’M 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 in 2015 
 
 https://archive.org/details/completeplaysOOsher 
 
S.P. P. 68. 
 
 Mrs. Malaprop — “Ay, poop young man ! — down on 
 his knees, entreating for pity.” 
 
19008 
 
?ri u^o. A? fn 
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 This is to serve as an introduction to the plays, and 
 principally the comedies of Richard Brinsley Sheridan, 
 not to his life which was long, in many ways dis- 
 appointing and even tragic. In spite of his great and 
 well deserved reputation as wit and orator it must 
 always be remembered that though he lived to be 
 sixty-five, his reputation as a dramatist was made 
 before he was thirty and after that age he paid com- 
 paratively little attention to the theatre, as author at 
 any rate, if not as manager. But until our own day, 
 with very few exceptions, dramatists were invariably 
 young, and if they did not themselves die of the 
 struggle, like Farquhar, they survived to devote the 
 rest of their lives to politics, like Sheridan, or good 
 society, like Congreve and Gay. It should also be 
 noted that all these plays were definitely written for 
 the purpose of being acted, that Sheridan himself was 
 obviously indifferent to their success in the library 
 and that their varying good name really rises or falls 
 with the opportunities they enjoy, or miss, of being 
 witnessed upon the public stage in this country. 
 
 Sheridan was born in Dublin in September, 1751. 
 His grandfather was an intimate friend of Swift, a 
 scholar with an unfortunate leaning to indiscretion in 
 his sermons, his father was an actor who tasted success . 
 but faintly and at intervals and his mother was a 
 novelist and dramatist, whose best play, The Discovery , 
 now scarcely ever acted and seldom read, yet contains 
 some admirable scenes, though it is spoiled by the 
 devastating effect of the cycle of extreme senti- 
 mentalism through which England was passing when 
 it was written. Richard went to school at Harrow and 
 proved himself no scholar, though he cherished an 
 
 3 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 4 
 
 affection for the place and returned to Jive there for a 
 while after his romantic and runaway match with the 
 most beautiful member of the beautiful and talented 
 Linley family at Bath. This escapade and love affair, 
 with the duel that followed it had much influence upon 
 his plays, especially The Duenna and The Rivals. In 
 The Duenna , indeed, the whole love story can be traced. 
 
 At Harrow Sheridan is said to have projected a 
 dramatisation of The Vicar of Wakefield , but like many 
 other school essays in dramatic form it was never 
 completed. Shortly after leaving he wrote a farce in 
 collaboration with his school friend Halked, and in 
 1774 his first play The Rivals was produced at Covent 
 Garden Theatre, where owing, it is said, to a bad 
 performance of one part, it was a failure upon its 
 first night. But if it did fail, this failure was , quickly 
 swept away with the change of cast and its revision, 
 and Sheridan was at once recognised as the hope of the 
 English Theatre, which at that time, as indeed at 
 many another, stood strongly in need of hope and 
 encouragement. 
 
 It is probable that besides the mistake in the 
 casting, the play as originally written was too long, 
 for it was withdrawn after the first night and Sheridan 
 spent ten days in its revision, an odd proceeding even 
 in that time. The stumbling block of The Rivals , 
 both to the reader and to the theatrical producer, 
 are the scenes between Faulkland and Julia. It has 
 been held, and held by so acute a critic as Mr. Augustine 
 Birrell, that these two are survivors from the earlier 
 period of taste, that “ they are still hopelessly entangled 
 in the thicket of sentiment/' that they are “ boring 
 lovers." But Mr. Birrell writes from the library and 
 for the library, he is not a theatregoer and indeed 
 thinks very little of the stage and those that minister 
 to it. He may be right but in this instance a little 
 study of the effect of Julia and Faulkland in perform- 
 ance would prove to him that Sheridan knew very 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 well what he was doing and that if Faulkland and 
 Julia are dull, as they can be, the fault lies not with 
 him but in the imagination of the reader or the inter- 
 pretation of the actors, as the case may be. For it is, 
 or should be, as clear as daylight that in writing these 
 scenes Sheridan was not making a concession but 
 framing an indictment, they are burlesque, in the 
 manner of some of the scenes in The Critic . Whether 
 a sudden incursion into parody is legitimate, in a play 
 which sets out to be, and generally is, a comedy of 
 manners, is another and separate question, but no one 
 who has seen the play well acted can doubt the truth 
 of my assertion and the mistake of Mr. Birrell. And I 
 am not saying that 2 'he Rivals , incomparably better 
 though it is than any play of the period that preceded 
 it, is really, judged by the highest standards, a master- 
 piece. It is not. It is loosely constructed, it has, how- 
 ever played, its longueurs and Mrs. Malaprop, in spite 
 of her reputation, is something of a bore. But her 
 shortcomings may be mitigated if she is played with 
 some naturalness, if she is not misrepresented, as by a 
 false tradition she generally has been, as a theatrical 
 monstrosity who could never have existed in the 
 company in which she is found. 
 
 The Rivals was succeeded by St. Patrick’s Day , a 
 short farce written especially for the benefit for an 
 Irish actor, Mr. Clinch, to whom Sheridan was under 
 a particular obligation. The Stage Irishman was a 
 favourite character throughout the Eighteenth Century 
 and most of the Nineteenth, at first a figure of rather 
 ridiculous fun and tending to grow more and more sym- 
 pathetic, but his vogue has passed and I imagine that 
 he and the play can arouse very little interest to-day. 
 
 Of The Duenna which followed it, there is more to 
 be said, and this charming operetta deserves to be read 
 far more than it is and to find a more reputable place 
 in Sheridan's works. It was given at Co vent Garden 
 for the first time on Tuesday, November 21st, 1775, 
 
6 
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 “ with universal applause ” and it ran for 75 nights, 
 longer even than its nearest rival The Beggar s Opera . 
 Its music was composed, or “ conveyed ” in some 
 instances, after the fashion of the time, by Linley, 
 Sheridan's father-in-law. It was in direct succession 
 to a new series of ballad operas, which, after a long 
 interval, had been written by Bickerstaffe, O'Keefe, 
 O'Hara and others, following the model of The Beggar's 
 Opera and the group that succeeded that immortal 
 work. The Duenna made no great departure from 
 them in form, and is distinguished from them merely 
 by the greater quality of its dialogue and the rarer 
 beauty of its lyrics. These lyrics alone, had Sheridan 
 written nothing else, would have been enough to 
 establish his reputation as a writer, though it is just 
 to say that he falls below Bickerstaffe in clarity of 
 expression. That is to say that however simply they 
 are set to music, their meaning is difficult, if not almost 
 impossible, to follow when sung and this is, of course, 
 a very great defect and perhaps helps to account for 
 the fact that The Duenna has not altogether held the 
 stage. You will see what I mean, I think, when you 
 read the first lines of Donna Clara's song : 
 
 “ When Sable Night, each drooping plant restoring 
 Wept o'er the flowers her breath did cheer, 
 
 As some sad widow o'er her babe deploring 
 Wakes its beauty with a tear ; 
 
 When all did sleep whose weary hearts did borrow 
 One hour from love and care to rest, 
 
 Lo ! as I pressed my couch in silent sorrow 
 My lover caught me to his breast ! " 
 
 Now it is true to say that Gilbert, though he could 
 not have written any lines as fine as that, also would 
 not if he could. The part of Don Carlos has been a 
 constant trouble to the critics, who seem to see in him 
 another and even more tiresome Faulkland. But it 
 must not be forgotten that Don Carlos was the success 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 7 
 
 of the play in its first presentation and this not only, 
 I think, because he was played and sung by the 
 popular Leoni, a singer so popular indeed that on his 
 account, a strict Jew, no performances were given on 
 Friday evening. Into his character, and his, at first 
 sight, extremely odd behaviour, must be read again 
 Sheridan's love of burlesque. This time he is laughing 
 at the sentimentalising of friendship as before of love 
 and jealousy. And the part, properly handled, can be 
 made the most amusing in the play. It is possible 
 that in the original performances Don Carlos and Leoni 
 were taken quite seriously and that only Sheridan 
 laughed but that he laughed there can be no doubt 
 and now, Leoni having departed “ into the night," 
 we may all be privileged to join him. 
 
 I do not recommend the reading of the round of 
 verses that end The Duenna , at least until you have 
 mastered the rest. For they are excruciatingly bad. 
 I doubt sometimes if Sheridan wrote them at all, but 
 if he did, it must have been in a mood of careless bad 
 temper. And, traditionally, he always became bored 
 before he had quite finished a play, nor did he ever 
 regard play- writing and the theatre with any over- 
 whelming seriousness and I daresay his ghost is 
 continually surprised to learn that Sheridan the play- 
 wright and not Sheridan the orator and statesman is 
 most gratefully and seriously regarded by his country- 
 men. 
 
 Of his carelessness as a craftsman there is ample 
 evidence in his next play The Critic , brilliant as it is. 
 For in it he creates a perfect character in Puff, a study 
 that Dickens might have been proud of and then, lost 
 in the machinery of the second act, he lets him de- 
 generate into a bewildered buffoon, almost character- 
 less. So much so indeed that I think there is much to 
 be said for the theory that Sir Fretful Plagiary and not 
 Puff at all was originally intended to be the author of 
 The Spanish Armada. A point that may well be noticed 
 
8 
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 when reading The Critic is that Sheridan, though he 
 makes fun of the theatre generally, of the methods 
 and idiosyncrasies of the actors, and of the fustian that 
 then passed as Romantic Drama, is not afraid of poking 
 fun at himself. He takes up indeed no superior 
 attitude. Note the line “ Even Congreve and Vanbrugh 
 obliged to undergo a bungling reformation," which is 
 an undoubted allusion to his adaptation, possibly made 
 to suit the convenience of a manager rather than his 
 own, of The Relapse into A Trip to Scarborough , 
 incidentally causing Dangle to make a criticism which 
 is entirely away from his own character. But Comedy 
 was still artificial, at any rate to the extent that if an 
 author wished to say something, his characters were 
 puppets that must be prepared to his bidding. In any 
 case Sheridan criticised himself too severely. The task 
 of “ bowdlerising ” Vanbrugh may not have been 
 worth while and, with all its faults, The Relapse , as it 
 stands, is a better play than A Trip to Scarborough , 
 but all the same the transformation was very skilfully 
 made. It is odd to remember, however, that in what 
 we always think of as a hard-drinking, hard-swearing 
 age, audiences were far more squeamish than they are 
 to-day, than they were even ten years ago ; and for 
 that squeamishness Sheridan ruined one of the best 
 “ curtains " that ever was devised, and what that is 
 I will leave my readers the fun of finding out for 
 themselves. 
 
 It is an odd question, and a question that can never 
 be easily and finally resolved, as to whether Sheridan's 
 masterpiece, The School for Scandal , is to be looked 
 upon as the last of the “ artificial ” comedies or the first 
 of a new realistic and sentimental school. As such, 
 it has certainly been acted within living memory, and I 
 think it would be with great difficulty that any audience 
 could be persuaded entirely to think otherwise. The 
 truth of the matter is that in a great work the heart of 
 its author must be apparent as well as his wit, that 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 9 
 
 whether he wishes it or no, sentiment, if that is the 
 right word, will creep in. It is so in The Way of the 
 World, even more so in The Beaux Stratagem and so 
 it is in The School for Scandal. It is all very well for 
 a very eminent critic to write of the Screen Scene 
 “ To Sheridan, nearer to Congreve than we are to 
 Sheridan, it was all pure comedy . — (My Italics) — We 
 see this from the boisterous laughter with which 
 Charles Surface greets the denouement/’ I know the 
 difficulty of the laughter of Charles, but people do not 
 always laugh loudest when they are most amused. 
 And I really defy anybody to read or hear, well 
 delivered, the last speech of Lady Teazle, and deny 
 that it is intended to be perfectly sincere and to stir 
 perfectly simple emotions in its hearers. 
 
 “ 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 pene- 
 trated so to my heart, that had I left the place without 
 the shame of this discovery, my future life should have 
 spoken the sincerity of my gratitude. As for that 
 smooth-tongued hypocrite, who would have seduced 
 the wife of his too credulous friend, while he 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/’ 
 
 Intended to be sincere at least, according to the 
 standards of the period, standards from which we have 
 advanced or receded, as you choose to think, with 
 great rapidity during the past few years. But person- 
 ally I do not think nearly so fast or so far as many- 
 present day critics, terribly afraid of not being in the 
 fashion, would lead us to believe. It is not yet, at 
 least, that adultery and seduction are regarded in 
 every home or even in the public assembly at a theatre, 
 as trivial happenings incapable of exciting any sym- 
 pathy or disapprobation. 
 
 In any case there is so mucfr laughter in this admirable 
 s.p. A 2 
 
10 
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 play that a little catching at the throat will do 
 nobody any harm. Much less indeed than a deal of 
 notes and of analysing and of docketing under methods 
 of theatre craft and customs of particular epochs. For 
 The School for Scandal was not written to be a text 
 book for the schools but for the glory of the Public 
 Theatre, of which it will remain, I hope for all time, 
 one of the chiefest ornaments and glories. 
 
 This is not to say that if Sheridan, in his modesty, 
 thought his plays not worth reading, he is to be agreed 
 with. For, as it happens, they survive the test as well, 
 if not better, than most of the works of the Dramatists. 
 But I think it is none the less true that they will be 
 enjoyed even more, if they are read with "some know- 
 ledge of what stage technique means, and read aloud 
 rather than to oneself, if that is possible, and with the 
 hope that eventually they will be heard and seen upon 
 the stage of a public theatre. For, however much it 
 may be true of Shakespeare and Ben Jonson and 
 others of the great Elizabethans, who, from excess of 
 inspiration, burst the bounds which they should have 
 set themselves, Sheridan, as he knew himself, was 
 eminently a writer for the theatre, nor did he choose 
 to say anything too difficult to find adequate expression 
 there. 
 
 Pizzaro is an adaptation from the German Dramatist 
 Kotzebue, it was given to the public in this country as 
 much as a political pamphlet as a play, its language is 
 turgid though it does not lack vitality, and it has been 
 pointed out, perhaps too often, that in it Sheridan the 
 Writer forgot Sheridan the Critic of twenty years 
 earlier. 
 
 Perhaps Sheridan was wise never to write a play 
 again after The School for Scandal , counting Pizarro , 
 one may safely say, as nothing. It was hardly to be 
 hoped that he could surpass, or ever approach himself. 
 
 Nigel Playfair. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 INTRODUCTION BY SIR NIGEL PLAYFAIR 3 
 
 PREFACE TO THE RIVALS 13 
 
 THE RIVALS 19 
 
 ST. PATRICK’S DAY ; OR, THE SCHEMING 
 
 LIEUTENANT Iig 
 
 THE DUENNA I44 
 
 A TRIP TO SCARBOROUGH 21 1 
 
 THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL 279 
 
 THE CRITIC ; OR, A TRAGEDY REHEARSED 383 
 
 PIZARRO 444 
 

 
 
 
 
THE RIVALS 
 
 A COMEDY 
 
 PREFACE 
 
 A preface to a play seems generally to be considered 
 as a kind of closet-prologue, in which — if his piece has 
 been successful — the author solicits that indulgence 
 from the reader which he had before experienced from 
 the audience : but as the scope and immediate object 
 of a play is to please a mixed assembly in representation 
 (whose judgment in the theatre at least is decisive), 
 its degree of reputation is usually as determined by 
 the public, before it can be prepared for the cooler 
 tribunal of the study. Thus any further solicitude on 
 the part of the writer becomes unnecessary at least, if 
 not an intrusion : and if the piece has been condemned 
 in the performance, I fear an address to the closet, like 
 an appeal to posterity, is constantly regarded as the 
 procrastination of a suit, from a consciousness of the 
 weakness of the cause. From these considerations, the 
 following comedy would certainly have been submitted 
 to the reader, without any further introduction than 
 what it had in the representation but that its success 
 has probably been founded on a circumstance which 
 the author is informed has not before attended a 
 theatrical trial, and which consequently ought not to 
 pass unnoticed. 
 
 I need scarcely add, that the circumstance alluded 
 to was the withdrawing of the piece, to remove those 
 imperfections in the first representation which were too 
 obvious to escape reprehension, and too numerous to 
 
 13 
 
SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 14 
 
 admit of a hasty correction. There are few writers, 
 I believe, who, even in the fullest consciousness of 
 error, do not wish to palliate the faults which they 
 acknowledge ; and, however trifling the performance, 
 to second their confession of its deficiencies, by what- 
 ever plea seems least disgraceful to their ability. In 
 the present instance, it cannot be said to amount either 
 to candour or modesty in me, to acknowledge an 
 extreme inexperience and want of judgment on matters, 
 in which, without guidance from practice, or spur from 
 success, a young man should scarcely boast of being 
 an adept. If it be said that under such disadvantages 
 no one should attempt to write a play, I must beg leave 
 to dissent from the position, while the first point of 
 experience that I have gained on the subject is, a 
 knowledge of the candour and judgment with which 
 an impartial public distinguishes between the errors 
 of inexperience and incapacity, and the indulgence 
 which it shows even to a disposition to remedy the 
 defects of either. 
 
 It were unnecessary to enter into any further 
 extenuation of what was thought exceptionable in this 
 play, but that it has been said, that the managers 
 should have prevented some of the defects before its 
 appearance to the public — and in particular the un- 
 common length of the piece as represented the first 
 night. It were an ill return for the most liberal and 
 gentlemanly conduct on their side, to suffer any censure 
 to rest where none was deserved. Hurry in writing 
 has long been exploded as an excuse for an author ; — 
 however, in the dramatic line, it may happen, that both 
 an author and a manager may wish to fill a chasm in 
 the entertainment of the public with a hastiness not 
 altogether culpable. The season was advanced when I 
 first put the play into Mr. Harris's hands : it was at 
 that time at least double the length of any acting 
 comedy. I profited by his judgment and experience in 
 the curtailing of it — till, I believe, his feeling for the 
 
THE RIVALS 
 
 vanity of a young author got the better of his desire 
 
 for correctness, and he left many excrescences re- 
 maining, because he had assisted in pruning so many 
 more. Hence, though I was not uninformed that the 
 acts were still too long, I flattered myself that, after 
 the first trial, I might with safer judgment proceed to 
 remove what should appear to have been most dis- 
 satisfactory. Many other errors there were, which 
 might in part have arisen from my being by no means 
 conversant with plays in general, either in reading or 
 at the theatre. Yet I own that, in one respect, I did n< 
 regret my ignorance : for as my first wish in attempting 
 a play was to avoid every appearance of plagiary, X 
 thought I should stand a better chance of effecting this 
 from being in a walk which I had not frequented, and 
 where, consequently, the progress of invention was less 
 likely to be interrupted by starts of recollection : for on 
 subjects on which the mind has been much informed, 
 invention is slow of exerting itself. Faded ideas float 
 in the fancy like half-forgotten dreams ; and the 
 imagination in its fullest enjoyments becomes sus- 
 picious of its offspring, and doubts whether it has 
 created or adopted. ^ 
 
 With regard to some particular passages which ^on 
 the first night's representation seemed generally dis- 
 liked, I confess that if I felt any emotion of surprise 
 at the disapprobation, it was not that they were 
 disapproved of, but that I had not before perceived 
 that they deserved it. As some part of the attack on 
 the piece was begun too early to pass for the sentence 
 of judgment , which is ever tardy in condemning, it has 
 been suggested to me that much of the disapprobabtion 
 must have arisen from virulence of malice, rather than 
 severity of criticism : but as I was more apprehensive 
 of there being just grounds to excite the latter than 
 conscious of having deserved the former, I continue 
 not to believe that probable which I am sure must have 
 been unprovoked. However, if it was so, and I could 
 
i6 
 
 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 even mark the quarter from whence it came, it would 
 be ungenerous to retort ; for no passion suffers more 
 than malice from disappointment. For my own part, 
 I see no reason why the author of a play should not 
 regard a first night's audience as a candid and judicious 
 friend attending, in behalf of the public, at his last 
 rehearsal. If he can dispense with flattery, he is sure at 
 least of sincerity, and even though the annotation be 
 rude, he may rely upon the justness of the comment. 
 Considered in this light, that audience, whose fiat is 
 essential to the poet's claim, whether his object be 
 fame or profit, has surely a right to expect some 
 deference to its opinion, from principles of politeness at 
 least, if not from gratitude. 
 
 As for the little puny critics, who scatter their 
 peevish strictures in private circles, and scribble at 
 every author who has the eminence of being uncon- 
 nected with them, as they are usually spleen-swoln 
 from a vain idea of increasing their consequence, there 
 will always be found a petulance and illiberality in 
 their remarks, which should place them as far beneath 
 the notice of a gentleman as their original dullness 
 had sunk them from the level of the most unsuccessful 
 author. 
 
 It is not without pleasure that I catch at an oppor- 
 tunity of justifying myself from the charge of intending 
 any national reflection in the character of Sir Lucius 
 O 'Trigger. If any gentlemen opposed the piece from 
 that idea, I thank them sincerely for their opposition ; 
 and if the condemnation of this comedy (however 
 misconceived the provocation) could have added one 
 spark to the decaying flame of national attachment to 
 the country supposed to be reflected on, I should have 
 been happy in its fate, and might with truth have 
 boasted that it had done more real service in its failure 
 than the successful morality of a thousand stage 
 novels will ever effect. 
 
 It is usual, I believe, to thank the performers in a 
 
THE RIVALS 
 
 17 
 
 new play for the exertion of their several abilities. 
 But where (as in this instance) their merit has been so 
 striking and uncontroverted as to call for the warmest 
 and truest applause from a number of judicious 
 audiences, the poet's after-praise comes like the feeble 
 acclamation of a child to close the shouts of a multitude. 
 The conduct, however, of the principals in a theatre 
 cannot be so apparent to the public. I think it there- 
 fore but justice to declare, that from this theatre (the 
 only one I can speak of from experience) those writers 
 who wish to try the dramadic line will meet with that 
 candour and liberal attention which are generally 
 allowed to be better calculated to lead genius into 
 excellence than either the precepts of judgment or 
 the guidance of experience. 
 
 The Author. 
 
DRAMATIS PERSONS 
 
 AS ORIGINALLY ACTED AT COVENT-GARDEN THEATRE 
 IN I775 
 
 Sir Anthony Absolute 
 Captain Absolute 
 Faulkland 
 Acres 
 
 Sir Lucius OTrigger 
 
 Fag 
 
 David 
 
 Thomas 
 
 Mrs. Malaprop 
 Lydia Languish 
 Julia 
 Lucy 
 
 Mr. Shuter 
 Mr. Woodward 
 Mr. Lewis 
 Mr. Qyick 
 Mr. Lee 
 Mr. Lee Lewes 
 Mr. Dunstal 
 Mr. Fear on 
 Mrs. Green 
 Miss Barsanti 
 Mrs. Bulkley 
 Mrs. Lessingham 
 
 Maid, Boy, Servants, etc. 
 
 SCENE — Bath 
 
 Time of Action — Five Hours 
 
 18 
 
PROLOGUE 
 
 By the Author 
 
 SPOKEN BY MR. 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] O 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 i 
 
 Att. And if the 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-bottomed heroes thus, on signs, unfurl 
 A leaf of laurel in a grove of curl ! 
 
 Yet tell your client, that, in adverse days, 
 
 This wig is warmer than a bush of bays. 
 
 At.. 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, 
 
 19 
 
20 
 
 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 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 'tis hard to deal 
 
 With this dread court, from whence there's no appeal ; 
 
 No tricking here, to blunt the edge of law, 
 
 Or, damn'd in equity, escape by flaw : 
 
 But judgment given, your 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 ! 
 
 But such the public candour, without fear 
 My client waives all right of challenge here. 
 
 No newsmen 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 : 
 
 Thus, all respecting, he appeals to all, 
 
 And by the general voice will stand or fall. 
 
 PROLOGUE 
 By the Author 
 
 SPOKEN ON THE TENTH NIGHT, BY MRS. BULKLEY 
 
 Granted our cause, our suit and trial o'er, 
 
 The worthy serjeant need appear no more : 
 
 In pleasing I a different client choose, 
 
 He served the Poet — I would serve the Muse. 
 
 Like him, I'll try to merit your applause, 
 
 A female counsel in a female's cause. 
 
 Look on this form, 1 — where humour, quaint and sly, 
 1 Pointing to the figure of Comedy. 
 
21 
 
 THE RIVALS 
 
 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 ? 
 
 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, 
 
 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 , 1 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. 
 
 1 Pointing to Tragedy. 
 
22 
 
 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 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'm devilish glad 
 to see you, my lad. Why, my prince of charioteers, 
 you look as hearty ! — but who the deuce thought of 
 seeing you in Bath ? 
 
 Thos. Sure, master, Madam Julia, Harry, Mrs. Kate, 
 and the postilion, 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 ! we were all off at an hour's 
 warning. 
 
 Fag. Ay, ay, hasty in everything, 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 
 master ? 
 
THE RIVALS 
 
 23 
 
 Fag. No. — Well, honest Thomas, I must puzzle you 
 no farther : — briefly then — Captain Absolute and 
 Ensign Beverley 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 masquerader 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 
 an ensign ? — Now if he had shammed general in- 
 deed — 
 
 Fag. Ah ! Thomas, there lies the mystery o' the 
 matter. Hark'ee, Thomas, my master is in love with a 
 lady of a very singular taste : a lady who likes him 
 better as a half-pay ensign than if she knew he was 
 son and heir to Sir Anthony Absolute, a baronet of 
 three thousand a year. 
 
 Thos. That is an odd taste indeed ! — But has she 
 got the stuff, Mr. Fag ? Is she rich, hey ? 
 
 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 
 lap-dog that eats out of gold, — she feeds her parrot 
 with small pearls, — and all her thread-papers are made 
 of banknotes ! 
 
 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 ? 
 
24 
 
 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 Fag. Miss Lydia Languish. — But there is an old 
 tough aunt in the way ; though, by-the-by, s|ie 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 to- 
 gether in matrimony. — But pray, Mr. Fag, what kind 
 of a place is this Bath ? — I ha' heard a deal hi 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 ! — However 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 
 master is to marry Madam Julia. 
 
 Fag. I had forgot. — But, Thomas, you must polish a 
 little — indeed you must. — Here now — this wig ! What 
 the devil do you 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 rabbit it ! when the fashion had got foot 
 on the bar, I guessed ’twould mount to the box ! — 
 but ’tis all out of character, believe me, Mr. Fag : 
 and look’ee, I’ll never gi’ up mine — the lawyers and 
 doctors may do as they will. if‘ 
 
 Fag. Well, Thomas, we’ll not quarrel about that. 
 
 Thos. Why, bless you, the gentlemen of the pro- 
 fessions ben’t all of a mind — for in our village now, tho’ff 
 Jack Gauge, the exciseman, has ta’en to his carrots, 
 there’s little Dick the farrier swears he’ll never forsake 
 
THE RIVALS 25 
 
 his bob, though all the college should appear with their 
 own heads ! 
 
 Fag. Indeed ! well said, Dick ! — but hold — nark * 
 mark ! Thomas. i 
 
 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 given 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 well make a little party [ Exeunt severally . 
 
 Scene II. A Dressing-room m Mrs, Malaprop s 
 Lodgings , 
 
 Lydia sitting on a sofa , with a book 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 han't been at. 
 
 Lyd. And could not you get The Reward of Con- 
 stancy ? 
 
 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 
 Distress ? 
 
 Lucy. Or, The Memoirs of Lady Woodford ? Yes„ 
 indeed, ma'am. I asked everywhere for it ; and I 
 
26 
 
 SHERIDAN’S PLAYS 
 
 might have brought it from Mr. Frederick’s, but Lady 
 Slattern Lounger, who had just sent it home, had so 
 soiled tand 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 Pickle. Here are The T ears 
 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. Very well — give me the sal volatile. 
 
 Lucy. Is it in a blue cover, ma’am ? 
 
 Lyd. My smelling-bottle, you simpleton ! 
 
 Lucy. Oh, the drops — here, ma’am. 
 
 Lyd. Hold ! — here’s some one coming — quick ! see 
 who it is 
 
 [Exit Lucy.] Surely I heard my cousin Julia’s voice. 
 
 Re-enter Lucy. 
 
 Lucy. Lud ! ma’am, here is Miss Melville. 
 
 Lyd. Is it possible ? — [Exit Lucy. 
 
 Enter Julia. 
 
 Lyd. My dearest Julia, how delighted am I ! — [Em- 
 brace.] How unexpected was this happiness ! 
 
 Jul. True, Lydia — and our pleasure is the greater. — 
 
THE RIVALS 
 
 27 
 
 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 ? 
 
 Jul. He is — we arrived within this hour — and I 
 suppose he will be 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 sympathise 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 discovered 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 she has 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. Unfor- 
 tunately 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 ? 
 
28 
 
 SHERIDAN’S PLAYS 
 
 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 wtote a 
 letter to myself, to inform myself that Beverley was at 
 that time paying his addresses to another WGman. 
 I signed it your jriend unknown , showed it to Beverley, 
 charged him with his falsehood, 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 
 represented him to me, he will never give you up so. 
 Yet, consider, Lydia, you tell me he is but an ensign, 
 and you have thirty thousand pounds. 
 
 Lyd. But you know I lose most of my fortune if I 
 marry without my aunt’s consent, till of age ; and 
 that is what I have 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 sup- 
 pose ? 
 
 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 this ungrateful Faulkland, who will ever 
 delay assuming the right of a husband, while you 
 suffer him to be equally imperious as a lover. 
 
THE RIVALS 
 
 29 
 
 Jul. Nay, you are wrong entirely. We were con- 
 tracted before my father's death. That, and some 
 consequent embarrassments, have delayed what I 
 know to be my Faulkland's most ardent wish. He is 
 too generous to trifle on such a point — and for his 
 character, you wrong him there, too. No, Lydia, he is 
 too proud, too noble, to be jealous ; if he is captious, 
 'tis without dissembling ; if fretful, without rudeness. 
 Unused to the fopperies of love, he is negligent of the 
 little duties expected from a lover — but being un- 
 hackneyed 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 }^ou 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 ? — Believe me, the rude blast that 
 overset your boat was a prosperous gale of love to him. 
 
 Jul. Gratitude may have strengthened my attach- 
 ment 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, 1 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 ? 
 
30 
 
 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 Re-enter Lucy in a hurry. 
 
 Lucy . 0 ma'am, here is Sir Anthony Absolute ju c t 
 come home with your aunt. 
 
 Lyd. They'll not come here. — Lucy, do you watch. 
 
 [Exit Lucy. 
 
 Jul. Yet I must go. Sir Anthony does not know I 
 am here, and if we meet, he'll detain me, to sh(j>w me 
 the town. I'll take another opportunity of paying my 
 respects to Mrs. Malaprop, when she shall treat ir as 
 long as she chooses, with her select words so ; ,ii- 
 ously misapplied, without being mispronouncea 
 
 Re-enter Lucy. 
 
 Lucy . 0 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 Faulk- 
 land. — 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 
 Roderick 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 — so, so — now lay Mrs. Chapone in sight, and 
 leave Fordyces 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 
 Chesterfield's Letters. Now for 'em. [Exit Lucy. 
 
THE RIVALS 
 
 3i 
 
 Enter Mrs. Malaprop and Sir Anthony Absolute. 
 
 tc. Mrs. Mai. There, Sir Anthony, there sits the de- 
 liberate simpleton who wants to disgrace her family, 
 and lavish herself 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 
 fell> vi — to illiterate him, I say, quite from your 
 mi. Jy. 
 
 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 
 earth so easy as to forget, if a person chooses to set 
 about it. I’m sure I have as much forgot your poor 
 dear uncle as if he had never existed — and I 
 thought it my duty so to do ; and let me tell you, 
 Lydia, these violent memories don’t become a younp 
 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 ? 
 
 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 ? Will you take a husband of your friends’ 
 choosing ? 
 
 Lyd. Madam, I must tell you plainly, that had I no 
 preference for any one else, the choice you have made 
 would be my aversion. 
 
 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 
 
SHERIDAN’S PLAYS 
 
 32 
 
 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 
 company for nothing but your own ill-humours. 
 
 Lyd. Willingly, ma’am — I cannot change for the 
 worse. [Exit. 
 
 Mrs. Mai. There’s a little intricate hussy for you ! 
 
 Sir Anth. It is not to be wondered at, ma’am, — all 
 this is the natural consequence of teaching girls to read. 
 Had I a thousand daughters, by 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 Anth. In my way hither, Mrs. Malaprop, I 
 observed your niece’s maid coming forth from a 
 circulating library ! — She had a book in each hand — 
 they were half-bound volumes, with 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 
 laconically. 
 
 Sir Anth. Why, Mrs. Malaprop, in moderation now, 
 what would you have a woman know ? 
 
THE RIVALS 
 
 33 
 
 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, of 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, I would 
 send her, at nine years old, to a boarding-school, in 
 order to learn a little ingenuity and artifice. Then, sir, 
 she should have a supercilious knowledge in accounts ; 
 — and as she grew up, I would have her instructed in 
 geometry, that she might know something of the 
 contagious countries ; — but above all, Sir Anthony, she 
 should be mistress of orthodoxy, that she might not 
 mis-spell, and mis-pronounce words so shamefully as 
 girls usually do ; and likewise that she might reprehend 
 the true meaning of what she is saying. This, Sir 
 Anthony, is what I would have a woman know ; — and 
 I don't think there is a superstitious article in it. 
 
 Sir Anth. Well, well, Mrs. Malaprop, I will dispute 
 the point no further with you ; though I must confess 
 that you are a truly moderate and polite arguer, for 
 almost every third word you say is on my side of the 
 question. But, Mrs. Malaprop, to the more important 
 point in debate — you say you have no objection to m}r 
 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. 
 
34 
 
 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 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 . Ah, and the properest way, o' my con- 
 science ! — nothing is so conciliating to young people 
 as severity. — Well, Sir Anthony, I shall give Mr. Acres 
 his discharge, and prepare Lydia to receive your son's 
 invocations ; — and I hope you will represent her to the 
 captain as an object not altogether illegible. 
 
 Sir Anth. Madam, I will handle the subject pru- 
 dently. — 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 ; 
 md if you were just to let the servants forget to bring 
 ner dinner for three or four days, you can't conceive 
 how she'd come about. [Exit. 
 
 Mrs. Mai. Well, at any rate, I shall be glad to get 
 her from under my intuition. She has somehow dis- 
 covered 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 
 mentioned 
 
THE RIVALS 
 
 35 
 
 Lucy. Oh, gemini ! I'd sooner cut my tongue out. 
 
 Mrs. Moll. Well, don't let your simplicity be imposed 
 on. 
 
 Lucy . No, ma'am. 
 
 Mrs. Mai. So, come to me presently, and I'll 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 , five ; hats , ruffes , caps , etc., etc. 
 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 likely 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 O' Trigger, three crowns , two gold 
 pocket-pieces , and a silver snuff-box 1 — Well done, 
 Simplicity ! — Yet I was forced to make my Hibernian 
 believe that he was corresponding, not with the aunt, 
 but with the niece ; for though not over rich, I found 
 he had too much pride and delicacy to sacrifice the 
 feelings of a gentleman to the necessities of his fortune. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
36 
 
 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 ACT II 
 
 Scene I. — Captain Absolute's Lodgings. 
 
 Captain Absolute and Fag. 
 
 Fag . Sir, while 1 was there, Sir Anthony came m : 
 I told him you had sent me to inquire after his health, 
 and to know if he was at leisure to see you. 
 
 A bs. 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 inter jectural oaths, and asked what 
 the devil had brought you here. 
 
 Abs. Well, sir, and what did you say i 
 
 Fag. Oh, I lied, sir — I forget the precise lie; but you 
 may depend on't, he got no truth from me. Yet, with 
 submission, for fear of blunders in future, I should be 
 glad to fix what has brought us to Bath, in order that 
 we may lie a little consistently. Sir Anthony's servants 
 were curious, sir, very curious indeed. 
 
 Abs. You have said nothing to them ? 
 
 Fag. Oh, not a word, sir, — not a word ! Mr. Thomas, 
 mdeed, 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 
 was sly, sir — devilish sly I My master (said I), honest 
 Thomas (you know, sir, one says honest to ones' 
 inferiors), is come to Bath to recruit. — Yes, sir, I said 
 to recruit — and whether for men, money, or consti- 
 tution, you know, sir, is nothing to him nor any one 
 else. 
 
THE RIVALS 
 
 37 
 
 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 neces- 
 sary. 
 
 Fag. I beg pardon, sir — I beg pardon — but, with 
 submission, a lie is nothing unless one supports it. 
 Sir, whenever I draw on my invention for a good 
 current lie, I always forge indorsements as well as the 
 bill. 
 
 Abs . Well, take care you don't hurt your credit by 
 offering too much security. — Is Mr. Faulkland re- 
 turned ? 
 
 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 ? 
 
 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. Now for my whimsical friend — if he does not 
 know that his mistress is here, I’ll tease him a little 
 before I tell him 
 
38 
 
 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 Enter Faulkland. 
 
 Faulkland, you're welcome to Bath again ; you are 
 punctual in your return. 
 
 Faulk . Yes ; I had nothing to detain me when I had 
 finished the business I went on. Well, what news since 
 I left you ? how stand matters between you and 
 Lydia ? 
 
 Abs . Faith, much as they were ; I have not seen her 
 since our quarrel ; however, I expect to be recalled 
 every hour. 
 
 Faulk . Why don't you persuade her to go off with 
 you at once ? 
 
 Abs. What, and lose two-thirds of her fortune ? You 
 forget that, my friend. — No, no, I could have brought 
 her to that long ago. 
 
 Faulk. Nay, then, you trifle too long — if you are 
 sure of her, propose to the aunt in your 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 
 humdrum wedding, and the reversion of a good 
 fortune on my side : no, no ; I must prepare her 
 gradually for the discovery, and make myself necessary 
 to her, before I risk it. — Well, but Faulkland ; you'll 
 dine with us to-day at the hotel ? 
 
 Faulk. Indeed, I cannot ; I am not in spirits to be 
 of such a party. 
 
 Abs. By heavens ! I shall forswear your company. 
 You are the most teasing, captious, incorrigible lover ! 
 — Do love like a man. 
 
 Faulk. I own I am unfit for company. 
 
 Abs . Am I not a lover ; ay, and a romantic one 
 too ? Yet do I carry everywhere with me such a 
 confounded farrago of doubts, fears, hopes, wishes. 
 
THE RIVALS 
 
 39 
 
 and all the flimsy furniture of a country miss's 
 brain ! 
 
 Faulk. Ah ! Jack, your heart and soul are not, like 
 mine, fixed immutably on one only object. You throw 
 for a large stake, but losing, you could stake and throw 
 again ; — but I have set my sum of happiness on this 
 cast, and not to succeed were to be stripped of all. 
 
 A bs. But, for heaven's sake ! what grounds for 
 apprehension 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. O 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 appre- 
 hension ! 
 
 Abs. Ay, but we may choose whether we will take 
 the hint or not. — So, then, Faulkland, if you were 
 convinced that Julia were well and in spirits, you 
 would be entirely content ? 
 
 Faulk . I should be happy beyond measure — I am 
 anxious only for that. 
 
 Abs. Then to cure your anxiety at once — Miss 
 Melville is in perfect health, and is at this moment in 
 Bath. 
 
 Faulk. Nay, Jack — don't trifle with me. 
 
 Abs. She is arrived here with my father within this 
 hour. 
 
 Faulk. Can you be serious ? 
 
40 
 
 SHERIDAN’S PLAYS 
 
 A bs. 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 iiat 
 — My dear Jack — now nothing on earth can give me a 
 moment’s uneasiness. 
 
 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 this gentle- 
 man 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. 
 
THE RIVALS 
 
 4 1 
 
 Acres. Sir, I am most heartily glad to see you : sir, 
 I solicit your connections. — Hey, Jack — what, this is 
 Mr. Faulkland, who 
 
 A bs. Ay, Bob, Miss Melville's Mr. Faulkland. 
 
 Acres. Odso ! she and your father can be but just 
 arrived before me ? — I suppose you have seen them. 
 Ah ! Mr. Faulkland, you are indeed a happy man. 
 
 Faulk. I have not seen Miss Melville yet, sir ; — I hope 
 she enjoyed full health and spirits in Devonshire ? 
 
 Acres. Never knew her better in my life, sir, — never 
 better. Odds blushes and blooms ! she had been as 
 healthy as the German Spa. 
 
 Faulk. Indeed ! I did hear that she has been a little 
 indisposed. 
 
 Acres. False, false, sir — only said to vex you : quite 
 the reverse, I assure you. 
 
 Faulk. There, Jack, you see she has the advantage 
 of me ; I had almost fretted myself ill. 
 
 Abs. Now are you angry with your mistress for not 
 having been sick ? 
 
 Faulk. No, no, you misunderstand me : yet surely a 
 little trifling indisposition is not an unnatural conse- 
 quence 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 were 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 over- 
 come. — What ! happy, and I away ! 
 
*2 
 
 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 A bs. Have done ! — How foolish this is ! just now 
 you were only apprehensive for your mistress' spirits. 
 
 Faulk. Why, Jack, have I been the joy and spirit of 
 the company ? 
 
 Abs. No, indeed, you have not. 
 
 Faulk. Have I been lively and entertaining ? 
 
 Abs. 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 
 confoundedly stupid indeed. 
 
 Acres. What's the matter with the gentleman ? 
 
 Abs. He is only expressing his great satisfaction at 
 hearing that Julia has been so well and happy — that's 
 all — hey, Faulkland ? 
 
 Faulk. Oh ! I am rejoiced to hear it — >yes, yes, she 
 has a happy disposition ! 
 
 Acres. That she has indeed — then she is so accom- 
 plished — so sweet a voice — so expert at her harpsi- 
 chord — such a mistress of flat and sharp, squallante, 
 rumblante, and quiverante ! — There was this time 
 month — odds minums 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 
 purling-stream airs, I warrant ; perhaps you may 
 recollect ; — did she sing, When absent from my soul's 
 delight ? 
 
 Acres. No, that wa'n't it. 
 
 Abs. Or, Go, gentle dales ! [Sings. 
 
 Acres. Oh, no ! nothing like it. Odds ! now I 
 recollect one of them — My heart's my own , my will is 
 free. [Sings. 
 
THE RIVALS 
 
 43 
 
 Faulk. Fool ! fool that I am ! to fix all my happiness 
 on such a trifler ! 'Sdeath ! to make herself the pipe 
 and ballad-monger of a circle to soothe her light heart 
 with catches and glees I — What can you say to this, 
 sir ? 
 
 A bs. Why, that I should be glad to hear my mistress 
 had been so merry, sir. 
 
 Faulk. Nay, nay, nay — Im not sorry that she had 
 been happy — no, no, I am glad of that — I would not 
 have had her sad or sick — yet surely a sympathetic 
 heart would have shown itself even in the choice of a 
 song — she might have been temperately healthy, and 
 somehow, plaintively gay ; — but she has been dancing 
 too, I doubt not ! 
 
 Acres. What does the gentleman say about dancing ? 
 
 A bs. 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, sedentary — 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 
 yourself so ! — Suppose she has danced, what then ? — 
 does not the ceremony of society often oblige 
 
 Faulk . Well, well, I'll contain myself — perhaps as 
 you say — for form 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 
 swimmings 1 she has such an air with her 1 
 
 Faulk. Now disappointment on her ! — Defend this, 
 
44 
 
 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 Absolute ; 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 
 cotillon — 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 ! 
 
 A bs. Ay, to be sure ! — grandfathers and grand- 
 mothers ! 
 
 Faulk . If there be but one vicious mind in the set, 
 'twill spread like a contagion — the action of their pulse 
 beats to the lascivious movement of the jig — their 
 quivering, warm-breathed sighs impregnate the very 
 air — the atmosphere 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 looby 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. 
 
THE RIVALS 
 
 45 
 
 Acres . Ah ! you joke — ha ! ha ! mischief — ha ! ha i 
 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 
 time. 
 
 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 
 out this Ensign Beverley, odds triggers and flints 1 
 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 swear- 
 ing — 
 
 Acres. Ha ! ha ! you've taken notice of it—' 'tis 
 genteel, isn't it 1 — I didn't invent it myself though ; 
 but a commander in our militia, a great scholar, I 
 assure you, says that there is no meaning in the 
 common oaths, and that nothing but their antiquity 
 makes them respectable ; because, he says, the ancients 
 would never stick to an oath or two, but would say, 
 by Jove 1 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, isn't 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. 
 
4 6 
 
 SHERIDAN’S PLAYS 
 
 Re-enter Fag. 
 
 Fag. Sir, there is a gentleman below desires to see 
 you. — Shall I show him into the parlour ? 
 
 A bs. Ay — you may. 
 
 Acres. Well I must be gone 
 
 A bs. Stay ; who is it, Fag ? 
 
 Fag. Your father, sir. 
 
 A bs. You puppy, why didn't you show him up 
 directly ? [Exit Fag. 
 
 Acres. You have busmess with Sir Anthony. — I 
 expect a message from Mrs. Malaprop at my lodgings. 
 I have sent also to my dear friend, Sir Lucius OTrigger. 
 Adieu, Jack ! we must meet at night, when you shall 
 give me a dozen bumpers to little Lydia. 
 
 A bs. That I will with all my heart. — [Exit Acres.] 
 Now for a parental lecture — I hope he has heard 
 nothing of the business that brought me here — I wish 
 the gout had held him fast in Devonshire, with ail my 
 soul ! 
 
 Enter Sir Anthony Absolute. 
 
 Sir, 1 am delighted to see you here ; lookmg so well ! 
 your sudden arrival at Bath made me apprehensive for 
 your health. 
 
 Sir Anth. Very apprehensive, I dare say, Jack. — 
 What, you are recruiting here, hey ? 
 
 Abs. Yes, sir, I am on duty. 
 
 Sir Anth. Well, Jack, I am glad to see you, though I 
 did not expect it, for I was going to write to you on a 
 little matter of business. — Jack, I have been con- 
 sidering that I grow oid and infirm, and shall probably 
 not trouble you long. 
 
 Abs. Pardon me, sir, 1 never saw you look more 
 strong and hearty ; and I pray frequently that you 
 may continue so. 
 
THE RIVALS 
 
 47 
 
 Sir A nth. 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 gener- 
 osity makes the gratitude of reason more lively than the 
 sensations even of filial affection. 
 
 Sir Anth. I am glad you are so sensible of my 
 attention — and you shall be master of a large estate 
 in a few weeks. 
 
 Abs. Let my future life, sir, speak my gratitude ; 
 I cannot express the sense I have of your munificence. 
 — Yet, sir, I presume you would not wish me to quit 
 the army ? 
 
 Sir Anth. Oh, that shall be as your wife chooses. 
 
 Abs. My wife, sir ! 
 
 Sir Anth. Ay, ay, settle that between you — settle 
 that between 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 mus n't forget her though. — 
 Yes, Jack, the independence I was talking of is by 
 marriage — the fortune is saddled with a wife — but I 
 suppose that makes no difference. 
 
 Abs. Sir I sir ! — you amaze me ! 
 
 Sir Anth. Why, what the devil’s the matter with 
 the fool ? Just now you were all gratitude and 
 duty. 
 
48 
 
 SHERIDAN’S PLAYS 
 
 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 
 inclinations 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 
 some time with patience — I have been cool — quite cool ; 
 but take care — you know I am compliance itself — 
 when I am not thwarted ; — no one more easily led — 
 when I have my own way ; — but don't put me in a 
 frenzy. 
 
 Abs. Sir, I must repeat — 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 
 
THE RIVALS 
 
 49 
 
 I’ll tell you what, Jack — I mean, you dog — if you 
 don't, by 
 
 A bs. 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 shah 
 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. 
 
 A bs. This is reason and moderation indeed ! 
 
 Sir Anth. None of your sneering, puppy ! no 
 grinning, jackanapes ! 
 
 Ahs. 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 ! 
 
 A bs. 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 
 I hypocritical young dog ! but it won't do. 
 
 Abs. Nay, sir, upon my word 
 
 Sir Anth. So you will fly out ! can't you be cool like 
 me ? What the devil good can passion do ? — Passion 
 is of no service, you impudent, insolent, overbearing 
 reprobate ! — There, you sneer again ! don't provoke 
 me ! — but you rely upon the mildness of my temper — 
 you do, you dog ! you play upon the 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, 
 
SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 50 
 
 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 hemisphere 
 with me ! don’t dare to breathe the same air, or use the 
 same light with me ; but get an atmosphere and a sun 
 of your own ! I'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. — I'll disown you, 
 I'll disinherit you, I'll unget you ! and damn me ! if 
 ever I call you Jack again ! [Exit Sir Anthony. 
 
 A bs. Mild, gentle, considerate father — I kiss your 
 hands ! — What a tender method of giving his opinion 
 in these matters Sir Anthony has ! I dare not trust him 
 with the truth. — I wonder what old wealthy hag it is 
 that he wants to bestow on me ! — Yet he married him- 
 self for love ! and was in his youth a bold intriguer, 
 and a gay companion ! 
 
 Re-enter Fag. 
 
 Fag. Assuredly, sir, your father is wrath 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 I — Upon my credit, sir, were I 
 in your place, and found my father such very 
 bad company, I should certainly drop his acquain- 
 tance. 
 
 Abs. Cease your impertinence, sir, at present. — Did 
 you come in for nothing more ? — Stand out of the 
 way ! [Pushes him aside , and exit. 
 
 Fag. So ! Sir Anthony trims my master ; he is 
 afraid to reply to his father — then vents his spleen on 
 poor Fag ! — When one is vexed by one person, to 
 revenge one's self on another, who happens to come in 
 
THE RIVALS 51 
 
 the way, is the vilest injustice ! Ah ! it shows the worst 
 temper — the basest 
 
 Enter Boy. 
 
 Boy. Mr. Fag ! 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. Fag ! 
 
 Fag. Quick ! quick ! you impudent jackanapes I am 
 I to be commanded by you too ? you little, impertinent,, 
 
 insolent, kitchen-bred 
 
 [Exit kicking and beating him. 
 
 Scene II. — The North Parade. 
 
 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 dismissed ! — Well, I have done 
 him a last friendly office, in letting him know that 
 Beverley was here before him. — Sir Lucius is generally 
 more punctual, when he expects to hear from his dear 
 Dalia, as he calls her : I wonder he's not here i — 1 
 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'Trigger. 
 
 Sir Luc. Ha ! my little ambassadress — upon my con- 
 science, I have been looking for you ; I have been on 
 the South Parade this half hour. 
 
52 
 
 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 Lucy . [Speaking simply .J O gemini ! and I have 
 been waiting for your lordship here on the North. 
 
 Sir Luc. Faith ! — may be that was the reason we 
 did not meet ; and it is very comical too, how you could 
 go out and I not see you — for I was only taking a nap 
 at the Parade Coffee-house, and I chose the 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 for me ? 
 
 Lucy. Yes, but I have — I've got a letter for you in 
 my pocket. 
 
 Sir Luc. O faith ! I guessed you weren't come 
 empty-handed — Well— let me see what the dear 
 creature says. 
 
 Lucy. There, Sir Lucius. [Gives him a letter. 
 
 Sir Luc . [Reads.] Sir — there is often a sudden in- 
 centive impulse in love , that has a greater induction than 
 years of domestic combination : such was the commotion 
 1 felt at the first superfluous view of Sir Lucius O' 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. 
 
 Upon 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. O true, sir — but then she reads so — my stars ! 
 how she will read off hand ! 
 
 Sir Luc. Faith, she must be very deep read to write 
 thib way — though she is rather an arbitrary writer 
 
THE RIVALS 
 
 53 
 
 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 OTrigger into the bargain ! — 
 But we must get the old gentlewoman's consent — and 
 do everything fairly. 
 
 Lucy. Nay, Sir Lucius, I thought you wa'n't rich 
 enough to be so nice. 
 
 Sir Luc. Upon my word, young woman, you have 
 hit it : — I am so poor, that I can't afford to do a 
 dirty action. — If I did not want money, I'd steal 
 your mistress and her fortune with a great deal of 
 pleasure. — However, my pretty girl [Gives her money], 
 here's a little something to buy you a 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. O lud ! Sir Lucius — I never seed such a 
 gemman ! My lady won't like you if you're so impudent. 
 
 Sir Luc. Faith she will, Lucy ! — That same — pho ! 
 what's the name of it ? — modesty — is a quality in a 
 lover more praised by the women 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. O lud ! now, Mr. Fag, you flurry one so. 
 
54 
 
 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 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 ! you gentlemen's gentlemen are 
 so hasty. That letter was from Mrs. Malaprop, simple- 
 ton. — She is taken with Sir Lucius's address. 
 
 Fag. How ! what tastes some people have ! — Why, 
 I suppose 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 tear ! 
 
 Lucy. Be sure — bid him keep up his spirits. 
 
 Fag. We will — we will. [Exeunt severally . 
 
 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 RIVALS 
 
 55 
 
 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 of temper. An obstinate, passionate, self-willed 
 boy ! Who can he take after ? This is my return for 
 getting him before all his brothers and sisters ! — for 
 putting him, at twelve years old, into a marching 
 regiment, and allowing him fifty pounds a year, beside 
 his pay, ever since ! But I have done with him ; he’s 
 anybody’s son for me. I never will see him more, 
 never — never — never. 
 
 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 acknow- 
 ledge my error, and to submit entirely to your will. 
 
 Sir Anth. What’s that ? 
 
 Abs. I have been revolving, and reflecting, and 
 considering on your past goodness, and kindness, and 
 condescension to me. 
 
 Sir Anth. Well, sir ? 
 
 Abs. I have been likewise weighing and balancing 
 what you were pleased to mention concerning duty, and 
 obedience, and authority. 
 
 Sir Anth. Well, puppy ? 
 
56 
 
 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 .4 5s. 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 inform you who the lady really is. Nothing but 
 your passion and violence, you silly fellow, prevented 
 my telling you at first. Prepare, Jack, for wonder and 
 rapture — prepare. What think you of Miss Lydia 
 Languish ? 
 
 45s. Languish ! What, the Languishes of Worcester- 
 shire ? 
 
 Sir Anth. Worcestershire ! no. Did you ever meet 
 Mrs. Malaprop and her niece, Miss Languish, who came 
 into our country just before you were last ordered to 
 your regiment ? 
 
 45s. 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. 
 
 45s. Then I must have forgot ; it can't be the same 
 person. 
 
 Sir Anth. Jack ! Jack ! what think you of blooming, 
 love-breathing seventeen ? 
 
 45s. As to that, sir, I am quite indifferent. If I can 
 please you in the matter, 'tis all I desire. 
 
 Sir Anth. Nay, but, Jack, such eyes ! such eyes ! so 
 innocently wild ! so bashfully irresolute ! not a glance 
 but speaks and kindles some thought of love ! Then, 
 Jack, her cheeks ! her cheeks, Jack ! so deeply blushing, 
 at the insinuations of her tell-tale eyes ! Then, Jack, 
 her lips ! O, Jack, lips smiling at their own discretion ; 
 and if not smiling, more sweetly pouting ; more lovely 
 in sullenness. 
 
THE RIVALS 57 
 
 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 
 despise you ! When I was of your age, such a descrip- 
 tion 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 anything 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 ? 
 
 Abs. Sir, I repeat it — if I please you in this affair, 
 his all I 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 singu- 
 larity 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 
 
SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 58 
 
 you should change your mind, and take the old lady — 
 his 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 t 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 ! [Exeunt. 
 
 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 expression ! I 
 was ashamed to appear less happy — though I had come 
 resolved to wear a face of coolness and upbraiding. 
 
THE RIVALS 
 
 59 
 
 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 impatient 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. O Faulkland, when your kindness can make me 
 thus happy, let me not think that I discovered some- 
 thing of coldness 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 such is my temper, Julia, 
 that I should regard every mirthful moment in your 
 absence as a treason to constancy. The mutual tear 
 that steals down the cheek of parting lovers is a 
 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 
 affections ? 
 
 Faulk. They have no weight with me, Julia : No, 
 no — I am happy if you have been so — yet only say, 
 
5o 
 
 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 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 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. 
 
 Faulk. 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 owe no obligation 
 there for any part of your affection. 
 
 Jul. Where 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 .ZEthiop, you'd think none so 
 fair. 
 
 Jul. I see you are determined to be unkind ! The 
 
THE RIVALS 61 
 
 contract which my poor father bound us in gives you 
 more than a lover's privilege. 
 
 Faulk . Again, Julia, you raise ideas that feed and 
 justify my doubts. I would not have been more free — 
 no — I am proud of my restraint. Yet — yet — perhaps 
 your high respect alone for this solemn compact has 
 fettered your inclinations, which else had made a 
 worthier choice. How shall I be sure, had you remained 
 unbound in thought and promise, that I should still 
 have been the object of your persevering love ? 
 
 Jul. Then try me now. Let us be free as strangers 
 as to what is past : my heart will not feel more 
 liberty 1 
 
 Faulk . There now ! so hasty, Julia ! so anxious to be 
 tree ! 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 
 
 d. 
 
 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 plead- 
 ings 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. 0 Julia ! 
 when love receives such countenance from prudence, 
 nice minds will be suspicious of its birth. 
 
 Jul . I know not whither your insinuations would 
 tend : — but as they seem pressing to insult me, I will 
 spare you the regret of having done so. — I have given 
 you no cause for this ! [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 — 
 
02 
 
 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 she is coming now : — how little resolution there is in a 
 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 resentful. Stay ! she is 
 coming too — I thought she would — no steadiness in 
 anything : her going away must have been a mere 
 trick then — she sha'n't see that I was hurt by it — I'll 
 affect indifference — [Hums a tune ; then listens.] No — 
 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 tenderness I — '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 antique virago, whose gnawing 
 passions, and long hoarded spleen, shall make me curse 
 my folly half the day and all the night. [Exit. 
 
 Scene III. — Mrs. Malaprop's Lodgings. 
 
 Mrs. Malaprop, with a tetter in her hand . and Captain 
 Absolute. 
 
 Mrs. Mai. Your bemg Sir Anthony's son, captain, 
 would itself be a sufficient accommodation ; but from 
 the ingenuity of your appearance, I am convinced 
 you deserve the character here given of you. 
 
 Abs. Permit me to say, madam, that as I never yet 
 have had the pleasure of seeing Miss Languish, my 
 principal inducement in this affair at present is the 
 honour of being allied to Mrs. Malaprop ; of whose 
 intellectual accomplishments, elegant manners, and 
 unaffected learning, no tongue is silent. 
 
 Mrs. Mai. Sir, you do me infinite honour ! I beg, 
 
THE RIVALS 
 
 63 
 
 captain, you’ll be seated. — [ They sit .] Ah ! few gentle- 
 men, now-a-aays, know how to value the ineffectual 
 qualities in a woman ! — few think how a little know- 
 ledge 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 superfluous. Thus, like garden-trees, they 
 seldom show fruit, till time has robbed them of more 
 specious blossom. — Few, like Mrs. Malaprop and the 
 orange-tree, are rich in both at once ! 
 
 Mrs. Mai. Sir, you overpower me with good-breed- 
 ing. — He is the very pine-apple of politeness ! — You 
 are not ignorant, captain, that this giddy girl has 
 somehow contrived to fix her affections on a beggarly, 
 strolling, eavesdropping ensign, whom none of us have 
 seen, and nobody knows anything of. 
 
 Abs. Oh, I have heard the silly affair before — I’m 
 not at all prejudiced against her on that account. 
 
 Mrs. Mai. You are very good and very considerate, 
 captain. I am sure I have done everything in my 
 power since I exploded the affair ; long ago I laid my 
 positive conjunctions on her, never to think on the 
 fellow again ; — I have since laid Sir Anthony’s pre- 
 position 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 corres- 
 ponding with him ; but, behold, this very day, I have 
 interceded another letter from the fellow ; I believe 
 I have it in my pocket. 
 
 Abs. Oh, the devil ! my last note. [Aside. 
 
 Mrs. Mai. Ay, here it is. 
 
 Abs. Ay, my note indeed ! Oh, the little traitress 
 Lucy. [Aside. 
 
64 
 
 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 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 soul's idol , my adored Lydia ! — 
 Very tender, indeed ! 
 
 Mrs. Mai. Tender, ay, and profane too, o' my 
 conscience. 
 
 Abs. [Reads.] 1 am excessively alarmed at the intelli- 
 gence you send me, the more so as my new rival 
 
 Mrs. Mai. That's you, sir. 
 
 Abs. [Reads.] Has universally the character of bei <> 
 an accomplished gentleman and a man of honour. — Won, 
 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. Mai. Me, sir ! — me ! — 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 
 ridiculous vanity, which makes her dress up her coarse 
 features, and deck her dull chat with hard words which 
 she don't understand 
 
 Mrs. Mai. There, sir, an attack upon my language ! 
 what do you think of that ? — an aspersion upon my 
 parts of speech ! was ever such a brute ! Sure, if I 
 reprehend any thing in this world it is the use of my 
 oracular tongue, and a nice derangement of epitaphs ! 
 
