the Green-Room 
 all the Night. 
 
 Puff. no, that always has a fine EflTect — it keeps up Expectation. 
 
 Daiuj. But aren't we to have a Battle neither? 
 
 Pvff. Yes yes, you will have a Battle at last but egad it 's not to be 
 
254 THE CRITIG. 
 
 by Land — but by Sea — and that 's the only quite new thing in the 
 Piece. 
 
 Dang. O — ho — what Drake at the Armada hey. 
 
 Puff. Yes efaith — Fire-Ships and all — then we shall end with a 
 Procession. Hey that will do I think ? 
 
 Sneer. No doubt on 't. 
 
 Piiff. But come we must not lose Time — so now for the Underplot. 
 
 Sneer. Hey what the Plague, have you another Plot / 
 
 Ptiff. O Lud yes — ever while you live have two Plots to your 
 
 Tragedy. The grand Point in managing them is only to let your 
 
 Under Plot have as little connection with your chief Plot as possible. 
 
 — I flatter myself nothing can be more distinct than mine, for as in 
 
 my chief Plot the characters are all great People, I have laid my 
 
 under Plot in low Life and — as the former is to end in deep Distress, 
 
 I make the other end as happy as a Farce — Now Mr. Hopkins as soon 
 
 as you please. 
 
 Enter Under Prompter. 
 
 Under Promp. Sir — the Carpenters say it is impossible you can go 
 to the Park Scene yet. 
 
 Pitff. The Park Scene ! no — I mean the Description scene here in 
 the wood. 
 
 Under Promp. Sir the Performers have cut it out. 
 
 Puff. Cut it out! 
 
 Under Promp. Yes Sir. 
 
 Pxff. What ! the whole account of Queen Elizabeth 1 
 
 Under Promp. Yes Sir. 
 
 Ptff. And the Description of her Horse and Side-Saddle ? 
 
 Under Promp. Yes Sir. 
 
 Ptff. So — so — this is very fine indeed I — Mr. Hopkins how the 
 Devil could you suflier this ? 
 
 Mr. Hop. [From within.] Sir indeed the Pruning Knife 
 
 Puff. The Pruning Knife— zounds ! — the Axe ! — why here has 
 been such lopping and topping — I shan't have the bare Trunk of my 
 Play left presently !— Very well Sir — the performers must do as they 
 please — but upon my soul I '11 print it every word. 
 
 Sneer. That I would indeed. 
 
 Puff. Very well Sir — then we must go on. — Zounds I wouldn't 
 have parted with the Description of the Horse !— Well Sii- go on. — 
 Sir it was one of the finest and most laboured Things. — Very well, 
 sir ; let them go on. — There you had him and his accoutrements, from 
 the Bit to the Crupper. — Very well Sir ; we must go to the Park 
 Scene. 
 
THE CRITIC. 256 
 
 Under Promp. Sir — there 's the point — the Carpenters say that 
 unless there is some Business put in here before the Drop they sha'n't 
 have time to clear away the Fort — 
 
 Puff. So ! this is a pretty Dilemma, indeed — D<j call the Head 
 Carpenter to me. 
 
 Under Promp. Mr. Butler — (enter Carpenter dress'd) Here he is 
 Sir. 
 
 Puff. Hey — this is the Head Carpenter I 
 
 U. P. Yes — Sir — He was to have walked as one of the Generals at 
 the Review — For the truth is your Tragedy employs everybody in the 
 company. 
 
 P. — then pray Mr. General-Carpenter what is all this ? 
 
 Mr. Carp. Why Sir, you only consider what my men have to do — they 
 have to remove Tilbury Fort with the Cannon and to sink Gravesend 
 and the River and I only desire three minutes to do it in. 
 
 P. Hah ! and they've cut the Scene. 
 
 Car}). Besides if I could manage in less, I question if the Lamp- 
 lighter could clear away the Sun in the time. 
 
 Puff. Do call one of them here. 
 
 Carp. Master Lamplighter ! (Without) Mr. Langley I Here (enter 
 Lamplighter as a River God and a Page holding up his train.) 
 
 Puff. Sir — your most obedient servant — Who the Devil 's this I 
 
 U. P. The master Lamplighter, Sir. He does one of the River 
 Gods in the Procession. 
 
 Puff. 0, a River God is he — well Sir you won't have time I under- 
 stand — 
 
 L. Three minutes at least Sir — unless you have a mind to burn the 
 Fort. 
 
 P. Hah ! and they Ve cut out the Scene ! 
 
 Carp. Lord Sir, there only wants a little business to be put in here 
 — just as long as while we have been speaking will do it — 
 
 Puff. What then are you all ready now ? (from behind) Yes all 
 clear. 
 
 Puff. O then I shall easily manage it — 
 
 U. P. Clear the Stage. 
 
 Pxiff. And do General keep a sharp look out and beg the River 
 God not to spare his Oyl in the last scene — it must be brilliant. 
 Gentlemen I beg a thousand Pardons. 
 
 Sneer. O dear Sir — these little things will happen. [Exeunt. 
 
25G THE CRITIC. 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 Scene I. — The Theatre, before the curtain. 
 
 Enter Puff, Sneer, and Dangle. 
 
 Puff. Well, we are ready ; now then for the justices. 
 
 [Cxirtain rises. 
 " Justices, Cokstables, &c., discovered." 
 
 Sneer. This I suppose is a sort of Senate Scene. 
 
 Dang. It is the Under-Plot, isn't it ? 
 
 Puff. Yes. — -What, gentlemen, do you mean to go at once to the 
 Discovery Scene 1 
 
 Just. If you please, sir. 
 
 P^iff. Oh, very well I — Hark'ee, I don't chuse to say anything more 
 but efaith they have mangled my play in a most Shocking Manner. 
 
 Dang. It 's a great pity ! 
 
 Puff. Now then Mr. Justice if you please. 
 
 " Just. . . Are all the Volunteers without ] 
 
 Const. . . They are. 
 
 Some ten in Fetters, and some twenty Drunk. 
 Just. . . . Attends the youth — whose most opprobrious Fame 
 
 And clear convicted Crimes have stamp'd for soldier ? 
 Const. , . He waits your Pleasure — eager to repay 
 
 The best Reprieve that sends him to the Fields 
 
 Of Glory, there to raise his branded Hand 
 
 In Honour's cause. 
 J^ist. . . . 'Tis well — 'tis Justice arms him I 
 
 Oh 1 may he now defend his Country's Laws 
 
 With half the Spirit he has broke them all ! 
 
 If 'tis your Worship's Pleasure — bid him enter. 
 Const. . I fly— the Herald of your will. [Exit." 
 
 Puff. Quick, sir. 
 
 Sneer. But, Mr. Puff, I think not only the Justice, but the Clown 
 seems to talk in as high a style as the first Hero among them. 
 
 Piff. Heaven forbid they shouldnt in a free country — Sir I 'ra not 
 for making slavish Distinctions — and giving all the fine Language to 
 the upper Sort of People. 
 
 Dang. That 's very noble in you indeed ! 
 
 " Enter the Justice's Lady." 
 
 P^ff. Now, pray mark this Scene. 
 
THE CRITIC. 267 
 
 '• Lady . . Forgive this interruption, good my Love ; 
 
 But as I just now pass'd a handcuff 'd jouth, 
 
 Whom rude Hands liither lead — strange bodings seized 
 
 My flutt'ring Heart— and to myself I said, 
 
 An' if our Jack had lived he 'd surely been 
 
 This Stripling's Height ! 
 JiLst. ... Ha ! sure some Powerful sympathy directs 
 
 Us both for this youth. 
 
 Enter Son and CaNSTABLE. 
 What is thy name '! 
 Son . . , My Name 's John Wilkins — Alias have 1 none — 
 
 Though orphan'd, and without a Friend 
 Just. . . Thy Parents ? 
 
 Son . . . My Father dwelt in Rochester — and was, 
 
 As I have heard— a Fishmonger — no more." 
 
 Puff. What Sir do you leave out the account of your Birth, 
 Parentage, and Education ? 
 
 Sun. They have settled it so Sir. 
 P"/. O ! 
 " Lady . . How loudly K ature whispers to my Heart 
 
 Had He no other Name ? 
 Son ... I 've seen a Bill 
 
 Of his sign'd Tomkins, creditor. 
 Jus. Ha ! by Heavens ! Our Boy is now before us. 
 
 Lady. Has he his Ears ] 
 
 Son. Lady — for three long winters have 1 mourned their Loss. 
 
 Lady. It is ! it is ! 
 
 Jv^t. . . . This does indeed confirm 
 
 Each circumstance the Gipsy told quick loose 
 Those ignominious [bonds ? j prepare 
 So7i ... I do. 
 
 Just.. . . No Orphan, nor without a Friend art thou — 
 I am thy Father ; here 's thy Mother ; there 
 Your uncle— this thy first cousin, and Those 
 Are all your near Relations ! 
 Lady ... ecstasy of Bliss ! 
 Son ... most unlook'd for Happiness ! 
 Lady ... wonderful event ! (Faints.)" 
 
 Piiff. There, you see Relationship like murder will out. 
 "Just. . . See she revives — this joy 's too much ! 
 
 But come— and we '11 unfold the rest within ; 
 
 And thou must needs want rest and food. 
 
 Hence may each orphan hope, as Chance directs, 
 
 To find a Father where he least expects ! [Exeunt.' 
 
 Fuff. What do you think of that ? 
 
258 THE CRITIC. 
 
 Dang. One of the finest Discovery scenes I ever saw ! — Why this 
 Under Plot would have made a Tragedy in itself. 
 Sneer. Aye or a Comedy either. 
 Puff. And keeps quite clear you see of the other. 
 
 " Enter Scenemen, taking aicay the seats." 
 
 Ptiff. The scene remains does it ? 
 
 Sceneman. Yes Sir. 
 
 Puff. You are to leave one chair, you know.^But it 's always 
 awkward in a Tragedy you Fellows coming in in your Playhouse 
 Liveries to remove things. I wish that could be managed better. 
 
 " Enter Beefeater. 
 Beef. . . . Perdition catch my soul but I do love thee ! " 
 
 Sneer. Haven't I heard that line before ? 
 Puff. No, I fancy not. — Where, pray ? 
 Dang. Yes, I think there 's something like it in Othello. 
 Puff. Gad! now you put me in mind on 't, I believe there is — but 
 that 's no consequence — all that can be said is that two People happen'd 
 o hit upon the same thought — and Shakespeare made use of it first, 
 that 'sail. 
 
 Sneer. Very true. 
 
 Puff. Now Sir, your Soliloquy — but speak more to the Pit if you 
 
 please 
 
 "Beef. . . Though hopeless Love finds comfort in Despair, 
 It never can endure a Rival's Bliss ! 
 But soft — I am observed. \_Exit." 
 
 Dang. That 's a very short Soliloquy. 
 
 Puff. Yes — but it would have been a great deal longer if He had 
 not been observed. 
 
 Sneer. A most sentimental Beefeater That Mr. Pufi" ! 
 
 Puff. Hark'ee — I wouldn't have you be too sure that He is a 
 Beefeater. 
 
 Sneer. O what, a Hero in Disguise ? 
 
 Puff. No Matter — I only give you a hint — but now for ihy principal 
 character. Here He comes — Lord Burleigh in Person ! Pray Gentle- 
 men, step this way — softly — I only hope He 's perfect — if He is but 
 perfect ! — 
 
 " Enter Lord Borleigh, goes slowly to a chair and sits." 
 
 Sneer. Mr. Puff ! 
 
 Puff. Hush !— Vastly well ! 
 
 Dang. What isn't he to speak at all ? 
 
THE CRITIC. 259 
 
 Puf. Egad I thought you 'd aak me that — yes it is a very likely 
 thing — that a minister in his situation with the whole affairs of the 
 Nation on his Head, should have time to talk ! — but hush ! or you 'H 
 put him out. 
 
 Sneer. Put him out ! how the Plague can that be if He 's not 
 going to say anything ? 
 
 Puff. There 's a reason ! why his Part is to think — and how the 
 plague do you imagine he can think — if you keep talking — 
 
 Dang. That 's very true, upon my word ! 
 
 "Lord Borleiqh comes forward, "Shakes his head, and exit." 
 
 Pxtff. Now — hush ! — close ! 
 
 Sneer. He is very perfect indeed ! Now, pray what did he mean 
 that 
 
 Puff. You don't take it — 
 
 Sneer. No I don't upon my soul. 
 
 Puf. Why, by that shake of his Head, he gave you to Understand 
 that even tho' everything was to be hoped from the Justice of their 
 cause and wisdom of their measures — yet, if there was not a greater 
 spirit shown on the Part of the People, the country would at last fall 
 a sacrifice to the hostile ambition of the Spanish monarchy. 
 
 Sneer. The Devil ! did He mean all that by shaking his Head ? 
 
 Puff. Every word of it — if He shook his Head as I taught him. 
 
 Dang. Ah ! there certainly is a vast deal to be done on the Stage 
 by dumb show and expression of Face ! 
 
 Sneer. Oh, here are some of our old acquaintance. 
 
 " Eater Sir Christopher Hatton and Sir Walter Raleigh. 
 Sir Christ. My niece and your niece too ! 
 
 By Heaven ! there 's witchcraft in "t.— He could not else 
 Have gain'd their hearts.— But see where they approach ; 
 Some horrid purpose lowering on their brows ! 
 Sir Walt. Let us withdraw and mark them. [They withdraw." 
 
 Sneer. What is all this ? 
 
 Puff. Ah ! here has been more pruning ! — but the fact is, these 
 two young ladies are also in love with Don Whiskerandos. Now, 
 Gentlemen — this scene goes entirely for what we call situation and 
 Stage Effect, by which the greatest applause may be obtain'd, without 
 the assistance of Language, Sentiment, or Character : pray mark ! 
 
 " Enter two Nieces. 
 1st Niece. Ellena here ! 
 
 She is his Scorn as much — that is 
 Some comfort still ! " 
 Piff. O dear — Ma'am you are not to say that to her face ! — Aside — 
 Ma'am— aside.— The whole scene is to be aside. Very true Sir. 
 
 s 2 
 
260 THE CRITIC. 
 
 " \st Niece. She is his scorn as much as 1 — 
 
 That is some comfort still. \_Aside. 
 
 2«t£ Niece, He scorns I know Ellena's love; 
 
 But Tilburina lords it o'er his Heart. [Aside. 
 
 \st Niece. . But see the proud Destroyer of my Peace— In freedom too 
 
 Revenge is all the good I 've left. [Aside. 
 
 2nd Niece. He comes the false Disturber of my Quiet. 
 
 By Tilburina feared 
 
 Now Vengeance do thy worst. [Aside, 
 
 Enter Don Ferolo Whiskerandos. 
 Whisk. . hateful Liberty— if thus 
 
 In vain I seek my Tilburina ! 
 Both Nieces. And ever shalt ! 
 
 Sir Christopher Hatton and Sir Walter Raleigh come forward. 
 Sir Christ, and Sir Walt. Hold I we will avenge you. 
 Whisk. . . Hold you— or see your Nieces bleed 1 
 
 Puff. There 's situation for you ! there 's an heroic Group !— You 
 see I have them all at a dead Lock. The Ladies can't stab Whiskerandos 
 — he durst not strike them, for fear of their unkles — the unkles durst 
 not kill him because of their Nieces. — and every one of them is 
 afraid to let go first. 
 
 Sneer. Why, then they must stand there for ever ! 
 
 Puff. So they would, if I hadn't a good contrivance for 't. — Now 
 
 mind 
 
 " Enter Beefeater with his halbert, 
 
 Beef. . . In the Queen's Name I charge you all to drop 
 Your Swords and Daggers ! 
 
 [They drop their swords and daggers." 
 
 Sneer. That is a contrivance indeed ! 
 Pnff. Aye — in the queen's name. 
 
 " Sir Christ. Come, niece ! 
 
 Sir Walt. . Come, niece ! [Exeunt with the two Nieces. 
 
 Whisk. . . What 's he, who bids us thus renounce our guard] 
 
 Beef. . . Thou must do more — renounce thy love 1 
 
 Whisk. . . Thou liest — base Beefeater 1 
 
 Beef. . . Ha ! hell ! the lie 1 
 
 By Heaven thou 'st roused the lion in my heart ! 
 
 Oflf, yeoman's habit !— base disguise ! off ! off ! 
 
 [Discovers himself hy throwing qif his upper dress, and 
 appearing in a very fine waistcoat. 
 
 Am I a Beefeater now? 
 
 Or beams my crest as terrible as when 
 
 In Biscaj's Bay I took thy captive sloop 1 " 
 
 Puff. There, egad I he comes out to be the very captain of the 
 privateer who had taken Whiskerandos prisoner — and was himself an 
 old lover of Tilburina's, 
 
THE CRITIC. 261 
 
 Dang. Admirably managed indeed ! 
 Puff. Now stand out of their way. 
 Whisk, , . I thank thee Fortune, that hast thus bestowed 
 
 A weapon to chastise this Insolent. [Takes tip one of (he swords. 
 
 Beef. ... I take thy challenge, Spaniard, and I thank thee. 
 
 Fortune, too ! [Takes up one of the swords.'' 
 
