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LI B RAHY
of the:
U N IVER5ITY
Of ILLINOIS

Rivals and the School
PR3682
,R4
1905CASSELUS NATIONAL LIBRARY

THE RIVALS

AND THE

SCHOOL FOR SCANDALSome of the Volumes of the New Series of

CASSELL'S NATIONAL LIBRARY.

i.—silas marner—george Eliot. Intro, stuart j. rbid.

а.—a	sentimental journey—l. Stkrne. Intro. l. f. austin.

3.—RICHARD	II.—shakespeare.

4,—BROWNING'S	POEMS—(Selection). Intro. A. D. 1NNES.

5—ON HEROES AND HERO WORSHIP—carlyle.

б.—A	CHRISTMAS CAROL AND THE CHIMES—charles dickens.

7 —THE VIv-AR OF WAKEFIELD—goldsmith. Intro. sir HENRY irving.

8.—MACBETH—shakespeare.

9.—EVELYN'S	DIARY—(Reign of Charles II.). Intra AUSTIN DoBSON.
10.—JOHNSON'S RASSELAS.

11 —THE FOUR GEORGES—W. M. THACKERAY. Intro. L. F. AUSTIN.

12.—JULIUS	C^CSAR—shakespeare.

13.—TENNYSON'S	POEMS—(Selection). Intro. A. T. QUILLER-COUCH.
14—THE MERCHANT OF VENICE—shakespeare.

xc—EDGAR ALLAN POE S TALES- (Selection). Intro. TlGHE HOPKINS.

16.—the	lady of the lake—sir walter scott.

17.—EMERSON'S	ESSAYS—(Selection). Intro. C. LEWIS HIND.

18.—HAM	LET—S h akespe are.

10.—GOLDSMITH'S PLAYS.

20.—BURNS'S POEMS—(Selection). Intro. NEIL MUNRO.

21 —MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING—shakespeare.

22.—BUNYAN'S PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. Intro. G. K. CHESTERTON.
20 —SHERIDAN'S PLAYS : " The Rivals" and "The School foe ScaadaL"
24.—MACAULAY'S LAYS OF ANCIENT ROME.

25—NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE'S TALES. Intro. FRANK MATHEW.
26.—TWELFTH-NIGHT—SHAKESPEARE.

27 —HORACE WALPOLE'S LETTERS—(Selection;. Intro. STUART J. Reid.
a8.—MARMION—sir Walter scott.

29.—the tempest—shakespeare.

so.—SOUTHEY'S LIFE OF NELSON.

m.-the cricket ON THE HEARTH—charles dickens.
02 —OTHELLO—shakespeare.

I3 —STEELE AND ADDISON'S "SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY.'

£4_A MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM—SHAKESPFA.RR.

«— CARLYLEON BURNS AND SCOTT.

06.—MfLTON'S PARADISE LOST.—I.

—MILTON'S PARADISE LOST.—II.

*&—MACAULAY'S WARREN HASTINGS.

to.—AS YOU LIKE IT—shakespeare.

40-CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE—lord byron.

41.—KING	LEAR—shakespeare.

42.—BACON'S	ESSAYS.

41.—utopia—sir Thomas more.

il-ROMEO AND JULIET—shakespeare.

iT.—COMPLETE ANGLER—ISAAC WALTON.

46—HAKLUYT'S DISCOVERY OF MUSCOVY.

47.-CARLYLE'b SARTOR RESARTUS. Intro. G. K. CHESTERTON.

j^fflgsgrshb^efh^sshts of socrates

5I"_BURKEWTHOUGHTSAONATHE PRESENT DISCONTENTS
-TALES FROM THE DECAMERON—boccaccio
HENRY V.—shakespeare.

54.—essays and tales-addison.

« -MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR—SHAKESPEARE.

e6 —ESSAYS OF elia—charles lamb. Intro. william archer.
|7!—AREOPAGITICA—milton.

1*8.—THE BATTLE OF LIFE—charles dickens.

eq.—voyages and travels-marco polo.

60.—GRACE	ABOUNDING-john bunyan.

61.—THE	WINTER'S TALE—SHAKESPEARE.

62.—hazlitt's	essays. Intro. herbert paul.

60.— HENRY viii.—shakespeare.

^ZbacoIs'wSof the ancients.

and beautifui..

68 —THE COMEDY OF ERRORS—SHAKESPEARE.

60.-WORDSWORTH'S POEMS - (Selection).

70.—MILTON'S	EARLIER POEMS.

71.—LOVE'S	LABOUR'S LOST—SHAKESPEARE.

L-OLD AGE AND FRIENDSHIP-clcero.

73.—SORROWS OF WERTER-GOETHE._

casseu- <?' company, Limited. London ; Paris, New York <5* MelbourneA

-



/%sy.RICHARD BRINSLEY SHERIDAN.

From a Miniature by J. D. Engleheart.\

\

V

THE RIVALS

AND THE

SCHOOL
FOR SCANDAL

BY

RICHARD BRINSLEY SHERIDAN

With an Introduction by
HENRY MORLEY

CASSELL AND COMPANY, LIMITED
LONDON, PARIS, NEW YORK
AND MELBOURNE. MCMV

^11 Rights ReserveclPR3682
,R4
1905

INTRODUCTION.

Sheridan's first comedy, The Rivals, was written in
1774, when Sheridan (born in September, 1751) was
twenty-three years old. He had been married, little
more than a year before, to the beautiful Miss Linley,
a young singer, who was daughter to Thomas Linley,
the musician, and in 1774 they had set up a little
establishment of their own in Orchard Street, Portman
Square. The comedy was first acted at Covent Garden
on the 17th of January, 1775. It was unsuccessful on the
first night through failure of the actor who played Sir
Lucius O'Trigger. The part was at once transferred
to a better comedian, and success was then complete.

The house in Orchard Street had a large music-room
attached to it, and Mrs. Sheridan, who, upon marriage,
withdrew wholly from public singing, entertained
friends with little concerts, in which she and the other
members of her family were the only performers.
This more than made up for the modest form of table
hospitality to which the young couple were confined.
Sheridan's wife had a little money of her own, earned
by her singing, besides £3,000 paid by a rich old gen-
tleman for the folly of having engaged himself to her
when she was a girl of sixteen. Sheridan himself had
written politics in aid of income; and he certainly had
no turn for economy. When he was a boy at Harrow,
under Dr. Sumner, an uncle Chamberlayne looked after
his money accounts, and enforced upon him, consider-
ing his father's circumstances, the necessity of strict
economy. He was not to compete for an archery prize,
because competition involved the cost of an archer's
costume. But inasmuch as, at the same time, he had a

805463iv

introduction.

Greek oration to deliver in the character of a military
commander, he took upon himself to order of his tailor
a general officer's uniform. When his astonished uncle
received the tailor's bill and expostulated, the boy
replied that the speech was military, and that he could
not ha^e spoken a word of it if he had not looked like
a soldier. That boy was father to the man.

Sheridan followed up immediately the success of
The Rivals by writing an opera for music by his wife's
father, The Duenna. Barry, the actor, while this was
in rehearsal, told Sheridan's father that the opera could
not succeed because there was "too much church music
in it," that is to say, too many of the airs were slow
and solemn. But the opera ran for seventy-five nights.
Sheridan leapt into fame with the play-going world.
As Garrick was then retiring from Drury Lane,
Sheridan and his father-in-law each bought two-four-
teenths of his share; and at Drury Lane, on the 8th
of Mav. 1777. Sheridan produced his masterpiece, The
School far Scandal. It originated m the days when
he was living with his family at Bath, and had fought
a duel after his return from an elopement to France
with Miss Linley, whom he married at a village near
Calais, and left lodged for a time with a French sister-
hood. While recovering from his wounds he would
ask for the papers, saying, " I wish to know whether I
am dead or alive," etc. The same experience, no
doubt, suggested the duel scene in The Rivals. But
he was thus brought into close contact with the most
cruel forms of Bath scandal, and resolved to attack the
Hydra in his den. In Sheridan's first sketch of The
School for Scandal, Mrs. Candour was called Lady
Kitty Candour, but the name was dropped, as too near
to Foote's Lady Kitty Crocodile, supposed to be meant
for the Duchess of Kingston. All was thought out
carefully in Sheridan's mind before paper was blotted.
One of his sisters tells that his phrase at home was,
" The comedy is finished; I have now nothing to do
but to write it."	tt mTHE RIVALS.

A COMEDY.

DRAMATIS PERSONS. '

AS originally acted at covent-garden theatre in 1775.

Sl%Ao™.AB"} ^.SKuter.

CiP™ ABSO-}Mr.TToodWara.

Faulkland . . . Mr. Lewis.

Acres .... Mr. Quick.

Sir Lucius O'Trig- ) m t

ger , . . . j

Fag .... Mr. Lee Lewes.

SCENE.—Bath.

Time of Action.—Five Hours,

PROLOGUE.—By the Author.

spoken by mb. woodward and mr. quick.

Enter Serjeant-at-law, and Attorney following, and giving
a paper.

Serj. What's 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 ! \more] 0 come, 'tis pretty plain
Hey ! how's this ? Dibble !—sure it cannot be !

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 1

David .... Mr. Dunsval,
Thomas .... Mr. Fearon.
Mrs. Malaprop . Mrs. Green,
Lydia Languish Miss Barsanti,
Julia . . . .Mrs. Bulkley,
Lucy . . Mrs. Lessingham*

Maid, Boy, Servants, &c.6

THE RIVALS.

Att. And if tlie fee offends, your wrath should fall
On me.

Serj. Dear Dibble, no offence at all.

Att. Some sons of Phoebus in the courts we meet.

Serj. And fifty sons of Phoebus in the Fleet!

Att. Nor pleads he worse, who with a decent sprig
Of bays adorns his legal waste of wig.

Serj. Full-bottom'd 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,

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,—counsel for the poet.;

Used to the ground, I know His 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 sentence 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 suit.

No spleen is here ! I 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 i
But such the public candour, without fear
My client waves all right of challenge here.

No newsman from our session is dismiss'd,

Nor wit nor critic we scratch off the list;

His faults can never hurt another's ease,

His crime, at worst, a bad attempt to please:THE RIVALS.

Thus, all respecting, lie appeals to all,
And by tlie 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'll 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 amorous hint, and half-triumphant smiles;

While her light mask or covers satire's strokes,
Or hides the conscious blush her wit provokes.

Look on her well—does she seem form'd to teach ?
Should you expect to hear this lady preach ?

Is grey experience suited to her youth P
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'll snatch the dagger from her sister's hand:
And having made her votaries weep a flood,

* Pointing to the figure of Comedy.8

THE RIVALS.

Good heaven ! she'll end her comedies in blood—
Bid Harry Woodward break poor Dunstal's 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.

ACT I.

Scene I.—A Street.

Enter Thomas ; he crosses the Stage; Fag follows, looking
after him.

Fag. What! Thomas ! sure 'tis he ?—What! Thomas !
Thomas !

Thos. Hey !—Odd's life ! Mr. Fag !— give us your
hand, my old fellow-servant.

Fag. Excuse my glove, Thomas :—I am 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 ?

Thos. Sure, master, Madam Julia, Harry, Mrs. Kate, and
the postillion, be all come.

Fag. Indeed !

Thos. 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 J we were all off at an hour's warning.

• Pointing to Tragedy.THE RIVALS.

9

Fag. Ay, ay, hasty in every tiling, or it would not be Sir
Anthony Absolute!

Thos. 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.

Thos. Why sure !

Fag. At present I am employed by Ensign Beverley.

Thos. I doubt, Mr. Fag, you ha'n't changed for the better.

Fag. I have not changed, Thomas.

Thos. No ! Why, didn't you say you had left young mas-
ter ?

Fag. No.—Well, honest Thomas, I must puzzle you no
farther:—briefly then—Captain Absolute and Ensign Bever-
ley are one and the same person.

Thos. 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.

Thos. 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'll be secret, Thomas ?

Thos. 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 mas-
querader ever since the days of Jupiter.

Thos. Ay, ay;—I guessed there was a lady in the case :—■
but pray, why does your master pass only for ensign ?—Now,
if he had shammed 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 An.
thony Absolute, a baronet of three thousand a year.

'Thos. That is an odd taste indeed !—But has she got the
stuff, Mr. Fag ? Is she rich, hey ?

A*—2310

THE RIVALS.

Fag. Rich!—Why, I believe she owns half the stocks!
Zounds! 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.

Thos. 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.

Thos. May one hear her name ?

Fag. Miss Lydia Languish.—But there is an old tough
aunt 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.

Thos. Well—I wish they were once harnessed together in
matrimony.—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;
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 damn the place, I'm tired of it: their regular
hours stupefy me—not a fiddle nor a card after eleven!—How-
ever, Mr. Faulkland's gentleman and I keep it up a little
in private parties;—I'll introduce you there, Thomas—
you'll like him much.

Thos. Sure I know Mr. Du-Peigne—you know his mas-
ter 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 do with a wig, Thomas ?—None of the London whips
of any degree of ton wear wigs now.

Thos. More's the pity! more's 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 rab-THE RIVALS.

11

bit it! when the fashion had got foot on the bar, I gassed
'twould mount to the box!—but 'tis all out of character,
believe me, Mr. Fag: and look'ee, I'll never gi' up mine—
the lawyers and doctors may do as they will.

Fag. Well, Thomas, we'll not quarrel about that.

Thos. Why, bless you, the gentlemen of the 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'll never forsake his bob, though all the
college should appear with their own heads!

Fag. Indeed! well said, Dick!—But hold—mark! mark!
Thomas.

Thos. 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.

Thos. Odd! he's giving her money!—Well, Mr. Fag-

Fag. Good-bye, Thomas. I have an appointment in Gyde's
Porch this evening at eight; meet me there, and we'll make
a little party.	[Exeunt severally.

Scene II.—A Dressing-room in Mrs. Malaphop's Lodgings.

Lydia sitting on a sofa, with, a booh in her hand. Lucy, as
just returned from a message.

Lucy. Indeed, ma'am, I traversed half the town in search
of it: I don't believe there's a circulating library in Bath I
ha'n't been at.

, Lyd. And could not you get The Reward of Constancy ?
Lucy. No, indeed, ma'am.

Lyd. Nor The Fatal Connexion?

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 Dis-
tress ?12

THE RIYALS.

Lucy. Or, The Memoirs of Lady Woodford? Yes, indeed,
ma'am. I asked every where for it; and I might have brought
it from Mr. Frederick's, hut 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 before me. She has a most 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.—[Taking books from under her
cloak, and from her pockets.'] This is The Gordian Knot,—
and this Peregrine Tickle. Hero are The Tears of Sensibility,
and Humphrey Clinker. This is The Memoirs of a Lady of
Quality, written by herself \ and here the second volume of
The Sentimental Journey.

Lyd. Heigh-ho!—What are those books by the glass ?

Lucy. The great one is only The Whole Duty of Man}
where I press a few blonds, ma'am.

Lyd. Yery 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. Hold!—here's some one coming—quick, see who it
is.—[Exit Lucy.] Surely I heard my cousin Julia's voice.

Jle-enter Lucy.

iAicy. Lud! ma'am, here is Miss Melville.

Lyd. Is it possible!—	[Exit Lucy.

Enter Julia.

Lyd. My dearest Julia, how delighted am I!—[Embrace.]
How unexpected was this happiness!

Jul. True, Lydia—and our pleasure is the greater.—But
what has been the matter ?—you were denied to me at first!

Lyd. Ah, Julia, I have a thousand things to tell you!—But
first inform me what has conjured you to Bath Is Sir
Anthony here ?

/THE RIVALS.

13

Jul. He is—we are arrived within this hour—and I suppose
he will he here to wait on Mrs. Malaprop as soon as he is
dressed.

Lyd. Then before we are interrupted, let me impart to you
some of my distress !—I know your gentle nature will sympa-
thise with me, though your prudence may condemn'me! My
letters have informed you of my whole connection with
Beverley; but I have lost him, Julia! My aunt has dis-
covered our intercourse by a note she intercepted, and has
confined me ever since! Yet, would you believe it ? she has
absolutely fallen in love with a tall Irish baronet she met one
night since we have been here, at Lady Macshuffle's rout. '

Jul. You jest, Lydia!

Lyd. No, upon my word.—She really carries on a kind of
correspondence 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.

Jul. 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 for 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 discovery, and I have not; seen him since, to
make it up.

Jul. 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 his14

THE MYALS.

addresses to another woman. I signed it your friend un-
known,, showed it to Beverley, charged him with his false-
hood, put myself in a violent passion, and vowed I'd never
see him more.

Jul. 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.

Jul. If he is as deserving and sincere as you have repre-
sented him to me, he will never give you up so. Yet con-
sider, Lydia, you tell me he is hut 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 determined 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 inured her to it.

Jul. I do not love even his faults.

Lyd. But apropos—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 protection of Sir Anthony), yet have you, for this
long year, been a slave to the caprice, the whim, the
jealousy of the ungrateful Faulkland, 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 em-
barrassments, have delayed what I know to be my Falk-
land's most ardent wish. He is too generous to trifle (oivTHE RIVALS.

15

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, with-
out rudeness. Unused to the fopperies of love, he is
negligent of the little duties expected from a lover—but
being unhackneyed in the passion, his affection 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 would entitle him to it; and not feeling why
he should be loved to the degree he wishes, he still suspects
that he is not loved 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 attachment.^

Lyd. "Well, I cannot blame you for defending him. But
tell me candidly, Julia, had he never saved your life, do you
think you should have been attached to him as you are P—
Believe me, the rude blast that overset [your boat was a
prosperous gale of love to him.

Jul. Gratitude may have strengthened my attachment to
Mr. Faulkland, but I loved him before he had preserved me;
yet surely that alone were an obligation sufficient.

Lyd. Obligation! why a water spaniel would have done
as much !—"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 ?

He-enter Lxjcy in a hurry.

Lucy. 0 ma'am, here is Sir Anthony Absolute just come
home with your aunt.

Lyd. They'll not come here.—Lucy, do you watch.

[JExit Lucy.

Jul. Yet I must go. Sir Anthony does not know I am10

THE RIYALS.

here, and if we meet, he'll detain me, to show me the town.
I'll 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 mispronounced.

Re-enter Lucy.

Lucy, O Lud ! ma'am, they are both coming up stairs.

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'll find another staircase.

Jul. Adieu !	[.'Embraces Lydia and exit.

Lyd. Here, my dear Lucy, hide these books. Quick,
quick.—Fling Peregrine Pickle under the toilet—throw Rode-
rick Random into the closet—put The Innocent Adultery into
The Whole Duty of Man—thrust Lord Aimworth under the
sofa—cram Ovid behind the bolster—there—put The Man of
Feeling into your pocket,—se, so—now lay Mrs. Chapone in
eight, and leave Fordyce's Sermons open on the table.

Lucy. O burn it, ma'am! the hair-dresser has torn away
as far as Proper Pride.

Lyd. Never mind—open at Sobriety.—Fling me Lord Ches-
terfield's Letters.—Now for 'em.	[Exit Lucy.

Enter Mrs. Malaprop, and Sir Anthony Absolute.

Mrs. Mai. There, Sir Anthony, there sits the deliberate
simpleton who wants to disgrace her family, and lavish her-
self on a fellow not worth a shilling.

Lyd. Madam, I thought you once-

Mrs. Mai. You thought, miss! I don't know any business
you have to think at all—thought does not become a young
woman. But 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. Mai. But I say it is, miss; there is nothing on earthTHE BIVALS.

17

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!—ay, this comes of her reading!

Lyd. What crime, madam, have I committed to be treated
thus?	i ■ -

Mrs. 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 P Will you take
a ^husband of your friends' choosing ?

Lyd. Madam, I must tell you plainly, that'had I no prefer-
ence for any one else, the choice you have made would be
my aversion.

Mrs. Mai. What business have you, miss, with preference
and aversion ? 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
blackamoor—and yet, miss, you are sensible what a wife I
made!—and when it pleased 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 com-
pany for nothing but your own ill-humours.

Lyd. Willingly, ma'am—I cannot change for the worse.

[ExiU

Mrs. Mai. There's a little intricate hussy for you ! i

Sir Anth. It is not to be wondered at, ma'am,—all this is
the natural consequence of teaching girls to read. Had I a18

THVJ RIVALS.

thousand daughters, by Heaven! 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 Anih. 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 marble covers! — From that moment I
guessed 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.

Mrs. Mai. Fy, fy, Sir Anthony! you surely speak la-
conically.

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 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 inflammatory branches of learning—neither would
it be necessary for her to handle any of your mathematical,
astronomical, diabolical instruments.—But, Sir Anthony, T
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 accountsand as
she grew up, I would have her instructed in geometry, that
she might know something of the contagious countries;—
but above all, Sir Anthony, she should be mistaess of
orthodoxy, that she might not mis-spel, and mis-pronounce
words so shamefully as girls usually do ; and likewise that
she mi^ht reprehend the true meaning of what she is saying*^THE RIVALS.

19

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 morejmiportant 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. Mai. 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. Ay, 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
rhope 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 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.20

THE RIVALS.

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
betrayed me!—No, the girl is such a simpleton, I should
have made her confess it.—Lucy!—Lucy!—[Calls.] Had
she been one of your artificial ones, I should never have
trusted her.

Re-enter Lucy.

Lucy. Did you call, ma'am ?

Mrs. Mai. Yes, girl.—Did you see Sir Lucius while you
was out ?

Lucy. No, indeed, ma'am, not a glimpse of him.

Mrs. Mai. You are sure, Lucy, that you never men-
tioned-

Lucy. Oh gemini! I'd sooner cut my tongue out.

Mrs. Mai. Well, don't let your simplicity be imposed on.

Ijucy. 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.

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 turned my
simplicity lately.—[Looks at a paper.] For abetting Miss
Lydia Languish in a design of running away with an ensign !
—in money, sundry times, twelve pound twelve; gowns, jive ;
hats, ruffles, caps, &c. &c., numberless !—From the said ensign,
within this last month, six guineas and a half.—About a
quarter's pay!—Item, from Mrs. Malaprop, for betraying
the young people to her—when I found matters were likelyTHE RIVALS,

21

to be discovered—two guineas, and a black paduasoy.—Item,
from Mr. Acres, for carrying divers letters—which I never
delivered—two guineas, and a pair of buckles.—Item, from
Sir Lucius 0* Trigger, three crowns, two gold pocket-pieces, and
a silver snuff-box!—"Well done, Simplicity!—Yet I was
forced to make my Hibernian believe that he was corres-
ponding, not with the aunt, but with the niece: for though
not over rich, I .found he had too much pride and delicacy
to sacrifice tho feelings of a gentleman to the necessities of
his fortune.	__[Exit.

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.

Abs. And what did he say, on hearing I was at Bath ?

Fag. Sir, in my life I never saw an elderly gentleman
more astonished! He started back two or three paces,
rapped out a dozen interjectural oaths, and asked what the
devil had brought you here.

Abs. Well, sir, and what did you say ?

Fag. Oh, I lied, sir—I forget the precise lie;. but you
may depend on't, he got no truth from me. Yet, with sub-
mission, 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.

Abs. You have said nothing to them ?

Fag. Oh, not a word, sir,—not a word! Mr. Thomas,
indeed, the coachman (whom I take to be the discreetest of
whips)-

Abs. '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 was22

THE RIVALS.

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.

Abs. 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 enlisted five disbanded chairmen, seven minority
waiters, and thirteen billiard-markers.

Abs. You blockhead, never say more than is necessary.

Fag. I beg pardon, sir—I beg pardon—but, with submis-
sion, 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.

Abs. Well, take care you don't hurt your credit, by
offering too much security.—Is Mr. Faulkland returned ?

Fag. He is above, sir, changing his dress.

Abs. Can you tell whether he has been informed of Sir
Anthony and Miss Melville's arrival P

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.—[Going.] 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.

[Exit.

Abs MS ow for my whimsical friend—if he does not know
that his mistress is here, I'll tease him a little before I tell
him—THE KIYALS.

23

jEnter Faulkland.

Faulkland, you're welcome to Bath again; you are punc-
tual 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 ?

Abs. What, and lose two-thirds of her fortune ? you for-
get 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 own 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 hum-
drum wedding, and the reversion of a good fortune on my
side: no, no; I must prepare her gradually for the dis-
covery, 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.

Abs. Am not I a lover; ay, and a romantic one too ? Yet
do I carry every where with me such a confounded farrago of
doubts, fears, hopes, wishes, and all the flimsy furniture of
a country miss's brain !

Faulk. Ah ! Jack, your heart and soul are not, like24

THE RIVALS.

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 stripped of all. .

Abs. But, for heaven's sake ! what grounds for appre-
hension can your whimsical brain conjure up at present ?

Faulk. "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. 0 Jack ! when delicate
and feeling souls are separated, there is not a feature in the
sky, not a movement of the elements, not an aspiration of
the breeze, but hints some cause for a lover's apprehension !

Abs. Ay, but we may choose whether we will take
the hint or not.—So, then, Faulkland, if you were con-
vinced that Julia were well and in spirits, you would be
entirely content P

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. I 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.

25

Re-enter Fag.

Fag. Sir, Mr. Acres, just arrived, is 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 Fag.

Faulk. What, is he much acquainted in the family ?

Abs. Oh, very intimate: I insist on your not going:
besides, his character will divert you.

Faulk. Well, I should like to ask"him a few questions.

Abs. He is likewise a rival of mine—that is, of my other
self's, 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. Ha! 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 eccentric 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. Ay, Bob, Miss Melville's Mr. Faulkland.

Acres. Odso! she and your father can be but jus/
arrived before me :—I suppose you have seen them. Ab
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,—never26

THE RIVALS.

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 in-
disposed.

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 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 was saying that Miss Melville
has been so exceedingly well—what then she has been
merry and gay, I suppose ?—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.—Oh, by my soul! there is an
innate levity in woman, that nothing can overcome.—
What! happy, and I away!

Abs. 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 P

Abs. No indeed, you have not.

Faulk. Have I been lively and entertaining ?

Abs. Oh, 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 con-
foundedly stupid indeed.THE RIYALS.

27

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 ?