 Abs. He deserved 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 
 
THE RIVALS 
 
 65 
 
 pretended admiration — 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 inter- 
 view. — Was ever such assurance ! 
 
 Mrs. Mai. Did you ever hear anything like it ? — 
 he'll elude my vigilance, will he ? — Yes, yes! ha! ha! 
 he's very likely to enter these doors; — we'll 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. Mala- 
 prop, as the girl seems so infatuated by this fellow, 
 suppose you were to wink at her corresponding with 
 hi u. for a little time — let her even plot an elopement 
 with him — then do you connive at her escape — while I 
 just in the nick, will have the fellow laid by the heels 
 and fairly contrive to carry her off in his stead. 
 
 Mrs. Mai. I am delighted with the scheme ; never 
 was anything better perpetrated ! 
 
 Abs. But, pray, could not I see the lady for a few 
 minutes now ? — I should like to try her temper a little. 
 
 Mrs. Mai. Why, I don't know — I doubt she is not 
 prepared for a visit of this kind. There is a decorum 
 in these matters. 
 
 Abs. O Lord ! she won't mind me — only tell her 
 Beverley 
 
 Mrs. Mai. Sir ! 
 
 Afo. Gently, good tongue. [Aside. 
 
 Mrs. Mai. What did you say of Beverley ? 
 
 Abs. Oh, I was going to propose that you should tell 
 her, by way of jest, that it was Beverley who was 
 below ; she’d come down fast enough then — ha ! ha ! 
 ha ! 
 
 Mrs. Mai. 'Twould be a trick she well deserves ; 
 besides, you know the fellow tells her he'll get my 
 consent to see her — ha ! ha ! Let him if he can, I say 
 again. Lydia, come down here ! — [Calling.] He'll 
 make me a go-between in their interviews ! — ha ! ha ! 
 ha ! Come down, I say, Lydia ! I don't wonder at your 
 s.p. B 
 
66 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 laughing, ha ! ha ! ha ! his impudence is truly ridi- 
 culous. 
 
 Abs. Tis very ridiculous, upon my soul, ma'am, ha ! 
 ha ! ha ! 
 
 Mrs. Mai. The little hussy won't hear. Well, I'll go 
 and tell her at once who it is — she shall know that 
 Captain Absolute is come to wait on her. And I'll 
 make her behave as becomes a young woman. 
 
 Abs. As you please, madam. 
 
 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 pictures. 
 
 Enter Lydia. 
 
 Lyd. What a scene am I now to go through ! surely 
 nothing can be more dreadful than to be obliged to 
 listen to the loathsome addresses of a stranger to one's 
 heart. I have heard of girls persecuted as I am, who 
 have appealed in behalf of their favoured lover to the 
 generosity of his rival ; suppose I were to try it — there 
 stands the fated 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'll speak first — Mr. Absolute. 
 
 Abs. Ma'am. [ Turns round. 
 
 Lyd. O heavens ! Beverley ! 
 
 Abs. Hush ; — hush, my life ! softly ! be not sur- 
 prised ! 
 
 Lyd. I am so astonished ! and so terrified ! and so 
 overjoyed ! — for Heaven's sake ! how came you here ? 
 
 Abs. Briefly, I have deceived your aunt — I was 
 
THE RIVALS 
 
 67 
 
 informed that my new rival was to visit here this 
 evening, and contriving to have him kept away, have 
 passed myself on her for Captain Absolute. 
 
 Lyd. 0 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 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 then, Beverley, consent to forfeit that 
 portion of my paltry wealth ? — that burden on the 
 wings of love ? 
 
 Abs. Oh, come to me — rich only thus — in loveliness ! 
 Bring no portion to me but thy love — ’twill be generous 
 in you, Lydia, — for well you know it is the only dower 
 your poor Beverley can repay. 
 
 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, the 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. 
 
68 
 
 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 Re-enter Mrs. Malaprop, listening. 
 
 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 passion, I suppose. [Aside. 
 
 Lyd. No — nor ever can while I have life. 
 
 Mrs. Mai. An ill-tempered little devil ! She'll 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 
 apologise for her shocking rudeness. 
 
 Abs. [Aside.] So all's safe, I find. — [Aloud]. I have 
 hopes, madam, that time will bring the young lady 
 
 Mrs. Mai. Oh, there 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 ? 
 
 Mrs. 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 ? 
 
 Lyd. No, madam — I did not. 
 
THE RIVALS 
 
 69 
 
 Mrs. Mai. Good heavens ! what assurance ! — Lydia, 
 Lydia, you ought to know that lying don't become a 
 young woman ! — Didn't you boast that Beverley, that 
 stroller Beverley, possessed your heart ? — Tell me that, 
 I say. 
 
 Lyd. 'Tis true, ma'am, and none but Beverley 
 
 Mrs . Mai. Hold ! — hold, Assurance ! — you shall not 
 be so rude. 
 
 Abs. Nay, pray, Mrs. Malaprop, don't stop the young 
 lady's speech : she's very welcome to talk thus — it does 
 not hurt me in the least, I assure you. 
 
 Mrs. Mai. You are too good, captain — too amiably 
 patient — but come with me, miss. — Let us see you 
 again soon, captain — remember what we have fixed. 
 
 Abs. I shall, ma'am. 
 
 Mrs. Mai. Come, take a graceful leave of the gentle- 
 man. 
 
 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 monkeyrony 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 
 
SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 70 
 
 presarve me ! our dairy-maid would come giggling to 
 the door, and I warrant Dolly Tester, your honour's 
 favourite, would blush like my waistcoat. — Oons ! I'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 
 the post-office. 
 
 Dav. I will. — By the mass, I can't help looking at 
 your head ! — if I hadn't been by at the cookmg, 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 gentle- 
 men. — 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 m — 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 — mme 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 iike 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. 
 
THE RIVALS 
 
 7 1 
 
 [Exit Servant. 
 
 Acres. Show him in. 
 
 Enter Sir Lucius O’Trigger. 
 
 Sir Luc. Mr. Acres, I am delighted to embrace you. 
 
 Acres. My dear Sir Lucius, I kiss your hands. 
 
 Sir Luc. Pray, my friend, what has brought you so 
 suddenly to Bath ? 
 
 Acres. Faith ! I have followed Cupid's Jack-a- 
 lantern, and find myself in a quagmire at last. — In 
 short, I have been very ill-used, Sir Lucius. — I don’t 
 choose to mention names, but look on me as on a very 
 ill-used gentleman. 
 
 Sir Luc. Pray what is the case ? — I ask no names. 
 
 Acres. Mark me, Sir Lucius, I fall as deep as need 
 be in love with a young lady — her friends take my 
 part — I follow her to Bath — send word of my arrival ; 
 and receive answer, that the lady is to be 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 under- 
 stand 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 
 provocation in the world. Can a man commit a more 
 heinous offence against another man than to fall in 
 
SHERIDAN’S PLAYS 
 
 72 
 
 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 
 acquaintance with this man. I never saw him in my life. 
 
 Sir Luc. That’s no argument at all — he has the less 
 right then to take such a liberty. 
 
 Acres . Gad, that’s true — I grow full of anger, Sir 
 Lucius ! — I fire apace ! Odds hilts and blades ! I find 
 a man may have a deal of 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 ? Do you think Achilles, or my 
 little Alexander the Great, ever inquired where the 
 right lay? No, by my soul, they drew their broad- 
 swords, and left the lazy sons of peace to settle the 
 justice of it. 
 
 Acres. Your words are a grenadier’s march to my 
 heart ! I believe courage must be catching ! I certainly 
 do feel a kind of valour rising as it were — a kind of 
 courage, as I may say. — Odds flints, pans, and triggers ! 
 I’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 
 old O’Trigger line, that would furnish the new room ; 
 every one of whom had killed his man ! — For though 
 the mansion-house and dirty acres have slipped through 
 my fingers, I thank heaven our honour and the family- 
 pictures are as fresh as ever. 
 
 Acres. O, Sir Lucius ! I have had ancestors too ! — 
 every man of ’em colonel or captain in the militia ! — 
 Odds balls and barrels ! say no more — I’m braced for it. 
 The thunder of your words has soured the milk of 
 human kindness in my breast : — Zounds ! as the man 
 in the plays 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. 
 
THE RIVALS 
 
 73 
 
 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. — [S^s down to 
 write .] I would the ink were red ! — Indite, I say, indite ! 
 — How shall I begin ? Odds bullets and blades ! I’ll 
 write a good bold hand, however. 
 
 Sir Luc. Pray compose yourself. 
 
 Acres . Come — now, shall I begin with an oath ? Do, 
 Sir Lucius, let me begin with a damne. 
 
 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 King s-Mead-Fi elds. 
 
 Acres. So, that’s done — Well, I’ll fold it up pre- 
 sently ; my own crest — a hand and dagger shall be 
 the seal. 
 
 Sir Luc. You see now this little explanation will put 
 a stop at once to all confusion or misunderstanding that 
 might arise between you. 
 
 Acres. Ay, we fight to prevent any misunderstand- 
 ing. 
 
 Sir Luc. 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 ol you, unless it be 
 s.P. B 2 
 
SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 74 
 
 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 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 gentleman, to call him 
 out. 
 
 Acres. By my valour, I should like to see you fight 
 hrst ! Odds life ! I should like to see you kill him, if 
 it was only to get a little lesson. 
 
 Sir Luc . I shall be very proud of instructing you. 
 Well for the present — but remember now, when you 
 meet your antagonist, do every thing in a mild and 
 agreeable manner. — Let your courage be as keen, but 
 at the same time as polished, as your sword. 
 
 [Exeunt severally. 
 
 ACT IV 
 
 Scene I. — Acres' Lodgings. 
 
 Acres and David. 
 
 Dav. Then, by the mass, sir ! I would do no such 
 thing — ne'er a St. Lucius O'Trigger in the kingdom 
 should make me fight, when I wasn't so minded. Oons ! 
 what will the old lady say, when she hears o't ? 
 
 Acres. Ah ! David, if you had heard Sir Lucius ! — 
 Odds sparks and flames ! he would have roused your 
 valour. 
 
 Dav. Not he, indeed. I hates such bloodthirsty 
 cormorants. Look'ee, master, if you 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. 
 
THE RIVALS 
 
 75 
 
 Acres. But my honour, David, my honour ! I must 
 be very careful of my honour. 
 
 Dav. Ay, by the mass J 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 marvelious 
 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 case that 
 he kills me ! — by the mass ! I go to the worms, and 
 my honour whips over to my enemy. 
 
 Acres . No, David — in that case 1 — odds crowns and 
 laurels ! your honour follows you to the grave. 
 
 Dav , Now f 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 ! 
 
 Dav. Under favour, the surest way of not disgracing 
 them, is to keep as long as you can out of their com- 
 pany. Look'ee now, master, to go to them in such 
 haste— with an ounce of lead in your brains — I should 
 think might as well be let alone. Our ancestors are very 
 good kind of folks ; but they are the last people I 
 should choose to have a visiting acquaintance with. 
 
 Acres. But, David, now, you don't think there is 
 such very, very, very great danger, hey ? — Odds life f 
 people often fight without any mischief done ! 
 
 Dav. By the mass, I think 'tis ten to one against 
 
SHERIDAN’S PLAYS 
 
 7 6 
 
 you ! — Oons ! here to meet some lion-hearted 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 sup- 
 pose there an’t 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 chal- 
 lenge, and I have sent for my dear friend Jack Absloute 
 to carry it for me. 
 
 Dav. Ay, i’ the name of mischief, let him be the 
 messenger. — For my part I wouldn’t lend a hand to it 
 for the best horse in your stable. By the mass ! it don’t 
 look like another letter ! It is, as I may say, a designing 
 and malicious-looking letter ; and I warrant smells of 
 gun-powder like a soldier’s pouch ! — Oons ! I wouldn’t 
 swear it mayn’t go off ! 
 
 Acres. Out, you poltroon ! you han’t 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 ! — Ah, 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 get 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 ! 
 
THE RIVALS 
 
 77 
 
 Dav. Good-bye, master. [ Whimpering . 
 
 Acres. Get along, you cowardly, dastardly, croaking 
 raven ! [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. 
 
 Abs. [. Aside .] To Ensign Beverley. So, what's going 
 on now ? — [Aloud.'] Well, what's this ? 
 
 Acres. A challenge ! 
 
 Abs. Indeed ! Why, you won't fight him ; will you, 
 Bob? 
 
 Acres. Egad, but I will, Jack. Sir Lucius has 
 wrought me to it. He has left me full of rage — and I'll 
 fight this evening, that so much good passion mayn't 
 be wasted. 
 
 Abs. But what have I to do with this ? 
 
 Acres. Why, as I think you know something of this 
 fellow, I want you to find him out for me, and give 
 him this mortal defiance. 
 
 Abs. Well, give it to me, and trust me he gets it. 
 
 Acres. Thank you, my dear friend, my dear Jack ; 
 but it is giving you a great deal of trouble. 
 
 Abs. Not in the least — I beg you won't mention 
 it. — No trouble in the world, I assure you. 
 
 Acres. You are very kind. — What it is to have a 
 friend ! — You couldn't be my second, could you, 
 Jack? 
 
 Abs. Why no, Bob — not in this 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. 
 
7 8 
 
 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 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 man your friend Acres is, do tel] 
 him I am a devil of a fellow — will you, Jack ? 
 
 Abs. To be sure I shall. I'll say you are a deter- 
 mined dog — hey, Bob ? 
 
 Acres. Ah, do, do — and if that frightens him, egad, 
 perhaps he mayn't come. So tell him I generally loll 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? 
 
 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. Remember, Jack — a determined dog ! 
 
 Abs. Ay, ay, Fighting Bob ! [Exeunt severally . 
 
 Scene II. — 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 ? — 
 
THE RIVALS 79 
 
 tell ine 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 physiog- 
 nomy so grammatical ! Then his presence is so noble ! 
 I protest, when I saw him, I thought of what Hamlet 
 says in the play : — 
 
 “ Hesperian curls — the front of Job himself ! — 
 
 An eye, like March, to threaten at command ! — 
 
 A station, like Harry Mercury, new " 
 
 Something about kissing — on a hill — however, the 
 similitude struck me directly. 
 
 Lyd. How enraged she‘11 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 
 young woman. Show your good breeding, at least, 
 though you have forgot your duty. 
 
 Lyd. Madam, I have told you my resolution ! — I 
 shah 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 . 
 
8o 
 
 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 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 if 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 Absolute.] 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 han't heard my aunt 
 exclaim yet ! sure she can't have looked at him ! — 
 perhaps the regimentals are alike, and she is some- 
 thing 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 ! 
 
 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 
 
THE RIVALS 
 
 81 
 
 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 in- 
 clined to conversation as myself. — How strangely blind 
 my aunt must be ! 
 
 Abs. Hem ! hem ! madam — hem ! — [Attempts to 
 speak , then returns to Sir Anthony.] Faith ! sir, I am 
 so confounded ! — and — so — so — confused ! — I told you 
 I should be so, sir — I knew it. — The — the — tremor of 
 my passion entirely takes away my presence of 
 mind. 
 
 Sir Anth. But if don’t take away your voice, fool, 
 does it ? — Go up, and speak to her directly ! 
 
 [Captain Absolute makes signs to Mrs. Malaprop 
 to leave them together. 
 
 Mrs. Mat. 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 ? 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 — 
 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 
 the 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 
 
82 
 
 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 Lydia, speaks softly .] Be not surprised, my Lydia, 
 suppress all surprise 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 be ? — 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. O' my conscience, I believe so ! — What 
 do you mean by Beverley, hussy ? — You saw Captain 
 Absolute before to-day ; there he is — your husband 
 that shall be. 
 
 Lyd. With all my soul, ma'am — when I refuse my 
 Beverley 
 
 Sir Anth. Oh 1 she's as mad as Bedlam ! — or has 
 this fellow 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 ? O 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 also, 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. 
 
THE RIVALS 
 
 33 
 
 knowing the singular generosity of her temper, assumed 
 that name 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 ! 
 
 A bs. Oh, you flatter me, sir — you compliment — 
 'tis my modesty, you know, sir — my modesty that has 
 stood in my way. 
 
 Sir Anth. Well, I am glad you are not the dull, 
 insensible varlet you pretended to be, however ! — I'm 
 glad you have made a fool of your father, you dog — 
 I am. So this was your penitence , your duty and 
 obedience ! — I thought it was damned sudden ! — You 
 never heard their names before, not you ! — what , the 
 Languishes of Worcestershire , hey ? — if you could please 
 me in the affair it was all you desired ! — Ah ! you dis- 
 sembling villain ! — What ! — [Pointing to Lydia] she 
 squints , don’t she? — a little red-haired girl! — hey? — 
 Why, you hypocritical young rascal ! — I wonder you 
 a 'n't ashamed to hold up your head ! 
 
 Abs. Tis with difficulty, sir. — I am 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 ? — What — am I to thank 
 you for the elegant compilation of an old weather-beaten 
 she-dragon — hey ? — O mercy ! — was it you that re- 
 flected 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 and forgive ; — odds life ! matters have taken so 
 clever a turn all of a sudden, that I could find in my 
 
84 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 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 retrospection will be all to the future. 
 
 Sir Anth. Come, we must leave them together ; Mrs. 
 Malaprop, they long to fly into each other's arms, I 
 warrant ! — Jack, isn't the cheek as I said, hey ? — and 
 the eye, you 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 — [Smgs] — 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 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 license, and 
 
 Lyd. The license ! — I hate license ! 
 
 Abs. Oh, my love ! be not so unkind ! — thus let me 
 entreat [Kneeling. 
 
 Lyd. Psha ! — what signifies kneeling, when you 
 know I must have you ? 
 
THE RIVALS 
 
 85 
 
 Abs. [Rising.] Nay, madam, there shall be no con- 
 straint 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 appro- 
 bation — 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 
 suppose you are perfectly satisfied. 
 
 Abs. O, most certainly — sure, now, this is much 
 
86 
 
 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 better than being in love ! — ha ! ha ! ha ! — there's some 
 spirit in this ! — What signifies brewing some scores of 
 solemn promises : — 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 iet 
 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 
 cooling awhile. 
 
 Lyd. This is worse than your treachery and deceit, 
 you base ingrate ! [Sobbing. 
 
 Sir Anth. What the devil's the matter now ? — 
 Zounds I Mrs. Malaprop, this is the oddest billing and 
 cooing 1 ever heard ! — but what the deuce is the 
 meaning of it ? — I am quite astonished ! 
 
 A bs. Ask the lady, sir. 
 
 Mrs . Mai. O mercy 1 — 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 turr) 
 
THE RIVALS 87 
 
 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 ! — now I see it — you have been too lively, 
 Jack. 
 
 Abs. Nay, sir, upon my word 
 
 Sir Anth. Come, no lying, Jack — I'm sure 'twas so. 
 Mrs. Mai. O Lud ! Sir Anthony ! — O fy, captain ! 
 
 Abs. Upon my soul, ma'am 
 
 Sir Anth. Come, no excuse, Jack ; why, your father, 
 you rogue, was so before you ! — the blood of the 
 Absolutes was always impatient. — Ha ! ha ! ha ! poor 
 little Lydia ! why, you've frightened her, you dog, you 
 have. 
 
 Abs. By all that's good, sir 
 
 Sir Anth. Zounds ! say no more, I tell you, Mrs. 
 Malaprop shall make your peace. You must make his 
 peace, Mrs. Malaprop : — you must tell her 'tis Jack's 
 way — tell her 'tis all our ways — it runs in the blood of 
 our family ! Come away, Jack. Ha ! ha ! ha ! — Mrs. 
 Malaprop — a young villain ! [Pushing him out. 
 
 Mrs. Mai. O ! Sir Anthony ! — O fy, captain ! 
 
 [Exeunt severally. 
 
 Scene III . — The North Parade. 
 
 Enter Sir Lucius O'Trigger. 
 
 Luc. I wonder where this Captain Absolute hides 
 himself ! 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 
 
88 
 
 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 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 is he talking to ? 
 
 [Steps aside. 
 
 Enter Captain Absolute. 
 
 Abs. [Aside.] To what fine purpose I have been 
 plotting ! a noble reward for all my schemes, upon my 
 soul ! — a little 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 quick ! Now 
 to enter into conversation 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 disputant : — because, sir, I happened just then 
 to be giving no opinion at all. 
 
 Sir Luc. That's no reason. For give me leave to tell 
 you, a man may 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 ! 
 
THE RIVALS 
 
 89 
 
 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. Very well, sir ; I shall certainly not balk your 
 inclinations. — But I should be glad you would be 
 pleased to explain your motives. 
 
 Sir Luc. Pray, sir, be easy ; the quarrel is a very 
 pretty quarrel as it stands ; we should only spoil it by 
 trying to explain it. However, your memory is very 
 short, or you could not have forgot an affront you 
 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 
 the better ; let it be this evening — here, by the Spring 
 Gardens. We shall scarcely be interrupted. 
 
 Sir Luc. Faith ! that same interruption in affairs of 
 this nature 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. How- 
 ever, if it's the same to you, 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 ! [ExiL 
 
 Enter Faulkland. 
 
 Abs. Well met ! I was going to look for you. O 
 Faulkland ! all the demons of spite and disappointment 
 have conspired against me ! I'm so vex'd, that if I had 
 not the prospect of a resource in being knocked o' the 
 
90 SHERIDAN’S PLAYS 
 
 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 ! 
 
 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 
 (as 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 
 difference I have had with Julia. My vile tormenting 
 temper has made me treat her so cruelly, that I shall 
 not be myself till we are reconciled. 
 
 Abs. By heavens ! Faulkland, you don’t deserve 
 •her ! 
 
THE RIVALS 
 
 9 * 
 
 Enter Servant, gives Faulkland a letter , and exit. 
 
 Faulk. Oh, Jack i 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 i 
 
 Abs. Hear then — [Reads.] As I am convinced that 
 my dear Faulkland' s own reflections have already up- 
 braided 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 ana truly , Julia. There's 
 subbomness and resentment tor you ! — [Gives him the 
 letter.) Why, man, you don't seem one whit happier at 
 this ! 
 
 Faulk. O yes, 1 am ; but — but 
 
 Abs. Confound your buts 1 you never hear anything 
 that would make another man bless himself, but you 
 immediately damn it with a but ! 
 
 Faulk. Now, Jack as you are my friend, own 
 honestly — don't you think there is something forward, 
 something indelicate, in this haste to forgive ? Women 
 should never sue for reconciliation that should 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 
 incorrigible ! so say no more on the subject. I must go 
 to settle a few matters. Let me see you before six, 
 remember, at my lodgings. A poor industrious devil 
 like me, who have 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 
 
SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 92 
 
 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 I will instantly pursue. I'll use it as the touch- 
 stone of Julia's sincerity and disinterestedness. If her 
 love proves 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 selfish- 
 ness, the alloy of pride, predominate, 'twill be best to 
 leave her as a toy or some less cautious fool to sigh for ! 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 ACT V 
 
 Scene I. — Julia's Dressing-Room . 
 
 Julia discovered alone. 
 
 jul. How this message has alarmed me ! what 
 dreadful accident can he mean ? why such charge to 
 be alone ? — O Faulkland ! — how many unhappy 
 moments — how many tears have you cost me. 
 
 Enter Faulkland. 
 
 Jul. What means this ? — why this caution, Faulk- 
 land ? 
 
 Faulk. Alas ! Julia, I am come to take a long fare- 
 well. 
 
 Jul. Heavens ! what do you mean ? 
 
 Faulk. You see before you a wretch, whose life is 
 
THE RIVALS 
 
 93 
 
 forfeited. Nay, $tart 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 banish- 
 ment ! 
 
 Jul. My soul is opprest with sorrow at the nature 
 of your misfortune : had these adverse circumstances 
 arisen from a less fatal cause I should have felt strong 
 comfort in the thought that I could 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 pursuit, my father's will 
 may be fulfilled — and I receive a legal claim to be the 
 partner of your sorrows, and tenderest comforter. 
 Then on the bosom of your wedded Julia, you may lull 
 your keen regret to slumbering, while virtuous love, 
 with a cherub's hand, shall smooth the brow of up- 
 braiding thought, and pluck the thorn from com- 
 punction. 
 
 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 com- 
 pensation poor Faulkland can make you beside his 
 solitary love ? 
 
 Jul. I ask not a moment. No, Faulkland, 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 
 delay 
 
 Faulk. 'Twill be better I should not venture out 
 again till dark. Yet I am grieved to think what 
 
94 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 numberless distresses will press heavy on your gentle 
 disposition ! 
 
 Jul. Perhaps your fortune may be forfeited by this 
 unhappy 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 of my temper, till I become a rude, morose 
 companion, beyond your patience to endure. Perhaps 
 the recollection of a deed my conscience cannot justify 
 may haunt me in such gloomy and unsocial fits, that 
 I shall hate the tenderness that would relieve me, break 
 from your arms, and quarrel with your fondness ! 
 
 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 [can,] 
 by bearing your infirmities with gentleness and resigna- 
 tion, 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 restless, unsatisfied disposition ? 
 
 Jul. Has no such disaster happened as you related ? 
 
 Faulk. I am ashamed to own that it was pretended ; 
 yet in pity, Julia, do not kill me with resenting a fault 
 which never can be repeated : but sealing, this once, 
 my pardon, let me to-morrow, in the face of Heaven, 
 receive my future guide and monitress, and expiate my 
 past folly by years of tender adoration. 
 
 Jul. Hold, Faulkland ! — that you are free from a 
 crime, which I before feared to name, Heaven knows 
 how sincerely I rejoice ! These are tears of thankfulness 
 for that ! But that your cruel doubts should have urged 
 you to an imposition that has wrung my heart, gives 
 me now a pang more keen than I can express. 
 
 Faulk. By Heavens ! Julia 
 
THE RIVALS 
 
 95 
 
 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 Provi- 
 dence 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 probation 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 prevented the performance of our 
 solemn engagement. All I request of you is, that you 
 will yourself reflect upon this infirmity, and when you 
 number up the many true delights it has deprived you 
 of, let it not be your least regret, that it lost you the 
 love of one who would have followed you in beggary 
 through the world ! [Exit. 
 
g6 
 
 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 Faulk. She's gone — for ever ! — There was an awful 
 resolution in her manner, that riveted me to my 
 place. — 0 fool ! — dolt ! — barbarian ! Cursed as I am, 
 with more imperfections than my fellow-wretches, 
 kind Fortune sent a heaven-gifted cherub to my aid, 
 and, like a 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 ! — tormentor ! — 
 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 sensi- 
 bility 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 have come to you with such 
 an appetite for consolation. — 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 ! — 
 Something has flurried me a little. Nothing that you 
 can guess 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. Faulk- 
 land 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 
 
THE RIVALS 97 
 
 subject, without a serious endeavour to counteract your 
 caprice. 
 
 Lyd. So, then) I see I have been deceived by every 
 one ! But I don't care — I'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 — with such surprise to Mrs. Malaprop — 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 
 license, 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 con- 
 versation 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 pathetically ! 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 
 
SHERIDAN’S PLAYS 
 
 98 
 
 entreat you not to let a man, who loves you with 
 sincerity, suffer that unhappiness from your caprice, 
 which I know too well caprice can inflict. 
 
 Lyd. O Lud ! what has brought my aunt here ? 
 
 Enter Mrs. Malaprop, Fag, and David. 
 
 Mrs. Mai. So ! so ! here’s fine work ! — here’s fine 
 suicide, parricide, and simulation, going on in the 
 fields ! and Sir Anthony not to be found to prevent 
 the antistrophe ! 
 
 Jul. For Heaven’s sake, madam, what’s the meaning 
 of this ? 
 
 Mrs. Mai. That gentleman can tell you — ’twas he 
 enveloped the affair to me. 
 
 Lyd. Do, sir, will you, inform us ? [To Fag. 
 
 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 
 tedius, perhaps while we are flourishing on the subject, 
 two or three lives may be lost ! 
 
 Lyd. O 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 man- 
 slaughter, 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 
 
THE RIVALS 
 
 99 
 
 I should be very sorry anything was to happen to — a 
 very pretty behaved gentleman ! We have lived much 
 together, and always on terms. 
 
 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 now ! 
 
 Jul. But who are with him, sir ? 
 
 Fag. 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 mis- 
 chief going on. Folks don’t use to meet for amusement 
 with firearms, firelocks, fire engines, fire-screen, fire- 
 office, and the devil knows what other crackers beside ! 
 — This, my lady, I say, has an angry savour. 
 
 Jul. But who is there beside Captain Absolute, 
 friend ? 
 
 Dav. My poor master — under favour for mentioning 
 him first. You know me, my lady — I am David — and 
 my master of course is, or was, Squire Acres. Then 
 comes Squire Faulkland. 
 
 Jul. Do, ma’am, let us instantly endeavour to pre- 
 vent mischief. 
 
 Mrs. Mai. O 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 ? O 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 ? 
 
 Mrs. Mai. Why, fly with the utmost felicity, to be 
 sure, to prevent mischief ! — Here, friend, you can show 
 us the place ? 
 
100 
 
 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 Fag. If you please, ma'am, I will conduct you. — 
 David, do you look for Sir Anthony. [Exit David. 
 
 Mrs. Mai. Come, girls ! this gentleman will exhort 
 us. — Come, sir, you're our envoy — lead the way, and 
 we'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. 
 
 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 rise 
 as 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 — 
 
THE RIVALS 
 
 IOI 
 
 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 ? 
 
 A bs. 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 ? 
 
 Abs . ’Tis cool, sir, isn’t it ? — 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 you, 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 sure, 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 are 
 wounded here [Putting his hand to Captain Absolute’s 
 breast.] Hey ! what the deuce have you got here ? 
 
 Abs. Nothing, sir — nothing. 
 
 Sir Anth. What’s this ? — here’s something damned 
 hard. 
 
 Abs. Oh, trinkets, sir ! trinkets ! — a bauble foi 
 Lydia. 
 
102 
 
 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 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 ? 
 
 .46s. 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 ! 
 
 A bs. Sir, I'll explain to you. — You know, sir, Lydia 
 is romantic, devilish romantic, and very absurd of 
 course : now, 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 I. 
 
 Sir Anth. 0, booby ! stay 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 tire ! Stop fire ! — O Sir Anthony — call ! call ! 
 bid'm stop I Murder ! Fire ! 
 
 Sir Anth. Fire ! Murder ! — Where ? 
 
 Dav. Oons ! he's out of sight ! and I'm out of 
 breath for my part ! O Sir Anthony, why didn't you 
 stop him ? why didn't you stop him ? 
 
 Sir Anth. Zounds ! the fellow's mad ! — Stop whom ? 
 stop Jack ? 
 
 Dav. Ay, the captain, sir ! — there's murder and 
 slaughter 
 
 Sir Anth. Murder ! 
 
THE RIVALS 
 
 103 
 
 Dav. Ay, please you, Sir Anthony, there's all kinds 
 of murder, all sorts of slaughter to be seen in the 
 fields : there's fighting going on, sir — bloody sword- 
 and-gun fighting ! 
 
 Sir Anth. Who are going to fight, dunce ? 
 
 Dav. Everybody that I know of, Sir Anthony: — 
 everybody is going to fight, my poor master, Sir Lucius 
 O'Trigger, your son, the captain 
 
 Sir Anth. Oh, the dog ! I see his tricks. — Do you 
 know the place ? 
 
 Dav. King's-Mead-Fields. 
 
 Sir Anth. You know the way ? 
 
 Dav. Not an inch ; but I'll call the mayor — aldermen 
 — constables — churchwardens — and beadles — we can't 
 be too many to part them. 
 
 Sir Anth. Come along — give me your shoulder ! 
 we'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 III. — 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. — Stay now — I'll show you. — [Measures 
 paces along the stage.] There now, that is a very pretty 
 distance — a pretty gentleman’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 ! 
 
SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 104 
 
 Acres. No, Sir Lucius ; but I should think forty or 
 eight and thirty yards 
 
 Sir Luc. Pho ! pho ! nonsense ! three or four feet 
 between the mouths of your pistols is as good as a 
 mile. 
 
 Acres. Odds bullets, no ! — by my valour ! there is no 
 merit in killing him so near ; do, my dear Sir Lucius, 
 let me bring him down at a long shot — a long shot, Sir 
 Lucius, if you love me. 
 
 Sir Luc. Well, the gentleman's friend and I must 
 settle that. — But tell me now, Mr. Acres, in case of an 
 accident, is there any little will or commission I could 
 execute for you ? 
 
 Acres. I am much obliged to you, Sir Lucius, but I 
 don't understand 
 
 Sir Luc. Why, you may think there's no being shot 
 at without a little risk — and if an unlucky bullet should 
 carry a quietus with it — I say it will be no time then 
 to be bothering you about family matters. 
 
 Acres. A quietus ! 
 
 Sir Luc. For instance, now — if that should be the 
 case — would you 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 
 tremors ! Sir Lucius, don't talk so ! 
 
 Sir Luc. I suppose, Mr. Acres, you never were 
 engaged in an affair of this kind before ? 
 
 Acres. No, Sir Lucius, never before. 
 
 Sir Luc. Ah ! that's a pity ! — there's nothing like 
 being used to a thing. Pray now, how would you 
 receive the gentleman's shot ? 
 
 Acres. Odds files ! — I've practised that — there, Sir 
 Lucius — 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. 
 
THE RIVALS 105 
 
 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 the broad-side of your full front — there — 
 now a ball or two may pass clean through your body, 
 and never do any harm at all. 
 
 Acres. Clean through me ! — a ball or two clean 
 through me ! 
 
 Sir 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 — Hah ! — no, faith — I think I see them 
 coming. 
 
 Acres. Hey ! — what ! — coming ! 
 
 Sir Luc. Ay. — Who are those younder 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 Lite. What the devil's the matter with you ? 
 
 Acres. Nothing — nothing — my dear friend — my dear 
 Sir Lucius — but I — I — I don't feel quite so bold, some- 
 how, as I did. 
 
 Sir Luc. O fy ! — consider your honour. 
 
 Acres. Ay — true — my honour. Do, Sir Lucius, edge 
 
io6 SHERIDAN’S PLAYS 
 
 in a word or two every now and then about my 
 honour. 
 
 Sir Luc. Well, here they’re coming. [Looking. 
 
 Acres . Sir Lucius — if I wa’n’t with you, I should 
 almost think I was afraid. — If my valour should leave 
 me ! Valour will come and go. 
 
 Sir Luc. Then pray keep it fast, while you have it. 
 
 Acres. Sir Lucius — I doubt it is going — yes — my 
 valour is certainly going ! — it is sneaking off ! — I feel it 
 oozing out as it were at the palms of my hands ! 
 
 Sir Luc. Your honour — your honour. — Here they 
 are. 
 
 Acres. O mercy ! — now — that I was safe at Clod 
 Hall ! or could be shot before I was aware I 
 
 Enter Faulkland and Captain Absolute. 
 
 Sir Luc. Gentlemen, your most obedient. — Hah ! — 
 what, Captain Absolute !— So, I suppose, sir, you are 
 come here, 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. Beverley, 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. Faulklaud ; 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 
 
THE RIVALS 
 
 107 
 
 purpose lor the game, you won't be so cantankerous 
 as to spoil the party by sitting out. 
 
 Abs. O pray, Faulkland, fight to oblige Sir 
 Lucius. 
 
 Faulk. Nay, if Mr. Acres is so bent on the matter — 
 
 Acres. No, no, Mr. Faulkland ; — I'll bear my dis- 
 appointment 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 iieve let it alone. 
 
 Sir Luc. Observe me, Mr. Acres — I must not be 
 trifled with. You have certainly challenged somebody 
 — and you came here to fight him. Now, if that gentle- 
 man 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 
 Beverley I've challenged — a fellow, you see, that 
 dare not show his face ! — if he were here, I'd make him 
 give up his pretensions directly ! 
 
 A bs. 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 pre- 
 tensions are the same in both characters, he is ready 
 to support them in whatever way you please. 
 
 Sir Luc. Well, this is lucky. — Now you have an 
 opportunity — 
 
 Acres. What, quarrel with my dear friend, Jack 
 Absolute ? — 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. 
 
io8 
 
 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 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. 
 
 A bs. Nay, Sir Lucius, you can't have a better 
 second than my friend Acres. — He is a most deter- 
 mined dog — called in the country, Fighting Bob. — He 
 generally kills a man a week — don't you, Bob ? 
 
 Acres. 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. 
 
 Enter Sir Anthony Absolute, David, Mrs. Mala- 
 prop, 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, 
 without explaining his reasons. 
 
THE RIVALS 109 
 
 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 manner which his honour could not 
 brook ? 
 
 Mrs. Mai. Come, come, let’s have no honour before 
 ladies — Captain Absolute, come here — How could you 
 intimidate 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 
 convinced ; 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. 
 
 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 
 pretensions to any thing in the world ; and if I can’t 
 
no 
 
 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 get a wife without fighting for her, by my valour ! 
 I'll live a bachelor. 
 
 Sir Luc. Captain, give me your hand : an affront 
 handsomely acknowledged becomes an obligation ; 
 and as for the lady, if she chooses to deny her own 
 handwriting, here [ Takes out letters . 
 
 Mrs. Mol. 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 ? 
 
 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 ! 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 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 Luc. Hah ! little Valour — here, will you make 
 your fortune ? 
 
 Acres. Odds wrinkles ! No. — But give me your hand, 
 Sir Lucius, forget and forgive ; but if ever I give you a 
 chance of 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. 
 
THE RIVALS 
 
 hi 
 
 Mrs. Mai. O 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 inclination to resent it. As my heart honestly 
 bids me place my weakness to the account of love, I 
 should be ungenerous not to admit the same plea for 
 yours. 
 
 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 Faulkland 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 is content ; for as I have been 
 disappointed myself, it will be very hard if I have not 
 the satisfaction of seeing other people succeed better. 
 
 Acres. You are right, Sir Lucius. — So, Jack, I wish 
 you joy. — Mr. Faulkland the same. — Ladies, — come 
 now, to show you I'm neither 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 
 
1 12 
 
 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 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 tor- 
 tured 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 happi- 
 
 ness 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. 
 
 EPILOGUE 
 By the Author 
 
 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. 
 
THE RIVALS 
 
 113 
 
 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 vanquished 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 
 Steals one small spark to cheer this world of night : 
 Dear spark ! that oft through winter's chilling woes 
 Is all the warmth his little cottage knows ! 
 
 The 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 ! 
 
SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 114 
 
 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 gave 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 
 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 ! 
 
ST. PATRICK’S DAY 
 
 OR, THE SCHEMING LIEUTENANT 
 
 A FARCE 
 
 DRAMATIS PERSONS 
 
 AS ORIGINALLY ACTED AT COVENT-GARDEN THEATRE 
 IN I775 
 
 Lieutenant O’Connor . 
 
 Dr. Rosy .... 
 
 Justice Credulous 
 Serjeant Trounce 
 Corporal Flint . 
 
 Lauretta .... 
 
 Mrs. Bridget Credulous 
 
 Mr. Clinch 
 , Mr. Quick 
 Mr. Lee Lewes 
 Mr. Booth 
 
 Mrs . Cargill 
 Mrs. Pitt 
 
 Drummer, Soldiers, Countrymen, and Servant. 
 SCENE — A Town in England 
 
ACT I 
 
 Scene I. — Lieutenant O'Connor's Lodgings . 
 
 Enter Serjeant Trounce, Corppral Flint, and four 
 Soldiers. 
 
 i Sol . I say you are wrong ; we should all speak 
 together, each for himself, and all at once, that we may 
 be heard the better. 
 
 2 Sol. Right, Jack, we'll argue in platoons. 
 
 3 Sol. Ay, ay, let him have our grievances in a 
 volley, and if we be to have a spokesman, there's the 
 corporal is the lieutenant's countryman, and knows 
 his humour. 
 
 Flint. Let me alone for that. I served three years, 
 within a bit, under his honour, in the Royal Inniskil- 
 lions, and I never will see a sweeter tempered gentle- 
 man, nor one more free with his purse. I put a great 
 shammock in his hat this morning, and 1'U be bound 
 for him he'll wear it, was it as big as Steven's Green. 
 
 4 Sol. I say again then you talk like youngsters, like 
 militia striplings: there's a discipline, look'ee in all 
 things, whereof the serjeant must be our guide ; he's 
 a gentleman of words ; he understands your foreign 
 lingo, your figures, and such like auxiliaries in scoring. 
 Confess now for a reckoning, whether in chalk or 
 writing, ben't he your only man ? 
 
 Flint. Why the serjeant is a scholar to be sure, and 
 has the gift of reading. 
 
 Trounce. Good soldiers, and fellow-gentlemen, if you 
 make me your spokesman, you will show the more 
 judgment ; and let me alone for the argument. I'll be 
 as loud as a drum, and point blank from the purpose. 
 
 All. Agreed, agreed. 
 
 nt) 
 
ST. PATRICK'S DAY 117 
 
 Flint. Oh, faith ! here comes the lieutenant. — Now, 
 Serjeant. 
 
 Trounce . So then, to order. — Put on your mutiny 
 looks ; every man grumble a little to himself, and 
 some of you hum the Deserter's March. 
 
 Enter Lieutenant O'Connor. 
 
 O’Con. Well, honest lads, what is it you have to 
 complain of ? 
 
 Sol. Ahem ! hem ! 
 
 Trounce. So please your honour, the very grievance 
 of the matter is this : — ever since your honour differed 
 with Justice Credulous, our inn-keepers use us most 
 scurvily. By my halbert, their treatment is such, that 
 if your spirit was willing to put up with it, flesh and 
 blood could by no means agree ; so we humbly petition 
 that your honour would make an end of the matter at 
 once, by running away with the justice's daughter, or 
 else get us fresh quarters, — hem ! hem ! 
 
 O’Con. Indeed ! Pray which of the houses use you 
 ill? 
 
 1 Sol. There's the Red Lion an't half the civility of 
 the old Red Lion. 
 
 2 Sol. There's the White Horse, if he wasn't case- 
 hardened, ought to be ashamed to show his face. 
 
 O’Con. Very well ; the Horse and the Lion shall 
 answer for it at the quarter sessions. 
 
 Trounce. The two Magpies are civil enough ; but the 
 Angel uses us like devils, and the Rising Sun refuses 
 us light to go to bed by. 
 
 O’Con. Then, upon my word, I'll have the Rising 
 Sun put down, and the Angel shall give security for his 
 good behaviour ; but are you sure you do nothing to 
 quit scores with them ? 
 
 Flint. Nothing at all, your honour, unless now and 
 then we happen to fling a cartridge into the kitchen 
 
SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 118 
 
 fire, or put a spatterdash or so into the soup; ana 
 sometimes Ned drums up and down stairs a little of a 
 night. 
 
 O’Con . Oh, all that's fair ; but hark'ee, lads, I must 
 have no grumbling on St. Patrick's Day ; so here, take 
 this, and divide it amongst you. But observe me now, 
 — show yourselves men of spirit, and don't spend 
 sixpence of it in drink. 
 
 Trounce. Nay, hang it, your honour, soldiers should 
 never bear malice ; we must drink St. Patrick's and 
 your honour's health. 
 
 All. Oh, damn malice ! St. Patrick's and his 
 honour's by all means. 
 
 Flint. Come away, then, lads, and first we'll parade 
 round the Market-cross, for the honour of King George. 
 
 i Sol. Thank your honour. — Come along ; St. 
 Patrick, his honour, and strong beer for ever ! 
 
 [Exeunt Soldiers. 
 
 O'Gon. Get along, you thoughtless vagabonds ! yet, 
 upon my conscience, 'tis very hard these poor fellows 
 should scarcely have bread from the soil they would 
 die to defend. 
 
 Enter Doctor Rosy. 
 
 Ah, my little Dr. Rosy, my Galen a-bridge, what's the 
 
 news ? 
 
 Rosy. All things are as they were, my Alexander ; 
 the justice is as violent as ever : I felt his pulse on the 
 matter again, and, thinking his rage began to intermit, 
 I wanted to throw in the bark of good advice, but it 
 would not do. He says you and your cut-throats have 
 a plot upon his life, and swears he had rather see his 
 daughter in a scarlet fever than in the arms of a 
 soldier. 
 
 O’Con. Upon my word the army is very much obliged 
 to him. Well, then, I must marry the girl first, and ask 
 his consent afterwards. 
 
ST. PATRICK'S DAY 
 
 119 
 
 Rosy. So, then, the case of her fortune is desperate, 
 hey ? 
 
 O’Con. Oh, hang fortune, — let that take its chance ; 
 there is a beauty in Lauretta's simplicity, so pure a 
 bloom upon her charms. 
 
 Rosy. So there is, so there is. You are for beauty as 
 nature made her, hey ! No artificial graces, no cos- 
 metic varnish, no beauty in grey, hey ! 
 
 O’Con. Upon my word, doctor, you are right ; the 
 London ladies were always too handsome for me ; then 
 they are so defended, such a circumvallation of hoop, 
 with a breastwork of whale-bone that would turn a 
 pistol-bullet, much less Cupid's arrows, — then turret 
 on turret on top, with stores of concealed weapons, 
 under pretence of black pins, — and above all, a 
 standard of feathers that would do honour to a knight 
 of the Bath. Upon my conscience, I could as soon 
 embrace an Amazon, armed at all points. 
 
 Rosy. Right, right, my Alexander ! my taste to a 
 tittle. 
 
 O’Con. Then, doctor, though I admire modesty in 
 women, I like to see their faces. I am for the change- 
 able rose ; but with one of these quality Amazons, if 
 their midnight dissipations had left them blood enough 
 to raise a blush, they have not room enough in their 
 cheeks to show it. To be sure, bashfulness is a very 
 pretty thing ; but, in my mind, there is nothing on 
 earth so impudent as an everlasting blush. 
 
 Rosy. My taste, my taste ! — Well, Lauretta is none 
 of these. Ah ! I never see her but she put me in mind 
 of my poor dear wife. 
 
 O’Con. Ay, faith ; in my opinion she can't do a 
 worse thing. Now he is going to bother me about an 
 old hag that has been dead these six years. [Aside. 
 
 Rosy. Oh, poor Dolly ! I never shall see her like 
 again ; such an arm for a bandage — veins that seemed 
 to invite the lancet. Then her skin, smooth and white 
 as a gallipot ; her mouth as large and not larger than 
 
120 
 
 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 the mouth of a penny phial ; her lips conserve of roses ; 
 and then her teeth — none of your sturdy fixtures — 
 ache as they would, it was but a small pull, and out 
 they came. I believe I have drawn half a score of her 
 poor dear pearls — [weeps] — But what avails her 
 beauty ? Death has no consideration — one must die 
 as well as another. 
 
 O’Con. [Aside.] Oh, if he begins to moralise 
 
 [Takes out his snuff-box . 
 
 Rosy. Fair and ugly, crooked or straight, rich or poor 
 — flesh is grass — flowers fade ! 
 
 O’Con. Here, doctor, take a pinch, arid keep up 
 your spirits. 
 
 Rosy. True, true, my friend ; grief can't mend the 
 matter — all's for the best ; but such a woman was a 
 great loss, lieutenant. 
 
 O’Con. To be sure, for doubtless she had mental 
 accomphshments equal to her beauty. 
 
 Rosy. Mental accomplishments ! she would have 
 stuffed an alligator, or pickled a lizard, with any 
 apothecary's wife in the kingdom. Why, she could 
 decipher a prescription, and invent the ingredients, 
 almost as well as myself : then she was such a hand 
 at making foreign waters ! — for Seltzer, Pyrmont, 
 Islington, or Chalybeate, she never had her equal ; 
 and her Bath and Bristol springs exceeded the originals 
 — Ah, poor Dolly ! she fell a martyr to her own 
 discoveries. 
 
 O’Con. How so, pray ? 
 
 Rosy. Poor soul ! her illness was occasioned by her 
 zeal in trying an improvement on the Spa-water by an 
 infusion of rum and acid. 
 
 O’Con. Ay, ay, spirits never agree with water- 
 drinkers. 
 
 Rosy. No, no, you mistake. Rum agreed with her 
 well enough ; it was not the rum that killed the poor 
 dear creature, for she died of a dropsy. Well, she is 
 gone, never to return, and has left no pledge of our 
 
ST. PATRICK'S DAY 
 
 12 1 
 
 ioves behind. No little babe, to hang like a label round 
 papa's neck. Well, well, we are all mortal — sooner or 
 later — flesh is grass — flowers fade. 
 
 O’Con. Oh, the devil ! — again ! [Aside. 
 
 Rosy. Life's a shadow — the world a stage — we strut 
 an hour. 
 
 O' Con. Here, doctor. [< Offers snuff. 
 
 Rosy. True, true, my friend : well high grief can't 
 cure it. All's for the best, hey ! my little Alexander ? 
 
 O’Con. Right, right ; an apothecary should never be 
 out of spirits. But come, faith, 'tis time honest 
 Humphrey should wait on the justice ; that must be 
 our first scheme. 
 
 Rosy. True, true ; you should be ready : the 
 clothes are at my house, and I have given you such a 
 character, that he is impatient to have you : he swears 
 you shall be his body-guard. Well, I honour the army, 
 or I should never do so much to serve you. 
 
 O’Con. Indeed I am bound to you for ever, doctor ; 
 and when once I'm possessed of my dear Lauretta, 
 I will endeavour to make work for you as fast as 
 possible. 
 
 Rosy. Now you put me in mind of my poor wife 
 again. 
 
 O’Con. Ah, pray forget her a little : we shall be too 
 late. 
 
 Rosy. Poor Dolly ! 
 
 O’Con. 'Tis past twelve. 
 
 Rosy. Inhuman dropsy ! 
 
 O’Con. The justice will wait. 
 
 Rosy. Cropped in her prime ! 
 
 O’Con. For heaven's sake, come ! 
 
 Rosy. Well, flesh is grass. 
 
 O’Con. O, the devil ! 
 
 Rosy. We must all die 
 
 O’Con. Doctor ! 
 
 Rosy. Kings, lords, and common whores 
 
 [Exeunt Lieutenant O'Connor forcing Rosy off. 
 
122 
 
 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 Scene II. — A Room in Justice Credulous' House. 
 
 Enter Lauretta and Mrs. Bridget Credulous. 
 
 Lau. I repeat it again, mamma, officers are the 
 prettiest men in the world, and Lieutenant O'Connor 
 is the prettiest officer I ever saw. 
 
 Mrs. Bri. For shame, Laura ! how can you talk so ? 
 — or if you must have a military man, there's Lieu- 
 tenant Plow, or Captain Haycock, or Major Dray, the 
 brewer, are all your admirers ; and though they are 
 peaceable, good kind of men, they have as large 
 cockades, and become scarlet, as well as the fighting 
 folks. 
 
 Lau. Psha ! you know, mamma, I hate militia 
 officers ; a set of dunghill cocks with spurs on — heroes 
 scratched off a church door — clowns in military 
 masquerade, wearing the dress without supporting the 
 character. No, give me the bold upright youth, who 
 makes love to-day, and his head shot off to-morrow, 
 Dear ! to think how the sweet fellows sleep on the 
 ground, and fight in silk stockings and lace ruffles. 
 
 Mrs . Bri. Oh, barbarous ! to want a husband that 
 may wed you to-day, and be sent the Lord knows where 
 before night ; then in a twelvemonth perhaps to have 
 him come like a Colossus, with one leg at New York, 
 and the other at Chelsea Hospital. 
 
 Lau. Then I'll be his crutch, mamma. 
 
 Mrs. Bri. No, give me a husband that knows where 
 his limbs are, though he want the use of them : — and 
 if he should take you with him, to sleep in a baggage- 
 cart, and stroll about the camp like a gipsy, with a 
 knapsack and two children at your back ; then, by 
 way of entertainment in the evening, to make a party 
 with the Serjeant's wife to drink bohea tea, and play 
 at all-fours on a drum-head : — 'tis a precious life, to 
 be sure ! 
 
ST. PATRICK'S DAY 
 
 123 
 
 Lau. Nay, mamma, you shouldn't be against my 
 lieutenant, for I heard him say you were the best 
 natured and best looking woman in the world. 
 
 Mrs . Bn. Why, child, I never said but that Lieu- 
 tenant O'Connor was a very well-bred and discerning 
 young man , 'tis your papa is so violent against him. 
 
 Lau. Why, Cousin Sophy married an officer. 
 
 Mrs. Bn. Ay, Laura, an officer of the militia. 
 
 Lau. No, indeed, ma'am, a marching regiment. 
 
 Mrs. Bri. No, child. I tell you he was a major 01 
 militia. 
 
 Lau. Indeed, mamma, it wasn't. 
 
 Enter Justice Credulous. 
 
 Just . Bridget, my love, I have had a message. 
 
 Lau. It was cousin Sophy told me so. 
 
 Just. I have had a message, love 
 
 Mrs. Bri. No, child, she would say no such thing. 
 
 Just. A message, I say. 
 
 Lau. How could he be in the militia when he wa s 
 ordered abroad ? 
 
 Mrs. Bri . Ay, girl, hold your tongue ! — Well, my 
 dear. 
 
 Just . I have had a message from Doctor Rosy. 
 
 Mrs. Bri. He ordered abroad ! He went abroad for 
 his health. 
 
 Just. Why, Bridget i 
 
 Mrs. Bri. Well, deary. — Now hold your tongue, miss. 
 
 just. A message from Dr. Rosy, end Dr. Rosy says — 
 
 Lau. I'm sure, mamma, his regimentals 
 
 Just . Damn his regimentals ! — Why don't you 
 listen ? 
 
 Mrs . Bn. Ay, girl, how durst you interrupt your 
 papa ? 
 
 Lau. Well, papa. 
 
 just. Dr. Rosy says he'll bring 
 
SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 124 
 
 Lau. Were blue turned up with red, mamma. 
 
 Just. Laury ! — says he will bring the young man 
 
 Mrs. Bri. Red ! yellow, if you please, miss. 
 
 Just. Bridget ! — the young man that is to be 
 hired 
 
 Mrs. Bri. Besides, miss, it is very unbecoming in 
 you to want to have the last word with your mamma, 
 you should know 
 
 Just. Why, zounds ! will you hear me or no ? 
 
 Mrs. Bri. I am listening, my love, I am listening ! — 
 But what signifies my silence, what good is my not 
 speaking a word, if this girl will interrupt and let 
 nobody speak but herself ? — Ay, I don't wonder, my 
 life, at your impatience ; your poor dear lips quiver to 
 speak ; but I suppose she'll run on, and not let you 
 put in a word. — You may very well be angry ; there is 
 nothing, sure, so provoking as at chattering, talking — 
 
 Lau. Nay, I'm sure, mamma, it is you will not let 
 papa speak now. 
 
 Mrs. Bri. Why, you little provoking minx 
 
 Just. Get out of the room directly, both of you — 
 get out ! 
 
 Mrs. Bri. Ay, go, girl. 
 
 Just. Go, Bridget, you are worse than she, you old 
 hag. I wish you were both up to the neck in the canal, 
 to argue there till I took you out. 
 
 Enter Servant. 
 
 Ser. Doctor Rosy, sir. 
 
 Just. Show him up. [Exit Servant. 
 
 Lau. Then you own, mamma, it was a marching 
 regiment ? 
 
 Mrs. Bri. You're an obstinate fool, I tell you ; for 
 if that had been the case 
 
 Just. You won't go ? 
 
 Mrs. Bri. We are going, Mr. Surly. — If that had I 
 been the case, I say, how could 
 
ST. PATRICK'S DAY 
 
 125 
 
 Lau. Nay, mamma, one proof 
 
 Mrs. Bri. How could Major 
 
 Lau. And a full proof 
 
 [Justice Credulous drives them off. 
 Just. There they go, ding dong in for the day. Good 
 lack ! a fluent tongue is the only thing a mother don't 
 like her daughter to resemble her in. 
 
 Enter Doctor Rosy. 
 
 Well, doctor, where's the lad — where's Trusty ? 
 
 Rosy. At hand ; he'll be here in a minute, I'll answer 
 for't. He's such a one as you an't met with, — brave as 
 a lion, gentle as a saline draught. 
 
 Just. Ah, he comes in the place of a rogue, a dog 
 that was corrupted by the lieutenant. But this is a 
 sturdy fellow, is he, doctor ? 
 
 Rosy. As Hercules ; and the best back-sword in the 
 country. Egad, he'll make the red coats keep their 
 distance. 
 
 Just. O the villains ; this is St. Patrick's day, and 
 the rascals have been parading my house all the morn- 
 ing. I know they have a design upon me ; but I have 
 taken all precautions : I have magazines of arms, and 
 if this fellow G.^t % out prove faithful, I shall be more at 
 ease. 
 
 Rosy. Doubtless he'll be a comfort to you. 
 
 Re-enter Servant. 
 
 Ser. There is a man below, inquires for Doctor Rosy. 
 Rosy. Show him up. 
 
 Just. Hold ! a little caution — how does he look ? 
 Ser. A country-looking fellow, your worship. 
 
 Just. Oh, well, wel\ for Doctor Rosy ; these rascals 
 try all ways to get in here. 
 
126 
 
 SHERIDAN’S PLAYS 
 
 Ser. Yes, please your worship ; there was one here 
 this morning wanted to speak to you ; he said his 
 name was Corporal Breakbones. 
 
 Just. Corporal Breakbones ! 
 
 Ser. And Drummer Crackskull came again. 
 
 Just. Ay, did you ever hear of such a damned 
 confounded crew ? Well, show the lad in here ! 
 
 [Exit Servant. 
 
 Rosy. Ay, hell be your porter ; hell give the rogues 
 an answer. 
 
 Enter Lieutenant O’Connor, disguised . 
 
 Just. So, a tall — Efacks ! what ! has lost an eye ? 
 
 Rosy. Only a bruise he got in taking seven or eight 
 highwaymen. 
 
 Just. He has a damned wicked leer somehow with 
 the other. 
 
 Rosy. Oh, no, he’s bashful — a sheepish look 
 
 Just. Well, my lad, what’s your name ? 
 
 O’ Con. Humphrey Hum. 
 
 Just. Hum — I don’t like Hum ! 
 
 O' Con. But I be mostly called honest Humphrey 
 
 Rosy. There, I told you so, of noted honesty/ 
 
 Just. Well, honest Humphrey, the uoctor has told 
 you my terms, and you are willing to serve, hey ? 
 
 O’Con. And please your worship I shall be well 
 content. 
 
 Just. Well, then, hark’ye, honest Humphrey, — you 
 are sure now, you will never be a rogue — never take a 
 bribe hey, honest Humphrey ? 
 
 O’Con. A bribe ! what’s that ? 
 
 Just. A very ignorant fellow indeed ! 
 
 Rosy. His worship hopes you will not part with 
 your honesty for money. 
 
 O’Con. Noa, noa. 
 
 Just. Well said. Humphrey — my chief business with 
 
ST. PATRICK'S DAY 
 
 127 
 
 you is to watch the motions of a rake-helly fellow here, 
 one Lieutenant O'Connor. 
 
 Rosy. Ay, you don't value the soldiers, do you, 
 Humphrey ? 
 
 O’Con. Not I ; they are but zwaggerers, and you’ll 
 see they'll be as much afraid of me as they would of 
 their captain. 
 
 Just. And i'faith, Humphrey, you have a pretty 
 cudgel there ! 
 
 O’Con. Ay, the zwitch is better than nothing, but I 
 should be glad of a stouter : ha' you got such a thing in 
 the house as an old coach-pole, or a spare bed-post ? 
 
 Just. Oons, what a dragon it is ! — Well, Humphrey, 
 come with me. — I'll just show him to Bridget, doctor, 
 and we'll agree. — Come along, honest Humphrey. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 O’Con. My dear doctor, now remember to bring the 
 Justice presently to the walk ; I have a scheme to get 
 into his confidence at once. 
 
 Rosy. I will, I will. [They shake hands. 
 
 Re-enter Justice Credulous. 
 
 Just. Why, honest Humphrey, hey ! what the devil 
 are you at ? 
 
 Rosy. I was just giving him a little advice. — Well I 
 must go for the present. — Good-morning to your 
 worship — you need not fear the lieutenant while he is 
 in your house. 
 
 Just. Well, get in, Humphrey. Good-morning to you, 
 doctor. — [Exit Doctor Rosy.] Come along, Humphrey. 
 — Now I think I am a match for the lieutenant and all 
 his gang. [Exeunt. 
 
128 
 
 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 ACT II 
 
 Scene I. — A Street. 
 
 Enter Serjeant Trounce, Drummer and Soldiers. 
 
 Trounce . Come, silence your drum — there is no 
 valour stirring to-day. I thought St. Patrick would 
 have given us a recruit or two to-day. 
 
 Sol. Mark, serjeant ! 
 
 Enter two Countrymen. 
 