 Dang. That's excellently contvivoi I — It aeom.s as if the two uncles 
 had left their swords on purpose for them. 
 Puff. No, egad, they could not help leaving them. 
 
 "Wkish. . Vengeance and Tilburina 1 
 
 Beef. . . . Exactly so 
 
 [They fight— add after the usual number of 
 wounds given, WHiSKERANDOS/a;;*, 
 Whisk. . . cursed parry ! — that last thrust in tierce 
 
 Was fatal.— Captain, thou hast fenced well ! 
 
 And Whiskerandos quits this bustling scene 
 
 For all eter 
 
 Beef. . . nity— he would have added, but stern death 
 
 Cut short his being, and the noun at once ! " 
 
 Piff. my dear sir, you are too alow : now mind me. — Sir, shall 
 I trouble you to die again ? 
 
 " Whisk. . . And Whiskerandos quits this bustling scene 
 
 For all eter 
 
 Beef. , . . nity — he would have added, 
 
 Piff. No Sir — that 's not it — once more, if you please Don Whisker- 
 andos. 
 
 Whisk. I wish Sir, you would Practise this without me — I can't stay 
 dying here all Night. 
 
 Piff. Very well— we'll go it over by-and-bye — {Exit Whiskekandos.] 
 I must humour these gentlemen ! 
 "Beef. . . Farewell — brave Spaniard ! " 
 
 Puff. Dear sir, you needn't speak that speech, as the Body 'a walked 
 off. 
 
 Beef. That 'a true, air — then I '11 join the Fleet. 
 
 Puff. If you please. — {Exit Beefeater.] Now, who cjmes on 1 
 
 "Enter Governor. 
 Gov. ... A Hemisphere of Evil Planets reign ! 
 
 And every planet sheds contagious frenzy ! 
 
 3Iy Spanish prisoner is slain 1 ray Daughter, 
 
 Electing the dead corse Borne along, has gone 
 
 Distract! Trumpets, 
 
 But Hark ! I am summon'd to the Fort : 
 Perhaps the Fleets have met ! amazing crisis I 
 Tilburina ! from thy aged father's beard 
 Thou 'st pluck'd the few black hairs which time had left 1 [ Hxit." 
 
262 THE CRITIC. 
 
 Puff. True. — Now enter Tilburina ! 
 iSneer. Egad the Business comes on quick here. 
 Puff. Yes Sir — now she comes in stark mad in white satin. ■ 
 Sneer. Why in white satin ? 
 
 Piff. Lud Sir — when a Heroine goes mad she always goes into 
 white Satin. — don't she, Dangle ? 
 Dang. Always — 
 
 £nter Tilburina and her Confidant mad. 
 
 Sneer. But, what the Deuce ! is the confidante to be mad too ? 
 
 Puff. To be sure she is — the Confidante is always to do whatever her 
 mistress does — weep when she weeps — smile when she smiles — go 
 mad when she goes mad. — Now, Ma'am — but keep your madness in 
 the background. 
 
 " Tilb. . . The wind whistles — the moon rises — see, they have kill'd my 
 squirrel in his cage — is this a Grasshopper? — Ah no; it is my Friend — you shall 
 not keep him — I know you have him in your Pocket — An oyster may be cfoss'd in 
 Love ! — who says A whale's a Bird?— ha I did you call my Love ? — He's here ! 
 He 's there ! — He 's everywhere ! Ah me ! he 's nowhere. [Exit." 
 
 Puff. There, do you ever desire to see anybody madder than that 1 
 
 Sneer. Never, while I live. 
 
 Piff. Now then for my magnificence — my Battle — and my pro- 
 cession ! — You are all ready ? 
 
 Und. Promp. Yes, Sir. 
 
 Pvff\ Is the Thames dressed ? 
 
 TJiames. Here I am Sir. 
 
 Piiff. Very well, indeed ! — See — Gentlemen, there 's a River for 
 you !— 
 
 Sneer. But pray who are these Gentlemen in green with him — 
 
 Puff. Those — those are his Banks. 
 
 Sneer. His banks — 
 
 Puff. Yes — but hey what the Plague you have got both your Banks 
 on one side. — Here here — Ever while you live, Thames, go between 
 your banks. — [Bell rings.] Now but !— Away ! 
 
 [Exit Thames between his banl<s. 
 [Curtain drops. 
 
A JOURNEY TO BATH. 
 
 A COMEDY. 
 BY MRS. FRANCES SHERIDAN. 
 
 J fen. 
 Lord Stewkly. 
 Sir Jeremy Bull, Bar'' 
 Sir Joxatuax Bull, hi.s brother, 
 
 a City Kt 
 Edward, son to Sir Jonathan. 
 Champignion. 
 Stapleton. 
 
 Women. 
 Lady Filmot. 
 Lady Bell Aircastle. 
 Mrs. Tryfort, a citizens 
 
 widow. 
 Lucy, her daughter. 
 Mrs. Surface, one who keeps 
 
 lodging house at Bath. 
 
 Sce7ie — Bath. 
 
 ACT the 1^* 
 
 Scene the First. — The Parade at Bath. 
 
 Enter Stapleton at one side, Mrs. Surface at the other meeting 
 
 him, stops short. 
 
 Mrs. Surface. Well,— let me dye if at a little distance I knew 
 you !— I declare you trip along as brisk as eighteen, and look as 
 fresh this morning ! but my dear Sir where are you going in such 
 haste ? 
 
 Stapleton. To look for an other lodging. 
 
 3Irs. Sur. Marry heaven forbid ! I 'd rather lose every lodger 
 in my house than you. 
 
 Stap. Your house ! "Why your house is like a fair, what 
 betwixt my lady Filmot's visitors, my Lord Stewkly 's hair- 
 dressers, and that roystering Westindian and his drunken 
 Negroes, a man cant enjoy an hours repose. 
 
 Mrs. Sur. I know it my good Sir, I know it, and it grieves me 
 to the very heart — That same Lord Stewkly is no better than he 
 should be, (between ourselves) as for my lady Filmot, she is — a 
 fine lady, thats all — I speak ill of nobody behind their backs; 
 and for Mr. Champignion, he is a Fool poor man ; but tjike no 
 notice that I told you so. 
 
264 A JOURNEY TO BATH. 
 
 Stap. Then there 's that f.it woman, that lyes abed one half of 
 tlie clay, and laughs the other half ; she and her daughter come 
 thundering to the door at all hours of the night. 
 
 Mrs. Stir. Ha ha ha, Mrs. Tryfort — and yet she is here for her 
 health — Oh these citizens Mr. Stapleton ! Her daughter is going 
 to be married you must know, and the lover and his father, and 
 Uncle are coming into my house to day. 
 
 Stap. Then I will go out of your house to night. 
 
 Mrs. Sur. I 'd part Avith my two eyes sooner, you se[e] now I 
 would. No, I '11 tell you what I'll do for you ; you shall just step 
 another flight of stairs, and then you will have no body over your 
 head but Lady Bell Aircastle. 
 
 Stap. What, is that she that 's all way sweeping a flimzy train 
 of scoured silk up and down stairs ? 
 
 Mrs. Sur. The very same, ha ha ha, lord help her she is as 
 proud as lueifer and as poor as Lazarus ; lives mostly upon tea 
 breakfast, dinner, and supper poor Soul ! but she is of a great 
 family — if you will take her own word for it — not over young 
 neither, for all she looks so well ; but I Avould 't tell this to 
 everybody. 
 
 Stap. Oh I know you are wonderfully tender of reputations, 
 you hate scandal. 
 
 Mrs. Stir. Ay, as I do poison ; I do, as I would be done by, 
 Mr. Stapleton. Well now, what pritty nice things shall I get 
 you for your dinner, for I am going to market. 
 
 Stap. Psha — I dont care. 
 
 Mrs. Sur. Oh I know your taste, there is nobody can please 
 you like myself. 
 
 Staj). Well, well get you gone, I must make out my walk and 
 then go home to write letters. {Aside, a cajoling baggage.) 
 
 \_Exit Stap. 
 
 Mrs. Sur. Good morning to you good Sir, and a pleasant walk 
 to you, dear Sir — A peevish Cur, but I had rather have him than 
 an empty room. \_Exit Mrs. Surface. 
 
 SCEXE CONTINUES. 
 
A JOURNEY TO BATH. 265 
 
 2"'^ Scene. — Enter Lady Filmot and Lord Stewklv. 
 
 Lady Filmot. Poll, poll my Lord this Jealousy 's all aftectation. 
 
 L(yi-d Stewkly. Aftectation Madam! Why dont you think 
 you give me cause for it ? 
 
 Lady F. Yes — if you loved me I grant you ; but those days 
 are over. 
 
 Lm-d. Upon my word Ma'am, I dont know how it may be on 
 your side ; but for my part I assure you very solemnly th*at my 
 heart is — 
 
 Lady F. As much devoted to you as ever — ha ha ha ! You 
 think perhaps that I expect such a declaration from you ; but I 
 will spare you the pain of dissimulation, by telling you at once, 
 that I know your heart is as much at ease about me as — 
 
 Loi'd. As what pray Ma'am ? 
 
 Lady F. As mine is about your lordship. 
 
 Lord. Very well ma'am, then I suppose our acquaintance is to 
 be at an end. 
 
 Lady F. By no means ; why shoud our being no lony-ei' lovers, 
 hinder us from being friends ? 
 
 Loi'd. The transition I own is not difficult ; but to tell you my 
 mind freely, I believe you never did really love me. 
 
 Lady F. I protest I liked you vastly; but for lore, oh lud ! a 
 woman, who at sixteen, consented to a match of interest, is not 
 likely at almost double that age, to be a slave to softer passions. 
 
 Lord. That circumstance might have convinced me that your 
 heart was never capable of tenderness : So fine a woman, with 
 your understanding and education, to sacrifice herself in the 
 bloom of youth for money ! 
 
 Lady F. Nay, the sacrifice was not voluntary neither : I was 
 only passive on the occasion, and suffered myself to be persuaded 
 by a Mother, to marry a man for whom I did not cai-e a pinch of 
 snuff, because he was heir to a rich old miser. She piqued 
 herself on her dexterity in making the match, and I made a 
 merit of my obedience in accepting it. 
 
 Lord. And the fruits of your meritorious obedience was — 
 
 Lady F. Ruin — I grant you ; but that was not my fault; the 
 inexorable old cit turned his son out of doors and dt'ciared he 
 
266 A JOURNEY TO BATH. 
 
 would disinherit him. We found ourselves both undone. He 
 indeed woud have kindly persuaded me to starve with him ; but 
 not being quite fond enough of him for that, I prudently bid 
 him good by, and returned back to my mother. He was 
 unreasonable enough to be offended at this — threw himself into 
 the service of the East India Company, and went abroad in a 
 pet, swearing we should never hear of him more ; and thus 
 ended my matrimonial scheme of felicity, which lasted just two 
 month* and eleven days. 
 
 Lo7xl. A good pleasant history. But one woud think ma'am 
 that such an adventure might deter you from making an 
 interested mai-riage a second time. 
 
 LcccIt/ F. Not in the least — one may make a shift to enjoy life 
 with tolei-able tranquility with taking love into the bargain ; but 
 there is no one comfort to be procured without riches : and your 
 lordship may remember I made that my objection, when on our 
 first acquaintance, yovi seemed disposed to take me for life. 
 
 Lord. Tis true ; but yet you hinted at a kinder reason, for you 
 told me that you knew not but that your husband was then 
 living. 
 
 Lady F. Why at that time I really was uncertain about his 
 fate ; but there is now no room to doubt of it, as in consequence 
 of his death, you find his niece, Miss Tryfort is her grandfather's 
 heir, for it seems the stubboi-n old fellow dyed at last without a 
 will. — Come come my lord, take my word for it, we are both now 
 much better qualified to see, and to promote our miitual interest, 
 than when we were foolish enough to be fond of each other. — 
 Your business is to marry a fortune, — so is mine. 
 
 Lord. And I think I can guess where your shafts are aimed ; 
 young Edward Bull is your mark. 
 
 Lady F. The very same, and if you will give me leave to point 
 your artillery, I will direct it to — 
 
 Lord. Miss Lucy Tryfort, I presume. 
 
 Lady F. Right — and now can you have the face to say you 
 had not resolved on this before ? 
 
 Lord. Why no faith, I '11 take example by your frankness, and 
 tell you honestly that I had ; but dont you know that the young 
 people are destined for each other ? 
 
A JOURNEY TO BATH. 267 
 
 Ladi/ F. I know their parents intend it ; but I hope theii- stars 
 will dispose of them better. As Lucy's estate woud have been 
 my poor dear spouse's, had he lived, I think I have a sort of 
 right in the disposal of it, and woud not wish to bestow it better 
 than on your lordship. 
 
 Lord. Oh ma'am your most obedient. I suppose neither the 
 girl noi- her mother suspect in the least [substituted for " have 
 the least suspicion of "] who you are ? 
 
 Lady F. How should they? I never saw either of them till 
 they came hither. They never heard of me by my present name, 
 and I have a little too much spirit to acknowledge myself the 
 widow of a man whom his purse-proud relations abandoned for 
 marrying, let them e'en enjoy his fortune, for my stripling will 
 inherit all his fathers wealth. 
 
 Lord. Oh then you are sure of him ? 
 
 Lady F. Why — not absolutely, I must totally rout tlie present 
 sovereign of his heart, before I even let him suspect my design 
 of filling her throne — I have persuaded his Uncle Sir Jeremy, 
 (who by the way admires me prodigiously) to change their former 
 lodgings and come into our hovise. 
 
 Lord. Sir Jonathan and his son, I suppose, follow of course ? 
 
 Lady F. Oh to be sure ; poor Sir Jonathan you know is to be 
 led by a hair, and looks up to his brother as to an oracle. This 
 you will see gives me more frequent opportunities — 
 
 Lm-d. Yes, yes I see, and approve of your design — I suppose 
 Edward breakfasts with me this morning — tho' faith I don't 
 remember Avhether I askd him or not, 
 
 Lady F. For shame my lord ! but I '11 soon rectify that 
 omission — I fancy 'tis almost the hour. I must just step 
 home and adjust myself a little, and then — but where Is it we 
 are to be ? 
 
 L&rd. Oh at Spring gardens — I '11 go before you, for I suppose 
 you reserve for your swain the honour of scjuiring you thither. 
 
 Lady F. Oh certainly. 
 
 Lord. Ma'am I submit 
 
 Lady F. "With a mo.^t exemplary patience ha ha ha ! Is not 
 this better than being in love now ? \Exit severally. 
 
208 A JOURNEY TO BATH. 
 
 Scene 3'^ 
 Stapleton's appartment. 
 Enter Sir J O'SATnA:^ followed hy tivo or three servants vAth trunTcs. 
 Sir Jonathan. There there, set them down and go for the rest. 
 lack a day I am so weary ! 
 
 [77e throws himself into an armed chair. 
 
 Enter Stapletox unth a pen in his hand. 
 
 Htap. Why what the plague is all this noise about ? 
 
 8irJo. Sir! 
 
 Stap. Wliats all this lumber here ? 
 
 Sir Jo. Lumber do you call it ? I hope I may bring my 
 baggage into my own lodgings Sir without offence to anybody 
 
 Stap. Your own lodgings Sir why these are my lodgings 
 
 Sir Jo. Hey! introth I believe I am wrong sure enough. 
 Well thats comical ! now I think of it my brother Jeremy told 
 me it was up one pair of stairs, and I have come up two, ha ha 
 ha I beg your pardon Sir ; sit down, pray dont let me be your 
 hindrance. 
 
 Stap). Pray Sir let these things be taken away. 
 
 Sir Jo. Presently when my servants come back ; but I protest 
 I am so tired with going to and fro that I must needs rest a 
 while ; pray be seated Sir and let us have a little chat, for I dont 
 love ceremony. 
 
 Stap. iS'or I dont love intrusion Sir. 
 
 Sir Jo. No, nor I neither when a man does it designedly ; but 
 I like now to stumble on an acquaintance by chance ; one often 
 gets good friends in that way. May I be so bold Sir as to ask 
 you your name ? My name 's Bull, Sir Jonathan they call me ; 
 but a knight batchelor. 
 
 Stap. (aside This mans simplicity almost tempts me to excuse 
 his impertinence) Stapleton 's my name Sii-. 
 
 Sir Jo. Ha, Stapleton ; married or single, if I may be so free ? 
 
 Stap. Single, thank my stars. 
 
 Sir Jo. One shoud be thankful for everything to be sure. I 
 buried a very good wife ; but I have a son a fine pritty youth as 
 you shoud see ; and I have an elder brother, he 's a baronet, a 
 fine man too in his own Avay. 
 
A JOURNEY TO BATH. 269 
 
 Stap. "Well Sir I am glad of it ; but if you please, I '11 call 
 my servant to remove your trunks. 
 
 /Sir Jo. No, no Sir, clont trouble yourself, I am in no hurry ; 
 but I wish you knew this brother of mine, you woud like him I 
 believe. He has had a fine education. I was only bred to 
 business ; but faith it has turned out better than all his learning ; 
 for he, poor gentleman, spent what estate there was in the family 
 upon an election, and lost it too ; that was the worst of it, for it 
 almost turned his brain. 
 
 aS'^^. Ay, that was bad indeed, to lose his election and his 
 wits too. 
 