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, squallante, 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 damned name ?—Do you remember what songs Miss
Melville sung ?

Acres. Not I indeed.

Abs. Stay, now, they were some pretty melancholy purl-
ing-stream airs, I warrant; perhaps you may recollect;—
did she sing, When absent from my souVs delight ?

Acres. No, that wa'n't it.

Abs. Or Go gentle gales !	[Sings.

Acres. Oh, no ! nothing like it. Odds ! now I recollect
one of them—My hearth my own, my will is free. [Sings.

Faulk. Fool! fool that I am ! to fix all my happiness on
such a trifler ! 'Sdeath! to make herself the pipe and
balladmonger of a circle! to soothe 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 have28

THE RIVALS.

been temperately healthy, and somehow, plaintively gay;
—but she has been dancing too, I doubt not!

Acres. What does the gentleman say about dancing ?

Abs. 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 ! 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, seden-
tary—my days have been hours of care, my nights of
watchfulness.—She has been all health! spirit! laugh!
song ! dance!—Oh! damned, damned levity !

Abs. For Heaven's sake, Faulkland, don't expose your-
self so !—Suppose she has danced, what then P—does not
the ceremony of society often oblige--

Faulk. "Well, well, I'll contain myself—perhaps as you
say—for form's sake.—What, Mr/Acres, you were praising
Miss Melville's manner of dancing a minuet—hey ?

Acres. Oh, I dare insure her for that—but what I was
going to speak of was her country dancing. Odds swim,
mings ! she has such an air with her !

Faulk. Now disappointment on her!—Defend this, Abso-
solute ; why don't you defend this ?—Country-dances ! jigs
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!—Zounds !
had she made one in a cotillion—I believe I could have
forgiven even that—but to be monkey-led for a night!—to
run the gauntlet through 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 to pair with in a country-
dance ; and, even then, the rest of the couples should be her
great-uncles and aunts!THE RIVALS.

29

Abs. Ay, to be sure !—grandfathers and grandmothers!

Faulk. If there be but one vicious mind in the set, t'will
spread like a contagion—the action of their pulse beats to
the lascivious '.movement of the jig—their . quivering,
warm-breathed sighs impregnate the very air—the atmo-
sphere becomes electrical to love, and each amorous spark
darts through every link of the chain !—I must leave you—
I own I am somewhat flurried—and that confounded booby
has perceived it.	[Going.

Abs. Nay, but stay, Faulkland, and thank Mr. Acres for
his good news.

Faulk. Damn his news !	[Exit.

Abs. 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 yours
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 straightway cashier the hunting-
frock, and render my leather breeches incapable. My hair
has been in training some timeJ

Abs, Indeed!

Acres. Ay—and tho'ff the side curls are a little restive,
my hind-part takes it very kindly.

Abs. Oh, you'll polish, I doubt not.

Acres. Absolutely I propose so—then if I can find out30

THE RIVALS.

this Ensign Beverley, odds triggers and flints! I'll make
him know the difference o't.

Abs. Spoke like a man! But pray, Bob, I observe you
have got an odd kind of a new method of swearing-

Acres. Ha! ha! you've taken notice of it—'tis genteel,
isn't it F—I didn't invent it myself, though; but a com-
mander 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 ;—be-
cause, 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 Pallas! 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 ! 'tis genteel,
isnt it ?

Abs. Very genteel, and very new, indeed!—and I dare
say will supplant all other figures of imprecation.

Acres. Ay, ay, the best terms will grow obsolete.—Damns
have had their day.

He-enter Fag.

Fag. Sir, there is a gentleman below desires to see'you.—
Shall I show him into the parlour ?

Abs. Ay—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 ?

[Exit Fag.

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, when you shall give me a
dozen bumpers to little Lydia.

Abs. That I will with all my heart.—[Exit Acres.] Now
for a parental lecture—I hope he has heard nothing of theTHE RIVALS.

31

business that has brought me here—I wish the gout had
held him fast in Devonshire, with all my soul!

JEnter Sir Anthony Absolute.

Sir, I am delighted' to see you^here; looking so well! your
sudden arrival at Bath made me apprehensive for your health.

Sir Anth. Yery 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, though 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.

Abs. Pardon me, sir, I never saw you look more strong
and heartv; and I pray frequently that you may continue so.

Sir JLnth. 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 sensa-
tions 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 can-
not 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.

Ab*. My wife, sir !	v32

THE EIYALS.

Sir Anth. Ay, ay, settle thatbetween you—settle that be-
tween you.

Abs. A wife, sir, did you say ?

Sir Anth. Ay, a wife—why, did not I mention her before ?

Abs. Not a word of her, sir.

Sir Anth. Odd so !—I mustn't forget her though.—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 devil'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 !

Sir Anth. I am sure, sir, 'tis more unreasonable in you to,
object to a lady you know nothing of.

Abs. Then, sir, I must tell you plainly that my inclina-
tions are fixed on another—my heart is engaged to an angel.

Sir Anth. Then pray let it send an excuse. It is very
sorry—but business 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 someTHE RIVALS.

33

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.

Abs. Sir, I must repeat it—in this I cannot obey you.

Sir Anth. Now damn 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! not one
word! so give me your promise by a nod—and I'll 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! to----•

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 Museum; she shall have a skin like a
mummy, and the beard of a Jew—she shall be all this,
sirrah!—yet I will make you ogle her all day, and sit up
all night to write sonnets on her beauty.

Abs. This is reason and moderation indeed !

Sir Anth. 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'll 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.

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 ?

b—2334

THE RIVALS.

What the devil good can passion do ?—Passion is of no ser-
vice, youimpudent, 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 meekness 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, zounds! don't enter the same hemi-
sphere 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'll strip you of your commission; I'll
lodge a five-and-threepence in the hands of trustees, and
you shall live on the interest.—Ill disown you, I'll dis-
inherit you, I'll unget you! and damn me! if ever I call
you Jack again!	[Exit.

Abs. Mild, gentle, considerate father—I kiss your hands!
■—What a tender method of giving his opinion in these mat-
ters 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!

Re-enter Fag.

Fag. Assuredly, sir, your father is wroth to a degree; he
comes down stairs eight or ten steps at a time—muttering,
growling, and thumping the banisters 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, damns
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 aeidea and exit,THE RIVALS.

35

Fag. So! Sir Anthony trims my master; he is afraid toi
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 in the way, is the vilest in-
justice ! Ah! it shows the worst temper—the basest-

Enter Boy.

Boy. Mr. Eag! Mr. Fag! your master calls you.

Fag. "Well, you little dirty puppy, you need not bawl so!
■—The meanest disposition! the--

Boy. Quick, quick, Mr. Eag!

Fag. Quick! quick! you impudent jackanapes ! am I to
be commanded by you too ? you little impertinent, insolent,
kitchen-bred--[Exit kicking and beating him.

Scene II.—The North Farade,

Enter Lucy.

Lucy. 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 dis-
missed !—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 dear Dalia, as he calls her : I wonder he's not here!
—I have a little scruple of conscience from this deceit;
though I should not be paid so well, if my hero knew that
Delia was near fifty, and her own mistress.	..

Enter Sir Lucius O'Triggeb,.

Sir Luc. Ha! 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.0 gemini! and I have been
waiting for your worship here on the North.

Sir Luc. Eaith!—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—fori was only taking a nap at the Parade Coffee-36

THE RIVALS.

house, and I chose the window 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 lor me ?

Lucy. Yes, but I have—I've got a letter for you in my
pocket.

Sir Luc. 0 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. [Beads.] Sir—there is often a sudden incentive
impulse in love, that has a greater induction than years of
domestic combination: such was the commotion J felt at the
first superfluous view of Sir Lucius CP Trigger.—Very pretty,
upon my word.—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. Delia.
TJpon my conscience! Lucy, your lady is a great mistress of
language. Faith, she's 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. Ay, sir, a lady of her experience——.

Sir Luc. Experience! what, at seventeen ?

Lucy. 0 true, sir—but then she reads so—my stars! how
she will read off hand!

Sir Luc. Faith, she must be rery deep read to write this
way—though 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.

Lucy. Ah! Sir Lucius, if you were to hear how she talks
of you!

Sir Luc. Oh, tell her I'll make her the best husband in
the world, and Lady 0'Trigger into the barsrain!—But W9the rivals.

37

must get the old gentlewoman's consent:—and do every thing
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
ribbon; and meet me in the evening, and I'll give you an
answer to this. So, hussy, take a kiss beforehand to put you
in mind.	[Kisses her.

Lucy. 0 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 I what's
the name of it ?—modesty—is a quality in a lover more praised
by the women than liked; so, if your mistress asks you
whether Sir Lucius ever gave you a kiss, tell her fifty—my
dear.

Lucy. What, would you have me tell her a lie ?

Sir Luc. Ah, then, you baggage! I'll make it a truth
presently.

Lucy. For shame now! here is some one coming.

Sir Luc. Oh, faith, I'll quiet your conscience!

[Exit, humming a tune.

Enter Fag.

Fag. So, so, ma'am! I humbly beg pardon.

Lucy. 0*Lud! now, Mr. Fag—you flurry one so.

Fag. Come, come, Lucy, here's no one by—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.

Lucy. Ha! ha! ha! ypu gentlemen's gentlemen are so
hasty.—That letter was from Mrs. Malaprop, simpleton.—She
is taken with Sir Lucius's address.38

THE RIVALS.

Fag. How! what tastes some people have!—Why, I sup-
pose I have walked by her window a hundred times.—But
what says our young lady ? any message to my master ?

Lucy. Sad news, Mr. Fag.—A worse rival than Acres!
Sir Anthony Absolute has proposed his son.

Fag. What, Captain Absolute ?

Lucy. Even so—I overheard it all.

Fag. Ha! ha! ha! very good, faith. Good-bye, Lucy, I
must away with this news.

Lucy. 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. Oh, he'll be so disconsolate!

Lucy. And charge him not to think of quarrelling with
young Absolute.

Fag. Never fear! never fear!

Lucy. Be sure—bid him keep up his spirits.

Fag. We will—we will.	\Exeunt severalty.

ACT III.

ScenE I.—The North Parade.

Enter Captain Absolute.

Abs. 'Tis just as Fag told me, indeed. Whimsical enough,
faith! 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 awhile. He has too summary a
method of proceeding in these matters. 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 gruff.

[Steps aside.

Enter Sir Anthony Absolute.

Sir Anth, No—I'll die sooner than forgive him. Die,
did I say ? I'll live these fifty years to plague him. At our
last meeting, his impudence had almost put me out ofTHE RIVALS.

39

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, besides 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.

Abs. [Aside, coming forward.~\ 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 con-
sidering on your past goodness, and kindness, and con-
descension to me.

Sir Anth. Well, sir P

Abs. I have been likewise v; i^ghing 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 Jack again.

Abs. I am happy in the appellation.

Sir Anth. Why then, Jack, my dear Jack, I will now in-
form 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 ?

Abs. Languish! What, the Languishes of Worcestershire?

Sir Anth. Worcestershire ! no. Did you never meet Mrs.40

THE RIVALS.

Malaprop and Her niece, Miss Languish, who came into our
country just before you were last ordered to your regiment?

Abs. Malaprop! Languish! I don't remember ever to
have heard the names [before. Yet, stay—I think I do
recollect something. Languish! Languish ! She squints,
don't she ? A little red-haired girl ?

Sir Anth. Squints! A red-haired girl! Zounds! 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 P

Abs. 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 inno-
cently 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! Then, Jack, her lips! O Jack, lips
smiling at their own discretion; and if not smiling, more
sweetly pouting; more lovely in sullenness!

Abs. That's she indeed. Well done, old gentleman. [Aside.

Sir Anth. Then, Jack, her neck !> O Jack! Jack!

Abs. And which is to be mine, sir, the niece, or the aunt?

Sir Anth. Why, you unfeeling, insensible puppy, I des-
pise you! When I was of your age, such a description
would have made me fly like a rocket! The aunt indeed !
Odds life! when I ran away with your mother, I would not
have touched any thing old or ugly to gain an empire.

Abs. Not to please your father, sir ?

Sir Anth. To please my father! zounds! not to please—
Oh, my father—odd so!—yes—yes; if my father indeed had
desired—that's quite another matter. Though he wa'n't the
indulgent father that I am, Jack.

Abs. I dare say not, sir.

Sir Anth, But, Jack, you are not sorry to find your

mistress is so beautiful ?THE RIVALS.

41

Abs. Sir, I repeat it—if I please you in this affair, 'tis all
T desire. 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 choose a wife of mine to have the usual
number of limbs, and a limited quantity of back: and though
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.

Abs. 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'll
marry the niece.

Sir Anth. Upon my word, Jack, thou'rt either a very
great hypocrite, or—but, come, I know your indifference on
such a subject must be all a lie—I'm>sure it must—come,
now—damn your demure face!—come, confess Jack—you
have been lying—ha'n't you ? You have been playing the
hypocrite, hey!—I'll 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'll write a note to Mrs. Malaprop, and you shall
visit the lady directly. Her eyes shall be the Promethean
torch to you—come along, I'll never forgive you, if you
don't come back stark mad with rapture and impatience—if
you don't, egad, I will marry the girl myself I [Exeunt.

*?*—3342

THE RIVALS.

Scene II.—Julia's Dressing-room.

Faulkland discovered alone.

%

Faulk. They told me Julia would return directly; I
wonder she is not yet come! How mean does this captious,
unsatisfied temper of 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 subject, 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! how delicate was the warmth of her
expressions! I was ashamed to appear less happy—though
I had come resolved to wear a face of coolness and up-
braiding. Sir Anthony's presence prevented my proposed
expostulations: yet I must be satisfied that she has not been
so very happy in my absence. She is coming! Yes !—I
know the nimbleness of her tread, when she thinks her im-
patient Faulkland counts the moments of her stay.

Enter Julia.

Jul. I had not hoped to see you again so soon.

Faulk. Could I, Julia, be contented with my first welcome
—restrained as we were by the presence of a third person ?

Jul. 0 Faulkland, when your kindness can make me thus
happy, let me not think that I discovered something of cold-
ness in your first salutation.

Faulk. 'Twas but your fancy, Julia. I was 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.

Faulk. Well, then—shall I own to you 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 suchTHE RIVALS.	43

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
compact 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 affection ? ""

JFaulk. 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 mirth—say that you thought of Faulkland in
the dance.

Jul. I never can be happy in your absence. If I wear a
countenance of content, it is to show that my mind holds
no doubt of my Faulkland's truth. If I seemed sad, it
were to make malice triumph; and say, that I had fixed
my heart on one, who left me to lament his roving, and
my own credulity. Believe 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.

1Faulk. You were ever all goodness to me. Oh, 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 last 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 wished myself deformed, to be
convinced that I owed no obligation there for any part of
your affection.44

THE RIVALS.

Jul Whore nature has bestowed a show 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 my 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 JEthiop, 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 tlie object of your
persevering love P

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 though I wished 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 doubts arise from this. Women are not used
to weigh and separate the motives of their affections: the
cold dictates of prudence, gratitude, 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, nor character, to found dislike on; my fortune such
as few ladies could be charged with indiscretion in the
match. O Julia! when love receives such countenance
from prudence, nice minds will be suspicious of its birth.THE RIVALS.

45

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!	[Exit in tears.

Faulk. In tears ! Stay, Julia : stay but for a moment.—
The door is fastened!—Julia!—my soul—but for one
moment!—I hear her sobbing !—'Sdeath! what a brute am
I to use her thus! Yet stay.—Ay—she is coming now
how little resolution there is in woman!—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 resent-
ful. Stay! she is coming too—I thought she would—no
steadiness in any thing: her going away must have been a
mere trick then—she sha'nt see that I was hurt by it.—I'll
affect indifference.—[Hums a tune: then listens.'] No—
zounds ! she's not coming!—nor don't intend it, I suppose.
—This is not steadiness, but obstinacy ! Yet I deserve it.—
What, after so long an absence to quarrel with her tender-
ness ! 'twas barbarous and unmanly!—I should be ashamed
to see her now.—I'll 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 antigue 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, with a letter in her hand, 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, 1 am convinced you deserve the charac-
ter here given bf you.

Abs* Permit mtf to say, madam, that as I never yet have
had the pleasure of seeing Miss Languish, my principal46

THE RIVALS.

inducement in this affair at present is the honour of being
allied to Mrs. Malaprop; of whose intellectual accomplish-
ments, elegant manners, and unaffected learning, no tongue
is silent.

Mrs. Mai. Sir, you do me infinite honour! I beg, captain,
you'll be seated.—[They sit.'] Ah, few gentlemen, now-a-
days, know how to value the ineffectual qualities in a woman!
few think how a little knowledge becomes a gentlewoman!—
Men have no sense now but for the worthless flower of
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 knowledge in them would be super-
fluous. Thus, like garden-trees, they seldom show fruit,
till time has robbed them of the more specious blossom.—
Few, like Mrs. Malaprop and the orange-tree, are rich in
both at once!

Mrs. Mctl. Sir, you overpower me with good-breeding.—
He is the very pine-arm!e of politeness !—You are not igno-
rant, captain, that this giddy girl has somehow contrived to
fix her affections on a beggarly, strolling, eaves-dropping
ensign, whom none of us have seen, and . nobody knows any-
thing of.

Abs. Oh, I have heard the silly affair before.—I'm not at
all prejudiced against her on that account.

Mrs. Mai. Y$u are very good and very considerate, captain.
I am sure I have done every thing in my power since I ex-
ploded the affair ; long ago I laid my positive conjunctions
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.

Abs. 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 intercededTHE RIVALS.

47

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! O 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. Mai. Nay, but read it, captain.

Abs. [Reads.] My souVs idol, my adored Zydia !—Very
tender indeed!	^

Mrs. Mai. Tender! ay, and profane, too, o' my con-
science.

Abs. [Reads.] J am excessively alarmed al the intelligence
you send me, the more so as my new rival-

Mrs. Mai: That's you, sir.

Abs. [Reads.] Has universally the character of being an
accomplished gentleman a/rid a man of honour.—Well, that's
handsome enough.

Mrs. Mai. Oh, the fellow has some design in writing so.

Abs. That he had, I'll answer for him, ma'am.

Mrs. Mai. But go on, sir—you'll see presently.

Abs. [Reads;] As for the old weather-beaten she-dragon
who guards you—Who can he mean by that ?

Mrs. Mhl: Me, sir!—mo !—he means me !—There—what
do you think now?—but go on a little further.

Abs. Impudent scoundrel!—[Reads.] It shall go hard but
I will elude her vigilance, as I am told that the same ridi-
culous vanity, which makes her dress up her coarse features,
and deck her dull chat with hard words which she don't un-
derstand--

Mrs. Mai. There, sir, an attack upon my language! what
do von think of that?—an aspersion upon my parts of
speech! was ever such a brute! Sure, if I reprehend any48

THE RIVALS.

thing in this world, it is the use of my oracular tongue, and
a nice derangement of epitaphs!

Abs. He deserves to be hanged and quartered! let me see
—[Reads.] same ridiculous vanity-

Mrs. Mai. You need not read it again, sir.

Abs. I beg pardon, ma'am—[Reads.] does also lay her
open to the grossest deceptions from flattery and pretended ad-
miration—an impudent coxcomb !—so that I have a scheme to
see you shortly with the old harridan's consent, and even to make
her a go-between in our interview.—"Was ever such assurance!

Mrs. Mai. Did you ever hear any thing like it ?—he '11
elude my vigilance, will he—yes, yes! ha! ha! he's very
likely to enter these doors;—we '11 try who can plot best!

Abs. So we will, ma'am—so we will! Ha! 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 pre-
pared for a visit of this kind. There is a decorum in these
matters.

Abs. O Lord! she won't mind me—only tell her Bever-
ley-

Mrs. Mai. Sir!

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!THE RIVALS.

49

Mrs. Mai. 'Twould be a trick she well deserves , besides,
you know the fellow tells her he '11 get my consent to see
her—ha! ha! Let him if he can, I say again. Lydia,
come down here !—[Calling.He '11 make me a go-between
in their interviews!—ha! ha ! ha! Come down, I say,
Lydia! I don't wonder at your laughing, ha! ha! ha! 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!
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'll see whether she knows
me.

[Walks aside, and seems engaged in looking at the pic-
tures.

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. 1
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 oh, 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.	[Turns round.

Abs. Ma'am.50

THE RIVALS.

Lyd. O heavens ! Beverley!

Abs. Hush!—hush, my life! softly! be not surprised!

Lyd. I am so astonished! and so terrified! and so over-
joyed !—for Heaven'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 con-
triving to have him kept away, have passed myself on her
for Captain Absolute.

Lyd. O charming! And she really takes you for young
Absolute ?

Abs. Oh, she's convinced of it.

Lyd. Ha! ha! ha! I can't forbear laughing to think how
her sagacity is overreached!

Abs. But we trifle with our precious moments—such
another opportunity may not occur; then let me now con-
jure my kind, my condescending angel, to fix the time when
I may rescue her from undeserving persecution, and with a
licensed warmth plead for my reward.

Lyd. Will you Jbhen, 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.

Lyd. How persuasive are his words!—how charming will
poverty be with him!	\Aside.

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 centre
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 Heavens ! 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, theTHE RIVALS.

51

world affords 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,

Mrs. Mai. I am impatient to know how the little hussy
deports herself.	[Aside.

Abs. So pensive, Lydia!—is then your warmth abated ?

Mrs. Mai. Warmth abated !—so !—she has been in a pas-
sion, I suppose.	[Aside.

Lyd. No—nor ever can while I have life.

Mrs. Mai. An ill tempered little devil! She '11 be in a
passion all her life—will 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 Captain Absolute, but Beverley
is mine.

Mrs. Mai. I am astonished at her assurance!—to his face
—this is to his face!	[Aside.

Abs. Thus then let me enforce my suit.	[Kneeling.

Mrs. Mai. [Aside.] Ay, poor young man!—down on his
knees entreating for pity!—I can contain no longer.—
[Coming forward.] Why, thou vixen!—I have overheard you.

Abs. Oh, confound her vigilance !	[Aside.

Mrs. Mai. Captain Absolute, I know not how to apologize
for her shocking rudeness.

Abs. [Aside."] So all's safe, I find.—[Aloud.] I have

hopes, madam, that time will bring the young lady-

mMrs. Mai. Oh, there's nothing to be hoped for from her!
she's as headstrong as an allegory on the banks of Nile.

Lyd. Nay, madam, what do you charge me with now ?

Mr8. Mai. Why, thou unblushing rebel—didn't you tell
this gentleman to his face that you loved another better ?—
didn't you say you never would be his ?52

THE RIVALS.

Lyd. No, madam—I did not.

Mrs. Mai. Good Heavens! • what assurance ! — Lydia
Lydia, you ought to lmow 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 loved
Bev-

Mrs. Mai. Hussy ! I'll choke the word in your throat!—
come along—come along.

{Exeunt severally; Captain Absolute kissing his
hand to Lydia—Mrs. Malaprop stopping her from
speaking.

Scene IV.—Acres' Lodgings.

Acres, as just dressed, and David.

Acres. Indeed, David—do you think I become it so ?
' Dav. You are quite another creature, believe me, master,
by the mass! an' we've any luck we shall see the Devon
monkerony in all the print-shops in Bath!

Acres. Dress does make a difference, David.	*

Dav. 'Tis 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 ITHE RIYALS.

53

warrant Dolly Tester, your honour's favourite, would blush
like my waistcoat.—Oons! I'll 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. Ay, David, there's nothing like polishing.

Dav. 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'll call again, sir.

Acres. Do—and see if there are any letters for me at tho
post-office.	•

Dav. I 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. [.Practising a dancing-step.] Sink, slide—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 to couple—figure
in—right and left—and I'd foot it with e'er a captain
in the county!—but these outlandish heathen allemandes
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!—damn me! my feet don't
like to be called paws! no, 'tis certain I have most Anti -
gallican toes!

Enter Servant.

Serv. Here is Sir Lucius O'Trigger to wait on you, sir.

Acres. Show him in.	[Exit Servant.

Enter Sir Lucius O'Trigger.

Sir Luc. Jlr. Acres, I am delighted to embrace you.

Acres. My dear Sir Lucius, I kiss your hands.54

THE RIVALS.

Sir Luc. Pray, my friend, what has brought you so sud-
denly 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 fall as depp 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 otherwise 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. Ay, 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 pro-
vocation in the world. Can a man commit a more heinous
offence against another than to fall in love with the same
woman ? Oh, by my soul! it is the most unpardonable
breach of friendship.

Acres. Breach of friendship! ay, ay; but I have no ac-
quaintance with this man. I never saw him in my life.

Sir Luc. That's no argument at all—he has t&e less right
then to take such a liberty.THE RIVALS

55

Acres, Gad, that's true—I grow full of anger, Sir Lucius!
—I fire apace! Odd 3 hilts and "blades ! I find a man may
have a deal of valour in him, and not know it! But
couldn't I contrive to have a little right on my side ?

Sir Luc. What the devil signifies right, when your
honour is concerned P 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. a

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'll challenge him directly.

Sir Luc. Ah, my little friend, if I had Blunderbuss Hall
here, I could show you a range of ancestry, in the 0'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 slipped through my fingers, I thank heaven
our honour and the family-pictures are as fresh as ever.

Acres. 0, 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 braced for it. The thunder of
your words has soured the milk of human kindness in my
breast;—Zounds ! 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.—[Sits down to write.] I would
the ink were red!—Indite, I say indite !—How shall I be-
gin ? Odds bullets and blades! I'll write a good bold hand,
however.

.* Sir Luc. Pray compose yourself.

;b Acres. Come—now, shall I begin with an oath ? Do, Sir
Lucius, let me begin with a damme.56

THE RIVALS.

Sir Luc. Pho! pho]! do the thing decently, and like a

Christian. Begin now—Sir-

Acres. That's too civil by half.

Sir Luc. To prevent the confusion that might arise--

Acres. Well-

Sir Luc. From our both addressing the same lady-

Acres. Ay, there's the reason—same lady—well-

Sir Luc. I shall expect the honour of your company--

Acres. Zounds! I'm not asking him to dinner.

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, ay, King's-Mead Fields will do—in
Kingh-Mead-Fields.