 Trounce. Oh ! these are the lads I was looking for ; 
 they have the look of gentlemen. — An't you single, 
 my lads ? 
 
 i Coun. Yes, an please you, I be quite single : my 
 relations be all dead, thank heavens, more or less. 
 I have but one poor mother left in the world, and she's 
 an helpless woman. 
 
 Trounce. Indeed ! a very extraordinary case — quite 
 your own master then — the fitter to serve his Majesty. 
 — Can you read ? 
 
 1 Coun. Noa, I was always too lively to take to 
 learning ; but John here is main clever at it. 
 
 Trounce. So, what you're a scholar, friend ? 
 
 2 Coun. I was born so, measter. Feyther kept 
 grammar-school. 
 
 Trounce. Lucky man — in a campaign or two put 
 yourself down chaplain to the regiment. And I 
 warrant you have read of warriors and heroes ? 
 
 2 Coun. Yes, that I have : I have read of Jack the 
 Giant Killer, and the Dragon of Wantly, and the — 
 Noa, I believe that's all in the hero way, except once 
 about a comet. 
 
ST. PATRICK'S DAY 
 
 129 
 
 Trounce. Wonderful knowledge ! — Well, my heroes, 
 I'll write word to the king of your good intentions, and 
 meet me half an hour hence at the Two Magpies. 
 
 Coun. We will, your honour, we will. 
 
 Trounce. But stay ; for fear I shouldn't see you again 
 in the crowd, clap these little bits of ribbon into your 
 hats. 
 
 1 Coun. Our hats are none of the best. 
 
 Trounce. Well, meet me at the Magpies, and I'll 
 give you money to buy new ones. 
 
 Coun . Bless your honour, thank your honour. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 Trounce . \W inking at Soldiers.] Jack ! 
 
 [Exeunt Soldiers. 
 
 Enter Lieutenant O'Connor. 
 
 So, here comes one would make a grenadier — Stop, 
 friend, will you list ? 
 
 O' Con. Who shall I serve under ? 
 
 Trounce. Under me, to be sure. 
 
 O' Con. Isn't Lieutenant O'Connor your officer ? 
 
 Trounce. He is, and I am commander over him. 
 
 O'Con. What ! be your serjeants greater than your 
 captains ? 
 
 Trounce. To be sure we are ; 'tis our business to 
 keep them in order. For instance, now, the general 
 writes to me, dear Serjeant, or dear Trounce, or dear 
 Serjeant Trounce, according to his hurry, if your 
 lieutenant does not demean himself accordingly, let 
 me know. — Yours, General Deluge. 
 
 O'Con. And do you complain of him often ? 
 
 Trounce. No, hang him, the lad is good-natured at 
 the bottom, so I pass over small things. But harkee 
 between ourselves, he is most confoundedly given to 
 wenching. 
 
 s.p. 
 
 c 
 
130 
 
 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 Enter Corporal Flint. 
 
 Flint. Please your honour, the doctor is coming this 
 way with his worship — We are all ready, and have our 
 cues. [Exit. 
 
 O’Con . Then, my dear Trounce, or my dear Serjeant, 
 or my dear Serjeant Trounce, take yourself away. 
 
 Trounce. Zounds ! the lieutenant — I smell of the 
 black hole already. [Exit. 
 
 Enter Justice Credulous and Doctor Rosy. 
 
 Just. I thought I saw some of the cut-throats. 
 
 Rosy. I fancy not ; there's no one but honest 
 Humphrey. Ha ! Odds life, here comes some of them — 
 we'll stay by these trees, and let them pass. 
 
 Just. Oh, the bloody-looking dogs ! 
 
 [Walks aside with Doctor Rosy. 
 
 Re-enter Corporal Flint and two Soldiers. 
 
 Flint. Halloa, friend ! do you serve Justice Credu- 
 lous ? 
 
 O’Con. I do. 
 
 Flint. Are you rich ? 
 
 O’Con. Noa. 
 
 Flint. Nor ever will be with that old stingy booby. 
 Look here — take it. [Gives him a purse. 
 
 O’Con. What must I do for this ? 
 
 Flint. Mark me, our lieutenant is in love with the i 
 old rogue's daughter : help us to break his worship's 
 bones, and carry off the girl, and you are a made man. 
 
 O’Con. I'll see you hanged first, you pack of skurry 
 villains ! [Throws away his purse . 
 
 Flint. What, sirrah, do you mutiny ? Lay hold of i 
 him. 
 
ST. PATRICK’S DAY 131 
 
 O'Con . Nay, then, I’ll try your armour for you. 
 
 [Beats them . 
 
 AIL Oh ! oh ! — quarter ! quarter ! 
 
 [Exeunt Corporal Flint and Soldiers. 
 
 Just . [Coming forward .] Trim them, trounce them, 
 break their bones, honest Humphrey — What a spirit 
 he has ! 
 
 Rosy. Aquafortis. 
 
 O’Con. Betray your master ! 
 
 Rosy. What a miracle of fidelity ! 
 
 Just. Ay, and it shall not go unrewarded — I’ll give 
 him sixpence on the spot. Here, honest Humphrey, 
 there’s for yourself : as for this bribe, [takes up the 
 purse,] such trash is best in the hands of justice. Now, 
 then, doctor, I think I may trust him to guard the 
 women : while he is with them I may go out with 
 safety. 
 
 Rosy. Doubtless you may — I’ll answer for the 
 lieutenant’s behaviour whilst honest Humphrey is 
 with your daughter. 
 
 Just. Ay, ay, she shall go nowhere without him. 
 Come along, honest Humphrey. How rare it is to 
 meet with such a servant ! [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene II . — A Garden. 
 
 Lauretta discovered. Enter Justice Credulous and 
 Lieutenant O’Connor. 
 
 ,e 
 
 's 
 
 1, 
 
 1 
 
 1 
 
 of 
 
 Just. Why, you little truant, how durst you wander 
 so far from the house without my leave ? Do you want 
 to invite that scoundrel lieutenant to scale the walls 
 and carry you off ? 
 
 Lau. Lud, papa, you are so apprehensive for nothing. 
 
 Just. Why, hussy 
 
SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 132 
 
 Lau. Well, then, I can't bear to be shut up all day 
 so like a nun. I am sure it is enough to make one wish 
 to be run away with — and I wish I was run away with 
 — I do — and I wish the lieutenant knew it. 
 
 Just. You do, do you, hussy ? Well, I think I'll take 1 
 pretty good care of you. Here, Humphrey, I leave this 
 lady in your care. Now you may walk about the 
 garden, Miss Pert ; but Humphrey shall go with you 
 wherever you go. So mind, honest Humphrey, I am 
 obliged to go abroad for a little while ; let no one but 
 yourself come near her ; don't be shame-faced, you 
 booby, but keep close to her. And now, miss, let your 
 lieutenant or any of his crew come near if they can. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Lau. How this booby stares after him ! 
 
 [Sits down and sings. 1 
 
 O'Con. Lauretta ! 
 
 Lau . Not so free, fellow ! [Sings, j 
 
 O' Con. Lauretta ! look on me. 
 
 Lau. Not so free, fellow ! 
 
 O' Con. No recollection ! 
 
 Lau. Honest Humphrey, be quiet. 
 
 O' Con. Have you forgot your faithful soldier ? 
 
 Lau. Ah ! Oh preserve me ! 
 
 O' Con. 'Tis, my soul ! your truest slave, passing on 
 your father in this disguise. 
 
 Lau. Well now, I declare this is charming — you are 
 so disguised, my dear lieutenant, and you look so 
 delightfully ugly. I am sure no one will find you out, 
 ha ! ha ! ha ! — You know I am under your protection ; ; 
 papa charged you to keep close to me. 
 
 O'Con. True, my angel, and thus let me fulfil 
 
 Lau. O pray now, dear Humphrey 
 
 O'Con. Nay, 'tis but what old Mittimus commanded. 
 
 [Offers to kiss her. 
 
ST. PATRICK'S DAY 
 
 133 
 
 Re-enter Justice Credulous. 
 
 Just. Laury, my — hey ! what the devil's here ? 
 
 Lau. Well now, one kiss, and be quiet. 
 
 Just. Your very humble servant, honest Humphrey ! 
 Don't let me — pray don't let me interrupt you ! 
 
 Lau. Lud, papa ! Now that's so good-natured — 
 indeed there's no harm. You did not mean any rude- 
 ness, did you, Humphrey ? 
 
 O’Con. No, indeed, miss ; his worship knows it is 
 not in me. 
 
 Just. I know that you are a lying, canting, hypo- 
 critical scoundrel ; and if you don't take yourself out 
 of my sight 
 
 Lau. Indeed, papa, now I'll tell you how it was. I 
 was sometime taken with a sudden giddiness, and 
 Humphrey seeing me beginning to totter, ran to my 
 assistance, quite frightened, poor fellow, and took me 
 in his arms. 
 
 Just. Oh ! was that all — nothing but a little 
 giddiness, hey ! 
 
 O'Con. That's all, indeed, your worship ; for seeing 
 miss change colour, I ran up instantly. 
 
 Just. Oh, 'twas very kind in you ! 
 
 O'Con. And luckily recovered her. 
 
 Just. And who made you a doctor, you impudent 
 rascal, hey ? Get out of my sight, I say, this instant, or 
 by all the statutes 
 
 Lau. Oh now, papa, you frighten me, and I am 
 giddy again ! — Oh, help ! 
 
 O'Con. O dear lady, she'll fall ! 
 
 [Takes her into his arms. 
 
 Just. Zounds! what, before my face — why then 
 thou miracle of impudence ! — [Lays hold of him and 
 discovers him.]— Mercy on me, who have we here. 
 Murder ! Robbery ! Fire ! Rape ! Gunpowder ! 
 Soldiers ! John ! Susan ! Bridget ! 
 
134 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 O’Con. Good sir, don't be alarmed ; I mean you no 
 harm. 
 
 Just. Thieves ! Robbers 1 Soldiers i 
 
 O’Con. You know my love for your daughter 
 
 Just. Fire ! Cut-throats ! 
 
 O’Con. And that alone 
 
 Just. Treason ! Gunpowder ! 
 
 Enter a Servant with a blunderbuss . 
 
 Now, scoundrel ! let her go this instant. 
 
 Lau. O papa, you'll kill me ! 
 
 Just. Honest Humphrey, be advised. Ay, miss, this 
 way, if you please. 
 
 O’Con. Nay, sir, but hear me 
 
 Just. I'll shoot. 
 
 O’Con. And you'll be convinced 
 
 Just. I'll shoot. 
 
 O’Con. How injurious 
 
 Just. I'll shoot — and so your very humble servant, 
 honest Humphrey Hum. [Exeunt separately. 
 
 :> • ' : ■ - > C 
 
 Scene III . — A Walk. 
 
 Enter Doctor Rosy. 
 
 Rosy. Well, I thmk my friend is now in a fair way of 
 succeeding. Ah ! I warrant he is full of hope and fear, 
 doubt and anxiety ; truly he has the fever of love 
 strong upon him : faint, peevish, languishing all day, 
 with burning, restless nights. Ah ! just my case when 
 I pined for my poor dear Dolly ! when she used to 
 have her daily colics, and her little doctor be sent for. 
 Then would I interpret the language of her pulse — 
 declare my own sufferings in my receipt for her — 
 
ST. PATRICK’S DAY 
 
 135 
 
 send her a pearl necklace in a pill-box, or a cordiall 
 draught with an acrostic on the label. Well, those 
 days are over : no happiness lasting : all is vanity — 
 now sunshine, now cloudy — we are, as it were, king 
 and beggar — then what avails 
 
 Enter Lieutenant O’Connor. 
 
 O’Con . O doctor ! ruined and undone. 
 
 Rosy . The pride of beauty 
 
 O’Con. I am discovered, and 
 
 Rosy The gaudy palace 
 
 O’Con. The justice is 
 
 Rosy . The pompous wig — — 
 
 O’Con . Is more enraged than ever. 
 
 Rosy. The gilded cane 
 
 O’Con , Why, doctor ! [Slapping him on the shoulder. 
 
 Rosy. Hey ! 
 
 O’Con. Confound your morals ! I tell you I am dis- 
 covered, discomfited, disappointed. 
 
 Rosy. Indeed ! Good lack, good lack, to think of 
 the instability of human affairs ! Nothing certain in 
 this world — most deceived when most confident — i 
 fools of fortune all. 
 
 O’Con. My dear doctor, 1 want at present a little 
 practical wisdom. I am resolved this instant to try the 
 scheme we were going to put into execution last week. 
 I have the letter ready, and only want your assistance 
 to recover my ground. 
 
 Rosy . With all my heart — I'll warrant you I'll bear 
 a part in it : but how the deuce were you discovered ? 
 
 O’Con. I'll tell you as we go ; there's not a moment 
 to be lost. 
 
 Rosy. Heaven send we succeed better ! — but there's 
 no knowing. 
 
 O’Con. Very true. 
 
SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 136 
 
 O’Con . Right. 
 
 Rosy. Time must show. 
 
 O’Con. Certainly. 
 
 Rosy. We are but blind guessers. 
 
 O’Con. Nothing more. 
 
 Rosy. Thick-sighted mortals. 
 
 O’Con. Remarkably. 
 
 Rosy. Wandering in error. 
 
 O’Con. Even so. 
 
 Rosy. Futurity is dark. 
 
 O’Con. As a cellar. 
 
 Rosy. Men are moles. 
 
 [Exeunt Lieutenant O'Connor forcing out Rosy. 
 
 Scene IV . — A Room in Justice Credulous' House. 
 
 Enter Justice Credulous and Mrs. Bridget 
 Credulous. 
 
 Just. Odds life, Bridget, yomare enough to make 
 one mad ! I tell you he would have deceived a chief 
 justice : the dog seemed as ignorant as my clerk, and 
 talked of honesty as if he had been a churchwarden. 
 
 Mrs. Bri. Pho ! nonsense, honesty ! — what had you 
 to do, pray, with honesty ? A fine business you have 
 made of it with your Humphrey Hum : and miss, too, 
 she must have been privy to it. Lauretta ! ay, you 
 would have her called so ; but for my part I never 
 knew any good come of giving girls these heathen 
 Christian names : if you had called her Deborrah, or 
 Tabitha, or Ruth, or Rebecca, or Joan, nothing of this 
 had ever happened ; but I always knew Lauretta was 
 a runaway name. 
 
 Just. Psha, you're a fool ! 
 
 Mrs. Bri. No, Mr. Credulous, it is you who are a 
 
ST. PATRICK'S DAY 
 
 i37 
 
 fool, and no one but such a simpleton would be so 
 imposed on. 
 
 Just. Why zounds, madam, how durst you talk so ? 
 If you have no respect for your husband, I should think 
 unus quorum might command a little deference. 
 
 Mrs. Bri. Don't tell me ! — Unus fiddlestick ! you 
 ought to be ashamed to show your face at the sessions : 
 you'll be a laughing-stock to the whole bench, and a 
 byword with all the pig-tailed lawyers and bag-wigged 
 attorneys about town. 
 
 Just. Is this language tor his majesty's representa- 
 tive ? By the statutes, it's high treason and petty 
 treason, both at once ! 
 
 Enter Servant. 
 
 Ser. A letter for your worship. 
 
 Just. Who brought it ? 
 
 Ser. A soldier. 
 
 Just. Take it away and burn it. 
 
 Mrs. Bri. Stay ! — Now you're in such a hurry — it is 
 some canting scrawl from the lieutenant, I suppose. — 
 [Takes the letter. — Exit Servant.] Let me see : — ay, 
 'tis signed O'Connor. 
 
 Just. Well, come read it out. 
 
 Mrs. Bri. [Reads.] Revenge is sweet. 
 
 Just. It begins so, does it ? I'm glad of that ; I'll 
 let the dog know I'm of his opinion. 
 
 Mrs. Bri. [Reads.] And though disappointed of my 
 designs upon your daughter , I have still the satisfaction of 
 knowing I am revenged on her unnatural father ; for this 
 morning , in your chocolate , 7 had the pleasure to ad- 
 minister to you a dose of poison / — Mercy on us ! 
 
 Just. No tricks, Bridget ; come, you know it is not 
 so ; you know it is a lie. 
 
 Mrs. Bri. Read it yourself. 
 
 Just. [Reads.] Pleasure to administer a dose of poison / 
 —Oh. horrible ! Cut-throat villain ! — Bridget ! 
 s.P. c 2 
 
SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 13 8 
 
 Mrs. Bri . Lovee, stay, here's a postscript. — [Reads,] 
 N.B. ’Tis not in the power of medicine to save you. 
 
 Just. Odds my life, Bridget ! why don't you call for 
 help ? I've lost my voice. — My brain is giddy — I shall 
 burst, and no assistance. — John ! — Laury ! — John I 
 
 Mrs. Bri. You see, lovee, what you have brought on 
 yourself. 
 
 Re-enter Servant. 
 
 Ser. Your worship ! 
 
 Just. Stay, John ; did you perceive anything in my 
 chocolate cup this morning ? 
 
 Ser. Nothing, your worship, unless it was a little 
 grounds. 
 
 Just. What colour were they ? 
 
 Ser. Blackish, your worship. 
 
 Just. Ay, arsenic, black arsenic I — Why don't you 
 run for Dr. Rosy, you rascal ! 
 
 Ser. Now, sir ? 
 
 Mrs. Bri. Oh, lovee, you may be sure it is m vain ; 
 let him run for the lawyer to witness your will, my 
 life. 
 
 Just. Zounds ! go lor the doctor, you scoundrel. You 
 are all confederate murderers. 
 
 Ser. Oh, here he is, your worship. [Exit. 
 
 Just. Now, Bridget, hold your tongue, and let me 
 see if my horrid situation be apparent. 
 
 Enter Doctor Rosy. 
 
 ti 
 
 C: 
 
 i 
 
 k 
 
 c: 
 
 L: 
 
 Rosy. I have but just called to inform — hey ! bless 
 me, what's the matter with your worship ? 
 
 Just. There, he sees it already ! — Poison in my tace, 
 in capitals ! Yes, yes, I'm a sure job for the under- 
 takers indeed ! 
 
 Mrs. Bri. Oh ! oh ! alas, doctor ! 
 
ST. PATRICK'S DAY 
 
 139 
 
 Just . Peace, Bridget ! — Why, doctor, my dear old 
 friend, do you really see any change in me ? 
 
 Rosy, Change ! never was man so altered : how came 
 these black spots on your nose ? 
 
 Just. Spots on my nose ! 
 
 Rosy, And that wild stare m your right eye 1 
 
 Just. In my right eye ? 
 
 Rosy. Ay, and, alack, alack, how you are swelled I 
 
 Just. Swelled ! 
 
 Rosy. Ay, don't you think he is, madam ? 
 
 Mrs. Bri . Oh ! 'tis in vain to conceaJ it ! — Indeed, 
 lovee, you are as big again as you were this morning. 
 
 Just. Yes, I feel it now — I'm poisoned ! — Doctor 
 help me, for the love of justice ! Give me life to see my 
 murderer hanged. 
 
 Rosy. What ? 
 
 Just. I'm poisoned, 1 say ( 
 
 Rosy . Speak out i 
 
 JusL What ! can't you hear me ? 
 
 Rosy. Your voice is so low and hollow, as it were,. 
 I can't hear a word you say. 
 
 Just. I'm gone then 3 — Hie ' lacet , many years one of 
 his majesty's justices I 
 
 Mrs. Bri. Read, doctor ! — Ah, lovee, the will ! — 
 Consider, my life, how soon you will be dead. 
 
 Just. No, Bridget, I shall die by inches. 
 
 Rosy. I never heard such monstrous iniquity. — Oh. 
 you are gone indeed, my friend 1 the mortgage of your 
 little bit of clay is out, and the sexton has nothing to 
 do but to close. We must all go, sooner or later — high 
 and low — Death's a debt j his mandamus binds ail 
 alike — no bail, no demurrer. 
 
 i Just. Silence, Dr. Croaker I will you cure me or will 
 you not ? 
 
 Rosy. Alas ! my dear triend, it is not in my power 
 but I'll certainly see justice done on your murderer. 
 
 Just. 1 thank you, my dear fnend, but 1 had rathei 
 see it myself. 
 
SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 140 
 
 Rosy. Ay, but if you recover, the villain will escape. 
 
 Airs. Bri. Will he ? then indeed it would be a pity 
 you should recover. I am so enraged against the 
 villain, I can't bear the thought of his escaping the 
 halter. 
 
 Just. That's very kind in you, my dear ; but if it's 
 the same thing to you, my dear, I had as soon recover, 
 notwithstanding. — What, doctor, no assistance ! 
 
 Rosy. Efacks, I can do nothing, but there's the 
 German quack, whom you wanted to send from town ; 
 I met him at the next door, and I know he has antidotes 
 for all poisons. 
 
 Just. Fetch him, my dear friend, fetch him ! I'll 
 get him a diploma if he cures me. 
 
 Rosy. Well, there's no time to be lost ; you continue 
 to swell immensely. [Exit. 
 
 Mrs. Bri. What, my dear, will you submit to be 
 cured by a quack nostrum-monger ? For my part, as 
 much as I love you, I had rather follow you to your 
 grave than see you owe your life to any but a regular- 
 bred physician. 
 
 Just. I'm sensible of your affection, dearest ; and 
 be assured nothing consoles me in my melancholy 
 situation so much as the thoughts of leaving you 
 behind. 
 
 Re-enter Doctor Rosy, with Lieutenant O'Connor 
 disguised. 
 
 Rosy. Great luck ; met him passing by the door. 
 
 O’Con. Metto dowsei pulsum. 
 
 Rosy. He desires me to feel your pulse. 
 
 Just. Can't he speak English ? 
 
 Rosy. Not a word. 
 
 O’Con. Palio vivem mortem soonem. 
 
 Rosy. He says you have not six hours to live. 
 
 Just. O mercy ! does he know my distemper ? 
 
 Rosy. I believe not. 
 
ST. PATRICK'S DAY 
 
 141 
 
 Just . Tell him 'tis black arsenic they have given me. 
 
 Rosy. Geneable illi arsnecca. 
 
 O'Con. Pisonatus. 
 
 Just. What does he say ? 
 
 Rosy. He says you are poisoned. 
 
 Just. We know that ; but what will be the effect ? 
 
 Rosy. Quid effectum ? 
 
 O'Con. Diable tutellum. 
 
 Rosy. He says you'll die presently. 
 
 Just. Oh, horrible ! What, no antidote ? 
 
 O'Con. Curum benakere bono fullum. 
 
 Just. What, does he say I must row in a boat to 
 Fulham ? 
 
 Rosy. He says he'll undertake to cure you for three 
 thousand pounds. 
 
 Mrs. Bri. Three thousand pounds ! three thousand 
 halters ! — No, lovee, you shall never submit to such 
 imposition ; die at once, and be a customer to none 
 of them. 
 
 Just. I won't die, Bridget — I don't like death. 
 
 Mrs. Bri. Psha ! there is nothing in it : a moment, 
 and it is over. 
 
 Just. Ay, but it leaves a numbness behind that lasts 
 a plaguy long time. 
 
 Mrs. Bri. O my dear, pray consider the will. 
 
 Enter Lauretta. 
 
 Lau. O my father, what is this I hear ? 
 
 O'Con. Quiddam seomriam deos tollam rosam. 
 
 Rosy. The doctor is astonished at the sight of your 
 fair daughter. 
 
 Just. How so ? 
 
 O'Con. Damsellum livivum suvum rislibani. 
 
 Rosy. He says that he has lost his heart to her, and 
 that if you will give him leave to pay his addresses to 
 the young lady, and promise your consent to the union, 
 
SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 142 
 
 if he should gain her affections, he will, on those 
 conditions, cure you instantly, without fee or 
 reward. 
 
 Just. The devil ! did he say all that in so few words ? 
 What a fine language it is ! Well, I agree, if he can 
 prevail on the girl. — [Aside.'] And that I am sure he 
 never will. 
 
 Rosy. Greal. 
 
 O' Con. Writhum bothum. 
 
 Rosy. He says you must give this under your hand, 
 while he writes you a miraculous receipt. 
 
 [Both sit down to write. 
 
 Lau. Do, mamma, tell me the meaning of this. 
 
 Mrs. Bri. Don't speak to me, girl — Unnatural 
 parent ! 
 
 Just. There, doctor ; there's what he requires. 
 
 Rosy. And here's your receipt : read it yourself. 
 
 Just. Hey ! what's here ? plain English ! 
 
 Rosy. Read it out ; a wondrous nostrum, I’ll answer 
 for it. 
 
 Just. [Reads.] In reading this you are cured, by your 
 affectionate son-in-law, O'Connor. — Who in the name 
 of Beelzebub, sirrah, who are you ? 
 
 O' Con. Your affectionate son-in-law, O’Connor, and 
 your very humble servant, Humphrey Hum. 
 
 Just. 'Tis false, you dog ! you are not my son-in-law ; 
 for I'll be poisoned again, and you shall be hanged. — 
 I’ll die, sirrah, and leave Bridget my estate. 
 
 Mrs . Bri. Ay, pray do, my dear, leave me your 
 estate ; I'm sure he deserves to be hanged. 
 
 Just. He does, you say ! — Hark'ee, Bridget, you 
 showed such a tender concern for me when you thought 
 me poisoned, that, for the future, I am resolved never 
 to take your advice again in anything. — [To Lieu- 
 tenant O'Connor.] So, do you hear, sir, you are an 
 Irishman and a soldier, ain't you ? 
 
 O' Con. I am sir, and proud of both. 
 
 Just. The two things on earth I most hate ; so I tell 
 
ST. PATRICK’S DAY 143 
 
 you what — renounce your country and sell your 
 commission, and I’ll forgive you. 
 
 O’Con. Hark’ee, Mr. Justice — if you were not the 
 father of my Lauretta, I would pull your nose for 
 asking the first, and break your bones for desiring the 
 second. 
 
 Rosy. Ay, ay, you’re right. 
 
 Just. Is he ? then I’m sure I must be wrong. — Here, 
 sir, I give my daughter to you, who are the most 
 impudent dog I ever saw in my life. 
 
 O’Con. Oh, sir, say what you please ; with such a gift 
 as Lauretta, every word is a compliment. 
 
 Mrs. Bri. Well, my lovee, I think this will be a 
 good subject for us to quarrel about the rest of our 
 lives. 
 
 Just. Why, truly, my dear, I think so, though we 
 are seldom at a loss for that. 
 
 Rosy. This is all as it should be. — My Alexander, I 
 give you joy, and you, my little god-daughter ; and 
 now my sincere wish is, that you may make just such 
 a wife as my poor dear Dolly. [Exeunt omnes. 
 
THE DUENNA 
 
 A COMIC OPERA 
 DRAMATIS PERSONS 
 
 AS ORIGINALLY ACTED AT COVENT-GARDEN THEATRE, 
 NOV. 21, 1775 
 
 Don Ferdinand 
 Don Jerome 
 Don Antonio 
 Don Carlos 
 Isaac Mendoza 
 Father Paul 
 Father Francis 
 Father Augustine 
 Lopez 
 
 Donna Louisa . 
 Donna Clara 
 The Duenna 
 
 Mr. Mattocks 
 Mr. Wilson 
 Mr. Dubellamy 
 Mr. Leoni 
 Mr. Quick 
 Mr. Mahon 
 Mr. Fox 
 Mr. Baker 
 Mr. Wewitzer 
 Mrs. Mattocks 
 Mrs. Cargill 
 Mrs. Green 
 
 Masqueraders, Friars, Porter, Maid, and Servants. 
 
 SCENE — Seville. 
 
 144 
 
ACT I 
 
 Scene I. — The Street before Don Jerome's House . 
 
 Enter Lopez, with a dark lantern. 
 
 Lop. Past three o'clock ! — Soh ! a notable hour for 
 one of my regular disposition, to be strolling like a 
 bravo through the streets of Seville ! Well, of all 
 services, to serve a young lover is the hardest. — Not 
 that I am an enemy to love ; but* my love and my 
 master's differ strangely. — Don Ferdinand is much too 
 gallant to eat, drink, or sleep : — now my love gives me 
 an appetite — then I am fond of dreaming of my 
 mistress, and I love dearly to toast her. — This cannot 
 be done without good sleep and good liquor : hence my 
 partiality to a feather-bed and a bottle. What a pity, 
 now, that I have not further time for reflections ! but 
 my master expects thee, honest Lopez, to secure his 
 retreat from Donna Clara's window, as I guess. — 
 [ Music without .] Hey ! sure, I heard music ! So, so ! 
 Who have we here ? Oh, Don Antonio, my master’s 
 friend, come from the masquerade, to serenade my 
 young mistress, Donna Louisa, I suppose : so ! we shall 
 have the old gentleman up presently. — Lest he should 
 miss his son, I had best lose no time in getting to my 
 post. [Exit. 
 
 Enter Don Antonio, with Masqueraders and music . 
 
 Song. — Don Ant. 
 
 Tell me, my lute, can thy soft strain 
 So gently speak thy master's pain ? 
 
 145 
 
146 
 
 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 So softly sing, so humbly sigh, 
 
 That, though my sleeping love shall know 
 Who sings — who sighs below, 
 
 Her rosy slumbers shall not fly ? 
 
 Thus, may some vision whisper more 
 Than ever I dare speak before. 
 
 1. Mas. Antonio, your mistress will never wake, 
 while you sing so dolefully ; love, like a cradled infant, 
 is lulled by a sad melody. 
 
 Don Ant. I do not wish to disturb her rest. 
 
 1. Mas. The reason is, because you know she does 
 not regard you enough to appear, if you awaked her. 
 Don Ant. Nay, then, I'll convince you. [Smgs. 
 The breath of morn bids hence the night. 
 
 Unveil those beauteous eyes, my fair ; 
 
 For till the dawn of love is there, 
 
 I feel no day, I own no light. 
 
 Donna Louisa — replies from a window. 
 
 Waking, I heard thy numbers chide, 
 
 Waking, the dawn did bless my sight ; 
 
 'Tis Phoebus sure that woos, I cried, 
 
 Who speaks in song, who moves in light. 
 
 Don Jerome — from a window. 
 
 What vagagonds are these I hear, 
 
 Fiddling, fluting, rhyming, ranting, 
 
 Piping, scraping, whining, canting ? 
 
 Fly, scurvy minstrels, fly ! 
 
 Trio. 
 
 Don. Louisa. Nay, prithee, father, why so rough ? 
 Don Ant. An humble lover I. 
 
THE DUENNA 
 
 147 
 
 How durst you, daughter, lend an ear 
 To such deceitful stuff ? 
 
 Quick, from the window fly ! 
 
 Adieu, Antonio ! 
 
 Must you go ? 
 
 rWe soon, perhaps, may meet again, 
 -[For though hard fortune is our foe. 
 
 I The God of love will fight for us. 
 Reach me the blunderbuss. 
 
 jThe god of love, who knows our pain — 
 
 Hence, or these slugs are through your 
 brain. [Exeunt severally . 
 
 Scene II. — A Piazza. 
 
 Enter Don Ferdinand and Lopez. 
 
 Lop. Truly, sir, I think that a little sleep once in a 
 week or so 
 
 Don Ferd. Peace, fool ! don't mention sleep to me. 
 
 Lop. No, no, sir, I don't mention your lowbred, 
 vulgar, sound sleep ; but I can't help thinking that a 
 gentle slumber, or half an hour's dozing, if it were only 
 for the novelty of the thing 
 
 Don Ferd. Peace, booby, I say ! — Oh, Clara dear, 
 cruel disturber of my rest ! 
 
 Lop. And of mine too. [Aside* 
 
 Don Ferd. 'Sdeath, to trifle with me at such a 
 juncture as this ! — now to stand on punctilios ! — Love 
 me ! I don't believe she ever did. 
 
 Lop. Nor I either. [Aside. 
 
 Don Ferd. Or is it, that her sex never know their 
 desires for an hour together ? 
 
 Lop. Ah, they know them oftener than they'll own 
 
 them. [Aside. 
 
 Don Jer. 
 
 Don. Louisa. 
 Don Ant. 
 
 Don. Louisa. 
 Don Ant. 
 
 Don Jer. 
 
 Don Ant. 
 Don. Louisa. 
 Don Jer . 
 
SHERIDAN’S PLAYS 
 
 148 
 
 Don Ferd. Is there, in the world, so inconsistent a 
 creature as Clara ? 
 
 Lop. I could name one. [Aside. 
 
 Don Ferd. Yes ; the tame fool who submits to her 
 caprice. 
 
 Lop. I thought he couldn’t miss it. [Aside. 
 
 Don Ferd. Is she not capricious, teasing, tyrannical, 
 obstinate, perverse, absurd ? ay, a wilderness of faults 
 and follies ; her looks are scorn, and her very smiles — 
 ’Sdeath ! I wish I hadn’t mentioned her smiles ; for she 
 does smile such beaming loveliness, such fascinating 
 brightness — Oh, death and madness ! I shall die if I 
 lose her. 
 
 Lop. Oh, those damned smiles have undone all ! 
 
 [Aside. 
 
 Air — Don Ferd. 
 
 Could I her faults remember. 
 
 Forgetting every charm, 
 
 Soon would impartial reason 
 The tyrant love disarm : 
 
 But when enraged I number 
 Each failing of her mind, 
 
 Love still suggests each beauty, 
 
 And sees — while reason’s blind. 
 
 Lop. Here comes Don Antonio, sir. 
 
 Don Ferd. Well, go you home — I shall be there 
 presently. 
 
 Lop. Ah, those cursed smiles ! [Exit. 
 
 Enter Don Antonio. 
 
 Don Ferd. Antonio, Lopez tells me he left you 
 chanting before our door — was my father waked ? 
 
 Don Ant. Yes, yes ; he has a singular affection for 
 music ; so I left him roaring at his barred window, 
 
THE DUENNA 
 
 149 
 
 like the print of Bajazet in the cage. And what brings 
 you out so early ? 
 
 Don Ferd. I believe I told you, that to-morrow was 
 the day fixed by Don Pedro and Clara's unnatural step- 
 mother, for her to enter a convent, in order that her 
 brat might possess her fortune : made desperate by 
 this, I procured a key to the door, and bribed Clara's 
 maid to leave it unbolted ; at two this morning, I 
 entered unperceived, and stole to her chamber — I found 
 her waking and weeping. 
 
 Don Ant. Happy Ferdinand ! 
 
 Don Ferd. 'Sdeath ! hear the conclusion.— I was 
 rated as the most confident ruffian, for daring to 
 approach her room at that hour of the night. 
 
 Don Ant. Ay, ay, this was at first. 
 
 Don Ferd. No such thing ! she would not hear a 
 word from me, but threatened to raise her mother, if 
 I did not instantly leave her. 
 
 Don Ant. Well, but at last ? 
 
 Don Ferd. At last ! why I was forced to leave the 
 house as I came in. 
 
 Don Ant. And did you do nothing to offend her ? 
 
 Don Ferd. Nothing, as I hope to be saved ! — I 
 believe, I might snatch a dozen or two of kisses. 
 
 Don Ant. Was that all ? well, I think, I never heard 
 of such assurance ! 
 
 Don Ferd. Zounds ! I tell you I behaved with the 
 utmost respect. 
 
 Don Ant. O Lord ! I don't mean you, but in her. 
 But, hark ye, Ferdinand, did you leave your key with 
 them ? 
 
 Don Ferd. Yes ; the maid who saw me out, took it 
 from the door. 
 
 Don Ant. Then, my life for it, her mistress elopes 
 after you. 
 
 Don Ferd. Ay, to bless my rival, perhaps. I am in a 
 humour to suspect everybody. — You loved her once, 
 and thought her an angel, as I do now. 
 
SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 150 
 
 Don Ant. Yes, I loved her, till I found she wouldn't 
 love me, and then I discovered that she hadn't a good 
 feature in her face. 
 
 Air. 
 
 I ne'er could any lustre see 
 In eyes that would not look on me ; 
 
 I ne'er saw nectar on a lip, 
 
 But where my own did hope to sip. 
 
 Has the maid who seeks my heart 
 Cheeks of rose, untouch'd by art ? 
 
 I will own the colour true, 
 
 When yielding blushes aid their hue. 
 
 Is her hand so soft and pure ? 
 
 I must press it, to be sure ; 
 
 Nor can I be certain then. 
 
 Till it, grateful, press again. 
 
 Must I, with attentive eyes, 
 
 Watch her heaving bosom sigh ? 
 
 I will do so, when I see 
 
 That heaving bosom sigh for me. 
 
 Besides, Ferdinand, you have tuli security in my love 
 lor your sister ; help me there, and I can never disturb 
 you with Clara. 
 
 Don Ferd. As far as 1 can, consistently with the 
 honour oi our family, you know I will ; but there must 
 be no eloping. 
 
 Don Ant. And yet, now, you would carry off Clara ? 
 
 Don Ferd. Ay, that's a different case 1 — we never 
 mean that others should act to our sisters and wives as 
 we do to others'. — But, to-morrow, Clara is to be 
 forced into a convent. 
 
 Don Ant. Well, and am not I so unfortunately cir- 
 cumstanced ? To-morrow, your father forces Louisa to 
 marry Isaac, the Portuguese — but come with me. and 
 we'll devise something, I warrant. 
 
THE DUENNA 
 
 *5i 
 
 Don Ferd . I must go home. 
 
 Don Ant. Well, adieu ! 
 
 Don Ferd . But, Don Antonio, if you did not love my 
 sister, you have too much honour and friendship to 
 supplant me with Clara 
 
 Air — Don Ant. 
 
 Friendship is the bond of reason ; 
 
 But if beauty disapprove, 
 
 Heaven dissolves all other treason 
 In the heart that's true to love. 
 
 The faith which to my friend I swore. 
 
 As a civil oath I view ; 
 
 But to the charms which I adore, 
 
 'Tis religion to be true. [Exit. 
 
 Don Ferd. There is always a levity m Antonio's 
 manner of replying to me on this subject that is very 
 alarming. — 'Sdeath, if Clara should love him after all. 
 
 Song. 
 
 Though cause for suspicion appears, 
 
 Yet proofs of her love, too, are strong ; 
 
 I'm a wretch if I'm right in my fears, 
 
 And unworthy of bliss if I'm wrong. 
 
 What heart-breaking torments from jealousy flow, 
 
 Ah ! none but the jealous — the jealous can know ! 
 
 When blest with the smiles of my fair, 
 
 I know not how much I adore : 
 
 Those smiles let another but share, 
 
 And I wonder I prized them no more ! 
 
 Then whence can I hope a relief from my woe, 
 
 When the falser she seems, still the fonder I grow ? 
 
 [ Exit . 
 
152 
 
 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 Scene III. — A Room m Don Jerome's House. 
 
 Enter Donna Louisa and Duenna. 
 
 Don. Louisa . But, my dear Margaret, my charming 
 Duenna, do you think we shall succeed ? 
 
 Duen. I tell you again, I have no doubt on't ; but it 
 must be instantly put to the trial. Everything is pre- 
 pared in your room, and for the rest we must trust to 
 fortune. 
 
 Don . Louisa. My father's oath was, never to see me 
 till I had consented to 
 
 Duen. 'Twas thus I overheard him say to his friend, 
 Don Guzman, — 1 will demand of her to-morrow , once for 
 all , whether she will consent to marry Isaac Mendoza ; if 
 she hesitates , I will make a solemn oath never to see or 
 speak to her till she returns to her duty. — These were his 
 words. 
 
 Don. Louisa . And on his known obstinate adherence 
 to what he has once said, you have formed this plan 
 
 for my escape. But have you secured my maid in 
 
 our interest ? 
 
 Duen. She is a party in the whole ; but remember, 
 if we succeed, you resign all right and title in little 
 Isaac, the Jew, over to me. 
 
 Don. Louisa . That I do with all my soul ; get him if 
 you can, and I shall wish you joy most heartily. He is 
 twenty times as rich as my poor Antonio. 
 
 Air. 
 
 Thou canst not boast of fortune's store, 
 
 My love, while me they wealthy call : 
 
 But I was glad to find thee poor — 
 
 For with my heart I'd give thee all. 
 
 And then the grateful youth shall own 
 I loved him for himself alone. 
 
THE DUENNA 
 
 153 
 
 But when his worth my hand shall gain, 
 
 No word or look of mine shall show 
 That I the smallest thought retain 
 Of what my bounty did bestow ; 
 
 Yet still his grateful heart shall own 
 I loved him for himself alone. 
 
 Duen. I hear Don Jerome coming. — Quick, give me 
 the last letter I brought you from Antonio — you know 
 that is to be the ground of my dismission. — I must slip 
 out to seal it up, as undelivered. [Exit. 
 
 Enter Don Jerome and Don Ferdinand. 
 
 Don Jer. What, I suppose you have been serenading 
 too ! Eh, disturbing some peaceable neighbourhood with 
 villainous catgut and lascivious piping ! Out on't ! you 
 set your sister, here, a vile example ; but I come to tell 
 you, madam, that Til suffer no more of these midnight 
 incantations — these amorous orgies, that steal the 
 senses in the hearing ; as, they say, Egyptian em- 
 balmers serve mummies, extracting the brain through 
 the ears. However, there's an end of your frolics. — 
 Isaac Mendoza will be here presently, and to-morrow 
 you shall marry him. 
 
 Don. Louisa. Never, while I have life ! 
 
 Don Ferd. Indeed, sir, I wonder how you can think 
 of such a man for a son-in-law. 
 
 Don Jer. Sir, you are very kind to favour me with 
 your sentiments — and pray, what is your objection to 
 him ? 
 
 Don Ferd. He is a Portuguese, in the first place. 
 
 Don Jer. No such thing, boy ; he has forsworn his 
 country. 
 
 Don . Louisa. He is a Jew. 
 
 Don Jer. Another mistake : he has been a Christian 
 these six weeks. 
 
SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 154 
 
 Don Ferd . Ay, he left his old religion for an estate, 
 and has not had time to get a new one. 
 
 Don. Louisa . But stands like a dead wall between 
 church and synagogue, or like the blank leaves between 
 the Old and New Testament. 
 
 Don Jer , Anything more ? 
 
 Don Ferd. But the most remarkable part bf his 
 character is his passion for deceit and tricks of cunning. 
 
 Don. Louisa . Though at the same time the fool pre- 
 dominates so much over the knave, that I am told he is 
 generally the dupe of his own art. 
 
 Don Ferd. True ; like an unskilful gunner, he 
 usually misses his aim, and is hurt by the recoil of his 
 own piece. 
 
 Don Jer. Anything more ? 
 
 Don . Louisa * To sum up all, he has the worst fault a 
 husband can have — he's not my choice. 
 
 Don Jer, But you are his ; and choice on one side is 
 sufficient — two lovers should never meet in marriage — 
 be you sour as you please, he is sweet-tempered ; and 
 for your good fruit, there's nothing like ingrafting on a 
 crab. 
 
 Don. Louisa. 1 detest him as a lover, and shall ten 
 times more as a husband. 
 
 Don Jer. I don't know that — marriage generally 
 makes a great change — but, to cut the matter short, 
 will you have him or not ? 
 
 Don. Louisa . There is nothing else I could disobey 
 you in. 
 
 Don Jer. Do you value your father's peace ? 
 
 Don. Louisa . So much, that I will not fasten on him 
 the regret of making an only daughter wretched. 
 
 Don Jer , Very well, ma'am, then mark me — never 
 more will I see or converse with you till you return to 
 your duty — no reply — this and your chamber shall be 
 your apartments ; I never will stir out without leaving 
 you under lock and key, and when I'm at home no 
 creature can approach you but through my library : 
 
THE DUENNA 155 
 
 we'll try who can be most obstinate. Out of my sight ! 
 — there remain till you know your duty. 
 
 [Pushes her out . 
 
 Don Ferd. Surely, sir, my sister's inclinations should 
 be consulted in a matter of this kind, and some regard 
 paid to Don Antonio, being my particular friend. 
 
 Don Jer. That, doubtless, is a very great recommen- 
 dation ! — I certainly have not paid sufficient respect to 
 it. 
 
 Don Ferd. There is not a man living I would sooner 
 choose for a brother-in-law. 
 
 Don Jer. Very possible ; and if you happen to have 
 e'er a sister, who is not at the same time a daughter of 
 mine, I'm sure I shall have no objection to the relation- 
 ship ; but at present, if you please, we'll drop the 
 subject. 
 
 Don Ferd. Nay, sir, 'tis only my regard for my 
 sister makes me speak. 
 
 Don Jer. Then, pray sir, in future, let your regard 
 for your father make you hold your tongue. 
 
 Don Ferd. I have done, sir. I shall only add a wish 
 that you would reflect what at our age you would have 
 felt, had you been crossed m your affection for the 
 mother of her you are so severe to. 
 
 Don Jer. Why, I must confess I had a great affection 
 tor your mother's ducats, but that was all, boy. I 
 married her for her fortune, and she took me in 
 obedience to her father, and a very happy couple we 
 were. We never expected any love from one another, 
 and so we were never disappointed. If we grumbled a 
 little now and then, it was soon over, for we were never 
 fond enough to quarrel ; and when the good woman 
 died, why, why, — I had as lieve she had lived, and 1 
 wish every widower in Seville could say the same. I 
 shall now go and get the key of this dressing-room — so, 
 good son, if you have any lecture in support of dis- 
 obedience to give your sister, it must be brief ; so 
 make the best of your time, d'ye hear ? [Exit. 
 
SHERIDAN S PLAYS 
 
 156 
 
 Don Ferd . I fear, indeed, my friend Antonio has 
 little to hope for ; however, Louisa has firmness, and 
 my father's anger will probably only increase her 
 affection. — In our intercourse with the world, it is 
 natural for us to dislike those who are innocently the 
 cause of our distress ; but in the heart's attachment a 
 woman never likes a man with ardour till she has 
 suffered for his sake. — jTVbfse]. So ! what bustle is 
 here — between my father and the Duenna too, I'll e'en 
 get out of the way. [Exit. 
 
 Re-enier Don Jerome with a letter , pulling in Duenna. 
 
 Don Jer. I'm astonished ! I'm thunderstruck ! here's 
 treachery with a vengeance ! You, Antonio's creature, 
 and chief manager of this plot for my daughter's 
 eloping ! — you, that I placed here as a scarecrow’ ? 
 
 Duen. What ? 
 
 Don Jer. A scarecrow — to prove a decoy-duck ! 
 What have you to say for yourself ? 
 
 Duen. Well, sir, since you have forced that letter 
 from me, and discovered my real sentiments, I scorn 
 to renounce them. — I am Antonio's friend, and it was 
 my iiftention that your daughter should have served 
 you as all such old tyrannical* sots should be served — 
 I delight in the tender passions and would befriend all 
 under their influence. 
 
 Don Jer. The tender passions ! yes, they would be- 
 come those impenetrable features ! Why, thou deceit- 
 ful hag ! I placed thee as a guard to the rich blossoms 
 of my daughter's beauty. I thought that dragon's 
 front of thine w’ould cry aloof to the sons of gallantry : 
 steel traps and spring guns seemed wTit in every wrinkle 
 of it. — But you shall quit my house this instant. The 
 tender passions, indeed ! go, thou w’anton sibyl, thou 
 amorous woman of Endor, go ! 
 
 Duen. You base, scurrilous, old — but I won't demean 
 
THE DUENNA 
 
 157 
 
 myself by naming what you are. — Yes, savage. I'll 
 leave your den ; but I suppose you don't mean to 
 detain my apparel — I may have my things, I presume ? 
 
 Don Jer. I took you, mistress, with your wardrobe 
 on — what have you pilfered, eh ? 
 
 Duen. Sir, I must take leave of my mistress ; she has 
 valuables of mine : besides, my cardinal and veil are in 
 her room. 
 
 Don Jer. Your veil, forsooth ! what, do you dread 
 being gazed at ? or are you afraid of your complexion ? 
 Well, go take your leave, and get your veil and cardinal ! 
 so ! you quit the house within these five minutes. — In — 
 in — quick ! — [Exit Duenna.] Here was a precious 
 plot of mischief ! — these are the comforts daughters 
 bring us ! 
 
 Air. 
 
 If a daughter you have, she's the plague of your life, 
 No peace shall you know, though you've buried your 
 wife ! 
 
 At twenty she mocks at the duty you taught her — 
 Oh, what a plague is an obstinate daughter ! 
 
 Sighing and whining, 
 
 Dying and pining, 
 
 Oh, what a plague is an obstinate daughter ! 
 
 When scarce in their teens they have wit to perplex us, 
 With letters and lovers for ever they vex us ; 
 
 While each still rejects the fair suitor you've brought 
 her ; 
 
 Oh, what a plague is an obstinate daughter ! 
 Wrangling and jangling, 
 
 Flouting and pouting, 
 
 Oh, what a plague is an obstinate daughter ! 
 
158 
 
 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 Re-enter Donna Louisa, dressed as Duenna, with 
 cardinal and veil , seeming to cry . 
 
 This way, mistress, this way. — What, I warrant a 
 tender parting ; so ! tears of turpentine down those 
 deal cheeks. — Ay, you may well hide your head- — yes, 
 whine till your heart breaks ! but I'll not hear one word 
 of excuse — so you are right to be dumb. This way, this 
 way. [Exeunt. 
 
 Re-enter Duenna. 
 
 Duen. So, speed you well, sagacious Don Jerome ! 
 Oh rare effects of passion and obstinacy ! Now shall I 
 try whether I can't play the fine lady as well as my 
 mistress, and if I succeed, I may be a fine lady for the 
 rest of my life — I'll lose no time to equip myself. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Scene IV. — The Court before Don Jerome's House. 
 
 Enter Don Jerome and Donna Louisa. 
 
 Don Jer. Come, mistress, there is your way — the 
 world lies before you, so troop, thou antiquated Eve, 
 thou original sin ! Hold, yonder is some fellow skulking; 
 perhaps it is Antonio — go to him, d'ye hear, and tell 
 him to make you amends, and as he had got you turned 
 away, tell him I say it is but just he should take you 
 himself ; go — [Exit Donna Louisa.] So ! I am rid of 
 her, thank heaven ! and now I shall be able to keep 
 my oath, and confine my daughter with better security. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
THE DUENNA 
 
 *59 
 
 Scene V. — The Piazza . 
 
 Enter Donna Clara and Maid. 
 
 Maid. But where, madam, is it you intend to go ? 
 
 Don. Clara. Anywhere to avoid the selfish violence 
 of my mother-in-law, and Ferdinand's insolent im- 
 portunity. 
 
 Maid. Indeed, ma'am, since we have profited by 
 Don Ferdinand's key, in making our escape, I think we 
 had best find him, if it were only to thank him. 
 
 Don. Clara. No — he has offended me exceedingly. 
 
 [Retires. 
 
 Enter Donna Louisa. 
 
 Don. Louisa. So I have succeeded in being turned 
 out of doors — but how shall I find Antonio ? I dare 
 not inquire for him for fear of being discovered ; I 
 would send to my friend Clara, but then I doubt her 
 prudery would condemn me. 
 
 Maid. Then suppose, ma'am, you were to try if 
 your friend Donna Louisa would not receive you ? 
 
 Don. Clara. No, her notions of filial duty are so 
 severe, she would certainly betray me. 
 
 Don. Louisa. Clara is of a cold temper, and would 
 think this step of mine highly forward. 
 
 Don. Clara. Louisa's respect for her father is so 
 great, she would not credit the unkindness of 
 mine. 
 
 [Donna Louisa turns and sees Donna Clara and Maid. 
 
 Don. Louisa. Ha ! who are those ? sure one is Clara — 
 if it be, I'll trust her. Clara ! [Advances. 
 
 Don . Clara. Louisa ! and in masquerade too ! 
 
 Don. Louisa . You will be more surprised when I tell 
 you, that I have run away from my father. 
 
 Don. Clara. Surprised indeed ! and I should certainly 
 
i6o 
 
 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 chide you most horridly, only that I have just run 
 away from mine. 
 
 Don. Louisa. My dear Clara ! [Embrace. 
 
 Don . Clara . Dear sister truant ! and whither are you 
 going ? 
 
 Don . Louisa. To find the man I love, to be sure ; and, 
 I presume, you would have no aversion to meet with 
 my brother ? 
 
 Don. Clara. Indeed I should : he has behaved so ill 
 to me, I don’t believe I shall ever forgive him. 
 
 Air. 
 
 When sable night, each drooping plant restoring. 
 
 Wept o’er the flowers her breath did cheer, 
 
 As some sad widow o’er her babe deploring, 
 
 Wakes its beauty with a tear ; 
 
 When all did sleep whose weary hearts did borrow 
 One hour from love and care to rest, 
 
 Lo ! as I press’d my couch in silent sorrow, 
 
 My lover caught me to his breast ! 
 
 He vow’d he came to save me 
 From those who would enslave me 1 
 Then kneeling, 
 
 Kisses stealing, 
 
 Endless faith he swore ; 
 
 But soon I chid him thence. 
 
 For had his fond pretence 
 Obtain’d one favour then. 
 
 And he had press’d again, 
 
 I fear’d my treacherous heart might grant him more. 
 
 Don. Louisa. Well, for all this, I would have sent him 
 to plead his pardon, but that I would not yet awhile 
 have him know of my flight. And where do you hope 
 to find protection ? 
 
 Don. Clara. The Lady Abbess of the convent of St. 
 Catherine is a relation and kind friend of mine — I shall 
 
THE DUENNA 161 
 
 be secure with her, and you had best go thither with 
 me. 
 
 Don. Louisa. No ; 1 am determined to find Antonio 
 first ; and, as I live, here comes the very man I will 
 employ to seek him for me. 
 
 Don. Clara. Who is he ? he's a strange figure. 
 
 Don. Louisa. Yes ; that sweet creature is the man 
 whom my father has fixed on for my husband. 
 
 Don. Clara. And will you speak to him ? are you 
 mad ? 
 
 Don. Louisa. He is the fittest man in the world for 
 my purpose ; for, though I was to have married him 
 to-morrow, he is the only man in Seville who, I am sure, 
 aever saw me in his life. 
 
 Don. Clara. And how do you know him ? 
 
 Don. Louisa. He arrived but yesterday, and he was 
 shown to me from the window, as he visited my 
 father. 
 
 Don. Clara. Well, I'll begone. 
 
 Don. Louisa. Hold, my dear Clara — a thought has 
 struck me : will you give me leave to borrow your 
 name, as I see occasion ? 
 
 Don. Clara. It will but disgrace you ; but use it as 
 you please : I dare not stay. — [Going.] — But, Louisa, 
 if you should see your brother, be sure you don't inform 
 him that I have taken refuge with the Dame Prior of 
 the convent of St. Catherine, on the left hand side of 
 the piazza which leads to the church of St. Anthony. 
 
 Don. Louisa . Ha ! ha ! ha ! I'll be very particular in 
 my directions where he may not find you. — [Exeunt 
 Donna Clara and Maid.] — So ! my swain, yonder, has 
 done admiring himself, and draws nearer. [Retires. 
 
 Enter Isaac and Don Carlos. 
 
 Isaac . [Looking in a pocket-glass.] I tell you, friend 
 Carlos, I will please myself in the habit of my chin. 
 
162 
 
 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 Don Car. But, my dear friend, how can you think to 
 please a lady with such a face ? 
 
 Isaac. Why, what's the matter with the face ? I 
 think it is a very engaging face ; and, I am sure, a 
 lady must have very little taste who could dislike my 
 beard. — [Sees Donna Louisa.] — See now ! I’ll die if 
 here is not a little damsel struck with it already. 
 
 Don. Louisa . Signor, are you disposed to oblige a 
 lady who greatly wants your assistance ? [ Unveils . 
 
 Isaac. Egad, a very pretty black-eyed girl ! she has 
 certainly taken a fancy to me, Carlos. First, ma'am, I 
 must beg the favour of your name. 
 
 Don. Louisa. [Aside.'] So ! it's well I am provided. — 
 [Aloud.] — My name, sir, is Donna Clara d' Almanza. 
 
 Isaac. What ? Don Guzman's daughter ? I'faith, I 
 just now heard she was missing. 
 
 Don. Louisa. But sure, sir, you have too much 
 gallantry and honour to betray me, whose fault is love ? 
 
 Isaac. So ! a passion for me ! poor girl ! Why, 
 ma'am, as for betraying you, I don't see how I could 
 get anything by it ; so, you may rely on my honour ; 
 but as for your love, I am sorry your case is so des- 
 perate. 
 
 Don. Louisa. Why so, signor ? 
 
 Isaac. Because I am positively engaged to another — 
 an't I, Carlos ? 
 
 Don. Louisa. Nay, but hear me. 
 
 Isaac. No, no ; what should I hear for ? It is impos- 
 sible for me to court you in an honourable way ; and 
 for anything else, if I were to comply now, I suppose 
 you have some ungrateful brother, or cousin, who 
 would want to cut my throat for my civility — so, truly, 
 you had best go home again. 
 
 Don. Louisa. [Aside.] Odious wretch ! — [Aloud.] — 
 But, good signor, it is Antonio d'Ercilla, on whose 
 account I have eloped. 
 
 Isaac. How ! what ! it is not with me, then, that 
 you are in love ? 
 
THE DUENNA 
 
 163 
 
 Don. Louisa. No, indeed, it is not. 
 
 Isaac. Then you are a forward, impertinent 
 simpleton I and I shall certainly acquaint your 
 father. 
 
 Don. Louisa. Is this your gallantry ? 
 
 Isaac. Yet hold — Antonio d'Ercilla, did you say ? 
 egad, I may make something of this — Antonio 
 d'Ercilla ? 
 
 Don. Louisa. Yes ; and if ever you wish to prosper 
 in love, you will bring me to him. 
 
 Isaac. By St. Iago and I will too ! — Carlos, this 
 Antonio is one who rivals me (as I have heard) with 
 Louisa — now, if I could hamper him with this girl, 
 I should have the field to myself ; hey, Carlos ! A 
 lucky thought, isn't it ? '' 
 
 Don Car. Yes, very good — very good ! 
 
 Isaac. Ah ! this little brain is never at a loss — 
 cunning Isaac ! cunning rogue ! Donna Clara, will you 
 trust yourself awhile to my friend's direction ? 
 
 Don. Louisa. May I rely on you, good signor ? 
 
 Don Car. Lady, it is impossible I should deceive 
 you. 
 
 Air. 
 
 Had I a heart for falsehood framed, 
 
 I ne'er could injure you ; 
 
 For though your tongue no promise claim'd. 
 Your charms would make me true. 
 
 To you no soul shall bear deceit. 
 
 No stranger offer wrong ; 
 
 But friends in all the aged you'll meet. 
 
 And lovers in the young. 
 
 But when they learn that you have blest 
 Another with your heart. 
 
 They'll bid aspiring passion rest, 
 
 And act a brother's part : 
 
164 
 
 SHERIDAN’S PLAYS 
 
 Then, lady, dread not here deceit. 
 
 Nor fear to suffer wrong ; 
 
 For friends in all the aged you'll meet, 
 
 And brothers in the young. 
 
 Isaac . Conduct the lady to my lodging, Carlos ; I 
 must haste to Don Jerome. Perhaps you know Louisa, 
 ma’am. She’s divinely handsome, isn’t she ? 
 
 Don. Louisa. You must excuse me not joining with 
 you. 
 
 Isaac. Why, I have heard it on all hands. 
 
 Don. Louisa. Her father is uncommonly partial to 
 her ; but I believe you will find she has rather a 
 matronly air. 
 
 Isaac. Carlos, this is all envy. — You pretty girls 
 never speak well of one another. — [To Don Carlos.] 
 Hark ye, find out Antonio, and I’ll saddle him with 
 this scrape, I warrant. Oh, ’twas the luckiest thought ! 
 Donna Clara, your very obedient. Carlos, to your 
 post. 
 
 Duet. 
 
 Isaac . My mistress expects me, and I must 
 
 go to her, 
 
 Or how can I hope for a smile ? 
 Don. Louisa. Soon may you return a prosperous 
 wooer, 
 
 But think what I suffer the 
 while. 
 
 Alone, and away from the man whom 
 I love, 
 
 In strangers I’m forced to confide. 
 Dear lady, my friend you may trust, 
 and he’ll prove 
 
 Your servant, protector, and 
 guide. 
 
 Isaac. 
 
THE DUENNA 
 
 165 
 
 Air. 
 
 Don Car. Gentle maid, ah ! why suspect me ? 
 
 Let me serve thee — then reject me. 
 Canst thou trust, and I deceive thee ? 
 Art thou sad, and shall I grieve thee ? 
 Gentle maid, ah ! why suspect me ? 
 Let me serve thee — then reject me. 
 
 Trio. 
 
 Don. Louisa. 
 
 Isaac. 
 
 Don Car. 
 
 Don. Louisa. 
 Isaac. 
 
 Don Car. 
 
 Never mayst thou happy be, 
 
 If in aught thou'rt false to me. 
 