 Sir Jo. Oh I dont mean that neitlier, no, no, no God forbid ! 
 Wit, he has moi^e wit than I have, for that matter ; but it vexd 
 him grievously, for you must know he is a little haughty, being 
 the elder branch of the family as he calls it, and a man of 
 learning : Yet we difier sometimes in opinion ; but I durstn't 
 always speak my mind to him, for he has the gift of speech 
 better than I have, and will harangue you so, that he won't leave 
 you a word to say. 
 
 Sta]). Wliy you dont seem wanting in fluency of speech your- 
 self Sir Jonathan. 
 
 Sir Jo. No, no no, in my own way; but then he was a famous 
 speaker in Parliament once ; he is a scholar too, and I have bred 
 my son one. I had him at a grammar school, and he under- 
 stands latin almost as well as his Uncle. I am going to marry 
 him soon to a young lady that lodges in this house : I don't know 
 whether you know Miss Tryfort ? 
 
 S'tap. Tryfort! I have heard the name. Pray who is she 
 Sir? 
 
 Sir Jo. "Why one of those that has had good luck. Her 
 grandfather dyed some time ago and his whole fortune comes to 
 her; for her fathers dead, and an uncle she had, that married 
 foolishly and ran away, and so she is the only heir in the family. 
 
 Stap. And she is to be married to youi- son ? 
 
 Sir Jo. And she is to be married to my son, the affair is 
 settled between — lack-a-day theres my brother Jeremy! [Sir 
 Jeremy calls ioithout S"" Jonathan ! Why where are you ?] now 
 will he be as angry with me for this little mistake — I am comin^ 
 
270 A JOURNEY TO BATH. 
 
 brother. Sir your humble servant. I shall be proud to be better 
 acquainted with you. 
 
 Stap. Sir I am yours [^exit Sir Jonathan] tho I hate to mix 
 with the world I can be entertained with a recital of its follies 
 at a distance. This man seems to be thrown in my way on 
 purpose : I '11 cultivate his acquaintance. The communicative- 
 ness of his temper will be a means to gratify my curiosity — 
 who 's there ? [Enter a Servant.] Remove these things and set 
 the chamber to rights. [Exit Stapleton. 
 
 Scene 4*^^ — A par-lour. 
 Entei' Sir Jonathan and S' Jeremy. 
 
 Sir Jeremy. Fy, fy Sir Jonathan, I am ashamed of your 
 blundering thus eternally. 
 
 Sir Jo. Well, well brother dont be angry there Ls no great 
 harm done. 
 
 Sir Jer. Sir Jonathan ! 
 
 Sir Jo. Brother ! 
 
 Sir Jer. I want some conference with you. 
 
 Sir Jo. I am very willing to hear you, brother. 
 
 Sir Jer. You know I never gave my assent to this junction 
 (for I cant call it an alliance) between my nephew and this girl. 
 
 Sir Jo. Gazooks ! brother why didn't we come hither to 
 solemnize the wedding ? 
 
 Sir Jer. No. 
 
 Sir Jo. No ! why wasn't it agreed that they shoud be married 
 the day that Ned was to be one and twenty, and wont that be 
 next Saturday, and Avovid he let me rest till he made me come 
 down hither after Mrs. Tryfort ? 
 
 Sir Jer. I grant you, I grant you all that Sir Jonathan ; yet 
 there are sudden events which sometimes require as sudden a 
 change of measures, and he is a deplorable politician that is not 
 prepared for exigencies. 
 
 Sir Jo. I cant for my life see what Politicks has to do with my 
 son's marriage. 
 
 Sir Jer. Ha ha, I know you cant ; but I can. 
 
 Sir Jo. Why. What fresh objection have you started now ? 
 
A JOURXEY TO BATH. 271 
 
 Sir Jer. Ph — uph — no blood, no family, no connections, fy, f y ! 
 I 'd rather see the boy married to a woman of coni^equence, tho 
 he did n't get sixpence with her. 
 
 Sir Jo. By my faith and so woudn't I. Put forty thousand 
 pound into one scale, and consequence as you call it into tother, 
 and see which will weigh heaviest ? 
 
 Sir Jer. Theres the case! tho' you are of an antient family 
 yourself yet having had the misfortune to be thrown early into 
 trade it has abased your ideas : now for my part tho I have 
 somewhat abridged the inheritance of my ancestors in reducing 
 it from twelve hundred, to about two I believe hundred pounds 
 a year, — yet I did it in a cause I am not ashamed of. I am the 
 first eldest son of the family for these seven genei-ations that 
 have been out of the Senate house, I can tell you that. 
 
 Sir Jo. Oh brother you spent a Avoi-ld of money about that 
 same business. 
 
 Sir Jer. And woud spend another world again tomorrow, on 
 the same occasion ; and if it shoud ever be Ned's gi"eat happiness 
 to get into Parliament — 
 
 Sir Jo. Ned into Parliament. Oh lord oh lord ; lookee brother 
 with submission, I woud not give sixpence, no not sixpence — 
 
 Sir Jer. I know it, yet tis fit notwithstanding as Edward is 
 the only representative of the family, that the name shoud be 
 revived with some degree of splendor ; but instead of that, you 
 want irretrievably to mix the bloud with the puddle of City. 
 
 *S'iV Jo. Dont abuse the City, brother, I dont know Avhat we 
 shoud do without it. 
 
 Sir Jer. I dont, the City may have its use ; but dont let us 
 confound all order, all distinction, and fancy trade's people are 
 upon a footing with legislators. I have no object in view for 
 myself, (they have thought proper to leave 7ne out) but I own it 
 woud please me to reflect, that my posterity, even in the collateral 
 line, were to be guardians of the liberty of their country, instead 
 of being doomd to the drudgery of making money. 
 
 Sir Jo. Dont abuse money neither, brother, I can assure you 
 it is a very good thing. 
 
 Sir Jer. It appears so to you no doubt, who have been used to 
 buy and sell, and thank the people that you gained by ; but I who 
 
272 A JOURNEY TO BATH. 
 
 li<ave l)een brought up with a Spirit of independence, woud 
 sooner be reduced to eat my own shoe leather, than be obliged to 
 e'en a man alive. 
 
 Sir Jo. I dont understand such fine-spun notions, not I. 
 Sh' Jer. I know you dont, and for that reason have often 
 suspected yovu- legitimacy ; for excepting yourself, I never knew 
 any one of the family that had not those notions. 
 
 Sir Jo. May be so, brother ; have you anything more to say to 
 me, for I have a good deal of business to do. 
 
 Sir Jer. The old way! When ever / was disposed to inform 
 you a little, you had always business ; havn't I known you, rather 
 than miss your hour of going to Change, refuse to hear me 
 repeat a speech on which perhaps the welfare of the whole nation 
 depended ? 
 
 Sir Jo. (Jiastilii). You dont want to speak a speech now brother,, 
 do you ? 
 
 Sir Jer. No Sir, not at present ; but if you were fit to be 
 trusted with the conduct of your own afiairs, I coud tell you that 
 there is something now on the tapis that perhaps may be the 
 making of a certain young man. 
 
 Sir Jo. What is it brother, I shall be very glad to hearken to 
 any thing for the good of my son. 
 
 Sir Jer. Matters are not yet come to that maturity that I 
 could wish ; bvit I had a mind to sound you, to feel your pulse a 
 little on the occasion, Sir Jonathan ; so I shall for the present, 
 only throw out to you at large, that there is a certain person of 
 condition here, that possibly woudn't be averse to entering into a 
 treaty of marriage with us. 
 
 Sir Jo. With ^(,s ! I dont very well take your meaning 
 brother. 
 
 Sir Jer. I dont intend you shoud brother ; this is not the 
 juncture for explanations. At a proper time perhaps I may let 
 you a little more behind the curtain ; in the meanwhile I have 
 given you a hint just to play with. Sir Jonathan ; and so now you 
 may go about your business as you call it, for I am engaged to 
 breakfast with my lord Stewkly this morning. 
 
 Sir Jo. Very well, when you come back I shall be glad of a 
 little further discourse with you, so brother your humble servant. 
 
A JOURNEY TO BATH. 273 
 
 Sir Jer. Good morning to you Sir Jonathan [exit Sir Jonathan]. 
 A weak man ; but he means well. \Eodt Sir Jeremy. 
 
 Scene the 5"^ — Spring Gardens. 
 Enter Lord Stewkly and Lady Filmot. 
 
 Lord. And so you coudn't persuade the stripling ? 
 
 Lady F. He colourd, and said he must ask his fathers leave. 
 
 Lord. I wish my damsel were capable of blushing ; but she is 
 too ignorant even for that ; for when I asked her, she only 
 stared, made me half a dozen curtisies, and then said she was 
 laced so tight, it had given her a pain in the stomach, and asked 
 me if I knew what was good for the cholic ha ha ha. 
 
 Lady F. Oh you must get the mother of your side ; she wants 
 of all things to be taken notice of by the quality, as she phrases 
 it. — You ought to visit her, tis the vainest poor creature, and 
 the fondest of hard words, which without ??iiscalling, she always 
 takes care to misapply. — She perfectly adores me, because I 
 always speak to her, whenever I meet her. 
 
 Lord. Lady Bell I think cant prevail on herself to shew her 
 the least civility. 
 
 Lady F. No ; and the poor woman does take such pains to get 
 into her good graces ! and then Lady Bell draws up her long 
 neck, gives her a supercilious stare, and turning to me, ' shall we 
 walk Lady Filmot ' for you see there 's ??obody here : and then 
 poor Mrs Tryfort finding herself nobody, looks so mortified, and 
 follows us so close, in order to appear one of our company, that I 
 talk to her out of mere compassion. 
 
 Lord. Ha ha ha poor woman ! 
 
 Lady F. But how in the name of wonder can you afibrd to 
 treat such an intolerable crowd as you have collected here this 
 morning ? 
 
 Lord. To let you into a secret, Champignion pays, tho I have 
 the credit of it. You must know he is ambitious, as he oills it, 
 of being galant. [He is] immensely rich, ostentatious and never 
 easy but in devising the means to squander. 
 
 Lady F. And I suppose you are kind enough to assist him. 
 
274 A JOURNEY TO BATH. 
 
 Lord. Oh he has taken me for his pattern ; and upon his con- 
 sulting me what handsome thing he ought to do, I told him I 
 intended giving an entertainment here this morning ; but to 
 oblige him, would let him do it in my stead, and as he is a stranger, 
 undertook to ask the company in his name. 
 
 Lady F. That was very kind of you ; but wont he discover 
 that you have asked them in your own ? 
 
 Lord. No, for I told him it would be the height of good bi-eed- 
 ing not to appear tUl the company were seated, and to slip away 
 before they rose, to avoid the usual ceremony of bowing and 
 curtsying ; so that as he will be fidgetting about all the morning, 
 he wUl only have the appearance of my deputy. 
 
 Lady F. Yery well contrived, I declare. 
 
 Lord. Oh I have laid such a train for mirth- — yovi must know 
 he is immoderately vain of his person ; and as he wants of all 
 things to captivate some woman of quality, I have told him that 
 Lady Bell Aircastle is in love with him. 
 
 Lady F. Gracious ! why she would not condescend to look at 
 him. 
 
 Lord. I know it ; but I shall give her to understand that he is 
 in love with her, which I think may afford us some pleasant scenes. 
 Besides this will lead the profuse coxcomb into a thousand schemes 
 of expensive pleasure, which will serve for entertainment, in our 
 intervals of more serious business. 
 
 Lady F. Ay there you say something — and here comes your 
 fool with all his busy consequence about him. 
 
 6 Scene. 
 Enter Champignion. 
 
 Lord. Well, Mr Champignion are any of your company come 
 yet? 
 
 Cham. A few my lord, but I steppd out of the way to avoid 
 being impolite you know ; tho I deprive myself of the pleasure 
 of gazing at the ladies ; there are abundance of your sex ma'am, 
 are to do me the honour to breakfast with me this morning. 
 
 Lady F. So I hear Sir, and you seem to have prepared a very 
 elegant entertainment for us. 
 
A JOURNEY TO BATH. 275 
 
 Cham. I have endeavoured to make it as grand ma'am as the place 
 would afford ; for you know ma'am how can we batchelors employ- 
 cur time better, than in shewing our respect to the ladies ma'am ? 
 
 Zady F. Very true, Sir. 
 
 Cham. It wont cost me above fifty guineas, and you know 
 ma'am that 's but a trifle to a single fellow like me, to purchase 
 the favour of the fair sex, especially ladies of quality. 
 
 Lachj F. Oh certainly ; lady Bell Aircastle is to do the honours 
 of your table, I think Sir ? 
 
 Cham. She is of a prodigious gi-eat family ! Her father was 
 the seventeenth earl in a dii-ect line ; and blood you know ma'am 
 entitles people— but apropos, my lord, a word with you. — Your 
 ladyship will excuse me for a minute. \he takes lord Stewkly 
 aside] 1 am told she is so monstrously proud that she will not 
 marry any man that can't produce a pedigree, (of gentry at least) 
 up to the flood, and split me if I can tell who my grandfather was ! 
 
 Lm-d. Thats a little unlucky ; but as you are not known here, 
 you can easUy make a pedigree for yourself. 
 
 Cham. Ay ; but who can I get to vouch for the truth of it my 
 lord ? 
 
 Lord. Nay, that indeed I cant tell. 
 
 Cham. If I could but find some poor devil (with the appearance 
 of a gentleman tho') who woudn't scruple to assert an innocent 
 lye, you know my lord. Id pay him handsomely for his pains. 
 
 Lord. Why I fancy such a one may be easUy found. 
 
 Cham. Egad I have hit, my lord ! that shabby knight thats just 
 come into our house — the poor dog has beggard himself they tell 
 me, yet sets up for something, and knows everybody. 
 
 Lord. Who, Sir Jeremy Bull do you mean ? 
 
 Cham. Ay, he, my lord. 111 give him a hundred guineas for a 
 handsome lye, provided he '11 swear to it. 
 
 Loi'd. Have a cjire how you make such a proposal to him ! 
 
 Cham. Nay nay, hang it, my lord I '11 give him two hundred 
 for that matter rather than fail. 
 
 Lord. But I tell you Sir he is a man that — 
 
 Cham. I declare here 's lady Bell just come into the garden. I 
 had best slip aside till she joins you, you know, my lord. 
 
 [/7(S skips nimbly a little xmy from Lord S. 
 
 T 2 
 
276 A JOURNEY TO BATH. 
 
 7 Scene 
 Enter Lady Bell 
 
 Lo7rL Good morning to your ladyship 
 
 Ladi/ Bell. Why my lord Stewkley, you have certainly invited 
 the whole corporation of Bath with their wives and children ; the 
 place wont contain them, its quite a mob, dont you think so lady 
 Filmot ? 
 
 Cham, [advancing). A mob ma'am ? heres none but people of 
 quality, and the best gentry, I can assure your ladyship. 
 
 Lady Bell {aside). Who is this person my Lord ? 
 
 Lord. I thought your ladyship knew Mr. Ohampignion ! 
 
 Lady Bell. Do you know anything of him lady Filmot 
 
 Lady F. Oh yes ma'am, he is a friend of my lord's. 
 
 Lady Bell (as if observing company at a distance). An absolute 
 Mob I declare, I scarce know any of them. 
 
 Cham. I hope your ladyship will excuse my taking the liberty 
 of requesting the honour of — 
 
 Lord {aside). Hush ! you '11 spoil all ! 
 
 Cham. Egad my lord I must make her know than I am no 
 more company for Mob than her ladyship. 
 
 Lady Bell. What does the young man say my lord ? 
 
 Lord. That there has been scarce any one asked ma'am but 
 people of fashion. 
 
 Cham. That was my design, ma'am, or I shoud not have had 
 the ambition to desire the favour of your ladyships presiding ; 
 but we poor unmarried fellows you know ma'am, that are so 
 unfortunate as not to have ladies of our own, you know ma'am — 
 
 Lady Bell. What does He mean, lady Filmot ? 
 
 Lady F. {aside to Lord). It will all come out — I fancy ma'am 
 my lord emploied him to invite some of the company. 
 
 [Aside to lady Bell. 
 
 Lady Bell. Oh, is it that ? and so Sir you have asked all your 
 own acquaintance I suppose ? 
 
 Cham. To be sure Ma'am, and woud if there had been more 
 of them ; I did not come here to save I can assure your lady- 
 ship. 
 
 Lord {aside). Fy ! you '11 disgrace yourself. Ay ay ma'am, my 
 
A JOURNEY TO BATH. 277 
 
 friend Champignion is as generous as a Prince, and would have 
 me to be so too — Come Sir will you walk ? 
 
 Cham. Faith my lord I am no niggard when ladies are in the 
 question : we squandering puppies begrudge nothing on our 
 pleasures. I have ordered that no expence shall be spared, I can 
 tell you ma'am. 
 
 Lady Bell. Pray my lord what has he to do with this entertain- 
 ment ? 
 
 Cham. I have the honour of giving it as I take it ma'am 
 
 Lady Bell. I understood it had been yours, my lord Stewkly ? 
 