Acres. So, that's done—Well, I'll fold it tip presently;
my own crest—a hand and a 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. Ay, we fight to prevent any misunderstanding.
Sir Lite. Now, I'll leave you to fix your own time.—Take
my advice, and you'll 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 more 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 expense
of my country, and I only want to fall in with the gentle-
man, 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,^THE RIVALS.

57

Sir Zuo. I shall be very proud of instructing you.—Well
for the present—but remember now, when you meet your
antagonist, do everything in a mild and agreeable manner.
—Let your courage be as keen, but at the same time as
polished, as your sword.	[Exeunt severally*

ACT IV.

Scene I.—Acres' Lodgings.

Acres and, David.

' Dav. Then, by the mass, sir! I would do no such thing
—ne'er a Sir Lucius O'Trigger in the kingdom should make
me fight, when I wa'n't so minded. Oons! what will the
old lady say, when she hears o't ?

Acres. Ah! David, if you had heard Sir Lucius !—Oddg
sparks and flames! he would have roused your valour.

Dav. Not he, indeed. I hate such bloodthirsty cor-
morants.J 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.

Dav. Ay, 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!

Dav. I say, then, it would be but civil in honour never
to risk the loss of a gentleman.—Look'ee, master, this
honour seems to me to be a marvellous false friend: ay,
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 case58

THE RIVALS.

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.

Dav. Now, that's just the place where' I could make a
shift to do without it.

Acres. Zounds! 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 !

Dm. 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 gpod 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!

Dm. By the mass, I think 'tis ten to one against you!—
Oons! here to meet some lion-headed fellow, I warrant,
with his damned 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 a'nt been so
merciless a beast in the world as your loaded pistol!

Acres. Zounds ! 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.

Dm. Ay, i' the name of mischief, let him be the mes-
senger.—For my part I wouldn't lend a hand to it for the
best horse in your stable. By the mass! it don't loirk like
another letter! It is, as I may say, a designing andTHE RIVALS.

59

malicious-looking letter; and I warrant smells of gun-
powder like a soldier's pouch!—Oons! I wouldn't swear it
mayn't go off!

Acres. Out, you poltroon! you ha'nt the valour of a
grasshopper.

Dav. "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!—Ay, 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. [ Whimpering.

Acres. It won't do, David—I am determined to fight—so
£et along you coward, while I'm in the mind.

■Enter Servant.

Ser. Captain Absolute, sir.

Acres. Oh! show him up.	[Exit Servant.

Dav. Well, Heaven send we be all alive this time to-
morrow.

Acres. What's that ?—Don't provoke me, David!

Dav. Good-bye, master.	[ Whimpering.

Acres. Get along, you cowardly, dastardly, croaking
raven f	[Exit David.

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-

Abs. But what did you want with me, Bob ?

Acres. Oh !—There---[Gives him the challenge.

4 Abs. [Aside."] To Ensign Beverley.that's . on
now [Aloud."] Well, what's tins?

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'll fight this
evening, that so much good passion mayn't be wasted.60

THE RIVALS.

Abs. But what have I to do with this P

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? 1

Abs. Why, no, Bob—not in this affair—it would, not be
quite so proper.

Acres. Well, then, I must get my friend Sir Lucius. I
shall have your good wishes, however, Jack ? -

Abs. Whenever he meets you, believe me.'

Re-enter Servant.

Ser. Sir Anthony Absolute is below, inquiring for the
captain.

Abs. I'll come instantly.—[Exit Servant.] Well, my
little hero, success attend you.	[Going.

Acres.—Stay—stay, Jack.—If Beverley should ask you
what kind of a mail your friend Acres is, do tell him I am a
devil of a fellow—will you, Jack ?

Abs. To be sure I shall. I'll say you are a determined
dog—hey, Bob !

Acres. Ay, do, do—and if that frightens,, him, egad, per-
haps he mayn't come. So tell him I generally kill a man a
week; will you, Jack?

Abs. I will, I will; I'll say you are called in the country
Fighting Bob.

Acres. Right—right—'tis all to prevent mischief; 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 PTHE RIVALS,

61

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!

Abs. I will, I will.

Acres. Kemember, Jack—a determined dog!

Abs. Ay, ay, Fighting Bob!	[Exeunt severally.

Scene IL—Mrs. Malaprop's Lodgings.

Mrs. Malaprop and Lydia.

Mrs. Mai. Why, thou perverse one!—-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!—
[Aloud.] So is Beverley, ma'am.

Mrs. Mai. No caparisons, miss, if you please. Caparisons
don't become a young woman. No ! Captain Absolute is
indeed a fine gentleman !

Lyd. Ay, 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 gram-
matical ! 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 Servant.] Now,
Lydia, I insist on your behaving as becomes a young62

THE KIVALS.

woman. Show your good breeding, at least, though you
have forgot your duty.

Lyd. 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 Absolute and Captain Absolute.

Sir Anth. Here we are, Mrs. 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 ii I had not 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!—[Aside to Lydia.]
Lydia, Lydia, rise, I beseech you !—pay your respects !

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.—[Aside to Captain Abso-
lute.] Now, Jack, speak to her.

Abs. [Aside.'] What the devil shall I do !—[Aside to Sir
Anthony.] 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 !

' ^	[Seems to expostulate with his father.

Lyd. [Aside.] I wonder I ha'n'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 Anth. I say, sir, I won't stir a foot yet!

Mrs. Mai. I am sorry to say, Sir Anthony, that my
affluence over my niece is very small.—[Aside to Lydia.]
Turn round, Lydia; I blush for you !

Sir Anth. May I not flatter myself, that Miss Languish
will assign what cause of dislike she can have to my son!—
[Aside to Captain Absolute.] Why don't you begin, Jack ?
—Speak, you puppy-—speak ITHE RIVALS.

m

'Mrs. Mai. It is impossible Sir Anthony, she can have
any. She will not say she has.—[Aside to Lydia.] Answer,
hussy ! why don't you answer ?

Sir Anth. Then, madam, I trust that a childish and hasty
predilection will be no bar to Jack's happiness.—[Aside to
Captain Absolute.]—Zounds! sirrah! why don't you speak?

Lyd. [Aside.] I think my lover seems as little inclined
to conversation as myself.—How strangely blind my aunt
must be!

Ads. Hem ! hem! madam—hem !—[Attempts to speak,
then returns to Sir Anthony.] Faith ! sir, I am so con-
founded !—and—so—so—confused!—I told you I should be
so, sir—I knew it.—The—the—tremor of my passioh
entirely takes away my presence of mind.

Sir Anth. But, it don't take away your voice, fool, does
it ?—Go up, and speak to her directly !

[Captain Absolute makes signs to Mbs. Malapbop to
leave them together.

Mrs. Mai. Sir Anthony, shall we leave them together -
[Aside to Lydia.] Ah ! you stubborn little vixen !

Sir Anth. Not yet, ma'am, not yet!—[Aside to Captain
Absolute.] "What the devil are you at ? unlock your jaws,
sirrah, or-

Abs. [Aside.] Now Heaven send she may be too sullen to
look round !—I must disguise my voice.—[Draws near
Lydia, and speaks in a low hoarse tone.] Will not Miss
Languish lend an ear to the mild accents of true love P
Will not--

Sir Anth. What the devil ails the fellow ? Why don't
you speak out?—not stand croaking like a frog in a
quinsy !

Abs. The—the—excess of my awe, and my—my—my
modesty, quite choke me !

Sir Anth. Ah! your modesty again!—I'll 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 the0>4

THE RIVALS.

lady would favour us with something more than a side-
front.

[Mrs. Malaprop seems to chide Lydia.

Abs. [Aside.] So all will out, I see !—[Goes up to Lydia,
speaks softly.] Be not surprised, my Lydia, suppress all
Burprise at present.

Lyd. [Aside.] Heavens ! '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 he ?—my Beverley ?

Abs. Ah! 'tis all over.	[Aside.

Sir Anth. Beverley!—the devil—Beverley!—What can
the girl mean ?—This is my son, Jack Absolute.

Mrs. Mai. 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.

Lyd. I see no Captain Absolute, but my loved Beverley !

Sir Anth. Zounds! the girl's mad !—her brain's turned
by reading.

Mrs. Mai. 0' my conscience, I believe so!—What do you
mean by Beverley, hussy ?—You saw Captain Absolute be-
fore to-day ; there he is—your husband that shall be.

Lyd. With all my soul, ma'am—when I refuse my Bever-
ley--

Sir Anth. Oh! she's as mad as Biedlam!—or has this fel-
low been playing us a rogue's trick!—Come here, sirrah,
who the devil are you ?

Abs. Faith, sir, I am not quite clear myself; but I'll
endeavour to recollect.

Sir Anth. Are you my son or not ?— answer for your
mother, you dog, if you won't for me.

Mrs. Mai. Ay, sir, who are you ? 0 mercy! I begin to
suspect!—

Abs. [Aside.] Ye powers of impudence, befriend me!—
[Aloud.] Sir Anthony, most assuredly I am your wife's
son; and that I sincerely believe myself to be yours alsQTHE RIVALS.

65

I hope my duty has always shown.—Mrs. Malaprop, I am
your most respectful admirer, and shall be proud to add
affectionate nephew.—I need not tell my Lydia, that she
sees her faithful Beverley, who, knowing the singular
generosity of her temper, assumed that tname and station,
which has proved a test of the most disinterested love, which
he now hopes to enjoy in a more elevated character.

Lyd. 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!

Abs. 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, insen-
sible 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 damned sudden!—You never heard their names before,
not you !—what the Languishes of Worcestershire, hey F—if
you could please me in the affair it was all you desired I—Ah !
you dissembling villain!—What!—[Pointing to Lydia] she
squints, don't she ?—a little red-haired girl!—hey ?—Why,
you hypocritical young rascal!—I wonder you an't ashamed
to hold up your head!

Abs. 'Tis with difficulty, sir.—I am confused—very much
confused, as you must perceive.

Mrs. Mai. O Lud ! Sir Anthony!—a new light breaks in
upon me!—hey !—how! what! captain, did you write the
letters then P—What—am 1 to thank you for the elegant
compilation of an old weather-beaten she-dragon—hey!—O
mercy!—was it you that reflected on my parts of speech ?

Abs. Dear sir! my modesty will be overpowered 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

c—2366

THE RIVALS.

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 ! and so gallant! hey! Mrs. Malaprop !

Mrs. Mai. Well, Sir Anthony, since you desire it, we will
not anticipate the past!—so mind, young people—our re-
trospection 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 war-
rant !—Jack—isn't the cheek as I said, hey ?—and the eye,
you rogue!—and the lip—hey? Come, Mrs. Malaprop,
we'll 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 could not do!—Permit me, ma'am—[Gives his hand to
Mrs. Malaprop.] Tol-de-rol—'gad, I should like to have a
little fooling myself—Tol-de-rol! de-rol.

Exit, singing and handing Mrs. Malaprop.—Lydia sits
sullenly in her chair.

Abs. [Aside.] So much thought bodes me no good.—
[Aloud.] So grave, Lydia!

Lyd. Sir!

Abs. [Aside.] So!—egad! I thought as much!—that
damned monosyllable has froze me!—[Aloud.] What, Lydia,
now that we are as happy in our friends' consent, as in our
mutual vows--

Lyd. Friends' consent indeed!	[Peevishly.

Abs. Come, come, we must lay aside some of our romance
—a little wealth and comfort may be endured after all. And
for your fortune, the lawyers shall make such settlements
as--

lyd. Lawyers! I hate lawyers!

Abs. Nay, then, we will not wait for their lingering forms,
but instantly procure the licence, and-

Lyd. The licence !—I hate licence !

Abs. Oh my love! be not so unkind!—thus let me en-
treat__[Kneeling.THE RIVALS.

67

Lyd. Psha !—what signifies kneeling, when you know I
must have you ?

Abs. [Rising.Nay, madam, there shall be no constraint
upon your inclinations, I promise you.—If I have lost your
heart—I resign the rest—[Aside."] 'Gad I must try what a
little spirit will do.

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 !—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 flattered myself that I should outwit and
incense them all—behold my hopes are to be crushed at
once, by my aunt's consent and approbation—and I am
myself the only dupe at last!—[ Walking about in a heat.]
But here, sir, here is the picture—Beverley's picture!
[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!—-ay, there is the heavenly assenting
smile that first gave soul and spirit to my hopes!—those
are the lips which sealed a vow, as yet scarce dry in
Cupid's calendar! and there the half-resentful blush that
would have checked the ardour of my thanks!—Well, all
that's past!—all over indeed !—There, madam—in beauty,
that copy is not equal to you, but in my mind its merit
over the original in being still the same, is such—that—I
cannot find in my heart to part with it. [Puts it up again.

Lyd. [Softening.] 'Tis your own doing, sir—I, I, I sup-
pose you are perfectly satisfied.

Abs. 0, most certainly—sure, now, this is much betterTHE RIVALS.

•than being in love !—ha! ha ! ha!—there's some spirit in
this !—What signifies breaking some scores of solemn pro-
mises:—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. [Bursts into tears.

Re-enter Mrs. Malaprop and Sir Anthony Absolute.

Mrs. Mai. Come, we must interrupt your billing and
cooing awhile.

Lyd. This is worse than your treachery and deceit, you
base ingrate !	[Sobbing.

Sir Anth. What the devil's the matter now!—Zounds,
Mrs. Malaprop, this is the oddest billing and cooing I ever
heard!—but what the deuce is the meaning of it F—I am
quite astonished !

Abs. Ask the lady, sir.

Mrs. Mai. Oh mercy !—I'm quite analysed, for my part!
—Why, Lydia, what is the reason of this ?

Lyd. Ask the gentleman, ma'am.

Sir Anth. Zounds ! I shall be in a frenzy!—Why, Jack,
you are not come out to be any one else, are you ?

Mrs. Mai. Ay, sir, there's no more trick, is there?—you
are not like Cerberus, three gentlemen at once, are you ?

Abs. You'll 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.

Mrs. Mai. O mercy! and miracles ! what a turn here is—
why sure, captain, you haven't behaved disrespectfully to
my niece.

Sir Anth. Ha! ha ! ha !—ha! ha! ha!—now I see it.
Ha! ha! ha S—now I see it—you have been too lively. Jack,THE RITALS.

69

Abs. Nay, sir, upon my word-

Sir Anth. Come, no lying, Jack—I'm sure 'twas so.

Mrs. Mai. O Lud ! Sir Anthony !—0 fy, captain!

Abs. Upon my soul, ma'am---

Sir Anth. Come, no excuses, Jack; why, your father, you
rogue, was so before you:—the bloed 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. Zounds ! say no more, I tell you—Mrs. Mala-
prop shall make your peace.—You must make his peace,
Mrs. Malapfop:—you must tell her'tis Jack's way—tell her
'tis all our ways—it runs in the blood of our family!—
Come away, Jack—Ha ! ha ! ha! Mrs. Malaprop—a young
villain!	[Pushing him out.

Mrs. Mai. O! Sir Anthony !—0 fy, captain I

Sir Luc. I wonder where this Captain Absolute hides him-
self ! Upon my conscience ! these officers are always in one's
way in love affairs:—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 see 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. Ha! 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

Scene III.—The North Parade.
Enter Sir Lucius O'Trigger.

is he talking to ?

[Steps aside.

Enter Captain Absolute.

Abt. [Aside.] To what fine purpose I have been plotting!
a noble reward for all my schemes, upon my soul!—a little70

THE RIVALS.

gipsy!—I did not think her romance could have made her so
damned 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!

Sir Luc. Oh, 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 conversa-
tion with him, and so quarrel genteelly.—[Goes up to Captain
Absolute.] With regard to that matter, captain, I must
beg leave to differ in opinion with you.

Abs. Upon my word, then, you must be a very subtle dis-
putant :—because,fsir, 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 think an untruth as well as speak one.

Abs. 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 differ in opinion with me, which
amounts to the same thing.

Abs. 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 apprehension.—]Bowing.] You have named the very
thing I would be at.

Abs. Yery well, sir; I shall certainly not balk your in-
clinations.—But I should be glad you would please to ex-
plain 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 passed on me within
this week. So, no more, but name your time and place.

Abs. Well, sir, since you are so bent on it. the sooner theTHE RIVALS.

71

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 shows very great ill-breeding. I don't know what's
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.

Abs. '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's settled, and my mind's at ease.	[Exit.

Enter Faulkland.

Abs. Well met ! I was going to look for you. O, Faulk-
land! all the demons of spite and disappointment have con-
spired against me ! I'm so vexed, that if I had not the
prospect of a resource in being knocked o' the head by-and-
by, 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.

Abs. Ay, 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.

Faulk. But what's the resource you-

Abs. Oh, to wind up the whole, a good-natured Irishman
here has—[Mimicking Sir Lucius]—begged leave to have
the pleasure of cutting my throat; and I mean to indulge
him—that's all.

Faulk. Prithee, be serious* 172

THE RIVALS.

Abs. '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.

Faulk. 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.

Abs. Why? there will be light enough: there will (aa
Sir Lucius says) be very pretty small-sword light, though
it will not do for a long shot. Confound his long shots.

Faulk. But I am myself a good deal ruffled by a differ-
ence 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.

A fa. By heavens! Faulkland, you don't deserve her!

Enter Servant, gives Faulkland a letter, and exit.

Faulk. Oh, Jack! this is from Julia. I dread to open it! I
fear it may be to take a last leave !—perhaps to bid me return
her letters, and restore--Oh, how I suffer for my folly!

Abs. Here, let me see.—[Takes the letter and opens it.] Ay,
a final sentence, indeed !—'tis all over with you, faith!

Faulk. Nay, Jack, don't keep me in suspense!

Abs. Hear, then.-—[Reads.] As I am convinced that my
dear Faulkland'$ own reflections have already upbraided him
for his last unkindness to me, I will not add a word on the
subject. I wish to speak with you as soon as possible. Yours
ever and truly, Julia. There's stubbornness and resentment
for you!—[Gives him the letter.] Why, man, you don't seem
one whit the happier at this !

Faulk. O yes, I am; but—but-

Abs. Confound your buts ! you never hear anything that
would make another man bless himself, but you immediately
damn it with a but 1THE RIVALS.

73

Faulk. Now, Jack, as you are my friend, own honestly—
don't you think there is something forward, something in-
delicate, in this haste to forgive ? Women should never sue
for reconciliation: that should always come from us.
They should retain their coldness till wooed to kindness;
and their pardon, like their love, should " not unsought be
won."

Abs. I have not patience to listen to you! thou'rt incor-
rigible ! so say no more on the subject. I must go to settle
a few matters. Let me see you before six, remember, at
my lodgiDgs. A poor industrious devil like me, who have
toiled, and drudged, 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 compassion!	[Exit.

Faulk. 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 J will instantly
pursue. I'll 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 alloy of pride, predominate,
'twill be best to leave her as a toy for some less cautious
fool to sigh for!	[Exit.

ACT V.

Scene 1.—Julia's Dressing-Boom.

Julia discovered alone.

Jul. How this message has alarmed me ! what dreadful
accident can he mean ? -why such charge to be alone ?—0
Faulkland !—how many unhappy moments—how many
tears have you cost me.74

THE RIVALS.

Enter Fatjlkland.

Jul. What means this ?—why this caution, Faulkiand ?

Faulk. Alas ! Julia, I am come to take a long farewell.

Jul. Heavens ! what do you mean ?

Faulk. You see before you a wretch, whose life is for-
feited. 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
entirely, before this mischance had fallen on me, I should
not so deeply dread my banishment!

Jul. My soul is oppressed 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 now 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
par suit, my father's will may b;> 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 smooth the brow of up-
braiding 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 Faulkiand
can make you beside his solitary love ?

Jul. I ask not a moment. No, Faulkiand, I have loved
you for yourself : and if I now, more than ever, prize the
solemn engagement 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 dolay—I

THE RIVALS.

75

Faulk. 'Twjll be better I should not venture out again till
dark. Yet am I grieved to think what numberless dis-
tresses will press heavy on your gentle disposition !

JuL Perhaps your fortune may be forfeited by this un-
happy act.—I know not whether 'tis so; but sure that
alone can never make us unhappy. The little I have will
be sufficient to support us; and exile never should be
splendid.

Faulk. Ay, but in such an abject state of life, my wounded
pride perhaps may increase the natural fretfulness ol iny
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!

Jul. 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, by bearing your in-
firmities with gentleness and resignation, may teach you so
to bear the evils of your fortune.

Faulk. 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 effect of my rest-
less, unsatisfied disposition ?

Jul. Has no such disaster happened as you related F

Faulk. I am ashamed to own that it was pretended; yet
in j)ity, 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 vour cruel doubts should have urged you to an imposi-76

THE RIVALS.

tion that has wrung my heart, gives me now a pang more
keen than I can express !

Faulk. By Heavens ! Julia--

Jul. Yet hear me.—My father loved you, Faulkland ! and
you preserved 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 a pause, my grateful
duty, as well as my affection : hence I have been content to
bear from you what pride and delicacy would have forbid
me from another. I will not 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 pro-
bation of my sincerity, as cruel as unnecessary ! 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 gained 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 pre-
vented 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 itTHE RIVALS.

77

lost you the love of one who would have followed you in
beggaiy through the world !	[Exit.

Faulk. She's gone—for ever !—There was an awful reso-
lution in her manner, that riveted me to my place.—0 fool!
—dolt !—barbarian ! Cursed as I am, with more imperfec-
tions than my fellow wretches, kind Fortune sent a heaven-
gifted cherub to my aid, and, like a ruffian, 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.—0 Love !—tormen-
tor!—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 Lydia and Maid.

Maid. My mistress, ma'am, I know, was here just now—
perhaps she is only in the next room.	[Exit.

Lyd. Heigh-ho ! 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. [Re-enter Julia.]
O Julia, I am come to you with such an appetite for con-
solation.—Lud ! child, what's the matter with you ? You
have been crying!—I'll be hanged if that Faulkland has
not been tormenting you!

Jul. You mistake the cause of my uneasiness!—Some-
thing has flurried me a little. Nothing that you can guessi
at.—[Aside."] I would not accuse Faulkland to a sister !

Lyd. 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.78

THE RIVALS.

Lyd. So, then, I see I have been deceived by every one !
But I don't care—I'll never have him.

Jul. Nay, Lydia-

Lyd. "Why, is it not provoking? when I thought we
were coming to the prettiest distress imaginable, to find
myself made a mere Smithfield bargain of at last! There,
had I projected one of the most sentimental elopements!—
so becoming a disguise!- -so amiable a ladder of ropes!—
Conscious moon—four horses—Scotch parson!—^ith such
surprise to Mrs. ^ M&laprbp—and;. such paragraphs in the
newspapers !—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! Oh that I should live to hear myself called
spinster!

Jul. Melancholy indeed!

Lyd. How mortifying, to remember the dear delicious
shifts I used to be put to, to gain half a minute's conversa-
tion 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 pathetic-
ally ! he shivering with cold and I with apprehension ! and
while the freezing blast numbed 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 sincerity, suffer thatTHE KIYAJiS.

79

unhappiness from your caprice, which I know too well
caprice can inflict.

Lyd. O Lud ! what has brought my aunt hero ?

Enter Mrs. Malaprop, Fag, and David.

Mrs. Mai. So! so! here's fine work! — here's fina
suicide, parricide, and simulation, going on in the fields!
and Sir Anthony not to he found to prevent the antistrophe!

Jul. For Heaven's sake, madam, what's the meaning cf
this ?

Mrs. Mai. That gentleman can tell you —'twas le
enveloped the affair to me.

Lyd. Do, sir, will you, inform us?	[To Faq.

Fag. Ma'am, I should hold myself very deficient in
every requisite that forms the man of breeding, if I delayed
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 !

Fag. 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 ox
three lives may be lost!

Lyd. 0 patience!—Do, ma'am, for Heaven's sake! tell
us what is the matter ?

Mrs. Mai. Why, murder's the matter! slaughter's the
matter! killing's the matter! but he can tell you the
perpendiculars.

Lyd. Then, prithee, sir, be brief.

Fag. Why then, ma'am, as to murder—I cannot take
upon me to say—and as to slaughter, or manslaughter, that
will be as the jury finds it.

Lyd. But who, sir—who are engaged in this ?

Fag. Faith, ma'am, one is a young gentleman whom T
should be very sorry anything was to happen to—a very
pretty-behaved gentleman! We have lived much together,
and always on terms —80

THE RIVALS.

Lyd. But who is this ? who ! who ! who ?

Fag. My master, ma'am—my master—I speak of my
master.

Lyd. Heavens ! What ! Captain Absolute ?

Mrs. Mai. Oh, to be sure, you are frightened n^w !

Jul. But who are with him, sir?

Fay. As to the rest, ma'am, this gentleman can inform
you better than I.

Jul. Do speak, friend.	[To David.

Dav. Look'ee, my lady—by the mass ! there's mischief
going on. Folks don't use to meet for amusement with
fire-arms, firelocks, fire-engines, fire-screens, fire-office, and
the devil knows what other crackers beside!—This, my
lady, I say, has an angry favour.

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. 0 fy!—it would be very inelegant in us :—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 ? 0 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 petrifactions!

Lyd. What are we to do, madam F

Mrs. 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.THE RIYALS.

81

Mrs. Mai. Come, girls ! this gentleman will exhort us.—
Come, sir, you're our envoy—lead the way, and we'll
precede.

Fag. Not a step before the ladies for the world!

Mrs. Mai. You're sure you know the spot?

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. t

Scene II.—The South Parade.

Enter Captain Absolute, putting his sword under his great
coat.

Abs. A sword seen in the streets of Bath would raise aa
great an alarm as a mad dog.—How provoking this is in
Faulkland; never punctual! I shall be obliged to go
without him at last.—Oh, 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 Absolute.

Sir Anth. How one may be deceived at a little distance!
only that I see he don't know me, I could have sworn that
was Jack !—Hey ! Gad's life ! it is.—Why, Jack, what
are you afraid of? hey!—Sure I'm right.—Why, Jack,
Jack Absolute !	[Goes up to him.

Abs. Really, sir, you have the advantage of me:—I don't
remember 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, zounds! 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 !82

the rivals.