 Never may he happy be, 
 
 If in aught he's false to thee. 
 
 Never may I happy be, 
 
 If in aught I'm false to thee. 
 
 Never mayst thou, &c. 
 
 Never may he, &c. 
 
 Never may I, &c. [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT II 
 
 Scene I. — A Library in Don Jerome's House. 
 
 Enter Don Jerome and Isaac. 
 
 Don Jer. Ha ! ha ! ha ! run away from her father ! 
 has she given him the slip ? Ha ! ha ! ha ! poor Don 
 Guzman ! 
 
 Isaac. Ay ; and I am to conduct her to Antonio ; by 
 which means you see I shall hamper him so that he can 
 give me no disturbance with your daughter — this is a 
 trap, isn't it ? a nice stroke of cunning, hey ? 
 
i66 
 
 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 Don Jer. Excellent ! excellent ! yes, yes, carry her to 
 him, hamper him by all means, ha 1 ha 1 ha ! Poor Don 
 Guzman ! an old fool 1 imposed on by a girl ! 
 
 Isaac. Nay, they have the cunning of serpents, that's 
 the truth on't. 
 
 Don Jer . Psha 1 they are cunning only when they 
 have fools to deal with. Why don't my girl play me 
 such a trick ? Let her cunning over-reach my caution, 
 1 say — hey, little Isaac 1 
 
 Isaac . True, true ; or let me see any oi the sex make 
 a fool of me ! — No, no, egad 1 little Solomon (as my 
 aunt used to call me) understands trickling a little too 
 well. 
 
 Don Jer. Ay, but such a driveller as Don Guzman ! 
 
 Isaac. And such a dupe as Antonio 1 
 
 Don Jer. True ; never were seen such a couple of 
 credulous simpletons 1 But come, 'tis time you should 
 see my daughter — you must carry on the siege by 
 yourself, friend Isaac. 
 
 Isaac. Sir, you'll introduce 
 
 Don Jer. No — I have sworn a solemn oath not to see 
 or to speak to her till she renounces her disobedience ; 
 win her to that, and she gains a father and a husband 
 at once. 
 
 Isaac. Gad, I shall never be able to deal with her 
 alone ; nothing keeps me in such awe as perfect 
 beauty — now there is something consoling and en- 
 couraging in ugliness. 
 
 Song. 
 
 Give Isaac the nymph who no beauty can boast. 
 
 But health and good humour to make her his toast ; 
 
 If straight, I don't mind whether slender or fat. 
 
 And six feet or four — we'll ne'er quarrel for that. 
 
 Whate'er her complexion, I vow I don't care ; 
 
 If brown, it is lasting — more pleasing, if fair : 
 
THE DUENNA 
 
 167 
 
 And though in her face I no dimples should see, 
 
 Let her smile — and each dell is a dimple to me. 
 
 Let her locks be the reddest that ever were seen, 
 
 And her eyes may be e'en any colour but green ; 
 
 For in eyes, though so various in lustre and hue, 
 
 I swear I've no choice — only let her have two. 
 
 ‘Tis true I'd dispense with a throne on her back, 
 
 And white teeth, I own, are genteeler than black ; 
 
 A little round chin too's a beauty, I've heard ; 
 
 But I only desire she mayn't have a beard. 
 
 Don Jer. You will change your note, my friend, 
 when you've seen Louisa. 
 
 Isaac . Oh, Don Jerome, the honour of your 
 alliance 
 
 Don Jer . Ay, but her beauty will affect you — she is, 
 though I say it who am her father, a very prodigy. 
 There you wiU see features with an eye like mine — yes, 
 i'faith, there is a kind of wicked sparkling — sometimes 
 of a rougish brightness, that shows her to be my own. 
 Isaac . Pretty rogue ! 
 
 Don Jer. Then, when she smiles, you'll see a little 
 dimple in one cheek only ; a beauty it is certainly, yet, 
 you shall not say which is prettiest, the cheek with the 
 dimple, or the cheek without. 
 
 Isaac. Pretty rogue I 
 
 Don Jer. Then the roses on those cheeks are shaded 
 with a sort of velvet down, that gives a delicacy to the 
 glow of health. 
 
 Isaac. Pretty rogue 1 
 
 Don Jer. Her skin pure dimity, yet more fair, being 
 spangled here and there with a golden freckle. 
 
 Isaac. Charming pretty rogue ! pray how is the tone 
 of her voice ? 
 
 Don Jer. Remarkably pleasmg — but if you could 
 prevail on her to sing, you would be enchanted — she 
 
i68 
 
 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 is a nightingale — a Virginia nightingale ! But come, 
 come ; her maid shall conduct you to her antechamber. 
 
 Isaac. Well, egad, I'll pluck up resolution, and meet 
 her frowns intrepidly. 
 
 Don Jer. Ay ! woo her briskly — win her, and give 
 me a proof of your address, my little Solomon. 
 
 Isaac. But hold — I expect my friend Carlos to call 
 on me here. If he comes, will you send him to me ? 
 
 Don Jer. I will. Lauretta ! — [Calls .] — Come — she'll 
 show you to the room. What ! do you droop ? here's a 
 mournful face to make love with ! [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene II. — Donna Louisa's Dressing-Room . 
 
 Enter Isaac and Maid. 
 
 Maid. Sir, my mistress will wait on you presently. 
 
 [Goes to the door. 
 
 Isaac. When she's at leisure — don't hurry her.— 
 [Exit Maid.] — I wish I had ever practised a love-scene 
 — I doubt I shall make a poor figure — I couldn't be 
 more afraid if I was going before the Inquisition. So, 
 the door opens — yes, she's coming — the very rustling 
 of her silk has a disdainful sound. 
 
 Enter Duenna dressed as Donna Louisa. 
 
 Now dar'n't I look round, for the soul of me — her 
 beauty will certainly strike me dumb if I do. I wish 
 she'd speak first. 
 
 Duen. Sir, I attend your pleasure. 
 
 Isaac. [Aside.] So ! the ice is broke, and a pretty 
 civil beginning too ! — [Aloud.] Hem ! madam — miss — 
 I'm all attention. 
 
 Duen. Nay, sir, 'tis I who should listen, and you 
 propose. 
 
THE DUENNA 
 
 169 
 
 Isaac. [Aside. J Egad, this isn't so disdainful neither 
 — I believe I may venture to look. No — I dar'n't — one 
 glance of those roguish sparklers would fix me again. 
 
 Duen. You seem thoughtful, sir. Let me persuade 
 you to sit down. 
 
 Isaac. [Aside.] So, so ; she mollifies apace — she's 
 struck with my figure ! this attitude has had its effect. 
 
 Duen. Come, sir, here's a chair. 
 
 Isaac. Madam, the greatness of your goodness over- 
 powers me — that a lady so lovely should deign to turn 
 her beauteous eyes on me so. 
 
 [She takes his hand , he turns and sees her . 
 
 Duen. You seem surprised at my condescension. 
 
 Isaac. Why, yes, madam, I am a little surprised at 
 it. — [Aside.] Zounds ! this can never be Louisa — she’s 
 as old as my mother ! 
 
 Duen. But former prepossessions give way to my 
 father's commands. 
 
 Isaac. [Aside.] Her father I Yes, 'tis she then. — 
 Lord, Lord ; how blind some parents are ! 
 
 Duen. Signor Isaac ! 
 
 Isaac. [Aside.] Truly, the little damsel was right — 
 she has rather a matronly air, indeed ! ah ! 'tis well 
 my affections are fixed on her fortune, and not her 
 person. 
 
 Duen. Signor, won't you sit ? [She sits. 
 
 Isaac. Pardon me, madam, I have scarce recovered 
 my astonishment at — your condescension, madam. — 
 [Aside.] She has the devil's own dimples, to be 
 sure ! 
 
 Duen. I do not wonder, sir, that you are surprised at 
 my affability — I own, signor, that I was vastly pre- 
 pessessed against you, and, being teased by my father, 
 I did give some encouragement to Antonio ; but then, 
 sir, you were described to me as quite a different 
 person. 
 
 Isaac. Ay, and so you were to me, upon my soul . 
 madam,. 
 
170 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 Duen. But when I saw you I was never more struck 
 in my life. 
 
 Isaac . That was just my case, too, madam : I was 
 struck all of a heap, for my part. 
 
 Duen. Well, sir, I see our misapprehension has been 
 mutual — you expected to find me haughty and 
 averse, and I was taught to believe you a little black, 
 snub-nosed fellow, without person, manners, or 
 address. 
 
 Isaac. Egad, I wish she had answered her picture as 
 well ! [Aside. 
 
 Duen. But, sir, your air is noble — something so 
 liberal in your carriage, with so penetrating an eye, 
 and so bewitching a smile ! 
 
 Isaac . Egad, now I look at her again, I don't think 
 she is so ugly ! [Aside. 
 
 Duen. So little like a Jew, and so much like a gentle- 
 man ! 
 
 Isaac . Well, certainly, there is something pleasmg in 
 the tone of her voice. [Aside. 
 
 Duen. You will pardon this breach of decorum in 
 praising you thus, but my joy at being so agreeably 
 deceived has given me such a flow of spirits ! 
 
 Isaac. Oh, dear lady, may I thank those dear lips for 
 this goodness ? — [Kisses her.] Why she has a pretty 
 sort of velvet down, that's the truth on't. [Aside. 
 
 Duen. O sir, you have the most insinuating manner, 
 but indeed you should get rid of that odious beard — 
 one might as well kiss a hedgehog. 
 
 Isaac. [Aside.] Yes, ma'am, the razor wouldn't be 
 amiss — for either of us. — [Aloud.] Could you favour 
 me with a song ? 
 
 Duen. Willingly, though I'm rather hoarse — ahem 1 
 
 . [Begins to sing . 
 
 Isaac. [ Aside J Very like a Virginia nightingale ! — 
 [Aloud.] Ma'am, I perceive you're hoarse — I beg you 
 will not distress 
 
 Duen. Oh, not in the least distressed. Now, sir. 
 
THE DUENNA 
 
 171 
 
 Song. 
 
 When a tender maid 
 Is first assay'd 
 By some admiring swain. 
 
 How her blushes rise 
 If she meet his eyes, 
 
 While he unfolds his pain I 
 If he takes her hand, she trembles quite I 
 Touch her lips, and she swoons outright ! 
 
 While a pit-a-pat, &c. 
 
 Her heart avows her fright. 
 
 But in time appear 
 Fewer signs of fear ; 
 
 The youth she boldly views i 
 If her hand he grasp. 
 
 Or her bosom clasp, 
 
 No mantling blush ensues ! 
 
 Then to church well pleased the lovers move, 
 While her smiles her contentment prove ; 
 
 And a pit-a-pat, &c. 
 
 Her heart avows her love. 
 
 Isaac. Charming, ma'am 1 enchanting ! and, truly, 
 your notes put me m mind of one that's very dear to 
 me — a lady, indeed, whom you greatly resemble ! 
 
 Duen. How I is there, then, another so dear to 
 vou ? 
 
 Isaac . Oh, no, ma'am, you mistake ; it was my 
 mother I meant. 
 
 Duen. Come, sir, I see you are amazed and con- 
 founded at my condescension, and know not what to 
 say. 
 
 Isaac . It is very true, indeed, ma'am ; but it is a 
 judgment, I look on it as a judgment on me, for 
 delaying to urge the time when you'll permit me to 
 
SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 172 
 
 complete my happiness, by acquainting Don Jerome 
 with your condescension. 
 
 Duen. Sir, I must frankly own to you, that I can 
 never be yours with my father's consent. 
 
 Isaac . Good lack ! how so ? 
 
 Duen . When my father, in his passion, swore he 
 would never see me again till I acquiesced in his will, 
 I also made a vow, that I would never take a husband 
 from his hand ; nothing shall make me break that 
 oath : but if you have spirit and contrivance enough to 
 carry me off without his knowledge, I'm yours. 
 
 Isaac . Hum ! 
 
 Duen . Nay, sir, if you hesitate 
 
 Isaac. [Aside.] I'faith no bad whim this ! — If I take 
 her at her word, I shall secure her fortune, and avoid 
 making any settlement in return ; thus I shall not only 
 cheat the lover, but the father too. Oh, cunning rogue, 
 Isaac ! ay, ay, let this little brain alone ! Egad, I'll 
 take her in the mind ! 
 
 Duen. Well, sir, what's your determination ? 
 
 Isaac. Madam, I was dumb only from rapture — I 
 applaud your spirit, and joyfully close with your 
 proposal ; for which thus let me, on this lily hand, 
 express my gratitude. 
 
 Duen . Well, sir, you must get my father's consent to 
 walk with me in the garden. But by no means inform 
 him of my kindness to you. 
 
 Isaac. No, to be sure, that would spoil all : but, 
 trust me when tricking is the word — let me alone for a 
 piece of cunning ; this very day you shall be out of 
 his power. 
 
 Duen. Well, I leave the management of it all to you ; 
 I perceive plainly, sir, that you are not one that can 
 be easily outwitted. 
 
 Isaac . Egad, you're right, madam — you're right, 
 i'faith. 
 
THE DUENNA 
 
 173 
 
 Re-enter Maid. 
 
 Maid. Here's a gentleman at the door, who begs 
 permission to speak with Signor Isaac. 
 
 Isaac. A friend of mine, ma'am, and a trusty friend 
 — let him come in — [Exit Maid.] He's one to be 
 depended on, ma'am. 
 
 Enter Don Carlos. 
 
 So coz. [ Talks apart with Don Carlos. 
 
 Don Car. I have left Donna Clara at your lodgings, 
 but can nowhere find Antonio. 
 
 Isaac. Well, I will search him out myself. Carlos, 
 you rogue, I thrive, I prosper ! 
 
 Don Car. Where is your mistress ? 
 
 Isaac. There, you booby, there she stands. 
 
 Don Car. Why, she's damned ugly ! 
 
 Isaac. Hush ! [Stops his mouth. 
 
 Duen. What is your friend saying, signor ? 
 
 Isaac. Oh, ma'am, he is expressing his raptures at 
 such charms as he never saw before. Eh, Carlos ? 
 
 Don Car. Ay, such as I never saw before, indeed ! 
 
 Duen. You are a very obliging gentleman. Well, 
 Signor Isaac, I believe we had better part for the 
 present. Remember our plan. 
 
 Isaac. Oh, ma'am, it is written in my heart, fixed as 
 the image of those divine beauties. Adieu, idol of my 
 soul ! — yet once more permit me [Kisses her. 
 
 Duen. Sweet, courteous sir, adieu ! 
 
 Isaac. Your slave eternally ! Come, Carlos, say 
 something civil at taking leave. 
 
 Don Car. I 'faith, Isaac, she is the hardest woman to 
 compliment I ever saw ; however, I'll try something I 
 had studied for the occasion. 
 
174 
 
 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 Song. 
 
 Ah ! sure a pair was never seen 
 
 So justly form'd to meet by nature ! 
 
 The youth excelling so in mien, 
 
 The maid in ev'ry grace of feature. 
 
 Oh, how happy are such lovers, 
 
 When kindred beauties each discovers ; 
 
 For surely she 
 Was made for thee, 
 
 And thou to bless this lovely creature ! 
 
 So mild your looks, your children thence 
 Will early learn the task of duty — 
 
 The boys with all their father's sense, 
 
 The girls with all their mother's beauty 1 
 Oh, how happy to inherit 
 At once such graces and such spirit ! 
 
 Thus while you live 
 May fortune give 
 
 Each blessing equal to your merit ! [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene III. — A Library in Don Jerome's House. 
 
 Don Jerome and Don Ferdinand discovered. 
 
 Don Jer. Object to Antonio ! I have said it. His 
 poverty, can you acquit him of that ? 
 
 Don jer. Sir, I own he is not over rich ; but he is of 
 as ancient and honourable a family as any in the 
 kingdom. 
 
 Don Jer. Yes, I know the beggars are a very ancient 
 family in most kingdoms ; but never in great repute, 
 
 b °y. 
 
 Don Ferd. Antonio, sir, has many amiable qualities. 
 Don Jer. But he is poor ; can you clear him of that. 
 
THE DUENNA 175 
 
 I say ? Is he not a gay, dissipated rake, who has 
 squandered his patrimony ? 
 
 Don Ferd . Sir, he inherited but little ; and that his 
 generosity, more than his profuseness, has stripped him 
 of ; but he has never sullied his honour, which, with 
 his title, has outlived his means. 
 
 Don Jer. Psha ! you talk like a blockhead ! nobility, 
 without an estate, is as ridiculous as gold lace on a 
 frieze coat. 
 
 Don Ferd. This language, sir, would better become a 
 Dutch or English trader than a Spaniard. 
 
 Don Jer. Yes ; and those Dutch and English traders, 
 as you call them, are the wiser people. Why, booby, in 
 England they were formerly as nice, as to birth and 
 family, as we are : but they have long discovered what 
 a wonderful purifier gold is ; and now, no one there 
 regards pedigree in anything but a horse. Oh, here 
 comes Isaac ! I hope he has prospered in his suit. 
 
 Don Ferd. Doubtless, that agreeable figure of his 
 must have helped his suit surprisingly. 
 
 Don Jer. How now? [Don Ferdinand walks aside. 
 
 Enter Isaac. 
 
 Well, my friend, have you softened her ? 
 
 Isaac. Oh, yes ; I have softened her. 
 
 Don Jer. What, does she come to ? 
 
 Isaac. Why, truly, she was kinder than I expected to 
 find her. 
 
 Don Jer. And the dear little angel was civil, 
 eh? 
 
 Isaac. Yes, the pretty little angel was very 
 civil. 
 
 Don Jer. I’m transported to hear it ! Well, and you 
 were astonished at her beauty, hey ? 
 
 Isaac. I was astonished, indeed ! Pray, how old is 
 Miss ? 
 
176 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 Don Jer. How old ? let me see — eight and twelve — 
 she is twenty. 
 
 Isaac. Twenty ? 
 
 Don Jer. Ay, to a month. 
 
 Isaac. Then, upon my soul, she is the oldest-looking 
 girl of her age in Christendom ! 
 
 Don Jer. Do you think so ? But, I believe, you will 
 not see a prettier girl. 
 
 Isaac. Here and there one. 
 
 Don Jer. Louisa has the family face. 
 
 Isaac. Yes, egad, I should have taken it for a 
 family face, and one that has been in the family some 
 time, too. [Aside. 
 
 Don Jer. She has her fathers eyes. 
 
 Isaac. Truly, I should have guessed them to have 
 been so ! If she had her mother's spectacles, I believe 
 she would not see the worse. [Aside. 
 
 Don Jer. Her aunt Ursula's nose, and her grand- 
 
 mother's forehead, to a hair. 
 
 Isaac. Ay, 'faith, and her grandfather's chin, to a 
 hair. [Aside. 
 
 Don Jer. Well, if she was but as dutiful as she's 
 handsome — and hark ye, friend Isaac, she is none of 
 your made-up beauties — her charms are of the lasting 
 kind. 
 
 Isaac. I'faith, so they should — for if she be but 
 twenty now, she may double her age before her years 
 will overtake her face. 
 
 Don Jer. Why, zounds. Master Isaac ! you are not 
 sneering, are you ? 
 
 Isaac. Why, now, seriously, Don Jerome, do you 
 think your daughter handsome ? 
 
 Don Jer. By this light, she's as handsome a girl as 
 any in Seville. 
 
 Isaac. Then, by these eyes, I think her as plain a 
 woman as ever I beheld. 
 
 Don Jer. By St. Iago ! you must be blind. 
 
 Isaac. No, no ; 'tis you are partial. 
 
THE DUENNA 
 
 177 
 
 Don Jer. How ! have I neither sense nor taste ? If a 
 fair skin, fine eyes, teeth of ivory, with a lovely bloom, 
 and a delicate shape, — if these, with a heavenly voice 
 and a world of grace, are not charms, I know not what 
 you call beautiful. 
 
 Isaac. Good lack, with what eyes a father sees ! 
 As I have life, she is the very reverse of all this : as 
 for the dimity skin you told me of, I swear 'tis a 
 thorough nankeen as ever I saw ! for her eyes, their 
 utmost merit is not squinting — for her teeth, where 
 there is one of ivory, its neighbour is pure ebony, black 
 and white alternately, just like the keys of a harpsi- 
 chord. Then, as to her singing, and heavenly 
 voice — by this hand, she has a shrill, cracked pipe, 
 that sounds for all the world like a child's trum- 
 pet. 
 
 Don Jer. Why, you little Hebrew scoundrel, do you 
 mean to insult me ? Out of my house, I say ! 
 
 Don Ferd. [Coming forward.] Dear sir, what's the 
 matter ? 
 
 Don Jer. Why, this Israelite here has the impudence 
 to say your sister's ugly. 
 
 Don Ferd. He must be either blind or insolent. 
 
 Isaac. So, I find they are all in a story. Egad, I 
 believe I have gone too far ! [Aside. 
 
 Don Ferd. Sure, sir, here must be some mistake ; 
 it can't be my sister whom he has seen. 
 
 Don Jer. 'Sdeath ! you are as great a fool as he ! 
 What mistake can there be ? Did not I lock up Louisa, 
 and haven't I the key in my own pocket ? and didn't 
 her maid show him into the dressing-room ? and yet 
 you talk of a mistake ! No, the Portuguese meant to 
 insult me — and, but that this roof protects him, old as 
 I am, this sword should do me justice. 
 
 Isaac. I must get off as well as I can — her fortune is 
 not the less handsome. [Aside. 
 
178 
 
 Isaac. 
 
 Don Jer. 
 Isaac. 
 
 Don Jer. 
 
 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 Duet. 
 
 Believe me, good sir, I ne'er meant to 
 offend ; 
 
 My mistress I love, and I value my friend : 
 
 To win her and wed her is still my request. 
 
 For better for worse — and I swear I don't 
 jest. 
 
 Zounds ! you'd best not provoke me, my 
 rage is so high ! 
 
 Hold him fast, I beseech you, his rage is so 
 high ! 
 
 Good sir, you're too hot, and this place I 
 must fly. 
 
 You're a knave and a sot, and this place 
 you'd best fly. 
 
 Isaac. Don Jerome, come now, let us lay aside all 
 joking, and be serious. 
 
 Don Jer. How ? 
 
 Isaac. Ha ! ha ! ha ! I'll be hanged if you haven't 
 taken my abuse of your daughter seriously. 
 
 Don Jer. You meant it so, did not you ? 
 
 Isaac. O mercy, no ! a joke — just to try how angry 
 it would make you. 
 
 Don Jer. Was that all, i'faith ? I didn't know you 
 had been such a wag. Ha ! ha ! ha ! By St. Iago ! you 
 made me very angry, though. Well, and you do think 
 Louisa handsome ? 
 
 Isaac. Handsome ! Venus de Medicis was a sybil to 
 her. 
 
 Don Jer. Give me your hand, you little jocose rogue ! 
 Egad, I thought we had been all off. 
 
 Don Ferd. So ! I was in hopes this would have been 
 a quarrel ; but I find the Jew is too cunning. [Aside. 
 
 Don Jer. Ay, this gust of passion has made me dry — 
 I am seldom ruffled. Order some wine in the next 
 
THE DUENNA 
 
 179 
 
 room — let us drink the poor girl's health. Poor Louisa ! 
 ugly, eh ! ha ! ha ! ha ! 'twas a very good joke, 
 indeed ! 
 
 Isaac . And a very true one, for all that. [Aside. 
 Don Jer. And, Ferdinand, I insist upon your 
 drinking success to my friend. 
 
 Don Ferd. Sir, I will drink success to my friend with 
 all my heart. 
 
 Don Jer . Come, little Solomon, if any sparks of anger 
 had remained, this would be the only way to quench 
 them. 
 
 Trio. 
 
 A bumper of good liquor 
 Will end a contest quicker 
 Than justice, judge, or vicar ; 
 
 So fill a cheerful glass, 
 
 And let good humour pass. 
 
 But if more deep the quarrel, 
 
 Why, sooner drain the barrel 
 Than be the hateful fellow 
 That's crabbed when he's mellow. 
 
 A bumper, &c. [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene IV. — Isaac's Lodgings. 
 
 Enter Donna Louisa. 
 
 Don. Louisa. Was ever truant daughter so whimsic- 
 ally circumstanced as I am ? I have sent my intended 
 husband to look after my lover — the man of my 
 father's choice is gone to bring me the man of my 
 own : but how dispiriting is this interval of expecta- 
 tion ! 
 
i8o 
 
 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 Song. 
 
 What bard, O Time, discover, 
 
 With wings first made thee move ? 
 Ah ! sure it was some lover 
 Who ne'er had left his love ! 
 
 For who that once did prove 
 The pangs which absence brings. 
 Though but one day 
 He were away. 
 
 Could picture thee with wings ? 
 
 What bard, &c. 
 
 Enter Don Carlos. 
 
 So, friend, is Antonio found ? 
 
 Don Car . I could not meet with him, lady ; but I 
 doubt not my friend Isaac will be here with him 
 presently. 
 
 Don . Louisa. Oh, shame ! you have used no diligence. 
 Is this your courtesy to a lady, who has trusted herself 
 to your protection ? 
 
 Don Car . Indeed, madam, I have not been re- 
 miss. 
 
 Don. Louisa. Well, well ; but if either of you had 
 known how each moment of delay weighs upon the 
 heart of her who loves, and waits the object of her love, 
 oh, ye would not then have trifled thus ! 
 
 Don Car. Alas, I know it well ! 
 
 Don. Louisa. Were you ever in love, then ? 
 
 Don Car. I was, lady ; but, while I have life, I will 
 never be again. 
 
 Don. Louisa. Was your mistress so cruel ? 
 
 Don Car. If she had always been so, I should have 
 been happier. 
 
THE DUENNA 
 
 181 
 
 Song. 
 
 Oh, had my love ne’er smiled on me, 
 
 I ne’er had known such anguish ; 
 
 But think how false, how cruel she, 
 
 To bid me cease to languish ; 
 
 To bid me hope her hand to gain, 
 
 Breathe on a flame half perish’d ; 
 
 And then with cold and fixed disdain, 
 
 To kill the hope she cherish’d. 
 
 Not worse his fate, who on a wreck, 
 
 That drove as winds did blow it, 
 
 Silent had left the shatter’d deck, 
 
 To find a grave below it. 
 
 The land was cried — no more resign’d. 
 
 He glow’d with joy to hear it ; 
 
 Not worse his fate, his woe, to find 
 The wreck must sink ere near it ! 
 
 Don. Louisa. As I live, here is your friend coming 
 with Antonio ! I’ll retire for a moment to surprise him. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Enter Isaac and Don Antonio. 
 
 Don Ant. Indeed, my good friend, you must be 
 mistaken. Clara d’ Almanza in love with me, and 
 employ you to bring me to meet her ! It is impossible ! 
 
 Isaac. That you shall see in an instant. Carlos, 
 where is the lady ? — [Don Carlos points to the door?\ 
 In the next room, is she ? 
 
 Don Ant. Nay, if that lady is really here, she cer- 
 tainly wants me to conduct her to a dear friend of 
 mine, who has long been her lover. 
 
 Isaac. Osha ! I tell you ’tis no such thing— you are 
 the man she wants, and nobody but you. Here’s ado to 
 
182 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 persuade you to take a pretty girl that's dying tor 
 you i 
 
 Don Ant. But I have no affection tor this lady. 
 
 Isaac . And you have for Louisa, hey ? But take my 
 word tor it, Antonio, you have no chance there — so 
 you may as well secure the good that offers itself to 
 you. 
 
 Don Ant. And could you reconcile it to your con- 
 science to supplant your friend ? 
 
 Isaac. Pish ! Conscience has no more to do with 
 gallantry than it has with politics. Why, you are no 
 honest fellow if love can't make a rogue of you ; so 
 come — do go in and speak to her, at least. 
 
 Don Ant. Weil, I have no objection to that. 
 
 Isaac. [Opens the door.} There — there she is — yonder 
 by the window — get in, do.— [Pushes him m, and- half 
 shuts the door.] Now, Carlos, now I shall hamper him, 
 I warrant ! Stay, I'll peep how they go on. Egad, he 
 tooks confoundedly posed I Now she's coaxing him. 
 See, Carlos, he begins to come to — ay, ay, he'll soon 
 forget his conscience. 
 
 Don Car. Look — now they are both laughing ! 
 
 Isaac. Ay, so they are — yes, yes, they are laughing 
 at that dear friend he talked of — ay, poor devil, they 
 have outwitted him. 
 
 Don Car. Now he's kissing her hand. 
 
 Isaac. Yes, yes, faith, they're agreed — he's caught, 
 he's entangled. My dear Carlos, we have brought it 
 about. Oh, this little cunning head I I'm a Michiavel — 
 a very Machiavel ! 
 
 Don Car. I hear somebody inquiring tor you — i'll 
 see who it is. [Exit. 
 
 Re-enter Don Antonio and- Donna Louisa. 
 
 Don Ant. Weil, my good mend, this lady has so 
 entirely convinced me of the certainty of your success 
 
THE DUENNA 183 
 
 at Don Jerome's, that I now resign my pretensions 
 there. 
 
 Isaac. You never did a wiser thing, believe me ; and, 
 as for deceiving your friend, that's nothing at all — 
 tricking is all fair in love, isn't it, ma'am ? 
 
 Don . Louisa. Certainly, sir; and I am paticularly 
 glad to find you are of that opinion. 
 
 Isaac. O Lud ! yes, ma'am — let any one outwit me 
 that can, I say ! But here, let me join your hands. 
 There, you lucky rogue ! I wish you happily married 
 from the bottom of my soul ! 
 
 Don. Louisa. And I am sure, if you wish it, no one 
 else should prevent it. 
 
 Isaac. Now, Antonio, we are rivals no more ; so let 
 us be friends, will you ? 
 
 Don Ant. With all my heart, Isaac. 
 
 Isaac. It is not every man, let me tell you, that 
 would have taken such pains, or been so generous to a 
 rival. 
 
 Don Ant. No, 'faith, I don't believe there's another 
 beside yourself in all Spain. 
 
 Isaac. Well, but you resign all pretensions to the 
 other lady ? 
 
 Don Ant. That I do, most sincerely. 
 
 Isaac. I doubt you have a little hankering there 
 still. 
 
 Don Ant. None in the least, upon my soul. 
 
 Isaac. I mean after her fortune. 
 
 Don Ant. No, believe me. You are heartily welcome 
 to every thing she has. 
 
 Isaac. Well, i'faith, you have the best of the bargain, 
 as to beauty, twenty to one. Now I'll tell you a secret 
 — I am to carry off Louisa this very evening. 
 
 Don. Louisa. Indeed ! 
 
 Isaac . Yes, she has sworn not to take a husband from 
 her father's hand — so I’ve persuaded him to trust her to 
 walk with me in the garden, and then we shall give 
 him the slip. 
 
184 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 Don. Louisa. And is Don Jerome to know nothing of 
 this ? 
 
 Isaac. O Lud, no ! there lies the jest. Don't you see 
 that, by this step, I over-reach him ? I shall be 
 entitled to the girl's fortune, without settling a ducat 
 on her. Ha ! ha ! ha ! I'm a cunning dog, an't I ? a 
 sly little villain, eh ? 
 
 Don Ant. Ha ! ha ! ha ! you are indeed ! 
 
 Isaac. Roguish, you'll say, but keen, eh ? devilish 
 keen ? 
 
 Don Ant. So you are indeed — keen — very keen. 
 
 Isaac. And what a laugh we shall have at Don 
 Jerome's when the truth comes out ! hey ? 
 
 Don. Louisa. Yes, I'll answer for it, we ^hall have a 
 good laugh, when the truth comes out. Ha ! ha ! ha ! 
 
 Re-enter Don Carlos. 
 
 Don Car. Here are the dancers come to practice the 
 fandango you intended to have honoured Donna Louisa 
 with. 
 
 Isaac. Oh, I shan't want them ; but, as I must pay 
 them, I'll see a caper for my money. Will you excuse 
 me ? 
 
 Don. Louisa. Willingly. 
 
 Isaac. Here's my friend, whom you may command 
 for any service. Madam, your most obedient — Antonio, 
 I wish you all happiness. — [Aside.] Oh, the easy block- 
 head ! what a tool I have made of him ! — This was a 
 masterpiece ! [Exit. 
 
 Don. Louisa , Carlos, will you be my guard again, 
 and convey me to the convent of St. Catherine ? 
 
 Don Ant. Why, Louisa — why should you go there ? 
 
 Don. Louisa. I have my reasons, and you must not 
 be seen to go with me ; I shall write from thence to my 
 father ; perhaps, when he finds what he has driven me 
 to, he may relent. 
 
THE DUENNA 185 
 
 Don Ant. I have no hope Irom him. O Louisa ! in 
 these arms should be your sanctuary. 
 
 Don. Louisa. Be patient but for a little while — my 
 father cannot force me from thence. But let me see 
 you there before evening, and I will explain myself. 
 
 Don Ant. I shall obey. 
 
 Don. Louisa . Come, friend. Antonio, Carlos has 
 been a lover himself. 
 
 Don Ant. Then he knows the value of his trust. 
 
 Don Car. You shall not find me unfaithful. 
 
 Trio. 
 
 Soft pity never leaves the gentle breast 
 Where love has been received a welcome guest ; 
 
 As wandering saints poor huts have sacred made, 
 
 He hallows every heart he once has sway'd, 
 
 And, when his presence we no longer share, 
 
 Still leaves compassion as a relic there. [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT III 
 
 Scene I. A Library in Don Jerome's House. 
 
 Enter Don Jerome and Servant. 
 
 Don Jer. Why, I never was so amazed in my life ! 
 Louisa gone off with Isaac Mendoza ! What ! steal 
 away with the very man whom I wanted her to marry — 
 elope with her own husband, as it were — it is im- 
 possible ! 
 
 Ser. Her maid says, sir, they had your leave to walk 
 in the garden, while you were abroad. The door by the 
 shrubbery was found open, and they have not been 
 heard of since. [Exit. 
 
i86 
 
 SHERIDAN’S PLAYS 
 
 Don Jer . Well, it is the most unaccountable affair ! 
 ’sdeath ! there is certainly some infernal mystery in it 
 I can’t comprehend ! 
 
 Enter Second Servant, with a letter. 
 
 Ser. Here is a letter, sir, from Signor Isaac. [Exit. 
 
 Don Jer. So, so, this will explain — ay, Isaac Mendoza 
 — let me see [Reads. 
 
 Dearest Sir , 
 
 You must , doubtless , be much surprised at my flight 
 with your daughter ! — yes, ’faith, and well I may — I had 
 the happiness to gain her heart at our first interview — The 
 devil you had ! — But , she having unfortunately made a 
 vow not to receive a husband from your hands, I was 
 obliged to comply with her whim ! — So, so ! — We shall 
 shortly throw ourselves at your feet , and I hope you will 
 have a blessing ready for one , who will then be your 
 son-in-law . — Isaac Mendoza. 
 
 A whim, hey ? Why, the devil’s m the girl, I think ! 
 This morning, she would die sooner than have him, 
 and before evening she runs away with him ! Well, 
 well, my will’s accomplished — let the motive be what 
 it will — and the Portuguese, sure, will never deny to ; 
 fulfil the rest of the article. 
 
 t( 
 
 Re-enter Servant, with another letter. 
 
 Ser . Sir, here’s a man below, who says he brought 
 this from my young lady, Donna Louisa. [Exit. • 
 
 Don Jer. How ! yes, it’s my daughter’s hand, indeed ! j 
 Lord, there was no occasion for them both to write ; 1 
 well, let’s see what she says [Reads. 
 
 My dearest father , 
 
 How shall I entreat your pardon for the rash step 1 
 have taken — how confess the motive? — Pish ! hasn’t Isaac 
 just told me the motive ? — one would think they 
 weren’t together when they wrote. — If I have a spirit 
 
THE DUENNA 
 
 1 87 
 
 too resentful of ill usage , 1 have also a heart as easily 
 affected by kindness , — So, so, here the whole matter 
 comes out ; her resentment for Antonio's ill usage has 
 made her sensible of Isaac's kindness — yes, yes, it is 
 all plain enough. Well. 1 am not married yet , though with 
 a man who , 1 am convinced , adores me. — Yes, yes, I dare 
 say Isaac is very tond of her. Bui 1 shall anxiously 
 expect your answer, in which , should J be so fortunate 
 as to receive your consent , you will make completely happy 
 your ever affectionate daughter — Louisa. 
 
 My consent ! to be sure she shall have it I Egad, I was 
 never better pleased — 1 have fulfilled my resolution— 
 1 knew I should. Oh, there's nothing like obstinacy ! 
 Lewis I [Calls. 
 
 Re-enter Servant. 
 
 Let the man who brought the last letter, wait ; and 
 get me a pen and ink below. — [Exit Servant,] I am 
 impatient to set poor Louisa’s heart at rest. Holloa I 
 Lewis ! Sancho ! | Calls. 
 
 Enter Servants. 
 
 See that there be a noble supper provided m the saloon 
 to-night ; serve up my best wines, and let me have 
 music, d'ye hear ? 
 
 Ser. Yes, sir. 
 
 Don Jer. And order all my doors to be thrown open j 
 admit all guests, with masks or without masks. — 
 [Exeunt Servants.] I'faith, we'll have a night of it !. 
 and I'll let them see how merry an old man can be. 
 
 Song. 
 
 Oh, the days when 1 was young. 
 
 When I laugh’d in fortune's spite ; 
 
 Talk'd of love the whole day long, 
 
 And with nectar crown’d the night ! 
 
i88 
 
 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 Then it was, old Father Care, 
 
 Little reck'd I of thy frown ; 
 
 Half thy malice youth could bear. 
 
 And the rest a bumper drown. 
 
 Truth, they say, lies in a well, 
 
 Why, I vow I ne'er could see ; 
 
 Let the water-drinkers tell, 
 
 There it always lay for me. 
 
 For when sparkling wine went round. 
 
 Never saw I falsehood's mask ; 
 
 But still honest truth I found 
 In the bottom of each flask. 
 
 True, at length my vigour's flown, 
 
 I have years to bring decay ; 
 
 Few the locks that now I own, 
 
 And the few I have are grey. 
 
 Yet, old Jerome, thou mayst boast, 
 
 While thy spirits do not tire ; 
 
 Still beneath thy age's frost 
 
 Glows a spark of youthful fire. [Exit. 
 
 Scene II . — The New Piazza. 
 
 Enter Don Ferdinand and Lopez. 
 
 Don Ferd. What, could you gather no tidings of her ? 
 nor guess where she was gone ? O Clara ! Clara ! 
 
 Lop. In truth, sir, I could not. That she was run 
 away from her father, was in everybody's mouth ; and 
 that Don Guzman was in pursuit of her, was also a very 
 common report. Where she was gone, or what was 
 become of her, no one could take upon them to say. 
 
 Don Ferd. 'Sdeath and fury, you blockhead ! she 
 can't be out of Seville. 
 
THE DUENNA 
 
 189 
 
 Lop. So I said to myself, sir. 'Sdeath and fury, you 
 blockhead, says I, she can't be out of Seville. Then 
 some said, she had hanged herself for love ; and others 
 have it, Don Antonio had carried her off. 
 
 Don Ferd. 'Tis false, scoundrel ! no one said that. 
 
 Lop. Then I misunderstood them, sir. 
 
 Don Ferd. Go, fool, get home ! and never let me see 
 you again till you bring me news of her. — [Exit Lopez.] 
 Oh, how my fondness for this ungrateful girl has hurt 
 my disposition. 
 
 Enter Isaac. 
 
 Isaac. So, I have her safe, and have only to find a 
 priest to marry us. Antonio now may marry Clara, or 
 not, if he pleases. 
 
 Don Ferd. What ! what was that you said of 
 Clara ? 
 
 Isaac. Oh, Ferdinand ! my brother-in-law that shall 
 be, who thought of meeting you ? 
 
 Don Ferd. But what of Clara ? 
 
 Isaac. Tfaith, you shall hear. This morning, as I 
 was coming down, I met a pretty damsel, who told me 
 her name was Clara d'Almanza, and begged my pro- 
 tection. 
 
 Don Ferd. How ! 
 
 Isaac. She said she had eloped from her father, Don 
 Guzman, but that love for a young gentleman in 
 Seville was the cause. 
 
 Don Ferd. Oh, Heavens ! did she confess it ? 
 
 Isaac. Oh, yes, she confessed at once. But then, says 
 she, my lover is not informed of my flight, nor suspects 
 my intention. 
 
 Don Ferd . [Aside.'] Dear creature ! no more I did 
 indeed ! Oh, I am the happiest fellow ! — [Aloud.] Well, 
 Isaac ? 
 
 Isaac. Why then she entreated me to find him out 
 for her, and bring him to her. 
 
SHERIDAN’S PLAYS 
 
 190 
 
 Don Ferd. Good Heavens, how lucky ! Well, come 
 along, let’s lose no time. [. Pulling him. 
 
 Isaac. Zooks ! where are we to go ? 
 
 Don Ferd. Why, did anything more pass ? 
 
 Isaac. Anything more ! yes ; the end on’t was, that 
 I was moved with her speeches, and complied w r ith her 
 desires. 
 
 Don Ferd. Well and where is she ? 
 
 Isaac. Where is she ? why, don’t I tell you ? I com- 
 plied with her request, and left her safe in the arms of 
 her lover. 
 
 Don Ferd. ’Sdeath, you trifle with me ! — I have 
 never seen her. 
 
 Isaac . You ! O Lud no ! how the devil should you ? 
 ’Twas Antonio she wanted ; and with Antonio I left 
 her. 
 
 Don Ferd . [Aside.] Hell and madness ! — [Aloud.] 
 
 What, Antonio d’Ercilla ? 
 
 Isaac. Ay, ay, the very man ; and the best part of it 
 was, he was shy of taking her at first. He talked a 
 good deal about honour, and conscience, and deceiving 
 some dear friend ; but. Lord, we soon overruled 
 that ! 
 
 Don Ferd. You did ! 
 
 Isaac. Oh, yes, presently. — Such deceit ! says he. — 
 Pish ! says the lady, tricking is all fair in love. But 
 then, my friend, says he. — Psha ! damn your friend, 
 says I. So, poor wretch, he has no chance. — No, no ; 
 he may hang himself as soon as he pleases. 
 
 Don Ferd. I must go, or I shall betray myself. 
 
 [Aside. 
 
 Isaac. But stay, Ferdinand, you han’t heard the 
 best of the joke. 
 
 Don Ferd. Curse on your joke ! 
 
 Isaac. Good lack ! what’s the matter now ? I 
 thought to have diverted you. 
 
 Don Ferd. Be racked ! tortured ! damned ! 
 
 Isaac. Why, sure you are not the poor devil of a 
 
THE DUENNA 191 
 
 lover, are you ? — I’faith, as sure as can be, he is ! 
 This is a better joke than t’other. Ha ! ha ! ha ! 
 
 Don Ferd. What ! do you laugh ? you vile, mis- 
 chievous varlet ! — [Collars him .] But that you’re 
 beneath my anger, I’d tear your heart out ! 
 
 [Throws him from him . 
 
 Isaac. O mercy ! here’s usage for a brother-in- 
 law ! 
 
 Don Ferd. But, hark ye, rascal ! tell me directly 
 
 where these false friends are gone, or, by my soul 
 
 [Draws. 
 
 Isaac. For Heaven’s sake, now, my dear brother-in- 
 law, don’t be in a rage ! I’ll recollect as well as I 
 can. 
 
 Don Ferd. Be quick, then 1 
 
 Isaac. I will, I will ! — but people’s memories differ ; 
 some have a treacherous memory : now mine is a 
 cowardly memory — it takes to its heels at sight of a 
 drawn sword — -it does i’faith ; and I could as soon 
 fight as recollect. 
 
 Don Ferd. Zounds ! tell me the truth, and I won’t 
 hurt you. 
 
 Isaac. No, no, I know you won’t, my dear brother- 
 in-law ; but that ill-looking thing there 
 
 Don Ferd. What, then, you won’t tell me ? 
 
 Isaac. Yes, yes, I will ; I’ll tell you all, upon my 
 soul ! — but why need you listen, sword in hand ? 
 
 Don Ferd. Why, there. — [Puts up.~\ Now. 
 
 Isaac. Why, then, I believe they are gone to — that 
 is, my friend Carlos told me he had left Donna Clara — 
 dear Ferdinand, keep your hands off — at the convent 
 of St. Catherine. 
 
 Don Ferd. St. Catherine ! 
 
 Isaac. Yes ; and that Antonio was to come to her 
 there. 
 
 Don Ferd. Is this the truth ? 
 
 Isaac. It is indeed ; and all I know, as I hope for 
 life ! 
 
SHERIDAN’S PLAYS 
 
 192 
 
 Don Ferd. Well, coward, take your life ; ’tis that 
 false, dishonourable Antonio, who shall feel my 
 vengeance. 
 
 Isaac. Ay, ay, kill him ; cut his throat, and wel- 
 come. 
 
 Don Ferd. But, for Clara ! infamy on her ! she is not 
 worth my resentment. 
 
 Isaac. No more she is, my dear brother-in-law. 
 I’faith I would not be angry about her ; she is not 
 worth it, indeed. 
 
 Don Ferd. Tis false ! she is worth the enmity of 
 princes ! 
 
 Isaac. True, true, so she is ; and I pity you exceed- 
 ingly for having lost her. 
 
 Don Ferd. ’Sdeath, you rascal ! how durst you talk 
 of pitying me ? 
 
 Isaac. Oh, dear brother-in-law, I beg pardon ! I don’t 
 pity you in the least, upon my soul ! 
 
 Don Ferd. Get hence, fool, and provoke me no 
 further ; nothing but your insignificance saves you ! 
 
 Isaac. [Aside.] 1’faitL, then, my insignificance is the 
 best friend I ha wo.— -[Aloud] I’m going, dear Ferdi- 
 nand. — [Aside.] What a curst hot hot-headed bully it is ! 
 
 [. Exeunt severally. 
 
 Scene III. — The Garden of the Convent. 
 
 Enter Donna Louisa and Donna Clara. 
 
 Don. Louisa. And you really wish my brother may 
 not find you out ? 
 
 Don. Clara. Why else have I concealed myself under 
 this disguise ? 
 
 Don. Louisa. Why, perhaps because the dress be- 
 comes you : for you certainly don’t intend to be a 
 nun for life. 
 
THE DUENNA 193 
 
 Don. Clara. If, indeed, Ferdinand had not offended 
 me so last night 
 
 Don. Louisa. Come, come, it was his fear of losing 
 you made him so rash. 
 
 Don. Clara. Well, you may think me cruel, but I 
 swear, if he were here this instant, I believe I should 
 forgive him. 
 
 Song. 
 
 By him we love offended. 
 
 How soon our anger flies ! 
 
 One day apart, Tis ended ; 
 Behold him, and it dies. 
 
 Last night, your roving brother. 
 Enraged, I bade depart ; 
 
 And sure his rude presumption 
 Deserved to lose my heart. 
 
 Yet, were he now before me, 
 
 In spite of injured pride, 
 
 I fear my eyes would pardon 
 Before my tongue could chide. 
 
 Don. Louisa. I protest, Clara, I shall begin to think 
 you are seriously resolved to enter on your pro- 
 bation. 
 
 Don. Clara. And, seriously, I very much doubt 
 whether the character of a nun would not become me 
 best. 
 
 Don. Louisa. Why, to be sure, the character of a 
 nun is a very becoming one at a masquerade : but no 
 pretty woman, in her senses, ever thought of taking 
 the veil for above a night. 
 
 Don. Clara. Yonder I see your Antonio is returned— 
 I shall only interrupt you ; ah, Louisa, with what 
 happy eagerness you turn to look for him ! [Exit 
 s.p. D 
 
194 
 
 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 Enter Don Antonio. 
 
 Don Ant. Well, my Louisa, any news since I left 
 you ? 
 
 Don. Louisa. None. The messenger is not yet re- 
 turned from my father. 
 
 Don Ant. Well, I confess, I do not perceive what we 
 are to expect from him. 
 
 Don. Louisa. I shall be easier, however, in having 
 made the trial : I do not doubt your sincerity, Antonio ; 
 but there is a chilling air around poverty, that often 
 kills affection, that was not nursed in it. If we would 
 make love our household god, we had best secure him a 
 comfortable roof. 
 
 Song. — Don Antonio. 
 
 How oft, Louisa, hast thou told, 
 
 (Nor wilt thou the fond boast disown,) 
 Thou wouldst not lose Antonio's love 
 To reign the partner of a throne ! 
 
 And by those lips that spoke so kind, 
 
 And by that hand Tve press'd to mine, 
 
 To be the lord of wealth and power, 
 
 By heavens, I would not part with thine ! 
 
 Then how, my soul, can we be poor, 
 
 Who own what kingdoms could not buy ? 
 Of this true heart thou shalt be queen, 
 
 In serving thee, a monarch I. 
 
 Thus uncontroll'd, in mutual bliss, 
 
 I rich in love's exhaustless mine, 
 
 Do thou snatch treasures from my lips, 
 
 And I'll take kingdoms back from thine ! 
 
THE DUENNA 
 
 I 95 
 
 Enter Maid with a letter. 
 
 Don. Louisa. My father's answer, I suppose. 
 
 Don Ant. My dearest Louisa, you may be assured 
 that it contains nothing but threats and reproaches. 
 
 Don. Louisa. Let us see, however. — [Reads.] Dearest 
 daughter , make your lover happy : you have my full con- 
 sent to marry as your whim has chosen , but be sure come 
 home and sup with your affectionate father. 
 
 Don Ant. You jest, Louisa ! 
 
 Don. Louisa. [Gives him the letter.'] Read ! read ! 
 
 Don Ant. 'Tis so, by heavens ! Sure there must be 
 some mistake ; but that's none of our business. — Now, 
 Louisa, you have no excuse for delay. 
 
 Don. Louisa. Shall we not then return and thank 
 my father ? 
 
 Don Ant. But first let the priest put it out of his 
 power to recall his word. — I'll fly to procure one. 
 
 Don. Louisa. Nay, if you part with me again, per- 
 haps you may lose me. 
 
 Don Ant. Come, then — there is a friar of a neigh- 
 bouring convent is my friend ; you have already been 
 diverted by the manners of a nunnery ; let us see 
 whether there is less hypocrisy among the holy fathers. 
 
 Don. Louisa. I'm afraid not, Antonio — for in re- 
 ligion, as in friendship, they who profess most are the 
 least sincere. [Exeunt.^ 
 
 Re-enter Donna Clara. 
 
 Don. Clara. So, yonder they go, as happy as a 
 mutual and confessed affection can make them, while 
 I am left in solitude. Heigho ! love may perhaps excuse 
 the rashness of an elopement from one's friend, but I 
 am sure nothing but the presence of the man we love 
 can support it. Ha ! what do I see ! Ferdinand, as I 
 live ! How could he gain admission ? By potent gold, 
 
SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 196 
 
 I suppose, as Antonio did. How eager and disturbed 
 he seems 1 He shall not know me as yet. 
 
 [Lets down her veil . 
 
 Enter Don Ferdinand. 
 
 Don Ferd . Yes, those were certainly they — my 
 information was right. [Going. 
 
 Don. Clara. [Stops him.] Pray, signor, what is your 
 business here ? 
 
 Don Ferd. No matter — no matter! Oh! they stop. — 
 [Looks out.] Yes, that is the perfidious Clara indeed ! 
 
 Don. Clara. So, a jealous error — I'm glad to see him 
 so moved. [Aside. 
 
 Don Ferd. Her disguise can't conceal her — no, no, I 
 know her too well. 
 
 Don. Clara [Aside.] Wonderful discernment ! — 
 [Aloud.] But, signor 
 
 Don Ferd. Be quiet, good mm ; don't tease me ! — 
 By heavens, she leans upon his arm, hangs fondly on 
 it ! O woman, woman ! 
 
 Don. Clara. But, signor, who is it you want ? 
 
 Don Ferd. Not you, not you, so prythee don't tease 
 me. Yet pray stay — gentle nun, was it not Donna 
 Clara d' Almanza just parted from you ? 
 
 Don. Clara. Clara d'Almanza, signor, is not yet out 
 of the garden. 
 
 Don Ferd. Ay, ay, I knew I was right ! And pray is 
 not that gentleman, now at the porch with her, 
 Antonio d'Ercilla ? 
 
 Don. Clara. It is indeed, signor. 
 
 Don Ferd. So, so ; but now one question more — can 
 you inform me for what purpose they have gone away ? 
 
 Don. Clara. They are gone to be married, I believe. 
 
 Don Ferd. Very well — enough. Now if I don't mar 
 their wedding ! [Exit. 
 
 Don. Clara. [Unveils.] I thought jealousy had made 
 lovers quick-sighted, but it has made mine blind. 
 
THE DUENNA 
 
 197 
 
 Louisa's story accounts to me for this error, and I am 
 glad to find I have power enough over him to make him 
 so unhappy. But why should not I be present at his 
 surprise when undeceived ? When he's through the 
 porch, I'll follow him ; and, perhaps, Louisa shall not 
 singly be a bride. 
 
 Song. 
 
 Adieu, thou dreary pile, where never dies 
 The sullen echo of repentant sighs ! 
 
 Ye sister mourners of each lonely cell 
 Inured to hymns and sorrow, fare ye well ! 
 
 For happier scenes I fly this darksome grove. 
 
 To saints a prison, but a tomb to love ! [Exit. 
 
 Scene IV. — A Court before the Priory . 
 
 Enter Isaac, crossing the stage , Don Antonio following. 
 
 Don Ant. What, my friend Isaac ! 
 
 Isaac. What, Antonio ! wish me joy I I have Louisa 
 safe. 
 
 Don Ant. Have you ? I wish you joy with all my 
 soul. 
 
 Isaac. Yes, I come here to procure a priest to marry 
 us. 
 
 Don Ant. So, then, we are both on the same errand ; 
 I am come to look for Father Paul. 
 
 Isaac. Ha ! I'm glad on't — but, i'faith, he must 
 tack me first ; my love is waiting. 
 
 Don Ant. So is mine — I left her in the porch. 
 
 Isaac. Ay, but I'm in haste to go back to Don 
 Jerome. 
 
 Don Ant. And so am I too. 
 
 Isaac. Well, perhaps he'll save time, and marry us 
 both together — or I'll be your father, and you shall be 
 
198 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 mine. Come along — but you are obliged to me for all 
 this. 
 
 Don Ant. Yes, yes. [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene V. — A Room in the Priory. 
 
 Father Paul, Father Francis, Father Augustine, 
 and other Friars, discovered at a table drinking. 
 
 Glee and Chorus. 
 
 This bottle's the sun of our table, 
 
 His beams are rosy wine : 
 
 We, planets, that are not able 
 Without his help to shine. 
 
 Let mirth and glee abound ! 
 
 You’ll soon grow bright 
 With borrow’d light, 
 
 And shine as he goes round. 
 
 Paul. Brother Francis, toss the bottle about, and 
 give me your toast. 
 
 Fran. Have we drunk the Abbess of St. Ursuline ? 
 Paul. Yes, yes ; she was the last. 
 
 Fran. Then I’ll give you the blue-eyed nun of St. 
 Catherine's. 
 
 Paul. With all my heart. — [Drinks.] Pray, brother 
 Augustine, were there any benefactions left in my 
 absence ? 
 
 Aug. Don Juan Corduba has left a hundred ducats, 
 to remember him in our masses. 
 
 Paul. Has he ? let them be paid to our wine- 
 merchant, and we'll remember him in our cups, which 
 will do just as well. Anything more ? 
 
 Aug. Yes ; Baptista, the rich miser, who died last 
 week, has bequeathed us a thousand pistoles, and the 
 
THE DUENNA 
 
 199 
 
 silver lamp he used in his own chamber, to burn before 
 the image of St. Anthony. 
 
 Paul. 'Twas well meant, but we'll employ his money 
 better — Baptista's bounty shall light the living, not 
 the dead. St. Anthony is not afraid to be left in the 
 dark, though he was. — [Knocking.] See who's there. 
 
 [Father Francis goes to the door and opens it. 
 
 Enter Porter. 
 
 Port. Here's one without, in pressing haste to speak 
 with Father Paul. 
 
 Fran. Brother Paul ! 
 
 [Father Paul comes from behind a curtain 
 with a glass of wine, and in his hand 
 a piece of cake. 
 
 Paul. Here ! how durst you, fellow, thus abruptly 
 break in upon our devotions ? 
 
 Port. I thought they were finished. 
 
 Paul. No, they were not — were they, brother 
 Francis ? 
 
 Fran. Not by a bottle each. 
 
 Paul. But neither you nor your fellows mark how 
 the hours go ; no, you mind nothing but the gratifying 
 of your appetites ; ye eat, and swill, and sleep, and 
 gourmandise, and thrive, while we are wasting in 
 mortification. 
 
 Port. We ask no more than nature craves. 
 
 Paul. 'Tis false, ye have more appetites than hairs f 
 and your flushed, sleek, and pampered appearance is 
 the disgrace of our order — out on't ! If you are 
 hungry, can't you be content with the wholesome roots 
 of the earth ? and if you are dry, isn't there the crystal 
 spring ? — [Drinks.] Put this away, — [Gives the glass] 
 and show me where I am wanted. — [Porter drains the 
 glass. — Paul, going , turns.] So you would have drunk 
 it if there had been any left ! Ah, glutton ! glutton ! 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
200 
 
 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 Scene VI. — The Court before the Priory. 
 
 Enter Isaac and Don Antonio. 
 
 Isaac. A plaguey while coining, this same father 
 Paul. — He's detained at vespers, I suppose, poor fellow. 
 Don Ant. No, here he comes. 
 
 Enter Father Paul. 
 
 Good father Paul, I crave your blessing. 
 
 Isaac. Yes, good father Paul, we are come to beg a 
 favour. 
 
 Paul. What is it, pray ? 
 
 Isaac. To marry us, good father Paul ; and in truth 
 thou dost look like the priest of Hymen. 
 
 Paul. In short, I may be called so ; for I deal in 
 repentance and mortification. 
 
 Isaac. No, no, thou seemest an officer of Hymen, 
 because thy presence speaks content and good humour. 
 
 Paul. Alas, my appearance is deceitful. Bloated I 
 am, indeed ! for fasting is a windy recreation, and it 
 hath swollen me like a bladder. 
 
 Don Ant. But thou hast a good fresh colour in thy 
 face, father ; rosy, i 'faith ! 
 
 Paul. Yes, I have blushed for mankind, till the hue 
 of my shame is as fixed as their vices. 
 
 Isaac. Good man ! 
 
 Paul. And I have laboured, too, but to what 
 purpose ? they continue to sin under my very nose. 
 
 Isaac. Efecks, father, I should have guessed as 
 much, for your nose seems to be put to the blush more 
 than any other part of your face. 
 
 Paul. Go, you're a wag. 
 
 Don Ant. But to the purpose, father — will you 
 officiate for us ? 
 
THE DUENNA 
 
 201 
 
 Paul. To join young people thus clandestinely is not 
 safe : and, indeed, I have in my heart many weighty 
 reasons against it. 
 
 Don Ant. And I have in my hand many weighty 
 reasons for it. Isaac, haven't you an argument or two 
 in our favour about you ? 
 
 Isaac. Yes, yes ; here is a most unanswerable 
 purse. 
 
 Paul . For shame ! you make me angry : you forget 
 who I am, and when importunate people have forced 
 their trash — ay, into this pocket here — or into this — 
 why, then the sin was theirs. — [They put money into his 
 pockets .] Fie, now how you distress me ! I would return 
 it, but that I must touch it that way, and so wrong my 
 oath. 
 
 Don Ant. Now then, come with us. 
 
 Isaac. Ay, now give us our title to joy and rapture. 
 
 Paul. Well, when your hour of repentance comes, 
 don't blame me. 
 
 Don Ant. [Aside.] No bad caution to my friend 
 Isaac. — [Aloud.] Well, well, father, do you do your 
 part, and I'll abide the consequences. 
 
 Isaac. Ay, and so will I. 
 
 Enter Donna Louisa, running. 
 
 Don. Louisa. O Antonio, Ferdinand is at the porch, 
 and inquiring for us. 
 
 Isaac . Who ? Don Ferdinand ! he's not inquiring 
 for me, I hope. 
 
 Don Ant. Fear not, my love ; I'll soon pacify him. 
 
 Isaac. Egad, you won't. Antonio, take my advice, 
 and run away ; this Ferdinand is the most unmerciful 
 dog, and has the cursedest long sword ! and, upon my 
 soul, he comes on purpose to cut your throat. 
 
 Don Ant. Never fear, never fear. 
 
 Isaac. Well, you may stay if you will ; but I'll get 
 s.p. d 2 
 
202 
 
 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 some one to marry me : for by St. Iago, he shall 
 never meet me again, while I am master of a pair of 
 heels. 
 
 [Runs out . — Donna Louisa lets down her veil . 
 