 Lwd. (So !) Why to tell you the truth ma'am I intended it so ; 
 but my friend here is so munificent he has taken it upon himself. 
 I thought I had told your ladyship so. 
 
 Lady Bell. Then I hope I shall be excused from presiding, 
 there are some people here possibly that may like such a thing. 
 
 Cham {aside to lady Filmot). She is prodigeously proud, and 
 yet for all that — [i/e talks apart to lady Fil. 
 
 Lord. A word with you lady Bell — I dont know whether you 
 suspect it or not, but the man 's in love with you over head and 
 ears, and it is intirely [on your account that he has done all 
 this. 
 
 Lady Bell. In love with me ! Why prithee my lord who is the 
 Creter ? 
 
 Lord. He is worth above a hundred thousand pound 
 
 Lady Bell. Ay ; but did he get it by doing anything, I suppose 
 he is a trading fellow ? 
 
 Lord. Why I own he is hut a private gentleman. 
 
 Lady Bell. But are you sure he is even a gentleman ? 
 
 Lord. Of a considerable family at Antigua 
 
 Lady Bell. He he ha I think I '11 speak to him ; one woudn't 
 be rude you know even to one's inferior. — Mr. a-^I think these 
 gardens are pretty enough 
 
 Cham. Oh quite pretty ma'am ; but nothing to what we have 
 abroad. I have such gardens ma'am, it woud delight your lady- 
 ship to see them. I have a prodigious taste that way ma'am. 
 
 Lord (aside). Mark that. 
 
 Lccdy F. And then you have such fine fruits Mr. Cham- 
 pignion ! 
 
278 A JOURNEY TO BATH. 
 
 Cham. Oh lord ma'am you have nothing Hke them here ; if we 
 had but such fine ladies our Island would be a perfect paradise 
 ma'am. 
 
 Lord (aside). Do you observe ? 
 
 Zadi/ Bell. Lord Mr. — I didn't think you West-indians had 
 been so well bred 
 
 Cham. Nobody more so, I assure you ma'am ; we are remark- 
 able for it. I had a good mind to have brought my six fellows 
 to have waited this morning, only my lord told me, some of the 
 fair sex are a little timerous of negroes. 
 
 Lad}/ Bell. I dont dislike them for my part. 
 
 Cham. If I had known that ma'am, I should have tried to 
 have collected twenty or thirty to have attended your ladyship 
 ma'am. 
 
 Lord. Come ladies, I fancy most of the company are assembled 
 by this time ; suppose we were to go to them. 
 
 Cham. Will your ladyship favour me with your hand ? 
 
 Lady Bell. I can find my way Sir — Come lady Filmot, my 
 Lord Stewkly, your arm if you please. 
 
 Lady F. I '11 follow your ladyship. 
 
 Exit all hut LADY Filmot 
 
 8 Scene. 
 
 Enter Edward, 
 who runs behind a tree making signs to Lady F. not to discover 
 
 him. 
 
 Enter Lucy running, 
 
 and looking about, lady Filmot points to the opposite side and 
 Lucy runs out. 
 
 Lady F. Mr, Edward ! Mr. Edward ! what you have been at 
 play ? (Edward comes out 
 
 Ed. Yes ma'am just to pass away the time till breakfast 
 . Lady Fil. Is that young girl any relation of yours 
 
 Ed. Does your ladyship think she favours me ? 
 
 Lady F. I dare say she favours you Sir ; but I dont think she 
 resembles you in the least, she doesn't appear to me to be at all 
 handsome, that is she is not at all like you — I mean she is not — 
 
A JOURNEY TO BAT if. 279 
 
 in short she is not like you. — but I was going to say, if she were 
 one of your family, I shoud be glad to introduce her into some of 
 the best company here. 
 
 Ed. She would be vastly obliged to you I am sure ma'am 
 
 Lady F. Ay, but if she is no relation of yours you know — 
 
 Ed. She is not at present ; but one of these days perhaps, who 
 knows ? 
 
 Lady F. Oh, I understand you ; she 's a mistress then ? 
 
 Ed. Ah, you found me out by my colouring ; but don't you tell 
 now lady FUmot 
 
 Lady F. Poor gii-1, I pity her. 
 
 Ed. Pity her ! lord ma'am for what ? She likes me as well as 
 I do her. 
 
 Lady F. No doubt ont ; and she has no rivals to be sure. 
 
 Ed. 'No, upon my credit ; we have been in love since we were 
 children no higher than this 
 
 Lady F. And are likely to continue so ! Ah thou little 
 Coquette ! 
 
 Ed. I a coquette ! Oh heavens, you dont take me for a lady I 
 hope ma'am 
 
 Lady F. Oh there are male coquets, and you are one or I am 
 mistaken. 
 
 Ed. Ha ha ha ; you are very comical I do declare lady Filmot. 
 Why I protest I don't well know what a coquet is. 
 
 Lady F. No, no, not you, you poor innocent ! You don't 
 know how to make yourself agreeable, and to say a thousand 
 things with your eyes. 
 
 Ed. With my eyes. I say things with my eyes ha ha ha ! 
 
280 .4 JOURNEY TO BATH. 
 
 ACT 2cl. 
 
 Scene the 1st, Lady Filmot's ajJj^artment. 
 Lady Filmot and Edward. A chess hoard before them. 
 
 Lady F. This lesson is sufficient for to day ; we must'nt tire 
 young beginners. 
 
 Ed. I never can remember that Knight's move ; I believe 
 your ladyship thinks me very dull. 
 
 Lady F. I should not judge so by looking at you. — Come 
 we '11 have done, I can play no more. 
 
 Ed. I hope you are not iU lady Filmot, you look so grave ! 
 
 Lady F. I am not very well. 
 
 Ed. I am vastly sorry upon my word. 
 
 Lady F. Are you ? Wliy then I wish I were well for your 
 sake. 
 
 Ed. So do I too, I declare. — How did you like Miss Tryforts 
 dancing this morning, ma'am ? 
 
 Lady F. I did n't mind her. 
 
 Ed. Oh dear, why did'nt you see me dancing with her after 
 Lord Stewkly ? 
 
 Lady F. Yes certainly, I saw yoifj dance, and obsei"ved something 
 moving along with you. 
 
 Ed. That was shee ; she is reckoned a charming dancer. 
 
 Lady F. She might pass at a City ball. 
 
 Ed. Why ma'am dont you like her ? 
 
 Lady F. If you like her, she, she needn't be solicitous about 
 the opinion of others. 
 
 Ed. Ay; but your approbation ma'am, who are so good a 
 judge— 
 
 Lady F. Agreeable flatterer ! 
 
 Ed. You who are so genteel yourself — 
 
 Lady F. Polished creat\rre ! 
 
 Ed. Now tell me on upon your honour which dances best, she 
 or I? 
 
 Lady F. What signify my thoughts ? 
 Ed. I 'd give the universe to know them. 
 
A JOURNEY TO BATH. 281 
 
 Lady F. Why, then, beyond comparison you are the best, and 
 she is the very awkward est dancer I ever beheld, 
 
 Ed. Absohitely? ha ha ha, how she'd be vexed to hear you 
 had said so ! 
 
 Lady F. Oh you must'nt tell her, it woud mortify the poor 
 thing ; for you may suppose that We miost understand better 
 what is called grace and elegance than — you '11 pardon me ; but I 
 really think it a great pity that your lot hadn't thrown you 
 amongst people of fashion. 
 
 Ed. So it is upon my reputation, and so my Uncle Jeremy 
 always said; I shoud like it of all things, their ways are so 
 difierent from ours in the City. I dont know how it is, but they 
 are always in good humour I think 
 
 Lady F. Oh, ever, ever, tis a characteristic mark of quality 
 never to be out of temper. Wliy you are of a good family your- 
 self Mr. Edward. 
 
 Ed. And I am of a good family myself as you say ma'am, 
 thats of <yiie side. — and then they are so obliging and kind to 
 strangers ! 
 
 Lady F. And so sentimental ! do you understand sentiments ? 
 
 Ed. Oh yes ma'am, I have drunk sentiments very often, we 
 give them for toasts. 
 
 Lady F. Those are but commonplace things ; but some day or 
 other I '11 give you a lecture on the subject of sentiments ; I am 
 sure you '11 like it. 
 
 Ed. Anything from your ladyship 
 
 Lady F. Really. Why you begin to grow dangerous Child. 
 
 Ed. I dangerous ! I declare Lady Filmot you talk strangely ! 
 Why you have more danger in yovu- little finger than ten such as 
 me. 
 
 Lady F. Captivating little rogue ! hush ! here 's company. 
 
 2'^ Scene. — Ente?- Mrs. Tryfort. 
 
 Mrs. T. How does your la.lysliip do to-day ? So Mr. 
 Edward ? 
 
 Lculy F. Deiir Mrs. Tryfort, how came it you were not at the 
 brejikfast this moi-ning ? 
 
282 A JOURNEY TO BATH. 
 
 Mrs. T. It was not for want of being askd I assure your lady- 
 ship ; but I was so ill ! ha ha ha ! lord it isn't long since I got 
 out of bed. — I declare this is a fatiguing life one leads, and 
 exhilerates one's spirits so much, that I have scarce strength to 
 rise in a morning ; but then one keeps such good company ha ha 
 that it makes amends for the bad hours. 
 
 Lady F. Ay, as you observe ; but I hope you will be able to go 
 to the rooms tonight, Mr. Champignion gives tea. 
 
 Mrs. T. Why if I find myself tolerably well ; but I am so low 
 every morning, ha ha ha, I protest I use almost an ounce of 
 salvolatile constantly in my tea — your ladyship I suppose will be 
 there, and Lady Bell, and Lord Stewkly. — To be sure he is one 
 of the best bred, most polite, good humourd charming men living ! 
 and takes as much pains to teach my Lucy, and make her 
 illiterate, as if he were absolutely her master. 
 
 Ed. Pray what is he teaching her ma'am ? 
 
 Lady F. Oh a song I suppose. 
 
 Mrs. T. I left them together practising, and he has such a 
 genteel manner, and keeps time so finely with his head, and says 
 Piano ; with such an air ! and then takes Lucy by the hand, and is 
 so much the gentleman, lord what difierence there is between folks. 
 
 Ed. Shall we go and hear the Pianoing lady Filmot ? 
 
 Lady F. No, we wont disturb them now, it will improve Miss, 
 my lord has a very pritty taste in singing. 
 
 Mrs. T. Oh in everything ma'am he is a progeny! a perfect 
 progeny lady Filmot ! — In the first place he is a most prodigious 
 wit, and then he speaks all the languages in the world, and is so 
 full of compliments, and such a charming poet'! 
 
 Lady F. He is very accomplished I know. 
 
 Ed. But how came you to find out all this Mrs. Tryfort ? 
 
 Mrs. T. Why I have had him above an hour with me to day : 
 your ladyship must know he desired leave to come to my toilet, 
 that was polite ! its the way he says in France. 
 
 Lady F. Ay and here too, you know amongst people of fashion. 
 
 Ed. I am sure it is not the way in the City, for Lucy woud 
 never let me in when she was putting on her cloaths. 
 
 Mrs. T. How can you be so vulgar Mr. Edward ! Can't you 
 say dressing? I wish you woud learn of my lord. 
 
A JOURNEY TO BATH. 283 
 
 Ladi/ F. Oh very soon he '11 want no instructions. 
 
 Mrs. T. And my lord dresses so prodigiously, and understands 
 the fashions so well, and has such pritty names for things, and 
 praises everything up to the skies ! but never flatters : no, that 
 he declares he's above. 
 
 Ed. And you believe him ? 
 
 Lcid)/ F. No body can doubt my lords veracity. 
 
 Mrs. T. And Lucy says he dances wonderfully. 
 
 Ed. Did Lucy say so ? 
 
 Mrs. T. Miss Tryfort said so sir 
 
 Lcidy F. There I differ with her a little, I have seen some 
 whose dancing pleased me better. 
 
 [Lady F. looks at Edward and he ivinks at her. 
 
 Mrs. T. Well I know he is a terrestrial man altogether and 
 so free, and comprehensive ; he told me all about himself, just as 
 if we had been old acquaintance : and what do you think the 
 •comical creature wanted me to do? 
 
 Lady F. Wliat ? 
 
 Mrs. T. I declare to put on a little red, ha ha ha ! Oh fy my 
 lord, says I, I never did such a thing in all the days of my life. 
 But my dear ma'am says he, (stroking my cheek with his hand so 
 agreably) do but try ; let me just touch it for you, only to 
 heighten your bloom a little ; you want but that to be the very 
 image of the Marquise de Rouge (who was but eighteen) that I 
 used to visit at Paris. "Wasnt that vastly witty and clever ? 
 
 Ed. I hope you wont advise Lucy to paint ; but she doesn't 
 want it indeed. 
 
 Lady F. No, nor Mrs. Tryfort neither in my opinion. 
 
 Mrs. T. Your ladyship's so obliging to say so. To be sure 
 when I am well I have a pritty good complexion ; my lord said 
 it was only my illness that made it not quite so brilliant as my 
 daughters, 
 • Ed. Ha ha ha. My lord 's above flattery you know ma'am. 
 
 Mrs. T. I declare you are so unbred, I wonder her ladyship 
 can bear to talk with you. 
 
 Lady F. Oh I like his plain natural manner of all things. 
 
 Mrs. T. But so vulgar you know ma'am. Dear I wish I coud 
 remember the vei-ses my lord made on Lucy. 
 
284 A JOURNEY TO BATH. 
 
 Ed. Verses ! did he make verses on her ? 
 
 Mrs. T. Just ofi'hand now, I forget what he called them 
 
 Ed. Extempore may be. 
 
 Mrs. T. No, none of your nonsensical extemprys, it was some 
 charming French word. 
 
 Lady F. Impromtu. 
 
 Mrs. T. Ay that was the very title of them 
 
 Ed. I have a good mind to go and spoil their impromtu. 
 
 Lady F. Indeed you shan't, for I intend you shall gallant me 
 to the pump room. 
 
 Ed. Well I '11 just leave you there ; but I must run back tho. 
 
 Mrs. T. There 's politeness for you ! 
 
 Lady F. Nothing but easy freedom. 
 
 Mrs. T. Shall I beg the favour of your ladyship to allow Lucy 
 to practise a little on your Harpsichord, just when you are abroad ? 
 
 Lady F. Whenever she pleases ma'am 
 
 Mrs. T. Your ladyships immensely good, — I wish I coud recol- 
 lect my lords verses. — they begin 
 
 When Lucia sings we bless th' inchanting sound 
 And bless the notes that do — 
 
 lord I forget what comes next — 
 
 Ed. Ha ha ha Are those what my lord gave you for his own 
 poetry ? Why the song 's as old as yourself. 
 
 Mrs. T. Sir you are a little too pert let me tell you, and so 
 much taciturnity doesn't become a young man. — your ladyship 
 woud be charmd with the verses if I coud think of them. 
 
 Lady F. Come ma'am you may recover them as we walk ! 
 
 Mrs. T. I '11 just step and tell my daughter that she may 
 practise a little here, now your ladyship is going out, and I will 
 wait on you again directly \Exit Mrs. Tryfort. 
 
 Ed. WTiy Mrs. Tryfort seems to be quite in love with my lord 
 Stewkly, I shoud be sorry Lucy saw with her mother's eyes 
 
 Lady F. There 's no accounting for peoples ridiculous tastes ; 
 now to 7ne, the artless, unaffected manners of one who has seen 
 less of the world, has ten thousand times the charms of all lord 
 Stewkly's studied address. 
 
 Ed. And I am sure your ladyship has ten thousand times more 
 sense than Mrs. Tryfort, with all her airs. 
 
A JOURNEY TO BATH. 285 
 
 Ladi/ F. Come then we '11 not wait for her ; but slip out, and 
 have our own little chat to ourselves. You shall be my cissisbey 
 
 Ed. What ma^xm ? 
 
 Ladij F. I '11 tell you as we go along, tis' the prettyest thing 
 in the workl. 
 
 [JExit Lady F. and Ed. 
 
 3'' Scene. 
 Enter Mrs. Tryfort, Lucy, and Lord Stewkly. 
 
 Mrs. T. Bless me, her ladyship 's gone ! I must follow her, or 
 she '11 think me monstrously ill bred. Be sure now Miss, mind, 
 and do all that my lord bids you. There child sit do^\^^L to the 
 harpsichord, your lordship will excuse me for leaving you so 
 deliberately 
 
 Lord. Oh ma'am there needs no apology [Exit Mrs. Tryfort] 
 Come my sweet little pupil : just that [single passage over again 
 that charmed me so in the next room. 
 
 Lu. Shan 't I play, my lord ? 
 
 Lord. I had i-ather hear your voice without the instrument. 
 [Lu. sings] ravishing upon my soul ! You have the finest ear in 
 Natm'e, and youi- voice is absolutely angelic. 
 
 Lu. And my master used always to say I sung out of tune. 
 
 Lord. He was a blockhead, and didn 't understand his business. 
 
 Zii. And what vexed me more, Mr. Edward used to join with 
 him and say so too. 
 
 Lord. And what need you mind what Mr. Edward says ? 
 
 Z?t. Oh I must mind him because 
 
 Lord. Because what ? [She jmts her hands before her face] Oh 
 heavens not a lover I hope ! Why sure that raw stripling has not 
 the assiu-ance to pretend to you ! 
 