Abs. 'Tis* cool, sir; isn't?—rather chilly "somehow—but
I shall be late—I have a particular engagement.

Sir Anth. Stay! 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 ?

Sir Anth. You unmannerly puppy !

Abs. I was going, sir, to—to—to—to Lydia—sir, to Lydia
—to make matters up if I could ;—and I was looking for
/ou, sir, to—to—

Sir Anth. To go with you, I suppose.—Well, come along.

Abs. Oh! zounds! no, sir, not for the world!—I wished
to meet with you, sir,—to—to—to—You find it cool, I'm
eure, sir—you'd better not stay out.

Sir Anth. Cool!—not at all.—Well, Jack—and what will
you say 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!—not at all! I'm in no hurry.—
Ah! Jack, you youngsters when once you aretwounded here
[Tutting his hand to Captain Absolute's breast.] Hey!
what the deuce have you got here ?

Abs. Nothing, sir—nothing.

Sir Anth. What's this P—here's something damned hard.

Abs. Oh, trinkets, sir! trinkets!—a bauble for Lydia!

Sir Anth. Nay, let me see your taste.—[Pulls his coat open,
the sword falls.'] Trinkets!—a bauble for Lydia—Zounds!
sirrah, you are not going to cut her throat, are you ?

Abs. Ha! ha! ha !—I thought it would divert you, sir,
though I didn't mean to tell you till afterwards.

Sir Anth. You didn't?—Yes, this is a very diverting
trinket, truly!

Abs. Sir, I'll explain to you.—You know, sir, Lydia is
romantic, devilish romantic, and very absurd of course: now,THE BIYALS.

83

sir, I intend, if she refuses to forgive me, to unsheath this
sword, and swear—I'll fall upon its point, and expire at her

feet!

Sir Anth. Fall upon a fiddlestick's end!—why, I suppose
it is the very thing that would please her. Get along, you
fool!

Abs. Well, sir, you shall hear of my success—you shall
hear.—0 Lydia !—-forgive me, or this 'pointed steel—says IJ

Sir Anth. 0, booby I stab away and welcome—says she.— Get
along! and damn your trinkets! [Exit Captain Absolute.

Enter David, running.

Dav. Stop him! stop him ! Murder! Thief ! Fire !—
Stop fire ! Stop fire !—0 Sir Anthony—call! call! bid 'm
stop ! Murder ! Fire!

Sir Anth. Fire ! Murder !—Where ?

Dav, Oons I he's out of sight! and I'm out of breath !
for my part! 0 Sir Anthony, why didn't you stop him ?
why didn't you stop him ?

Sir Anth. Zounds! the fellow's mad !—Stop whom ? stop
Jack?

Dav. Ay, the captain, sir!—there's murder and slaugh-
ter-

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 fight-
ing !

Sir Anth. Who are going to fight, dunce ?

Dav. Everybody that I know of, Sir Anthony:—every
body is going to fight, my poor master, Sir Lucius
0'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?84

the riyals,

Dav. Not an inch; but I'll call tlie mayor—aldermen—
constables—churchwardens—and beadles—we can't be too
many to part them.

Sir Anth. Come along—give me your shoulder; we'll
get assistance as we go—the lying villain!—Well, I shall
be in such a frenzy !—So—this was the history of his
trinkets ! I'll bauble him !	[Exeunt.

Scene 111.—King's-Mead-Fields.

Enter Sir Lucius O'Trigger and Acres, with pistols.

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
conscience, Mr. Acres, you must leave those things to me.—1
Stay now—I'll show you.—[Measures paces along the stage.~\
There now, that is a very pretty distance—a pretty gentle-
man's distance.

Acres. Zounds! we might as well fight in a sentry-box! I
tell you, Sir Lucius, the farther he is off, 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——THE RIVALS.

85

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 choose 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 tre-
mors ! 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?

Acres. Odds files!—I've practised that—there, Sir Luciua
—there.—[Puts himself in an attitude.] A side-front, hey ?
Odd! I'll make myself small enough : I'll stand edgeways.

Sir Luc. Now—you're quite out—for if you stand so when
I take my aim——	[.Levelling at him.

Acres. Zounds! Sir Lucius—are you sure it is not cocked ?

Sir Luc. 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!

Sir Luc. But, there—fix yourself so—[Placing him\—let
him see tho 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 I86

THE RIVALS.

Sir Luc. Ay—may they—and it is 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 edgeways.

Sir Luc. [Looking at his watch.] Sure they don't mean to
disappoint us-r—Hah!—no, faith—I think I see them coming.

Acres. Hey!—what!—coming!--

Sir Luc. Ay.—"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 Luc. Run!

Acres. No—I say—we won't run, by my valour!

Sir Luc. What the devil's the matter with you ?

Acres. Nothings-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 fy !—consider your honour.

Acres. Ay—true—my honour. Do, Sir Lucius, edge 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!—Yalour
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.

Acres. 0 mercy!—now—that I was safe at Clod-Hall! or
could be shot before I was aware!

Enter Faulkland and Captain Absolute.

Sir Luc. Gentlemen, your most obedient.—Hah !—what,
Captain Absolute !—So, I suppose, sir, you are come here,THE RIVALS.

87

just like myself—to do a kind office, first for your friend
—then to proceed to business on your own account.

Acres. What Jack !—my dear Jack!—my dear friend!

Abs. Hark'ee, Bob, Beverley's at hand.

Sir Luc. Well, Mr. Acres—I don't blame your saluting
the gentleman civilly.—[To Faulkland.] So, Mr. Bever-
ley, if you'll choose 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,
Faulkland'; these are my particular friends.

Sir Luc. What, sir, did you not come here to fight Mr.
Acres ?

Faulk. 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 pur-
pose for the game, you won't be so cantanckerous as to spoil
the party by sitting out.'

Abs. 0 pray, Faulkland, fight to oblige Sir Lucius.

Faulk. Nay, if Mr. Acres is so bent on the matter-

Acres. No, no, Mr. Faulkland ;—I'll bear my disappoint-
ment 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 ^lone.

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. Why, no—Sir Lucius—I tell you, 'tis one Bever-
ley I've challenged— a fellow, you see, that dare not show
his face !—If he were here, I'd make him give up his pre-
tensions directly !

Abs. 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 the88

THE RIVALS.

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 oppor-
tunity-

Acres. What, quarrel with my dear friend Jack Abso-
lute?—Not if he were fifty Beverleys! Zounds! Sir
Lucius, you would not have me so unnatural.

Sir Luc. Upon my conscience, Mr. Acres, your valour has
oozed away with a vengeance !

Acres. Not in the least! Odds backs [and abettors! I'll
be your second with all my heart —and if you should get a
quietus, you may command me entirely. I'll get you snug
lying in the Abbey here; or pickle you, and send you over
to Blunderbuss-hall, or any thing of the kind, with the
greatest pleasure.

Sir Luc. Pho ! pho! you are little better than a coward.

Acres. Mind, gentlemen, he calls me a coward; coward
was the word, by my valour!

Sir Luc. Well, sir ?

Acres. Look'ee, Sir Lucius, 'tisn't that I mind the word
coward—coward 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.

Abs. Nay, Sir Lucius, you can't- have a better second
than my friend Acres—He is a most determined dog—called
in the country, Fighting Bob. —He generally kills a man a
week—don't you, Bob ?

Aeres. Ay—at home!

Sir Luc. Well, then, captain, 'tis we must begin—so come
out, my little counsellor—[Draws his sword]—and ask the
gentleman whether he will resign the lady, without forcing
you to proceed against him ?

Abs. Come on then, sir—[Draws'] ; since you won't let it
be an amicable suit, here's my reply.THE RIVALS.

89

Enter Sir Anthony Absolute, David, Mrs. Malaprop,
Lydia, and Julia.

Dav. Knock 'em all down, sweet Sir Anthony; knock
down my master in particular: and bind his hands over to
their good behaviour!

Sir Anth. Put up, Jack, put up, or I shall be in a frenzy
—how came you in a duel, sir ?

Abs. Faith, sir, that gentleman can tell you better than
I; 'twas he called 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 ?

Abs. Sir, I tell you ! that gentleman called me out, with«
out explaining his reasons.

Sir Anth. Gad! sir, how came you to call my son out,
without explaining your reasons ?

Sir Luc. Your son, sir, insulted me in a manner which
my honour could not brook.

Sir Anth. Zounds! Jack, how durst you insult the
gentleman in a maimer 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
us so ?—Here's Lydia has been terrified to death for you.

Abs. For fear I should be killed, or escape, ma'am ?

Mrs. Mai. Nay, no delusions to the past—Lydia is con-
vinced ; 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 offer this
gentleman my hand, and solicit the return of his affections.90

THE RIVALS.

Abs. O! 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 as 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 honoured with her approbation, I will support
my claim against any man whatever.

Sir Anth. Well said, Jack, and I'll stand by you, my
boy.

Acres. Mind, I give up all my claim—I make no preten-
sions to anything in the world; and if I can't get a wife
without fighting for her, by my valour ! I'll live a bachelor.

Sir Luc. Captain, give me your hand: an affront hand-
somely acknowledged becomes an obligation; and as for the

lady, if she chooses to deny her own hand-writing, here--

[Takes out letters.

Mrs. Mai. O, he will dissolve 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 P

Lyd. Indeed, Sir Lucius, I am not.

[ Walks aside with Captain Absolute.

Mrs. Mai. Sir Lucius O'Trigger—ungrateful as you are
—I own the soft impeachment—pardon my blushes, I am
Delia.

Sir Luc. You Delia—pho ! pho t be easy.

Mrs. Mai. "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.

Sir Luc. Mrs. Malaprop, I am extremely sensible of your
condescension; 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,THE RIVALS.

91

taken / that lady from me, I'll give you my Delia into the
bargain.

Abs. I am much obliged to you, Sir Lucius; but here's
my friend, Fighting Bob, unprovided for.

Sir Lite. 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 T give you a
chance of pickling 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. 0, Sir Anthony, men are all barbarians.

[All retire but Julia and Faulkland.

Jul. [Aside."] He seems dejected and unhappy—not sullen;
there was some foundation, however, for the tale he told me
—O woman! how true should be your judgment, when your
resolution is so weak !

Faulk. 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 in-
clination 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.

Faulk. Now I shall be blest indeed!

Sir Anth. [Coming forward.] 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 Faulk-
land seemed to proceed from what he calls the delicacy and
warmth 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 i» content; for as I have been disappointed myself,92

THE RIVALS.

it will be very hard if I L not the satisfaction of seeing
other people succeed better.

Acres. You are right, Sir Lucius.—So, Jack, I wishyou joy
—Mr. Faulkland the same.—Ladies,—come now, to show you
I'm neither vexed nor angry, odds tabors and pipes ! I'll
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 lads will drink a health to the young couples, and a
husband to Mrs. Malaprop.

Faulk. Our partners are stolen from us, Jack—I hope to
be congratulated by each other—yours for having checked in
time the errors of an ill-directed imagination, which might
have betrayed 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 adored.

Abs. Well, Jack, we have both tasted the bitters, as well
as the sweets of love; with this difference only, that you
always prepared the bitter cup for yourself, while I-

Lyd. Was always obliged to me for it, hey! Mr.

Modesty?-But, come, no more of that—our happiness

is now as unalloyed as general.

Jul. Then let us study to preserve it so : and while Hope
pictures to us 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.THE RIVALS.

93

EPILOGUE.—By the Authob.

spoken by mrs. 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:

Through all the drama—whether damn'd or not—

Love gilds the scene, and women guide the plot.

From every rank obedience is our due—

D' ye doubt ?—The world's great stage shall prove it
true."

The cit, well skill'd to shun domestic strife,

Will sup abroad; but first he'll ask his wife:

John Trot, his friend, for once will do the same,
But then—he'll just step home to tell his 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 women have such coaxing ways.

The jolly toper 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 sometimes counsel with a lady's eyes !

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,
Is view'd the mistress, or is heard the wife.
The poorest peasant of the poorest soil,

The child of poverty, and heir to toil,

Early from radiant Love's impartial light
jSteals one small spark to cheer this world of night;THE RIVALS.

Dear spark! that oft through winter's chilling woes
Is all the warmth his little cottage knows !

Ti«e wandering tar, who not for years has press'd,
The widow'd partner of his day of rest,

On the cold deck, far from her arms removed,

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!

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,

Though friends to love—ye 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 I
In female breasts did sense and merit rule,
The lover's mind would ask no other school;

Shamed into sense, the scholars of our eyes,
Our beaux from gallantry would soon be wise;
Would gladly light, their homage to improve,
The lamp of knowledge at the torch of love!THE SCHOOL FOE SCANDAL.

; A COMEDY

DRAMATIS PERSON M.

as origin ally acted at druby-la^e theatre ik 1777.

Sib Peter Teazle Mr. King.
Sir Oliver Surface Mr. Yates.
Sir Harry Bumper Mr. Gawdry.

Joseph Surface . Mr. Palmer.
Charles Surface. Mr. Smith.
Careless. . . . Mr. Farren.
Snake.....Mr. Packer.

Crabtree . . . Mr. Parsons.
Rowley . ... Mr. AioTein,
Moses .... .Mr.lBaddeley,
Trip ..... Mr. Lamash
Lady Teazle . Mrs. Abington
Lady Sneerwell . Miss Sherry
Mrs. Candour . . Miss Pope
Maria . . . Miss P. Hopkins
Gentleman, Maid, and Servants

SCENE.—London.

A PORTRAIT;

addressed to mbs. crewe, with the comedy OP THE
school for scandal.

By R. B. Sheridan, Esq.

Tell me, ye prim adepts in Scandal's school,
Who rail by precept, and detract by rule,

Lives there no character, so tried, so known,
So deck'd with grace ( and so unlike your own,

That even you assist her fame to raise,

Approve by envy, and by silence praise!

Attend!—a model shall attract your view—
Daughters of calumny, I summon you!

You shall decide if this a portrait prove,

Or fond creation of the Muse and Love.

Attend, ye virgin critics, shrewd and sage,

ye matron censors of this childish age,THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL.

Whose peering eye and wrinkled front declare

A fix'd antipathy to young and fair;

By cunning, cautious ; or by nature, cold,

In maiden madness, virulently bold!—

Attend, ye skill'd to coin the precious tale,

Creating proof, where inuendos fail!

Whose practised memories, cruelly exact,

Omit no circumstance, except the fact!—

Attend, all ye who boast,—or old or young,—

The living libel of a slanderous tongue!

So shall my theme as far contrasted be,

As saints by fiends, or hymns by calumny.

Come, gentle Amoret (for 'neath that name

In worthier verse is sung thy beauty's fame);

Come—for but thee who seeks the Muse ? and while

Celestial blushes check thy conscious smile,

With timid grace, and hesitating eye,

The perfect model, which I boast, supply :—

Vain Muse! couldst thou the humblest sketch create

Of her, or slightest charm couldst imitate—

Could thy blest strain in kindred colours trace

The faintest wonder of her form and face—

Poets would study the immortal line,

And Reynolds own his art subdued by thine;

That art, which well might added lustre give

To Nature's best, and Heaven's superlative :

On Granby's cheek might bid new glories rise,

Or point a purer beam from I^evon's eyes !

Hard is the task to shape that beauty's praise,

Whose judgment scorns the homage flattery pays!

But praising Amoret we cannot err,

No tongue o'ervalues Heaven, or flatters her!

Yet she by fate's perverseness—she alone

Would doubt our truth, nor deem such praise her own.

Adorning fashion, unadorn'd by dress,

Simple from taste, and not from carelessness \'T^TE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL

97

Discreet in gesture, in deportment mild,

Not stiff with prudence, nor uncouthly wild:

No state has Amoret; no studied mien ;

She frowns no goddess, and she moves no queen.

The softer charm that in her manner lies

Is framed to captivate, yet not surprise;

It justly suits the expression of her face,—

'Tis less than dignity, and more than grace !

On her pure cheek the native hue is such,

That, form'd by Heaven to he admired so much,

The hand divine, with a less partial care,

Might well have fix'd a fainter crimson there,

And hade the gentle inmate of her breast—

Inshrined Modesty—supply the rest.

But who the peril of her lips shall paint ?

Strip them of smiles—still, still all words are faint

But moving Love himself appears to teach

Their action, though denied to rule her speech;

And thou who seest her speak, and dost not hear,

Mourn not her distant accents 'scape thine ear;

Viewing those lips, thou still may'st make pretence

To judge of what she says, and swear 'tis sense :

Clothed with such grace, with such expression fraught,

They move in meaning, and they pause in thought!

But dost thou farther watch, with charm'd surprise,

The mild irresolution of her eyes,

Curious to mark how frequent they repose,

In brief eclipse and momentary close—

Ah! seest thou not an ambush'd Cupid there,

Too tim'rous of his charge, with jealous care

Veils and unveils those beams of heavenly light,

Too full, too fatal else, for mortal sight ?

Nor yet, such pleasing vengeance fond to meet,

In pard'ning dimples hope a safe retreat*

What though her peaceful breast should ne'er allow

Subduing frowns to ayjn her alter'd brow,

p—^3THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL.

By Love, I swear, and by his gentle wiles,

More fatal still the mercy of her smiles!

Thus lovely, thus adorn'd, possessing all

Of bright or fair that can to woman fall,

The height of vanity might well be thought

Prerogative in her, and Nature's fault.

Yet gentle Amoret, in mind supreme

As well as charms, rejects the vainer theme ;

And, half mistrustful of her beauty's store,

She barbs with wit those darts too keen before :—

Eead in all knowledge that her sex should reach,

Though Greville, or the Muse, should deign to teach,

Fond to improve, nor timorous to discern

How far it is a woman's grace to learn;

In Millar's dialect she would not prove

Apollo's priestess, but Apollo's love,

Graced by those signs which truth delights to own,

The timid blush, and mild submitted tone :

Whate'er she says, though sense appear throughout,

Displays the tender hue of female doubt;

Deck'd with that charm, how lovely wit appears,

How graceful science, when that robe she wears!

Such too her talents, and her bent of mind,

As speak a sprightly heart by thought refined:

A taste for mirth, by contemplation school'd,

A turn for ridicule, by candour ruled,

A scorn of folly, which she tries to hide ;

An awe of talent, which she owns with pride!

Peace, idle Muse ! no more thy strain prolong,
But yield a theme, thy warmest praises wrong;

Just to her merit, though thou canst not raise
Thy feeble verse, behold th' acknowledged praise
Has spread conviction through the envious train,
And cast a fatal gloom o'er Scandal's reign!

And lo ! each pallid hag, with blister'd tongue,
Mutters assent to all thy zeal has sung—THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL.

99

Owns all the colours just—the outline true,
Thee my inspirer, and my model—Crewe !

PROLOGUE.

written by mr. garrick.

A School for Scandal! tell me, I beseech you,

Needs there a school this modish art to teach you ?
No need of lessons now, the knowing think ;

We might as well he taught to eat and drink.

Caused by a.dearth of scandal, should the vapours
Distress our fair ones—let them read the papers;

Their powerful mixtures such disorders hit;

Crave what you will—there's quantum sufficit.

" Lord !" cries my Lady Wormwood (who loves tattle,
And puts much salt and pepper in her prattle),

Just risen at noon, all night at cards when threshing
Strong tea and scandal—"Bless me, how refreshing!
Give me the papers, Lisp—how bold and free! [Sijos.
Last night Lord L.	was caught with Lady D.

For aching heads what charming sal volatile! [Sips,
If Mrs. jB. will still continue flirting,

We hope she'll draw, or we'll undraw the curtain.

Fine satire, poz—in public all abuse it,

But, by ourselves [tfyra], our praise we can't refuse it.
Now, Lisp, read you—there, at that dash and star."
" Yes, ma'am—A certain lord had best beware,

Who lives not twenty miles from Grosvenor Square ;
For, should he Lady W. find willing,

Wormwood is bitter "-" Oh! that's me! the villain!

Throw it behind the fire, and never more
Let that vile paper come within my door."

Thus at our friends we laugh, who feel the dart;
To reach our feelings, we ourselves must smart.

Is our young bard so young, to think that he
Can stop the full spring-tide of calumny ?100

THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL.

Knows lie the world so little, and its trade P

Alas ! the ^evil's sooner raised than laid.

So strong, so swift, the monster there's no gagging:

Cut Scandal's head off, still the tongue is wagging.

Proud of your smiles once lavishly bestow'd,

Again our young Don Quixote takes the road;

To show his gratitude he draws his pen,

And seeks this hydra, Scandal, in his den.

For your applause all perils he would through—

He'll fight—that's write—a cavallioro true,

Till every drop of blood—that's ink—is spilt for you.

ACT I.

Scene I.—Lady Sneeuwell's Dressing-room.

IjAdy Sneerwell discovered at her toilet; Snake drinking
chocolate.

Lady Sneer. The paragraphs, you say, Mr. Snake, were
all inserted ?

Snake. They were, madam ; and, as I copied them myself
in a feigned hand, there can be no suspicion whence they
came.

Lady Sneer. Did you circulate the report of Lady Brittle's
intrigue with Captain Boastall ?

Snake. That's in as fine a train as your ladyship could
wish. In the common course of things, I think it must
reach Mrs. Clackitt's ears within four-and-twenty hours;
and then, you know, the business is as good as done.

Lady Sneer. Why, truly, Mrs. Clackitt has a very pretty
talent, and a great deal of industry.

Snake. True, madam, and has been tolerably successful in
her day. To my knowledge, she has been the cause of six
matches being broken off, and three sons being disinherited;
of four forced elopements, and as many close confinements ;
nine separate maintenances, and two divorces. Nay, I have
more than once traced her causing a tete-a-tete in the " TownTHE SCHOOL FOE SCANDAL.

101

and Country Magazine," when the parties, perhaps, had
never seen each other's face before in the course of their
lives.

Lady Sneer. She certainly has talents, but her manner is
gross.

Snake. 'Tis very true. She generally designs well, has a
free tongue and a bold invention; but her colouring is too
dark, and her outlines often extravagant. She wants that
delicacy of tint, and mellowness of sneer, which distinguish
your ladyship's scandal.

Lady Sneer. You are partial, Snake.

Snake. Not in the least; everybody allows that Lady
Sneerwell can do more with a word or 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 Snake ; and 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 en-
venomed tongue of slander, I confess I have since known no
pleasure equal to the reducing others to the level of my own
reputation.

Snake. Nothing can be more natural. But, Lady Sneer-
well, 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 P
, jSnake. I do. 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 dissi-
pated and extravagant young fellow in the kingdom, with-
out friends or character; the former an avowed admirer of
your ladyship, 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 me, why you, the widow of a city102

lthe school for scandal.

knight, with, a good jointure, should not close with the
passion of a man of such character and expectations as Mr.
{Surface; and more so why you should he so uncommonly
earnest to destroy the mutual attachment subsisting between
his brother Charles and Maria.

Lady Sneer. Then, at once to unravel this mystery, I must
inform you that love has no share whatever in the inter-
course between Mr. Surface and me.

Snake. No!

Lady Sneer. His real attachment is to Maria, or her for-
tune ; but, finding his brother a favoured rival, he has been
obliged to mask his pretensions, and profit by my assistance.

Snake. Yet still I am more puzzled why you should in-
terest yourself in his success.

Lady Sneer. Heavens ! how dull you are! Cannot you
surmise the weakness which I hitherto, through 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 gain whom I would sacrifice everything ?
k Snake. Now, indeed, your conduct appears consistent: but
how came you and Mr. Surface so confidential P

Lady Sneer. For our mutual interest. I have found him
out a long time since. I know him to be artful, selfish, and
malicious—in short, a sentimental knave; while with Sir
Peter, and indeed with all his acquaintance, he passes for a
youthful miracle of prudence, good sense, and benevolence.

Snake. Yes ; yet Sir Peter vows he has not his equal in
England; and, above all, he praises him as a man of senti-
ment.

Lady Sneer. True; and with the assistance of his senti-
ment and hypocrisy he has brought Sir Peter entirely into
his interest with regard to Maria; while poor Charles has
no friend in the house—though, I fear, he has a powerful
one in Maria's heart, against whom we must direct our
schemes.THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL.

103

JEnter Servant.

Ser. Mr. Surface.

Lady Sneer. Show him up. {Exit Servant.] He generally
calls about this time. I don't wonder at people giving him
to me for a lover.

jEnter Joseph Surface.

Jos. Surf. My dear Lady Sneerwell, how do you do to-
day P Mr. Snake, your most obedient.

Lady Sneer. Snake has just been rallying me on our
mutual' attachment, but I have informed him of our real
views. You know how useful he has been to us; and, be-
lieve me, the confidence is not ill placed.

Jos. Surf. Madam, it is impossible forme to suspect a man
of Mr. Snake's sensibility and discernment.

Lady Sneer. Well, well, no compliments now; but tell me
when you saw your mistress, Maria—or, what is more
material to me, your brother.

Jos. Surf. I have not seen either since I left you; but I
can inform you that they never meet. Some of your stories
have taken a good effect on Maria.

Lady Sneer. Ah, my dear Snake ! the merit of this belongs
to you. But do your brother's distresses increase ?

Jos. Surf. Every hour. I am told he has had another ex-
ecution in the house yesterday. In short, his dissipation
and extravagance'exceed any thing I have ever heard of.

lady Sneer. Poor Charles!

Jos. Surf. True, madam; notwithstanding his vices, one
can't help feeling for him. Poor Charles! I'm sure I wish
it were 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. 0 Lud! you are going to be moral, and forget
that you are among friends.

Jos. Surf. Egad, that's true! I'll 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 re-104

THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL.

claimed, can be so only by a person of your ladyship's
superior accomplishments and understanding.

Snake. I believe, Lady Sneerwell, here's company coming:
I'll go and copy the letter I mentioned to you. Mr. Surface,
your most obedient.

Jos. Surf. Sir, your very devoted.—[Exit Snake.] Lady
Sneerwell, I am very sorry you have put any farther con-
fidence in that fellow.

Lady Sneer. Why so ?

Jos. Surf. I have lately detected him in frequent confe-
rence with old Rowley, who was formerly my father's steward,
and has never, you know, been a friend of mine.