 Enter Don Ferdinand. 
 
 Don Ferd. So, sir, I have met with you at last. 
 
 Don Ant Well, sir. 
 
 Don Ferd. Base, treacherous man ! whence can a 
 false, deceitful soul, like yours, borrow confidence, to 
 look so steadily on the man you've injured ! 
 
 Don Ant. Ferdinand, you are too warm : 'tis true 
 you find me on the point of wedding one I loved beyond 
 my life ; but no argument of mine prevailed on her to 
 elope. — I scorn deceit, as much as you. By heaven I 
 knew not that she had left her father's till I saw her ! 
 
 Don Ferd. What a mean excuse ! You have wronged 
 your friend, then, for one, whose wanton forwardness 
 anticipated your treachery— of this, indeed, your Jew 
 pander informed me ; but let your conduct be con- 
 sistent, and since you have dared to do a wrong, follow 
 me, and show you have a spirit to avow it. 
 
 Don. Louisa. Antonio, I perceive his mistake — leave 
 him to me. 
 
 Paul. Friend, you are rude, to interrupt the union of 
 two willing hearts. 
 
 Don Ferd. No, meddling priest ! the hand he seeks 
 is mine. 
 
 Paul. If so, I'll proceed no further. Lady, did you 
 ever promise this youth your hand ? 
 
 [To Donna Louisa, who shakes her head. 
 
 Don Ferd. Clara, I thank you for your silence — I f 
 
 would not have heard your tongue avow such falsity ; 
 be't your punishment to remember that I have not ti 
 reproached you. 
 
THE DUENNA 
 
 203 
 
 Enter Donna Clara, veiled. 
 
 Don. Clara. What mockery is this ? 
 
 Don Ferd. Antonio, you are protected now, but we 
 shall meet. \Going y Donna Clara holds one arm , and 
 Donna Louisa the other . 
 
 Duet. 
 
 Don. Louisa. 
 Don. Clara. 
 Don. Louisa. 
 Don. Clara. 
 
 Turn thee round, I pray thee, 
 
 Calm awhile thy rage. 
 
 I must help to stay thee. 
 
 And thy wrath assuage. 
 
 Couldst thou not discover 
 One so dear to thee ? 
 
 Canst thou be a lover. 
 
 And thus fly from me ? 
 
 [ Both unveil. 
 
 Don Ferd. How's this ? My sister ! Clara, too — I’m 
 confounded. 
 
 Don. Louisa . 'Tis even so, good brother. 
 
 Paul. How ! what impiety ? did the man want to 
 marry his own sister ? 
 
 Don. Louisa. And ar'n't you ashamed ot yourself 
 not to know your own sister ? 
 
 Don. Clara. To drive away your own mistress 
 
 Don. Louisa. Don't you see how jealousy blinds 
 people ? 
 
 Don. Clara. Ay, and will you ever be jealous again ? 
 
 Don Ferd. Never — never ! — You, sister, I know will 
 forgive me — but how, Clara, shall I presume 
 
 Don. Clara. No, no ; just now you told me not to 
 tease you — “ Who do you want, good signor ? ” 
 “Not you, not you ! ” Oh you blind wretch ! but 
 swear never to be jealous again, and Til forgive you. 
 
SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 204 
 
 Don Ferd. By all 
 
 Don. Clara. There, that will do — you'll keep the 
 oath just as well. [Gives her hand. 
 
 Don. Louisa. But, brother, here is one to whom 
 some apology is due. 
 
 Don Ferd. Antonio, I am ashamed to think— — 
 
 Don Ant. Not a word of excuse, Ferdinand — I have 
 not been in love myself without learning that a lover's 
 anger should never be resented. But come — let us 
 retire, with this good father, and we'll explain to you 
 the cause of this error. 
 
 Glee and Chorus. 
 
 Oft does Hymen smile to hear 
 Wordy vows of feign'd regard ; 
 
 Well, he knows when they're sincere, 
 
 Never slow to give reward : 
 
 For his glory is to prove 
 
 Kind to those who wed for love. [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene VII. — A Grand Saloon in Don Jerome's House. 
 
 Enter Don Jerome, Lopez, and Servants. 
 
 Don Jer. Be sure, now, let everything be in the best 
 order — let all my servants have on their merriest faces : 
 but tell them to get as little drunk as possible, till after 
 supper. — [Exeunt Servants.] So, Lopez, where's your 
 master ? shan't we have him at supper ? 
 
 Lop . Indeed, I believe not, sir — he's mad, I doubt i r 
 I'm sure he has frighted me from him. 
 
 Don Jer. Ay, ay, he's after some wench, I suppose : 
 a young rake ! Well, well, we'll be merry without him. p 
 
 [Exit Lopez. ; 
 
THE DUENNA 
 
 205 
 
 Enter a Servant. 
 
 Ser . Sir, here is Signor Isaac. 
 
 Enter Isaac. 
 
 Don Jer. So, my dear son-in-law — there, take my 
 blessing and forgiveness. But where's my daughter ? 
 where's Louisa ? 
 
 Isaac . She's without, impatient for a blessing, but 
 almost afraid to enter. 
 
 Don Jer. Oh, fly and bring her in. — [Exit Isaac.] 
 Poor girl, I long to see her pretty face. 
 
 Isaac. [Without. 1 Come, my charmer ! my trembling 
 angel ! 
 
 Re-enter Isaac with Duenna ; Don Jerome runs to 
 meet them ; she kneels. 
 
 Don Jer. Come to my arms, my — [Starts back.] Why, 
 who the devil have we here ? 
 
 Isaac . Nay, Don Jerome, you promised her forgive- 
 ness ; see how the dear creature droops ! 
 
 Don Jer. Droops indeed ! Why, Gad take me, this 
 is old Margaret ! But where's my daughter ? where's 
 Louisa ? 
 
 Isaac. Why, here, before your eyes — nay, don't be 
 abashed, my sweet wife ! 
 
 Don Jer. Wife with a vengeance ! Why, zounds ! 
 you have not married the Duenna I 
 
 Duen. [Kneeling.] Oh, dear papa ! you'll not disown 
 me, sure ! 
 
 Don Jer. Papa ! papa ! Why, zounds I your im- 
 pudence is as great as your ugliness ! 
 
 Isaac. Rise, my charmer, go throw your snowy arms 
 about his neck, and convince him you are 
 
206 
 
 SHERIDAN’S PLAYS 
 
 Duen. Oh, sir, forgive me ! [. Embraces him . 
 
 Don Jer . Help ! murder ! 
 
 Enter Servants. 
 
 Sen . What’s the matter, sir ? 
 
 Don Jer. Why, here, this damned Jew has brought 
 an old harridan to strangle me. 
 
 Isaac. Lord, it is his own daughter, and he is so 
 hard-hearted he won’t forgive her ! 
 
 Enter Don Antonio and Donna Louisa ; they kneel. 
 
 Don Jer. Zounds and fury ! what’s here now ? who 
 sent for you, sir, and who the devil are you ? 
 
 Don Ant. This lady’s husband, sir. 
 
 Isaac . Ay, that he is. I’ll be sworn ; for I left them 
 with a priest, and was to have given her way. 
 
 Don Jer. You were ? 
 
 Isaac. Ay ; that’s my honest friend, Antonio ; and 
 that’s the little girl I told you I had hampered him with. 
 
 Don Jer. Why, you are either drunk or mad— this 
 is my daughter. 
 
 Isaac. No, no ; ’tis you are both drunk and mad, I 
 think — here’s your daughter. 
 
 Don Jer. Hark ye, old iniquity ! will you explain all 
 this, or not ? 
 
 Duen. Come then, Don Jerome, I will — though our 
 habits might inform you all. Look on your daughter, 
 there, and on me. 
 
 Isaac. What’s this I hear ? 
 
 Duen. The truth is, that in your passion this 
 morning you made a small mistake ; for you turned 
 your daughter out of doors, and locked up your humble 
 servant. 
 
 Isaac. O Lud ! O Lud ! here’s a pretty fellow, to turn 
 his daughter out of doors, instead of an old Duenna ! 
 
THE DUENNA 
 
 207 
 
 Don Jer. And, O Lud ! 0 Lud ! here's a pretty 
 fellow, to marry an old Duenna instead of my daughter ! 
 But how came the rest about ? 
 
 Duen. I have only to add, that I remained in your 
 daughter's place, and had the good fortune to engage 
 the affections of my sweet husband here. 
 
 Isaac . Her husband ! why, you old witch, do you 
 think I'll be your husband now ? This is a trick, a 
 cheat ! and you ought all to be ashamed of yourselves. 
 
 Don Ant. Hark ye, Isaac, do you dare to complain 
 of tricking ? Don Jerome, I give you my word, this 
 cunning Portuguese has brought all this upon himself, 
 by endeavouring to overreach you, by getting your 
 daughter's fortune, without making any settlement in 
 return. 
 
 Don Jer . Overreach me ! 
 
 Don. Louisa. 'Tis so, indeed, sir, and we can prove 
 it to you. 
 
 Don Jer. Why, Gad, take me, it must be so, or he 
 never could put up with such a face as Margaret's — so 
 little Solomon, I wish you joy of your wife, with all my 
 soul. 
 
 Don. Louisa. Isaac, tricking is all fair in love — let 
 you alone for the plot ! 
 
 Don Ant. A cunning dog, ar'n't you ? A sly little 
 villain, eh ? 
 
 Don. Louisa. Roguish, perhaps ; but keen, devilish 
 keen ! 
 
 Don Jer. Yes, yes ; his aunt always called him little 
 Solomon. 
 
 Isaac. Why, the plagues of Egypt upon you all ! 
 but do you think I'll submit to such an imposition ? 
 
 Don Ant. Isaac, one serious word — you'd better be 
 content as you are ; for, believe me, you will find that, 
 in the opinion of the world, there is not a fairer subject 
 of contempt and ridicule than a knave become the dupe 
 of his own art. 
 
 Isaac. I don't care — I'll not endure this. Don 
 
208 
 
 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 Jerome, 'tls you have done this — you would be so 
 cursed positive about the beauty of her you locked up, 
 and all the time I told you she was as old as my 
 mother, and as ugly as the devil. 
 
 Duen. Why, you little insignificant reptile ! 
 
 Don Jer. That's right ! — attack him, Margaret. 
 
 Duen. Dare such a thing as you pretend to talk of 
 beauty ? — A walking rouleau ? — a body that seems to 
 owe all its consequence to the dropsy I a pair of eyes 
 like two dead beetles in a wad of brown dough ! a beard 
 like an artichoke, with dry, shrivelled jaws that would 
 disgrace the mummy of a monkey ? 
 
 Don Jer. Well done, Margaret ! 
 
 Duen. But you shall know that I have a brother 
 who wears a sword — and, if you don't do me justice 
 
 Isaac. Fire seize your brother, and you too ! I'll fly 
 to Jerusalem to avoid you ! 
 
 Duen. Fly where you will, I'll follow you. 
 
 Don Jer. Throw your snowy arms about him, 
 Margaret — [Exeunt Isaac and Duenna.] But, Louisa, 
 are you really married to this modest gentleman ? 
 
 Don. Louisa. Sir, in obedience to your commands, I 
 gave him my hand within this hour. 
 
 Don Jer. My commands ! 
 
 Don Ant. Yes, sir ; here is your consent, undei 
 your own hand. 
 
 Don Jer. How ! would you rob me of my child by a 
 trick, a false pretence ? and do you think to get her i 
 fortune by the same means ? Why, 'slife ! you are as i 
 great a rogue as Isaac ! 5 
 
 Don Ant. No, Don Jerome ; though I have profited s 
 by this paper in gaining your daughter's hand, I scorn 
 to obtain her fortune by deceit. There, sir — [Gives a 
 letter.'] Now give her your blessing for a dower, and all 
 the little I possess shall be settled on her in return. 
 Had you wedded her to a prince, he could do no more. A 
 
 Don Jer. Why, Gad, take me, but you are a very d; 
 extraordinary fellow ! But have you the impudence to 
 
THE DUENNA 
 
 209 
 
 suppose no one can do a generous action but yourself ? 
 Here, Louisa, tell this proud fool of yours that he's the 
 only man I know that would renounce your fortune ; 
 and, by my soul ! he's the only man in Spain that's 
 worthy of it. There, bless you both : I'm an obstinate 
 old fellow when I'm in the wrong ; but you shall now 
 find me as steady in the right. 
 
 Enter Don Ferdinand and Donna Clara. 
 
 Another wonder still ! Why, sirrah ! Ferdinand, you 
 have not stole a nun, have you ? 
 
 Don Ferd . She is a nun in nothing but her habit, sir 
 — look nearer, and you will perceive 'tis Clara 
 d'Almanza, Don Guzman's daughter ; and, with 
 pardon for stealing a wedding, she is also my wife. 
 
 Don Jer. Gadsbud, and a great fortune ! Ferdinand, 
 you are a prudent youn^ rogue, and I forgive you : and, 
 ifecks, you are a pretty ! ittle damsel. Give your father- 
 in-law a kiss, you smiling rogue ! 
 
 Don. Clara. There, old gentleman ; and now mind 
 you behave well to us. 
 
 Don Jer. Ifecks, those lips ha'n't been chilled by 
 kissing beads ! Egad, I believe I shall grow the best- 
 humoured fellow in Spain. Lewis ! Sancho ! Carlos ! 
 d'ye hear ? are all my doors thrown open ? Our 
 children's weddings are the only holidays our age can 
 boast ; and then we drain, with pleasure, the little 
 stock of spirits time has left us. — [Music within .] But, 
 see, here come our friends and neighbours ! 
 
 Enter Masqueraders. 
 
 And, i'faith, we'll make a night on't, with wine, and 
 dance, and catches — then old and young shall join us. 
 
210 
 
 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 Don Jer . 
 
 Finale. 
 
 Come now for jest and smiling, 
 
 Both old and young beguiling, 
 
 Let us laugh and play, so blithe and 
 
 gay, 
 
 Till we banish care away. 
 
 Don . Louisa. Thus crown'd with dance and song. 
 The hours shall glide along, 
 
 With a heart at ease, merry, merry 
 glees 
 
 Can never fail to please. 
 
 Don . Ferd. Each bride with blushes glowing, 
 
 Our wine as rosy flowing, 
 
 Let us laugh and play, so blithe and 
 
 gay, 
 
 Till we banish care away. 
 
 Don Ant . 
 
 Don. Clar . 
 
 Don Jer. 
 
 Then healths to every friend 
 The night's repast shall end, 
 
 With a heart at ease, merry, merry 
 glees 
 
 Can never fail to please. 
 
 Nor, while we are so joyous. 
 
 Shall anxious fear annoy us ; 
 
 Let us laugh and play, so blithe and 
 
 gay, 
 
 Till we banish care away. 
 
 For generous guests like these 
 Accept the wish to please, 
 
 So we'll laugh and play, so blithei 
 and gay, 
 
 Your smiles drive care away. 
 
 [Exeunt omnes 
 
A TRIP TO SCARBOROUGH 
 
 A COMEDY 
 
 DRAMATIS PERSONS 
 
 AS ORIGINALLY ACTED AT DRURY LANE THEATRE IN 1777 
 
 Lord Foppington 
 Sir Tunbelly Clumsy 
 Colonel Townly 
 Loveless 
 Tom Fashion 
 La Varole . 
 
 Lory . 
 
 Probe 
 
 Mendlegs . 
 
 Jeweller . 
 Shoemaker . 
 
 Tailor 
 Amanda 
 Berinthia 
 Miss Hoyden 
 Mrs. Coupler 
 Nurse 
 
 Mr. Dodd 
 Mr. Moody 
 Mr. Brereton 
 Mr. Smith 
 Mr. J. Palmer 
 Mr. Burton 
 Mr. Baddeley 
 Mr. Parsons 
 Mr. Norris 
 Mr. Lamash 
 Mr. Carpenter 
 Mr. Parker 
 Mrs. Robinson 
 Miss Barren 
 Mrs. Abington 
 Mrs. Booth 
 Mrs. Bradshaw 
 
 Sempstress, Postilion, Maid, and Servants. 
 
 SCENE — Scarborough and its Neighbourhood. 
 
 211 
 
PROLOGUE 
 
 SPOKEN BY MR. KING 
 
 What various transformations we remark, 
 
 From east Whitechapel to the west Hyde Park ! 
 
 Men, women, children, houses, signs, and fashions. 
 State, stage, trade, taste, the humours and the passions ; 
 The Exchange, "Change Alley, wheresoe'er you're 
 ranging, 
 
 Court, city, country, all are changed or changing : 
 
 The streets, some time ago, were paved with stones, 
 Which, aided by a hackney-coach, half broke your 
 bones. 
 
 The purest lovers then indulged in bliss ; 
 
 They ran great hazard if they stole a kiss. 
 
 One chaste salute ! — the damsel cried — Oh, fie ! 
 
 As they approach'd — slap went the coach awry — 
 
 Poor Sylvia got a bump, and Damon a black eye. 
 
 But now weak nerves in hackney-coaches roam, 
 
 And the cramm'd glutton snores, unjolted, home ; 
 
 Of former times, that polish'd thing a beau, 
 
 Is metamorphosed now from top to toe ; 
 
 Then the full flaxen wig, spread o'er the shoulders, 
 Conceal'd the shallow head from the beholders. 
 
 But now the whole's reversed — each fop appears. 
 Cropp'd and trimm'd up, exposing head and ears : 
 
 The buckle then its modest limits knew, 
 
 Now, like the ocean, dreadful to the view, 
 
 Hath broke its bounds, and swallowed up the shoe : 
 The wearer's foot like his once fine estate, 
 
 Is almost lost, the encumbrance is so great. 
 
 Ladies may smile — are they not in the plot ? 
 
 The bounds of nature have not they forgot ? 
 
 Were they design'd to be, when put together, 
 
 Made up, like shuttlecocks, of cork and feather ? 
 
 212 
 
A TRIP TO SCARBOROUGH 
 
 213 
 
 Their pale-faced grandmammas appeared with grace 
 When dawning blushes rose upon the face ; 
 
 No blushes now their once-loved station seek ; 
 
 The foe is in possession of the cheek ! 
 
 No heads of old, too high in feather'd state. 
 
 Hinder'd the fair to pass the lowest gate ; 
 
 A church to enter now, they must be bent, 
 
 If ever they should try the experiment. 
 
 As change thus circulates throughout the nation, 
 Some plays may justly call for alteration ; 
 
 At least to draw some slender covering o'er, 
 
 That graceless wit 1 which was too bare before : 
 
 Those writers well and wisely use their pens. 
 
 Who turn our wantons into Magdalens ; 
 
 And howsoever wicked wits revile 'em, 
 
 We hope to find in you their stage asylum. 
 
 ACT I 
 
 Scene I. — The Hall of an Inn. 
 
 Enter Tom Fashion and Lory, Postilion following 
 with a portmanteau. 
 
 Fash . Lory, pay the postboy, and take the port- 
 manteau. 
 
 Lory . [Aside to Tom Fashion.] Faith, sir, we had 
 better let the postboy take the portmanteau and pay 
 himself. 
 
 Fash. [Aside to Lory.] Why, sure, there's something 
 left in it ! 
 
 Lory. Not a rag, upon my honour, sir ! We eat the 
 last of your wardrobe at New Malton — and, if we had 
 had twenty miles further to go, our next meal must 
 have been of the cloak-bag. 
 
 1 “ And Van wants grace, but never wanted wit." — P ope 
 
SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 214 
 
 Fash . Why, 'sdeath, it appears full ! 
 
 Lory . Yes, sir — I made bold to stuff it with hay, to 
 save appearances, and look like baggage. 
 
 Fash. [Aside.] What the devil shall I do ? — [Aloud.] 
 Hark'ee, boy, what's the chaise ? 
 
 Post. Thirteen shillings, please your honour. 
 
 Fash. Can you give me change for a guinea ? 
 
 Post . Oh, yes, sir. 
 
 Lory. [Aside.] So, what will he do now ? — [Aloud.] 
 Lord, sir, you had better let the boy be paid below. 
 
 Fash. Why, as you say, Lory, I believe it will be as 
 well. 
 
 Lory. Yes, yes. I'll tell them to discharge you below, 
 honest friend. 
 
 Post. Please your honour, there are the turnpikes too. 
 
 Fash. Ay, ay, the turnpikes by all means. 
 
 Post. And I hope your honour will order me some- 
 thing for myself. 
 
 Fash. To be sure ; bid them give you a crown. 
 
 Lory. Yes, yes — my master doesn't care what you 
 charge them — so get along, you 
 
 Post. And there's the ostler, your honour. 
 
 Lory. Psha ! damn the ostler ! — would you impose 
 upon the gentleman's generosity ? — [Pushes him out.] 
 A rascal, to be so cursed ready with his change ! 
 
 Fash. Why, faith, Lory, he had nearly posed me. 
 
 Lory. Well, sir, we are arrived at Scarborough, not 
 worth a guinea ! I hope you'll own yourself a happy 
 man — you have outlived all your cares. 
 
 Fash. How so, sir ? 
 
 Lory. Why, you have nothing left to take care of. 
 
 Fash. Yes, sirrah, I have myself and you to take 
 care of still. 
 
 Lory. Sir, if you could prevail with somebody else to 
 do that for you, I fancy we might both fare the better 
 for it. But now, sir, for my Lord Foppington, your 
 elder brother. 
 
 Fash. Damn my eldest brother. 
 
A TRIP TO SCARBOROUGH 
 
 215 
 
 Lory . With all my heart ; but get him to redeem 
 your annuity, however. Look you, sir ; you must 
 wheedle him, or you must starve. 
 
 Fash. Look you, sir ; I would neither wheedle him, 
 nor starve. 
 
 Lory . Why, what will you do, then ? 
 
 Fash. Cut his throat, or get some one to do it tor me. 
 
 Lory. Gad so, sir, I’m glad to find I was not so well 
 acquainted with the strength of your conscience as 
 with the weakness of your purse. 
 
 Fafh. Why, art thou so impenetrable a blockhead as 
 to believe he'll help me with a farthing ? 
 
 Lory. Not if you treat him de haut en bas, as you 
 used to do. 
 
 Fash. Why, how wouldst have me treat him ? 
 
 Lory. Like a trout — tickle him. 
 
 Fash. I can't flatter. 
 
 Lory. Can you starve ? 
 
 Fash. Yes. 
 
 Lory. I can't. Good by t'ye, sir. 
 
 Fash. Stay — thou'lt distract me. But who comes 
 here ? My old friend, Colonel Townly. 
 
 Enter Colonel Townly. 
 
 My dear Colonel, I am rejoiced to meet you here. 
 
 Col. Town. Dear Tom, this is an unexpected 
 pleasure ! What, are you come to Scarborough to be 
 present at your brother's wedding ? 
 
 Lory. Ah, sir, if it had been his funeral, we should 
 have come with pleasure. 
 
 Col. Town. What, honest Lory, are you with your 
 master still ? 
 
 Lory. Yes, sir ; I have been starving with him ever 
 since I saw your honour last. 
 
 Fash. Why,* Lory is an attached rogue ; there's no 
 .getting rid of him. 
 
216 
 
 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 Lory. True, sir, as my master says there's no 
 seducing me from his service. — [Aside.] Till he's able 
 to pay me my wages. 
 
 Fash. Go, go, sir, and take care of the baggage. 
 
 Lory. Yes, sir, the baggage ! — O Lord [Takes up the 
 portmanteau.] I suppose, sir, I must charge the land- 
 lord to be very particular where he stows this ? 
 
 Fash. Get along, you rascal. — [Exit Lory with the 
 portmanteau.] But, Colonel, are you acquainted with 
 my proposed sister-in-law ? 
 
 Col. Town. Only by character. Her father. Sir Tun- 
 belly Clumsy, lives within a quarter of a mile of this 
 place, in a lonely old house which nobody comes near. 
 She never goes abroad, nor sees company at home ; 
 to prevent all misfortunes, she has her breeding within 
 doors ; the parson of the parish teaches her to play 
 upon the dulcimer, the clerk to sing, her nurse to dress, 
 and her father to dance ; — in short, nobody has free 
 admission there but our old acquaintance, Mother 
 Coupler, who has procured your brother this match, 
 and is, I believe, a distant relation of Sir Tunbelly's. 
 
 Fash. But is her fortune so considerable ? 
 
 Col. Town. Three thousand a year, and a good sum 
 of money, independent of her father, beside. 
 
 Fash. 'Sdeath ! that my old acquaintance, Dame 
 Coupler, could not have thought of me, as well as my 
 brother, for such a prize. 
 
 Col. Town. Egad, I wouldn't swear that you are too 
 late — his lordship, I know, hasn't yet seen the lady — 
 and, I believe, has quarrelled with his patroness. 
 
 Fash. My dear Colonel, what an idea have you 
 started ! 
 
 Col. Town. Pursue it, if you can, and I promise you 
 shall have my assistance ; for, besides my natural 
 contempt for his lordship, I have at present the enmity 
 of a rival towards him. 
 
 Fash. What, has he been addressing your old flame, 
 the widow Berinthia ? 
 
A TRIP TO SCARBOROUGH 217 
 
 Col . Town . Faith, Tom, I am at present most 
 whimsically circumstanced. I came here a month ago 
 to meet the lady you mention; but she failing in her 
 promise, I, partly from pique and partly from idleness, 
 have been diverting my chagrin by offering up incense 
 to the beauties of Amanda, our friend Loveless's 
 wife. 
 
 Fash . I never have seen her, but have heard her 
 spoken of as a youthful wonder of beauty and prudence. 
 
 Col. Town. She is so indeed ; and. Loveless being 
 too careless and insensible of the treasure he possesses, 
 my lodging in the same house has given me a thousand 
 opportunities of making my assiduities acceptable ; so 
 that, in less than a fortnight, I began to bear my 
 disappointment from the widow with the most Christian 
 resignation. 
 
 Fash. And Berinthia has never appeared ? 
 
 Col. Town. Oh, there's the perplexity ! for, just as I 
 began not to care whether I ever saw her again or not, 
 last night she arrived. 
 
 Fash. And instantly resumed her empire. 
 
 Col. Town. No, faith — we met — but, the lady not 
 condescending to give me any serious reasons for having 
 fooled me for a month, I left her in a huff. 
 
 Fash. Well, well, I’ll answer for it she'll soon resume 
 her power, especially as friendship will prevent your 
 pursuing the other too far. — But my coxcomb of a 
 brother is an admirer of Amanda's too, is he ? 
 
 Col. Town. Yes, and I believe is most heartily 
 despised by her. But come with me, and you shall see 
 her and your old friend Loveless. 
 
 Fash. I must pay my respects to his lordship — per- 
 haps you can direct me to his lodgings. 
 
 Col. Town. Come with me ; I shall pass by it. 
 
 Fash. I wish you could pay this visit for me, or 
 could tell me what I should say to him. 
 
 Col. Town. Say nothing to him — apply yourself to 
 his bag, his sword, his feather, his snuff-box ; and 
 
2l8 
 
 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 when you are well with them, desire him to lend you a 
 thousand pounds, and I'll engage you prosper. 
 
 Fash. 'Sdeath and furies ! why was that coxcomb 
 thrust into the world before me ? 0 Fortune, Fortune, 
 thou art a jilt, by Gad ! [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene II. — Lord Foppington’s Dressing-room. 
 
 Enter Lord Foppington in his dressing-gown , and 
 La Varole. 
 
 Lord Fop . [Aside.] Well, 'tis an unspeakable pleasure 
 to be a man of quality — strike me dumb ! even the 
 boors of this northern spa have learned the respect due 
 to a title. — [Aloud.] La Varole ! 
 
 La Var. Milor 
 
 Lord Fop. You ha'n't yet been at Muddymoat Hall, 
 to announce my arrival, have you ? 
 
 La Var. Not yet, milor. 
 
 Lord Fop. Then you need not go till Saturday — [Exit 
 La Varole] as I am in no particular haste to view my 
 intended sposa. I shall sacrifice a day or two more to 
 the pursuit of my friend Loveless's wife. Amanda is a 
 charming creature — strike me ugly ! and, if I have any 
 discernment in the world, she thinks no less of my Lord 
 Foppington. 
 
 Re-enter La Varole. 
 
 La Var. Milor, de shoemaker, de tailer, de hosier, de 
 sempstress, de pern, be all ready, if your hordship please 
 to dress. 
 
 Lord Fop. 'Tis well, admit them. 
 
 La Var. Hey, messieurs, entrez ! 
 
A TRIP TO SCARBOROUGH 
 
 219 
 
 Enter Tailor, Shoemaker, Sempstress, Jeweller, 
 and Mendlegs. 
 
 Lord Fop . So, gentlemen, I hope you have all taken 
 pains to show yourselves masters in your professions ? 
 
 Tai . I think I may presume, sir 
 
 La Var. Milor, you clown, you ! 
 
 Tai. My lord — I ask your lordship's pardon, my lord. 
 
 I hope, my lord, your lordship will be pleased to own I 
 have brought your lordship as accomplished a suit of 
 clothes as ever peer of England wore, my lord — will 
 your lordship please to view 'em now ? 
 
 Lord Fop. Ay ; but let my people dispose the glasses 
 so that I may see myself before and behind ; for I love 
 to see myself all round. [Puts on his clothes. 
 
 Enter Tom Fashion and Lory. They remain behind , 
 conversing apart. 
 
 Fash . Heyday ! what the devil have we here ? Sure 
 my gentleman's grown a favourite at court, he has got 
 so many people at his levee. 
 
 Lory. Sir, these people come in order to make him a 
 favourite at court — they are to establish him with the 
 ladies. — , 
 
 Fash. Good Heaven ! to what an ebb of taste are 
 women fallen, that it should be in the power of a laced ] 
 coat to recommend a gallant to them ? 
 
 Lory. Sir, tailors and hair-dressers debauch all the 
 women. 
 
 Fash. Thou sayest true. But now for my recep- 
 tion. 
 
 Lord Fop. [To Tailor.] Death and eternal tortures ! 
 Sir — I say the coat is too wide here by a foot. 
 
 Tai. My lord, if it had been tighter, 'twould neither 
 have hooked nor buttoned. 
 
220 
 
 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 Lord Fop. Rat the hooks and buttons, sir ! Can any- 
 thing be worse than this ? As Gad shall jedge me, it 
 hangs on my shoulders like a chairman's surtout. 
 
 Tai. 'Tis not for me to dispute your lordship's 
 fancy. 
 
 Lory. There, sir, observe what respect does. 
 
 Fash. Respect ! damn him for a coxcomb ! — But let's 
 accost him. — [Coming forward .] Brother, I'm your 
 humble servant. 
 
 Lord Fop. O Lard, Tam ! I did not expect you in 
 England. — Brother, I'm glad to see you. — But what 
 has brought you to Scarborough, Tam ! — [To the 
 Tailor.] Look you, sir, I shall never be reconciled to 
 this nauseous wrapping-gown, therefore pray get me 
 another suit with all possible expedition f for this is 
 my eternal aversion. — [Exit Tailor.] Well but, Tam, 
 you don't tell me what has driven you to Scarborough. 
 — Mrs. Calico, are not you of my mind ? 
 
 Semp. Directly, my lord. — I hope your lordship is 
 pleased with your ruffles ? 
 
 Lord Fop. In love with them, stap my vitals ! — 
 Bring my bill, you shall be paid to-morrow. 
 
 Semp. I humbly thank your worship. [Exit. 
 
 Lord Fop. Hark thee, shoemaker, these shoes aren't 
 ugly, but they don't fit me. 
 
 Shoe. My lord, I think they fit you very well. 
 
 Lord Fop. They hurt me just below the instep. 
 
 Shoe. [Feels his foot.] No, my lord, they don't hurt 
 you there. 
 
 Lord Fop. I tell thee they pinch me execrably. 
 
 Shoe. Why then, my lord, if those shoes pinch you. 
 I'll be damned. 
 
 Lord Fop. Why, will thou undertake to persuade me 
 I cannot feel ? 
 
 Shoe. Your lordship may please to feel what you 
 think fit, but that shoe does not hurt you — I think I 
 understand my trade. 
 
 Lord Fop. Now, by all that's good and powerful, 
 
A TRIP TO SCARBOROUGH 
 
 221 
 
 thou art an incomprehensive coxcomb ! — but thou 
 makest good shoes, and so I'll bear with thee. 
 
 Shoe . My lord, I have worked for half the people of 
 quality in this town these twenty years, and Tis very 
 hard I shouldn't know when a shoe hurts, and when it 
 don't. 
 
 Lord Fop. Well, pr'ythee be gone about thy business. 
 — [Exit Shoemaker.] Mr. Mendlegs, a word with you. — 
 The calves of these stockings are thickened a little too 
 much ; they make my legs look like a porter's. 
 
 Mend . My lord, methinks they look mighty well. 
 
 Lord Fop. Ay, but you are not so good a judge of 
 those things as I am — I have studied them all my life — 
 therefore pray let the next be the thickness of a 
 crown-piece less. 
 
 Mend . Indeed, my lord, they are the same kind I 
 had the honour to furnish your lordship with in 
 town. 
 
 Lord Fop. Very possibly, Mr. Mendlegs ; but that 
 was in the beginning of the winter, and you should 
 always remember, Mr. Hosier, that if you make a 
 nobleman's spring legs as robust as his autumnal calves 
 you commit a monstrous impropriety, and make no 
 allowance for the fatigues of the winter. 
 
 [Exit Mendlegs. 
 
 Jewel. I hope, my lord, these buckles have had the 
 unspeakable satisfaction of being honoured with your 
 lordship's approbation ? 
 
 Lord Fop. Why, they are of a pretty fancy ; but 
 don't you think them rather of the smallest ? 
 
 Jewel . My lord, they could not well be larger, to 
 keep on your lordship's shoe. 
 
 Lord Fop . My good sir, you forget that these matters ! 
 are not as they used to be ; formerly, indeed, the 
 buckle was a sort of machine, intended to keep on the 
 shoe ; but the case is now quite reversed, and the shoe 
 is of no earthly use, but to keep on the buckle.— Now^ 
 give me my watches [Servant fetches the watches ,] my 
 
222 
 
 SHERIDAN’S PLAYS 
 
 chapeau, [Servant brings a dress hat,] my handker- 
 chief, [Servant pours some scented liquor on a handker- 
 chief and brings it,] my snuff-box [Servant brings snuff- 
 box .] There, now the business of the morning is pretty 
 well over. [ Exit Jeweller. 
 
 Fash. [Aside to Lory.] Well, Lory, what dost think 
 on’t ? — a very friendly reception from a brother, after 
 three years’ absence ! 
 
 Lory. [Aside to Tom Fashion] Why, sir, ’tis your 
 own fault — here you have stood ever since you came in, 
 and have not commended any one thing that belongs 
 to him. [Servants all go off. 
 
 Fash. [Aside to Lory.] . Nor ever shall, while they 
 belong to a coxcomb. — [To Lord Foppington.] Now 
 your people of business are gone, brother, I hope I may 
 obtain a quarter of an hour’s audience of you ? 
 
 Lord Fop. Faith, Tam, I must beg you’ll excuse me 
 at this time, for I have an engagement which I would 
 not break for the salvation of mankind. — Hey ! — there ! 
 is my carriage at the door ? — You’ll excuse me, brother. 
 
 [Going. 
 
 Fash. Shall you be back to dinner ? 
 
 Lord Fop. As Gad shall jedge me, I can’t tell ; for 
 it is passible I may dine with some friends at Donner’s. 
 
 Fash. Shall I meet you there ? For I must needs talk 
 with you. 
 
 Lord Fop. That I’m afraid mayn’t be quite so 
 praper ; for those I commonly eat with are people of 
 nice conversation ; and you know, Tam, your education 
 has been a little at large. — But th^re are other ordinaries 
 in town — very good beef ordinaries — I suppose, Tam, 
 you can eat beef ? — However, dear Tam, I’m glad to 
 see thee in England, stap my vitals ! 
 
 [Exit, La Varole following. 
 
 Fash. Hell and furies ! is this to be borne ? 
 
 Lory. Faith, sir, I could almost have given him a 
 knock o’ the pate myself. 
 
 Fash . ’Tis enough ; I will now show you the excess 
 
A TRIP TO SCARBOROUGH 
 
 223 
 
 of my passion, by being very calm. — Come, Lory, lay 
 your loggerhead to mine, and, in cold blood, let us 
 contrive his destruction. 
 
 Lory. Here comes a head, sir, would contrive it better 
 than both our loggerheads, if she would but join in the 
 confederacy. 
 
 Fash. By this light, Madam Coupler ! she seems dis- 
 satisfied at something : let us observe her. 
 
 Enter Mrs. Coupler. 
 
 Mrs. Coup. So ! I am likely to be well rewarded for 
 my services, truly ; my suspicions, I find, were but too 
 just. — What ! refuse to advance me a petty sum, when 
 I am upon the point of making him master of a galleon ! 
 but let him look to the consequences ; an ungrateful, 
 narrow-minded coxcomb. 
 
 Fash. So he is, upon my soul, old lady ; it must be 
 my brother you speak of. 
 
 Mrs. Coup. Ha ! stripling, how came you here ? 
 What, hast spent all, eh ? And art thou come to dun 
 his lordship for assistance ? 
 
 Fash. No, I want somebody's assistance to cut his 
 lordship's throat, without the risk of being hanged for 
 him. 
 
 Mrs. Coup. Egad, sirrah, I could help thee to do 
 him almost as good a turn, without the danger of being 
 burned in the hand for't. 
 
 Fash. How — how, old Mischief ? 
 
 Mrs. Coup. Why, you must know I have done you 
 the kindness to make up a match for your brother. 
 
 Fash. I am very much beholden to you, truly ! 
 
 Mrs. Coup. You may be before the wedding-day, 
 yet : the lady is a great heiress, the match is concluded, 
 the writings are drawn, and his lordship is come hither 
 to put the finishing hand to the business. 
 
 Fash. I understand as much. 
 
SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 224 
 
 Mrs. Coup. Now, you must know, stripling, your 
 brother's a knave. 
 
 Fash. Good. 
 
 Mrs. Coup. He has given me .a bond of a thousand 
 pounds for helping him to this fortune, and has 
 promised me as much more in ready money, upon the 
 day of the marriage ; which, I understand by a friend, 
 he never designs to pay me ; and his just now refusing 
 to pay me a part is a proof of it. If, therefore, you will 
 be a generous young rogue, and secure me five thousand 
 pounds. I'll help you to the lady. 
 
 Fash. And how the devil wilt thou do that ? 
 
 Mrs. Coup. Without the devil's aid, I warrant thee. 
 Thy brother's face not one of the family ever saw ; the 
 whole business has been managed by me, .and all his 
 letters go through my hands. Sir Tunbelly Clumsy, my 
 relation — for that's the old gentleman's name — is 
 apprised of his lordship's being down here, and expects 
 him to-morrow to receive his daughter's hand ; but 
 the peer, I find, means to bait here a few days longer, 
 to recover the fatigue of his journey, I suppose. Now 
 you shall go to Muddymoat Hall in his place. — I'll give 
 you a letter of introduction : and if you don't marry 
 the girl before sunset, you deserve to be hanged before 
 morning. 
 
 Fash. Agreed ! agreed ! and for thy reward 
 
 Mrs. Coup. Well, well ; — though I warrant thou 
 hast not a farthing of money in thy pocket now — no — 
 one may see it in thy face. 
 
 Fash. Not a sous, by Jupiter ! 
 
 Mrs. Coup. Must I advance, then ? Well, be at my 
 lodgings, next door, this evening, and I'll see what may 
 be done — we'll sign and seal, and when I have given 
 thee some further instructions, thou shall hoist sail and 
 begone. [Exit. 
 
 Fash. So, Lory, Fortune, thou seest, at last takes 
 care of merit ! we are in a fair way to be great 
 people. 
 
A TRIP TO SCARBOROUGH 225 
 
 Lory. Ay, sir, if the devil don't step between the cup 
 and the lip, as he used to do. 
 
 Fash. Why, faith, he has played me many a damned 
 trick to spoil my fortune ; and, egad, I am almost 
 afraid he's at work about it again now ; but if I should 
 tell thee how, thou'dst wonder at me. 
 
 Lory. Indeed, sir, I should not. 
 
 Fash. How dost know ? 
 
 Lory. Because, sir, I have wondered at you so often, 
 I can wonder at you no more. 
 
 Fash. No ! what wouldst thou say, if a qualm of 
 conscience should spoil my design ? 
 
 Lory. I would eat my words, and wonder more than 
 ever. 
 
 Fash. Why faith, Lory, though I have played many 
 a roguish trick, this is so full-grown a cheat, I find I 
 must take pains to come up to't — I have scruples. 
 
 Lory. They are strong symptoms of death. If you 
 find they increase, sir, pray make your will. 
 
 Fash. No, my conscience shan't starve me neither : 
 but thus far I'll listen to it. Before I execute this 
 project, I'll try my brother to the bottom. If he has 
 yet so much humanity about him as to assist me — 
 though with a moderate aid — I'll drop my project at 
 his feet, and show him how I can do for him much more 
 than what I'd ask he'd do for me. This one conclusive 
 trial of him I resolve to make. 
 
 Succeed or fail, still victory is my lot ; 
 
 If I subdue his heart, 'tis well — if not, 
 
 I will subdue my conscience to my plot. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
226 
 
 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 ACT II 
 
 Scene I. — Loveless's Lodgings . 
 
 Enter Loveless and Amanda. 
 
 Love. How do you like these lodgings, my dear ? 
 For my part, I am so pleased with them, I shall hardly 
 remove whilst we stay here, if you are satisfied. 
 
 Aman. I am satisfied with everything that pleases 
 you, else I had not come to Scarborough at all. 
 
 Love . Oh, a little of the noise and folly of this place 
 will sweeten the pleasures of our retreat ; we shall find 
 the charms of our retirement doubled when we return 
 to it. 
 
 Aman. That pleasing prospect will be my chief est 
 entertainment, whilst, much against my will, I engage 
 in those empty pleasures which 'tis so much the 
 fashion to be fond of. 
 
 Love. I own most of them are, indeed, but empty ; 
 yet there are delights of which a private life is destitute, 
 which may divert an honest man, and be a harmless 
 entertainment to a virtuous woman : good music is 
 one ; and truly (with some small allowance) the plays, 
 I think, may be esteemed another. 
 
 Aman. Plays, I must confess, have some small 
 charms. What do you think of that you saw last 
 night ? 
 
 Love. To say truth, I did not mind it much — my 
 attention was for some time taken off to admire the 
 workmanship of Nature in the face of a young lady 
 who sat at some distance from me, she was so ex- 
 quisitely handsome. 
 
 Aman. So exquisitely handsome ! 
 
 Love. Why do you repeat my words, my dear ? 
 
A TRIP TO SCARBOROUGH 
 
 227 
 
 Aman. Because you seemed to speak them with 
 such pleasure, I thought I might oblige you with their 
 echo. 
 
 Love. Then you are alarmed, Amanda ? 
 
 Aman. It is my duty to be so when you are in 
 danger. 
 
 Love. You are too quick in apprehending for me. I 
 viewed her with a world of admiration, but not one 
 glance of love. 
 
 Aman. Take heed of trusting to such nice distinc- 
 tions. But were your eyes the only things that were 
 inquisitive ? Had I been in your place, my tongue, I 
 fancy, had been curious too. I should have asked her 
 where she lived — yet still without design — who was 
 she, pray ? 
 
 Love. Indeed I cannot tell. 
 
 Aman. You will not tell. 
 
 Love. Upon my honour, then, I did not ask. 
 
 Aman. Nor do you know what company was with 
 her ? 
 
 Love. I do not. But why are you so earnest ? 
 
 Aman. I thought I had cause. 
 
 Love. But you thought wrong, Amanda ; for turn 
 the case, and let it be your story : should you come 
 home and tell me you had seen a handsome man, should 
 I grow jealous because you had eyes ? 
 
 Aman. But should I tell you he was exquisitely so, 
 and that I had gazed on him with admiration, should 
 you not think Twere possible I might go one step 
 further, and inquire his name ? 
 
 Love [Aside.'] She has reason on her side ; I have 
 talked too much ; but I must turn off another way. — 
 [Aloud.] Will you then make no difference, Amanda, 
 between the language of our sex and yours ? There is 
 a modesty restrains your tongues, which makes you 
 speak by halves when you commend ; but roving 
 flattery gives a loose to ours, which makes us still 
 double what we think. 
 
228 
 
 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 Enter Servant. 
 
 Ser . Madam, there is a lady at the door in a chair 
 desires to know whether your ladyship sees company ; 
 her name is Berinthia. 
 
 A man. Oh dear ! 'tis a relation I have not seen these 
 five years ; pray her to walk in. — [Exit Servant.] 
 Here's another beauty for you ; she was, when I saw 
 her last, reckoned extremely handsome. 
 
 Love . Don't be jealous now ; for I shall gaze upon 
 her too. 
 
 Enter Berinthia. 
 
 Ha ! by heavens, the very woman ! [Aside. 
 
 Ber. [Salutes Amanda.] Dear Amanda, I did not 
 expect to meet you in Scarborough. 
 
 Aman. Sweet cousin, I'm overjoyed to see you. — 
 Mr. Loveless, here's a relation and a friend of mine, I 
 desire you'll be better acquainted with. 
 
 Love. [Salutes Berinthia.] If my wife never desires 
 a harder thing, madam, her request will be easily 
 granted. 
 
 Re-enter Servant. 
 
 Ser. Sir, my Lord Foppington presents his humble 
 service to you, and desires to know how you do. He's 
 at the next door ; and, if it be not inconvenient to 
 you, he'll come and wait upon you. 
 
 Love. Give my compliments to his lordship, and I 
 shall be glad to see him. — [Exit Servant.] If you are 
 not acquainted with his lordship, madam, you will be 
 entertained with his character. 
 
 Aman. Now it moves my pity more than my mirth 
 to see a man whom nature has made no fool be so very 
 industrious to pass for an ass. 
 
A TRIP TO SCARBOROUGH 
 
 229 
 
 Love . No, there you are wrong, Amanda ; you should 
 never bestow your pity upon those who take pains for 
 your contempt : pity those whom nature abuses, never 
 those who abuse nature. 
 
 Enter Lord Foppington. 
 
 Lord Fop . Dear Loveless, I am your most humble 
 servant. 
 
 Love . My lord, I'm yours. 
 
 Lord Fop, Madam, your ladyship's very obedient 
 slave. 
 
 Love. My lord, this lady is a relation of my wife's. 
 
 Lord Fop. [Salutes Berinthia.] The beautifullest 
 race of people upon earth, rat me ! Dear Loveless, I 
 am overjoyed that you think of continuing here : I am, 
 stap my vitals ! — [To Amanda.] For Gad's sake, 
 madam, how has your ladyship been able to subsist 
 thus long, under the fatigue of a country life ? 
 
 Aman. My life has been very far from that, my lord ; 
 it has been a very quiet one. 
 
 Lord Fop. Why, that's the fatigue I speak of, 
 madam ; for 'tis impossible to be quiet without think- 
 ing : now thinking is to me the greatest fatigue in the 
 world. 
 
 Aman. Does not your lordship love reading, then ? 
 
 Lord Fop. Oh, passionately, madam ; but I never 
 think of what I read. For example, madam, my life is 
 a perpetual stream of pleasure, that glides through 
 with such a variety of entertainments, I believe the 
 wisest of our ancestors never had the least conception 
 of any of 'em. I rise, madam, when in tawn, about 
 twelve o'clock. I don't rise sooner, because it is the 
 worst thing in the world for the complexion : nat that 
 I pretend to be a beau ; but a man must endeavour to 
 look decent, lest he makes so odious a figure in the 
 side-bax, the ladies should be compelled to turn their 
 
SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 230 
 
 eyes upon the play. So at twelve o'clock, I say, I rise. 
 Naw, if I find it is a good day, I resalve to take the 
 exercise of riding ; so drink my chocolate, and draw 
 on my boots by two. On my return, I dress ; and, after 
 dinner, lounge perhaps to the opera. 
 
 Ber. Your lordship, I suppose, is fond of music ? 
 
 Lord Fop. Oh, passionately, on Tuesdays and Satur- 
 days ; for then there is always the best company, and 
 one is not expected to undergo the fatigue of listening. 
 
 Aman. Does your lordship think that the case at the 
 opera ? 
 
 Lord Fop. Most certainly, madam. There is my Lady 
 Tattle, my Lady Prate, my Lady Titter, my Lady 
 Sneer, my Lady Giggle, and my Lady Grin — these have 
 boxes in the front, and while any favourite air is singing, 
 are the prettiest company in the waurld, stap my 
 vitals ! — Mayn't we hope for the honour to see you 
 added to our society, madam ? 
 
 Aman. Alas ! my lord, I am the worst company in 
 the world at a concert, I'm so apt to attend to the 
 music. 
 
 Lord Fop. Why, madam, that is very pardonable in 
 the country or at church, but a monstrous inattention 
 in a polite assembly. But I am afraid I tire the 
 company ? 
 
 Love. Not at all. Pray go on. 
 
 Lord Fop. Why then, ladies, there only remains to 
 add, that I generally conclude the evening at one or 
 other of the clubs ; nat that I ever play deep ; indeed 
 I have been for some time tied up from losing above 
 five thousand paunds at a sitting. 
 
 Love. But isn’t your lordship sometimes obliged to 
 attend the weighty affairs of the nation ? 
 
 Lord Fop. Sir, as to weighty affairs, I leave them to 
 weighty heads ; I never intend mine shall be a burden 
 to my body. 
 
 Ber. Nay, my lord, but you are a pillar of the state. 
 
 Lord Fop. An ornamental pillar, madam ; for sooner 
 
A TRIP TO SCARBOROUGH 
 
 231 
 
 than undergo any part of the fatigue, rat me, but the 
 whole building should fall plump to the ground ! 
 
 A man. But, my lord, a fine gentleman spends a great 
 deal of his time in his intrigues ; you have given us no 
 account of them yet. 
 
 Lord Fop. [Aside.] So ! she would inquire into my 
 amours — that's jealousy, poor soul ! — I see she's in 
 love with me. — [Aloud.] O Lord, madam, I had like 
 to have forgot a secret I must need tell your ladyship.— 
 Ned, you must not be so jealous now as to listen. 
 
 Love. [Leading Berinthia up the stage.] Not I, my 
 lord ; I am too fashionable a husband to pry into the 
 secrets of my wife. 
 
 Lord Fop. [Aside to Amanda squeezing her hand.] I 
 am in love with you to desperation, strike me speech- 
 less ! 
 
 Aman. [Strikes him on the ear.] Then thus I return 
 your passion. — An impudent fool ! 
 
 Lord Fop. God's curse, madam, I am a peer of the 
 realm ! 
 
 Love. [Hastily returning.] Hey ! what the devil, do 
 
 you affront my wife, sir ? Nay, then 
 
 [Draws. They fight. 
 
 Aman. What has my folly done ? — Help ! murder ! 
 help ! Part them for Heaven's sake. 
 
 Lord Fop. [Falls back and leans on his sword.] Ah ! 
 quite through the body, stap my vitals ! 
 
 Enter Servants. 
 
 Love. [Runs to Lord Foppington.] I hope I ha'nt 
 killed the fool, however. Bear him up. — Call a surgeon 
 there. 
 
 Lord Fop. Ay, pray make haste. [Exit Servant. 
 Love. This mischief you may thank yourself for. 
 Lord Fop. I may say so ; love's the devil indeed, 
 Ned. 
 
232 
 
 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 Re-enter Servant, with Probe. 
 
 Ser. Here's Mr. Probe, sir, was just going by the 
 door. 
 
 Lord Fop . He's the welcomest man alive. 
 
 Probe. Stand by, stand by, stand by ; pray, gentle- 
 men, stand by. Lord have mercy upon us, did you 
 never see a man run through the body before ? — Pray 
 stand by. 
 
 Lord Fop. All, Mr. Probe, I'm a dead man. 
 
 Probe. A dead man, and I by ! I should laugh to see 
 that, egad. 
 
 Love. Pr'ythee don't stand prating, but look upon his 
 wound. 
 
 Probe Why, what if I don't look upon his wound 
 this hour, sir ? 
 
 Love & Why, then he'll bleed to death, sir 
 
 Probe. Why, then I'll fetch him to life again, sir. 
 
 Love. 'Slife ! he's run through the body, I tell thee. 
 
 Probe. I wish he was run through the heart, and I 
 should get the more credit by his cure. Now I hope 
 you are satisfied ? Come, now let me come at him — 
 now let me come at him. — [ Viewing his wound.] Oons ! 
 what a gash is here ! why, sir, a man may drive a coach 
 and six horses into your body. 
 
 Lord Fop. Oh ! 
 
 Probe. Why, what the devil have you run the 
 gentleman through with — a scythe ? — [Aside.] A little 
 scratch between the skin and the ribs, that's all. 
 
 Love. Let me see his wound. 
 
 Probe . Then you shall dress it, sir ; for if anybody 
 looks upon it I won't. 
 
 Love. Why, thou art the veriest coxcomb I ever 
 saw ! 
 
 Probe. Sir, 1 am not master of my trade for nothing. 
 
 Lord Fop. Surgeon ! 
 
 Probe. Sir. 
 
A TRIP TO SCARBOROUGH 
 
 233 
 
 Lord Fop. Are there any hopes ? 
 
 Probe. Hopes ! I can't tell. What are you willing to 
 give for a cure ? 
 
 Lord Fop. Five hundred paunds with pleasure. 
 
 Probe. Why then perhaps there may be hopes ; but 
 we must avoid further delay. — Here, help the gentle- 
 man into a chair, and carry him to my house presently — 
 that's the properest place — [Aside.] to bubble him out 
 of his money. — [Aloud.] Come, a chair — a chair quickly 
 — there, in with him. 
 
 [Servants put Lord Foppington into a chair. 
 
 Lord Fop. Dear Loveless, adieu ; if I die, I forgive 
 thee ; and if I live, I hope thou wilt do as much by me. 
 I am sorry you and I should quarrel, but I hope here's 
 an end on't ; for if you are satisfied, I am. 
 
 Love. I shall hardly think it worth my prosecuting 
 any further, so you may be at rest, sir. 
 
 Lord Fop. Thou art a generous fellow, strike me 
 dumb ! — [Aside.] But thou hast an impertinent wife, 
 stap my vitals ! 
 
 Probe. So — carry him off ! — carry him off ! — We 
 shall have him into a fever by-and-by. — Carry him off ! 
 
 [Exit with Lord Foppington. 
 
 Enter Colonel Townly. 
 
 Col. Town. So, so, I am glad to find you all alive. — I 
 met a wounded peer carrying off. For heaven's sake 
 what was the matter ? 
 
 Love. Oh, a trifle ! he would have made love to my 
 wife before my face, so she obliged him with a box o' 
 the ear, and I ran him through the body, that was all. 
 
 Col. Town. Bagatelle on all sides. But pray, madam, 
 how long has this noble lord been an humble servant 
 of yours ? 
 
 Aman. This is the first I have heard on't — so I 
 suppose, 'tis his quality more than his love has brought 
 him into this adventure. He thinks his title an 
 
SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 234 
 
 authentic passport to every woman's heart below the 
 degree of a peeress. 
 
 Col. Town. He's coxcomb enough to think anything : 
 but I would not have you brought into trouble for him. 
 I hope there's no danger of his life ? 
 
 Love . None at all. He's fallen into the hands of a 
 roguish surgeon, who, I perceive, designs to frighten a 
 little money out of him : but I saw his wound— 'tis 
 nothing : he may go to the ball to-night if he pleases. 
 
 Col. Town. I am glad you have corrected him with- 
 out further mischief, or you might have deprived me of 
 the pleasure of executing a plot against his lordship, 
 which I have been contriving with an old acquaintance 
 of yours. 
 
 Love. Explain. 
 
 Col. Town. His brother, Tom Fashion, is come down 
 here, and we have it in contemplation to save him the 
 trouble of his intended wedding ; but we want your 
 assistance. Tom would have called but he is preparing 
 for his enterprise, so I promised to bring you to him — 
 so, sir, if these ladies can spare you 
 
 Love . I'll go with you with all my heart. — [Aside.] 
 Though I could wish, methinks, to stay and gaze a 
 little longer on that creature. Good gods ! how 
 engaging she is ! — but what have I to do with beauty ? 
 I have already had my portion, and must not covet 
 more. 
 
 Aman. Mr. Loveless, pray one word with you before 
 you go. [Exit Colonel Townly. 
 
 Love. What would my dear ? 
 
 Aman. Only a woman's foolish question : how do 
 you like my cousin here ? 
 
 Love. Jealous already, Amanda ? 
 
 Aman. Not at all : I ask you for another reason. 
 
 Love. [Aside.] Whate'er her reason be, I must not 
 tell her true. — [Aloud.] Why, I confess, she's hand- 
 some : but you must not think I slight your kins- 
 woman, if I own to you, of all the women who may claim 
 
A TRIP TO SCARBOROUGH 235 
 
 that character, she is the last that would triumph in 
 my heart. 
 
 Aman. I'm satisfied. 
 
 Love. Now tell me why you asked ? 
 
 Aman. At night I will — adieu ! 
 
 Love. I'm yours. [. Kisses her and exit. 
 
 Aman. I'm glad to find he does not like her, for I 
 have a great mind to persuade her to come and live 
 with me. [Aside. 
 
 Ber. So ! I find my colonel continues in his airs ; 
 there must be something more at the bottom of this 
 than the provocation he pretends from me. [Aside. 
 
 Aman. For Heaven's sake, Berinthia, tell me what 
 way I shall take to persuade you to come and live with 
 me. 
 
 Ber. Why, one way in the world there is, and but one. 
 
 Aman. . And pray what is that ? 
 
 Ber. It is to assure me — I shall be very welcome. 
 
 Aman. If that be all, you shall e'en sleep here 
 to-night. 
 
 Ber. To-night. 
 
 Aman. Yes, to-night. 
 
 Ber. Why, the people where I lodge will think me 
 mad. 
 
 Aman. Let 'em think what they please. 
 
 Ber. Say you so, Amanda ? Why, then, they shall 
 think what they please : for I'm a young widow, and I 
 care not what anybody thinks. — Ah, Amanda, it's a 
 delicious thing to be a young widow ! 
 
 Aman. You'll hardly make me think so. 
 
 Ber. Poh ! because you are in love with your 
 husband. 
 
 Aman. Pray, 'tis with a world of innocence I would 
 inquire whether you think those we call women of 
 reputation do really escape all other men as they do 
 those shadows of beaux. 
 
 Ber . Oh no, Amanda ; there are a sort of men make 
 dreadful work amongst 'em, men that may be called 
 
SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 236 
 
 the beau's antipathy, for they agree in nothing but 
 walking upon two legs. These have brains, the beau 
 has none. These are in love with their mistress, the 
 beau with himself. They take care of their reputation, 
 the beau is industrious to destroy it. They are decent, 
 he's a fop ; m short, they are men, he's an ass. 
 
 Aman. If this be their character, I fancy we had 
 here, e'en now, a pattern of 'em both. 
 
 Ber . His lordship and Colonel Townly ? 
 
 Aman. The same. 
 
 Ber. As for the lord, he is eminently so ; and for the 
 other, I can assure you there's not a man in town who 
 has a better interest with the women that are worth 
 having an interest with. 
 
 Aman. He answers the opinion I had ever of him. 
 [Takes her hand.] I must acquaint you with a secret — 
 'tis not that fool alone has talked to me of love ; 
 Townly has been tampering too. 
 
 Ber. [Aside.] So, so ! here the mystery comes out ! — 
 [Aloud!] Colonel Townly ! impossible, my dear ! 
 
 Aman. 'Tis true indeed ; though he has done it in 
 vain ; nor do I think that all the merit of mankind 
 combined could shake the tender love I bear my 
 husband ; yet I will own to you, Berinthia, I did not 
 start at his addresses, as when they came from one 
 whom I contemned. 
 
 Ber. [Aside.] Oh, this is better and better ! — [Aloud.] 
 Well said, Innocence ! and you really think, my dear, 
 that nothing could abate your constancy and attach- 
 ment to your husband ? 
 
 Aman. Nothing, I am convinced. 
 
 Ber. What, if you found he loved another woman 
 better ? 
 
 Aman. Well ! 
 
 Ber. Well ! — why, were I that thing they call a 
 slighted wife, somebody should run the risk of being 
 that thing they call — a husband. Don't I talk madly ? 
 
 Aman. Madly indeed ! 
 
A TRIP TO SCARBOROUGH 
 
 23; 
 
 Ber. Yet I'm very innocent. 
 
 A man. That I dare swear you are. I know how to 
 make allowances for your humour : but you resolve 
 then never to marry again ? 
 
 Ber . Oh no ! I resolve I will. 
 
 A man. How so ? 
 
 Ber. That I never may. 
 
 Aman. You banter me. 
 