 Lu. He is but young to be sure my lord ; but as my mama 
 says, thats a fault that will mend 
 
 Lord. You cant like him ! thats morally impossible 
 
 Iai. Why they used to say in town he was a very pritty young 
 man. 
 
 Lord. Oh my dear Miss Tryfort there never was such a mis- 
 take, the lad might be well enough behind a counter. 
 
286 A JOURNEY TO BATH. 
 
 Im. He keeps no shop I can assuie you my lord. 
 
 Lord. And so you 'd be content to sit down for life in Cornhill ? 
 
 Iai. Why pray my lord mayn't one be as happy there as any 
 where else ? 
 
 Lord. Happy ! what happy in Cornhill ! Oh for shame. I 
 must speak to your mama about it. 
 
 Ia(,. She knows it already my lord, so you needn't think to 
 make mischief. 
 
 Lord. \_aside\ So, I find my difficulty will be here) Bvit ma'am 
 hadn't you rather be my lady, than plain Mrs. Any body ? 
 
 Lai. I shoud like to be a lady, that I own ; I may come to be 
 lady Mayoress you know my lord. 
 
 Lord. Oh paltry! we laugh at those titles at our end of the 
 town : No, no ma'am, a coronets the thing for you. 
 
 Lu. I woud not give a pin for a coronet I assure you my lord. 
 
 Lord, (cmde) that won't do I see) No ? thats surprising ! 
 Shoudn't you like to take the place of Lady Filmot, and Lady 
 Bell Aircastle ? 
 
 Lit. Yes, that I shoud vastly ; for I don't love either of them, 
 lady Bell is so proud she '11 never speak to me, and lady Filmot 
 is always whisjDering with Mr. Edward. 
 
 Lord. That you must know she does to teaze me, for she is the 
 arrentest coquet in nature ; but I have thought of a way to be 
 even Avith her, if you woud assist me in a little piece of innocent 
 revenge that I have plotted against her. 
 
 Lu. Oh with all my heart, I love mightily to be in plots, I am 
 always plotting when I am at home. 
 
 Lord. Well, I '11 tell you then ; You must know I made some 
 slight addresses to lady Filmot, and was at first, as you may 
 imagine, very well received : not that I was absolutely in love 
 with her, only I thought her the prettyest woman here, before 
 your arrival, madam. 
 
 Lit. Oh my lord, she is a great deal handsomer than I am. 
 
 Lord. You are the only person, herself excepted, that thinks so 
 I believe : but, however, fancying herself secure of me, she has a 
 mind to try her power, and giggles with your lover merely to 
 make me uneasy ; but I '11 let her see I despise her little arts, by 
 making love to another woman before her face. 
 
A JOUIiNEY TO BATH. 287 
 
 Lu. Indeed you '11 serve her right. 
 
 Lord. Now as you are incontestably the object of every ones 
 admiration here, I have made choice of you for the person, if you 
 will allow me the honour of addressing you. 
 
 Lu. Ay, — but not in Earnest tho' my lord. 
 
 Lord. No, no its to be all in jest ; but then you must seem to 
 receive me kindly, and that will vex her to the heart. 
 
 Lu. Very well ; but then mus'nt I tell Edward the truth ? 
 
 Lord. Not for the world ; for He'd tell her, and then the Joke 
 would be lost ; we shall have time enough to let him into the 
 secret. I only want to pique her pride for a day or two 
 
 Lu. Well, I own I shoud like to vex her a little. When shall 
 Ave begin ? 
 
 Lord. The very first time we happen to see her. Suppose we 
 were to go now and meet her in her walks — and be sure you smile 
 and look pleased at what I say. 
 
 lAh. Oh never fear my lord ; but remember I am not in earnest 
 
 Lord. No, by no means — Come then, (aside) Her love of 
 mischief, may probably efiect that, to which even her vanity 
 Coud'nt prompt her ! [Exit Lord S. and LuOY. 
 
 Scene 4'*' changes to the parade. 
 Enter Sir Jonathan meeting Stapleton. 
 
 Sir Jo. Ha ! Mr Stapleton, well met, have you been taking a 
 walk by yourself ? thats melancholy like ; now I love company 
 and chearfulness, and I'd have you do the same. 
 
 Stap. But I love solitude Sir 
 
 Sir Jo. You are not troubled in mind I hope Sir. If you have 
 any thing that disturbs you the best way is to tell it ; theres 
 great comfort in opening ones mind to a friend. 
 
 Stap. But suppose a man has no friend Sir ? 
 
 Sir Jo. Nay, faith that would be hard in a Christian country ; 
 for my part I am always ready to listen to every body's story ; and 
 I am as ready to tell my own. 
 
 Stap. I thank you Sir ; but at present I am not in a humour 
 either to hear your story or to tell my own, so good by to you 
 [going] 
 
288 A JOURNEY TO BATH. 
 
 Sir Jo. Harkee, Mr. Stapleton, pray did you meet my son any 
 where ? 
 
 Sta]). Your son Sir, why I don't know him ! 
 
 Sir Jo. Ha ha ha, how shovid you, faith ; now I think of it I 
 beheve you never saw him. He is a pritty slender youth, with 
 his own curld hair. 
 
 Stap. And a light colourd frock ? 
 
 Sir Jo. Ay, ay the same, thats Ned. 
 
 Stap. Then I can tell you he is got into very bad hands. 
 
 Sir Jo. Bad hands. Sir ! how, how, which way ? 
 
 Stap. A ladys Sir, a Jine lady's. 
 
 Sir Jo. A fine lady, why you dont call that bad hands I hope 
 Mr. Stapleton ? Neds fit company I can tell you for the finest 
 lady in the land ; why he'll make you as handsome a bow, and 
 pen you as pretty a letter, and compose you as moving a love 
 speech too, out of his own head, as e'er a fine beau of them all. 
 No, no I don't fear Neds behaviour. 
 
 Sta]}. Nor don't you fear his morals neither ? 
 
 Sir Jo. Oh, thats another thing. Sir, quite and clear. 
 
 Sta]}. Why then Sir, I tell you as a friend, your son is in 
 danger; I saw him just now enter the Pump room, a fine 
 sprightly female leaning on his arm. Her modish dress, and a 
 certain air of levity which I observed in her countenance, 
 opj)osed to the plain garb, and modest deportment of the youth 
 struck me. 
 
 Sir Jo. Ay, isn't he a pretty modest youth ? 
 
 Stap. A mixture of pity and curiosity, excited me to observe 
 them ; and as there was no other company in the room (for thats 
 the time I chuse) I took out a paper and pretended to read, to 
 leave them more at liberty. 
 
 Sir Jo. WeU Sir ? 
 
 Stap. "Without minding me, she drew him into a corner, and 
 enterd into a conversation — 
 
 Sir Jo. Ha ha ha, good, I warrant Ned found enough to say to 
 her. 
 
 Stap. Ay ; but Sir she said enough to him to have alarmd a 
 parent, had I been one. 
 
 Sir Jo. Ha ha ha I'll be hang'd if this wasn't lady Filmot, 
 
A JOURNEY TO BATH. 289 
 
 the pleasantest good hvimourd woman in the world. She takes 
 great notice of m^/ boy and of me to[o] indeed, and of my brother 
 Sir Jeremy — ha ha ha I can't but laugh at your thinking my son 
 in danger; why she says any thing that comes uppermost man. 
 
 Staj). Well Sir, remember I have warnd you. 
 
 Sir Jo. Oh I thank you Mr. Stapleton ; its kindly done of 
 you, tho you may be a little out in your judgment. That same 
 lady Filmot is a mighty civil woman, and very Jocose too. — 
 Oh here comes my brother, heres Sir Jeremy, will you let me 
 introduce you to him Sir ? 
 
 Stap. No Sir — fare you well. Exit Stap. 
 
 Sir Jo. Short enough in troth ; but he seems melancholy poor 
 man. 
 
 5'" SCEXE. 
 
 Enter Sir Jeremy. 
 
 Sir Jer. Who is that you were talking to, Sir Jonathan ? 
 
 Sir Jo. Who that gentleman ? Why ti-uly I don't know much 
 of him brother. He is a little cr.izy I believe, or vapourish ; but 
 I take him to be a very good sort of a man. Well but now 
 brother if you are at leisure, I should be glad to know what you 
 meant by the hint you were pleased to give me this morning ? 
 
 Sir Jer. There is a time for all things Sir Jonathan, I am not 
 at leisure at present ; I am going to see if there are any letters 
 for me to day. [going] 
 
 Sir Jo. I '11 save you the trouble then, for I am just come from 
 the post office, and can tell you there are not. 
 
 Sir Jer. No ! thats pretty extraordinary ! 
 
 Sir Jo. But Bvothei', will you do me the favour just to tell 
 me — 
 
 Sir Jer. Why if I were just to tell you as you call it, ten to 
 one if you coud comprehend one word of what I shoud say 
 
 Sir Jo. That will be i/oitr fault brother, not mine ; do you 
 speak plain, and I '11 warrant I '11 understand you. 
 
 Sir Jer. I '11 be hang'd if I do, tho I shall put the thing as 
 clear as that two and two make four. Well then Sir, you are to 
 know, with regard to the subject of our last conference that 
 after having maturely deliberated, weighd, considerd, and laid 
 
290 A JOURNEY TO BATE. 
 
 all cii-cumstances together (touching the affair in debate) I 
 apprehend that it is wholly inconsistent, (upon a general view of 
 things) that it is inconsistent I say with our true interest to 
 ratify the proposed treaty ; therefore without entering into 
 further preliminaries, in my humble opinion according to the 
 maxims of sound policy, I take it to be the wiser measure to 
 prevent, rather than to remedy ; as it is more easy to anticipate 
 than to cure an evil — you apprehend ? 
 
 Sir Jo. N" — ot very clearly brother. 
 
 Sir Jer. You dont take my meaning then ? 
 
 Sir Jo. No, by my troth 
 
 Sir Jer. Ho, ho, I thought you were to understand me if I 
 spoke plain 
 
 Sir Jo. But you have not spoke plain brother Jeremy 
 
 Sir Jer. I havn't — mighty well Sir, mighty fine ! I honour 
 you extremely. 
 
 Sir Jo. I dont understand mysteries for my part, nor I can't 
 abide concealments. 
 
 Enter Champignion. 
 
 6'" SCEXE. 
 
 Sir Jer. Silence, Sir Jonathan. 
 
 Cham. Whats your argument gentlemen, for I love dearly to 
 be in secrets ? 
 
 Sir Jo. Then my brother Jeremy 's your man Sir, for he makes 
 a secret of every thing. 
 
 Sir Jer. Or rather S"" Jonathans your man Sir, for he makes a 
 secret of nothing. 
 
 Cham. Prithee gentleman let 's have the secret between you ? 
 
 Sir Jo. Why my brother Jeremy here — 
 
 Sir Jer. So, you will shoot your bolt in spite of me ! 
 
 Sir Jo. Well, tell it yourself then 
 
 Cham. Let me beseech you Sir Jeremy, I am inclined to think 
 beforehand that I shall be of your side of the question (aside) I '11 
 coax him a little) 
 
 Sir Jer. There may be something in that — you may inform 
 the gentleman. 
 
 Sir Jo. By my troth I dont know Avell what to inform him of, 
 
A JOURNEY TO BATH. 291, 
 
 for I (lout know myself what youtl be at ; but you talkd something 
 
 to me this morning about marrying my son to a great lady — 
 
 Cham. Oh if that be the case you are quite right Sir Jeremy. 
 
 Sir Jer. You are of that opinion Sir ? 
 
 Cham. I am clear in the thing : and I assure you the young 
 
 gentleman is beginning to be taken great notice of by the ladies ; 
 
 if I were you Sir Jonathan, I woud'nt let him look lower than a 
 
 viscounts daughter at least. We handsome i-ogues can set just 
 
 what price we please on our persons. 
 
 Sir Jo. Ned is a handsome youth to be sure ; but I dont want 
 
 to sell him Mr. Champignion 
 
 Cham. Oh fy, fy Sir Jonathan, hang it, no I don't mean a 
 
 money bargain. 
 
 Sir Jer. Ay ; but Sir Jonathan understands no other. 
 
 Cham. Oh filthy ! I have no notion of that ; here your son 
 
 has his pockets full of money, and is a very pretty figure. This, 
 
 {if I don't flatter myself) is just my own case. What do we 
 
 want then but the distinction of ingrafting our families upon 
 
 nobility ? I declare I woud rather have my wife calld my lady, 
 
 than be married to a cherubim. 
 
 Sir Jo. Oh heaven forgive you Mr. Champignion ! 
 
 Sir Jer. And Sir Jonathan woud rather add a few dii'ty 
 
 thousands to his sons heap, than enrich his grand childrens veins 
 
 with the first blood in the realm. 
 
 Sir Jo. And so I woud Sir Jeremy, for I never knew good come 
 
 of those matches. When a plain man marries a lady of quality, 
 
 he is master of nothing that belongs to him, it is my lady such a 
 
 ones house, my lady such a ones liveries, and my lady such a ones 
 
 children ; and e'gad he 's nobody but my lady such a ones husband 
 
 himself. 
 
 Cham. Now, that would be mrj pride Sir, to have people say, 
 
 there 's Mr. Champignion — what of such a place ? No he that 
 
 married my lady — no matter who ; but perhaps I may have the 
 
 honour of giving my name to a certain lady of quality before it 
 
 be long. 
 
 Sir Jer. Oh we can guess who — Lady Bell ! 
 
 Cham. I name no names Sir Jeremy; but with regard to the 
 
 fair sex I am the luckiest dog in the universe. 
 
 V 2 
 
292 A JOURNEY TO BATH. 
 
 Sir Jo. Lady Bell ! Why if it be Lady Bell Aircastle they say 
 she is not worth a souse. 
 
 Cham. The very reason, why I woud chuse her ladyship Sir. 
 
 Sir Jo. And I suppose thats the very reason why her lady- 
 ship chuses yovi Sir, ha ha ha. 
 
 Cham. Ha ha ha, I declai-e, that only wants the circumstance 
 of being true, to be a pretty good thing ; but the lady has Ei/es 
 Sir Jonathan, and without vanity I take it my ononey is not my 
 only recommendation. 
 
 Sir Jer. But it is his criterion of merit Mr. Champignion, he 
 thinks there can be no good quality without it. 
 
 Cham. The rascallyest thing in nature ; I declare I am never 
 so happy as when I 'm a throwing it away. I have been looking 
 out these two or three days for some honest gentleman that may 
 have occasion for a small sum that I may give it to him, for you 
 must know I pique myself upon doing generous things. 
 
 Sir Jer. I fancy Sir there may be svich honest gentlemen fovind 
 in the world. 
 
 Cham {aside). Oh he takes my meaning I see ; I '11 make him 
 the offer). I have a hundred guineas loose in my pocket at this 
 present moment which are at your service Sir Jeremy, I came on 
 purpose to look for you. 
 
 Sir Jer. At my service Sir ! for what ? 
 
 Chain, apart to Sir Jer.] I tell you that another time, you 
 may do me a good turn ; but mum : (speaking aloud) Oh dear Sir 
 I have only a mind to oblige you with a trifle. 
 
 Sir Jo. (aside to Cham.) Gadso Sir, you 11 make him angry. 
 
 Sir Jer. Oblige me with a trifle ! 
 
 Cham, (aside) I '11 double it if you '11 swallow an oath — not a 
 word more — 
 
 Sir Jer. advances to him laying his hand xipon his svjorfZ]. Look 
 in my face Sir ! and tell me if you see anything there that coud 
 encourage you to presume — 
 
 Cham. No faith Sir it was not your face that encouraged me ; 
 but^but to tell you the truth — 
 
 Sir Jer. My garb perhaps ! I am not an embroiderd puppy ; 
 but Sir I despise dress, and Sir you are an illiberal coxcomb, and I 
 am inclined to think are sprung from the dregs of the people ! 
 
A JOURNEY TO BATH. 293 
 
 Si7- Jo. There— there ! I tokl you so, Oh he has a very high 
 spirit 
 
 Cham. I declare Sir Jonathan that I am very glad there are 
 no ladies present to hear him tieat me so very ungenteely, and 
 hang me if I know what its for either. — May I perish if here 
 isn't lady Bell herself ! for heavens sake gentlemen dont be 
 familiar with me before her, for she cant endure any thing but a 
 beau. 
 
 7^*^ SCEN'E. 
 
 Ente7' Lady Bell. 
 
 Oh ma'am isn't your ladyship tiied with walking? But I 
 protest your ladyships presence is as necessary as the Suns, to give 
 light and warmth to ever}i;hing. 
 
 La(hj Bell. Ha ha ha, well enough imagined ; but I really am 
 fatigued, and am now going home, lord who are those ordinary 
 people that you were talking to ? 
 
 Cham, half-aside) Only tradesmen of mine ma'am to whom I 
 have been giving orders. 
 
 Sir Jer. advancing] Whom do you call tradesmen Coxcomb ? 
 
 Sir Jo. Ay whom do you call tradesmen, Mr, Coxcomb, as my 
 brother Jeremy says ? Why / am not a tradesman, much less 
 this gentleman, who is a baronet by birth, and a man of learning 
 too. 
 