Lady Sneer. And do you think he would betray us P

Jos. Surf. Nothing more likely : take my word for't, Lady
Sneerwell, that fellow hasn't virtue enough to be faithful
even to his own villany. Ah, Maria!

Enter Maria.

Lady Sneer. Maria, my dear, how do you do ? What's
the matter ?

Mar. Oh! there's that disagreeable lover of mine, Sir
Benjamin Backbite, has just called at my guardian's with
his odious uncle, Crabtree; so I slipped out, and ran hither
to avoid them.

Lady Sneer. Is that all ? '

Jos. 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 'tis for what he has
said: his conversation is a perpetual libel on all hia ac-
quaintance.

Jos. Surf. Ay, and the worst of it is, there is no advantage
in not knowing him ; for he'll abuse a stranger just as soon
as his best friend: and his uncle's as bad.THE SCHOOL FOE SCANDAL.

105

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 ?

Jos. Surf. Certainly, madam; to smile at the jest which
plants a thorn in another's breast is to become a principal
in the mischief.

Lady Sneer. Psha! there's no possibility of being witty
without a little ill nature: the malice of a good thing is
the barb that makes it stick. What's your opinion, Mr.
Surface?

Jos. Surf. To be sure, madam; that conversation,'where
the spirit of raillery is suppressed, will ever appear tedious
and insipid.

Mar. Well, I'll not debate how far scandal may be allow-
able ; but in a man, I am sure, it is always contemptible.
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.

Re-enter Servant.

Ser. Madam, Mrs. Candour is below, and, if your lady-
ship's at leisure, will leave her carriage.

Lady Sneer. Beg her to walk in.—[Exit Servant.] Now,
Maria, here is a character to your taste; for, though Mrs.
Candour is a little talkative, everybody allows her Ja be
the best natured and best sort of woman. #

Mar. Yes, with a very gross affectation of good nature
and benevolence, she does more mischief than the direct
malice of old Crabtree.

Jos. Surf. I' faith that's true, Lady Sneerwell: whenever
I hear the current running against the characters of my
friends, I never think them in such danger as when Candour
undertakes their defence.

Lady Sneer. Hush !—here she is !

D*—23106

THE SCHOOL FOB SCANDAL.

Enter Mrs. Candour.

Mrs. Can. My dear Lady Sneerwell, how have you been
this century?—Mr. Surface, what news do you hear?—
though indeed it is no matter, for I think one hears nothing
else but scandal.

Jos. Surf. Just so, indeed, ma'am.

Mrs. Can. Oh, Maria ! child,—what, is the whole affair
off between you and Charles ? His extravagance, I presume
—the town talks of nothing else.

Mar. 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 as well
as could be wished.

Mar. 'Tis strangely impertinent for people to busy them-
selves so.

Mrs. Can. Very true, child : but what's to be done ? People
will talk—there's no preventing it. Why, it was but yes-
terday I was told that Miss Gadabout had eloped with Sir
FillgTee Flirt. But, Lord! there's no minding what one hears ;
though, 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 uncle stopped her lastrweek, just as she was
stepping into the York Mail with her dancing-master.

Mar. I'll answer for't there are no grounds for that report.

Mrs. Can. Ah, 110 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—though, to be
sure, that matter was never rightly cleared up.

Jos. Surf. The licence of invention some people take is
monstrous indeed.THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL.

107

Mar. 'Tis so; but, in my opinion, those who report such
things are equally culpable.

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 done, as I said before F how will you
prevent people from talking ? To-day, Mrs. Clackitt
assured me, Mr. and Mrs. Honeymoon were at last become
mere man and wife, like the rest of their acquaintance.
She 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. And at the same time Miss
Tattle, who was by, affirmed that Lord Buffalo had dis-
covered 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.

Job. Surf. Ah! Mrs. Candour, if everybody had your
forbearance and good nature !

Mrs. Can. I confess, Mr. Surface, I cannot bear to hear
people attacked behind their backs; and when ugly circum-
stances come out against our acquaintance, I own I always
love to think the best. By-the-by, I hope 'tis not true that
your brothel* is absolutely ruined ?

Jos. JSurf. 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'll find half his acquaintance ruined too, and that,
you know, is a consolation.

Jos. Surf. Doubtless, ma'am—a very great one.

Re-enter Servant.

Ser. Mr. Crabtree and Sir Benjamin Backbite. [Exit,108

THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL.

Lady Sneer. So, Maria, you see your lover pursues you:
positively you sha'n't escape.

Enter Crabtree and Sir Benjamin Backbite.

Crab. 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. Oh, fie, uncle!

Crab. 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. Uncle, now—pr'ythee-

Crab. I' faith, ma'am, 'twould surprise you to hear how
ready he is at all these sort of 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
on particular people, I find they circulate more by giving
copies in confidence to the friends of the parties. However,
I have some love elegies, which, when favoured with thia
lady's smiles, I mean to give the public. [Pointing to Maria.

Crab. \_To Maria.] 'Fore heaven, ma'am, they'll immor-
talise you!—you will be handed down to posterity, like
Petrarch's Laura, or Waller's Sacharissa.

Sir Ben. [Jb Maria.] Yes, madam, I think you will like
them, when you shall see them on a beautiful quarto page,
where a neat rivulet of text shall meander through a
meadow of margin. 'Fore Gad they will be the most
elegant things of their kind!

Crab. But, ladies, that's true—have you heard the news PTHE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL.

109

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 liveries bespoke.

Crab. Yes—and they do say there were pressing reasons
for it.

Lady Sneer. Why, I have heard something of this before.

Mrs. Can. It can't be—and I wonder any one should
believe such a story of so prudent a lady as Miss Nicely.

Sir Ben. 0 Lud! ma'am, that's the very reason 'twas
believed at once. She has always been so cautious and so
reserved, that everybody was sure there was some reason
for it at "bottom.

Mrs. Can. Why, to be sure, a tale of scandal is as fatal
to the credit 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 alia mistake. You know,
Sir Benjamin, very trifling circumstances often give rise to
the most injurious tales.

Crab. That they do, I'll be sworn, ma'am. Did you ever
hear how Miss Piper came to lose her lover and her cha-
racter last summer at Tunbridge ?—Sir Benjamin, you
remember it ?

Sir Ben. Oh, to be sure!—the most whimsical circum-
stance.

Lady Sneer. How was it, pray ?

Crab, Why, one evening, at Mrs. Ponto's assembly, the110

THE SCHOOL FOE SCANDAL.

conversation happened to turn on the breeding Nova Scotia
sheep in this country. Says a young lady in company, I
have known instances of it; for, Miss Letitia Piper, a first
cousin of mine, had a Nova Scotia sheep that produced her
twins. " What!" cries the Lady Dowager Dundizzy (who
you know is as deaf as a post), " has Miss Piper had twins ?"
This mistake, as you may imagine, threw the whole company
into a fit of laughter. However, 'twas the next morning
everywhere reported, and in a few [days believed by the
whole town, that Miss Letitia Piper had actually been
brought to bed of a fine boy and girl: and in less than a
week there were some people who could name the father,
and the farm-house where the babies were put to nurse.

Lady Sneer. Strange, indeed!

Crab. Matter of fact, I assure you. 0 Lud ! Mr. Surface,
pray is it true that your uncle, Sir Oliver, is coming
home ?

Jos. 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, when-
ever he returns, to hear how your brother has gone on!

Jos. 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,
though he has lost all his friends, I am told nobody is better
spoken of by the Jews.

Crab. 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 an-
nuities as the Irish tontine; and that, whenever he is sick,
they have prayers for the recovery of his health in all the
synagogues.

Sir Ben. Yet no man lives in greater splendour. They tell
me, when he entertains his friends he will-sit down to dinnerTHE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL.

Ill

with a dozen of his own securities; have a score of trades-
men waiting in the ante-chamber, and an officer behind
every guest's chair.

Jos. Surf. This may be entertainment to you, gentlemen,
but you pay very little regard to the feelings of a brother.

Mar. [Aside.] ' Their malice is intolerable !—[Aloud.~]
Lady Sneerwell, I must wish you a good morning; I'm not
very well.	[Exit.

Mrs. Can. Oh dear! she changes colour very much.

Lady Sneer. Do, Mrs. Candour, follow her: she may want
your assistance.

Mrs. Can. That I will, with all my soul, ma'am.—Poor
dear girl, who knows what her situation may be! [Exit.

Lady 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.

Crab. But, Benjamin, you must not give up the pursuit
for that: follow her, and put her into good humour. Repeat
her some of your own verses. Come, I'll assist you.

\h Sir Ben. Mr. Surface, I did not mean to hurt you; but de-
pend on 't your brother is utterly undone.

Crab. 0 Lud, ay ! undone as ever man was—can't raise a
guinea.

Sir Ben. And everything sold, I'm told, that was movable.

Crab. I have seen one that 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 wain-
scots.

Sir Ben. And I'm very sorry also to hear some bad stories
against him.	s [Going.

Crab. Oh, he has done many mean things, that's certain.

Sir Ben. But, however, as he's your brother- [Going.

Crab. We'll tell you all another opportunity.

[Exeunt Crabtree and Sir Benjamin.

Lady Sneer. Ha ! ha ! 'tis very hard for them to leave a
subject they have not quite run down.112

THE SCHOOL FOE SCANDAL.

Jos. 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 imagine. 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'll go and plot mischief, and J you shall study
sentiment.	[Exeunt.

Scene II.—A Moom in Sir Peter Teazle's House.

Enter Sir Peter Teazle.

Sir Pet. "When an old bachelor marries 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. We tift a little going to
church, and fairly quarrelled before the bells had done
ringing. I was more than once nearly choked 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 fashion and
the town with as> ready a grace as if she never had seen a
bush or a grass-plot out of Grosvenor Square! I am
sneered at by all my acquaintance, and paragraphed in the
newspapers. 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'll never be
weak enough to own it.

Enter Rowley.

Mow. Oh! Sir Peter, your servant; how is it with you,
sir?

Sir Pet. Very bad, Master Eowley, very bad. I meet
with nothing but crosses and vexations.

Mow. What can have happened since yesterday ?THE SCHOOL FOE SCANDAL.

113

Sir Pet. A good question to a married man!

Row. Nay, I'm sure, Sir Peter, your lady can't be the
cause of your uneasiness.

Sir Pet. "Why, lias anybody told you she was dead ?

Row. Come, come, Sir Peter, you love her, notwithstand-
ing your tempers don't exactly agree.

Sir Pet. But the fault is entirely hers, Master Eowley.
I am, myself, the sweetest-tempered man alive, and hate a
teasing temper; and so I tell her a hundred times a day.

Row. Indeed!

Sir Pet. Ay ; 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, encourageJ;he perverse-
ness of her disposition. Then, to complete my vexation,
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.

Row. You know, Sir Peter, I have always taken the
liberty to differ 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
honoured master, was, at his years, nearly as wild a spark;
yet, when he died, he did not leave a more benevolent heart
to lament his loss.

Sir Pet. You are wrong, Master Rowley. On their
father's death, you know, I acted as a kind of guardian to
ihem both, till their uncle Sir Oliver's liberality 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 virtue114	THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL.

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.

Row. 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.

Row. I did not; but his passage has been remarkably
quick.

Sir Pet. Egad, I shall rejoice to see my old friend. 'Tis
sixteen years since we met. We have had many a day to-
gether; but. does he still enjoin us not to inform his
nephews of his arrival ?	. -

Row. Most strictly. He means, before it is known, to
make some trial of their dispositions.

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 ?

Row. Yes, and will soon wish you joy.

Sir Pet. What, as we drink health to a friend in a con-
sumption! 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 soon at my house, though—I'll
instantly give orders for his reception. But, Master
Rowley, don't drop a word that Lady Teazle and I ever dis-
agree.

Row. By no means.

Sir Pet. For I should never be able to stand Noll's jokes;
so I'll have him think, Lord forgive me ! that we are a very
happy couple.

Row. I understand you; but then you must be very
careful not to differ while he is in the house with you.THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL.

115

Sir Pet. Egad, and so we must—and that's Impossible.
Ah! Master Rowley, when an old bachelor marries a young
wife, he deserves: no—the crime carries its punishment
along with it.	__[Exeunt.

ACT II.

Scene I.—A Room in Sir Peter Teazle's House.

Enter Sir Peter and Lady Teazle.

Sir Pet. Lady Teazle, Lady Teazle, I'll not bear it!

Lady Teaz. Sir Peter, Sir Peter, you may bear it or not,
as you please ; but I ought to have my own way in every-
thing, and, what's more, I will too. % What! though I whh
educated in the country, I know very well that women of
fashion in London are accountable to nobody after they are
married.

Sir Pet. Very well, ma'am, very well; so a husband is to
have no influence, no authority ?

Lady Teaz. Authority! ' No,fto 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!—ay, there it is. Well, well, Lady
Teazle, though my life may be made unhappy by your
temper, I'll not be rained by your extravagance!

Lady Teaz. 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 Pantheonj into a greenhouse, and
give a fete champetre at Christmas.

Lady Teaz. And am I to blame, Sir Peter, because flowers
are dear in cold weather ? You should find fault with tho
climate, and not with me. For my part,|f m sure I wish it
was spring all the year round, and that roses grew under
our feet.116

THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL.

Sir Pet. Oons! madam—if you had been born to this, I
shouldn't wonder at your talking thus; but you forget
what your situation was when 1 married you.

Lady Teaz. 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, your hair combed smooth over a roll,
and your apartment hung round with fruits in worsted, of
your own working.

Lady Teaz. Oh, yes! I remember it very well, and a
curious life I led. My daily occupation to inspect the
dairy, superintend the poultry, make extracts from the
family receipt-book, and comb my aunt Deborah's lapdog.

Sir Pet. Yes, yes, ma'am, 'twas so indeed.

Lady Teaz. And then you know my evening amuse-
ments! To draw patterns for ruffles, which I had not
materials to make up ; to play Pope Joan with the curate ;
to read a sermon to my aunt; or to be stuck down to an
old spinet to strum my father to sleep after a fox-chase.

Sir Pet. I am glad you" have so good a memory. Yes,
madam, these were the recreations I took you from; but
now you must have your coach—vis-a-vis—and three
powdered footmen before your chair ; and, in the summer,
a pair of white cats to draw you to Kensington Gardens.
No recollection, I suppose, when you were content to ride
double, behind the butler, on a docked coach-horse.

Lady Teaz. No—I swear I never did that: I deny the
butler and the coach-horse.

- • Sir Pet. This, madam, was your situation; and what have
I done for you ? I have made you a 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, that is—-THE SCHOOL FOE SCANDAL.

117

Sir Pet. My widow, I suppose ?

Lady Tea,z. Hem ! hem !

Sir Pet. l,;thank you, madam—but don't flatter yourself;
for, though, your ill conduct may disturb my peace of mind,
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 your-
self so disagreeable to me, and thwart me in every ^little ele-
gant expense ?

Sir Pet. 'Slife, madam, I say, had you any of these little
elegant expenses when you married me ?

Lady Teaz. Lud, Sir Peter! would you have me be out of
the fashion P

Sir Pet. The fashion, indeed! what had you to do with
the fashion before you married me ?

Lady Teaz. For my part, I should think you would like
to have your wife thought a woman of taste.

Sir Pet. Ay—there again—taste! Zounds! madam, you
had no taste when you married me !

Lady Teaz. That's very true, indeed, Sir Peter! and,
after having married you, I should never pretend to taste
again, I allow. But now, Sir Peter, since we have finished
our daily jangle, I presume I may go to my engagement at
Lady Sneerwell's.

Sir Pet. Ay, there's another precious circumstance—a
charming set of acquaintance you have made there!

Lady Teaz. Nay, Sir Peter, they are all 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 choose anybody should have a
character but themselves ! Such a crew! Ah ! many a
wretch has rid on a hurdle who has done less mischief than
these utterers of forged tales, coiners of scandal, and clippers
of reputation.

Lady Teaz. What, would you restrain the freedom of
speech ?118

THE SCHOOL FOE SCANDAL.

Sir Pet. All I they have made you just as bad as any one
of the society.

Lady Teaz. Why, I believe I do bear a part with a toler-
able grace.

Sir Pet. Grace indeed.

Lady Teaz. 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'll call in, just to look after my own
character.

Lady Teaz. Then, indeed, you must make haste after me,
or you'll be too late. So good-bye to ye.	[Exit.

Sir Pet. So—I have gained rnzzch by my intended expos-
tulation ! Yet with what a charming air she contradicts
everything I say, and how pleasantly she shows her con-
tempt for my authority ! Well, though I can't make her
love me, there* is great satisfaction in quarrelling with her ;
and I think she never appears to such advantage vs when
she is doing everything in her power to plague me. [Exit.

Scene II.—A Room in Lady Sneerwell's House.
Lady Sneerwell, Mrs. Candour, Crabtree, Sir Benjamin
Backbite, and Joseph Surface, discovered.

Lady Sneer. Nay, positively, we will hear it.

Jos. Surf. Yes, yes, the epigram, by all means.

Sir Ben. Oh, plague on't, uncle ! 'tis mere nonsense.

Crab. No, no; 'fore Gad, very clever for an extempore !

Sir Pen. But, ladies, you should be acquainted with the
circumstance. You must know that, one day last week, as
Lady Betty Curricle was taking the dust in Hyde 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 :—IHE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL.

119

Sure never were seen two such beautiful ponies;

Other horses axe clowns, but these macaronies:

To give them this title I'm sure can't be wrong,

Their legs are so slim, and their tails are so long, j

Crab. There, ladies, done in the smack of a whip, and on
horseback too.	;

Jos. Surf. A very Phoebus, mounted—indeed, Sir Ben-
jamin !

Sir Ben. Oh dear, sir ! trifles—trifles.

Enter Lady Teazle and Maria.

Mrs. 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'll do
as your ladyship pleases.

Lady Teaz. I am surprised Mr. Surface should sit down
with her; I thought he would have embraced this oppor-
tunity of speaking to me before Sir Peter came. [Aside-

Mrs. Can. Now, I'll die; wit you are so scandalous, I'll
forswear your society.

Lady Teaz. What's the matter, Mrs. Candour ?

Mrs. Can. They'll not allow our friend Miss Vermilion
to be handsome.

Lady Sneer. Oh, surely she is a pretty woman.

Crab. I am very glad you think so, ma'am.

Mrs. Can. She has a charming fresh colour.

Lady Teaz. Yes, when it is fresh put on.

Mrs. Can. Oh, fie ! I'll swear her colour is natural: I
have seen it come and go !

Lady Teaz. I dare swear you have, ma'am: it goes off at
night, and comes again in th"i» morning.

Sir Ben. True, ma'am, it not only comes and goes; but,
what's more, egad, her maid can fetch and carry it!120	THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL.

Mrs. Can. Ha ! lia ! ha! how I hate to hear you talk so !
But surely, now, her sister is, or was, very handsome.

Crab. Who ? Mrs. Evergreen ? 0 Lord! 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
could see her face.

Lady Sneer. "Well, well, if Mrs. Evergreen 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 Ochre caulks
her wrinkles.

Sir Ben. Nay, now, Lady Sneer well, you are severe upon
the widow. Come, come, 'tis not 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 may see at once that the head is modern,
though 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—thus.	\_Shows her teeth.

Mrs. Can. How can you be so ill-natured ?

Lady Teaz. Nay, I allow even that's better than the pains
Mrs. Prim takes to conceal her losses in front. She draws
her mouth till it positively resembles the aperture of a poor's-
box, and all her words appear to slide out edgewise as it were
—thus : Sow do you do, madam ? Yes, madam. [Mimics.
1 La&y Sneer. Yery well. Lady Teazle; I see vou can be a
little severe.THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL.

121

Lady Teaz. In defence of a friend, it is but justice. But
here comes Sir Peter to spoil our pleasantry.

Enter Sib, Peter Teazle.

Sir Pet. Ladies, your mostVbedient.—[Aside.] Mercy on
me, here is the whole set! a character dead at every wprd,
I suppose.

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, indeed,
Mrs. Candour.

Mrs. Can. Oh, they will allow good qualities to nobody;
not even good nature to our friend Mrs. Pursy.

Lady Teaz. What, the fat dowager who was at Mrs.
Quadrille's last night ?

Mrs. Can. Nay, her bulk is her misfortune; and, when
she takes so much pains to get rid of it, vou ought not to
reflect on her.

Lady Sneer. That's 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 in summer, you may see her on a little squat
pony, with her hair plaited up behind like a drummer's, and
puffing round the King on a full trot.

Mrs. Can. I thank you, Lady Teazle, for defending her.

Sir Pet. Yes, a good defence, truly.

Mrs. Can. Truly, Lady Teazle is as censorious as Miss
Sallow.

Crab. Yes, and she is a curious being to pretend to be cen-
sorious—an awkward gawky, without any one good point
under heaven.

Mrs. Can. Positively you shall not be so very severe.
Miss Sallow is a near relation of mine by marriage, and, as
for her person, great allowance is to be made; for, let me
tell you, a woman labours under many disadvantages who
tries to pass for a girl of six-and-thirty.122	THE SCHOOL FOE, SCANDAL.

Lady Sneer. Though., surely, she is handsome still—and
for the weakness in her eyes, considering how much she
reads by candlelight, it is not to he wondered at.

Mrs. Can. 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
Welsh milliner, and her father a sugar-baker at Bristol.
Sir Ben. Ah! you are both of you too good-natured!
Sir Pet. Yes, damned good-natured! This their 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 Pen. Oh! you are of a moral turn. Mrs. Candour and
I can sit for an hour and hear Lady Stucco talk sentiment.

Lady Teaz. Nay, I vow Lady Stucco is very well with the
dessert after dinner; for she's just like the French fruit one
cracks for mottoes—made up of paint and proverb.

Mrs. Can. Well, I will never join in ridiculing a friend;
and so I constantly, tell my cousin Ogle, and you all know
what pretensions she has to be critical on beauty.

Crab. Oh, to be sure! she has herself the oddest counte-
nance that ever was seen; 'tis a collection of features from
all the different countries of the globe.

Sir Pen. So she has, indeed—an Irish front-

Crab. Caledonian locks-

Sir Pen. Dutch nose-

Crab. Austrian lips-

Sir Pen. Complexion of a Spaniard-

Crab. And teeth a la Chinoise-

Sir Pen. In short, her face resembles a table d'hote at Spa

where no two guests are of a nation--

Crab. Or a congress at the close of a general war—where-
in 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.THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL.

123

Mrs. Can. Ha! ha! ha!

Sir Pet. Mercy on my life!—a person they dine with
twice a week!	[Aside.

Mrs. Can. Nay, but I vow you shall not carry the laugh
off 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 par-
ticular friend of mine, I hope you'll not take her part.

Lady 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 allied to
good nature than your ladyship is aware of.

Lady Teaz. True, Sir Peter; I believe they are so near
akin that they can never be united.

Sir Ben. Or rather, suppose them man and wife, because
one seldom sees them together.

Lady Teaz. But 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
sporting with reputation of as much importance as poaching
on manors, and pass an act for the preservation of fame, as
well as game, I believe many would thank them for the bill.

Lady Sneer. O Lud ! Sir Peter; would you deprive us] of
our privileges ?

Sir Pet. Ay, madam; and then no person should be per-
mitted to kill characters and run down reputations but
qualified old maids and disappointed widows.

Lady Sneer. Go, you monster!

Mrs. Can. But, surely, you would not be quite so severo
on those who only report what they hear ?

Sir Pet. Yes, madam, I would have law merchant for them
too; and in all cases of slander currency, whenever the
drawer of the lie was not to be found, the injured parties
should have a right to come on any of the indorsers.124

THE SCHOOL FOE SCANDAL.

Crab. Well, for my part, I believe there never was a
scandalous tale without some foundation.

Lady Sneer. Come, ladies, shall we sit down to cards in the
next room ?

Enter Servant, who whispers Sir Peter.

Sir Fet. I'll be with them directly.—[Exit Servant.] I'll
get away unperceived.	[Aside.

Lady Sneer. Sir Peter, you are not going to leave us ?

Sir Pet. Your ladyship must excuse me; I'm called away
by particular business. But I leave my character behind
me.	[Exit.

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 were not your husband.

Lady Teaz. Oh, pray don't mind that; come, do let's hear
them.	[Exeunt all but Joseph Surface and Maria.

Jos. 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 province of wit or humour, Heaven
grant me a double portion of dulness!

Jos. 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 uncontrollable bitterness of mind.

Jos. 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 for others, and be unkind to
me alone ? Is hope to be denied the tenderest passion ?

Mar. Why will you distress me by renewing this subject ?

Jos. Surf. Ah, Maria! you would not treat me thus, and
oppose your guardian, Sir Peter's will, but that I see that
profligate Charles is still a favoured rival.THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL.

125

Mar. Ungenerously urged! But, whatever my sentiments
are for that unfortunate young man, be assured I shall not
feel more bound to give him up because his distresses have
lost him the regard even of a brother.

Jos. Surf. Nay, but, Maria, do not leave me with a frown:
by all that's honest, I swear--[Kneels.

Be-enter Lady Teazle behind.

Aside."] Gad's life, here's Lady Teazle.—[Aloud to Maria.]
You must not—no, you shall not—for, though I have the

greatest regard for Lady Teazle-

Mar. Lady Teazle!

Jos. Surf. Yet were Sir Peter to suspect--

Lady Teaz. [Coming forward.] What is this, pray ? Does
he take her for me?—Child, you are wanted in the next
room.—[Exit Maria.] What is all this, pray P

Jos. Surf. Oh, the most unlucky circumstance in nature !
Maria has somehow suspected the tender concern I have for
your happiness, and threatened to acquaint Sir Peter with
her suspicions, and I was just endeavouring to reason with
her when you came in.

Ijady Teaz. Indeed! but you seemed to adopt a very tender
mode of reasoning—do you usually argue on your knees?

Jqs. Surf. Oh, she's a child, and I thought a little bom-
bast---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 impru-
dent, and you know I admit you as a lover no farther than
fashiop. requires.