 Ber. Indeed I don't : but I consider I'm a woman, 
 and form my resolutions accordingly. 
 
 Aman. Well, my opinion is, form what resolutions 
 you will, matrimony will be the end on't. 
 
 Ber. I doubt it — but a — Heavens ! I have busmess 
 at home, and am half an hour too late. 
 
 Aman. As you are to return with me. I'll just give 
 some orders, and walk with you. 
 
 Ber . Well, make haste, and we'll finish this subject 
 as we go — [Exit Amanda.] Ah, poor Amanda ! you 
 have led a country life. Well, this discovery is lucky ! 
 Base Townly ! at once false to me and treacherous to 
 his friend ! — And my innocent and demure cousin too ! 
 I have it in my power to be revenged on her, however. 
 Her husband, if I have any skill in countenance, 
 would be as happy in my smiles as Townly can hope to 
 be in hers. I'll make the experiment, come what will 
 on't. The woman who can forgive the bemg robbed of 
 a favoured lover, must be either an idiot or a wanton. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 ACT III 
 
 Scene I. — Lord Foppington's Lodgings. 
 
 Enter Lord Foppington, and La Varole. 
 
 Lord Fop. Hey, tellow, let thy vis-a-vis come to the 
 door. 
 
SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 238 
 
 La Var. Will your lordship venture so soon to expose 
 yourself to the weather ? 
 
 Lord Fop. Sir, I will venture as soon as I can expose 
 myself to the ladies. 
 
 La Var . I wish your lordship would please to keep 
 house a little longer ; I'm afraid your honour does not 
 well consider your wound. 
 
 Lord Fop. My wound ! — I would not be in eclipse 
 another day, though I had as many wounds in my body 
 as I have had in my heart. So mind, Varole, let these 
 cards be left as directed ; for this evening I shall wait 
 on my future father-in-law. Sir Tunbelly, and I mean 
 to commence my devoirs to the lady, by giving an 
 entertainment at her father's expense ; and hark thee, 
 tell Mr. Loveless I request he and his company will 
 honour me with their presence, or I shall think we are 
 not friends. 
 
 La Var. I will be sure, milor. [Exit. 
 
 Enter Tom Fashion. 
 
 Fash. Brother, your servant ; how do you find 
 yourself to-day ? 
 
 Lord Fop. So well that I have ardered my coach to 
 the door — so there's no danger of death this baut, Tam. 
 
 Fash. I'm very glad of it. 
 
 Lord Fop. [Aside.] That I believe a he. — [Aloud.] 
 Pr’ythee, Tam, tell me one thing — did not your heart 
 cut a caper up to your mauth, when you heard I was 
 ran through the bady ? 
 
 Fash. Why do you think it should ? 
 
 Lord Fop. Because I remember mine did so when I 
 heard my uncle was shot through the head. 
 
 Fash. It, then, did very ill. 
 
 Lord Fop. Pr'ythee, why so ? 
 
 Fash. Because he used you very well. 
 
 Lord Fop. WeU ! — Naw, strike me dumb ! he starved 
 
A TRIP TO SCARBOROUGH 
 
 239 
 
 me ; he has let me want a thausand women for want of 
 a thausand paund. 
 
 Fash. Then he hindered you from making a great 
 many ill bargains ; for I think no woman worth money 
 that will take money. 
 
 Lord Fop . If I was a younger brother I should think 
 so too. 
 
 Fash. Then you are seldom much in love ? 
 
 Lord Fop . Never, stap my vitals ! 
 
 Fash. Why, then, did you make all this bustle about 
 Amanda ? 
 
 Lord Fop. Because she's a woman of insolent virtue, 
 and I thought myself piqued in honour to debauch 
 her. 
 
 Fash. Very well. — [Aside.] Here's a rare fellow for 
 you, to have the spending of ten thousand pounds a 
 year ! But now for my business with him. — [Aloud.] 
 Brother, though I know to talk of any business (especi- 
 ally of money) is a theme not quite so entertaining to 
 you as that of the ladies, my necessities are such, I hope 
 you'll have patience to hear me. 
 
 Lord Fop. The greatness of your necessities, Tam, is 
 the worst argument in the waurld for your being 
 patiently heard. I do believe you are going to make a 
 very good speech, but, strike me dumb ! it has the 
 worst beginning of any speech I have heard this 
 twelvemonth. 
 
 Fash. I'm sorry you think so. 
 
 Lord Fop. I do believe thou art : but, come, let's 
 know the affair quickly. 
 
 Fash. Why, then, my case, in a word, is this : the 
 necessary expenses of *my travels have so much 
 exceeded the wretched income of my annuity, that I 
 have been forced to mortgage it for five hundred 
 pounds, which is spent. So unless you are so kind as 
 to assist me in redeeming it, I know no remedy but to 
 take a purse. 
 
 Lore Fop. Why, faith, Tam, to give you my sense of 
 
SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 240 
 
 the thing, I do think taking a purse the best remedy 
 in the waurld ; for if you succeed, you are relieved 
 that way, if you are taken [Drawing his hand round his 
 neck ], you are relieved t'other. 
 
 Fash . I'm glad to see you are in so pleasant a 
 humour ; I hope I shall find the effects on't. 
 
 Lord Fop. Why, do you then really think it a 
 reasonable thing, that I should give you five hundred 
 paunds ? 
 
 Fash . I do not ask it as a due, brother ; I am 
 willing to receive it as a favour. 
 
 Lord Fop. Then thou art willing to receive it any- 
 how, strike me speechless ! But these are damned times 
 to give money in ; taxes are so great, repairs so 
 exorbitant, tenants such rogues, and bouquets so dear, 
 that the devil take me I'm reduced to that extremity in 
 my cash, I have been forced to retrench in that one 
 article of sweet pawder, till I have brought it down to 
 five guineas a maunth — now judge, Tam, whether I 
 can spare you five paunds. 
 
 Fash. If you can't I must starve, that's all. — [Aside.] 
 Damn him I 
 
 Lord Fop. All I can say is, you should have been a 
 better husband. 
 
 Fash. Ouns ! if you can't live upon ten thousand a 
 year, how do you think I should do't upon two 
 hundred ? 
 
 Lord Fop . Don't be in a passion, Tam, for passion is 
 the most unbecoming thing in the waurld — to the face. 
 Look you, I don't love to say anything to you to make 
 you melancholy, but upon this occasion I must take 
 leave to put you in mind that a running horse does 
 require more attendance than a coach-horse. Nature 
 has made some difference twixt you and me. 
 
 Fash. Yes — she has made you older. [Aside.] Plague 
 take her. 
 
 Lord Fop. That is not all, Tam. 
 
 Fash. Why, what is there else ? 
 
A TRIP TO SCARBOROUGH 
 
 241 
 
 Lord Fop. [Looks first on himself and then on his 
 brother.'] Ask the ladies. 
 
 Fash. Why, thou essence-bottle, thou musk-cat ! 
 dost thou then think thou hast any advantages over 
 me but what Fortune has given thee ? 
 
 Lord Fop . I do, stap my vitals ! 
 
 Fash. Now, by all that's great and powerful, thou art 
 the prince of coxcombs ! 
 
 Lord Fop. Sir, I am proud at being at the head of so 
 prevailing a party. 
 
 Fash. Will nothing provoke thee ? — Draw, coward ! 
 
 Lord Fop. Look you, Tam, you know I have always 
 taken you for a mighty dull fellow, and here is one of 
 the foolishest plats broke out that I have seen a lang 
 time. Your poverty makes life so burdensome to you, 
 you would provoke me to a quarrel, in hopes either to 
 slip my lungs into my estate, or to get yourself run- 
 through the guts, to put an end to your pam. But I 
 will disappoint you in both your designs ; far, with the 
 temper of a philasapher, and the discretion of a states- 
 man — I shall leave the room with my sword m the 
 scabbard. [Exit. 
 
 Fash. So ! farewell, brother ; and now, conscience, 
 I defy thee. Lory ! 
 
 Enter Lory. 
 
 Lory . Sir ! 
 
 Fash . Here's rare news. Lory ; his lordship has 
 given me a pill has purged off all my scruples. 
 
 Lory. Then my heart's at ease again : for I have 
 been in a lamentable fright, sir, ever since your 
 conscience had the impudence to intrude into your 
 company. # 
 
 Fash. Be at peace ; it will come there no more : my 
 brother has given it a wring by the nose, and I have 
 kicked it downstairs. So run away to the inn, get the 
 
SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 242 
 
 chaise ready quickly, and bring it to Dame Coupler's 
 without a moment's delay. 
 
 Lory. Then, sir, you are going straight about the 
 fortune ? 
 
 Fash. I am. — Away — fly. Lory ! 
 
 Lory. The happiest day I ever saw. I'm upon the 
 wing already. Now then I shall get my wages. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene II. — A Garden behind Loveless's Lodgings. 
 
 Enter Loveless and Servant. 
 
 Love. Is my wife within ? 
 
 Ser. No, sir, she has gone out this half-hour. 
 
 Love. Well, leave me. — [Exit Servant.] How 
 strangely does my mind run on this widow ! — Never 
 was my heart so suddenly seized on before. That my 
 wife should pick out her, of all womankind, to be her 
 playfellow ! But what fate does, let fate answer for : 
 I sought it not. So ! by Heavens ! here she comes. 
 
 Enter Berinthia. 
 
 Ber. What makes you look so thoughtful, sir ? I 
 hope you are not ill. 
 
 Love. I was debating, madam whether I was so or 
 not, and that was it which made me look so thoughtful. 
 
 Ber. Is it then so hard a matter to decide ? I thought 
 all people were acquainted with their own bodies, 
 though few people know their own minds. 
 
 Love . What if the distemper I suspect be in the 
 mind ? 
 
 Ber. Why then I'll undertake to prescribe you a cure. 
 
 Love. Alas ! you undertake you know not what. 
 
A TRIP TO SCARBOROUGH 
 
 243 
 
 Ber. So far at least, then, you allow me to be a 
 physician. 
 
 Love. Nay, I’ll allow you to be so yet further : for I 
 have reason to believe, should I put myself into your 
 hands, you would increase my distemper. 
 
 Ber. How ? 
 
 Love. Oh you might betra}^ me to my wife. 
 
 Ber. And so lose all my practice. 
 
 Love. Will you then keep my secret ? 
 
 Ber. I will. 
 
 Love. Well — but swear it. 
 
 Ber. I swear by woman. 
 
 Love. Nay, that's swearing by my deity ; swear by 
 your own, and I shall believe you. 
 
 Ber. Well then, I swear by man ! 
 
 Love. I’m satisfied. Now hear my symptoms, and 
 give me your advice. The first were these ; when I saw 
 you at the play, a random glance you threw at first 
 alarmed me. I could not turn my eyes from whence 
 the danger came — I gazed upon you till my heart began 
 to pant — nay even now, on your approaching me, my 
 illness is so increased that if you do not help me I shall, 
 whilst you look on, consume to ashes. 
 
 [Takes her hand. 
 
 Ber. O Lord, let me go ! 'tis the plague, and we shall 
 be infected. [Breaking from him. 
 
 Love. Then we'll die together, my charming angel. 
 
 Ber. O Gad ! the devil's in you ! Lord, let me go ! — 
 here's somebody coming. 
 
 Re-enter Servant. 
 
 Ser. Sir, my lady’s come home, and desires to speak 
 with you. 
 
 Love. Tell her I'm coming. — [Exit Servant.] But 
 before I go, one glass of nectar to drink her health. 
 
 [To Berinthia. 
 
 Ber. Stand off, or I shall hate you, by Heavens ! 
 
SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 244 
 
 Love . [Kissing her.] In matters of love, a woman's 
 oath is no more to be minded than a man's. [Exit. 
 
 Ber. Um ! 
 
 Enter Colonel Townly. 
 
 Col. Town. [Aside.] So ? what's here — Berinthia and 
 Loveless — and in such close conversation ! — I cannot 
 now wonder at her indifference in excusing herself to 
 me ! — O rare woman ! — Well then, let Loveless look to 
 his wife, 'twill be but the retort courteous on both sides. 
 — [Aloud.] Your servant, madam ; I need not ask you 
 how you do, you have got so good a colour. 
 
 Ber. No better than I used to have, I suppose. 
 
 Col. Town. A little more blood in your cheeks. 
 
 Ber. I have been walking ! 
 
 Col. Town. Is that all ? Pray was it Mr. Loveless 
 went from here just now ? 
 
 Ber. O yes — he has been walking with me. 
 
 Col. Town. He has ! 
 
 Ber. Upon my word I think he is a very agreeable 
 man ; and there is certainly something particularly 
 insinuating in his address. 
 
 Col. Town. [Aside.] So, so ! she hasn't even the 
 modesty to dissemble ! [Aloud.] Pray, madam, may I, 
 without impertinence, trouble you with a few serious 
 questions ? 
 
 Ber. As many as you please ; but pray let them be 
 as little serious as possible. 
 
 Col. Town. Is it not near two years since I have 
 presumed to address you ? 
 
 Ber. I don't know exactly — but it has been a tedious 
 long time. 
 
 Col. Town. Have I not, during that period, had every 
 reason to believe that my assiduities were far from being 
 unacceptable ? 
 
 Ber. Why, to do you justice, you have been ex- 
 tremely troublesome — and I confess I have been more 
 civil to you than you deserved. 
 
A TRIP TO SCARBOROUGH 
 
 245 
 
 Col. Town. Did I not come to this place at your 
 express desire, and for no purpose but the honour of 
 meeting you ? — and after waiting a month in dis- 
 appointment, have you condescended to explain, or in 
 the slightest way apologise for, your conduct ? 
 
 Ber. O heavens ! apologise for my conduct ! — 
 apologise to you i O you barbarian ! But pray now, 
 mv good serious colonel, have you anything more to 
 add? 
 
 Col. Town. Nothing, madam, but that after such 
 behaviour I am less surprised at what I saw just now ; 
 it is not very wonderful that the woman who can trifle 
 with the delicate addresses of an honourable lover 
 should be found coquetting with the husband of her 
 friend. 
 
 Ber. Very true : no more wonderful than it was for 
 this honourable lover to divert himself in the absence 
 of this coquette, with endeavouring to seduce his 
 friend’s wife ! O colonel, colonel, don’t talk of honour 
 or your friend, for Heaven’s sake J 
 
 Col. Town. [ Aside .] ’Sdeath ! how came she to 
 suspect this ! — [Aloud.] Really, madam, I don’t under- 
 stand you. 
 
 Ber. Nay, nay, you saw I did not pretend to mis- 
 understand you. — But here comes the lady ; perhaps 
 you would be glad to be left with her for an explanation. 
 
 Col. Town. O madam, this recrimination is a poor 
 resource ; and to convince you how much you are 
 mistaken, I beg leave to decline the happiness you 
 propose me. — Madam, your servant. 
 
 Enter Amanda. Colonel Townly whispers Amanda, 
 and exit. 
 
 Ber. [Aside . j He carries it off well, however ; upon 
 my word, very well ! How tenderly they part ! — 
 \ Aloud.] So, cousin ; I hope you have not been 
 
SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 246 
 
 chiding your admirer for being with me ? I assure 
 you we have been talking of you. 
 
 Aman. Fy, Berinthia ! — my admirer ! will you never 
 learn to talk in earnest of anything ? 
 
 Ber. Why this shall be in earnest, if you please ; 
 for my part, I only tell you matter of fact. 
 
 Aman. I'm sure there's so much jest and earnest in 
 what you say to me on this subject, I scarce know how 
 to take it. I have just parted with Mr. Loveless ; 
 perhaps it is fancy, but I think there is an alteration in 
 his manner which alarms me. 
 
 Ber. And so you are jealous ; is that all ? 
 
 Aman. That all ! is jealousy, then, nothing ? 
 
 Ber. It should be nothing, if I were in your case. 
 
 Aman. Why, what would you do ? 
 
 Ber. I'd cure myself. 
 
 Aman. How ? 
 
 Ber . Care as little for my husband as he did for me. 
 Look you, Amanda, you may build castles in the air, 
 and fume, and fret, and grow thin, and lean, and pale, 
 and ugly, if you please ; but I tell you, no man worth 
 having is true to his wife, or ever was, or ever will be so. 
 
 Aman. Do you then really think he's false to me ? 
 for I did not suspect him. 
 
 Ber . Think so ? I am sure of it. 
 
 A man. You are sure on't ? 
 
 Ber. Positively — he fell in love at the play. 
 
 Aman. Right — the very same. But who could have 
 told you this ? 
 
 Ber. Um ! — Oh, Townly ! I suppose your husband 
 has made him his confidant. 
 
 Aman. O base Loveless ! And what did Townly say 
 on't ? 
 
 Ber. [Aside.] So, so ! why should she ask that ? — 
 [Aloud!] Say ! why he abused Loveless extremely, and 
 said all the tender things of you in the world. 
 
 Aman. Did he ? — Oh ! my heart ! — I'm very ill — 
 dear Berinthia, don't leave me a moment. [Exeunt. 
 
A TRIP TO SCARBOROUGH 
 
 247 
 
 Scene III. — Outside of Sir Tunbelly Clumsy's House. 
 
 Enter Tom Fashion and Lory. 
 
 Fash. So here's our inheritance, Lory, if we can but 
 get into possession. But methinks the seat of our 
 family looks like Noah's ark, as if the chief part on't 
 were designed for the fowls of the air, and the beasts of 
 the field. 
 
 Lory. Pray, sir, don't let your head run upon the 
 orders of building here : get but the heiress, let the 
 devil take the house. 
 
 Fash. Get but the house, let the devil take the 
 heiress ! I say. — But come, we have no time to 
 squander ; knock at the door. — [Lory knocks two or 
 three times at the gate.] What the devil ! have they got 
 no ears in this house ? — Knock harder. 
 
 Lory. Egad, sir, this will prove some enchanted 
 castle ; we shall have the giant come out by-and-by, 
 with his club, and beat our brains out. [Knocks again. 
 
 Fash. Hush, they come. 
 
 Ser. [Within.] Who is there ? 
 
 Lory. Open the door and see : is that your country 
 breeding ? 
 
 Ser. Ay, but two words to that bargain. — Tummus, 
 is the blunderbuss primed ? 
 
 Fash. Ouns ! give 'em good words, Lory, — or we 
 shall be shot here a fortune catching. 
 
 Lory. Egad, sir, I think you're in the right on't. — 
 Ho ! Mr. What-d'ye-call-'um, will you please to let us 
 in ? or are we to be left to grow like willows by your 
 moat side ? 
 
 Servant appears at the window with a blunderbuss. 
 Ser. Well naw, what's ya're business ? 
 
SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 248 
 
 Fash. Nothing, sir, but to wait upon Sir Tunbelly, 
 with your leave. 
 
 Ser. To weat upon Sir Tunbelly 1 why, you'll find 
 that's just as Sir Tunbelly pleases. 
 
 Fash. But will you do me the favour, sir, to know 
 whether Sir Tunbelly pleases or not ? 
 
 Ser. Why, look you, d'ye see, with good words much 
 may be done. Ralph, go thy ways, and ask Sir Tunbelly 
 if he pleases to be waited upon — and dost hear, call to 
 nurse, that she may lock up Miss Hoyden before the 
 gates open. 
 
 Fash. D'ye hear that. Lory ? 
 
 Enter Sir Tunbelly Clumsy, with Servants, armed 
 with guns , clubs , pitchforks , &c. 
 
 Lory. Oh ! [Runs behind his master .] O Lord ! O 
 Lord ! Lord ! we are both dead men ! 
 
 Fash. Fool ! thy fear will ruin us. [Aside to Lory. 
 
 Lory. My fear, sir ? 'sdeath, sir, I fear nothing. — 
 [Aside.] Would I were well up to the chin in a horse- 
 pond ! 
 
 Sir Tun. Who is it here hath any business with me ? 
 
 Fash. Sir, 'tis I, if your name be Sir Tunbelly Clumsy. 
 
 Sir Tun. Sir, my name is Sir Tunbelly Clumsy, 
 whether you have any business with me or not. — So 
 you see I am not ashamed of my name, nor my face 
 either. 
 
 Fash. Sir, you have no cause that I know of. 
 
 Sir l un. Sir, if you have no cause either, I desire to 
 know who you are ; for, till I know your name, I shan't 
 ask you to come into my house : and when I do know 
 your name, 'tis six to four I don't ask you then. 
 
 Fash. Sir, I hope you'll find this letter an authentic 
 passport. [Gives him a letter. 
 
 Sir Tun. Cod's my life, from Mrs. Coupler ! — I ask 
 your lordship's pardon ten thousand times. — [To a 
 
A TRIP TO SCARBOROUGH 249 
 
 Servant.] Here, run in a-doors quickly ; get a Scotch 
 coal fire in the parlour, set all the Turkey work chairs 
 in their places, get the brass candlesticks out, and be 
 sure stick the socket full of laurel — run ! — [Turns to 
 Tom Fashion.] — My lord, I ask your lordship's pardon. 
 — [To Servant.] And, do you hear, run away to nurse ; 
 bid her let Miss Hoyden loose again. — [Exit Servant.] 
 I hope your honour will excuse the disorder of my 
 family. We are not used to receive men of your lord- 
 ship's great quality every day. Pray, where are your 
 coaches and servants, my lord ? 
 
 Fash. Sir, that I might give you and your daughter 
 a proof how impatient I am to be nearer akin to you, 
 I left my equipage to follow me, and came away post 
 with only one servant. 
 
 Sir Tun. Your lordship does me too much honour — 
 it was exposing your person to too much fatigue and 
 danger, I protest it was : but my daughter shall 
 endeavour to make you what amends she can : and, 
 though I say it that should not say it, Hoyden has 
 charms. 
 
 Fash. Sir, I am not a stranger to them, though I am 
 to her ; common fame has done her justice. 
 
 Sir Tun. My lord, I am common fame's very grate- 
 ful, humble servant. My lord, my girl's young — Hoyden 
 is young, my lord : but this I must say for her, what 
 she wants in art she has in breeding ; and what's 
 wanting in her age, is made good in her constitution. — 
 So pray, my lord, walk in ; pray, my lord, walk in. 
 
 Fash. Sir, I wait upon you. [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene IV . — A Room in Sir Tunbelly Clumsy's House. 
 
 Miss Hoyden discovered alone. 
 
 Miss Hoyd. Sure, nobody was ever used as I am ! 
 I know well enough what other girls do, for all they 
 
SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 250 
 
 think to make a fool o' me. It's well I have a husband 
 a-coming, or ecod I'd marry the baker, I would so. 
 Nobody can knock at the gate, but presently I must 
 be locked up ; and here's the young greyhound can 
 run loose about the house all the day, so she can. — 
 'Tis very well ! 
 
 Nurse. [Without opening the door.] Miss Hoyden ! 
 miss, miss, miss ! Miss Hoyden ! 
 
 Enter Nurse. 
 
 Miss Hoyd. Well, what do you make such a noise 
 for, eh ? What do you din a body's ears for ? Can't 
 one be at quiet for you ? 
 
 Nurse. What do I din your ears for ? Here's one 
 come will din your ears for you. 
 
 Miss Hoyd. What care I who's come ? I care not a 
 fig who comes, or who goes, so long as I must be locked 
 up like the ale-cellar. 
 
 Nurse. That, miss, is for fear you should be drank 
 before you are ripe. 
 
 Miss Hoyd. Oh, don't trouble your head about that ; 
 I'm as ripe as you, though not so mellow. 
 
 Nurse. Very well ! Now I have a good mind to lock 
 you up again, and not let you see my lord to-night. 
 
 Miss Hoyd. My lord : why, is my husband come ? 
 
 Nurse . Yes, marry, is he ; and a goodly person 
 too. 
 
 Miss Hoyd . [Hugs Nurse.] Oh, my dear nurse, for- 
 give me this once, and I'll never misuse you again ; 
 no, if I do, you shall give me three thumps on the back, 
 and a great pinch by the cheek. 
 
 Nurse. Ah, the poor thing ! see now it melts ; it's as 
 full of good-nature as an egg's full of meat. 
 
 Miss Hoyd. But, my dear nurse, don't lie now — is he 
 come, by your troth ? 
 
 Nurse. Yes, by my truly, is he. 
 
A TRIP TO SCARBOROUGH 
 
 25* 
 
 Miss Hoyd. O Lord ! I'll go and put on my laced 
 tucker, though I’m locked up for a month for't. 
 
 [Exeunt. Miss Hoyden goes off capering, 
 and twirling her doll by its leg . 
 
 ACT IV 
 
 Scene I . — A Room in Sir Tunbelly Clumsy's House. 
 
 Enter Miss Hoyden and Nurse. 
 
 Nurse. Well, miss, how do you like your husband 
 that is to be ? 
 
 Miss Hoyd . O Lord, nurse, I'm so overjoyed I can 
 scarce contain myself ! 
 
 Nurse. Oh, but you must have a care of being too 
 fond ; for men, nowadays, hate a woman that loves 
 'em. 
 
 Miss Hoyd. Love him ! why, do you think I love 
 him, nurse ? Ecod I would not care if he was hanged, 
 so I were but once married to him. No, that which 
 pleases me is to think what work I'll make when I get 
 to London ; for when I am a wife and a lady both, 
 ecod, I'll flaunt it with the best of 'em. Ay, and I shall 
 have money enough to do so too, nurse. 
 
 Nurse. Ah, there's no knowing that, miss ; for 
 though these lords have a power of wealth indeed, yet, 
 as I have heard say, they give it all to their sluts and 
 their trulls, who joggle it about in their coaches, with 
 a murrain to 'em, whilst poor madam sits sighing and 
 wishing, and has not a spare half-crown to buy her a 
 Practice of Piety. 
 
 Miss Hoyd. Oh, but for that, don't deceive yourself, 
 nurse ; for this I must say of my lord, he's as free as an 
 open house at Christmas ; for this very morning he 
 
SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 252 
 
 told me I should have six hundred a year to buy pins. 
 Now if he gives me six hundred a year to buy pins, 
 what do you think he'll give me to buy petticoats ? 
 
 Nurse . Ay, my dearest, he deceives thee foully, and 
 he's no better than a rogue for his pains ! These 
 Londoners have got a gibberish with 'em would con- 
 found a gipsy. That which they call pin-money, is to 
 buy everything in the versal world, down to their very 
 shoe-knots. Nay, I have heard some folks say that 
 some ladies, if they'll have gallants as they call 'em, 
 are forced to find them out of their pin-money too. — 
 But look, look, if his honour be not coming to you ! — 
 Now, if I were sure you would behave yourself hand- 
 somely, and not disgrace me that have brought you 
 up, I'd leave you alone together. 
 
 Miss Hoyd. That's my best nurse ; do as you'd be 
 done by. Trust us together this once, and if I don't 
 show my breeding, I wish I may never be married, but 
 die an old maid. 
 
 Nurse . Well, this once I'll venture you. But if you 
 disparage me 
 
 Miss Hoyd . Never fear. [Exit Nurse. 
 
 Enter Tom Fashion. 
 
 Fash. Your servant, madam ; I'm glad to find you 
 alone, for I have something of importance to speak to 
 you about. 
 
 Miss Hoyd . Sir (my lord, I meant), you may speak 
 to me about what you please, I shall give you a civil 
 answer. 
 
 Fash . You give so obliging an one, it encourages me 
 to tell you in a few words what I think, both for your 
 interest and mine. Your father, I suppose you know, 
 has resolved to make me happy in being your husband ; 
 and I hope I may obtain your consent to perform what 
 he desires. 
 
A TRIP TO SCARBOROUGH 253 
 
 Miss Hoyd. Sir, I never disobey my father m any- 
 thing but eating green gooseberries. 
 
 Fash. So good a daughter must needs be an ad- 
 mirable wife. I am therefore impatient till you are 
 mine, and hope you will so far consider the violence of 
 my love, that you won't have the cruelty to defer my 
 happiness so long as your father designs it. 
 
 Miss Hoyd. Pray, my lord, how long is that ? 
 
 Fash. Madam, a thousand years — a whole week. 
 
 Miss Hoyd . Why, I thought it was to be to-morrow 
 morning, as soon as I was up. I'm sure nurse told me so. 
 
 Fash. And it shall be to-morrow morning, if you’ll 
 consent. 
 
 Miss Hoyd. If I'll consent 1 Why I thought I was 
 to obey you as my husband. 
 
 Fash. That's when we are married. Till then, I'm to 
 obey you. 
 
 Miss Hoyd. Why then, if we are to take it by turns, 
 it's the same thing. I'll obey you now, and when we 
 are married you shall obey me. 
 
 Fash. With all my heart. But I doubt we must get 
 nurse on our side, or we shall hardly prevail with the 
 chaplain. 
 
 Miss Hoyd. No more we shan't, indeed ; for he 
 loves her better than he loves his pulpit, and would 
 always be a-preaching to her by his good will. 
 
 Fash. Why then, my dear, if you'll call her hither 
 we'll persuade her presently. 
 
 Miss Hoyd. O Lud ! I'll tell you a way how to 
 persuade her to anything. 
 
 Fash. How's that ? 
 
 Miss Hoyd. Why tell her she's a handsome comely 
 woman, and give her half a crown. 
 
 Fash. Nay, if that will do, she shall have half a 
 score of 'em. 
 
 Miss Hoyd. O gemmi ! for half that she'd marry you 
 herself. — I'll run and call her. [Exit. 
 
 Fash. So ! matters go on swimmingly. This is a rare 
 
254 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 girl, i'faith. I shall have a fine time on't with her at 
 London. 
 
 Enter Lory. 
 
 So, Lory, what's the matter ? 
 
 Lory . Here, sir — an intercepted packet from the 
 enemy ; your brother's postilion brought it. I knew the 
 livery, pretended to be a servant of Sir Tunbelly's, and 
 so got possession of the letter. 
 
 Fash. [Looks at the letter.'] Ouns ! he tells Sir Tunbelly 
 here that he will be with him this evening, with a large 
 party to supper. — Egad, I must marry the girl directly. 
 
 Lory. Oh, zounds, sir, directly to be sure. Here she 
 comes. [Exit. 
 
 Fash. And the old Jezebel w T ith her. 
 
 Re-enter Miss Hoyden and Nurse. 
 
 How do you do, good Mrs. Nurse ? I desired your 
 young lady would give me leave to see you, that I 
 might thank you for your extraordinary care and kind 
 conduct in her education : pray accept this small 
 acknowledgement for it at present, and depend upon 
 my further kindness when I shall be that happy thing, 
 her husband. [Gives her money. 
 
 Nurse. [Aside.] Gold, by the maakins ! — [Aloud.] 
 Your honour's goodness is too great. Alas ! all I can 
 boast of is, I gave her pure and good milk, and so your 
 honour would have said, an you had seen how the poor 
 thing thrived, and how it would look up in my face, 
 and crow and laugh, it would. 
 
 Miss Hoyd. [To Nurse, taking her angrily aside.] 
 Pray, one word with you. Pr'ythee, nurse, don't stand 
 ripping up old stories, to make one ashamed before one's 
 love. Do you think such a fine proper gentleman as he 
 is cares for a fiddlecome tale of a child ! If you have a 
 
A TRIP TO SCARBOROUGH 
 
 255 
 
 mind to make him have a good opinion of a woman, 
 don't tell him what one did then, tell him what one can 
 do now. — [To Tom Fashion.] I hope your honour will 
 excuse my mis-manners to whisper before }^ou. It was 
 only to give some orders about the family. 
 
 Fash. Oh, everything, madam, is to give way to 
 business ; besides, good housewifery is a very com- 
 mendable quality in a young lady. 
 
 Miss Hoyd. Pray, sir, are young ladies good house- 
 wives at London-town ? Do they darn their own 
 linen ? 
 
 Fash. Oh no, they study how to spend money, not 
 to save. 
 
 Miss Hoyd. Ecod, I don't know but that may be 
 better sport, eh, nurse ? 
 
 Fash. Well, you have your choice, when you come 
 there. 
 
 Miss Hoyd. Shall I ? then, by my troth, I'll get there 
 as fast as I can. — [To Nurse.] His honour desires you’ll 
 be so kind as to let us be married to-morrow. 
 
 Nurse. To-morrow, my dear madam ? 
 
 Fash. Ay, faith, nurse, you may well be surprised at 
 miss's wanting to put it off so long. To-morrow ! no, 
 no ; 'tis now, this very hour, I would have the ceremony 
 performed. 
 
 Miss Hoyd. Ecod, with all my heart. 
 
 Nurse. O mercy ! worse and worse ! 
 
 Fash. Yes, sweet nurse, now and privately ; for all 
 things being signed and sealed, why should Sir Tunbelly 
 make us stay a week for a wedding-dinner ? 
 
 Nurse. But if you should be married now, what 
 will you do when Sir Tunbelly calls for you to be 
 married ? 
 
 Miss Hoyd. Why then we will be married again. 
 
 Nurse. What twice, my child ? 
 
 Miss Hoyd. Ecod, I don't care how often I'm 
 married, not I. 
 
 Nurse. Well, I'm such a tender-hearted fool, I find 
 
256 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 I can refuse you nothing. So you shall e'en follow your 
 own inventions. 
 
 Miss Hoyd, Shall IPO Lord, I could leap over the 
 moon ! 
 
 Fash. Dear nurse, this goodness of yours shall be 
 still more rewarded. But now you must employ your 
 power with the chaplain, that he may do this friendly 
 office too, and then we shall be all happy. Do you 
 think you can prevail with him ? 
 
 Nurse. Prevail with him ! or he shall never prevail 
 with me, I can tell him that. 
 
 Fash. I'm glad to hear it ; however, to strengthen 
 your interest with him, you may let him know I have 
 several fat livings in my gift, and that the first that 
 falls shall be in your disposal. 
 
 Nurse. Nay, then, I'll make him marry more folks 
 than one, I'll promise him 1 
 
 Miss Hoyd. Faith, do, nurse, make him marry you 
 too ; I'm sure he'31 do't for a fat living. 
 
 Fash. Well, nurse, while you go and settle matters 
 with him, your lady and I will go and take a walk in the 
 garden. — [Exit Nurse.] Come, madam, dare you 
 venture yourself alone with me ? 
 
 [Takes Miss Hoyden by the hand. 
 
 Miss Hoyd. Oh dear, yes, sir ; I don't think you'll 
 do anythink to me, I need be afraid on. [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene II.— Amanda's Dressing-room. 
 
 Enter Amanda followed by her Maid. 
 
 Maid. If you please, madam, only to say whether 
 you'll have me buy them or not ? 
 
 Aman. Yes — no — Go, teaser ; I care not what you 
 do. Pr'ythee, leave me. [Exit Maid. 
 
A TRIP TO SCARBOROUGH 
 
 257 
 
 Enter Berinthia. 
 
 Ber. What, in the name of Jove, is the matter with 
 you ? 
 
 Aman. The matter, Berinthia ! I'm almost mad ; 
 I'm plagued to death. 
 
 Ber. Who is it that plagues you ? 
 
 Aman. Who do you think should plague a wife but 
 her husband ? 
 
 Ber. O, ho ! is it come to that ? — We shall have you 
 wish yourself a widow, by-and-by. 
 
 Aman. Would I were anything but what I am ! A 
 base, ungrateful man, to use me thus ! 
 
 Ber. What, has he given you fresh reason to suspect 
 his wandering ? 
 
 Aman. Every hour gives me reason. 
 
 Ber. And yet, Amanda, you perhaps at this moment 
 cause in another's breast the same tormenting doubts 
 and jealousies which you feel so sensibly yourself. 
 
 Aman. Heaven knows I would not. 
 
 Ber. Why, you can't tell but there may be some one 
 as tenderly attached to Townly, whom you boast of as 
 your conquest, as you can be to your husband ? 
 
 Aman. I'm sure, I never encouraged his pretensions. 
 
 Ber. Psha ! psha ! no sensible man ever perseveres to 
 love without encouragement. Why have you not 
 treated him as you have Lord Foppington ? 
 
 Aman. Because he presumed not so far. But let us 
 drop the subject. Men, not women, are riddles. Mr. 
 Loveless now follows some flirt for variety, whom I'm 
 sure he does not like so well as he does me. 
 
 Ber. That's more than you know, madam. 
 
 Aman. Why, do you know the ugly thing ? 
 
 Ber. I think I can guess at the person ; but she's no 
 such ugly thing neither. 
 
 Aman. Is she very handsome ? 
 
 Ber. Truly I think so. 
 
 S.P. 
 
 E 
 
SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 258 
 
 A man. Whatever she be, I'm sure he does not like 
 her well enough to bestow anything more than a little 
 outward gallantry upon her. 
 
 Ber. [Aside.] Outward gallantry ! I can't bear this. 
 — [Aloud.] Come, come, don't you be too secure, 
 Amanda : while you suffer Townly to imagine that 
 you do not detest him for his designs on you, you have 
 no right to complain that your husband is engaged 
 elsewhere. But here comes the person we were speaking 
 of. 
 
 Enter Colonel Townly. 
 
 Col. Town. Ladies, as I come uninvited, I beg, if I 
 intrude, you will use the same freedom in turning me 
 out again. 
 
 Aman. I believe it is near the time Loveless said he 
 would be at home. He talked of accepting Lord 
 Foppington's invitation to sup at Sir Tunbelly 
 Clumsy's. 
 
 Col. Town. His lordship has done me the honour to 
 invite me also. If you'll let me escort you, I'll let you 
 into a mystery as we go, in which you must play a part 
 when we arrive. 
 
 Aman. But we have two hours yet to spare; the 
 carriages are not ordered till eight, and it is not a 
 live minutes' drive. So, cousin, let us keep the 
 colonel to play at piquet with us, till Mr. Loveless 
 comes home. 
 
 Ber. As you please, madam ; but you know I have 
 a letter to write. 
 
 Col. Town. Madam, you know you may command me, 
 though I am a very wretched gamester. 
 
 Aman. Oh, you play well enough to lose your money, 
 and that's all the ladies require ; and so, without any 
 more ceremony, let us go into the next room, and call 
 for cards and candles. [Exeunt. 
 
A TRIP TO SCARBOROUGH 
 
 259 
 
 Scene III. — Berinthia's Dressing-room, 
 
 Enter Loveless. 
 
 Love, So, thus far all's well : I have got into her 
 dressing-room, and it being dusk, I think nobody has 
 perceived me steal into the house. I heard Berinthia 
 tell my wife she had some particular letters to write 
 this evening, before she went to Sir Tunbelly's, and 
 here are the implements of correspondence. — How 
 shall I muster up assurance to show myself when she 
 comes ? I think she has given me encouragement ; and, 
 to do my impudence justice, I have made the most of 
 it. — I hear a door open, and some one coming. If it 
 should be my wife, what the devil should I say ? 
 I believe she mistrusts me, and, by my life, I don't 
 deserve her tenderness. However, I am determined to 
 reform, though not yet. Ha ! Berinthia ! — So, I'll step 
 in here, till I see what sort of humour she is in. 
 
 [Goes into the closet. 
 
 Enter Berinthia. 
 
 Ber, Was ever so provoking a situation ! To think I 
 should sit and hear him compliment Amanda to my 
 face ! I have lost all patience with them both ! I would 
 not for something have Loveless know what temper of 
 mind they have piqued me into ; yet I can't bear to 
 leave them together. No, I'll put my papers away, and 
 return, to disappoint them. — [Goes to the closet .] — O 
 Lord ! a ghost ! a ghost ! a ghost ! 
 
 Re-enter Loveless. 
 
 Love. Peace, my angel ; it's no ghost, but one worth 
 a hundred spirits. 
 
2b0 
 
 SHERIDAN’S PLAYS 
 
 Ber. How, sir, have you had the insolence to pre- 
 sume to run in again ; here’s somebody coming. 
 
 [Loveless goes into the closet . 
 
 Enter Maid. 
 
 Maid. O Lord, ma’am, what’s the matter ? 
 
 Ber. O Heavens ! I’m almost frightened out of my 
 wits ! I thought verily I had seen a ghost, and ’twas 
 nothing but a black hood pinned against the wall. 
 You may go again ; I am the fearfullest fool ! 
 
 [Exit Maid. 
 
 Re-enter Loveless. 
 
 Love. Is the coast clear ? 
 
 Ber. The coast clear ! Upon my word, I wonder at 
 your assurance. 
 
 Love. Why, then, you wonder before I have given 
 you a proof of it. But where’s my wife ? 
 
 Ber . At cards. 
 
 Love. With whom ? 
 
 Ber. With Townly. 
 
 Love. Then we are safe enough. 
 
 Ber. You are so ! Some husbands would be of 
 another mind, were he at cards with their wives. 
 
 Love. And they’d be in the right on’t, too ; but I 
 dare trust mine. 
 
 Ber. Indeed ! and she, I doubt not, has the same 
 confidence" in you. Yet, do you think she’d be content 
 to come and find you here ? 
 
 Love. Egad, as you say, that’s true ! — Then for tear 
 she should come, hadn’t we better go into the next 
 room, out of her way ? 
 
 Ber. What, in the dark ? 
 
 Love. Ay, or with a light, which you please. 
 
 Ber. You are certainly very impudent. 
 
 Love. Nay, then — let me conduct you, my angel ! 
 
A TRIP TO SCARBOROUGH 
 
 261 
 
 Ber. Hold, hold ! you are mistaken in your angel, 
 1 assure you. 
 
 Love. I hope not ; for by this hand I swear 
 
 Ber. Come, come, let go my hand, or I shall hate 
 you ! — I'll cry out, as I live ! 
 
 Love. Impossible ! you cannot be so cruel. 
 
 Ber. Ha ! here's some one coming. Begone instantly. 
 
 Love. Will you promise to return, if I remain here ? 
 
 Ber. Never trust myself in a room again with you 
 while I live. 
 
 Love. But I have something particular to com- 
 municate to you. 
 
 Ber. Well, well, before we go to Sir Tunbelly's, 111 
 walk upon the lawn. If you are fond of a moonlight 
 evening, you'll find me there. 
 
 Love. I'faith, they're coming here now ! I take you 
 at your word. [Exit into the closet. 
 
 Ber. 'Tis Amanda, as I live ! I hope she has not heard 
 his voice ; though I mean she should have her share of 
 jealousy in her turn. 
 
 Enter Amanda. 
 
 Aman. Berinthia, why did you leave me ? 
 
 Ber. I thought I only spoiled your party. 
 
 Aman. Since you have been gone, Townly has 
 attempted to renew his importunities. I must break 
 with him, for I cannot venture to acquaint Mr. Loveless 
 with his conduct. 
 
 Ber. Oh, no ! Mr. Loveless mustn't know of it by 
 any means. 
 
 Aman. Oh, not for the world — I wish, Berinthia, 
 you would undertake to speak to Townly on the 
 subject. 
 
 Ber. Upon my word, it would be a very pleasant 
 subject for me to talk upon ! But, come, let us go back ; 
 and you may depend on't I'll not leave you together 
 again, if I can help it. [Exeunt. 
 
262 
 
 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 Re-enter Loveless. 
 
 Love . So — so ! a pretty piece of business I have over- 
 heard ! Townly makes love to my wife, and I am not 
 to know it for all the world. I must inquire into this — 
 and, by Heaven, if I find that Amanda has, in the 
 smallest degree — yet what have I been at here ! — Oh, 
 'sdeath ! that's no rule. 
 
 That wife alone unsullied credit wins, 
 
 Whose virtues can atone her husband's sins, 
 
 Thus, while the man has other nymphs in view, 
 
 It suits the woman to be doubly true. [Exit. 
 
 ACT V 
 
 Scene I. — The Garden behind Loveless's Lodgings . 
 Enter Loveless. 
 
 Love . Now, does she mean to make a fool of me, or 
 not ! I shan't wait much longer, for my wife will soon 
 be inquiring for me to set out on our supping party. 
 Suspense is at all times the devil, but of all modes of 
 suspense, the watching for a loitering mistress is the 
 worst. — But let me accuse her no longer ; she ap- 
 proaches with one smile to o'erpay the anxieties of a 
 year. 
 
 Enter Berinthia. 
 
 O Berinthia, what a world of kindness are you in my 
 
 debt ! had you stayed five minutes longer 
 
 Ber. You would have gone, I suppose ? 
 
A TRIP TO SCARBOROUGH 
 
 263 
 
 Love . Egad, she's right enough. [Aside. 
 
 Ber. And I assure you 'twas ten to one that I came at 
 all. In short, I begin to think you are too dangerous a 
 being to trifle with ; and as I shall probably only make 
 a tool of you at last, I believe we had hotter let matters 
 rest as they are. 
 
 Love. You cannot mean it, sure ? 
 
 Ber. What more would you have me give to a 
 married man ? 
 
 Love. How doubly cruel to remind me of my mis- 
 fortunes ! 
 
 Ber. A misfortune to be married to so charming a 
 woman as Amanda ? 
 
 Love. I grant her all her merit, but 'sdeath ! now 
 
 see what you have done by talking of her — she's here, 
 by all that's unlucky, and Townly with her. — I'll 
 observe them. 
 
 Ber. O Gad, we had better get out of the way ; for I 
 should feel as awkward to meet her as you. 
 
 Love. Ay, if I mistake not, I see Townly coming this 
 way ajso. I must see a little into this matter. 
 
 [Steps aside. 
 
 Ber. Oh, if that's your intention, I am no woman if 
 1 suffer myself to be outdone in curiosity. 
 
 [Goes on the other side. 
 
 Enter Amanda. 
 
 Aman. Mr. Loveless come home, and walking on the 
 lawn 1 I will not suffer him to walk so late, though 
 perhaps it is to show his neglect of me. — Mr. Loveless, 
 I must speak with you. — Ha ! Townly again ! — How I 
 am persecuted ! 
 
 Enter Colonel Townly. 
 
 Col. Town. Madam, you seem disturbed. 
 
 Aman. Sir, I have reason. 
 
SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 264 
 
 Col . Town. Whatever be the cause, I would to 
 Heaven it were in my power to bear the pain, or to 
 remove the malady. 
 
 Aman. Your interference can only add to my 
 distress. 
 
 Col. Town. Ah, madam, if it be the sting of un- 
 quited love you suffer from, seek for your remedy in 
 revenge : weigh well the strength and beauty of your 
 charms, and rouse up that spirit a woman ought to 
 bear. Disdain the false embraces of a husband. See at 
 your feet a real lover ; his zeal may give him title to 
 your pity, although his merit cannot claim your love. 
 
 Love. So, so, very fine, i'faith ! [Aside. 
 
 Aman. Why do you presume to talk to me thus ? Is 
 this your friendship to Mr. Loveless ? I perceive you 
 will compel me at last to acquaint him with your 
 treachery. 
 
 Col. Town. He could not upbraid me it you were. — 
 He deserves it from me ; for he has not been more 
 false to you than faithless to me. 
 
 Aman. To you ? 
 
 Col. Town. Yes, madam ; the lady for whom he now 
 deserts those charms which he was never worthy of, 
 was mine by right ; and, I imagine too, by inclination. 
 Yes, madam, Berinthia, who now 
 
 Aman. Berinthia ! impossible ! 
 
 Col. Town. 'Tis true, or may I never merit your 
 attention. She is the deceitful sorceress who now holds 
 your husband's heart in bondage. 
 
 Aman. I will not believe it. 
 
 Col. Town. By the faith of a true lover, I speak from 
 conviction. This very day I saw them together, and 
 overheard 
 
 Aman. Peace, sir ! I will not even listen to such 
 slander — this is a poor device to work on my resent- 
 ment, to listen to your insidious addresses. No, sir, 
 though Mr. Loveless may be capable of error, I am 
 convinced I cannot be deceived so grossly in him as to 
 
A TRIP TO SCARBOROUGH 
 
 265 
 
 believe what you now report ; and for Berinthia, you 
 should have fixed on some more probable person for 
 my rival than her who is my relation and my friend : 
 for while I am myself free from guilt, I will never 
 believe that love can beget injury, or confidence create 
 ingratitude. 
 
 Col. Town . If I do not prove to you 
 
 Aman. You never shall have an opportunity. From 
 the artful manner in which you fir^t showed yourself 
 to me, I might have been led, as far as virtue per- 
 mitted, to have thought you less criminal than un- 
 happy ; but this last unmanly artifice merits at once 
 my resentment and contempt. [Exit. 
 
 Col. Town. Sure there's divinity about her ; and 
 she has dispensed some portion of honour's light to 
 me : yet can I bear to lose Berinthia without revenge 
 or compensation ? Perhaps she is not so culpable as I 
 thought her. I was mistaken when I began to think 
 lightly of Amanda's virtue, and may be in my censure 
 of my Berinthia. Surely I love her still, for I feel I 
 should be happy to find myself in the wrong. [Exit. 
 
 Re-enter Loveless and Berinthia. 
 
 Ber. Your servant, Mr. Loveless. 
 
 Love. Your servant, madam. 
 
 Ber . Pray what do you think of this ? 
 
 Love. Truly, I don't know what to say. 
 
 Ber. Don't you think we steal forth two contemptible 
 creatures ? 
 
 Love. Why, tolerably so, I must confess. 
 
 Ber. And do you conceive it possible for you ever to 
 give Amanda the least uneasiness again ? 
 
 Love. No, I think we never should indeed. 
 
 Ber. We ! why, monster, you don't pretend that I 
 ever entertained a thought ? 
 
 Love. Why then, sincerely and honestly, Berinthia, 
 there is something in my wife's conduct which strikes 
 S.P. E 2 
 
266 
 
 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 me so forcibly, that if it were not for shame, and the 
 fear of hurting you in her opinion, I swear I would 
 follow her, confess my error, and trust to her generosity 
 for forgiveness. 
 
 Ber. Nay, pr’ythee, don't let your respect for me 
 prevent you ; for as my object in trifling with you was 
 nothing more than to pique Townly, and as I perceive 
 he has been actuated by a similar motive, you may 
 depend on’t I shalljnake no mystery of the matter to 
 him. 
 
 Love. By no means inform him : for though I may 
 choose to pass by his conduct without resentment, 
 how will he presume to look me in the face again ? 
 
 Ber. How will you presume to look him in the face 
 again ? 
 
 Love. He, who has dared to attempt the honour of 
 my wife ! 
 
 Ber. You who have dared to attempt the honour of 
 his mistress ! Come, come, be ruled by me, who 
 affect more levity than I have, and don't think of 
 anger in this cause. A readiness to resent injuries is a 
 virtue only in those who are slow to injure. 
 
 Love. Then I will be ruled by you ; and when you 
 think proper to undeceive Townly, may your good 
 qualities make as sincere a convert of him as Amanda’s 
 have of me. — When truth's extorted from us, then we 
 own the robe of virtue is a sacred habit. 
 
 Could women but our secret counsel scan — 
 
 Could they but reach the deep reserve of man — 
 
 To keep our love they’d rate their virtue high, 
 
 They live together, and together die. [Exeunt. 
 
A TRIP TO SCARBOROUGH 
 
 267 
 
 Scene II . — A Room in Sir Tunbelly Clumsy's House. 
 
 Enter Miss Hoyden, Nurse, and Tom Fashion. 
 
 Fash. This quick despatch of the chaplain's 1 take so 
 kindly it shall give him claim to my favour as long as I 
 live, I assure you. 
 
 Miss Hoyd. And to mine too, I promise you. 
 
 Nurse. I most humbly thank your honours ; and 
 may your children swarm about you like bees about a 
 honeycomb ! 
 
 Miss Hoyd. Ecod, with all my heart — the more the 
 merrier, I say — ha, nurse ? 
 
 Enter Lory. 
 
 Lory. One word with you, lor Heaven's sake. 
 
 [Taking Tom Fashion hastily aside . 
 
 Fash. What the devil's the matter ? 
 
 Lory. Sir, your fortune's ruined if you are not 
 married. Yonder's your brother arrived, with two 
 coaches and six horses, twenty footmen, and a coat 
 worth fourscore pounds — so judge what will become of 
 your lady's heart. 
 
 Fash. Is he in the house yet ? 
 
 Lory. No, they are capitulating with him at the 
 gate. Sir Tunbelly luckily takes him for an impostor ; 
 and I have told him that we have heard of this plot 
 before. 
 
 Fash. That's right. — [Turning to Miss Hoyden.] My 
 dear, here's a troublesome business my man tells me 
 of, but don't be frightened ; we shall be too hard for 
 the rogue. Here's an impudent fellow at the gate (not 
 knowing I was come hither incognito) has taken my 
 name upon him, in hopes to run away with you. 
 
 Miss Hoyd. Oh, the brazen-faced varlet ! it's well 
 
268 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 we are married, or maybe we might never have been 
 so. 
 
 Fash. [Aside.] Egad, like enough. — [Aloud,] Pr'ythee, 
 nurse, run to Sir Tunbelly, and stop him from going to 
 the gate before I speak to him. 
 
 Nurse . An't please your honour, my lady and I had 
 better lock ourselves up till the danger be over. 
 
 Fash. Do so, if you please. 
 
 Miss Hoyd. Not so fast ; I won't be locked up any 
 more, now I'm married. 
 
 Fash. Yes, pray, my dear, do, till we have seized 
 this rascal. 
 
 Miss Hoyd. Nay, if you'll pray me, I'll do anything. 
 
 [Exit with Nurse. 
 
 Fash. Hark you, sirrah, things are better than you 
 imagine. The wedding's over. 
 
 Lory. The devil it is, sir ! [Capers about. 
 
 Fash. Not a word — all's safe — but Sir Tunbelly 
 don't know it, nor must not yet. So I am resolved to 
 brazen the brunt of the business out, and have the 
 pleasure of turning the impostor upon his lordship, 
 which I believe may easily be done. 
 
 Enter Sir Tunbelly Clumsy. 
 
 Did you ever hear, sir, of so impudent an undertaking ? 
 
 Sir Tun. Never, by the mass ; but we'll tickle him, 
 I'll warrant you. 
 
 Fash. They tell me, sir, he has a great many people 
 with him, disguised like servants. 
 
 Sir Tun. Ay, ay, rogues enow, but we have mastered 
 them. We only fired a few shot over their heads, and 
 the regiment scorned in an instant. — Here, Tummus, 
 bring in your prisoner. 
 
 Fash. If you please, Sir Tunbelly, it will be best for 
 me not to confront this fellow yet, till you have heard 
 how far his impudence will carry him. 
 
A TRIP TO SCARBOROUGH 269 
 
 Sir Tun. Egad, your lordship is an ingenious person. 
 Your lordship, then, will please to step aside. 
 
 Lory. [Aside.] Tore heavens, I applaud my master’s 
 modesty ! [Exit with Tom Fashion. 
 
 Enter Servants, with Lord Foppington disarmed. 
 
 Sir Tun. Come, bring him along, bring him along. 
 
 Lord Fop. What the plague do you mean, gentle- 
 men ? is it fair time, that you are all drunk before 
 supper ? 
 
 Sir Tun. Drunk, sirrah ! here’s an impudent rogue 
 for you now. Drunk or sober, bully. I’m a justice o’ 
 the peace, and know how to deal with strollers. 
 
 Lord Fop. Strollers ! 
 
 Sir Tun. Ay, strollers. Come, give an account of 
 yourself. What’s your name ? where do you live ? do 
 you pay scot and lot ? Come, are you a freeholder or 
 a copyholder ? 
 
 Lord Fop. And why dost thou ask me so many 
 impertinent questions ? 
 
 Sir Tun. Because I’ll make you answer ’em, before 
 I have done with you, you rascal, you ! 
 
 Lord Fop. Before Gad, all the answer I can make to 
 them is, that you are a very extraordinary old fellow, 
 stap my vitals. 
 
 Sir Tun. Nay, if thou are joking deputy-lieutenants, 
 we know how to deal with you. — Here, draw a warrant 
 for him immediately. 
 
 Lord Fop. A warrant ! What the devil is’t thou 
 wouldst be at, old gentleman ? 
 
 Sir Tun. I would be at you, sirrah, (if my hands 
 were not tied as a magistrate,) and with these two 
 double fists beat your teeth down your throat, you 
 dog, you ! [Driving him. 
 
 Lord Fop. And why wouldst thou spoil my face at 
 that rate ? 
 
270 SHERIDAN’S PLAYS 
 
 Sir Tun. For your design to rob me of my daughter, 
 villain. 
 
 Lord Fop. Rob thee of thy daughter i Now do I 
 begin to believe I am in bed and asleep, and that all 
 this is but a dream. Pr’ythee, old father, wilt thou 
 give me leave to ask thee one question ? 
 
 Sir Tun. I can’t tell whether I will or not, till I know 
 what it is. 
 
 Lord Fop. Why, then, it is, whether thou didst not 
 write to my Lord Foppington, to come down and 
 marry thy daughter ? 
 
 Sir Tun. Yes, marry, did I, and my Lord Foppington 
 is come down, and shall marry my daughter before 
 she’s a day older. 
 
 Lord Fop. Now give me thy hand, old dad , I 
 thought we should understand one another at last. 
 
 Sir Tun. The fellow’s mad ! — Here, bind him hand 
 and foot. [They bind him. 
 
 Lord Fop. Nay, pr’ythee, knight, leave fooling ; thy 
 /jest begins to grow dull. 
 
 Sir Tun. Bind him, I say — he’s mad : bread and 
 frwater, a dark room, and a whip, may bring him to his 
 jsenses again. 
 
 Lord Fop. Pr’ythee, Sir Tunbelly, why should you 
 take such an aversion to the freedom of my address as 
 to suffer the rascals thus to skewer down my arms like 
 a rabbit ? — [Aside.] Egad, if I don’t awake, by all 
 that I can see, this is like to prove one of the most 
 impertinent dreams that ever I dreamt in my life. 
 
 Re-enter Miss Hoyden and Nurse. 
 
 Miss Uoyd. [Going up to Lord Foppington.] Is this 
 he that would have run — Fough, how he stinks of 
 sweets ! — Pray, father, let him be dragged through the 
 horse-pond. 
 
 Lord Fop. This must be rny wife, by her natural 
 inclination to her husband. [Aside. 
 
A TRIP TO SCARBOROUGH 271 
 
 Miss Hoyd. Pray, father, what do you intend to do 
 with him — hang him ? 
 
 Sir Tun. That, at least, child. 
 
 Nurse. Ay, and it's e'en too good for him too. 
 
 Lord Fop. Madame la goubernante, I presume : 
 hitherto this appears to me to be one of the most 
 extraordinary families that ever man of quality 
 matched into. [Aside. 
 
 Sir Tun. What's become of my lord, daughter ? 
 
 Miss Hoyd. He's just coming, sir. 
 
 Lord Fop. My lord ! what does he mean by that, 
 now ? [Aside. 
 
 Re-enter Tom Fashion and Lory. 
 
 Stap my vitals, Tam, now the dream's out ! [Runs. 
 
 Fash. Is this the fellow, sir, that designed to trick 
 me of your daughter ' 
 
 Sir Tun. This is he, my lord. How do you like him ? 
 Is not he a pretty fellow to get a fortune ? 
 
 Fash. I find by his dress he thought your daughter 
 might be taken with a beau. 
 
 Miss Hoyd. Oh, gemini ! is this a beau ? let me see 
 hirn again. [Surveys him.] Ha ! I find a beau is no such 
 ugly thing, neither. 
 
 Fash. [Aside.] Egad, she'll be m love with him 
 presently — I'll e'en have him sent away to jail. — [To 
 Lord Foppington.J Sir, though your undertaking 
 shows you a person of no extraordinary modesty, I 
 suppose you ha'n't confidence enough to expect much 
 favour from me ? 
 
 Lord Fop. Strike me dumb, Tam, thou art a very 
 impudent fellow. 
 
 Nurse. Look, if the varlet has not the effrontery to 
 call his lordship plain Thomas ! 
 
 Lord Fop. My Lord Foppington, shall I beg one 
 word with your iordship ? 
 
SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 272 
 
 Nurse. Ho, ho I it's my lord with him now ! See 
 how afflictions will humble folks. 
 
 Miss FLoyd. Pray, my lord — [To Fashion] — don't 
 let him whisper too close, lest he bite your ear off. 
 
 Lord Fop. I am not altogether so hungry as your 
 ladyship is pleased to imagine. — [Aside to Tom 
 Fashion.] Look you, Tam, I am sensible I have not 
 been so kind to you as I ought, but I hope you'll forgive 
 what's past, and accept of the five thousand pounds I 
 offer — thou mayst live in extreme splendour with it, 
 stap my vitals ! 
 
 Fash . It's a much easier matter to prevent a disease 
 than to cure it. A quarter of that sum would have 
 secured your mistress, twice as much cannot redemm 
 her. [Aside to Lord Foppington. 
 
 Sir Tun . Well, what says he ? 
 
 Fash. Only the rascal offered me a bribe to let him 
 
 go. 
 
 Sir Tun. Ay, he shall go, with a plague to him ! — 
 lead on, constable. 
 
 Enter Servant. 
 
 Ser . Sir, here is Muster Loveless, and Muster Colonel 
 Townly, and some ladies to wait on you. 
 