 I^ady B. What is the meaning of all this ? 
 
 Cham. Oh ma'am they are a couple of very uncivilized persons 
 I assure your ladyship. Will you allow me to wait on your lady- 
 ship home ma'am ? 
 
 Sir Jer. Ay you do well to put yourself under a lady's protec- 
 tion, or I should teach you how to treat men of lineage. 
 
 lAidy B. Lineage ! I must enquire into this, if he be really a 
 man of lineage ! 
 
 Sir Jo. Of as antient a one as any in England I can assure 
 your ladyship, tho' I say it that am but his brother. 
 
 aS'm- Jer. That I shoud think beneath me to mention, if this 
 plantation fop here, this vender of molossus hadn't dared to ofl'er 
 me a bribe, for what ends he best can tell. 
 
 Lady B. Oh insufferable, and have I been acquainted with a 
 
294 A JOURNEY TO BATH. 
 
 fellow that deals in sugar ! Sir I desire you will never presume 
 to approach me again ! 
 
 Cham. Oh heavens ma'am your ladyship cant be so hard hearted 
 sure ! I declare I was only ofiering him a little of my bounty, 
 for every body knows I have the spirit of an Emperor, and the 
 poor gentleman I really apprehended was one that had met with 
 misfortunes. 
 
 Sir Jer. I have met with disappointments I grant, such per- 
 haps as dont happen every day. 
 
 Cham. Faith Sir I only heard you had spent a good Estate, 
 and that happens every day in the year as I take it. 
 
 Lady B. You are not the only person of condition Sir that has 
 suffered in that particular ; but thank my stars, it is not in the 
 power of fortune to rob us of our illustrious birth. 
 
 Sir Jer. Madam you seem to have a just estimate of things ; 
 bvit for this paltry fellow here, who has been emploied to offer me 
 money — 
 
 Lady B. Why he must be ignorance itself. Sir Jeremy ! 
 
 Sir Jer. I question if he be so ignorant as he appears Madam. 
 If I ben't mistaken a certain person that shall be nameless is at 
 the bottom of this ; but I '11 let them all see that my integrity is 
 as unshaken as when — I wont name ^ra — This fellow may be a 
 spy too, for what I know 
 
 Lady B. 'W I shall disj^ense with your attendance, this gentle- 
 man will wait on me home. 
 
 Sir Jer. With all my heart Madam, for to tell you the truth I 
 dont much admire that young man's looks. 
 
 Lad^y B. Nor I neither, I assure you Su' Jeremy. 
 
 He gives his hand to ladt Bell, 
 vjho casting a disdainful look at 
 Champignion, she and Sir Jeremy 
 strut out together. 
 
 Cham. Do you understand the meaning of all this Sir Jona- 
 than ? for perish me if I do ! 
 
 Sir Jo. Egad they are both too high flown for me or you 
 either, so you had best leave them to one another. 
 
 Cham. Let me dye if I am not the most unlucky dog in the 
 universe ; I must go and look for my lord Stewkly, that he may 
 
A JOURNEY TO BATH. 296 
 
 make up this breach between her Ladyship and me. I wish you 
 and your antient blood were at the Antipodes, as I hope for 
 inercy Sii-. Exit Guam. 
 
 Sir Jo. Heaven forbid, Mr Champignion, what would my poor 
 boy do for me then ? I must go and see whats become of him 
 tho, I believe he is lost. Exit Sir Joxathax. 
 
 End of the 2'"' Act. 
 
296 A JOURNEY TO BATH. 
 
 ACT THE 3" Scene P' 
 
 Parade 
 
 Enter lady Filmot and Edward. 
 
 Ed. But wasn't your ladyship surpriz'd to see with what 
 attention she seemd to listen to my lord ? 
 
 Ladp F. Nay, she absolutely flirted with him ! but I woudn't 
 have you be alarmd, there may be nothing in it, at least I hope 
 so for your sake. 
 
 Ed. You are very good Madam, to say so ; perhaps I have 
 taken the thing more seriously than I ought to have done. 
 
 Lady F. I dare say you have. — and yet we women are very 
 fantastical ; and dress, often does more than person, especially 
 with young people, who haven't been used to the beau monde. 
 If you were to appear as gay as Lord Stewkly, the diflerence 
 between you woud then be so apparent ! 
 
 Ed. I 'd give the world to make the exj^eriment, and go to the 
 rooms to night dressed as fine as him. 
 
 Lady F. Oh you little tyrant, what a thought is that ! and 
 yet I like it so well, that I am resolved you shall put it in 
 execution. 
 
 Ed. Lord ma'am, Avhich way ! My father never lets me 
 wear any thing but these nasty plain cloaths. 
 
 Lady F. That 's nothing — Champignion's wardrobe shall supply 
 vis, as it might half the town. A trifling alteration will make a 
 suit of his cloaths fit you. I '11 borrow one which he has never 
 worn just for the Jokes sake, and my frizeur shall dress your 
 hair in the very height of the mode. 
 
 Ed. Oh my dear lady Filmot, that will be charming ; but I '11 
 let nobody know a word of my design. 
 
 Lady F. Not a syllable, till you flash upon them all at once, 
 and for that reason you shall dress in my appartment ; you know 
 you are my Cicisbey, and those little liberties are always 
 allowable. 
 
 Ed. Thats true I protest, I had like to have forgot that I was 
 your Cicisbey. — What 's this that I am to do ? let me con it over 
 now that I may remember it. In the first place, I may come 
 into your room in a morning before you are up, in the next — 
 
A JOURNEY TO BATH. 297 
 
 iMcly F. Hold, hold not that yet, yon are only to be admitted 
 to my toilet for the first week. 
 
 Ed. Oh, ay, that 's true ; I may come in when you are dressing. 
 I am to put essence into your handkerchief, reach you your 
 combs, your pins, and y"" powder as you want them, and if your 
 woman shoud not be in the way, I am to tye your necklace 
 string and adjust your Tucker. 
 
 Lady F. Very right, and by way of reward I am to — 
 Ed. Oh I lemember, you are to let me stick a patch on just 
 where I think it will become you best. 
 Lady F. Good. 
 
 Ed. I am never to be from your elbow all day if you command 
 me. I am to help you tea, coflfee, and fruit before any other 
 lady in the company, and give it you on my knee. 
 
 Lady F. I shall dispense with that part of the ceremony, 
 except when we are alone. Well what next ? 
 
 Ed.. I am to read to you when you dont chuse to see company 
 at home, and to carry your knotting bag in my pocket when you 
 go to make a morning visit. I am to attend you to all publick 
 places and home again, and to see you up to your chamber door. — 
 Is there anything else ? 
 
 Lady F. Those are the most material articles, the rest are but 
 trifles, such as never paying attention to any lady in my 
 presence — 
 
 Ed. What not to Lucy ? 
 
 Lady F. No, not even to her without my leave ; but I shan't 
 be strict. Never to approve of any thing that I have not first 
 commended. To be always ready to smile when I seem pleased, 
 and to look melancholy if I shoud happen to frown. — Thats all I 
 think. 
 
 Ed. I declare its mighty pretty. 
 
 Lady F. Oh amazingly, and I dare say you '11 acquit yourself 
 very well 
 
 Ed. And when I am dressed, I fancy your ladyship wont dis- 
 like me. 
 
 Lady F. Insinuating creature ! I shall be almost afraid to 
 trust myself with you. — But come, you shall go home with me, 
 and I '11 transform you into a beau in a trice. 
 
298 A JOURNEY TO BATH. 
 
 Ed. I think I sliaU be even with Miss Lucy for her airs. 
 Lady F. Isn't that she, and her mother, just turned the 
 corner ? We '11 not let them see us. 
 
 [She takes him hy the hand and ex''. 
 
 Scene 2'^ 
 Enter Mrs. Tryfort and Lucy. 
 
 Mrs. T. You see what it is child to cii'culate with people of 
 quality, when would you have heard such language in the City ? 
 
 Lu. But indeed mama its only a Joke, just a little plot between 
 my lord Stewkly and me, he is not in earnest. 
 
 Mrs. T. But I can tell you he is in earnest Miss, and to let you 
 into a secret, ever since the agitation of your foi-tune, I resolved 
 that you shoud marry a lord. 
 
 Iai. a lord. Madam ! and whats to become of poor Mr. 
 Edward ? 
 
 Mrs. T. Dont tell me of Mr. Edward, a little insignificant 
 mechanic. I hope we may look over his head now, for if you 
 must know the truth, I left London on jDurpose that you might 
 abdicate him. 
 
 Lu. But madam you know he has your promise, and indeed I 
 like him better than I do lord Stewkly. 
 
 Mrs. T. I declare you are so inarticulate in yom* notions, that 
 I believe you are a changling. You haven't a grain of yom^ 
 mothers spu'it ! Ha ha ha I vow I wish his lordship had chosen 
 me instead of you ; and perhaps if I had encouraged the thing — • 
 but no matter — oh heres Mrs. Surface, I '11 ask her judgment on 
 the affair. 
 
 SCEXE 3d. 
 
 Enter Mrs. Surface. 
 
 Mrs. S. "What walking still ladies ? Oh I have news to tell 
 you, we are to have a masquerade tomorrow night : I have been 
 at a wax house to enquu-e after some habits. 
 
 Mrs. Tr. And can they be done here ? I '11 certainly go to it. 
 
 Mrs. >S. Ay that they can. Some fine gay sparks had such a 
 design about a month ago, and engaged a shop keeper here in 
 
A JOURNEY TO BATH. 299 
 
 town to bring down a gi'eat parcel of dresses ; but they dropd the 
 frolic, and the cloaths were never used, so the man has them still. 
 
 Mrs. Tr. Oh I '11 infallibly go, and so shall you too Miss Lucy. 
 I suppose this is my lord Stewkly's thought, he is so ingenious 
 and full of his artifices. 
 
 Mrs. S. Ay, that he is, as e'er a man in England. 
 
 Mrs. Tr. Mind that Lucy. 
 
 Mrs. S. Between ourselves he has more art than honesty ; but 
 I woudn't say that to every body. 
 
 Lu. Mind that mama ! 
 
 Mrs. Tr. What do you mean by every body, Mrs. Surface ? 
 Why isn't he a prodigeous fine gentleman ? 
 
 Mrs. S. (aside) Oh sits the wind there) Fine ! nay for that 
 matter there isn't & finer gentleman in Europe. Ay, ay, no body 
 can deny that. I warrant you can distinguish a fine gentleman 
 with half an eye. 
 
 Mrs. Tr. What do you think now Miss Lucy ? 
 
 Li(,. Nothing Madam ; but I still prefer Edward to him. 
 
 Mrs. S. Why then by my truly thats a jyretty young man, so 
 modest, so bashful ! — 
 
 Mrs. Tr. Lord Mrs. Surface where 's your taste ? I thought 
 you were a woman of more speculation. 
 
 Mrs. S. Oh he 's but a sorry strippling to be sure my dear 
 Ma'am ; but then considering you know — 
 
 Mrs. Tr. But my lord Stewkly is so embelished, Mrs. Surface ! 
 No body can be embelished that has not been abroad you know. 
 Oh if you were to hear him describe contagious countries as I 
 have done, it woud astonish you. He is a perfect map of 
 geography. 
 
 Lu. I dare say Edward understands geogi-aphy as well as he does. 
 
 Mrs. S. I '11 lay my life a sensible lad, and well-disposed. If 
 I were as young and as handsome as some body he shoudn't be 
 long without a wife 
 
 3Irs. Tr. Oh monstrous ! I declare Mrs. Surface you are enough 
 to give one the vapours. 
 
 Mrs. S. But I dont compare him to my lord Stewkly tho ; no 
 no, no, hold you there, they are not to he named in a day, no not 
 in the same day 
 
300 A JOURNEY TO BATE. 
 
 Lu. I wish Sir Jonathan were to hear yovi Mrs. Surface. 
 
 Mrs. S. My sweet creature you wont tell him I hope. You 
 know I am as fond of Mr. Edward as if he were my own child, I 
 dont know his fellow ! 
 
 Mrs. Tr. But Mrs. Surface ! 
 
 Mrs. S. My lord Stewkly to be sure is the very perfection of a 
 man — 
 
 Lit. But Mrs. Surface ! 
 
 Mrs. S. {aside) Lord what shall I say between these two fools) 
 Well my beauty, what were you going to say ? 
 
 Lu. Why only that you may pi'aise one man -without under- 
 valuing another. 
 
 Mrs. S. Now blessings on your pretty constant heart ! Mr. 
 Edward must be the man then. 
 
 Mrs. Tr. Was there ever anything so satyrical ? Silly chit 
 that might be a Countess if she had the grace to deserve it. 
 
 Lio. But madam I dont desu"e it 
 
 Mrs. Tr. There 's for you Mrs. Surface, a foolish metamorphosis 
 
 2Irs. S. A countess ! I '11 lay all the money in my purse, you '11 
 be a Countess yet ; I saw it in your cup when you drank coffee 
 with me 'tother day. 
 
 Mrs Tr. Do you observe that Miss ? 
 
 Mrs. S. {aside to Lucy] I dreamt last night that you were 
 married to Mr. Edward, and my dreams always come to pass ! 
 — But good Madam hadnt you better step home and take 
 something comfortable ? I 'm afraid you '11 be sick I declare. 
 A glass of Jelly, or a little chicken broth, I have both ready 
 made. 
 
 Mrs. Tr. I don't care if I do, Mrs. Surface.— Come child, I 
 wish you coud persuade this low minded gii-l to be a countess. 
 
 2Irs. S. Leave it to me, I '11 warrant you. ex* Mrs. Tr. 
 
 Lu. Dear Mrs. Surface I beg yovi will try to reason my mama 
 out of this notion about lord Stewkly ; indeed he has no thought 
 of me. 
 
 Mrs. S. {aside) Oh ho is that the case) Give yourself no 
 trouble about it, Mr. Edwards the man, mark what I say to 
 you. 
 
 Ex* Mrs. S. and Lucy. 
 
A JOURNEY TO BATH. 301 
 
 4"' Scene continues. 
 Enter lord Stewkly and Champignion. 
 Cham. A barbarous old dog to talk of plantations before her 
 ladyship. And my looks too, to find fault with them, when all 
 the world allows no body ever lookd better ! 
 
 Lord. It was horribly unlucky thats certain ; and / shall be in 
 disgrace too, for having introduced you, for I know as fond as 
 she is of you, it will be hard to reconcile her to the thoughts of a 
 man who has ever defiled his hands with trade. 
 
 Cham. Gads mercy my lord what shall I do ? if I coud purchase 
 nobility for fifty thousand pounds I woud let out every drop of 
 blood in my veins, so I coud fill them again with your lordships ; 
 poison me if I woud not. 
 
 Lord. Why, blood you know my dear friend is not to be pur- 
 chased ; but a little may, and I have been casting about how to 
 assist you a little in that way. 
 
 Cham. Have you ? My dear dear lord you will make me the 
 happiest dog in Nature ; for what signifies person and fortune, if 
 a man 's discarded by the fair sex for want of a title, you know 
 my lord ? 
 
 Lord. True ; but yet I am afraid at present we can't well pro- 
 cure more than Knighthood for you. 
 
 Cham. "Well, well hang it my lord, Sir Christopher 's better 
 than nothing, you know, just to make a beginning with. 
 
 Lord. Why if that will content you, I think I have interest 
 enough to recommend you to a red libbon, that you know will be 
 an additional honour ! 
 
 Cham. Oh my lord ! the thing of the universe that I sigh for ; 
 for then you know every body sees that a man 's somebody. 
 Besides, it sets off the figure so charmingly ! 
 
 Lo7'd. Oh, nothing more becoming — the fees tho on these 
 occasions ai-e pretty high. 
 
 Chain. Your lordship cant reconnnend the thing more to me 
 than by saying so; / who cixn make ducks and drakes with 
 doubloons ! 
 
 Lord. Nay its no veiy gi-eat matter, five or six hundred pound 
 I believe. 
 
302 A JOURNEY TO BATH. 
 
 Cham. Oh paltry, my lord, I was in hopes it had been five or 
 six thousand. I detest everything that is cheap, — besides I 
 always give double the worth of a thing. 
 
 Lord. Well, I believe I have influence enough to get this done 
 for you, if it is not already disposed of. — That indeed — 
 
 Cham. Oh heavens my lord send an express off directly, and if 
 you will be so good as to negotiate the afFau' for me I shall be 
 everlastingly obliged to your lordship. 
 
 Lord. There is no time to be lost as you observe. I '11 wi'ite 
 about it immediately. If we are not too late I am sure of it ; 
 and in that case the fees of office will be necessary. 
 
 Cham. Here 's my pocket book for you my dear lord ; you 
 will find that paltry sum in it, for I never carry less about me ; 
 and if your lordship will but inform Lady Bell of the honour 
 which is intended me, I think I may face her boldly. 
 
 Lord. Doubtless ; but take no notice of it to any one else, till 
 the thing is done. I suppose lady Bell will be at the Masquerade 
 to morrow night ? 
 
 Cham. Duce take me if I have the com-age to invite her lady- 
 ship as yet ; but now I think I '11 ventm^e. 
 