Jos. Surf. True—a mere Platonic cicisbeo, what every
wife is entitled to.	< j

Lady Teaz. Certainly, one must not be out of the fashion.
However, I have so many of my country prejudices left,
that, though Sir Peter's ill humour may vex me ever so, it

never shall provoke me to--

Jos. Surf. The only revenge in your power. Well, I
applaud your moderation.126	THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL.

V

Lady Teaz. Go—you are an insinuating wretch ! But we
shall be missed—let us join the company.

Jos. Surf. But we had best not return together.

Lady Teaz. "Well, don't stay; for Maria sha'n't come to
hear any more of your reasoning, I promise you. [Exit.

Jos. 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.
Sincerely I begin to wish I had never made such a point oi
gaining so very good a character, for it has led me into so
many cursed rogueries that I doubt I shall be exposed at
last.	[Exit.

Scene III.—A Room in Sir Peter Teazle's Souse.

Enter Sir Oliver Surface and Rowley.

Sir Oliv. Ha! ha! ha! so my old friend is married, hey ?
—a young wife out of the country. Ha! ha! ha ! that he
should have stood bluff to old bachelor so long, and sink into
a husband at last!

jRow. 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. 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 ?

Row. His prejudice against him is astonishing, and I am
sure greatly increased by a jealousy of him with Lady
Teazle, which he has industriously been led into by a
prandalous society in the neighbourhood, who have con-
tributed 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. Ay, 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 hi$THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL.

127

good name "before lie lias years to know the value of it. But
I am not to "be prejudiced against my nephew by such, I
promise you ! No, no: if Charles has done nothing false or
mean, I shall compound for his extravagance.

Row. Then, my life on't, you will reclaim him. Ah, sir,
it gives me new life to find that your hearty 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 years myself P 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 ?

Row. Sir, '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's.greatly
altered, and seems to have a settled married look ! One may
road husband in his face at this distance!

Enter Sir Peter Teazle.

Sir Pet. Ha! Sir Oliver—my old friend! Welcome to
England a thousand times!

Sir Oliv. Thank you, thank you, Sir Peter! and i' faith
I am glad to find you well, believe me !

Sir Pet. Oh! 'tis a long time since we met—fifteen years,
I doubt, Sir Oliver, and many a cross accident in the time.

Sir Oliv. Ay, I have had my share. But, what! I find
you are married, hey, my old boy ? Well, well, it can't be
helped; and so—I wish you joy with all my heart!

Sir Pet. Thank you, thank you, Sir Oliver.—Yes, I have
entered into—the happy state; but we'll not talk of that now.

Sir Oliv. True, true, Sir Peter; old friends should not
begin on grievances at first meeting. No, no, no.

Row. [Aside to Sir Oliver.] Take care, pray, sir.

Sir Oliv. Well, so one of my nephews is a wild rogue,
hoy p128

THE SCHOOL FOB SCANDAL.

Sir Pet. Wild! Ah! my old friend, I grieve for your
disappointment there; he's a lost young man, indeed. How-
ever, his brother will make you amends ; Joseph is, indeed,
what a youth should be—every body in the world speaks
well of him.

Sir Oliv. I am sorry to hear it; he has too good a charac-
ter to ue an honest fellow. Every body speaks well of him!
Psha! then he has bowed as low to knaves and fools as to
the honest dignity of genius and virtue.

Sir Pet. What, Sir Oliver! do you blame him for not
making enemies ?

Sir Oliv. Yes, if he has merit enough to deserve them.

Sir Pet. Well, well—you'll be convinced when you know
him. 'Tis edification to hear him converse; he professes the
noblest sentiments.

Sir Oliv. Oh, plague of his sentiments! If he salutes me
with a scrap of morality in his mouth, I shall be sick
directly. But, however, 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.

Mow. And Six Peter shall own for once he has been mis-
taken.

Sir Pet. Oh, my life on Joseph's honour!

Sir Oliv. Well—come, give us a bottle of good wine, and
we'll drink the lads' health, and tell you our scheme.

Sir Pet. AllonSy then!

Sir Oliv. And don't, Sir Peter, be so severe against your
old friend's son. Odds my life! I am not sorry thit he has
run out of the course a little : for my part, I hate to see
prudence clinging to the green suckers of youth; 'tis like
ivy round a sapling, and spoils the growth of the tree.

[Exeunt.THE SCHOOL FOE SCANDAL.	129

ACT III.

Scene I.—A Boom in Sir Peter Teazle's Rouse.

Enter Sir Peter Teazle, Sir Oliver Surface, and
Bowley.

Sir Pet. Well, then, we will see this fellow first, and have
our wine afterwards. But how is this, Master Rowley ? I
don't see the jet of your scheme.

Mow. 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. He has applied, by letter, since
his confinement, 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 extravagance
has left him power to do; and he is, at this time, en-
deavouring to raise a sum of money, part of which, in the
midst of his own distresses, I know he intends for the
service of poor Stanley.

Sir Oliv. Ah! he is my brother's son.

Sir Pet. Well, but how is Sir Oliver personally to-

Mow. Why, sir, I will inform Charles and his brother
that Stanley has obtained permission to apply personally 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 benevolence of
their dispositions: and believe me, sir, 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 heart to pity, and a hand,

Open as day, for melting charity."

Sir Pet. Psha ! What signifies his having an open hand
or purse either, when he has nothing left to give P 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 ?

js—i23130

THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL.

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.

Row. Desire Mr. Moses to walk up stairs.

[Calls 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 own interests. I have
also another evidence in my power, one Snake, whom I have
detected in a matter little short of forgery, and shall shortly
produce to remove some of your prejudices, Sir Peter, rela-
tive to Charles and Lady Teazle.

Sir Pet. I have heard too much on that subject.

Row. Here comes the honest Israelite.

Enter Moses.

—This is Sir Oliver.

Sir Oliv. Sir, I understand you have lately had great deal-
ings 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.

Sir Oliv. "Unfortunate, indeed ! But'I suppose you have
done all in your power for him, honest Moses P

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 him some money.THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL.

131

Sir Pet. What, one Charles has never had money from
before P

Mos. Yes, Mr. Premium, of Crutched Friars, formerly a
broker.

Sir Pet. Egad, Sir Oliver, a thought strikes me!—
Charles, you say, does not know Mr. Premium f

Mos. Not at all.

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 Premium, and then, I'll answer for it, you'll see
your nephew in all his glory.

Sir Oliv, Egad, I like this idea better than the other, and
I may visit Joseph afterwards as old Stanley.

Sir Pet. True, so you may.

jRow. Well, this is taking Charles rather at a disadvan-
tage, to be sure. However, Moses, you understand Sir
Peter, and will be faithful ?

Mos. You may depend upon me.—[Looks at his watch J]
This is near the time I was to have gone.

Sir Oliv. I'll accompany you as soon as you please,
Moses——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
moneylender ?

Sir Pet. Not at all; 'twould not be out of character if
you went in your own carriage—would it, Moses ?

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 jt, is to be exorbitant enough in your demands.
Jley, Moses ?132

THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL.

Mos. Yes, that's a very great point.

Sir Oliv. I'll answer for't I'll not be wanting in that.
I'll ask him eight or ten per cent, on the loan, at least.

Mos. If you ask him no more than that you'll be dis-
covered immediately.

Sir Oliv. Hey! what, the plague! how much then ?

Mos. 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 moneys very bad, you may ask
double.

Sir Pet. A good honest trade you're learning, Sir Oliver.

Sir Oliv. Truly, I think so—and not unprofitable.

Mos. Then, you know, you haven't the moneys yourself,
but are forced to borrow them for him of a friend.

Sir Oliv. Oh ! I borrow it of a friend, do I ?

Mos. And your friend is an unconscionable dog, but you
can't help that.

Sir Oliv. My friend an unconscionable dog, is he ?

Mos. Yes, and he himself has not the moneys by him,
but is forced to sell stock at a great loss.

Sir Oliv. He is forced to sell stock at a great loss, is he ?
Well, that's very kind of him.

Sir Pet. V faith, Sir Oliver—Mr. Premium, I mean—
you'll soon be master of the trade. But, Moses! would not
you have him run out a little against the annuity bill?
That would be in character, I should think.

Mos. Very much.

Row. And lament that a young man now must be at years
of discretion before he is suffered to ruin himself ?

Mos. Ay, great pity !

' Sir Pet. And abuse the public for allowing merit to an
act whose only object is to snatch misfortune and imprud-
ence from the rapacious gripe of usury, and give the minor
a chance of inheriting his estate without being undone by
coming into possession.THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL.

Sir Oliv. So, so—Moses shall give me farther instruction
as we go together.

Sir Pet. You will not have much time, for your nephew
lives hard by.

Sir Oliv. Oh, never fear ! my tutor appears so able, that
though Charles lived in the next street, it must he my own
fault if I am not a complete rogue before I turn the corner.

{Exit with Moses,

Sir Pet. So, now, I think Sir Oliver will be convinced:
you are partial, Eowley, and, would have prepared Charles
for the other plot.

Bow. No, upon my word, Sir Peter.

Sir Pet. "Well, go bring me this Snake, and I'll hear
what he has to say presently. I see Maria, and want to
speak with her.—[Exit Eowley.] 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—I am determined I will do it—he will
give me his opinion sincerely.

Enter Maria.

So, child, has Mr. Surface returned with you ? ]

Maria. 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 compel me to
declare that I know no man who has ever paid me a par-
ticular attention whom I would not prefer to Mr. Surface.

Sir Pet. So—here's, perverseness! No, no, Maria, 'tis
Charles only whom you would prefer. 'Tis evident his
vices and follies have won your heart.

Mar. This is unkind, sir. You know I have obeyed
you in neither seeing nor corresponding with him; I have
heard enough to convince me that he is unworthy myTHE SCHOOL FOE, SCANDAL.

egard. Yet I cannot think it culpable, if, while my
understanding severely condemns his vices, my heart sug-
gests 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 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 matri-
mony 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.—\Lady Teazle sings with-
out.] But here comes my helpmate ! She appears in great
good humour. How happy I should be if I could tease her
into loving me, though but a little !

Enter Lady Teazle.

Lady Teaz. Lud! Sir Peter, I hope you haven't been
quarrelling with Maria ? It is not using me well to be ill-
humoured when I am not by.

Sir Pet. Ah, Lady Teazle, you might have the power to
make me "good-humoured at all times.

Lady Teaz. I am sure I wish I had ; for I want you to
be in a charming sweet temper at this moment. Do be
good-humoured 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 without paying for it ? But speak to me thus,
and i'faith there's nothing I could refuse you. You shall
have it; but seal me a bond for the repayment.THE SCHOOL FOE SCANDAL.

135

Lady Tectz. Oh, no—there—my note of hand will do as
well.	[Offering her hand.

Sir Pet. And you shall no longer reproach me with not
giving you an independent settlement. I mean shortly to
surprise you : but shall we always live thus, hey ?

Lady Teaz. If you please. I'm sure I don't care how
soon we leave off quarrelling, provided you'll 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 P

Sir Pet. Yes, yes, and you were as kind and atten-
tive--

Lady Teaz. Ay, 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. Ay, and when my cousin Sophy has called
you a stiff, peevish old bachelor, and laughed 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.

Sir Pet. Thank you.

Lady Teaz. And I dared say you'd make a very good sort
of a husband.

Sir Pet. And you prophesied right; and we shall now be
the happiest couple-

Lady Teaz. And never differ again ?

Sir Pet. No, never!—though at the same time, indeed,
my dear Lady Teazle, you must watch your temper very136	THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL.

seriously; for in all our little quarrels, my dear, if you re-
collect, my love, you always began, first.

Lady Teaz. I beg your pardon, my dear Sir Peter : in-
deed, you always gave the provocation.

Sir Pet. Now see, my angel! 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—you are going on. You don't
perceive, my life, that you are just doing the very thing
which you know always makes me angry.

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'm sure I don't: but, if you will be so
peevish--

Sir Pet. There noyr! who begins first ?

• Lady Teaz. Why, you, to be sure. I said nothing—but
there's no bearing your temper.

Sir Pet. No, no, madam: the fault's in your own temper.

Lady Teaz. Ay, you are just what my cousin Sophy said
you would be.

Sir Pet. Your cousin Sophy is a forward, impertinent
gipsy.

Lady Teaz. You are a great bear, I'm sure, to 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, and I was a madman to marry you—a pert,
rural coquette, that had refused half the honest 'squires in
the neighbourhood!

Lady Teaz. And I am sure I was a fool to marry you—
an old dangling bachelor, who was single at fifty, only be-
cause he never could meet with any one who would have
him.THE SCHOOL FOB SCANDAL.

137

Sir Pet, Ay, ay, madam; but you were pleased enough
to listen to me : you never had such an offer before.

Lady Teaz. No! didn't I refuse Sir Tivy 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 un-
feeling, ungrateful—but there's an end of everything. I
believe you capable of every thing that is 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 in-
sinuate any such thing! I'll 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 bachelors. Let us separate, madam.

Lady Teaz. Agreed! agreed ! And now, my dear Sir
Peter, we are of a mind once more, we may be the happiest
couple, and never differ again, you know: ha! ha! ha!
"Well, you are going to be in a passion, I see, and I shall
only interrupt you—so, bye ! bye !	[Exit.

Sir Pet. Plagues and tortures ! can't I make her angry
either! Oh, I am the most miserable fellow! But I'll not
bear her presuming to keep her temper: no! she may
break my heart, but she shan't keep her temper. [Exit.

Scene II.—A Boom in Charles Surface's House.

Enter Trip, Moses, and Sir Oliver Surface.

Trip. Here, Master Moses! if you'll stay a moment, I'll
try whether—what's the gentleman's name ?

Sir Oliv. Mr. Moses, what is my name ? [Aside to Moses.

Mos. Mr. Premium.

E*—23138

THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL.

Trip. Premium— very well.	\Exit> taking snuff.

Sir Oliv. To judge by the servants, one wouldn't believe
the master was ruined. 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 piece of extravagance in
him.

Sir Oliv. In my mind, the other's economy in selling it to
him was more reprehensible by half.

lie-enter Trip.

Trip. My master says you must wait, geDtlemen; he has
company, and can't speak with you yet.

Sir Oliv. If he knew who it was wanted to see him, per-
haps he would not send such a message ?

Trip. Yes, yes, sir; he knows you are here—I did not
forget little Premium : no, no, no.

Sir Oliv. Yery well; and I pray, sir, what may be your
name P

Trip. Trip, sir ; my name is Trip, at your service.

Sir Oliv. Well, then, Mr. Trip, you have a pleasant sort
of place here, I guess ?

Trip. Why, y&s—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.

Sir Oliv. Bags and bouquets ? halters and bastinadoes !

[Aside.

Trip. And a propos, Moses, have you been able to get me
that little bill discounted ?	*

Sir Oliv. Wants to raise money too!—mercy on me! Has
his distresses too, I warrant, like a lord, and affects creditors
and duns.	[Aside.

Mos. 'Twas not to be done, indeed, Mr. Trip.

Trip. Good lack, you surprise me ! My friend Brush hasTHE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL

139

indorsed it, and I thought when he put his name at the "back
of a bill'twas the same as cash.

Mos. No, 'twouldn't do.

Trip. A small sum—but twenty pounds. Hark'ee, Moses,
do you think you couldn't get it me by way of annuity ?

Sir Oliv. An annuity ! ha ! ha! a footman raise money by
way of annuity ! Well done, luxury, egad!	[Aside.

Mos. Well, but you must insure your place.

Trip. Oh, 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. [Aside.

Mos. But is there nothing you could deposit ?

Trip. Why, nothing capital of my master's wardrobe has
dropped' lately; but I could give you a mortgage on some of
his winter clothes, 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.	\Bell rings.

Trip. Egad, I heard the bell! I believe, gentlemen, I can
now introduce you. Don't forget the annuity, little Moses!
This way, gentlemen, I'll insure my place, you know.

Sir Oliv. [Aside."] If the man be a shadow of the master,
this is the temple of dissipation indeed!	[Exeunt.

Scene III.—Another Room in the same.1
Charles Surface, Sir Harry Bumper, Careless, and
Gentlemen, discovered drinking.

Chas. Surf. 'Fore heaven, 'tis true!—there's the great
degeneracy of the age. Many of our acquaintance have
taste, spirit, and politeness; 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 nothing140	THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL.

but wine and wit. Oh, certainly society suffers by it intoler-
ably ! for [now, instead of the social spirit of raillery that
used to mantle over a glass of bright Burgundy, their con-
versation is become just like the Spa-water they drink,
which has all the pertness and flatulency of champagne,
without its spirit or flavour.

1	Gent. But what are they to do who love play better
than wine.

Care. True! there's Sir Harry diets himself for gaming,
and is now under a hazard regimen.

Chas. Surf. Then he'll 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 am a little merry: let me throw on a bottle of champagne,
and I never lose.

AH. Hey, what ?

Care. At least I never feel my losses, which is exactly
the same thing.

2	Gent. Ay, that I believe.

Chas. Surf. And then, what man can pretend to be a be-
liever in love, who is an abjurer of wine ? 'Tis the test by
svhich the lover knows his own heart. Fill a dozen bumpers
to a dozen beauties, and she that floats at the top is the maid
that has bewitched you.

Care. Now then, Charles, be honest, and give us your real
favourite.

Chas. Surf. Why, I have withheld her only in compassion
to you. If I toast her, you must give a round of her peers,
which is impossible—on earth.

Care. Oh! then we'll find some canonised vestals or
heathen goddesses that will do, I warrant!

Chas. Surf. Here then, bumpers, you rogues! bumpers!
Maria ! Maria.!-

Sir Har. Maria who ?

Chas. Surf. Oh, damn the surname!—'tis too formal to be
registered in Love's calendar—Maria!THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL.

141

All. Maria!

Chas. Surf. But now, Sir Ha*ry, beware, we must have
beauty superlative.

Care. Nay, never study, Sir Harry: we'll stand to the
toast, though your mistress should want an eye, and you
know you have a song will excuse you.

Sir Har. Egad, so I have! and I'll give him the song
instead of the lady.	[Sings.

Here's to the maiden of bashful fifteen;

Here's to the widow of fifty j
Here's to the flaunting extravagant queen,

And here's to the housewife that's thrifty.

Chorus. Let the toast pass,—

Drink to the lass,

I'll warrant she'll prove an excuse for the 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's 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.

All. Bravo! bravo

Enter Trip, and whispers Ohahles Surface.

Chas. Surf. Gentlemen, you must excuse me a little.—
Careless, take the chair, will you ?

Care. Nay, pr'ythee, Charles, what now ? This is one of
your peerless beauties, I suppose, has dropped in by chance ?142

THE SCHOOL FOE SCANDAL.

Chas. Surf. No, faith ! To tell you the truth, 'tis a Jew
ar.d a broker, who are come by appointment.

Care. Oh, damn it! let's have the Jew in.

1	Gent. Ay, and the broker too, by all means.

2	Gent. Yes, yes, the Jew and the broker.

Chas. Surf. Egad, with all my heart!—Trip, bid the gen-
tlemen walk in.—[Exit Trip.] Though there's one of them
a stranger, I can tell you.

Care. Charles, let us give them some generous Burgundy,
and perhaps they'll grow conscientious.

Chas. Surf. Oh, 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.

Re-enter Trip, with Sir Oliver Surface and Moses#

Chas. Surf. So, honest Moses ; walk in, pray, Mr. Premium
—that's the gentleman's name, isn't, it, Moses ?

Mos. Yes, sir.

Chas. Surf. Set chairs, Trip.—Sit down, Mr. Premium.—
Glasses, Trip.—[Trip gives chairs and glasses, and exit.] Sit
down, Moses.—Come, Mr. Premium, I'll give you a senti-
ment ; here's Success to usury !—Moses, fill the gentlemen a
bumper.

Mos. Success to usury !	[Brinks.

Care. Eight, Mo3es—usury is prudence and industry, and
deserves to succeed.

Sir Oliv. Then here's—All the success it deserves!

[Drinks.

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. G-ive Moses a quart glass—this is mutiny, and a
high contempt for the chair.THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL.

143

Care. Here, now for't! I'll see justice done, to the last
drop of my "bottle.

Sir Oliv. Nay, pray, gentlemen—I did not expect this
usage.

Chas. Surf. 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'll not
sit down with thein. Come, Harry, the dice are in the next
room.—Charles, you'll join us when you have finished your
business with the gentlemen ?

Chas. Surf. I will! I will!—[Exeunt Sir Harry Bumper
and Gentlemen : Careless following.] Careless!

Care. [Returning.] Well!

Chas. Surf. Perhaps I may want you.

Care. Oh, you know I am always ready : word, note, or
bond, 'tis all the same to me.	[Exit.

Mos. Sir, this is Mr. Premium, a gentleman of the strictest
honour and secrecy ; and always performs what he under-
takes. Mr. Premium, this is—

Chas. Surf. Psha! have done. Sir, my friend Moses is a
very honest fellow, but a little slow at expression : he'll 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 farther ceremony.

Sir Oliv. Exceeding frank, upon my word. I see, sir, you
are not a man of many compliments.

Chas. Surf. Oh, no, sir! plain dealing in business I
always think best.

Sir Oliv. Sir, I like you the better for it, ^ However, you144

THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL.

are mistaken 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. Surf. Right. People that speak truth generally do.
But these are trifles, Mr. Premium. What! I know money
isn't to be bought without paying for't!

Sir Oliv. "Well, but what security could you give P You
have no land, I suppose P

Chas. Surf. Not a mole-hill, nor a twig, but what's in the
bough-pots out of the window!

Sir Oliv. Nor any stock, I presume P

Chas. Surf. Nothing but livestock—and that 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 truth, I am.

Chas. Surf. Then you must know that I have a devilish
rich uncle in the East Indies, Sir Oliver Surface, from whom
I have the greatest 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.

Chas. Surf. Oh, no!—there can be no doubt. They tell
me I'm a prodigious favourite, and that he talks of leaving
me every thing.

Sir Oliv. Indeed! this is the first I've heard of it.

Chas. Surf. Yes, yes, 'tis just so. Moses knows 'tis true;
don't you, Moses ?

Mos. Oh, yes ! I'll swear to't.

Sir Oliv. Egad, they'll persuade me presently I'm at
Bengal.	[Aside.

Chas. Surf. 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 youTHE SCHOOL FOE SCANDAL.

145

my word, I should be very sorry to hear that any thing 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 offer me—for I might live to a hundred and never see
the principal.

Chas. Surf. 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. Surf. 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 Christen-
dom.

Chas. Surf. 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. Surf. Ha ! ha!—you're glad to hear that, little
Premium ?

Sir Oliv. No, no, I'm not.

Chas. Surf. 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. Surf. 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. Yery true, as you say, you must know better
than I, though I have it from pretty good authority.
Haven't I, Moses.146

THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL.

Mos. Yes, most undoubted!

Sir Oliv. But, sir, as I understand you want a few hun-
dreds immediately, is there nothing you could dispose of ?

Chas. Surf. How do you mean ?

Sir Oliv. For instance, now, I have heard that your father
left behind him a great quantity of massy old plate.

Chas. Surf. 0 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 corporation-bowls !—[Aloud.] Then it was also sup-
posed that his library was one of the most valuable and
compact.

Chas. Surf. Yes, yes, so it was—vastly too much so for a
private gentleman. For my part, I was always of a commu-
nicative disposition, sol 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 are
become of the books ?

Chas. Surf. 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. Surf. 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 forefathers, would you P

Chas. Surf. Every man of them, to the best bidder.

Sir Oliv. What! your great-uncles and aunts ?

Chas. Surf. Ay, and my great-grandfathers and grand-
mothers too.

Sir Oliv. [Aside.Now I give him up!—[Aloud.What
the plague, have you no bowels for your own kindred ? Odd'sTHE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL.

147

life! do you take me for Shy lock in the play, that you would
raise money of me on your own flesh and blood ?

Chas. Surf. Nay, my little broker, don't be angry : what
need you care, if you have your money's worth ?

Sir Oliv. Well, I'll be the purchaser : I think I can dis-
pose of the family canvas.—\Aside.~\ Oh, I'll never forgive
him this ! never!

Re-enter Careless.

Care. Come, Charles, what keeps you ?

Chas. Surf. 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. Surf. No, he may do that afterwards, if he pleases.
Stay, Careless, we want you: egad, you shall be auctioneer—
so come along with us.

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. Surf. Come, Moses, 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!—\Aside."\ Oh, the prodigal!

Chas. Surf. 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 P	[.Exeunt.

Sir Oliv. I'll never forgive him; never ! never!

ACT IY.

Scene I.—A Picture Room in Charles Surface's House.
Enter Charles Surface, Sir Oliver Surface, Moses, and
Careless.

Chas. Surf. Walk in, gentlemen, pray walk in—here they
are, the family of the Surfaces, up to the Conquest.148

THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL.

Sir Oliv. And, in my opinion, a goodly collection.

Chas. Surf. Ay, ay, these are done in tlie true spirit of
portrait-painting; no volontiere grace or expression. Not
like tlie works of your 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 stiff and awkward as the originals,
and like nothing in human nature "besides.

Sir Oliv. Ah! we shall never see [such figures of men
again.

Chas. Surf. 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 grand-
father'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 P

Chas. Surf. Egad, that's true. What parchment have we
here ? Oh, our genealogy in full. [Taking pedigree 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—
A-going, a-going, a-going!

Chas. Surf. Bravo, Careless! Well, here's my great-
uncle, Sir Richard Raveline, 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?THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL.

149

look at him—there's a hero! not cut out of his feathers,
as your modern clipped captains are, hut enveloped in
wig and regimentals, as a general should be. What do you
bid?

Sir Oliv. [Aside to Moses.] Bid him speak.

Mos, Mr. Premium would have you speak.

Chas. Surf. 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
Eichard for ten pounds!—[.Aloud.] Yery well, sir, I take
him at that.

Chas. Surf. Careless, knock down my uncle Eichard.—
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!—[Aloud.] Five pounds ten—she's
mine.

Chas. Surf. 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.

Chas. Surf. Well, take that couple for the same.

Mos. 'Tis a good bargain.