 [To Tom Fashion. 
 
 Lory . [Aside to Tom Fashion.] So, sir, what will you 
 do now ? 
 
 Fash. [Aside to Lory.] Be quiet ; they are in the 
 plot. — [Aloud.'] Only a few friends, Sir Tunbelly, whom 
 I wish to introduce to you. 
 
 Lord Fop. Thou art the most impudent fellow, Tam, 
 that ever nature yet brought into the world. — Sir 
 Tunbelly, strike me speechless, but these are my friends 
 and acquaintance, and my guests, and they will soon 
 inform thee whether I am the true Lord Foppington 
 or not. 
 
A TRIP TO SCARBOROUGH 
 
 273 
 
 Enter Loveless, Colonel Townly, Amanda, and 
 Berinthia. — Lord Foppington accosts them as 
 they pass , but none answer him . 
 
 Fash . So, gentlemen, this is friendly ; I rejoice to 
 see you. 
 
 Col. Town . My lord, we are fortunate to be the 
 witnesses of your lordship's happiness. 
 
 Love. But your lordship will do us the honour to 
 introduce us to Sir Tunbelly Clumsy ? 
 
 Aman. And us to your lady. 
 
 Lord Fop. Gad take me, but they are all in a story ! 
 
 [Aside. 
 
 Sir Tun. Gentlemen, you do me much honour ; my 
 Lord Foppington 's friends will ever be welcome to me 
 and mine. 
 
 Fash. My love, let me introduce you to these ladies. 
 
 Miss Hoyd. By goles, they look so fine and so stiff, 
 I am almost ashamed to come nigh 'em. 
 
 Aman. A most engaging lady indeed ! 
 
 Miss Hoyd. Thank ye, ma'am. 
 
 Ber. And I doubt not will soon distinguish herself 
 in the beau monde. 
 
 Miss Hoyd. Where is that ? 
 
 Fash. You'll soon learn, my dear. 
 
 Love. But Lord Foppington — — 
 
 Lord Fop. Sir 1 
 
 Love. Sir ! I was not addressing myself to you, sir ! — 
 Pray who is this gentleman ? He seems rather in a 
 singular predicament 
 
 Col. Town. For so well-dressed a person, a little 
 oddly circumstanced, indeed. 
 
 Sir Tun. Ha ! ha ! ha ! — So, these are your friends 
 and your guests, ha, my adventurer ? 
 
 Lord Fop. I am struck dumb with their impudence, 
 and cannot positively say whether I shall ever speak 
 again or not. 
 
274 
 
 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 Sir Tun. Why, sir, this modest gentleman wanted to 
 pass himselt upon me as Lord Foppington, and carry 
 off my daughter. 
 
 Love. A iikefy plot to succeed, truly, ha 1 ha ! 
 
 Lord Fop. As Gad shall judge me. Loveless, I did 
 not expect .this from thee. Come, pr'ythee confess the 
 joke ; tell Sir Tunbelly that I am the real Lord 
 Foppington, who yesterday made love to thy wife ; 
 was honoured by her with a slap on the face, and 
 afterwards pinked through the body by thee. 
 
 Sir Tun. A likely story, truly, that a peer would 
 behave thus. 
 
 Love. A pretty lellow, indeed, that would scandalise 
 the character he wants to assume ; but what will you 
 do with him, Sir Tunbelly ? 
 
 Sir Tun. Commit him, certainly, unless the bride 
 and bridegroom choose to pardon him. 
 
 Lord Fop. Bride and bridegroom ! For Gad's sake, 
 Sir Tunbelly, 'tis tarture to me to hear you call 'em so. 
 
 Miss Hoyd. Why, you ugly thing, what would you 
 have him call us— dog and cat ? 
 
 Lord Fop. By no means, miss ; lor that sounds ten 
 times more like man and wife than t'other. 
 
 Sir Tun. A precious rogue this to come a-woomg i 
 
 Re-enter Servant. 
 
 Ser. There are some gentlefolks below to wait upon 
 Lord Foppington. [Exit. 
 
 Cot. Town. 'Sdeath, Tom, what will you do now ? 
 
 [Aside to Tom Fashion. 
 
 Lord Fop. Now, Sir Tunbelly, here are witnesses 
 who I believe are not corrupted. 
 
 Sir Tun. Peace, fellow ! — Would your lordship choose 
 to have your guests shown here, or shall they wait till 
 we come to 'em ? 
 
 Fash. I believe, Sir Tunbelly, we had better not 
 
A TRIP TO SCARBOROUGH 275 
 
 have these visitors here yet. — [Aside.'] Egad, all must 
 out. 
 
 Love. Confess, confess ; well stand by you. 
 
 [Aside to Tom Fashion. 
 
 Lord Fop. Nay, Sir Tunbelly, I insist on your 
 calling evidence on both sides — and if I do not prove 
 that fellow an impostor 
 
 Fash , Brother, I will save you the trouble, by now 
 confessing that I am not what I have passed myself 
 for. — Sir Tunbelly, I am a gentleman, and I flatter 
 myself a man of character ; but 'tis with great pride 
 I assure you I am not Lord Foppington. 
 
 Sir Tun. Ouns ! — what's this ? — an impostor ? — a 
 cheat ? — fire and faggots, sir, if you are not Lord 
 Foppington, who the devil are you ? 
 
 Fash. Sir, the best of my condition is, I am your 
 son-in-law ; and the worst of it is, I am brother to that 
 noble peer. 
 
 Lord Fop. Impudent to the last. Gad dem me l 
 
 Sir Tun . My son-in-law ! not yet, I hope. 
 
 Fash. Pardon me, sir ; thanks to the goodness of 
 your chaplain, and the kind offices of this gentle- 
 woman. 
 
 Lory. 'Tis true indeed, sir ; I gave your daughter 
 away, and Mrs. Nurse, here, was clerk. 
 
 Sir Tun. Knock that rascal down ! — But speak, 
 Jezebel, how's this ? 
 
 Nurse. Alas ! your honour, lorgrve me ; I have been 
 over-reached in this business as well as you. Your 
 worship knows, if the wedding-dinner had been ready, 
 you would haye given her away with your own hands. 
 
 Sir Tun. But how durst you do this without 
 acquainting me ? 
 
 Nurse . Alas ! if your worship had seen how the poor 
 thing begged and prayed, and clung and twined about 
 me like ivy round an old wall, you would say, I who had 
 nursed it, and reared it, must have had a heart like 
 stone to refuse it. 
 
SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 276 
 
 Sir Tun. Ouns ! I shall go mad ! Unloose my lord 
 there, you scoundrels ! 
 
 Lord Fop. Why, when these gentlemen are at 
 leisure, I should be glad to congratulate you on 
 your son-in-law, with a little more freedom of 
 address. 
 
 Miss Hoyd. Egad, though, I don't see which is to 
 be my husband after all. 
 
 Love. Come, come, Sir Tunbelly, a man of your 
 understanding must perceive that an affair of this kind 
 is not to be mended by anger and reproaches. 
 
 Col. Town. Take my word for it. Sir Tunbelly, you 
 are only tricked into a son-in-law you may be proud of : 
 my friend Tom Fashion is as honest a fellow as ever 
 breathed. 
 
 Love. That he is, depend on't ; and will hunt or 
 drink with you most affectionately : be generous, old 
 boy, and forgive them 
 
 Sir Tun. Never ! the hussy 1 — when I had set my 
 heart on getting her a title. 
 
 Lord Fop. Now, Sir Tunbelly, that I am untrussed — 
 give me leave to thank thee for the very extraordina^ 
 reception I have met with in thy damned, execrable 
 mansion ; and at the same time to assure you, that of 
 all the bumpkins and blockheads I have had the 
 misfortune to meet with, thou art the most obstinate 
 and egregious, strike me ugly ! 
 
 Sir Tun. What's this ! I believe you are both rogues 
 alike. 
 
 Lord Fop. No, Sir Tunbelly, thou wilt find to thy 
 unspeakable mortification, that I am the real Lord 
 Foppington, who was to have disgraced myself by an 
 alliance with a clod ; and that thou hast matched thy 
 girl to a beggarly younger brother of mine, whose title 
 deeds might be contained in thy tobacco-box. 
 
 Sir Tun. Puppy ! puppy ! — I might prevent their 
 being beggars, if I chose it ; for I could give 'em as 
 good a rent-roll as your lordship. 
 
A TRIP TO SCARBOROUGH 277 
 
 Lord Fop. Ay, old fellow, but you will not do that — 
 for that would be acting like a Christian, and thou art 
 a barbarian, stap my vitals. 
 
 Sir Tun. Udzookers ! now six such words more, 
 and I'll forgive them directly. 
 
 Love. 'Slife, Sir Tunbelly, you should do it, and bless 
 yourself — Ladies, what say you ? 
 
 Aman. Good Sir Tunbelly, you must consent. 
 
 Ber. Come, you have been young yourself, Sir 
 Tunbelly. 
 
 Sir Tun. Well then, if I must, I must ; but turn — 
 turn that sneering lord out, however, and let me be 
 revenged on somebody. But first look whether I am a 
 barbarian or not ; there, children, I join your hands ; 
 and when Tm in a better humour, I'll give you my 
 blessing. 
 
 Love. Nobly done. Sir Tunbelly ! and we shall see 
 you dance at a grandson's christening yet. 
 
 Miss Hoyd. By goles, though, I don't understand 
 this ! What ! an't I to be a lady after all ? only plain 
 Mrs. What's my husband's name, nurse ? 
 
 Nurse . Squire Fashion. 
 
 Miss Hoyd. Squire, is he ? — Well, that's better than 
 nothing. 
 
 Lord Fop. [Aside.] Now I will put on a philosophic 
 air, and show these people, that it is not possible to 
 put a man of my quality out of countenance. — [Aloud.] 
 Dear Tam, since things are fallen out, pr'ythee give 
 me leave to wish thee joy ; I do it de bon coeur , strike 
 me dumb ! You have married into a family of great 
 politeness and uncommon elegance of manners, and 
 your bride appears to be a lady beautiful in person, 
 modest in her deportment, refined in her sentiments, 
 and of nice morality, split my windpipe ! 
 
 Miss Hoyd. By goles, husband, break his bones if 
 he calls me names ! 
 
 Fash. Your lordship may keep up your spirits with 
 your grimace, if you please ; I shall support mine, by 
 
278 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 Sir Tunbelly 's favour, with this lady and three thousand 
 pounds a year. 
 
 Lord Fop . Well, adieu, Tam ! — Ladies, I kiss your 
 hands ! — Sir Tunbelly, I shall now quit this thy den ; 
 but while I retain the use of my arms, I shall ever 
 remember thou art a demned horrid savage ; Ged 
 demn me ! [Exit. 
 
 Sir Tun. By the mass, 'tis well he's gone — for I 
 should ha' been provoked, by-and-by, to ha' dun un a 
 mischief. Well, if this is a lord, I think Hoyden has 
 luck on her side, in troth. 
 
 Col. Town. She has, indeed. Sir Tunbelly. — But I hear 
 the fiddles ; his lordship, I know, has provided 'em. 
 
 Love. Oh, a dance and a bottle, Sir Tunbelly, by all 
 means ! 
 
 Sir Tun. I had forgot the company below ; well — 
 what — we must be merry, then, ha ? and dance and 
 drink, ha ? Well, 'fore George, you shan't say I do 
 these things by halves. Son-in-law there looks like a 
 hearty rogue, so we'll have a night on't : and which 
 of these ladies will be the old man's partner, ha ? — 
 Ecod, I don't know how I came to be in so good a 
 humour. 
 
 Ber. Well, Sir Tunbelly, my fnend and 1 both will 
 endeavour to keep you so : you have done a generous 
 action, and are entitled to our attention. If you should 
 be at a loss to divert your new guests, we will assist 
 you to relate to them the plot of your daughter's 
 marriage, and his lordship's deserved mortification ; 
 a subject which perhaps may afford no b v ad evening's 
 entertainment. 
 
 Sir Tun. Ecod, with all my heart ; though 1 am a 
 main bungler at a long story. 
 
 Ber. Never fear ; we will assist you, if the tale is 
 judged worth being repeated ; but of this you may be 
 assured, that while the intention is evidently to please, 
 British auditors will ever be indulgent to the errors of 
 he performance. [Exeunt omnes. 
 
THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL 
 
 A COMEDY 
 
 DRAMATIS PERSONAE 
 
 AS ORIGINALLY ACTED AT DRURY LANE THEATRE IN I777 
 
 Sir Peter Teazle . 
 
 
 
 Mr. King 
 
 Sir Oliver Surface 
 
 
 
 Mr. Yates 
 
 Sir Harry Bumper . 
 
 
 
 Mr. Gawdry 
 
 Sir Benjamin Backbite 
 
 
 
 Mr. Dodd 
 
 Joseph Surface 
 
 
 
 Mr. Palmer 
 
 Charles Surface 
 
 
 
 Mr. Smith 
 
 Careless 
 
 
 
 Mr. Farren 
 
 Snake 
 
 
 
 Mr. Packer 
 
 ■Crabtree 
 
 
 
 Mr. Parsons 
 
 Rowley 
 
 
 
 Mr. Aickin 
 
 Moses 
 
 
 
 Mr. Baddeley 
 
 Trip 
 
 
 
 Mr. Lamash 
 
 Lady Teazle . 
 
 
 
 Mrs. Abington 
 
 Lady Sneerwell 
 
 
 
 Miss Sherry 
 
 Mrs. Candour 
 
 
 
 Miss Pope 
 
 Maria . . . 
 
 
 
 Miss P. Hopkins 
 
 Gentlemen, Maid, and Servants. 
 
 SCENE — London. 
 
 279 
 
A PORTRAIT : 
 
 ADDRESSED TO MRS. CREWE, WITH THE COMEDY OF 
 THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL. 
 
 By R. B. Sheridan , Esq. 
 
 Tell me, ye prime adepts m 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, 
 
 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 seek the Muse ? and while 
 Celestial blushes check thy conscious smile, 
 
 With timid grace and hesitating eye, 
 
 280 
 
THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL 281 
 
 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 Devon'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 ; 
 
 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 be admired so much. 
 
 The hand divine, with a less partial care, 
 
 Might well have fixed a fainter crimson there. 
 
 And bade 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. 
 
282 
 
 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 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 arm her altered brow,- 
 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 5 
 And, half mistrustful of her beauty's store, 
 
 She barbs with wit those darts too keen before : — 
 Read in all knowledge that her sex should reach, 
 Though Greville, or the Muse, should deign to teach, 
 Pond 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, 
 
 f 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, 
 
THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL 
 
 283 
 
 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 — 
 
 Owns all the colours just — the outline true : 
 
 Thee my inspirer, and my model — C rewe ! 
 
 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 be 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 1 
 
 [Sips. 
 
SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 284 
 
 Give me the papers, Lisp — how bold and free ! 
 
 Last night Lord L. [Sips\ was caught with Lady D. 
 
 [Sips, 
 
 For aching heads what charming sal volatile ! 
 
 If Mrs. B. will still continue flirting. 
 
 We hope shell draw, or well undraw the curtain. 
 
 Fine satire, poz — in public all abuse it. 
 
 But, by ourselves [5^>s], 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 ? 
 
 Knows he the world so little, and its trade ? 
 
 Alas I the devil'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 his hydra. Scandal, in his den. 
 
 For your applause all perils he would through — 
 
 He'll fight — that's write — a cavalliero true, 
 
 Till every drop of blood — that's ink — is spilt for you. 
 
THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL 
 
 285 
 
 ACT I 
 
 Scene I. — Lady Sneerwell's Dressing-room. 
 
 Lady 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 success- 
 ful 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-tSte in the “ Town 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 
 
286 
 
 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 colouring is too dark and her outlines often extra- 
 vagant. 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 sup- 
 port 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 envenomed tongue of slander I 
 confess I have since known no pleasure equal to the 
 reducing others to the level of my own injured repu- 
 tation. 
 
 Snake. Nothing can be more natural. But Lady 
 Sneerwell, there is one affair in which you have lately 
 employed me, wherein, I confess, I am at a loss to guess 
 your motives. 
 
 Lady Sneer . I conceive you mean with respect to my 
 neighbour, Sir Peter Teazle, and his family ? 
 
 Snake. 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 char- 
 acter, and universally well spoken of — the youngest, 
 the most dissipated and extravagant young fellow in 
 the kingdom, without 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 city knight, with a 
 good jointure, should not dose with the passion of a 
 man of such character and expectations as Mr. Surface ; 
 and more so why you should be so uncommonly earnest 
 to destroy the mutual attachment subsisting between 
 his brother Charles and Maria. 
 
THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL 
 
 287 
 
 Lady Sneer. Then, at once to unravel this mystery, 
 I. must inform you that love has no share whatever in 
 the intercourse between Mr. Surface and me. 
 
 Snake. No ! 
 
 Lady Sneer. His real attachment is to Maria or her 
 fortune ; but, finding in his brother a favoured rival, 
 he has been obliged to mask his pretensions, and profit 
 by my assistance. 
 
 Snake. Yet still 1 am more puzzled why you should 
 interest yourself in his success. 
 
 Lady Sneer. Heavens I 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 ? 
 
 Snake. Now, indeed, your conduct appears con- 
 sistent ; but how came you and Mr. Surface so 
 confidential ? 
 
 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 acquaint- 
 ance, he passes for a youthful miracle of prudence, good 
 sense, and benevolence. 
 
 Snake. Yes ; yet Sir Peter vows he has not his equal 
 m England ; and, above all, he praises him as a man 
 of sentiment. 
 
 Lady Sneer. True ; and with the assistance of his 
 sentiment 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, 1 fear, 
 he has a powerful one in Maria's heart, against whom we 
 must direct our schemes. 
 
288 
 
 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 Enter 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. 
 
 Enter Joseph Surface. 
 
 Jos. Surface . My dear Lady Sneerweil, how do you 
 do to-day ? 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, believe me, the confidence is not ill-placed. 
 
 Jos. Surf. Madam, it is impossible for me 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 
 execution in the house yesterday. In short, his dissipa- 
 tion and extravagance exceed anything 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 
 
THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL 289 
 
 Lady Sneer. O Lud ! you are going to be moral, and 
 forget that you are among friends. 
 
 Jos. Surf. Egad, that's true ! I'll keep that senti- 
 ment till I see Sir Peter. However, it is certainly a 
 charity to rescue Maria from such a libertine, who, if 
 he is to be reclaimed, can be so only by a person of 
 your ladyship's superior accomplishments and under- 
 standing. 
 
 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.j 
 Lady SneetweU, I am very sorry you have put any 
 farther confidence in that fellow. 
 
 Lady Sneer. Why so ? 
 
 Jos. Surf. I have lately detected him in frequent 
 conference 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 ? 
 
 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 villainy. 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 
 
290 
 
 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 swear the truth of the matter is, Mana 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 
 his acquaintance. 
 
 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. 
 
 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, wall ever 
 appear tedious and insipid. 
 
 Mar. Well, I’ll not debate how far scandal may be 
 allowable ; but in a man, I am sure, it is always con- 
 temptible. 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 
 ladyship's at leisure, will leave her carriage. 
 
 Lady Sneer. Beg her to walk in. — [Exit Servant.] 
 Now. Maria, here is a character to vour taste : for. 
 
THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL 
 
 though Mrs. Candour is a little talkative, everybody 
 knows her to be the best-natured and best sort of 
 woman. 
 
 Mar. Yes, with a very gross affectation ol good 
 nature and benevolence, she does more mischief than 
 the direct malice of old Crabtree. 
 
 Jos. Surf. I' faith that's true. Lady Sneerweii : when- 
 ever 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 ! 
 
 Enter Mrs. Candour. 
 
 Mrs. Can. My dear Lady Sneerweii, 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, 
 1 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 
 themselves so. 
 
 Mrs. Can. Very true, child ; but what's to be done ? 
 People will talk — there's no preventing it. Why, it was 
 but yesterday I was told that Miss Gadabout had 
 eloped with Sir Filagree Flirt. But, Lord ! there's no 
 minding what one hears ; though, to be sure, I had 
 this from very good authority. 
 
SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 292 
 
 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 last week, 
 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, no foundation in the world, I dare 
 swear : no more, probably, than for the story cir- 
 culated last month, of Mrs. Festino's affair with 
 Colonel Cassino — though, to be sure, that matter was 
 never rightly cleared up. 
 
 Jos. Surf. The license of invention some people take 
 is monstrous indeed. 
 
 Mar . Tis so ; but, in my opinion, those who report 
 such things are equally 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 ? 
 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 discovered 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 ! talebearers, as I said before, 
 are just as bad as the tale-markers. 
 
 Jos . Surf. Ah ! Mrs. Candour, if everybody had your 
 forbearance and good nature ! 
 
 Mrs. Can. I confess. Mr. Surface, I cannot bear to 
 
THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL 
 
 293 
 
 hear people attacked behind their backs ; and when 
 ugly circumstances come out against our acquaintance 
 I own I always love to think the best. By-the-by, I 
 hope 'tis not true that your brother is absolutely 
 ruined ? 
 
 Jos. Surf. I am afraid his circumstances are very 
 bad indeed, ma'am. 
 
 Mrs. Can. Ah ! — I heard so — but you must tell him 
 to keep up his spirits ; everybody almost is in the same 
 way : Lord Spindle, Sir Thomas Splint, Captain Quinze, 
 and Mr. Nickit — all up, I hear, within this week ; so, if 
 Charles is undone, he'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. 
 
 Lady Sneer. So, Maria, you see. your lover pursues 
 you ; positively you shan't escape. 
 
 Enter Crabtree and Sir Benjamin Backbite. 
 
 Crab. Lady Sneerwell, I kiss your hand. Mrs. Can- 
 dour, 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, he, 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 
 
SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 294 
 
 Sir Ben. Uncle now — pr'ythee 
 
 Crab Ffaith, 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 this lady's smiles, I mean to give 
 the public. [Pointing to Maria. 
 
 Crab. [To Maria.j 'Fore heaven, ma'am, they'll im- 
 mortalise you ! — you will be handed down to posterity 
 like Petrarch's Laura, or Waller's Sacharissa. 
 
 Sir Ben. [To 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 ? 
 
 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. O Lud ! ma'am, that's the very reason 
 
THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL 
 
 295 
 
 '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 robust er characters 
 of a hundred prudes. 
 
 Sir Ben. True, madam, there are valetudinarians m 
 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 circum- 
 spection. 
 
 Mrs. Can. Well, but this may be all a mistake. You 
 know, Sir Benjamin, very trifling circumstances often 
 give rise to the most injurious tales. 
 
 Crab. That they do, IT1 be sworn, ma'am. Did you 
 ever hear how Miss Piper came to lose her lover and her 
 character last summer at Tunbridge ? — Sir Benjamin, 
 you remember it ? 
 
 Sir Ben. Oh, to be sure ! — the most whimsical cir- 
 cumstance. 
 
 Lady Sneer. How was it, pray ? ^ 
 
 Crab. Why, one evening, at Mrs. Ponto’s assembly, 
 the 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, Ywas 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 
 
2Qb SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 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 ot, indeed, sir. 
 
 Crab. He has been in the East Indies a long time. 
 You can scarcely remember him, I believe ? Sad 
 comfort, whenever 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 1 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 annuities 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 dinner with a dozen of his own securities ; 
 have a score of tradesmen in the antechamber, and 
 an officer behind every guest's chair. 
 
 Jos Surf. This may be entertainment to you, gentle- 
 men, 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. O dear ! she changes colour very much. 
 
THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL 
 
 297 
 
 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,. 
 Til assist you. 
 
 Sir Ben. Mr. Surface, I did not mean to hurt you ; 
 but depend on't your brother is utterly undone. 
 
 Crab. O 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 wainscots. 
 
 Sir Ben. And I'm very sorry also to hear some bad 
 stories against him. [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. 
 
 Jos. Surf. And I believe the abuse was no more 
 acceptable to your ladyship than to Maria. 
 
 Lady Sneer. I doubt her affections are further 
 engaged than we imagine. But the family are to be 
 here this evening, so you may as well dine where you 
 
SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 298 
 
 are, and we shall have an opportunity of observing 
 further ; in the meantime, I'll go and plot mischief, 
 and yo u shall study se ntiment . [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene II . — A Room in Sir Peter Teazle's House . 
 
 Enter Sir Peter Teazle. 
 
 Sir Pet . When an old bachelor marries a young wile, 
 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. 1 was more than once nearly choked 
 with gall during the honeymoon, and had lost all 
 comfort in life before my friends had dope wishing me 
 joy. Yet I chose with caution — a girl b.ed 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. 
 
 Row. Oh ! Sir Peter, your servant : how is it with 
 ' you, sir ? 
 
 Sir Pet. Very bad, Master Rowley, very bad. I 
 ; meet with nothing but crosses and vexations. 
 
 Row. What can have happened since yesterday ? 
 
THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL 
 
 299 
 
 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, has anybody told you she was dead ? 
 
 Row. Come, come, Sir Peter, you love her, notwith- 
 standing your tempers don't exactly agree. 
 
 Sir Pet. But the fault is entirely hers, Master 
 Rowley. 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 
 Sneerweli, and the set she meets at her house, en- 
 courage the perverseness 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 
 lather's death, you know, I acted as a kind of guardian 
 to them 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 virtue by descent he has dissipated 
 
SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 300 
 
 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 Town. 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 together : 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 
 consumption ! Ah, Oliver will laugh at me. We used 
 to rail at matrimony together, but he has been steady 
 to his test. 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 disagree. 
 
 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 
 
 301 
 
 Sir Pet . Egad, and so we must — and that's impos- 
 sible. Ah 1 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 
 everything, and what's more, I will too. What though 
 I was educated in the country, I know very well that 
 women of fashion in London are accountable to no- 
 body 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, to be sure : — if you 
 wanted authority over me, you should have adopted 
 me, and not married me : I am sure you were old 
 enough. 
 
 Sir Pet. Old enough I — ay, there it is ! Well, well, 
 Lady Teazle, though my life may be made unhappy by 
 your temper, I'll not be ruined 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 Pantheon 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 
 
302 
 
 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 fault with the climate, and not with me. For my part, 
 I'm sure I wish it was spring all the year round, and 
 that roses grew under our feet ! 
 
 Sir Pet. Oons ! madam — if you had been bom to 
 this, I shouldn't wonder at your talking thus ; but 
 you forget what your situation was when I married 
 you. 
 
 Lady Teaz. No, no, 1 don't , 'twas a very dis- 
 agreeable one, or I should never have married you. 
 
 Sir Pet . Yes, yes, madam, you were then in some- 
 what 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 
 fapdog. 
 
 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 
 the 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. 
 
THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL 
 
 3 03 
 
 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 hut one thing 
 more you can make me to add to the obligation, that 
 is 
 
 Sir Pet . My widow, I suppose ? 
 
 Lady Teaz. Hem ! hem ! 
 
 Sir Pet. I thank you, madam, — but don't hatter 
 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 
 yourself so disagreeable to me and thwart me in every 
 little elegant expense ? 
 
 Sir Pet. 'Slife, madam, 1 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 ? 
 
 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 1 may go to 
 my engagement at Lady Sneerwelhs ? 
 
 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 re 
 putation. , 
 
 Sir Pet. Yes, egad, they are tenacious oi reputation 
 
SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 3<M 
 
 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 ? 
 
 Sir Pet . Ah 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 
 tolerable grace. But I vow I bear no malice against 
 the people I abuse : when I say an ill-natured thing, 
 'tis out of pure good humour ; and I take it for granted 
 they deal exactly in the same manner with me. But, 
 Sir Peter, you know you promised to come to Lady 
 Sneerwell's too. 
 
 Sir Pel. Well, well. I'll call in just to look after my 
 own character. 
 
 Lady Teaz . Then, indeed, you must make Uaste 
 after me or you'll be too late. So good-bye to ye. [Exit. 
 
 Sir Pet . So — I have gained much by my intended 
 expostulation ! Yet with what a charming air she 
 contradicts everything I say, and how pleasantly she 
 shows her contempt 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 as 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. O plague on't, uncle ! 'tis mere nonsense. 
 
THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL 305 
 
 Crab. No, no ; 'fore Gad, very clever for an extem- 
 pore ! 
 
 Sir Ben. But, ladies, you should be acquainted with 
 the circumstances. 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 : 
 
 Sure never were seen two such beautiful ponies ; 
 
 Other horses are clowns, but these macaronies : 
 
 To give them this title I am sure can't be wrong. 
 
 Their legs are so slim, and their tails are so long. 
 
 Crab. There, ladies, done in the smack of a whip, 
 and on horseback too. 
 
 Jos. Surf. A very Phoebus, mounted — indeed. Sir 
 Benjamin ! 
 
 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 
 opportunity of speaking to me before Sir Peter came. 
 
 [Aside. 
 
 Mrs. Can. Now, I'll die ; but you are so scandalous. 
 I'll forswear your society. 
 
SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 306 
 
 Lady Teaz. What's the matter, Mrs. Candour ? 
 
 Mrs. Can . They'll not allow our friend Miss Ver- 
 million 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 
 oft at night, and comes again in the morning. 
 
 Sir Ben. True, ma'am, it not only comes and goes , 
 but, what's more, egad, her maid can fetch and carry it I 
 
 Mrs. Can. Ha ! ha ! ha ! how I hate to hear you talk 
 so ! But surely, now, her sister is, or was. very hand- 
 some. 
 
 Crab. Who ? Mrs. Evergreen ? O Lord ! she's six- 
 and-ftfty 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 Sneerwell, 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's modem, though the trunk's antique ! 
 
 Crab. Ha ! ha I 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 ? 
 
THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL 
 
 307 
 
 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 ajar, 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 : How do you do , 
 madam? Yes y madam. 
 
 Lady Sneer. Very well. Lady Teazle ; 1 see you can 
 be a little severe. 
 
 Lady Teaz. In defence of a friend it is but justice. 
 But here comes Sir Peter to spoil our pleasantry. 
 
 Enter Sir Peter Teazle. 
 
 Sir Pei. Ladies, your most obedient — [Aside, ] Mercy 
 on me, here is the whole set I a character dead at every 
 word, 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, Mrs. 
 Candour, I dare swear. 
 
 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, you 
 ought not to reflect on her. 
 
 Lady Sneer. That's very true, indeed. 
 
SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 3°S 
 
 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 Ring 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 censorious — 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. 
 
 Lady Sneer. Though, surely, she is handsome still — 
 and for the weakness in her eyes, considering how much 
 she reads by candle-light, it is not to be 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 Ben. 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 
 
THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL 
 
 309 
 
 French fruit one cracks for mottoes — made up of paint 
 and proverb. 
 
 Mrs. Can. Well, I will never join in ridiculing a 
 triend ; 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 
 countenance that ever was seen ; 'tis a collection of 
 features from all the different countries of the 
 globe. 
 
 Sir Ben. So she has, indeed — an Irish front 
 
 Crab. Caledonian locks 
 
 Sir Ben. Dutch nose 
 
 Crab. Austrian lips 
 
 Sir Ben. Complexion of a Spaniard 
 
 Crab. And teeth a la Chinoise 
 
 Sir Ben. 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 — 
 wherein all the members, even to her eyes, appear to 
 have a different interest, and her nose and chin are the 
 only parties likely to join issue. 
 
 Mrs. Can. Ha ! ha ! ha ! 
 
 Sir Pet. Mercy on my life ! — a person they dine with 
 twice a week ! [Aside. 
 
 Lady Sneer. Go — go — you are a couple of provoking 
 Toads. 
 
 Mrs. Can. Nay, but I vow you shall not carry the 
 laugh 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 particular 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. 
 
SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 310 
 
 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, madam, 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 con- 
 sider the sporting with reputation of as much import- 
 ance as poaching on manors, and pass an act for the 
 preservation of fame, 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 permitted to kill characters and run down reputa- 
 tions, but qualified old maids and disappointed widows. 
 
 Lady Sneer. Go, you monster ! 
 
 Mrs. Can. But, surely, you would not be quite so 
 severe on those who only report what they hear ? 
 
 Sir Pet. Yes, madam, I would have law merchant 
 for them too ; and in all cases of slander currency, 
 whenever the drawer of the he was not to be found, the 
 injured parties should have a right to come on any of 
 the indorsers. 
 
 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 Pet. 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 ? 
 
THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL 
 
 ']IT 
 
 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. Surj. 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 intemper- 
 ance 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 noc treat me thus 
 and oppose your guardian, Sir Peter’s will, but that I 
 see that profligate Charles is still a favoured rival. 
 
 Mar. Ungenerously urged ! But, whatever my senti- 
 ments 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. 
 
SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 312 
 
 Jos Surf. Nay, but, Maria, do not leave me with a 
 frown : by all that's honest, I swear [Kneels. 
 
 Re-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 ? 
 Do you take her for me ? — Child, you are wanted in the 
 next room. — [Exit Maria.] What is all this, pray ? 
 
 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. 
 
 Lady Teaz. Indeed ! but you seemed to adopt a very 
 tender mode of reasoning — do you usually argue on 
 your knees ? 
 
 Jos. Surf. Oh, she's a child, and I thought a little 
 
 bombast but, Lady Teazle, when are you to give 
 
 me your judgment on my library, as you promised ? 
 
 Lady Teaz. No, no ; I begin to think it would be 
 imprudent, and you know I admit you as a lover no 
 farther than fashion requires. 
 
 Jos. Surf. True — a mere Platonic cicisbeo, what 
 every wife is entitled to. 
 
 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. 
 
 Lady T eaz. Go — you are an insinuating wretch ! 
 But we shall be missed — let us join the company. 
 
THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL 
 
 313 
 
 Jos. Surf. But we had best not return together. 
 
 Lady Teaz. Well, don't stay ; for Maria shan't come 
 to hear any more of your reasoning, I promise you. 
 
 [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 of 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 House. 
 
 Enter Sir Oliver Surface and Rowley. 
 
 Sir OUv. 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 ! 
 
 Row. 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 scandalous society in the neighbourhood, who have 
 contributed 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 
 
SHERIDAN’S PLAYS 
 
 314 
 
 fellow of his good name before he had 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 heart is not 
 turned against him, and that the son of my good old 
 master has one friend, however, left. 
 
 Sir Oliv. What ! shall I forget, Master Rowley, when 
 I was at his years myself ? Egad, my brother and I 
 were neither of us very prudent youths ; and yet, I 
 believe, you have not seen many better men than your 
 old master was ? 
 
 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 read 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, 1 
 have entered into — the happy state ; but we’ll not 
 talk of that now. 
 
THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL 315 
 
 Sir Oliv. True, true, Sir Peter ; old friends should 
 not begin on grievances at first meeting. No, no, no. 
 
 Roiv. [Aside to Sir Oliver.] Take care, pray, sir. 
 
 Sir Oliv. Well, so one of my nephews is a wild rogue, 
 hey ? 
 
 Sir Pet . Wild ! Ah ! my old friend, I grieve for your 
 disappointment there ; he's a lost young man, indeed. 
 However, his brother will make you amends ; Joseph 
 is, indeed, what a youth should be — everybody in the 
 world speaks well of him. 
 
 Sir Oliv. I am sorry to hear it ; he has too good a 
 character to be an honest fellow. Everybody speaks 
 well of him ! Psha ! 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. 
 
 Row. And Sir Peter shall own for once he has been 
 mistaken. 
 
 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. A lions, then ! 
 
 Sir Oliv. And don't, Sir Peter, be so severe against 
 your old friend's son. Odds my life ! I am not sorry 
 that he has run out of the course a little : for my part, 
 I hate to see prudence clinging to the green suckers of 
 
SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 316 
 
 youth ; 'tis like ivy round a sapling, and spoils the 
 growth of the tree. [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT III 
 
 Scene I. — A Room in Sir Peter Teazle's House . 
 
 Enter Sir Peter Teazle, Sir Oliver Surface, and 
 Rowley. 
 
 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. 
 
 Row. 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 he 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, endeavouring 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 
 
 Row. Why, sir, I will inform Charles and his brother 
 that Stanley has obtained permission to apply person- 
 ally 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, — 
 
THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL 
 
 “ 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 ? 
 Well, well, make the trial, if you please. But where is 
 the fellow whom you brought for Sir Oliver to examine, 
 relative to Charles's affairs ? 
 
 Row. Below, waiting his commands, and no one can 
 give him better intelligence. — This, Sir Oliver, is a 
 friendly Jew, who, to do him justice, has done every- 
 thing 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 upstairs. 
 
 [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 m; 7 
 power, one Snake, whom I have detected in a matter 
 little short of forgery, and shall shortly produce |d 
 remove some of your prejudices, Sir Peter, relative tt 
 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 dealings with my nephew Charles. 
 
 Mos. Yes, Sir Oliver, I have done all I could for 
 him ; but he was ruined before he came to me for 
 assistance. 
 
 ( 
 
SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 3i* 
 
 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 ? 
 
 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. 
 
 Sir Pet. What, one Charles has never had money 
 from before ? 
 
 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 ? 
 
 Mos . Not at all. 
 
 Sir Pet. Now then. Sir Oliver, you may have a 
 better opportunity of satisfying yourself than by an 
 an old romancing tale of a poor relation : go with my 
 iriend Moses, and represent Premium, and then, I'll 
 ^nswer 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. 
 
 Row. Well, this is taking Charles rather at a dis- 
 advantage, to be sure. However, Moses, you under- 
 stand Sir Peter, and will be faithful ? 
 
 Mos. You may depend upon me. — [Looks at his 
 watch.] 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 sinaFtlv dressed to look like a 
 money-lender ? 
 
S.P. r. 271. 
 
 Miss Hoyd — “ Oh gemini ! is this a beau ? ” 
 
THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL 
 
 321 
 
 me to declare, that I know no man who has ever paid 
 me a particular attention whom I would not prefer to 
 Mr. Surface. 
 
 Sir Pet. 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 un- 
 worthy my regard. Yet I cannot think it culpable, if, 
 while my understanding severely condemns his vices, 
 my heart suggests pity for his distresses. 
 
 Sir Pet. Well, well, pity him as much as you please ; 
 but give yotir 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, every- 
 thing conspiring to fret me ! I had not been involved 
 in matrimony a fortnight, before her father, a hale and 
 hearty man, died, on purpose, I believe, for the pleasure 
 of plaguing me with the care of his daughter. — [Lady 
 Teazle sings without .] 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. 
 
 s.p 
 
 F 
 
SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 322 
 
 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 repay- 
 ment. 
 
 Lady Teaz. 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 ? 
 
 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 
 
THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL 
 
 323 
 
 father, I have always defended you, and said, I didn't 
 think you so ugly by any means, and that you'd make 
 a very good sort of a husband. 
 
 Sir Pet. And you prophesied right ; aud we shall now 
 be the happiest couple — — 
 
 Lady Teaz. And never differ again ? 
 
 Sir Pet. No, never — though at the same time, in- 
 deed, my dear Lady Teazle, you must watch your 
 temper very seriously; for in all our little quarrels, 
 my dear, if you recollect, my love, you always began 
 first. 
 
 Lady Teaz. I beg your pardon, my dear Sir Peter : 
 indeed, you always gave the provocation. 
 
 Sir Pet. Now, see, my angel ! take care— contra- 
 dicting 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 now ! who begins first ? 
 
 Lady Teaz. Why, you, to be sure. I said nothing — 
 but there's no bearing your temper. 
 
 Sir Pet. No, no, 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 am 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 ! 
 
SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 324 
 
 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 because he never could meet with any one who 
 would have him. 
 
 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 I You are an 
 unfeeling, ungrateful — but there's an end of every- 
 thing. I believe you capable of everything 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 
 insinuate 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 : 
 
THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL 325 
 
 no ! she may break my heart, but she shan't keep her 
 temper. [Exit 
 
 Scene II. — A Room 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. 
 
 Trip. Premium — very well. [Exit, taking snuff. 
 
 Sir Oliv . To judge by the servants, one wouldn't 
 believe the master was ruined. But what i — 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 gentle- 
 man left it. Sir Peter thought it a piece of extravagance 
 in him. 
 
 Sir Oliv. In my mind, the other's economy m selling 
 it to him was more reprehensible by half. 
 
 Re-enter Trip. 
 
 Trip. My master says you must wait, gentlemen : 
 he has company, and can't speak with you yet. 
 
 Sir Oliv. If he knew who it was wanted to see him, 
 perhaps 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. Very well : and I pray, sir, what may be 
 your name ? 
 
 Trip. Trip, sir ; my name is Trip, at your service. 
 
 Sir Oliv . Well, then, Mr. Trip, you have a pleasant 
 ^ort of place here, I guess ? 
 
SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 328 
 
 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 com- 
 passion to you. If I toast her, you must give a round 
 gf 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 Ear. Maria who ? 
 
 Chas. Surf. Oh, damn the surname ! — 'tis too formal 
 to be registered in Love's calendar — but now. Sir 
 Harry, 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 ; 
 
 Here's to the flaunting extravagant quean, 
 
 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 a glass. 
 
 Here's to the charmer whose dimples we prize ; 
 
 Now to the maid who has none, sir ; 
 
 Here's to the girl with a pair of blue eyes, 
 
 And here's to the nymph with but one, sir. 
 
 fhorus. Let the toast pass, — 
 
 Drink to the lass, 
 
 I'll warrant she'll prove an excuse for a glass. 
 
THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL 
 
 329 
 
 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, — 
 
 Drink to the lass, 
 
 I'll warrant she'll prove an excuse for a glass. 
 
 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, — 
 
 Drink to the lass, 
 
 I'll warrant she'll prove an excuse for a glass. 
 
 All. Bravo ! Bravo ! 
 
 Enter Trip, and whispers Charles 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, dropped in by 
 chance ? 
 
 Chas. Surface. No, faith ! To tell you the truth, 'tis 
 a Jew and 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 
 gentlemen 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, 
 s.p. f 2 
 
SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 330 
 
 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 sentiment ; here's Success to 
 usury ! — Moses, fill the gentleman a bumper. 
 
 Mos. Success to usury ! [Drinks. 
 
 Caer. Right, Moses — usury is prudence and in- 
 dustry, 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. Give Moses a quart glass — this is mutiny, 
 and a high contempt for the chair. 
 
 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 com- 
 pany. [Aside. 
 
 Care. Plague on 'em then ! if they won't drink, 
 
THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL 
 
 33i 
 
 well not sit down with them. Come, Harry, the dice 
 are in the next room. — Charles, you’ll join us when 
 you have finished your business with the gentlemen ? 
 
 Chas. 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 undertakes. Mr. Premium, this is 
 
 Chas. Surf. Psha ! have done. Sir, my friend Moses 
 is a very honest fellow, but a little slow at expression : 
 hell 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 has got money to lend. 
 I am blockhead enough to give fifty per cent, sooner 
 than not have it ! and you, I presume, are rogue enough 
 to take a hundred if you can get it. Now, sir, you see 
 we are acquainted at once, and may proceed to 
 business without further ceremony. 
 
 Sir Oliv. Exceeding frank, upon my word. I see, sir, 
 you are not a man of many compliments. 
 
 Chas. Surf. Oh, no, sir ! plain dealing m business I 
 always think best. 
 
 Sir Oliv. Sir, I like you the better for it. However, 
 you 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 gener- 
 ally do. But these are trifles, Mr. Premium. What ! 
 
SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 332 
 
 I know money isn't to be bought without paying for't ! 
 
 Sir Oliv. Well, but what security could you give ? 
 You have no land, I suppose ? 
 
 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 ? 
 
 Chas . Surf. Nothing but live stock — and that's only 
 a few pointers and ponies. But pray, Mr. Premium, are 
 you acquainted at all with any of my connections ? 
 
 Sir Oliv. Why, to say the truth, I am. 
 
 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 everything. 
 
 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-orbit on Sir Oliver's life : 
 though at the same time the old fellow has been so 
 liberal to me, that I give you my word, I should be 
 very sorry to hear that anything had happened to 
 him. 
 
 Sir Oliv. Not more than I should, I assure you. But 
 the bond you mention happens to be just the worst 
 security you could 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. 
 
THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL 
 
 333 
 
 Sir Oiiv . Then I believe 1 should be the most un- 
 welcome 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 
 Christendom. 
 
 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. y 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 has 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. Very true, as you say, you must know 
 better than I, though I have it from pretty good 
 authority. Haven’t I, Moses ? 
 
 Mos. Yes, most undoubted ! 
 
 Sir Oliv . But, sir, as I understand you want a lew 
 hundreds 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. 
 
SHERIDAN’S PLAYS 
 
 334 
 
 Chas . Surf. O Lud ! that’s gone long ago. Moses can 
 tell you how better than I can. 
 
 Sir Oliv. [Aside.] Good lack ! all the family race- 
 cups and corporation-bowls ! — [Aloud.] Then it was 
 also supposed 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 communicative disposition, so I thought it a shame 
 to keep so much knowledge to myself. 
 
 Sir Oliv . [Aside.] Mercy upon me ! learning that had 
 ^ run in the family like an heir-loom ! — [Aloud.] Pray, 
 what has become of the books ? 
 
 Chas. 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, mdeed ; 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 ? 
 
 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’s life ! do you take me for Shylock in 
 the play, that you would raise money of me on your own 
 flesh and blood ? 
 
 Chas. 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 
 
THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL 335 
 
 dispose 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, bum 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 ? [Exeunt. 
 
 Sir Oliv. I'll never forgive him ; never ! never ! 
 
336 
 
 SHERIDAN’S PLAYS 
 
 ACT IV 
 
 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. 
 
 Sir Oliv. And, in my opinion, a goodly collection. 
 
 Chas. Surf. Ay, ay, these are done in the true spirit 
 of portrait-painting ; no volontiere grace or expression. 
 Not like the works of your modem 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 grandfather's will answer the purpose. 
 
 Care. Ay, ay, this will do. But, Charles, I haven't a 
 hammer ; and what's an auctioneer without his 
 hammer ? 
 
 . Chas. 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 
 
THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL 
 
 337 
 
 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 in- 
 deed ; — 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 Ravelin, a marvellous good general 
 in his day, I assure you. He served in all the Duke of 
 Marlborough's wars, and got that cut over his eye at 
 the battle of Malplaquet. What say you, Mr. Premium ? 
 look at him — there's a hero ! not cut out of his features, 
 as your modem clipped captains are, but 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 Richard for ten pounds ! — [Aloud.] Very well, sir, 
 I take him at that. 
 
 Chas. Surf. Careless, knock down my uncle Richard. 
 — Here, now, is a maiden sister of his, my great-aunt 
 Deborah, done by Kneller, in his best manner, and 
 esteemed a very formidable likeness. There she is, you 
 see, a shepherdess feeding her flock. You shall have her 
 for five pounds ten — the sheep are worth the money. 
 
 Sir Oliv. [Aside.] Ah ! poor Deborah ! a woman who 
 set such a value on herself ! — [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, 
 
338 SHERIDAN’S PLAYS 
 
 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 circuit. — 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 vdg. — Mr. Premium, you have more 
 respect for the woolsack ; do let us knock his lordship 
 down at fifteen. 
 
 Sir Oliv. By all means. 
 
 Care. Gone ! 
 
 Chas. 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 believe, 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 Parlia- 
 ment. 
 
 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 alderman 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 re- 
 tailing in this manner ; do let us deal wholesale : what 
 say you, little Premium ? Give me three hundred 
 pounds for the rest of the family in the lump. 
 
THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL 
 
 339 
 
 Care. Ay, ay, that will be the best way. 
 
 Sir Oliv . Well, well, anything to accommodate you ; 
 they are mine. But there is one portrait which you have 
 always passed over. 
 
 Care . What, that ill-lookmg 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 ! ’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, de- 
 pend on’t. Don’t you think so, little Premium ? 
 
 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 lumber ? 
 
 Chas. Surf. 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 Olive. [Aside.] How like his father the dog is. — 
 [Aloud.] Well, well, I have done. — [Aside.] I did not 
 perceive it before, but I think I never saw such a 
 striking resemblance. — [Aloud.] Here is a draft for 
 your sum. 
 
SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 340 
 
 Ckas. Surf. Why, 'tis lor 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, well 
 balance that another time. But give me your hand on 
 the bargain ; you are an honest fellow, Charles — I beg 
 pardon, sir, for being so free. — Come, Moses. 
 
 Chas. Surf . Egad, this is a whimsical old fellow !— 
 But hark'ee, Premium, you'll prepare lodgings for 
 these gentlemen. 
 
 Sir Oliv. Yes, yes, I'll send for them in a day or two. 
 
 Chas . Surf. But hold ; do now send a genteel convey- 
 ance 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. 
 
 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 per- 
 suade 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 
 encouraging 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 
 
THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL 
 
 34i 
 
 are mine by right. Tore Heaven ! I find ones 
 ancestors are more valuable relations than I took them 
 for ! — Ladies and gentlemen, your most obedient and 
 very grateful servant. 
 
 [Bows ceremoniously to the pictures. 
 
 Enter Rowley. 
 
 Ha ! old Rowley ! egad, you are just come in time to 
 take leave of your old acquaintance. 
 
 Row. 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 I shall be rich and splenetic, all in good time. How- 
 ever, I suppose you are surprised that I am not more 
 sorrowful at parting with so many near relations ; to 
 be sure, 'tis very affecting ; but you see they never 
 move a muscle, so why should I ? 
 
 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 fife, 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 . — W 7 hy, 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 reflec- 
 tion — 
 
 Chas. Surf. Ay, ay, it's very true ; but, hark'ee 
 
SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 34 2 
 
 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 pur- 
 chase — 
 
 Sir Oliv. Yes, yes, our young rake has parted with 
 his ancestors like old tapestry. 
 
 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 be paid, and this hundred would 
 satisfy them. 
 
 Sir Oliv. Well, well, I'll pay his debts, and his 
 benevolence too. But now I am no more a broker, and 
 you shall introduce me to the elder brother as old 
 Stanley. 
 
THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL 343 
 
 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. 
 
 Sir Oliv. There's a fellow for you ! Would you 
 believe it, that puppy intercepted the Jew on our 
 coming, and wanted to raise money before he got to 
 his master ! 
 
 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 birthday 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 ; however, Charles's imprudence and bad 
 character are great points in my favour. 
 
 [Knocking without. 
 
 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. 
 
SHERIDAN’S PLAYS 
 
 344 
 
 Ser. Tis her ladyship, sir ; she always leaves the 
 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 ? O Lud ! don’t pretend 
 to look grave. I vow I couldn’t come before. 
 
 Jos. Surf. O 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 ? 
 
 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, 
 certainly I do ! for then my dear Lady Teazle would 
 also be convinced how wrong her suspicions were of my 
 having any design on the silly girl. 
 
 Lady Teaz. Well, well, I’m inclined to believe you. 
 But isn’t it provoking, to have the most ill-natured 
 things said of one ? And there’s my friend Lady Sneer- 
 well has circulated I don’t know how many scandalous 
 tales of me, and all without any foundation, too ; that’s 
 what vexes me. 
 
THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL 
 
 345 
 
 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 consciousness of having deserved 
 it. 
 
 Lady Teaz . No, to be sure, then I'd forgive their 
 malice ; but to attack me, who am really so innocent, 
 and who never say an ill-natured thing of anybody — 
 that is, of any friend ; and then Sir Peter, too, to have 
 him so peevish, and so suspicious, when I know the 
 integrity of my own heart — indeed 'tis monstrous ! 
 
 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, that 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 reason- 
 able, 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 prejudice 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 ? why, the con- 
 sciousness of your own innocence. What makes you 
 impatient of Sir Peter's temper, and outrageous at his 
 suspicions ? why, the consciousness of your innocence. 
 
 Lady Teaz. 'Tis very true ! 
 
 Jos. Surf. Now, my dear Lady Teazle, if you would 
 
SHERIDAN’S PLAYS 
 
 346 
 
 but once make a trifling faux 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 ? 
 
 Jos. Surf. Oh, I'm sure on't ; 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 
 convinced 
 
 Jos. Surf. Oh, certainly, madam, your understanding 
 should be convinced. Yes, yes — Heaven forbid I should 
 persuade you to do anything you thought wrong. No, 
 no, I have too much honour to desire it. w 
 
 Lady Teaz. Don't you think we may as well leave 
 honour out of the argument ? 
 
 Jos. Surf. Ah, the ill effects of your country educa- 
 tion, I see, still remain with you. 
 
 Lady Teaz. I doubt they do, indeed ; and I will 
 fairly own to you, that if 1 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 un- 
 worthy of [ Taking her hand. 
 
 Re-enter Servant. 
 
 Sdeath, you blockhead — what do you want ? 
 
 Ser. I beg your pardon, sir, but I thought you 
 
THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL 
 
 347 
 
 would not choose Sir Peter to come up without an- 
 nouncing him. 
 
 Jos. Surf. Sir Peter ! — Oons — the devil ! 
 
 Lady Teaz. Sir Peter ! O Lud ! Pm ruined ! I’m 
 ruined ! 
 
 Ser. Sir, 'twasn't I let him m. 
 
 Lady Teaz. Oh ! Pm quite undone ! What will be- 
 come of me ? Now, Mr. Logic — Oh ! mercy, sir, he's on 
 the stairs — Pll get behind here — and if ever Pm so 
 
 imprudent again [ Goes behind the screen. 
 
 Jos. Surf. Give me that book. 
 
 [Sits down. Servant pretends to adjust his chair. 
 
 Enter Sir 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 coxcomb 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 anything in a hurry. 
 
 Jos. Surf. Ay, or to hide anything in a hurry either. 
 
 [Aside. 
 
 Sir Pet. Well, I have a little private business 
 
 Jos. Surf. You need not stay. [To Servant. 
 
 Ser. No, sir. [Exit. 
 
 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 
 
SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 348 
 
 to you — a point of the greatest moment to my peace ; 
 in short, my good friend, Lady Teazle's conduct of 
 late has made me very unhappy. 
 
 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 dis- 
 covery 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 ? 
 
 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 
 
THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL 
 
 349 
 
 any great affection for me ; and if she were to be frail, 
 and I were to make it public, why the town would only 
 laugh at 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 para- 
 graphs, and the devil knows what of me. 
 
 Jos. Surf. No, you must never make it public. 
 
 Sir Pet. But then again — that the nephew of my old 
 friend, Sir Oliver, should be the person to attempt such 
 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 enter- 
 tained ; 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 settlement on her ; and, in our last quarrel, 
 she almost hinted that she should not break her heart 
 if I was dead. Now, as we seem to differ in our ideas 
 of expense, I have 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 
 
SHERIDAN’S PLAYS 
 
 350 
 
 inattentive to her interest while living. Here, my 
 iriend, are the drafts of two deeds, which I wish to 
 have your opinion on. By one, she will enjoy eight 
 hundred a year independent while I live ; and, by the 
 other, the bulk of my fortune 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. 
 
 Josf. 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 ac- 
 quainting Lady Teazle with your passion, Pm 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 on my own concerns, 
 ^fhe 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. 
 
THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAF 351 
 
 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. 
 
 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 
 opportunity 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 I 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 follow that one is to be an absolute 
 Joseph either ! 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, a rogue — — But, egad, she has over- 
 heard 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 
 situation I'm in, to part man and wife in this manner. 
 
 Lady Teaz. [Peeping.] Couldn't I steal off ? 
 
SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 352 
 
 Jos. Surf. Keep close, my angel ! 
 
 Sir Pet. [Peeping.] Joseph, tax him home. 
 
 Jos. Surf. Back, my dear friend ! 
 
 Lady Teaz. [Peeping.] Couldn't you lock Sir Peter 
 in ? 
 
 Jos. Surf. Be still, my life ! 
 
 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 ? Your fellow would not let me up at first. 
 What ! have you had a Jew or a wench with you ? 
 
 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 uneasiness. 
 
 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, IPO 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 
 
THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL 
 
 353 
 
 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 satis- 
 faction to hear this. [Raising his voice. 
 
 Chas. Surf. To be sure, I once thought the lady 
 seemed to have taken a fancy to me ; but, upon my 
 soul, I never gave her the ieast encouragement. Be- 
 sides, you know my attachment 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 
 borrow a little of your morality, that's all. But, 
 brother, do you know now that you surprise me 
 exceedingly, 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 ser- 
 vant — 
 
 Jos. Surf. Brother, brother, a word with you ! — 
 [Aside.] Gad, I must stop him. 
 
 Chas. Surf. Informed, I say, that 
 
 [os. Surf. Hush ! T beg your pardon, but Sir Peter 
 
SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 354 
 
 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 ? 
 
 Jos. Surf. Softly, there. [Points to the closet. 
 
 Chas. Surf. Oh, 'fore Heaven, I'll have him out. 
 Sir Peter, come forth ! 
 
 Jos. Surf. No, no 
 
 Chas. Surf. I say, Sir Peter, come into court. — [Pulls 
 in Sir Peter.] What ! my old guardian ! — What ! — 
 turn inquisitor, and take evidence, incog. ? Oh, fie ! 
 Oh, fie ! 
 
 Sir Pet. Give me your hand, Charles — I believe I 
 have suspected you wrongfully ; but you mustn't be 
 angry with Joseph — 'twas my plan ! 
 
 Chas. 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 ? 
 
 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 be such 
 strangers. 
 
 Re-enter Servant and whispers Joseph Surface. 
 
 Ser. Lady Sneerwell is below, and says she will come 
 up. 
 
 fos. Surf. Gentlemen, I beg pardon — I must wait 
 
THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL 355 
 
 on you downstairs ; here's a person come on particular 
 business. 
 
 Chas. Surf. Well, you can see him in another room. 
 Sir Peter and I have not met a long time, 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.] Sir Peter, not a word 
 of the French milliner. 
 
 Sir Pet. [Aside to Joseph Surface.] I ! not for the 
 world ! — [Exit Joseph Surface.] Ah, Charles, if you 
 associated more with your brother, one might indeed 
 hope for your reformation. He is a man of sentiment. 
 Well, there is nothing in the world so noble as a man 
 of sentiment.^ 
 
 Chas. Surf. Psha ! he is too moral by half ; and so 
 apprehensive of his good name, as he calls it, that I 
 suppose he would as soon let a priest into his house as 
 a wench. 
 
 Sir Pet. No, no, — come, come, — you wrong him. 
 No, no, Joseph is no rake, but he is 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, I 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. 
 
SHERIDAN’S PLAYS 
 
 356 
 
 Chas. Surf. The devil she is ! 
 
 Sir Pet. Hush ! I tell you. [Points to the screen. 
 
 Chas. Surf. Behind the screen ! Odds life, let's 
 unveil her ! 
 
 Sir Pet. No, no, he's coming : — you shan't, in- 
 deed ! 
 
 Chas. Surf. Oh, egad, we'll have a peep at the little 
 milliner ! 
 
 Sir Pet. Not for the world ! — Joseph will never 
 forgive me. 
 
 Chas. Surf. I'll stand by you 
 
 Sir Pet. Odds, here he is ! 
 
 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 in 
 the dark, perhaps you are not so now ! All mute ! Well 
 — though I can make nothing of 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 sc 
 much uneasiness. — Sir Peter ! 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. 
 
 [Charles Surface throws down the screen. 
 
 > 
 
 Re-enter Joseph Surface. 
 
THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL 
 
 357 
 
 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 pretensions — but on your coming — being 
 apprehensive — as I said — of your jealousy — she with- 
 drew — 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 ! 
 
 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 Teas. Good Mr. Hypocrite, by your leave, I'll 
 speak for myself. 
 
 Sir Pet. Ay, let her alone, sir ; you'll find she'll 
 make out a better story than 3^ou, without prompting. 
 
 Lady Teas. 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 baseness. 
 
 Sir Pet. 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 have 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 penetrated so 
 to my heart, that had I left the place without the shame 
 of this discoverv, mv future life should have spoken the 
 
SHERIDAN’S PLAYS 
 
 358 
 
 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. Surf. You are too rash, Sir Peter ; you shall 
 hear me. The man who shuts out conviction by 
 refusing to 
 
 [Exeunt Sir Peter and Joseph Surface, talking . 
 
 ACT V 
 
 Scene I. — The Library in Joseph Surface’s House. 
 
 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- 
 thing. 
 
 Ser. Sir, I should not have let him in, but that Mr. 
 Rowley came to the door with him. 
 
 Jos. Surf. Psha ! blockhead ! to suppose that I 
 should now be in a temper to receive visits from poor 
 relations ! — Well, why don’t you show the fellow up ? 
 
 Ser. I will, sir. — Why, sir, it was not my fault that 
 Sir Peter 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 
 
THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL 
 
 359 
 
 to other people's distresses ! I shan't be able to bestow 
 even a benevolent sentiment on Stanley. — So ! here he 
 comes, and Rowley with him. I 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 ? 
 
 Row . It was, sir. But I doubt you are come a little 
 too abruptly. His nerves are so weak, that the sight of 
 a poor relation may be too much for him. I should 
 have gone first to break it to him. 
 