 Lord. By all means ; but come, I had best go and dispatch my 
 letters, so I '11 bid you good by. 
 
 Cham. Your lordship 's most devoted, you will do me the 
 honour to remember I give a little supf»er to night after the 
 ball! 
 
 Lord. I shall attend you Sh' — thou art the very prince of 
 Planters ! 
 
 Cham. I am no miser, as you lordship shall find. 
 
 Ex'' severally. 
 
 Scene 5'-'' changes to Mrs. Surfaces parlour. Stapleton and 
 Mrs. Surface. 
 
 Staj). This parlour of yours is the very Mart of Scandal. I 
 always know when you pull me in here, that you have some 
 scurrilous anecdote to communicate, and ten to one a lye into the 
 bargain. 
 
 Mrs. S. Did you ever know me tell you an untruth ? Me ! 
 
A JOURNEY TO BATH. 303 
 
 No not for all I am worth, I woud not tell you an untnith Mr. 
 Stapleton. 
 
 Stap. The only circumstance that makes me doubt, is, that the 
 girl you say is not as fond of the match as the mother is. 
 
 M7's. S. Poor foolish thing she fancys herself in love with that 
 raw Cub young Bull. Not but he 'd be a better match ; for my 
 Lord isn't worth a gi-oat ; but thats between ourselves. 
 Stap. And why didn't you hint that to Mrs. Tryfort ? 
 Mrs. S. My dear Sir its no business of mine ! Wliat is it to 
 me you know ? They are none of them good for anything. And 
 as for Sir Jonathan, he is such a troublesome, inquisitive, 
 meddling old blockhead that — 
 bless us ! G'** S : Enter Sir Jonathan 
 
 talk of — you know who, they say and he '11 appear ! Oh Sir 
 Jonathan, I was just speaking of you ; if you had come in but a 
 little sooner, yovi woud have heard — 
 
 iS'tap. Such enconiums on you Su- Jonathan ! as woud have 
 made you blush, our landlady here has been saying such things ! 
 
 3frs. S. Thats my foolish way ; I can't for the life of me help 
 praising people when I take a fancy to them, both to their faces 
 and behind their backs, 'tis all one to me. 
 
 Sir Jo. Ay, ay theres nothing like being plain and down- 
 right, Mrs. Surface, always speak as you think. 
 
 3Irs. S. In troth I am a little too blunt sometimes, for I told 
 Mr. Edward this morning that he didn't hold up his head, and I 
 gave him a chuck under the chin, just this way ; I hope I dont 
 make too fi*ee Avith you good Sir — {curtsying to Sir Jonathan) 
 Sir Jo. No, no, no, you are heartily welcome Mrs. Surface. 
 Mrs. S. And the pretty Soul, smiled in my face, and said thank 
 you Mrs. Surface, Oh you are happy to be father to such a son. 
 
 Stap. But I am told that Mrs. Tiyfort wants to marry her 
 daughter to this lord Stewkly ; do you know anything of that Sir 
 Jonathan ? 
 
 Sir Jo. Whu-ph ! As soon as she 'd marry her to the great 
 Mogiil ! No, no Mr. Stapleton, dont believe a word of it. 
 Stap. Mrs. Surface is my Author. 
 
 Mrs. S. Lord Sir how .shoud / know ? [aside to Stap.) Why 
 woud you bring me in ? I only gave you the hint as a frieml. 
 
304 A JOURNEY TO BATH. 
 
 Mr. Stap. But you ought in justice to tell Sir Jonathan what 
 you know. 
 
 Sir Jo. An honest woman ! I '11 be sworn she woud ; but 
 theres nothing in it, nothing in it Mrs. Surface, depend upon it. 
 — Thats just like my friend Stapleton here, who fancy'd lady 
 Filmot had designs upon my son, ha ha ha do you remember Mr. 
 Stapleton ? 
 
 Stajy. I do Sir Jonathan, and you will find both the one, and 
 the other true. 
 
 Sir Jo. You are a very good man, I believe Mr. Stapleton ; 
 but I woudn't be suspicious for all the money in the Bank. A 
 man has no comfort that doubts this, and believes that, and fears 
 t'other : now I never suspect any body ; but take the world as it 
 comes. 
 
 Stap. And were you never deceivd Sir Jonathan ? 
 
 Sir Jo. Not that I remember ; I always dealt with honest 
 people, and believe every man and woman so till I find them 
 otherwise. 
 
 Stap. Well Sir repentance is often the fruits of credulity. I 
 wish you mayn't find it so. — fare you well. 
 
 Mrs. S. Dont you drink coffee with us Mr. Stapleton ? 
 
 Stap. No — I drink it by myself. [Ex* Staple. 
 
 Mrs. S. A whimsical captious fellow as ever came into a 
 hovise ! I wish I was well rid of him. 
 
 7* S. Enten- Sir Jeremy. 
 
 Sir Jer. But Mrs. Surface, I thought our coffee had been 
 ready. 
 
 Sir Jo. And so did I too, that was what I came in for. 
 
 Mo's. S. I'll go and order it in the next parlour directly good 
 Sir Jeremy. [Ex* Mrs. Surface. 
 
 Sir Jo. Why then I'll go and take another turn on the Parade 
 till its ready — Will you walk Brother ? 
 
 Sir Jer. No, Sir Jonathan, I have had walking enough. 
 
 Ex* Sir John. 
 
A JOURNEY TO BATH. 306 
 
 8'" S. 
 Enter Lady Filmot. 
 
 Lachi F. Oh Sir Jeremy, I have been loooking for you, I have 
 a request to make. 
 
 Sir Jer. Youi- ladyship may always command me. 
 
 Lady F. You must know I have been endeavouring to make 
 your nephew look a little more like one of us : I have left him to 
 dress in my apai-tment, but as I intend to surprise Sir Jonathan 
 and the ladies, I want you to make some excuse for his not 
 attending them to the rooms, as I purpose taking him with me. 
 
 Sir Jer. With all my heart madam ; and I shoud be very glad 
 your ladyship woud take him intirely under your tuition, for Sir 
 Jonathan will absolutely undo the young man. 
 
 Lady F. I protest I am afraid so too, Sir Jeremy, for the 
 youth is amazingly confined in his notions I am surprized Sir, 
 that you, who to the advantages of great parts, have joined 
 those of a learned education — 
 
 Sir Jer. Oh your humble servant madam. 
 
 Lady F. That you, I say, have not had influence enough to 
 get him out of the hands of j^oor S"' Jonathan, in order to train 
 him your way. 
 
 Sir Jer. I have endeavoured at it madam; but ;wor Sir Jona- 
 than, as you very justly and emphatically call him, has the 
 misfortune to think his oivn head as wise as other peoples. 
 
 Lady F. Lud what an incredible difference there is between 
 you and your brother ! He a plodding, simple, plain creature ; 
 humble to a fault, ignorant of everything but traffic, and fond of 
 nothing but wealth. — 
 
 Sir Jer. A very just description, madam. 
 
 Lady F. You on the other hand, active, and enterprizing, pro- 
 foundly versed in men as well as books ; and from a consciousness 
 of the dignity of your character, joyned to a noble spirit of 
 freedom, shew a manly pride in everything you do, and a thorough 
 contempt for riches. 
 
 Sir Jer. Your ladyship has a very discerning Eye ! 
 
 Lady F. I have been told Sir Jeremy that you were a most 
 incomparable speaker in Parliament. 
 
306 A JUUllXEY TO BATH. 
 
 Sir Jer. Why — I was generally pretty well heard Madam — tho 
 I fancy there were some who now and then wished me silent. 
 
 Lady F. I dont in the least doubt it, S"" Jeremy. 
 
 Sir Jer. I have said such things ! Oh lady Filmot there icas 
 a time ! if you were but to have heai-d me when my indignation 
 was rouzed ! but that 's all over with me — 
 
 Lady F. Lord it must have been amazingly fine ! so animated ! 
 so patriotic ! 
 
 Sir Jer. Oh Madam, I coud thunder like Jupiter in those days ; 
 but — heaven knoAvs what they are doing now ! I was willing to 
 have lent them my assistance ; but let that matter rest. — 
 
 Lady F. Dear what a loss it is to your country that you are 
 not in Parliament ! 
 
 Sir Jer. Oh Madam — I hope not. To be sure every man is not 
 blessed with equal talents ; yet I flatter myself we have some 
 pretty good men — very decent I dare say, — I should hope that 
 nny loss is not considerably felt. 
 
 Lady F. Ah, Su' Jeremy, I very much fear it is. 
 
 Sir Jer. Your ladyships regard to the good of the common- weal 
 may make you apprehensive ; tho, without vanity I loas con- 
 sidered as somebody in my day. 
 
 Lady F. If you have any of your speeches -written tSu- Jeremy, 
 I shoud take it as an infinite favour, if you woud lend one or 
 two of them to me. 
 
 Sir Jer. Why Madam I did make a few that I believe I can 
 recite from memory — pretty strong they were — ticklers i'faith ! 
 
 Lady F. And you '11 repeat them to me some day ? 
 
 Sir Jer. Your ladyship has a taste for Orations I presume ? 
 
 Lady F. Oh I doat on an Oration ! 
 
 Sir Jer. You dont like flimzy flowery stufi" do you ? 
 
 Lady F. Oh by no means 
 
 Sir Jer. You like nerve ? 
 
 Lady F. Of all things 
 
 Sir Jer. I think I shall please you 
 
 Lady F. You are always manly, I dare say 
 
 Sir Jer. I was no chicken Lady Filmot. 
 
 Lady F. Bold sentiments delivered in bold words, I '11 answer 
 for it. 
 
.1 JOURNEY TO BATH. 307 
 
 Sir Jer. Yes — I fiincy I ain please you — I have one speech 
 that I think is a chef d'oeuvre, a two-edged sword i'faith. Away 
 I flashed, down with them by dozens egad like ninepins. — none of 
 yonr water gruel Oi-atory for me. — What do you think my ci-est 
 is? 
 
 Lady F. I dont know, a Lyon perhaps. 
 
 Sir Jer. An Oak, and my motto is — you understand latin ? 
 
 Lady F. No, Sir Jeremy. 
 
 Sir Jer. Thats a pity ; I '11 tell you in English then, Sooner 
 break than bend — a whim of my own, it wasn't the family device. 
 
 Lady F. Sooner break than bend ! vastly expiessive I declare. 
 
 Sir Jer. Sooner break than bend, Iron and Steel, Iron and 
 Steel — 
 
 Lady F. What a charming pi-eceptor you woud make to your 
 Nephew ! — 
 
 Sir Jer. Oh lord jVIadam, why that fool his father has no more 
 ambition than a Dervice of four-score. I own my utmost wish is 
 to see the boy in Parliament. — That 's the sphere of action Lady 
 Filmot. My sun is set ; but I shoud like to see a little star of 
 my family twinkle there. 
 
 Lccdy F. Certainly, Sir Jeremy. — My lord Stewkly has a 
 borough in his gift, and the present repiesentative is extremely 
 old ; but I dont know how it is, my lord has such a strange partiality 
 to his kindred, that he will give it to none but a relation ; he has 
 often told me, if I were a man I should have it. 
 
 Sir Jer. Ha ha, your ladyship is akin to him then I presume ? 
 
 Lady F. Very nearly. 
 
 Sir Jer. Why then Madam, tho' your ladyship ci\n't accept of 
 it in pi'opria persona, you may give him a relation who may you 
 know ? 
 
 Liuly F. Oh lord, Sii- Jeremy, do you think I 'd marry again ? 
 
 Sir Jer. Why not Madam ? 
 
 Lady F. Oh dear ! Well we wont talk of that now. — I fancy 
 by this time your nephew is dressed. Suppose you were to come 
 up stau-s with me to see him, and who knows but you mav oblige 
 m3 with one of your speeches ! 
 
 Sir Jer. I can refuse your ladyship nothing. But first I '11 go 
 and make apology for my nephew's not attending his father, and 
 
 X 2 
 
308 A JOURNEY TO BATH. 
 
 some other idle company here that perhaps expect he shoud go 
 with them. — I '11 wait on your ladyship again immediately. 
 
 [Ex'' Sir Jer. 
 
 Ladi/ F. So, this same borough has made Sir Jeremy my fast 
 
 friend and ally ; I dare say he will beg my acceptance both of his 
 
 nephew's person and fortune. — If he shoud, I think I shan't 
 
 refuse the poor thing. [Ex' Lady F. 
 
 9*'^ Scene. The Rooms. 
 
 Different 2JC(,rties at cards. One table filled with children at lottery 
 
 Tickets. Mrs. Tryfort has just done jilaying loith Lord 
 
 Stewkly and Champigxion. Lady Bell looking on. 
 
 Lord. Do you alioays play Avith such good success Ma'am ? I 
 never saw anything like it ! 
 
 Airs, T. Ha ha ha I am generally prodigious lucky indeed my 
 lord ; but this evening I contribute it intu'ely to your lordship's 
 skill. 
 
 Lord. Oh dear Ma'am you play infinitely better than I do. 
 
 Mrs. T. I am sorry Mr. Champignion I am to carry away so 
 many of your guineas ha ha ha — does your ladyship never play ? 
 
 Lady B. Never in such mixed companies. 
 
 Mrs. T. I believe you are to give me thirty Sir. 
 
 Cham. Lord Ma'am I am quite ashamed of paying you such a 
 trifle, when I play with ladies I always deprecate good fortune ; 
 for you must know ma'am tis death to me to win of them. 
 
 Lord. In that case Mr. Champignion I shoud think myself 
 rather unfortunate to have you for a partner : what do yoit think 
 lady BeU ? 
 
 Lady B. I think my lord that in those sort of places, one is 
 often forced to take up with strange sort of creters for partners : 
 I wish people of fashion coud make it a rule never to play Avith 
 any below themselves. 
 
 Mrs. T. Perhaps madam that might oblige them to play lower 
 than they woud clause ha ha ha. 
 
 Lady B. And one is so shock'd by ill breeding some times, my 
 lord, that I shall forswear coming for my part. 
 
A JOURNEY TO BATH. 309 
 
 Cham. Then Madnm your hulyship will make an absolute 
 desert of the rooms, for I am sure / '11 never come. 
 
 Lady B. And yoit are all the world, you know Mr. — the man 
 however has some manners [aside to Lord S. 
 
 Cham, aside to Lord S.) I am glad her ladyship vouchsafes to 
 speak to me again. 
 
 Lord, aside to Cham.] Oh, I told her the honour you were to 
 receive. 
 
 lO'i" S. Enter Lucy. 
 
 Mrs. T. Lord child where have you been ? 
 
 Lu. I was only getting a dish of tea mama. Have you done 
 playing ? 
 
 Lady B. Heavens above ! what Company ! my lord shall we 
 saunter about a little ? 
 
 Lord. My dear lady Bell how can you be so severe ? Why 
 you '11 break this poor fellows heart if you discard him. 
 
 Lady B. Oh ridiculous, you cant imagine how unfeeling the 
 common people are ! 
 
 Lord. Upon my life tho, he hasn't been himself since you forbid 
 him your presence. 
 
 Lady B. You may tell him I dont forbid him to follow me. 
 
 [She goes to the other end of the room Lord S. 
 whispers Cham, and he follows her. 
 
 Lord. Why Miss Tryfort you look so enchantingly, that both 
 the ladies and the men will consider you as a common enemy 
 tonight. 
 
 Lu. I am sure my lord I dont want to inchant anybody, I have 
 no desire of being taken for a witch. 
 
 Lord. A lady may possess natural magic madam without a 
 crime ; besides tis evident that the charms you deal in are 
 celestial ! 
 
 Lu. I dont understand you my Lord. 
 
 Mrs. T. My lord she has so little alacrity, that your lordships 
 fine language is tlu'0%vn away upon her. Your lordship must 
 spejik, in the vulgar tongue for her to comprehend you. — I think 
 I'll go and see what the company are doing in the next room. — 
 Miss you needn't come, it looks so odd to have such a gi-eat girl 
 dangling after one. i«V Mrs. Tryfort. 
 
310 A JOURNEY TO BATH. 
 
 Lord, My clear madam you are not afraid I hope of trusting 
 yourself a little Avhile with me ? 
 
 Lu. I am not afraid my lord ; hw\, I dont know that we have 
 anything to talk of. 
 
 Lord. If I had your permission I coud soon find a very agi'ee- 
 able subject. 
 
 Lu. I had rather sit and look at the company, my lord. 
 
 Scene \V^. 
 
 Enter lady Filmot and, Edward dressd like a becm, 
 Sir J^r'euy following. 
 
 Lady F. I knew we shoud be full early ; but you were so 
 impatient Mr. Edward ! and I '11 swear Sir Jeremy you had me 
 fast by the ear that I coud have listend till tomorrow morning ! 
 
 Sir Jer. Ha ha, persons of your ladyships taste — but my best 
 speech I have reserved for the last : it was made on occasion of a 
 bill that was brought in — 
 
 [Lady F. and Sir Jer. talk in dumb sheio\ 
 
 Ln. Good stars ! why sure that can't be Mr. Edward that^is 
 with lady Filmot ? as I live and breathe it is he — look my lord ! 
 
 Lord, Mercy on us what a figure she has made of the boy ! ha 
 ha ha thats good, faith. 
 