Chas. Surf. Careless!—This, now, is a grandfather of my
mother's, a learned judge, well known on the western cir-
cuit.—What do you rate him at, Moses ?

Mos. Four guineas.

Chas. Surf. 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.150

THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL.

Sir Oliv. By all means.

Care. Gone!

Chas. Surf. 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 be-
lieve, this is the first time they were ever bought or sold.

Sir Oliv. That is very extraordinary, indeed! I'll take
them at your own price, for the honour of parliament.

Care. Well said, little Premium ! I'll knock them down
at forty.

Chas. Surf. 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. Surf. Come, make it guineas, and I'll throw you
the two aldermen there into the bargain.

Sir Oliv. They're mine.

Chas. Surf. Careless, knock down the mayor and aldermen.
But, plague on't! we shall be all day retailing in this man-
ner ; 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, any thing to accommodate you;
they are mine. But there is one portrait which you have
always passed over.

Care. 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. Surf. What, that ? Oh ; that's my uncle Oliver I
'twas done before he went to India.

Care. Your uncle Oliver ! Gad, then you'll 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 ?THE SCHOOL FOB SCANDAL.

151

Sir Oliv. 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 lum-
ber ?

Chas. Suff No, hang it! I'll not part with poor Noll.
The old fellow has been very good to me, and, egad, I'll
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. Surf. 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!—[Aloud.]
But, sir, when I take a whim in my head, I don't value
money. I'll give you as much for that as for all the rest.

Chas. Surf. Don't tease me, master broker; I tell you I'll
not part with it, and there's an end of it.

Sir Oliv. [Aside.] How like his father the dog is!—
[Aloud.] "Well, well, I have done.—[Aside.] I did not per-
ceive it before, but I think I never saw such a striking re-
semblance.—[Aloud.] Here is a draught for your sum.

Chas. Surf. Why, 'tis for eight hundred pounds !

Sir Oliv. You will not let Sir Oliver go ?

Chas. Surf Zounds ! no ! I tell you, once more.

Sir Oliv. Then never mind the difference, we'll balance
that another time. But give me your hand on the bargain;
you are an honest fellow, Charles—I beg pardon, sir, fox
being so free.—Come, Moses.

Chas. Surf. Egad, this is a whimsical old fellow!—But
hark'ee, Premium, you'll prepare lodgings for these gentle-
men.

Sir Oliv. Yes, yes, I'll send for them in a day or two.

Chas. Surf But hold ; do now send a genteel conveyance
for them, for, I assure you, they were most of them used to
ride in their own carriages.

Sir Oliv. I will, I will—for all but Oliver.152

THE SCHOOX- FOE SCANDAL,,

Chas. Surf. Ay, all but the little nabob.

Sir Oliv. You're fixed on,'that?

Chas. Surf. Peremptorily.

Sir Oliv. [Aside.] A dear extravagant rogue!—[Aloud.)
Good day !—Come, Moses.—[Aside.] Let me hear now who
dares call him profligate !	[Exit with Moses,

Care. Why, this is the oddest genius of the sort I ever
met with!

Chas. Surf. 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'll 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 nonsense; for tradesmen, Charles, are the most
exorbitant fellows.

Chas. Surf. Very true, and paying them is only encourag-
ing them.

Care. Nothing else.

Chas. Surf 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 valu-
able relations than I took them for!—Ladies and gentle-
men, your most obedient and very grateful servant.

[Bows ceremoniously to the pictures.

Enter Rowley.

Ha I old Rowley ! egad, you are just come in time to take
leave of your old acquaintance.

Mow. Yes, I heard they were a-going. But I wonder you
can have such spirits under so many distresses.

Chas. Surf. Why, there's the point! my distresses are so
many, that I can't afford to part with my spirits; but 1
shall be rich and splenetic, all in good time. However, I
suppose you are surprised that I am not more sorrowful atTHE SCHOOL FOE SCANDAL.

153

parting with, so many near relations; to be sure, 'tis very
affecting: but you see they never move a muscle, so why
should I ?

Row. There's no making you serious a moment.

Chas., Surf. Yes, faith, I am so now. Here, my honest
Rowley, here, get me this changed directly, and take a
hundred pounds of it immediately to old Stanley.

Row. A hundred pounds ! Consider only-

Chas. Surf. 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.

Row. Ah! there's the point! I never will cease dunning
you with the old proverb-

Chas. Surf. Be just before you're generous.—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.

Row. Yet, Charles, believe me, one hour's reflectioi?.-

Chas. Surf. Ay, ay, it's very true; but, hark'ee, Rowley,
while I have, by Heaven I'll give; so, damn your economy;
and now for hazard.	[Exeunt,

Scene II.—Another room in the same.

Enter Sir Oliver Surface and 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 would not sell my picture.

Mos. And games so deep.

Sir Oliv. But he would not sell my picture. Oh, here's
Rowley.

Enter Rowley.

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 tapestry154

THE SCHOOL FOE SCANDAL.

Row. And here has he commissioned me to re-deliver you
part of the purchase money—I mean, though, in your
necessitous character of old Stanley.

Mos. Ah ! there is the pity of all; he is so damned
charitable.

Row. And I left a hosier and two tailors in the hall, who,
I'm sure, won't he paid, and this hundred would satisfy
them.

Sir Oliv. "Well, well, I'll pay his debts, and his benevo-
lence too. But now I am no more a broker, and you shall
introduce me to the elder brother as old Stanley.

Row. Not yet awhile; Sir Peter, I know, means to call
there about this time.

Enter Trip.

Trip. Oh, gentlemen, I beg pardon for not showing you
out; this way—Moses, a word.	[Exit with Moses.

SirlOliv. There's a fellow for you I Would you believe
it, that puppy intercepted the Jew on our coming, and
wanted to raise money before he got to his master !

Row. Indeed!

Sir Oliv. Yes, they are now planning an annuity business.
Ah, Master Rowley, in my days servants were content with
the follies of their masters, when they were worn a little
threadbare; but now they have their vices, like their birth-
day clothes, with the gloss on.	[Exeunt,

Scene III.—A Library in Joseph Surface's House.

Enter Joseph Surface and Servant.

Jos. Surf. No letter from Lady Teazle ?

Ser. No, sir.

Jos. Surf. [Aside.] I am surprised she has not sent, if she
is prevented from coming. Sir Peter certainly does not
suspect me. Yet I wish I may not lose the heiress, through
the scrape I have drawn myself into with the wife; how-
ever, Charles's imprudence and bad character are great
points in my favour.	[Knocking without.THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL*

155

Ser. Sir, I believe that must be Lady Teazle.

Jos. 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.

Jos. 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 now? Have
you been very impatient ? 0 Lud! don't pretend to look
grave. I vow I couldn't come before.

Jos. Surf. 0 madam, punctuality is a species of constancy
very unfashionable in a lady of quality.

[Places chairs, and sits after Lady Teazle is seated.

Lady Teaz. Upon my word, you ought to pity me. Do
you know Sir Peter is grown so ill-natured to me of late,
and so jealous of Charles too—that's the best of the story,
isn't it F -

Jos. 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?

Jos. Surf [Aside."] Indeed I do not.—[Aloud.] Oh, cer-
tainly 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 Teaz. Well, well, I'm inclined to believe you. But
isn't it provoking, to have the most ill-natured things said of156

THE SCHOOL FOB SCANDAL.

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.

Jos. Surf. Ay, madam, to be sure, that is the provoking
circumstance—without foundation; yes, yes, there's the
mortification, indeed; for, when a scandalous story is believed
against one, there certainly is no comfort like the conscious-
ness of having deserved it.

Lady Teaz. No, to he 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 any body—that is, of any friend;
and then Sir Peter, too, to have him so peevish, and so sus-
picious, when I know the integrity of my own heart—indeed
'tis monstrous!

Jos. Surf. But, my dear Lady Teazle, 'tis your own fault
if you suffer it. "When a husband entertains a groundless
suspicion of his wife, and withdraws his confidence from her,
the original compact is broken, 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,r4that the best way of curing his jealousy is
to give him reason for't ?

Jos. 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 innocence--

" Jos. Surf. Ah, my dear madam, there is the great mistake!
'tis this very conscious innocence that is of the greatest preju-
dice to you. "What is it makes you negligent of forms, and
careless of the world's opinion ? why, the consciousness of
your own innocence. "What makes you thoughtless in your
conduct, and apt to run into a thousand little imprudences P
why, the consciousness of your own innocence. What makes
you impatient of Sir Peter's temper, and outrageous at his
suspicions ? why, the consciousness of your innocence.THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL.	157

Lady Teaz. 'Tis very true!

Jos. Surf. Now, my dear Lady Teazle, if you would but
once make a triflingfaux 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 P

Jos. Surf. Oh, I am sure on'fc; and then you would find
all scandal would cease at once, for—in short, your character
at present is like a person in a plethora, absolutely dying
from 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 ?

Jos. Surf. Exactly so, upon my credit, ma'am.

Lady Teaz. Well, certainly this is the oddest doctrine, and
the newest receipt for avoiding calumny!

Jos. Surf. An infallible one, believe me. Prudence, like
experience, must be paid for.

Lady Teaz. Why, if my understanding were once con-
vinced--

Jos. Surf. Oh, certainly, madam, your understanding
should be convinced. Yes, yes—Heaven forbid I should
persuade you to do any thing you thought wrong. No, no,
I have too much honour to desire it.

Lady Teaz. Don't you think we may as well leave honour
out of the argument ?	[Mises.

Jos. 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.

Jos. Surf. Then, by this hand, which he is unworthy of-

\Tahing her hand.

Re-enter Servant.

'Sdeath, you blockhead—what do you want ?158

THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL.

Ser. I beg your pardon, sir, but I thought you would
not choose Sir Peter to come up without announcing
him.

Jos. Surf. Sir Peter !—Oons—the devil!

Lady Teaz. Sir Peter ! 0 Lud ! I'm ruined ! I'm ruined!

Ser. Sir, 't wasn't I let him in.

Lady Teaz. Oh ! I'm quite undone! What will become
of me ? Now, Mr. Logic—Oh! mercy, sir, he's on the
stairs—I'll get behind here—and if ever I'm so imprudent
again---[Goes behind the screen.

Jos. Surf. Give me that book.

down. Servant pretends to adjust his chair.

Enter Sie, Peter Teazle.

Sir Pet. Ay, ever improving himself—Mr. Surface, Mr.
Surface--[Pats Joseph on the shoulder.

Jos. Surf. Oh, my dear Sir Peter, I beg your pardon—
[Gaping, throws away the book.] I have been dozing 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 cox-
comb in.

Sir Pet. 'Tis very neat indeed. Well, well, that's proper;
and you can make even your screen a source of knowledge—
hung, I perceive, with maps.

Jos. Surf. Oh, yes, I find great use in that screen.

Sir Pet. I dare say you must, certainly, when you want to
find any thing in a hurry.

Jos. Surf. Ay, or to hide anything in a hurry either.

Jos. 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 unburden my mind to you1-'

[Aside.

Sir Pet. Well, I have a little private business-

Jos. Surf. You need not stay.
Ser. No, sir.

[To Servant.
[Exit.THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL.

159

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.

Jos. Surf. Indeed! I am 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
suppose she has formed an attachment to another.

Jos. Surf. Indeed! you astonish me !

Sir Pet. Yes! and, between ourselves, I think I've
discovered the person.

Jos. Surf How ! you alarm me exceedingly.

Sir Pet. Ay, my dear friend, I knew you would sympathise
with me!

Jos. Surf Yes, believe me, Sir Peter, such a discovery
would 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 we can trust even with one's family
secrets. But have you no guess who I mean P

Jos. Surf I haven't the most distant idea. It can't be
Sir Benjamin Backbite!

Sir Pet. Oh, no ! What say you to Charles ?

Jos. Surf My brother ! impossible!

Sir Pet. Oh, my dear friend, the goodness of your own
heart misleads you. You judge of others by yourself.

Jos. Surf. Certainly, Sir Peter, the heart that is conscious
of its own integrity is ever slow to credit another's treachery.

Sir Pet. True; but your brother has no sentiment—you
never hear him talk so.

Jos. Surf Yet I can't but think Lady Teazle herself has
too much principle.

Sir Pet. Ay; but what is principle against the flattery of
a handsome, lively young fellow ?

Jos. Surf That's very true.

Sir Pet. And then, you know, the difference 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 to160

THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL.

make it public, why the town would only laugh at me, the
foolish old bachelor, who had married a girl.

Jos. Surf. That's true, to be sure—they would laugh.

Sir Pet. Laugh ! ay, and make ballads, and paragraphs,
and the devil knows what of me.

Jos. Surf. No, you must never make it public.

Sir Pet. But then again—that theynephew of my old friend,
Sir Oliver, should be the person to attempt such a wrong,
hurts me more nearly.

Jos. Surf. Ay, there's the point. When ingratitude barbs
the dart of injury, the wound has double danger in it.

Sir Pet. Ay—I, that was, in a manner, left his guardian ;
in whose house he had been so often entertained; who
never in my life denied him—my advice!

Jos. Surf. Oh, '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, I cannot but doubt it.
However, if it should be proved on him, he is no longer
a brother of mine—I disclaim kindred with him : for the
man who can break the laws of hospitality, and tempt
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!

Jos. Surf Yet I cannot suspect Lady Teazle's honour.

Sir Pet. I am sure I wish to think well of her, and to
remove all ground of quarrel between us. She has lately
reproached me more than once with having made no settle-
ment 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 resolved
she shall have her own way, and be her own mistress in
that respect for the future ; and, if I were to die, she will
find I have not been inattentive to her interest while
living. Here, my friend, are the drafts of two deeds,
which I wish to have your opinion on. By one, sheTHE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL.

161

will enjoy eight hundred a year independent while I
live; and, by the other, the bulk of my fortune at my
death.

Jos. Surf. This conduct, Sir Peter, is indeed truly
generous.—[Aside.'] I wish it may not corrupt my pupil.

Sir Pet. Yes, I am determined she shall have no cause to
complain, though I would not have her acquainted with
the latter instance of my affection yet awhile.

Jos. Surf. Nor I, if I could help it.	[Aside.

Sir Pet. And now, my dear friend, if you please, we will
talk over the situation of your hopes with Maria.

Jos. Surf [Softly.] Oh, no, sir Peter; another time, if
you please.

Sir Pet. I am sensibly chagrined at the little progress
you seem to make in her affections.

Jos. Surf [Softly.] I beg you will not mention it. What
are my disappointments when your happiness is in debate !
—[Aside.] 'Sdeath, I shall be ruined every way!

Sir Pet. And though you are averse to my acquainting
Lady Teazle with your passion, I'm sure she's not your
enemy in the affair.

Jos. 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 oh my own concerns. The man
who is entrusted with his friend's distresses can never—

Re-enter Servant.

Well, sir?

Ser. Your brother, sir, is speaking to a gentleman in the
street, and says he knows you are within.

Jos. Surf. '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.

Jos. Surf Well, well, let him up.—[Exit Servant.] He'll
interrupt Sir Peter, however.	[Aside,

jr_23162

THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL.

Sir Pet. Now, my good friend, oblige me, I entreat you.
Before Charles comes, let me conceal myself somewhere;
then do you tax him on the point we have been talking,
and his answer may satisfy me at once.

Jos. Surf. Oh, 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 by giving him an oppor-
tunity to clear himself, and you will set my heart at rest.
Come, you shall not refuse me : [Going up,] here, behind the
screen will be—Hey ! what the devil! there seems to be one
listener here already—I'll swear I saw a petticoat!

Jos. Surf. Ha ! ha! ha! Well, this is ridiculous enough.
I'll tell you, Sir Peter, though I hold a man of intrigue to be
a most despicable character, yet, you know, it does not fol-
low that one is to be an absolute Josepheither! Hark'ee, 'tis
a little French milliner, a silly rogue that plagues me; and
having some character to lose, on your coming, sir, she ran
behind the screen.

Sir Pet. Ah, Joseph! Joseph! Did I ever think that

you--But, egad, she has overheard all I have been saying

of my wife.

Jos. Surf. Oh, 'twill never go any farther, you may depend
upon .it!

Sir Pet. No ! then, faith, let her hear it out.—Here's a
closet will do as well.

Jos. Surf, Well, go in there.

Sir Pet. Sly rogue! sly rogue	[Goes into the closet.

Jos. Surf. A narrow escape, indeed! and a curious situa-
tion I'm in, to part man and wife in this manner.

Lady Teaz. [Peeping.] Couldn't I steal off P

Jos. Surf. Keep close, my angel!

Sir Pet. [Peeping.] Joseph, tax him home.

Jos. Surf. Back, my dear friend!

Lady Teaz. [Peeping.] Couldn't yon lock Sir Peter in ?

Jos. Surf. Be still, my life 1THE SCHOOL FOB SCANDAL.

163

Sir Pet. [Peeping.] You're sure the little milliner won't
blab ?

Jos. Surf. In, in, my dear Sir Peter!—'Fore Gad, I wish
I had a key to the door.

Enter Charles Surface.

Chas. Surf. Holla! brother, what has been the matter P
Your fellow would not let me up at first. What ! have you
had a Jew or a wench with you P

Jos. Surf. Neither, brother, I assure you.

Chas. Surf. But what has made Sir Peter steal off? I
thought he had been with you.

Jos. Surf He was, brother; but, hearing you were
coming, he did not choose to stay.

Chas. Surf. What! was the old gentleman afraid I wanted
to borrow money of him ?

Jos. Surf. No, sir; but I am sorry to find, Charles, you
have lately given that worthy man grounds for great un-
easiness.

Chas. Surf Yes, they tell me I do that to a great many
worthy men. But how so, pray ?

jos. Surf. To be plain with you, brother, he thinks you
are endeavouring to gain Lady Teazle's affections from
him.

Chas. Surf. Who, I? O Lud! not I, upon my word.—
Ha ! ha! ha! ha ! so the old fellow has found out that he
has got a young wife, has he ?—or, what is worse, Lady
Teazle has found out she has an old husband ?

Jos. Surf This is no subject to jest on, brother. He who
can laugh-

Chas. Surf True, true, as you were going to say—then,
seriously, I never had the least idea of what you charge me
with, upon my honour.

Jos. Surf. Well, it will give Sir Peter great satisfaction
to hear this.	[Raising his voice.

Chas. Surf. To be sure, I once thought the lady seemed to164

THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL.

have taken a fancy to me ; but, upon my soul, I never gave
her the least encouragement. Besides, you know my attach-
ment to Maria.

Jos. Surf. But sure, brother, even if Lady Teazle had
betrayed the fondest partiality for you——

Chas. Surf. 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-

Jos. Surf. Well!

Chas. Surf. Why, I believe I should be obliged to-

Jos. Surf. What ?

Chas. Surf To borrow a little of your morality, that's all.
But, brother, do you know now that you surprise me exceed-
ingly, by naming me with Lady Teazle; for, i'faith, I always
understood you were her favourite.

Jos. Surf. Oh, for shame, Charles ! This retort is foolish.
Chas. Surf. Nay, I swear I have seen you exchange such

significant glances--

Jos. Surf. Nay, nay, sir, this is no jest.

Chas. Surf. Egad, I'm serious ! Don't you remember

one day, when I called here--

Jos. Surf Nay, pr'ythee, Charles--

Chas. Surf And found you together---

Jos. Surf. Zounds, sir, I insist-

Chas. Surf. And another time when your servant--

Jos. Surf. Brother, brother, a word with you!—\_Aside.~]
Gad, I must stop him.

Chas. Surf Informed, I say that-

Jos. Surf. Hush ! I beg your pardon, but Sir Peter has
overheard all we have been saying. I knew you would
clear yourself, or I should not have consented.

Chas. Surf. How, Sir Peter! Where is he P
Jos. Surf. Softly, there!	[.Points to the closet.

Chas. Surf. Oh, 'fore Heaven, I'll have him out. Sir
Peter, come forth ITHE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL.

165

Jos. Surf. No, no--

Ghas. Surf. I say, Sir Peter, come into court.—[Pulls in
Sib Peter.] What! my old guardian!—"What! turn in-
quisitor, and take evidence incog. ? Oh, fie ! Oh, fie!

Sir Pet. Give me your hand, Charles—I helieve I have
suspected you wrongfully; hut you mustn't he angry with
Joseph—'twas my plan!

Chas. Surf. Indeed!

Sir Pet. But I acquit you. I promise you I don't think
near so ill of you as I did : what I have heard has given
me great satisfaction.

Chas. Surf Egad, then, 'twas lucky you didn't hear any
more. Wasn't it, Joseph P

Sir Pet. Ah! you would have retorted on him.

Chas. Surf Ah, ay, that was a joke.

Sir Pet. Yes, yes, I know his honour too well.

Chas. Surf. But you might as well have suspected him as
me in this matter, for all that. Mightn't he, Joseph ?

Sir Pet. Well, well, I believe you.

Jos. Surf. Would they were "both out of the room! [Aside.

Sir Pet. And in future, perhaps, we may not he such
strangers.

Re-enter Servant, and whispers Joseph Surface.

Serv. Lady Sneerwell is below, and says she will come up.

Jos. Surf. Lady Sneerwell! Gad's life ! she must not
come here. [Exit Servant.] Gentlemen, I beg pardon—I
must wait on you downstairs: here is a person come on
particular business.

Chas. Surf Well, you can see him in another room. Si/
Peter and I have not met a long tame, and I have something
to say to him.

Jos. Surf. [Aside.-] They must not be left together.—
[Aloud.] I'll send Lady Sneerwell away, and return directly.
—[Aside to Sir Peter. 1 Sir Peter, not a word of the
Frt nch milliner.166

THE SCHOOL FOE, SCANDAL.

Sir Pet. [Aside to Joseph Surface.] I! not for the
world !—[Exit Joseph Surface.] Ah, Charles, if you asso-
ciated 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 senti-
ment.

Chas. Surf. Psha ! he is too moral by half; and so appre-
hensive of his good name, as he calls it, that I suppose he
would as soon let a priest into his house as a wench.

Sir Pet. No, no—come, come—you wrong him. No,
no ! Joseph is no rake, but he isb.no such saint either, in
that respect.—[Aside.] I have a great mind to tell him—we
should have such a laugh at Joseph.

Chas. Surf. Oh, hang him! he's a very anchorite, a
young hermit!

Sir Pet. Hark'ee—you must not abuse him: he may
chance to hear of it again, J promise you.

Chas. Surf. Why, you won't tell him ?

Sir Pet. No—but—this way.—[.Aside.] Egad, I'll tell
him.—[Aloud."] Hark'ee—have you a mind to have a good
laugh at Joseph ?

Chas. Surf. I should like it of all things.

Sir Pet. Then, i'faith, we will! I'll be quit with him for
discovering me. He had a girl with him when I called.

[ Whispers.

Chas. Surf. 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. Surf The devil she is!

Sir Pet. Hush! I tell you.	[Points to the screen.

Chas. Surf. Behind the screen ! 'Slife, let's unveil her !

Sir Pet. No, no, he's coming:—you sha'n't, indeed!

Chas. Surf. Oh, egad, we'll have a peep at the little
milliner!

Sir Pet. Not for the world!—Joseph will never forgive
me.THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL.

167

Chas. Surf. I '11 stand by you--

Sir Pet. Odds, here lie is !

[Charles Surface throws down the screen.

Re-enter Joseph Surface.

Chas. Surf. Lady Teazle, by all that's wonderful!

Sir Pet. Lady Teazle, by all that's damnable !

Chas. Surf. 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 be pleased to
explain this matter? "What! is Morality dumb too?—Sir
Peter, though I found you m'the dark, perhaps you are not
so now! All mute !—Well—though .L can make nothing o t
the affair, I suppose you perfectly understand one another;
so I'll leave you to yourselves.—\Going^\ Brother, I'm
sorry to find you have given that worthy man grounds for
so much uneasiness.—Sir Pater! there's nothing in the
world so noble as a man of sentiment!	\Exit.

Jos. Surf. Sir Peter—notwithstanding—I confess—-that
appearances. are against me—if you will afford me your
patience—I make no doubt—but I shall explain everything
to your satisfaction.

Sir Pet. If you please, sir.

Jos. 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—
called here—in order that—I might explain these pre-
tensions—but on your coming—being apprehensive—as I
said—of your jealousy—she withdrew—and this, you may
depend on it, is the whole truth of the matter.

Sir Pet. A very clear account, upon my word; and I dare
swear the lady will vouch for every article of it.

Lady Teaz. For not one word of it, Sir Peter!168

THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL.

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 gentleman has told you.

Sir Pet. I believe you, upon my soul, ma'am!

Jos. Surf. [Aside to Lady Teazle.] 'Sdeath, madam, will
you betray me ?

Lady Teaz. Good Mr. Hypocrite, by your leave, I'll
speak for myself.

Sir Pet. iiy, 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 here 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, at least to listen to his pretended
passion, if not to sacrifice your honour to his base-
ness.

Sir PH. Now, I believe, the truth is coming, indeed!

Jos. Surf. The woman's mad!

Lady Teaz. No, sir; she has recovered her senses, and
your own arts he^e furnished her with the means.—Sir
Peter, I do not expect you to credit me—but the tenderness
you expressed for me, when I am sure you could not think
I was a witness to it, has so penetrated 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
affected 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.

Jos. Surf. Notwithstanding all this, Sir Peter, Heaven
knows--

Sir Pet. That you are a villain! and so I leave you to
your conscience.

Jos. Satf. You are too rash, Sir Peter; you shall hearTHE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL.

169

me. The man who shuts out conviction by refusing
to-

Sir Pet. Oh, damn your sentiments!

[Exeunt Sir Peter and Joseph Surface, talking.

ACT V.

Scene I.—The Library in Joseph Surface's Souse.

Enter Joseph Surface and Servant.

Jos. Surf. Mr. Stanley! and why should you think I
would see him ? You must know he comes to ask some-
tliing.

Ser. Sir, I should not have let him in, but that Mr. Eowley
came to the door with him.

Jos. Surf. Psha! blockhead! to suppose that I should now
bo in a temper to receive visits from poor relations!—Well,
\tfhy don't you show the fellow up P

Ser. I will, sir.—Why, sir, it was not my fault that Sir
Peter discovered my lady-

Jos. Surf. Go, fool!—['Exit Servant.] Sure Fortune never
played a man of my policy such a trick before! My character
with Sir Peter, my hopes with Maria, destroyed in a moment!
I'm in a rare humour to listen to other people's distresses!
I sha'n't be able to bestow even a benevolent sentiment on
Stanley.—So! here he comes, and Eowley with him. I must
try to recover myself, and put a little charity into my face,
however.	[Exit.

Enter Sir Oliver Surface and Rowley.

Sir Oliv. What! does he avoid us ? That was he, was it
not ?

How. 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 firsi
to break it to him.

F*—23170

THE SCHOOL FOB SCANDAL.

Sir Oliv. Oh, plague of his nerves! Yet this is he whon?
Sir Peter extols as a man of the most benevolent way of
thinking!

jRow. As to his way of thinking, I cannot 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 him-
self in the exercise of it.

Sir Oliv. Yet he has a string of charitable sentiments at
his fingers' ends.

Row. Or, rather, at his tongue's end, Sir Oliver; for I
believe there is no sentiment he has such faith in as that
Charity begins at home.

Sir Oliv. And his, I presume, is of that domestic sort
which never stirs abroad at all.

Row. I doubt you'll find 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.

Row. Without losing a moment.	[Exit,

Sir Oliv. I don't like the complaisance of his features.

Re-enter Joseph Surface.

Jos. Surf. Sir, I beg you ten thousand pardons for keeping
you a moment waiting.—Mr. Stanley, I presume.

Sir Oliv. At your service.

Jos. 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.—[Aside.'] 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 nearly related to my mother, I think, Mr. Stanley?

Sir Oliv. I was, sir; so nearly that my present poverty, ITHE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL.

171

fear, may do discredit to her wealthy children, else I should
not have presumed to trouble you.

Jos. Surf. Dear sir, there needs no apology;—he that is in
distress, though a stranger, has a right to claim kindred
with the wealthy. I am sure I wish I was one of that class,
and had it in my power to oiler you even a small relief.

Sir Oliv. If your uncle, Sir Oliver, were here, I should
have a friend.

Jos. 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 would enable
you to become the agent of his charity.

Jos. Surf. My dear sir, you were strangely misinformed.
Sir Oliver is a worthy man, a very worthy man; but avarice,
Mr. Stanley, is the vice of age. I will tell you, my good
sir, in confidence, what he has done for me has been a mere
nothing; though people, I know, have thought otherwise
and, for my part, I never chose to contradict the report.

Sir Oliv. What! has he never transmitted you bullion—
rupees—pagodas P

Jos. Surf. Oh, dear sir, nothing of the kind! No, no; a
few presents now and then—china, shawls, congou tea,
avadavats, and Indian crackers—little more, believe me.

Sir Oliv. Here's gratitude for twelve thousand pounds!—
Avadavats and Indian crackers !	[Aside.

Jos. Surf. Then, my dear sir, you have heard, I doubt
not, of the extravagance of my brother: there are very few
would credit what I have done for that unfortunate young
man.

Sir Oliv. Not I, for one !	[Aside.

Jos. 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 pleasure of
serving you, Mr. Stanley, as my heart dictates.172	THE SCHOOL FOE SCANDAL.

Sir Oliv. [Aside."} Dissembler !—[Aloud.] Then, sir, you
can't assist me ?

Jos. 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--

Jos. Surf. Not more than I, 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.

Jos. Surf. You leave me deeply affected, Mr. Stanley.—
William, be ready to open the door. [Calls to Servant.

Sir Oliv. Oh, dear sir, no ceremony.

Jos. Surf Your very obedient.

Sir Oliv. Your most obsequious.

Jos. Surf You may depend upon hearing from me, when-
ever I can be of service.

Sir Oliv. Sweet sir, you are too good !

Jos. Surf In the meantime I wish you health and spirits.

Sir Oliv, Your ever grateful and perpetual humble
servant.

Jos. Surf. Sir, yours as sincerely.

Sir Oliv. [Aside.] Now I am satisfied.	[Exit.

Jos. Surf This is one bad effect of a good character; it
invites application from the unfortunate, and there needs no
small degree of address to gain the reputation of benevo-
lence without incurring the expense. 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 show, and pays
no tax.

Re-enter Rowley.1

Row. Mr. Surface, your servant: I was apprehensive of
interrupting you, though my business demands immediate
attention, as this note will inform you.

Jos. Surf\ Always happy to see Mr. Rowley—a rascal.—THE SCHOOL FOB- SCANDAL.

173

[Aside. Meads the letter.] Sir Oliver Surface !—My uncle
arrived!

Mow. He is, indeed: we have just parted—quite well,
after a speedy voyage, and impatient to embrace his worthy
nephew.

Jos. Surf. I am astonished !—William! stop Mr. Stan-
ley, if he's not gone.	[Calls to Servant,

Mow. Oh ! he's out of reach, I believe.

Jos. Surf. Why did you not let me know this when you
came in together ?

Mow. I thought you had particular business. But I must
be gone to inform your brother, and appoint him here to
meet your uncle. He will be with you in a quarter of
an hour.

Jos. Surf. So he says. Well, I am strangely overjoyed at
his coming.—[Aside.] Never, j;o be sure, was any thing so
damned unlucky !

Mow. You will be delighted to see how well he looks.

Jos. Surf. Oh ! I'm overjoyed to hear it.—[Aside.] Just
at this time !

Mow. I'll tell him how impatiently you expect him.

Jos. Surf. Do, do ; pray give my best duty and affection.
Indeed, I cannot express the sensations I feel at the
thought of seeing him.—[Exit Rowley.] Certainly his
coming just at this time is the cruellest piece of ill-fortune.

[Exit.

Scene II.—A Moom in Sir Peter Teazle's House.

Enter Mrs. Candour and Maid.

Maid. Indeed, ma'am, my lady will see nobody at
present.

Mrs. Can. Did you tell her it was her friend Mrs. Can-
dour ?

Maid. 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 great174	THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL.

distress.—[Exit 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 dropped the story at a dozen
houses.

Enter Sir Benjamin Backbite.

Oh, dear Sir Benjamin! you have heard, I suppose

Sir Ben. Of Lady Teazle and Mr. Surface--

Mrs. Can. And Sir Peter's discovery-

Sir Ben. Oh, the strangest piece of business, to be sure I
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
extravagantly partial to Mr. Surface.

Mrs. Can. Mr. Surface ! Why, 'twas with Charles Lady
Teazle was detected.

Sir Ben. No, no, I tell you: Mr. Surface is the gallant.
Mrs. Can. No such thing! Charles is the man. 'Twas
Mr. Surface brought Sir Peter on purpose to discover them.

Sir Ben. I tell you I had 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 affair.

• Enter Lady Sneerwell.

Lady Sneer. So, my dear Mrs Candour, here's a sad affair
of our friend Lady Teazle !

Mrs. Can. Ay, my dear friend, who would have thought——
Lady Sneer. Well, there is no trusting appearances;
though, indeed, she was always too lively for me.

Mrs. Can. To be sure, her maimers were a little too free;
but then she was so young !

Lady Sneer. And had, indeed, some good qualities.
Mrs. Can. So she had, indeed. But have you heard tho
particulars?THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL.

175

Lady Sneer. No; but every body says that Mr. Surface-

Sir Ben. Ay, there; I told you Mr. Surface was the mail.

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, to
do him justice, was only the informer.

Sir Ben. Well, I'll 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! Oh, 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. Oh, yes : they fought before they left the room.

Lady Sneer. Pray let us hear.

Mrs. Can. Ay, do oblige us with the duel.

Sir Ben. " Sir," says Sir Peter, immediately after the
discovery, "you are a most ungrateful fellow

Mrs. Can. Ay, to Charles--

Sir Ben. No, no—to Mr. Surface—" a most ungrateful fel-
low ; and old as I am, sir" says he, " I insist on immediate
satisfaction

Mrs. Can. Ay, that must have been to Charles; for 'tis
very unlikely Mr. Surface should fight in his own house.

Sir Ben. Gad's life, ma'am, not at all—" giving me imme-
diate satisfaction."—On this, ma'am, 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—pistols ! I have it from un-
doubted authority.

Mrs. Can. Oh, Mr. Crabtree, then it is all true!176

THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL.

Crab. Too true, indeed, madam, and Sir Peter is danger-
ously wounded-

Sir Ben. By a thrust in segoon quite through his left
side--

Crab. By a bullet lodged in the thorax.

Mrs. Can. Mercy on me! Poor Sir Peter !

Crab. Yes, madam; though Charles would have avoided
the matter, if he could.

Mrs. Can. I told you who it was: I knew Charles was
the person.

Sir Ben. My uncle, I see, knows nothing of the matter.

Grab. But Sir Peter taxed him with the basest ingra-
titude---

Sir Ben. That I told you, you know--

Crab. Do, nephew, let me speak !—and insisted on imme-
diate-

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 Salthill,
where he had been to see the Montem with a friend, who
has a son at Eton), so, unluckily, the pistols were left charged.

Sir 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 effect,
as I tell you, and Sir Peter's missed; but, what is very
extraordinary, the ball struck against a little bronze
Shakespeare 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
N orthampt onshir e.

Sir Ben. My uncle's account is more circumstantial, I
confess; but I believe mine is the true one, for all that.

lady Sneer. [Aside, ] I am more interested in this affair
than they imagine, and must have better information.

[Exit.THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL.

177

Sir Ben. Ah! Lady Sneerwell's alarm is very easily
accounted for.

Crab. 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, though the servants are ordered to deny him.

Mrs. Can. I believe so, and Lady Teazle, I suppose, at-
tending 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't.

Mrs. Can. Oh, certainly! it must be the physician; and
now we shall know.

Enter Sir Oliver Surface.

Crab. Well, doctor, what hopes ?

Mrs. Can. Ay, 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!

Sir Oliv. Doctor! a wound with a small-sword! and a
bullet in the thorax!—Oons! are you mad, good people ?

Sir Ben. Perhaps, sir, you are not a doctor ?

, Sir Oliv. Truly, 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 P

Sir Oliv. Not a word!

Crab. Not of his being dangerously wounded P

Sir Oliv. The devil he is!

Sir Ben. Run through the body-

Crab. Shot in the breast--

Sir Ben. By one Mr. Surface-

Crab. Ay, the younger.178

THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL.

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 of that.

Sir Oliv. Then, upon my word, for a person in that situa-
tion, he is the most imprudent man alive; for here ho
comes, walking as if nothing at all was the matter.

Enter Sir Peter Teazle.

Odds heart, Sir Peter! you are come in good time, I promise
you; for we had just given you over!

Sir Ben. [Aside to Crabtree.] Egad, uncle, this is tho
most sudden recovery !

Sir Oliv. Why, man! what do you out of bed with ft
small-sword through your body, and a bullet lodged in
your thorax. ?

Sir Bet. A small-sword and a bullet!

Sir Oliv. Ay; these gentlemen would have killed 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 misfor-
tune.

Sir Bet. So, so; all over the town already!	[Aside.

Crab. Though, Sir Peter, you were certainly vastly to
blame to marry at your years.

Sir Bet. Sir, what business is that of yours ?

Mrs. Can. Though, indeed, as Sir Peter made so good a
husband, he's very much to be pitied.

Sir Bet. Plague on your pity, ma'am, I desire none of it.

Sir Ben. However, Sir Peter, you must not mind tho
laughing and jests you will meet with on,the occasion.

Sir Bet. Sir, sir! I desire to be master in my own house.

Crab. 'Tis no uncommon case, that's one comfort.THE SCHOOL FOE SCANDAL.

179

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 '11 make the best report of it we can.	[Exit.

Sir Pet. Leave my house!

Crab. And tell how hardly you've been treated. [Exit.

Sir Pet. Leave my house !

Sir Ben. And how patiently you bear it.	[Exit.

Sir Pet. Fiends ! vipers ! furies! Oh ! that their own
venom would choke them !

Sir Oliv. They are very provoking indeed, Sir Peter.

Enter Kowley.

Row. I heard high words: what has ruffled you, sir ?

Sir Pet. Psha! what signifies asking ? Do I ever pass
a day without my vexations ? ^

Row. "Well, I'm not inquisitive.

Sir Oliv. "Well, Sir Peter, I Have seen both my nephews
in the manner we proposed.

Sir Pet. A precious couple they are!

Row. Yes, and Sir Oliver is convinced that your judg-
ment was right, Sir Peter.

Sir Oliv. Yes, I find Joseph is indeed the man, after all.

Row. Ay, as Sir Peter says, he is a man of sentiment.

Sir Oliv. And acts up to the sentiments he professes.

Row. It certainly is edification to hear him talk.

Sir Oliv. Oh, he's a model for the young men of the age !
—But how's this, Sir Peter? 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.

Row. What! do you say so, Sir Peter, who were never
mistaken in your life ?

Sir Pet. Psha ! plague on you both! I see by "your
sneering you have heard the whole affair. I shall go mad
among you!180

THE SCHOOL FOE SCANDAL.

Row. 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 this ?

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 laughed more in my life, I assure you :
ah ! ah ! ah!

Sir Pet. Oh, vastly diverting ! ha! ha ! ha !

Mow. To be sure, Joseph with his sentiments! ha ! ha! ha !

Sir Pet. Yes, yes, his sentiments! ha! ha ! ha! Hypo-
critical villain!

Sir Oliv. Ay, and that rogue Charles to pull Sir Peter
out of the closet: ha ! ha! ha !

Sir Pet. Ha ! ha! 'twas devilish entertaining, to be sure !

Sir Oliv. Ha! ha! ha! Egad, Sir Peter, I should like
to have seen your face when the screen was thrown down:
ha! ha!

Sir Pet. Yes, yes, my face when the screen was thrown
down: ha ! ha! ha! Oh, I must never show my head
again!

Sir Oliv. But come, come, it isn't fair to laugh at you
neither, my old friend; though, upon my soul, I can't
help it.

Sir Pet. Oh, 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. Oh, yes,
and then of a morning to read the paragraphs about Mr.
S---, Lady T-, and Sir P-, will be so entertaining !

Row. "Without affectation, Sir Peter, you may despise the
ridicule of fools. But I see Lady Teazle going towards theTHE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL.

181

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, I'll 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'll be present at your discovering yourself
there with all my heart; though 'tis a vile unlucky place
for discoveries.

Mow. We'll follow.	[Exit Sir Oliver Surface.

Sir JPet. She is not coming here, you see, Rowley.

Mow. No, but she has left the door of that room open,
you perceive. See, she is in tears.

Sir Pet. Certainly a little mortification appears very be-
coming in a wife. Don't you think it will do her good to
let her pine a little ?

Motv. Oh, this is ungenerous in you !

Sir Pet. Well, I know not what to think. You re-
member the letter I found of hers evidently intended for
Charles P

Mow. 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 of.

Sir Pet. I wish I were once satisfied of that. She looks
this way. What a remarkably elegant turn of the head she
has ? Rowley, I'll go to her.

Mow. Certainly.

Sir Pet. Though, when it is known that we are recon-
ciled, people will laugh at me ten times more.

Mow. Let them laugh, and retort their malice only by
showing them you are happy in spite of it.

Sir Pet. I'faith, so I will! and, if I'm not mistaken, we
may yet be the happiest couple in the country.

Mow. Nay, Sir Peter, he who once lays aside sus-
picion——182

THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL.

Sir Pet. Hold, Master Rowley ! if you have any regard
for me, never let me hear you utter anything like a senti-
ment : I have had enough of them to serve me the rest of
my life.	[Exeunt.

Scene III.—The Library in Joseph Surface's House.

Enter Joseph Surface and Lady Sneerwell.

Lady Sneer. Impossible ! Will not Sir Peter immediately
be reconciled to Charles, and of course no longer oppose his
union with Maria ? The thought is distraction to me.

Jos. Surf. Can passion furnish a remedy P

Lady Sneer. No, nor cunning either. Oh, I was a fool,
an idiot, to league with such a blunderer !

Jos. Surf. Sure, Lady Sneerwell, I am the greatest suf-
ferer ; yet you see I bear the accident with calmness.

Lady Sneer. Because the disappointment doesn't reach
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.

Jos. Surf. But why should your reproaches fall on me for
this disappointment ?

Lady Sneer. Are you not the cause of it ? Had you not a
sufficient field for your roguery in imposing upon Sir Peter,
and supplanting your brother, but you must endeavour to
seduce his wife ? I hate such an avarice of crimes; 'tis an
unfair monopoly, and never prospers.	#

Jos. Surf. 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.

L.ady Sneer. No!

Jos. Surf. 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.

Jos. Surf. And that he has undertaken, should it beTHE SCHOOL FOB SCANDAL.

183

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 F

Lady Sneer. This, indeed, might have assisted.

Jos. Surf. Come, come; it is not too late yet.—[.Knocking
at the door.~\ But hark! this is probably my uncle, Sir
Oliver : retire to that room; we'll consult farther when he
is gone.

Lady Sneer. Well, but if he should find you out too P

Jos. Surf. Oh, I have no fear of that. Sir Peter will hold
his tongue for his own credit's sake—and you may depend on
it I shall soon discover Sir Oliver's weak side!

Lady Sneer. I have no diffidence of your abilities: only
be constant to one roguery at a time.

Jos. Surf. I will, I will!—[Exit Lady Sneerwell.] So !
'tis confounded hard, after such bad fortune, to be baited by
one's confederate in evil. Well, at all events, my character
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 tease me just now ! I shai]
have Sir Oliver come and find him here—and-

Enter Sir Oliver Surface,

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 uncle Oliver is expected here,
and though he has been so penurious to you, I'll try what
he'll do for me.

Jos. 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.

Sir 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—184

THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL.

Jos. 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 vush him out.

Enter Charles Surface.

Chas. Surf. Heyday ! 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 ?

Jos. Surf. So ! he has been with you, too, has he P
Chas. Surf. Too be sure, he has. Why, he's as honest a

little--But sure, Joseph, you have not been borrowing

money too, have you ?

Jos. Surf. Borrowing ! no ! But, brother, you know we

expect Sir Oliver here every--

Chas. Surf. 0 Gad, that's true ! Noll mustn't find the
little broker here, to be sure.

Jos. Surf. Yet Mr. Stanley insists--

Chas. Surf. Stanley ! why, his name's, Premium.
Jos. Surf. No, sir, Stanley.

Chas. Surf. No, no, Premium.

Jos. Surf. Well, no matter which—but-

Chas. Surf. Ay, ay, Stanley or Premium, 'tis the same
thing, as you say; for I suppose he goes by half a hundred
names, besides A. B. at the coffee-house.	[Knocking.

Jos. Surf. 'Sdeath ! here's Sir Oliver at the door. Now,

I beg, Mr. Stanley--

Chas. Surf Ay, ay, and I beg, Mr. Premium-

Sir Oliv. Gentlemen--

Jos. Surf. Sir, by Heaven, you shall go !

Chas. Surf. Ay, out with him, certainly!

Sir Oliv. This violence--

Jos. Surf. Sir, 'tis your own fault.

Chas. Surf, Out with him, to be sure.

[Both forcing Sir Oliver out.THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL.

185

Enter Sir Peter and Lady Teazle, Maria and
Rowley.

Sir Pet. My old friend, Sir Oliver—hey ! What in the
name of' wonder—here are dutiful nephews—assault their
uncle at a first visit !

Lady Teaz. Indeed, Sir Oliver, 'twas well we came in to
rescue you.

Row. Truly it was; for I perceive, Sir Oliver, the
character of old Stanley 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 for.

Jos. Surf. Charles!

Chas. Surf. Joseph !

Jos. Surf. 'Tis now complete !

Chas. Surf. Yery.

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 also know how gladly I
would have regarded 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 surprised at this
declaration, if I had not myself found him to be mean,
treacherous, and hypocritical.

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 pun-
ishment, that he is known to the world.

Chas. Surf. If they talk this way to Honesty, what will
they say'to me, by and by ?	[Aside.

[Sir Peter, Lady Teazle, and Maria retire.186

THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL.

Sir Oliv. As for that prodigal, his brother, there--

Chas. Surf. Ay, now comes my turn : the damned family
pictures will ruin me !	[Aside.

Jos. Surf. Sir Oliver—uncle, will you honour me with a
hearing?

Chas. Surf Now, if Joseph would make one of his long
speeches, I might recollect myself a little.	[Aside.

Sir Oliv. I suppose you would undertake to justify your-
self ?	[To Joseph Surface.

Jgs. Surf I trust I could.

Sir Oliv. \_To Charles Surface.] "Well, sir!—and you
could justify yourself too, I suppose ?

Chas. Surf. Not that I know of, Sir Oliver.

Sir Oliv. "What!—Little Premium has been let too much
into the secret, I suppose ?

Chas. Surf. True, sir; but they were family secrets, and
should not be mentioned again, you know.

How. 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 bargained wit*i
me for all his ancestors; sold me judges and generals by
the foot, and maiden aunts as cheap as broken china.

Chas. Surf To be sure, Sir Oliver, I did make a little
free with the family canvas, that's the truth on't. My
ancestors may 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. Charles, I believe you. Give me your hand
again : the ill-looking little fellow over the settee has made
your peace.

Chas. Surf Then, sir, my gratitude to the original is
still increased.THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL.

187

Lady Teaz. [Advancing."] Yet, I believe, Sir Oliver, here
is one whom Charles is still more anxious to he reconciled
to.	[Pointing to Maria.

Sir Oliv. Oh, I have heard of his attachment there ; and)
with the young lady's pardon, if I construe ri^ht—that
blush-

Sir Pet. Well, child, speak your sentiments!

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
attention, I willingly resign to one who has a better title.

Chas. Surf. How, Maria!

Sir Pet. Heyday! what's the mystery now ? While he
appeared an incorrigible rake, you would give your hand to
no one else; and now that he is likely to reform I'll
warrant you won't have him!

Mar. His own heart and Lady Sneerwell know the cause.

Chas. Surf. Lady Sneerwell!

Jos. Surf. Brother, it is with great concern I am obliged
to speak on this point, but my regard to justice compels me,
and Lady Sneerwell's injuries can no longer be concealed.

\Opens the door.

Enter Lady Sneerwell.

Sir Pet. So! another French milliner! Egad, he has one
in every room in the house, I suppose !

Lady Sneer. Ungrateful Charles ! Well may you be
surprised, and feel for the indelicate situation your perfidy
has forced me into.

Chas. Surf. Pray, uncle, is this another plot of yours ?
For, as I have life, I don't understand it.

Jos. 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.

Row. Walk in, Mr. Snake.183

THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL.

JEnter Snake.

I thought his testimony might he wanted : however, it
happens unluckily, that he comes to confront Lady Sneer-
well, not to support her.

Lady Sneer. A villain ! Treacherous to me at last! Speak,
fellow, have you too conspired against me ?

Snake. I beg your ladyship ten thousand pardons : you
paid me extremely liberally for the lie in question; but I
unfortunately have been offered double to speak the
truth.

Sir Pet. Plot and counter-plot, egad! I wish your
ladyship joy of your negotiation.

Lady Sneer. The torments of shame and disappointment
on you all!	[Going.

Lady Teaz. Hold, Lady Sneerwell—before you go, let mo
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 scandalous college, of which you are presi-
dent, and inform them, that Lady Teazle, licentiate, begs
leave to return the diploma they granted her, as she leaves
off practice, and kills characters no longer.

Lady Sneer. You, too, madam!—provoking—insolent!
May your husband live these fifty years !	[ [Exit.

Sir Pet. Oons ! what a fury !

Lady Teaz. A malicious creature, indeed !

Sir Pet. "What! not for her last wish ?

Lady Teaz. Oh, no !

Sir Oliv. "Well, sir, and what have you to say now ?

Jos. Surf. Sir, I am so confounded, to find that Lady
bneerwell could be guilty of suborning Mr. Snake in this
manner, to impose on us 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.
For the man who attempts to----[Exit.THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL.

189

Sir Pet. Moral to the last!

Sir Oliv. Ay, and marry her, Joseph, if you can. Oil and
vinegar !—egad you'll do very well together.

Row. I believe we have no more occasion for Mr. Snake
at present ?

Snake. Before I go, I beg pardon, once for all, for what-
ever uneasiness I have been the humble instrument of caus-
ing 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 ! 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; and, if it were once known that I had been be-
trayed into an honest afction, I should lose every friend I
have in the world.

Sir Oliv. Well, well, we'll not traduce you by saying any-
thing in your praise, never fear.	[Exit Snake.

Sir Pet. There's a precious rogue!

Lady Teaz. See, Sir Oliver, there needs no persuasion now
to reconcile your nephew and Maria.

Sir Oliv. Ay, ay, that's as it should be, and, egad, we'll
have the wedding to-morrow morning.

Chas. Surf. Thank you, dear uncle.

Sir Pet. What, you rogue! don't you ask the girl's con-
sent first ?

Chas. Surf. Oh, I have done that a long time—a minute
ago—and she has looked 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.

Sir Pet. And may you live as happily together as Lady
Teazle and I intend to do!190

THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL.

Chas. Surf. Kowley, my old friend, I am sure you con-
gratulate me; and I suspect that I owe you much.

Sir Oliv. You do, indeed, Charles.

Sir Pet. Ay, honest Rowley always said you would
reform.

Chas. Surj. Why, as to reforming, Sir Peter, I'll 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 ?

Though thou, dear maid, shouldst waive thy beauty's sway,

Thou still must rule, because I will obey:

An humble fugitive from Folly view,

No sanctuary near but Love and you : [To the audience.

You can, indeed, each anxious fear remove,

For even Scandal dies, if you approve. [Exeunt omnes.

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 !
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 their 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.

191

Like me, untimely blasted in her bloom,

Like me condemned to such a dismal doom ?

Save money—when 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, cats, rats, and squalling brats 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 tete,

That takes the cushion from its proper seat!

That spirit-stirring drum !—card drums I mean,
Spadille—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 stalk'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 END.Printed by

Cassell & Company, Limited, La. Belle Sauvage.
Ludgate Hill, London, E.C.

30.205

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