 L%i. I will go and ask the meaning of it. 
 
 Lord. My dear creature what are you about ? Woud you go 
 to be laugh'd at by lady Filmot ? You see the things done on 
 purpose. 
 
 L/ii. I thought he had some design in his head by his keeping 
 so much out of my sight today 
 
 Lord. Lady Filmot's designs with regard to nie, you find are 
 now apparent ; but I beg you '11 help me to disappoint them. — 
 remember our plot as soon as she observes us. 
 
 Lu. Yes, yes, I see well enough what she woud be at ; but I 
 wonder Edward woud be so silly as to joyn her in her contrivance 
 without telling me of it ! 
 
 Lord. For the same reason I suj^pose that you have not told 
 him of ours, \they talk in dumb shew'\ 
 
A JOURNEY TO BATH. 311 
 
 Ladij F. Oh I long to he;ir it ! wliat fire, what enthusiasm you 
 must have exerted ! 
 
 Sir Jer. The subject, you see, demanded my whole force. 
 
 Lady F. Aside to Edward] Bless me, that cant be Miss 
 Tryfort sure in such familiar chat with my lord Stewkly ! 
 
 Sir Jer. And faith when once I was up, out it pourd like a 
 torrent. 
 
 Lad)/ F. A very inundation I dare say Sir Jeremy [aside to 
 Edward]. "Why the girl 's coquetting I declare ! 
 
 Sir Jer. And then hear him, hear him, hear him, was the 
 word ! 
 
 Lad)/ F. Ay Sir Jeremy, hear him {aside to Edward) wh}' this 
 is astonishing Mr. Edward, do you observe ? 
 
 Ed. I '11 go and interrupt them, upon my reputation ! 
 
 Lady F. By no means Sir, no interruptions. 
 
 Sir Jer. Interruptions ! if any man dared to interrupt me he 
 was soon called to order. 
 
 Lad)j F. No doubt of it Sir Jeremy — [to Edw.] Don't you 
 know that it is one article of your duty not to speak to any lady 
 without my leave ? 
 
 Ed. Ay ; but you know ma'am you said you woud not be 
 strict. 
 
 Lady F. At present I will ; for I see my lord Stewkly wants 
 to nettle me, you know what I told you today ? 
 
 Ed. Oh that 's true, upon my credit I had forgot. How Lucy 
 and I shall laugh when we come to explain ! 
 
 Lady F. Oh it will be an inexhaustible source of mirth when 
 you two are at your fireside next winter, so comfortably with 
 your City neighbours. 
 
 Sir Jer. What does your ladyship say of the City, for I was in 
 a sort of a revery ? 
 
 Lady F. I was saying Sir Jeremy, how happy your Nephew 
 and Miss Tryfort will be when they are married. 
 
 *S'iV Jer. Between ourselves Madam, I hope that will never be. 
 
 Lady F. You dont like the match then Sir Jeremy ? 
 
 aS'iV Jei\ Oh shameful, degrading to the last degree. If I had 
 your ladyship at Bull-hall, I coud shew you a line of ancestry, 
 that woud convince you we are not a jieople of yesterday. 
 
312 A JOURNEY TO BATH. 
 
 Ed. Pray Uncle how came it, you never shewd them to me ? 
 
 Sir Jer. Why the land and the Mansion house has slippd 
 thro' our finger's boy ; but thank heaven the family pictures ai'e 
 still extant. 
 
 Lady F. That 's a great consolation Sir Jeremy ! 
 
 Sh- Jer. Why so it is madam ; this stripling is not a mush- 
 room, I can tell you lady Filmot. 
 
 Lady F. I knew it well Su\ 
 
 Sir Jer. Edward ! 
 
 Ed. Uncle! 
 
 Sir Jer. Do you think you have courage enough to make love 
 to this lady here ? 
 
 Ed. Who me uncle ! Why my lady Filmot woud laugh at me 
 if I shoud. 
 
 Sir Jer. Try, my child ; if I were at your age I shoud hardly 
 be deterred by the fear of a fine woman's laughing at me. 
 
 Lady F. Oh Sir, my respect for Sir Jeremy, as well as my good 
 opinion of you, will secure you against that. 
 
 Sir Jer. Lookee there ! liarkee Edward, if you have any of my 
 blood in your veins \_He ivhispers him'] I leave you to give you the 
 opportunity. 
 
 [Sir Jer. retires to the other end of the room. Seems 
 to enter into conversation with Lady Bell v.'ho 
 is sitting ivith Champignion ; bttt keejjs his eye 
 on his nej^hew and lady Filmer.] 
 
 Lady F. What does Sir Jeremy say ? 
 
 Ed. That he will go away madam to give me the opportunity. 
 
 Lady F. Oh he has a mind to divert himself ; suppose we were 
 to humour him now and pretend to carry on a little courtship, just 
 for his entertainment — he is observing us you see. 
 
 Ed. If I were capable ma'am of saying such handsome things 
 as your ladyship deserves — 
 
 Lady F. Everything you say Sir, receives such a grace from 
 your manner ! — 
 
 Ed. I must be very dull, indeed ma'am, if your ladyship didn't 
 inspire me ; you are the Iphegenia in the fable. 
 
 Lady F. Oh that thou didst but resemble Cimon in the real as 
 well as the assumed passion ! 
 
,1 JOURNEY TO BATH. 313 
 
 Ed. (aside) Ha, I vow I believe she likes me in down right 
 eai-nest] If I wei-e sure of being as successful ma'am ! 
 
 Lady F. (aside) How solemn the young rogue looks ! I declare 
 I think he is half serious] I should not else desire the 
 resemblance. You ai-e wi-apt Mr. Edward ! [Edward muses] 
 "What are you thinking of ? I shall be jealous. 
 
 Ed. Then your ladyshij) must be jealous of yourself ; for I 
 assure you I was thinking of you. 
 
 Ladi/ F. (aside) Oh, he improves apace ! Lucy thy thi'one 
 begins to totter !] Oh you must think of me when I am absent. 
 
 Ed. Does your ladyship ever think of me when I am absent ? 
 
 Lady F. Come and sit down with me yonder, and I will tell 
 you. [they retire a little and sit down 
 
 Scene 12'^ 
 Enter Sir Jonathan looking curiously about at all the Company. 
 Sir Jo. Where can this boy of mine be ? 
 
 Scene: 13»^ 
 As he is peeping about, Mrs. Tryfort enters and meets him. 
 
 Ha Mrs. Tryfort ! I am glad I have met you. A mans in a 
 wildei-ness here ! do you know where Ned is ? in some corner with 
 Miss Lucy I '11 lay my life ! 
 
 Mrs. T. I know nothing of him, Sii- Jonathan ; do you think 
 Miss Ti'yfort doesnt understand punctuality better than to go 
 into corners with young fellows ? 
 
 [She goes andjoyns Lord Stewkly and Lucy 
 
 Sir Jo. Heighty toity ! whats the meaning of this ? Oh, 
 yonder 's lady Filmot, I '11 go and ask her. 
 
 Lculy F. What, Su- Jonathan ! [Ue goes to her and Edward] 
 then you have ventured amongst us I see. 
 
 Sir Jo. To look for a stray son of mine an't please your lady- 
 ship, that 's all. 
 
 Lady F. And ain't you find him Sir Jonathan ? 
 
 Sir Jo. No introth, I enquired for him of Mrs. Tryfort just 
 now, and I thought she answerd me a little short or so. 
 
314 A JOURNEY TO BATH. 
 
 Lady F. May be this gentleman can inform you. 
 
 Sir Jo. Can he ? pray Sir do you know — mercy upon me ! 
 Why sure — pray Sir — this cant be Ned ? — Yes faith it is too — 
 and I not to know him ! not to know my own son ! ha ha ha a 
 good joke faith. 
 
 Lctdy F. Ha ha ha, Well Sir Jonathan how do you like him ? 
 
 8ir Jo. Like him ! introth I think he is not to be fZ^sliked 
 (You sly young varlet to play me such a trick,) but how come 
 you by all these trapj)ings Ned ? 
 
 Lady F. Tis only my livery, Sir Jonathan. 
 
 Sir Jo. Your livery, Madam ? 
 
 Ed. Oh yes Sir I am her ladyships Oicesbey 
 
 Sir Jo. Her ladyships what Edward ? 
 
 Ed. Her Oicesbey Sir 
 
 Sir Jo. Pray Madam what may that be ? 
 
 Lady F. Tis only a title that a lady bestows on a galant young 
 man, who for a time devotes himself to her service. 
 
 Sir Jo. Ha, I never heard of the title before. Does your uncle 
 know that you are a Oicesbey ? He is very fond of those out o' 
 the way conceits. 
 
 Lady F. Oh Sir Jeremy is quite delighted with it. 
 
 Sir Jo. Ay, I knew it would please him ; but what does Lucy 
 say to it ? 
 
 Lady F. Why really Sir Jonathan, she has been so taken up 
 with lord Stewkly that she doesn't seem to take the least notice 
 of anything else. 
 
 Sir Jo. What I suppose his lordship is her Oicesby ? I have a 
 mind to go and join them ; perhaps Mrs. Tryfort may be in a 
 better humour now. 
 
 [Sir Jonathan goes up to them. 
 
 Lady Bell and Oham. advance ; Sir Jeremy, Lady Fil. and 
 Edward. 
 
 Lady B. It 's true ; and then the honours you are to receive 
 may be a step to nobility. Pray what were those services that 
 you did the Government abroad ? 
 
 Cham. Services Ma'am ? 
 
 Lady B. Ay, my lord Stewkly told me it was upon that account 
 you were to have the compliment paid you. 
 
A JOURNEY TO BATH. 315 
 
 Oham. aside Gadszooks what shall I say? he shourl have 
 prepared for this.] Oh dear Ma'am ; trifles, not worth enter- 
 taining your ladyship with ; but we lucky fellows often have our 
 services overpaid especially when the ladies do us the favour to 
 smile on us. 
 
 Lacb/ B. (aside) modest enough and not ungenteel). Well I 
 wont pi-ess you. 
 
 Cham, (aside) Egad I am glad of it ! 
 
 Ladi/ B. to lady Fil. A'n't you tired of being so long in one 
 place Lady Filmot ? Suppose we Avere to go and look at them 
 dancing in the next room. 
 
 Lady F. (aside) pish, how unreasonable ! — I '11 wait on you. 
 Come Mr. Edward I command you to attend me, you are not 
 weary of your service already I hope ? 
 
 Ed. If your ladyships connnands are always so obliging, you 
 will not hear me complain. 
 
 Lady B. (aside to Cham.) I '11 swear he is not ill bred ! 
 
 Cham. Oh ma'am theres nothing like the conver.sation of the 
 fair sex, for polishing a man. 
 
 Lady B. Provided they are of quality ! 
 
 Cham. I never give that apellation to any other. Ma'am. 
 
 Lady B. I declare your notions are rather above the vulgar. 
 
 Cham. Lord Ma'am I detest the Vulgar. 
 
 Lady B. U — gh so do I ! Come Sir. 
 Exi Lady B. and Cham. Lady Fil. Edward and Sir Jeremy. 
 
 Sir Jo. Why you are not to mind those things Miss Lucy ; he 
 is her Cicesbey I tell you, ha ha ha tis the pleasantest frolic ! 
 
 Lai,. With all my heart Sir Jonathan. 
 
 Mrs. T. I dare say IVIiss's mind is in the gi-eatest agility about 
 it. 
 
 Sir Jo. Tis but a joke you know, you will have hini again with 
 you presently. 
 
 Mrs. T. Dear Su- you needn't incommode yourself, we dont in 
 the least want his company. 
 
 Sir Jo. Come, come I know you are angry with Ned ; but I '11 
 go and bring him to you, the quarels of lovers you know — ha 
 ha ha. {Et} Sir Jonathan 
 
 Lord. If 1 were you now, I woudn't gi-atify the boy's vanity, 
 
316 A JOURNEY TO BATH. 
 
 nor lady Filmot's ill nature, by letting them see they had made 
 you uneasy ; poor Sir Jonathan's awkward zeal will be for 
 making up the quarel as he calls it, in the face of the company. 
 
 Mrs. T. I '11 disappoint him then my lord, for Miss and I will 
 quit the rooms directly, to let him see we dont want to come to 
 any embai-rassment. 
 
 Lord. ■ Oh the very thing Ma'am, you have hit on the nicest 
 expedient ! \Ite-enter Sir Jonathan. 
 
 AS'tr Jo. Ned will be with you in a minute, I gave him a 
 whisper, and he said he woud steal out to you presently. 
 
 Lord. Steal out Sir Jonathan ! Why of whom is he afraid ? 
 
 Im. Of lady Filmot I suppose. 
 
 Sir Jo. True, thats true, in troth I had forgot how the thing 
 was. 
 
 Mrs. T. Come Miss, my lord, will you be so kind as to put her 
 into her chair — give my lord your hand Lucy — Your servant Sir 
 Jonathan. 
 
 Exit Mrs. and Miss Tryfort and Lord S. 
 
 Sir Jo. Your servant Sir Jonathan ! and your servant Mrs. 
 Tryfort you go to that ! by my faith I think these quality 
 notions have turned the woman's head. I '11 talk with my lady 
 Filmot about it, and my bi-other Jeremy, they'll advise me 
 between them ; for I dont know what to make of all this for my 
 part. 
 
 Ext. Sir Jo. as returning again to y^ company in y^ other 
 room. 
 
 Scene 14'^ 
 
 re-enter lord Stewkly, lady Filmot enters as from the other 
 room, meets, and stops him. 
 
 Lord. What have you quitted your Adonis ? 
 
 Lady F. I have engaged him in the dance merely to detain 
 him, and slippd out on purpose intercept you ; for I woud have 
 him think that you are gone home with Lucy, which Sir 
 Jonathan this minute whisper d me you Avere. 
 
 Lord. And so I shoud ; but that they are engaged to sup 
 abroad. 
 
A JOURNEY TO BATH. 317 
 
 LckIi/ F. I know it, and for that reason concluderl you woud 
 return. — Matters are now in the finest train you can imagine. 
 You woud have been amazed if you had heard liim talk ; he 
 began to say pritty things I assure you, his new cloaths inspired 
 him. 
 
 Lord. Why as lightly as you treat it, there is moie in that 
 than you imagine. I have seen many a young fellow who in a 
 plain coat and a bob wig, woudn't open his mouth amongst ladies 
 when dressd in a birth-day suit, become the very bel esprit of the 
 company. 
 
 Lady F. I know it, and it was upon that experience I founded 
 the success of my hopes. I wanted to ^i\G my stripling courage 
 to speak his mind to me. 
 
 Loi'd. I wonder you weren't afraid of creating to youiself rivals, 
 for the lad really lookd handsome. 
 
 Lady F. Oh my lord you are a mere novice ; my first view was 
 to make my ^NTarcissus fall in love with himself and no transition 
 more natui-al fi-om that, than to fall in love with the woman, who 
 next to himself he supposed his greatest admiier. 
 
 Lord. You ladies are better versed in those mysteries than we 
 are ; but I believe you are right. 
 
 Lady F. Infallibly — for raise but a mans vanity, and who will 
 he think so worthy of him as the first discoverer of his extra- 
 ordinary merits ? 
 
 Lord. Ha ha ha what a fool you have made of the poor boy. 
 Lady F. You mistake, I have only made a Coxcomb of him ; 
 any woman (provided she has influence) ctin make a fool of any 
 man, (as far I mean as it regards herself) but to make a coxcomb 
 pro bono publico, requires parts, and that I think I have eflected. 
 — Do you know that we are to meet at [the] Spa tomoiTOW ? 
 I proposed the assignation, he bowed, and said he wouldn't fail, 
 for the tender creature really begins to pity me. 
 
 Loi'd. Ha ha ha How you bring him to do that with so utter 
 an insensibility on your side astonishes me ! 
 
 Ijady F. Lud, my lord one woud imagine you had stepd into 
 the world but yesterday ; why thats the very thing ! take it for 
 gi-anted, a woman never plays the coquet well with a man she 
 rej\lly loves. / acknowledge myself one, intended so by Nature ; 
 
318 A JOURNEY TO BATH. 
 
 who the better to enable me to act my part, never incommoded 
 me with those ti'oublesome companions calld tender feelings : 
 women who have those ; sometimes afiect our character ; but it 
 never sits easy on them. 
 
 Lord. Well — from this meeting of youis, do I hope to make a 
 total separation between the lovers. Lucy is ah-eady piqued and 
 not so averse to me as she was. Her mother doats on me. I am 
 to breakfast with her tomorrow, and if I can contrive to get them 
 both to your place of rendesvous where they may have an oppor- 
 tunity of seeing you, I think the business maybe done effectually. 
 
 Lady F. It was the very thing I meant to have proposed to 
 you, as it will forward both of our schemes together. Sir Jeremy 
 is already my fast friend, and Sir Jonathan you know is every- 
 body's fi'iend — so, get you away my lord for I woudn't have any 
 of the family see you here. 
 
 Lord. Well, I '11 go somewhei'e and kill an houi' at picquet ; so 
 wishing your ladyship success I leave you to return to your love. 
 
 Lady F. Adieu, cruel indifferent ! Ex'' severally 
 
 End of the 3'' Act. 
 
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