 Sir Oliv . Oh, plague of his nerves ! Yet this is he 
 whom Sir Peter extols as a man of the most benevolent 
 way of thinking ! 
 
 Row. 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 gentle- 
 man in the kingdom, though he is seldom so sensual as 
 to indulge himself in the exercise of it. 
 
 Sir Oliv. Yet he has a string of charitable sentiments 
 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, im- 
 mediately 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. 
 
360 
 
 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 Re-enter Joseph Surface. 
 
 Jos. Surf. Sir, I beg you ten thousand pardons ior 
 keeping you a moment waiting. — Mr. Stanley, I pre- 
 sume. 
 
 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, I 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 offer 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 ail 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 misin- 
 formed. 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, 
 
THE SCHOOL LOR SCANDAL 361 
 
 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 ? 
 
 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 weak- 
 ness ; 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. 
 
 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. O, dear sir, no ceremony. 
 
 Jos. Surf. Your very obedient. 
 
 Sir Oliv. Your most obsequious. 
 
SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 362 
 
 Jos. Surf. You may depend upon hearing from me, 
 whenever 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. Charles ! — you are my heir. [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 benevolence 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 
 jsentimental French plate I use instead of it makes 
 just as good a show, and pays no tax. 
 
 Re-enter Rowley. 
 
 Row. Mr. Surface, your servant : I was appre- 
 
 hensive of interrupting you, though my business 
 demands immediate attention, as this note will inform 
 you. 
 
 Jos. Surf. Always happy to see Mr. Rowley. — [Aside. 
 Reads the letter .] Sir Oliver Surface ! — My uncle 
 arrived ! 
 
 Row. 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. 
 Stanley, if he's not gone. [Calls to Servant. 
 
 Row. Oh ! he's out of reach, I believe. 
 
 Jos. Surf. Why did you not let me know this when 
 you came in together ? 
 
 Row. I thought you had particular business. But I 
 must be gone to inform your brother, and appoint him 
 
THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL 363 
 
 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 over- 
 joyed at his coming. — [Aside.] Never, to be sure, was 
 anything so damned unlucky ! 
 
 Row. You will be delighted to see how well he looks. 
 
 Jos. Surf. Oh ! I’m overjoyed to hear it. — [Aside.] 
 — Just at this time ! 
 
 Row. Til 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 Room 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. 
 Candour ? 
 
 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 great distress. — [Exit Maid.] Dear heart, how 
 provoking ! I’m not mistress of half the circumstances 1 
 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 
 
SHERIDAN’S PLAYS 
 
 364 
 
 Mrs . Can. And Sir Peter's discovery 
 
 Sir Ben. Oh, the strangest piece of business, to be 
 sure ! 
 
 Mrs . Can. Well, i never was so surprised in my hie. 
 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. 1 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 to appear- 
 ances ; though indeed, she was always too lively for 
 me. 
 
 Mrs. Can. To be sure, her manners 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 
 the particulars ? 
 
 Lady Sneer. No ; but everybody says that Mr. 
 Surface 
 
 Sir Ben. Ay, there ; I told you Mr. Surface was the 
 man. 
 
THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL 365 
 
 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, Til 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 ungrate- 
 ful fellow ; 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 
 immediate 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 undoubted authority. 
 
SHERIDAN’S PLAYS 
 
 366 
 
 Mrs. Can. Oh, Mr. Crabtree, then it is all true ! 
 
 Crab. Too true, indeed, madam, and Sir Peter is 
 dangerously wounded 
 
 Sir Ben. By a thrust in second quite through his left 
 side 
 
 Crab. By a bullet lodged m 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 knew Charles was the person. 
 
 Sir Ben. My uncle, I see, knows nothing of the 
 matter. 
 
 Crab. But Sir Peter taxed him with the basest 
 ingratitude 
 
 Sir Ben. That I told you, you know 
 
 Crab. Do, nephew, let me speak ! — and insisted on 
 immediate 
 
 Sir Ben. Just as I said 
 
 Crab. Odds life, nephew, allow others to know some- 
 thing 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^ 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 fireplace, 
 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 Northamptonshire. 
 
 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 infor- 
 mation. [Exit. 
 
THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL 367 
 
 Sir Ben. Ah ! Lady SneerwelTs 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, 
 attending him. 
 
 Crab. Yes, yes ; and I saw one of the faculty enter 
 just before me. 
 
 Sir Ben. Hey ! who comes here ? 
 
 Crab. Oh/ this is he : t^e 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 ? 
 
 Sir Oliv. Not a word. 
 
 Crab. Not of his being dangerously wounded ? 
 
 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. 
 
SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 368 
 
 Sir Oliv. Hey ! what the plague ! you seem to differ 
 strangely in your accounts : however, you agree that 
 Sir Peter is dangerously wounded. 
 
 Sir Ben. Oh, yes, we agree in that. 
 
 Crab. Yes, yes, I believe there can be no doubt in 
 that. 
 
 Sir Oliv . Then, upon my word, lor a person m that 
 situation, he is the most imprudent man alive ; for 
 here he comes, walking as if nothing at all was the 
 matter. 
 
 Enter Sir Peter 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 
 the most sudden recovery ! 
 
 Sir Oliv. Why, man ! what do you do out of bed 
 with a small-sword through your body, and a bullet 
 lodged in your thorax ? 
 
 Sir Pet. 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 
 misfortune. 
 
 Sir Pet. So, so ; all over the town already. [Aside. 
 
 Crab. Though, Sir Peter, you were certainly vastly 
 to blame to marry at your years. 
 
 Sir Pet. 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 Pet. Plague on your pity, ma'am ! I desire none 
 of it. 
 
 Sir Ben. However, Sir Peter, you must not mind the 
 laughing and jests you will meet with on the occasion. 
 
THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL 369 
 
 Sir Pet. Sir, sir ! I desire to be master in my own 
 
 house. 
 
 Crab. Tis no uncommon case, that's one comfort. 
 Sir Pet. I insist on being left to myself : without 
 ceremony, I insist on your leaving my house directly ! 
 
 Mrs. Can. Well, well, we are going ; and depend 
 on't, we'll make the best report of 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 Rowley. 
 
 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. YVell, 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 
 judgment 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. 
 
SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 370 
 
 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 ! 
 
 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 vastlv diverted with the story ! ha I 
 ha ! ha ! 
 
 Sir Pet. 'Twas very pleasant. 
 
 Sir Oliv. I never laughed more in my life, I assure 
 you : ha ! ha ! ha ! 
 
 Sir Pet. Oh, vastly diverting ! ha ! ha ! ha ! 
 
 Row. To be sure, Joseph with his sentiments ! ha 1 
 ha ! ha ! 
 
 Sir Pet. 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, 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 
 
THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL 
 
 37i 
 
 whole affair mysell. 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 des- 
 pise the ridicule of fools. But I see Lady Teazle going 
 towards the next room ; I am sure you must desire a 
 reconciliation as earnestly as she does. 
 
 Sir Oliv. Perhaps my being here prevents her 
 coming to you. Well, Til 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. 
 
 Row. We'll follow. [Exit Sir Oliver Surface. 
 
 Sir Pet. She is not coming here, you see, Rowley. 
 
 Row. 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 
 becoming in a wife. Don't you think it will do her 
 good to let her pine a little ? 
 
 Row. Oh, this is ungenerous in you ! 
 
 Sir Pet. Well, I know not what to think. You 
 remember the letter I found of hers evidently intended 
 for Charles ! 
 
 Row. 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. 
 
 Row. Certainly. 
 
 Sir Pet. Though, when it is known that we are 
 reconciled, people will laugh at me ten times more. 
 
SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 372 
 
 Row. 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. 
 
 Row. Nay, Sir Peter, he who once lays aside sus- 
 picion — 
 
 Sir Pet. Hold, Master Rowley ! if you have any 
 regard for me, never let me hear you utter anything 
 like a sentiment : I have had enough of them to serve 
 me the rest of my life. [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene III. — The Library in Joseph Surface's House. 
 
 Enter Joseph Surface and Lady Sneerwell. 
 
 Lady Sneer. Impossible ! Will not Sir Peter immedi- 
 ately be reconciled to Charles, and of course no longer 
 oppose his union with Maria ? The thought is dis- 
 traction to me. 
 
 Jos. Surf. Can passion furnish a remedy ? 
 
 Lady Sneer. No, nor cunning either. Oh, I was a 
 fool, an idiot, to league with such a blunderer ! 
 
 Jos. Surf. Surely, Lady Sneerwell, I am the greatest 
 sufferer ; 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 
 v 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 monoply, and never prospers. 
 
THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL 
 
 373 
 
 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 either. 
 
 Lady 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 be 
 necessary, to swear and prove, that Charles is at this 
 time contracted by vows and honour to your ladyship, 
 which some of his former letters to you will serve to 
 support ? " 
 
 Lady Sneer. This, indeed, might have assisted. 
 
 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 
 further when he's gone. 
 
 Lady Sneer. Well, but if he should find you out too. 
 
 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 shall have Sir Oliver come and j 
 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. 
 
SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 374 
 
 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 
 
 Jos. Surf. Sir, I insist on't I — Here, William ! show 
 this gentleman out. Since you compel me, sir, not one 
 moment — this is such insolence. 
 
 [Going to push him out . 
 
 Enter Charles 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 ? 
 
 Chas. Surf. To 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. 
 
THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL 375 
 
 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. 
 
 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 his 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. Very. 
 
 Sir Oliv . Sir Peter, my friend, and Rowley too — look 
 on that elder nephew of mine. You know what he has 
 already received from my bounty ; and you 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 
 
SHERIDAN’S PLAYS 
 
 3 76 
 
 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 punishment 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. 
 
 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 
 yourself ? [To Joseph Surface. 
 
 Jos. 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. 
 
 Row. 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 bar- 
 gained with 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 — 
 
THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL 
 
 377 
 
 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 at 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. 
 
 Lady Teaz. [Advancing.'] Yet, I believe, Sir Oliver, 
 here is one whom Charles is still more anxious to be 
 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 right — 
 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 
 
SHERIDx\N’S PLAYS 
 
 378 
 
 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. 
 
 Enter Snake. 
 
 I thought his testimony might be wanted ; however, it 
 happens unluckily, that he comes to confront Lady 
 Sneerwell, 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 % o speak 
 the truth. 
 
 Lady Sneer. The torments of shame and dis- 
 appointment on you all ! [Going. 
 
 Lady Teaz. Hold, Lady Sneerwell — before you go, 
 let me thank you for the trouble you and that gentle- 
 man 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 president, 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 — in- 
 solent ! May your husband live these fifty years ! 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Sir Pet. Oons ! what a fury ! 
 
 Lady Teaz. A malicious creature, indeed ! 
 
THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL 
 
 379 
 
 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 Sneerwell 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. [Exit. 
 
 Sir Pet. Moral to the last drop ! 
 
 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 
 whatever uneasiness I have been the humble instru- 
 ment of causing to the parties present. 
 
 Sir Pet . Well, well, you have made atonement by a 
 good deed at last. 
 
 Snake . But I must request of the company, that it 
 shall never be known. 
 
 Sir Pet. Hey ! 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 betrayed into an honest action, I should lose 
 every friend I have in the world. 
 
 Sir Oliv. Well, well — we'll not traduce you by 
 saying anything in your praise, never fear. 
 
 [Exit Snake. 
 
 Sir Pet. There's a precious rogue ! 
 
 Lady Teaz. See, Sir Oliver, there needs no per- 
 suasion 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 
 consent first ? 
 
SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 380 
 
 Chas. Surj. Oh, i have done that a long time — a 
 minute ago — and she has looked yes. 
 
 Mar. For shame, Charles I — 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 ! 
 
 Chas. Surf. Rowley, my old friend, I am sure you 
 congratulate me ; and I suspect that I owe you much. 
 Sir Oliv. You do, indeed, Charles. 
 
 Row. If my efforts to serve you had not succeeded 
 you would have been in my debt for the attempt — but 
 deserve to be happy — and you over-repay me. 
 
 Sir Pet. Ay, honest Rowley always said you would 
 reform. 
 
 Chas. Surf 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 wave 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. 
 
THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL 
 
 EPILOGUE 
 
 By Mr. Colman 
 
 SPOKEN BY LADY TEAZLE 
 
 1, who was late so volatile and gay, 
 
 Like a trade-wind must now blow all one way. 
 
 Bend all my xares, 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 your lives : 
 
 Each bring his dear to town, all faults upon her — 
 London will prove the very source of honour. 
 
 Plunged fairly in, like a cold bath it serves, 
 
 When principles relax, to brace the nerves : 
 
 Such is my case ; and yet I must deplore 
 That the gay dream of dissipation's o'er. 
 
 And say, ye fair ! was ever lively wife, 
 
 Born with a genius for the highest life, 
 
 Like me untimely blasted in her bloom, 
 
 Like me condemn'd 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. 
 
382 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 Seven's the mam ! 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 CRITIC; 
 
 OR, A TRAGEDY REHEARSED 
 
 A DRAMATIC PIECE IN THREE ACTS 
 
 TO MRS. GREVILLE 
 
 Madam, — In -requesting your permission to address the 
 following pages to you, which, as they aim themselves 
 to be critical, require every protection and allowance 
 that approving taste or friendly prejudice can give 
 them, I yet ventured to mention no other motive than 
 the gratification of private friendship and esteem. 
 Had I suggested a hope that your implied approbation 
 would give a sanction to their defects, your particular 
 reserve, and dislike to the reputation of critical taste, 
 as well as of poetical talent, would have made you 
 refuse the protection of your name to such a purpose. 
 However, I am not so ungrateful as now to attempt to 
 combat this disposition in you. I shall not here presume 
 to argue that the present state of poetry claims and 
 expects every assistance that taste and example can 
 afford it ; nor endeavour to prove that a fastidious 
 concealment of the most elegant productions of judg- 
 men at fancy is an ill return for the possession of those 
 endowments. Continue to deceive yourself in the idea 
 that you are known only to be eminently admired and 
 regarded for the valuable qualities that attach private 
 friendships, and the graceful talents that adorn con- 
 versation. Enough of what you have written has stolen 
 into full public notice to answer my purpose ; and you 
 will, perhaps, be the only person, conversant in elegant 
 
 383 
 
SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 384 
 
 literature, who shall read this address and not perceive 
 that by publishing your particular approbation of the 
 following drama, I have a more interested object than 
 to boast the true respect and regard with which I have 
 the honour to be, Madam, your very sincere and 
 obedient humble servant, 
 
 R. B. SHERIDAN. 
 
 DRAMATIS PERSONS 
 
 AS ORIGINALLY ACTED AT DRURY LANE THEATRE IN 1779 
 
 Sir Fretful Plagiary . 
 
 Puff .... 
 Dangle 
 
 Sneer .... 
 
 Signor Pasticcio Ritornello 
 
 Interpreter 
 
 Under Prompter 
 
 Mr. Hopkins 
 
 Mrs. Dangle 
 
 Signore Pasticcio Ritornello 
 
 Mr. Parsons 
 Mr. King 
 Mr. Dodd 
 Mr. Palmer 
 Mr. Delpini 
 Mr. Baddeley 
 Mr. Phillimore 
 Mr. Hopkins 
 Mrs. Hopkins 
 Miss Field and the 
 Miss Abrams 
 
 Scenemen, Musicians, and Servants. 
 
SHERIDAN’S PLAYS 
 
Printed in Great Britain 
 
Chas. Surface— “ Lady Teazle, by all that’s wonderful 1” 
 
CHARACTERS OF THE TRAGEDY 
 
 Lord Burleigh 
 Governor of Tilbury Fort 
 Earl of Leicester 
 Sir Walter Raleigh 
 Sir Christopher Hatton 
 Master of the Horse . 
 Don Ferolo 'Whiskerandos 
 Beefeater 
 
 Justice .... 
 Son ... 
 
 Constable 
 
 Thames .... 
 
 Tilburina 
 
 Confidant 
 
 Justice's Lady 
 
 First Niece . 
 
 Second Niece 
 
 Mr. Moody 
 Mr. Wrighten 
 Mr. Farren 
 Mr. Burton 
 Mr. Waldron 
 Mr. Kenny 
 Mr. Bannister , jun. 
 Mr. Wright 
 Mr. Packer 
 Mr. Lamash 
 Mr. Fawcett 
 Mr. G aw dry 
 Miss Pope 
 Mrs. Bradshaw 
 Mrs. Johnston 
 Miss Collett 
 Miss Kirby 
 
 Knights, Guards, Constables, Sentinels, Servants, 
 Chorus, Rivers, Attendants, &c., &c. 
 
 SCENE — London : m Dangle's House during the 
 First Act , and throughout the rest of the Play in 
 Drury Lane Theatre. 
 
 s.p. 
 
 385 
 
 G 
 
PROLOGUE 
 
 BY THE HONOURABLE RICHARD FITZPATRICK 
 
 The sister Muses, whom these realms obey, 
 
 Who o'er the drama hold divided sway, 
 
 Sometimes by evil counsellors, ’tis said, 
 
 Like earth-born potentates have been misled. 
 
 In those gay days of wickedness and wit, 
 
 When Villiers criticised what Dryden writ, 
 
 The tragic queen, to please a tasteless crowd, 
 
 Had learn’d to bellow, rant, and roar so loud, 
 
 That frighten’d Nature, her best friend before, 
 
 The blustering beldam’s company foreswore ; 
 
 Her comic sister, who had wit ’tis true, 
 
 With all her merits, had her failings too : 
 
 And would sometimes in mirthful moments use 
 A style too flippant for a well-bred muse ; 
 
 Then female modesty abash’d began 
 To seek the friendly refuge of the fan. 
 
 Awhile behind that slight intrenchment stood, 
 
 Till driven from thence, she left the stage for good. 
 In our more pious, and far chaster times, 
 
 These sure no longer are the Muse’s crimes ! 
 
 But some complain that, former faults to shun, 
 
 The reformation to extremes has run. 
 
 The frantic hero’s wild delirium past, 
 
 Now insipidity succeeds bombast : 
 
 So slow Melpomene’s cold numbers creep, 
 
 Here dulness seems her drowsy court to keep, 
 
 And we are scarce awake, whilst you are fast asleep. 
 Thalia, once so ill-behaved and rude, 
 
 Reform’d, is now become an arrant prude ; 
 
 Retailing nightly to the yawning pit 
 The purest morals, undefiled by wit ! 
 
 386 
 
THE CRITIC 
 
 387 
 
 Our author offers, in these motley scenes, 
 
 A slight remonstance to the drama's queens : 
 
 Nor let the goddesses be over nice ; 
 
 Free-spoken subjects give the best advice. 
 Although not quite a novice in his trade, 
 
 His cause to-night requires no common aid. 
 
 To this, a friendly, just, and powerful court, 
 
 I come ambassador to beg support. 
 
 Can he undaunted brave the critic's rage ? 
 
 In civil broils with brother bards engage ? 
 
 Hold forth their errors to the public eye, 
 
 Nay more, e'en newspapers themselves defy ? 
 
 Say, must hi$ single arm encounter all ? 
 
 By number vanquish'd, e'en the brave may fall ; 
 And though no leader should success distrust, 
 Whose troops are willing, and whose cause is just ; 
 To bid such hosts of angry foes defiance, 
 
 His chief dependence must be, your alliance. 
 
 ACT I 
 
 Scene I. — A Room in Dangle 's House . 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Dangle discovered at breakfast , and 
 reading newspapers. 
 
 Dang. [Reading.] Brutus to Lord North. — Letter the 
 second on the State of the Army — Psha ! To the first L 
 dash D of the A dash Y — Genuine extract of a Letter 
 from St. Kitfs. — Coxheath Intelligence. — It is now con- 
 fidently asserted that Sir Charles Hardy — Psha ! nothing 
 but about the fleet and the nation ! — and I hate all 
 politics but theatrical politics. — Where's the Morning 
 Chronicle ? 
 
 Mrs. Dang. Yes, that's your Gazette. 
 
SHERIDAN’S PLAYS 
 
 388 
 
 Dang. So, here we have it. — [Reads.] Theatrical in- 
 telligence extraordinary. — We hear there is a new tragedy 
 in rehearsal at Drury Lane Theatre , called the Spanish 
 Armada , said to be written by Mr. Puff , a gentleman 
 well-known in the theatrical world . If we may allow 
 ourselves to give credit to the report of the performers , who : 
 truth to say , are in general but indifferent judges , this 
 piece abounds with the most striking and received 
 beauties of modern composition. — So 1 1 am very glad my 
 friend Puff's tragedy is in such forwardness. — Mrs. 
 Dangle, my dear, you will be very glad to hear that 
 Puff's tragedy 
 
 Mrs. Dang. Lord, Mr. Dangle, why will you plague 
 me about such nonsense ? — -Now the plays are begun 
 I shall have no peace. — Isn't it sufficient to make your- 
 self ridiculous by your passion for the theatre, without 
 continually teasing me to join you ? Why can't you 
 ride your hobby-horse without desiring to place me on 
 a pillion behind you, Mr. Dangle ? 
 
 Dang. Nay, my dear, I was only going to read 
 
 Mrs. Dang. No, no ; you will never read anything 
 that's worth listening to. You hate to hear about 
 your country ; there are letters every day with 
 Roman signatures, demonstrating the certainty of an 
 invasion, and proving that the nation is utterly un- 
 done. But you never will read anything to entertain 
 one. 
 
 Dang. What has a woman to do with politics, Mrs. 
 Dangle ? 
 
 Mrs. Dang. And what have you to do with the 
 theatre, Mr. Dangle ? Why should you affect the 
 character of a critic ? I have no patience with you ! — 
 haven't you made yourself the jest of all your acquaint- j 
 ance by your interference in matters where you have 
 no business ? Are you not called a theatrical Quidnunc, 
 and a mock Maecenas to second-hand authors ? 
 
 Dang. True ; my power with the managers is pretty 
 notorious. But is it no credit to have applications from 
 
THE CRITIC 
 
 389 
 
 ail quarters for my interest — from lords to recommend 
 fiddlers, from ladies to get boxes, from authors to get 
 answers, and from actors to get engagements ? 
 
 Mrs. Dang. Yes, truly ; you have contrived to get a 
 share in all the plague and trouble of theatrical pro- 
 perty, without the profit, or even the credit of the 
 abuse that attends it. 
 
 Dang. I am sure, Mrs. Dangle, you are no loser by it, 
 however ; you have all the advantages of it. Mightn't 
 you, last winter, have had the reading of the new 
 pantomime a fortnight previous to its performance ? 
 And doesn't Mr. Fosbrook let you take places for a 
 play before it is advertised, and set you down for a 
 box for every new piece though the season ? And 
 didn't my friend, Mr. Smatter, dedicate his last farce 
 to you at my particular request, Mrs. Dangle ? 
 
 Mrs. Dang. Yes ; but wasn't the farce damned, Mr. 
 Dangle ? And to be sure it is extremely pleasant to 
 have one's house made the motley rendezvous of all 
 the lackeys of literature ; the very high 'Change of 
 trading authors and jobbing critics S — Yes, my draw- 
 ing-room is an absolute register-office for candidate 
 actors, and poets without character. — Then to be 
 continually alarmed with misses and ma'ams piping 
 hysteric changes on Juliets and Dormdas, Pollys and 
 Ophelias ; and the very furniture trembling at the pro- 
 bationary starts and unprovoked rants of would-be 
 Richards and Hamlets ! — And what is worse than all, 
 now that the manager has monopolised the Opera 
 House, haven't we the signors and signoras calling 
 here, sliding their smooth semibreves, and gargling glib 
 divisions in their outlandish throats — with foreign 
 emissaries and French spies, for aught I know, dis- 
 guised like fiddlers and figure dancers ? 
 
 Dang. Mercy ! Mrs. Dangle ! 
 
 Mrs. Dang. And to employ yourself so idly at such 
 an alarming crisis as this too — when, if you had the 
 least spirit, you would have been at the head of one of 
 
SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 390 
 
 the Westminster associations — or trailing a volunteer 
 pike in the Artillery Ground ! But you — o' my con- 
 science, I believe, if the French were landed to-morrow, 
 your first inquiry would be, whether they had brought 
 a theatrical troop with them. 
 
 Dang, Mrs. Dangle, it does not signify — I say the 
 stage is the mirror of Nature , and the actors are the 
 Abstract and brief Chronicles of the Time : and pray 
 what can a man of sense study better ? — Besides, you 
 will not easily persuade me that there is no credit or 
 importance in being at the head of a band of critics, 
 who take upon them to decide for the whole town, 
 whose opinion and patronage all writers solicit, and 
 whose recommendation no manager dares refuse. 
 
 Mrs . Dang . Ridiculous ! — Both managers and 
 
 authors of the least merit laugh at your pretensions. — 
 The public is their critic — without whose fair appro- 
 bation they know no play can rest on the stage, and 
 with whose applause they welcome such attacks as 
 yours, and laugh at the malice of them, where they 
 can't at the wit. 
 
 Dang, Very well, madam — very well ! 
 
 Enter Servant. 
 
 Ser. Mr. Sneer, sir, to wait on you. 
 
 Dang, Oh, show Mr. Sneer up. — [Exit Servant.] — 
 Plague on't, now we must appear loving and affec- 
 tionate, or Sneer will hitch us into a story. 
 
 Mrs. Dang . With all my heart ; you can't be more 
 ridiculous than you are. 
 
 Dang. You are enough to provoke 
 
 Enter Sneer. 
 
 Ha ! my dear Sneer, I am vastly glad to see you. — M;y 
 dear, here's Mr. Sneer. 
 
THE CRITIC 
 
 39i 
 
 Mrs. Dang. Good-moming to you, sir. 
 
 Dang. Mrs. Dangle and I have been diverting our- 
 selves with the papers. Pray, Sneer, won't you go to 
 Drury Lane Theatre the first night of Puffs tragedy ? 
 
 Sneer. Yes ; but I suppose one shan't be able to get 
 in, for on the first night of a new piece they always fill 
 the house with orders to support it. But here, Dangle, 
 I have brought you two pieces, one of which you must 
 exert yourself to make the managers accept, I can tell 
 you that ; for 'tis written by a person of consequence. 
 
 Dang. So ! now my plagues are beginning. 
 
 Sneer. Ay, I am glad of it, for now you'll be happy. 
 Why, my dear Dangle, it is a pleasure to see how you 
 enjoy your volunteer fatigue, and your solicited 
 solicitations. 
 
 Dang. It's a great trouble — yet, egad, it's pleasant 
 too. — Why, sometimes of a morning I have a dozen 
 people call on me at breakfast-time, whose faces I 
 never saw before, nor ever desire to see again. 
 
 Sneer. That must be very pleasant indeed ! 
 
 Dang. And not a week but I receive fifty letters, 
 and not a line in them about any business of my own. 
 
 JSneer. An amusing correspondence ! 
 
 Dang. [Reading.] Bursts into tears and exit. — What, 
 is this a tragedy. 
 
 Sneer. No, that's a genteel comedy, not a trans- 
 lation — only taken from the French : it is written in a 
 style which they have lately tried to run down ; the 
 true sentimental, and nothing ridiculous in it from the 
 beginning to the end. 
 
 Mrs. Dang. Well, if they had kept to that, I should 
 not have been such an enemy to the stage ; there was 
 some edification to be got from those pieces, Mr. Sneer ! 
 
 Sneer. I am quite of your opinion, Mrs. Dangle : the 
 theatre, in proper hands, might certainly be made the 
 school of morality ; but now, I am sorry to say it, 
 people seem to go there principally for their entertain- 
 ment ! 
 
SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 392 
 
 Mrs. Dang. It would have been more to the credit 
 of the managers to have kept it in the other line. 
 
 Sneer . Undoubtedly, madam ; and hereafter per- 
 haps to have had it recorded, that in the midst of a 
 luxurious and dissipated age, they preserved two houses 
 in the capital, where the conversation was always moral 
 at least, if not entertaining ! 
 
 Dang. Now, egad, I think the worst alteration is in 
 the nicety of the audience ! — No double-entendre , no 
 smart innuendo admitted ; even Vanbrugh and Con- 
 greve obliged to undergo a bungling reformation ! 
 
 Sneer . Yes, and our prudery in this respect is just 
 on a par with the artificial bashfulness of a courtesan, 
 who increases the blush upon her cheek in an exact 
 proportion to the diminution of her modesty. 
 
 Dang. Sneer can't even give the public a good word ! 
 But what have we here ? — This seems a very odd 
 
 Sneer. Oh, that's a comedy on a very new plan ; 
 replete with wit and mirth, yet of a most serious 
 moral ! You see it is called The Reformed House- 
 breaker ; where, by the mere force of humour, house- 
 breaking is put in so ridiculous a light, that if the 
 piece has its proper run, I have no doubt but that 
 bolts and bars will be entirely useless by the end of the 
 season. 
 
 Dang. Egad, this is new indeed ! 
 
 Sneer. Yes ; it is written by a particular friend of 
 mine, who has discovered that the follies and foibles of 
 society are subjects unworthy the notice of the comic 
 muse, who should be taught to stoop only to the greater 
 vices and blacker crimes of humanity — gibbeting 
 capital offences in five acts, and pillorying petty 
 larcenies in two. — In short, his idea is to dramatise the 
 penal laws, and make the stage a court of ease to the 
 Old Bailey. 
 
 Dang. It is truly moral. 
 
THE CRITIC 
 
 393 
 
 Re-enter Servant. 
 
 Ser. Sir Fretful Plagiary, Sir. 
 
 Dang . Beg him to walk up. — [Exit Servant.] Now, 
 Mrs. Dangle, Sir Fretful Plagiary is an author to your 
 own taste. 
 
 Mrs . Dang. I confess he is a favourite of mine, 
 because everybody else abuses him. 
 
 Sneer . Very much to the credit of your charity, 
 madam, if not of your judgment. 
 
 Dang. But, egad, he allows no merit to any author 
 but himself, that's the truth on't — though he's my 
 friend. 
 
 Sneer. Never. — He is as envious as an old maid 
 verging on the desperation of six and thirty ; and 
 then the insidious humility with which he seduces you 
 to give a free opinion on any of his works, can be 
 exceeded only by the petulant arrogance with which he 
 is sure to reject your observations. 
 
 Dang. Very true, egad — though he's my friend. 
 
 Sneer. Then his affected contempt of all newspaper 
 strictures ; though, at the same time, he is the sorest 
 man alive, and shrinks like scorched parchment from 
 the hery ordeal of true criticism : yet he is so covetous 
 of popularity, that he had rather be abused than not 
 mentioned at all. 
 
 Dang. There's no denying it — though he is my 
 friend. 
 
 Sneer. You have read the tragedy he has just 
 finished, haven't you ? 
 
 Dang. Oh, yes ; he sent it to me yesterday. 
 
 Sneer. Well, and you think it execrable, don't you ? 
 
 Dang. Why, between ourselves, egad, I must own — 
 
 though he is my friend — that it is one of the most 
 
 He's here — [Aside.] — finished and most admirable 
 perform 
 
 Sir Fret. [Without.] Mr. Sneer with him did you say ? 
 s.P. ' G 2 
 
394 
 
 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 Enter Sir Fretful Plagiary. 
 
 Dang. Ah, my dear friend ! — Egad, we were just 
 speaking of your tragedy. — Admirable, Sir Fretful, 
 admirable ! 
 
 Sneer. You never did anything beyond it, Sir 
 Fretful — never in your life. 
 
 Sir Fret. You make me extremely happy ; for 
 without a compliment, my dear Sneer, there isn't a 
 man in the world whose judgment I value as I do yours 
 and Mr. Dangle's. 
 
 Mrs. Dang. They are only laughing at you. Sir Fret- 
 ful ; for it was but just now that 
 
 Dang. Mrs. Dangle ! — Ah, Sir Fretful, you know 
 Mrs. Dangle. — My friend Sneer was rallying just now : 
 — he knows how she admires you, and 
 
 Sir Fret. O Lord, I am sure, Mr. Sneer has more 
 
 taste and sincerity than to [A side. ] A damned 
 
 double-faced fellow ! 
 
 Dang. Yes, yes — Sneer will jest — but a better 
 humoured 
 
 Sir Fret. Oh, I know 
 
 Dang. He has a ready turn for ridicule — his wit 
 costs him nothing. 
 
 Sir Fret. No, egad — or I should wonder how he 
 
 came by it. [Aside. 
 
 Mrs. Dang. Because his jest is always at the expense 
 of his friend. [Aside. 
 
 Dang. But, Sir Fretful, have you sent your play to 
 the managers yet ? — or can I be of any service to you ? 
 
 Sir Fret. No, no, I thank you : I believe the piece 
 had sufficient recommendation with it. — I thank you 
 though. — I sent it to the manager of Covent Garden 
 Theatre this morning. 
 
 Sneer. I should have thought now, that it might 
 have been cast (as the actors call it) better at Drury 
 Lane. 
 
 » 
 1 ljvi 
 
 Sfi 
 
 Si 
 
 tier 
 
 toti 
 
 led^ 
 
 1 5 
 
 : . 
 
 cal 
 
 thi 
 
 de 
 
 i 
 
 X 
 
 j 
 
 r 
 
THE CRITIC 395 
 
 Sir Fret . O Lud ! no — never send a play there while 
 I live — hark’ee ! [Whispers Sneer. 
 
 Sneer. Writes himself ! — I know he does. 
 
 Sir Fret . I say nothing — I take away from no man's 
 merit — am hurt at no man's good fortune — I say 
 nothing. — But this I will say— through all my know- 
 ledge of life, I have observed — that there is not a 
 passion so strongly rooted in the human heart as envy. 
 
 Sneer. I believe you have reason for what you say, 
 indeed. 
 
 Sir Fret. Besides — I can tell you it is not always so 
 safe to leave a play in the hands of those who write 
 themselves. 
 
 Sneer. What, they may steal from them, hey, my 
 dear Plagiary ? 
 
 Sir Fret. Steal ! — to be sure they may ; and, egad, 
 serve your best thoughts as gypsies do stolen children, 
 disfigure them to make 'em pass for their own. 
 
 Sneer. But your present work is a sacrifice to 
 Melpomene, and he, you know, never 
 
 Sir Fret. That's no security : a dexterous plagiarist 
 may do anything. Why, sir, for aught I know, he 
 might take out some of the best things in my tragedy, 
 and put them into his own comedy. 
 
 Sneer. That might be done, I dare be sworn. 
 
 Sir Fret. And then, if such a person gives you the 
 least hint or assistance, he is devilish apt to take the 
 merit of the whole 
 
 Dang. If it succeeds. 
 
 Sir Fret. Ay, but with regard to this piece, I think 1 
 can hit that gentleman, for I can safely swear he never 
 read it. 
 
 Sneer. I'll tell you how you may hurt him more. 
 
 Sir Fret. How ? 
 
 Sneer. Swear he wrote it. 
 
 Sir Fret. Plague on't now, Sneer, I shall take it 
 ill !— I believe you want to take away my character 
 as an author. 
 
396 SHERIDAN’S PLAYS 
 
 Sneer. Then I am sure you ought to be very much 
 obliged to me. 
 
 Sir Fret. Hey ! — sir ! 
 
 Dang. Oh, you know, he ever means what he says. 
 
 Sir Fret. Sincerely then — do you like the piece ? 
 
 Sneer. Wonderfully ! 
 
 Sir Fret. But come, now, there must be something 
 that you think might be mended, hey ? — Mr. Dangle, 
 has nothing struck you ? 
 
 Dang. Why, faith, it is but an ungracious thing for 
 the most part, to 
 
 Sir Fret. With most authors it is just so, indeed ; 
 they are in general strangely tenacious ! But, for my 
 part, I am never so well pleased as when a judicious 
 critic points out any defect to me ; for what is the 
 purpose of showing a work to a friend, if you don't mean 
 to profit by his opinion ? 
 
 Sneer. Very true. — Why, then, though I seriously 
 admire the piece upon the whole, yet there is one small 
 objection ; which, if you’ll give me leave. I’ll mention. 
 
 Sir Fret . Sir, you can’t oblige me more. 
 
 Sneer. I think it wants incident. 
 
 Sir Fret. Good God ! you surprise me ! — wants 
 mcident ! 
 
 Sneer. Yes ; I own I think the incidents are too lew. 
 
 Sir Fret. Good God ! Believe me, Mr. Sneer, there 
 is no person for whose judgment I have a more implicit 
 deference. But I protest to you, Mr. Sneer, I am only 
 apprehensive that the incidents are too crowded. — 
 My dear Dangle, how does it strike you ? 
 
 Dang. Really, I can’t agree with my friend Sneer. I 
 think the plot quite sufficient ; and the four first acts 
 by many degrees the best I ever read or saw in my life. 
 If I might venture to suggest anything, it is that the 
 interest rather falls off in the fifth. 
 
 Sir Fret. Rises, I believe you mean, sir. 
 
 Dang. No, I don’t, upon my word. 
 
 Sir Fret. Yes, yes, you do, upon my soul ! — it 
 
 cer 
 
 fail 
 
 lai 
 
 :: 
 
 ; ; 
 
 % 
 
 w 
 
 O' 
 
 S' 
 
 t 
 
 ( 
 
THE CRITIC 
 
 397 
 
 certainly don't fall off, I assure you. — No, no ; it don't 
 fall off. 
 
 Dang. Now, Mrs. Dangle, didn't you say it struck 
 you in the same light ? 
 
 Mrs. Dang. No, indeed, I did not. — I did not see a 
 fault in any part of the play, from the beginning to the 
 end. 
 
 Sir Fret. Upon my soul, the women are the best 
 ]udges after all ! 
 
 Mrs. Dang. Or, if I made any objection, I am sure it 
 was to nothing in the piece ; but that I was afraid it 
 was on the whole, a little too long. 
 
 Sir Fret. Pray, madam, do you speak as to duration 
 of time ; or do you mean that the story is tediously 
 spun out ? 
 
 Mrs. Dang. O Lud ! no. — I speak only with reference 
 to the usual length of acting plays. 
 
 Sir Fret. Then I am very happy — very happy in- 
 deed — because the play is a short play, a remarkably 
 short play. I should not venture to differ with a lady 
 on a point of taste ; but on these occasions, the watch, 
 you know, is the critic. 
 
 Mrs. Dang. Then, I suppose, it must have been Mr. 
 Dangle 's drawling manner of reading it to me. 
 
 Sir Fret. Oh, if Mr. Dangle read it, that's quite 
 another affair ! — But I assure you, Mrs. Dangle, the 
 first evening you can spare me three hours and a half, 
 I'll undertake to read you the whole, from beginning 
 to end, with the prologue and epilogue, and allow time 
 for the music between the acts. 
 
 Mrs. Dang. I hope to see it on the stage next. 
 
 Dang. Well, Sir Fretful, I wish you may be able to 
 get rid as easily of the newspaper criticisms as you do 
 of ours. 
 
 Sir Fret. The newspapers ! Sir, they are the most 
 villainous — licentious — abominable — infernal. — Not 
 that I ever read them — no — I make it a rule never to 
 look into a newspaper. 
 
SHERIDAN’S PLAYS 
 
 398 
 
 Dang. You are quite right ; for it certainly must 
 hurt an author of delicate feelings to see the liberties 
 they take. 
 
 Sir Fret. No, quite the contrary ! their abuse is, in 
 fact, the best panegyric — I like it of all things. A11 
 author's reputation is only in danger from their 
 support. 
 
 Sneer. Why, that's true — and that attack, now, on 
 you the other day 
 
 Sir Fret. What ? where ? 
 
 Dang. Ay, you mean in a paper of Thursday : it 
 was completely ill-natured, to be sure. 
 
 Sir Fret. Oh so much the better. — Ha ! Ha ! Ha ! 
 I wouldn't have it otherwise. 
 
 Dang. Certainly it is only to be laughed at ; for 
 
 Sir Fret. You don't happen to recollect what the 
 fellow said, do you ? 
 
 Sneer. Pray, Dangle — Sir Fretful seems a little 
 anxious 
 
 Sir Fret. 0 Lud, no ! — anxious ! — not I — not the 
 least. — I — but one may as well hear, you know. 
 
 Dang. Sneer, do you recollect ? — [Aside to Sneer.] 
 Make out something. 
 
 Sneer. [Aside to Dangle.] I will. — [Aloud.] Yes, yes, 
 I remember perfectly. 
 
 Sir Fret. Well, and pray now — not that it signifies — 
 what might the gentleman say ? 
 
 Sneer. Why, he roundly asserts that you have not 
 the slightest invention or original genius whatever ; 
 though you are the greatest traducer of all other 
 authors living. 
 
 Sir Fret. Ha ! ha ! ha ! — very good ! 
 
 Sneer . That as to comedy, you have not one idea of 
 your own, he believes, even in your commonplace- 
 book — where stray jokes and pilfered witticisms are 
 kept with as much method as the ledger of the lost and 
 stolen office. 
 
 Sir Fret. Ha ! ha ! ha ! — very pleasant ! 
 
THE CRITIC 
 
 399 
 
 Sneer. Nay, that you are so unlucky as not to have 
 the skill even to steal with taste : — but that you glean 
 from the refuse of obscure volumes, where more 
 judicious plagiarists have been before you ; so that 
 the body of your work is a composition of dregs and 
 sentiments — like a bad tavern's worst wine. 
 
 Sir Fret. Ha ! ha ! 
 
 Sneer. In your more serious efforts, he says, your 
 bombast would be less intolerable, if the thoughts were 
 ever suited to the expression ; but the homeliness of 
 the sentiment stares through the fantastic encumbrance 
 of its fine language, like a clown in one of the new 
 uniforms ! 
 
 Sir Fret. Ha ! ha ! 
 
 Sneer. That your occasional tropes and flowers suit 
 the general coarseness of your style, as tambour sprigs 
 would a ground of linsey-woolsey ; while your imita- 
 tions of Shakespeare resemble the mimicry of Fal- 
 staff's page, and are about as near the standard as the 
 original. 
 
 Sir Fret. Ha ! 
 
 Sneer. In short, that even the finest passages you 
 steal are of no service to you ; for the poverty of your 
 own language prevents their assimilating ; so that they 
 lie on the surface like lumps of marl on a barren moor, 
 encumbering what it is not in their power to fertilize ! 
 
 Sir Fret. [After great agitation.] Now, another person 
 would be vexed at this ! 
 
 Sneer. Oh ! but I wouldn't have told you— only to 
 divert you. 
 
 Sir Fret. I know it — I am diverted. — Ha ! ha ! ha ! — 
 not the least invention ! — Ha ! ha ! ha ! — very good ! — 
 very good ! 
 
 Sneer. Yes — no genius ! ha ! ha I ha ! 
 
 Dang. A severe rogue ! ha ! ha ! ha ! But you are 
 quite right. Sir Fretful, never to read such nonsense. 
 
 Sir Fret. To be sure — for if there is anything to one's 
 praise, it is a foolish vanity to be gratified at it ; and, 
 
SHERIDAN’S PLAYS 
 
 400 
 
 if it is abuse — why one is always sure to hear of it from 
 one damned good-natured friend or other ! 
 
 Enter Servant. 
 
 Ser. Sir, there is an Italian gentleman, with a French 
 interpreter, and three young ladies, and a dozen 
 musicians, who say they are sent by Lady Rondeau 
 and Mrs. Fugue. 
 
 Dang . Gadso ! they come by appointment f — Dear 
 Mrs. Dangle, do let them know I’ll see them directly. 
 
 Mrs . Dang. You know, Mr. Dangle, I shan’t under- 
 stand a word they say. 
 
 Dang. But you hear there’s an interpreter. 
 
 Mrs. Dang. Well, I’ll try to endure their complais- 
 ance till you come. [Exit. 
 
 Ser. And Mr. Pud, sir, has sent word that the last 
 rehearsal is to be this morning, and that he’ll call on 
 you presently. 
 
 Dang. That’s true — I shall certainly be at home. — 
 [Exit Servant.] — Now, Sir Fretful, if you have a mind 
 to have justice done you in the way of answer, egad, 
 Mr. Puff’s your man. 
 
 Sir Fret. Psha ! sir, why should 1 wish to have it 
 answered, when I tell you I am pleased at it ? 
 
 Dang. True, I had forgot that. But I hope you are 
 not fretted at what Mr. Sneer 
 
 Sir Fret. Zounds ! no, Mr. Dangle ; don’t I tell you 
 these things never fret me in the least ? 
 
 Dang. Nay, I only thought 
 
 Sir Fret. And let me tell you, Mr. Dangle, ’tis 
 damned affronting in you to suppose that I am hurt 
 when I tell you I am not. 
 
 Sneer. But why so warm, Sir Fretful ? 
 
 Sir Fret. Gad’s life ! Mr. Sneer, you are as absurd as 
 Dangle : how often must I repeat it to you, that 
 nothing can vex me but your supposing it possible for 
 me to mind the damned nonsense you have been 
 
THE CRITIC 
 
 401 
 
 repeating to me ! — and, let me tell you, if you continue 
 to believe this, you must mean to insult me, gentlemen 
 — and, then, your disrespect will affect me no more 
 than the newspaper criticisms — and I shall treat it 
 with exactly the same calm indifference and philosophic 
 contempt — and so your servant. [Exit. 
 
 Sneer . Ha ! ha ! ha ! poor Sir Fretful ! Now will he 
 go and vent his philosophy in anonymous abuse of all 
 modem critics and authors. — But, Dangle, you must 
 get your friend Puff to take me to the rehearsal of his 
 tragedy. 
 
 Dang. I'll answer for't, he'll thank you for desiring 
 it. But come and help me to judge of this musical 
 family : they are recommended by people of conse- 
 quence, I assure you. 
 
 Sneer. I am at your disposal the whole morning ! — 
 but I thought you had been a decided critic in music as 
 well as in literature. 
 
 Dang. So I am — but I have a bad ear. I'faith, Sneer, 
 though, I am afraid we were a little too severe on Sir 
 Fretful — though he is my friend. 
 
 Sneer. Why, 'tis certain, that unnecessarily to 
 mortify the vanity of any writer is a cruelty which 
 mere dulness never can deserve ; but where a base and 
 personal malignity usurps the place of literary emula- 
 tion, the aggressor deserves neither quarter nor pity. 
 
 Dang. That's true, egad ! — though he's my friend ! 
 
 Scene II . — A drawing-room in Dangle's House. 
 
 Mrs. Dangle, Signor Pasticcio Ritornello, 
 Signore Pasticcio Ritornello, Interpreter, 
 and Musicians discovered. 
 
 Interp. Je dis, madame, j'ai l'honneur to introduce et 
 de vous demander votre protection pour le Signor 
 Pasticcio Ritornello et pour sa charmante famille. 
 
SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 |0 2 
 
 Signor Past. Ah ! vosignona, noi vi preghiamo di 
 favoritevi colla vostra protezione. 
 
 1 Signora Past. Vosignoria fatevi questi grazie. 
 
 2 Signora Past. Si, signora. 
 
 Interp. Madame — me interpret. — C'est a dire — in 
 
 English — qu'ils vous prient de leur faire l'honneur 
 
 Mrs. Dang. I say again, gentlemen, I don't under- 
 stand a word you say. 
 
 Signor Past. Questo signore spieghero 
 
 Interp. Oui — me interpret. — Nous avons les lettres 
 
 de recommendation pour Monsieur Dangle de- 
 
 Mrs. Dang. Upon my word, sir, I don't understand 
 you. 
 
 Signor Past . La Contessa Rondeau e nostra padrona. 
 
 3 Signora Past. Si, padre, et Miladi Fugue. 
 
 Interp. O ! — me interpret. — Madame, ils disent — in 
 
 English — Qu'ils ont l'honneur d'etre prot6g6s de ces 
 dames. — You understand ? 
 
 Mrs. Dang. No, sir, — no understand ! 
 
 Enter Dangle and Sneer. 
 
 Interp. Ah, voici, Monsieur Dangle ! 
 
 All Italians. Ah ! Signor Dangle ! 
 
 Mrs. Dang. Mr. Dangle, here are two very civil 
 gentlemen trying to make themselves understood, and 
 I don't know which is the interpreter. 
 
 Dang. Eh, bien ! 
 
 [The Interpreter and Signor Pasticcio 
 here speak at the same time .j 
 Interp. Monsieur Dangle, le grand bruit de vos talens 
 pour la critique, et de votre interet avec messieurs les 
 
 directeurs a tous les theatres 
 
 Signor Past. Vosignoria siete si tamoso par la vostra 
 
 conoscenza, e vostra interessa colla le direttore da 
 
 Dang. Egad, I think the interpreter is the hardest to 
 be understood of the two ! 
 
THE CRITIC 
 
 403 
 
 Sneer . Why, I thought, Dangle, you had been an 
 admirable linguist ! 
 
 Dang. So I am, if they would not talk so damned 
 fast. 
 
 Sneer. Well, I'll explain that — the less time we lose 
 in hearing them the better — for that, I suppose, is 
 what they are brought here for. 
 
 [Speaks to Signor Pasticcio — they sing trios , 
 &c. } Dangle heating out of time.] 
 
 Enter Servant and whispers Dangle. 
 
 Dang. Show him up. — [Exit Servant.] Bravo ! 
 admirable ! bravissimo ! admirablissimo ! — Ah ! Sneer ! 
 where will you find voices such as these in England ? 
 
 Sneer. Not easily. 
 
 Dang. But Puff is coming. — Signor and little 
 signoras obligatissimo ! — Sposa Signora Danglena — 
 Mrs. Dangle, shall I beg you to offer them some 
 refreshments, and take their address in the next room. 
 
 [Exit Mrs. Dangle with Signor Pasticcio, 
 Signore Pasticcio, Musicians, and 
 * Interpreter, ceremoniously .] 
 
 Re-enter Servant. 
 
 Ser. Mr. Puff, sir. [Exit. 
 
 Enter Puff. 
 
 Dang. My dear Puff ! 
 
 Puff. My dear Dangle, how is it with you ? 
 
 Dang. Mr. Sneer, give me leave to introduce Mr. 
 Puff to you. 
 
 Puff. Mr. Sneer is this ? — Sir, he is a gentleman 
 whom I have long panted for the honour of knowing — 
 
404 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 a gentleman whose critical talents and transcendent 
 
 judgment 
 
 Sneer . Dear sir 
 
 Dang. Nay, don't be modest, Sneer ; my friend 
 Puff only talks to you in the style of his profession. 
 Sneer. His profession. 
 
 Puff. Yes, sir ; I make no secret of the trade I 
 follow : among friends and brother authors. Dangle 
 knows I love to be frank on the subject, and to advertise 
 
 f myself viva voce. — I am, sir, a practitioner in panegyric, 
 or, to speak more plainly, a professor of the art of 
 I puffing, at your service — or anybody else’s. 
 
 Sneer. Sir, you are very obliging ! — I believe, Mr. 
 Puff, I have often admired your talents in the daily 
 prints. 
 
 Puff. Yes, sir, I flatter myself I do as much business 
 in that way as any six of the fraternity in town.— 
 Devilish hard work all the summer, friend Dangle, — 
 never worked harder ! But, hark'ee, — the winter 
 managers were a little sore, I believe. 
 
 Dang. No ; I believe they took it all in good part. 
 Puff. Ay ! then that must have been affectation in 
 them : for, egad, there were some of the attacks which 
 there was no laughing at ! 
 
 Sneer. Ay, the humorous ones. — But I should think, 
 Mr. Puff, that authors would in general be able to do 
 this sort of work for themselves. 
 
 Puff. Why, yes — but in a clumsy way. Besides, we 
 look on that as an encroachment, and so take the 
 opposite side. I dare say, now, you conceive half the 
 very civil paragraphs and advertisements you see to be 
 written by the parties concerned, or their friends ? No 
 such thing : nine out of ten manufactured by me in the 
 way of business. 
 
 Sneer. Indeed ! 
 
 Puff. Even the auctioneers now — the auctioneers, I 
 say — though the rogues have lately got some credit for 
 their language — not an article of the merit theirs : take 
 
THE CRITIC 
 
 405 
 
 them out of their pulpits, and they are as dull as cata- 
 logues ! — No, sir ; Twas I first enriched their style — 
 Twas I first taught them to crowd their advertisements 
 with panegyrical superlatives, each epithet rising above 
 the other, like the bidders in their own auction rooms ! 
 From me they learned to inlay their phraseology with 
 variegated chips of exotic metaphor : by me too their 
 inventive faculties were called forth : — yes, sir, by me 
 they were instructed to clothe ideal walls with gratuitous 
 fruits — -to insinuate obsequious rivulets into visionary 
 groves — to teach courteous shrubs to nod their appro- 
 bation of the grateful soil ; or on emergencies to raise 
 upstart oaks, where there never had been an acorn ; 
 to create a delightful vicinage without the assistance 
 of a neighbour ; or fix the temple of Hygeia in the 
 fens of Lincolnshire ! 
 
 Dang. I am sure you have done them infinite service ; 
 for now, when a gentleman is ruined, he parts with his 
 house with some credit. 
 
 Sneer. Service ! if they had any gratitude, they 
 would erect a statue to him ; they would figure him as 
 a presiding Mercury, the god of traffic and fiction, with 
 a hammer in his hand instead of a caduceus. — But 
 pray, Mr. Puff, what first put you on exercising your 
 talents in this way ? 
 
 Puff. Egad, sir, sheer necessity ! — the proper parent 
 of an art so nearly allied to invention. You must know 
 Mr. Sneer, that from the first time I tried my hand at 
 an advertisement, my success was such, that for 
 some time after I led a most extraordinary life 
 indeed ! 
 
 Sneer. How, pray ? 
 
 Puff. Sir, I supported myself two years entirely by 
 my misfortunes. 
 
 Sneer. By your misfortunes : 
 
 Puff. Yes, sir, assisted by long sickness, and other 
 occasional disorders : and a very comfortable living I 
 had of it. 
 
SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 406 
 
 Sneer. From sickness and misfortunes ! You prac- 
 tised as a doctor and an attorney at once ? 
 
 Puff. No, egad ; both maladies and miseries were 
 my own. 
 
 Sneer. Hey ! what the plague ! 
 
 Dang. Tis true, i’faith. 
 
 Puff. Hark'ee ! — By advertisements — To the charit- 
 able and humane ! and T 0 those whom Providence hath 
 blessed with affluence ! 
 
 Sneer. Oh, I understand you. 
 
 Puff. And, in truth, I deserved what I got ! for, I 
 suppose never man went through such a series of 
 calamities in the same space of time. Sir, I was five 
 times made a bankrupt, and reduced from a state of 
 affluence, by a train of unavoidable misfortunes : then, 
 sir, though a very industrious tradesman, I was twice 
 burned out, and lost my little all both times : I lived 
 upon those fires a month. I soon after was confined by 
 a most excruciating disorder, and lost the use of my 
 limbs : that told very well ; for I had the case strongly 
 attested, and went about to collect the subscriptions 
 myself. 
 
 Dang. Egad, I believe that was when you first called 
 on me. 
 
 Puff. In November last ? — O no ; I was at that time 
 a close prisoner in the Marshalsea, for a debt bene- 
 volently contracted to serve a friend. I was afterwards 
 twice tapped for a dropsy, which declined into a very 
 profitable consumption. I was then reduced to — O no 
 — then, I became a widow with six helpless children, 
 after having had eleven husbands pressed, and being 
 left every time eight months gone with child, and 
 v/ithout money to get me into an hospital ! 
 
 Sneer. And you bore all with patience, I make no 
 doubt ? 
 
 Puff. Why yes ; though I made some occasional 
 attempts at felo de se ; but as I did not find those rash 
 actions answer, I left off killing myself very soon. Well, 
 
 W 
 
 iavi 
 
 Ili 
 
 $ 
 
 Itoi 
 
 tin 
 
 001 
 
 ye 
 
 a 
 
 d 
 
 1H 
 
 t 
 
 n 
 
 r 
 
THE CRITIC 
 
 407 
 
 sir, at last, what with bankruptcies, fires, gout, 
 dropsies, imprisonments, and other valuable calamities, 
 having got together a pretty handsome sum, I deter- 
 mined to quit a business which had always gone rather 
 against my conscience, and in a more liberal way still 
 to indulge my talents for fiction and embellishment, 
 through my favourite channels of diurnal communica- 
 tion — and so, sir, you have my history. 
 
 Sneer. Most obligingly communicative indeed ! and 
 your confession, if published, might certainly serve the 
 cause of true charity, by rescuing the most useful 
 channels of appeal to benevolence from the cant of 
 imposition. But surely, Mr. Puff, there is no great 
 mystery in your present profession ? 
 
 Puff. Mystery, sir ! I will take upon me to say the 
 matter was never scientifically treated nor reduced to 
 rule before. 
 
 Sneer . Reduced to rule ! 
 
 Puff. O Lud, sir, you are very ignorant, 1 am afraid ! 
 — Yes, sir ; puffing is of various sorts ; the principal are, 
 the puff direct, the puff preliminary, the puff collateral, 
 the puff collusive, and the puff oblique, or puff by 
 implication. These all assume, as circumstances require, 
 the various forms of Letter to the Editor, Occasional 
 Anecdote, Impartial Critique, Observation from Corres- 
 pondent, or Advertisement from the Party. 
 
 Sneer. The puff direct, I can conceive 
 
 Puff. O yes, that's simple enough ! For instance, — 
 a new comedy or farce is to be produced at one of the 
 theatres (though by-the-by they don't bring out half 
 what they ought to do) — the author, suppose Mr. 
 Smatter, or Mr. Dapper, or any particular friend of 
 mine — very well ; the day before it is to be performed, 
 I write an account of the manner in which it was re- 
 ceived. I have the plot from the author, and only 
 add — “ characters strongly drawn — highly coloured — 
 hand of a master — fund of genuine humour — mine of 
 invention — neat dialogue — Attic salt." Then for the 
 
SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 408 
 
 performance — “ Mr. Dodd was astonishingly great 
 in the character of Sir Harry. That universal and 
 judicious actor, Mr. Palmer, perhaps never appeared to 
 more advantage than in the colonel ; — but it is not in 
 the power of language to do justice to Mr. King : 
 indeed he more than merited those repeated bursts of 
 applause which he drew from a most brilliant and 
 judicious audience. As to the scenery — the miraculous 
 powers of Mr. De Loutherbourg's pencil are universally 
 acknowledged. In short, we are at a loss which to 
 admire most, the unrivalled genius of the author, the 
 great attention and liberality of the managers, the 
 wonderful abilities of the painter, or the incredible 
 exertions of all the performers." 
 
 Sneer. That's pretty well indeed, sir. 
 
 Puff. Oh, cool ! — quite cool ! — to what I sometimes 
 do. 
 
 Sneer. And do you think there are any who are 
 influenced by this ? 
 
 Puff. O Lud, yes, sir ! the number of those who 
 undergo the fatigue of judging for themselves is very 
 small indeed. 
 
 Sneer. Well, sir, the puff preliminary. 
 
 Puff. O, that, sir, does well in the form of a caution. 
 In a matter of gallantry now — Sir Flimsy Gossamer 
 wishes to be well with Lady Fanny Fete — he applies 
 to me — I open trenches for him with a paragraph in the 
 Morning Post. — “ It is recommended to the beautiful 
 and accomplished Lady F four stars F dash E to be 
 on her guard against that dangerous character, Sir 
 F dash G ; who, however pleasing and insinuating his 
 manners may be, is certainly not remarkable for the 
 constancy of his attachments ! " — in italics. Here, you 
 see, Sir Flimsy Gossamer is introduced to the particular 
 notice of Lady Fanny, who perhaps never thought of 
 him before — she finds herself publicly cautioned to 
 avoid him, which naturally makes her desirous of 
 seeing him ; the observation of their acquaintance 
 
 0 
 
 proc 
 
 Ffe 
 
 of: 
 
 tin 
 
 ip 
 
 of 
 
 B 
 
 s 
 
 1 
 
 1 
 
 
THE CRITIC 
 
 409 
 
 causes a pretty kind of mutual embarrassment ; this 
 produces a sort of sympathy of interest, which if Sir 
 Flimsy is unable to improve effectually, he at least 
 gains the credit of having their names mentioned to- 
 gether, by a particular set, and in a particular way — 
 which nine times out of ten is the full accomplishment 
 of modern gallantry. 
 
 Dang. Egad, Sneer, you will be quite an adept m 
 the business. 
 
 Puff. Now, Sir, the puff collateral is much used as an 
 appendage to advertisements, and may take the form 
 of anecdote— 1 " Yesterday, as the celebrated George 
 Bonmot was sauntering down St. James's Street, he 
 met the lively Lady Mary Myrtle coming out of the 
 park : — * Good God, Lady Mary, I'm surprised to meet 
 you in a white jacket, — for I expected never to have 
 seen you, but in a full-trimmed uniform and a light 
 horseman's cap ! ' — ‘ Heavens, George, where could 
 you have learned that ? ' — ‘ Why,' replied the wit, ‘ I 
 just saw a print of you, in a new publication called the 
 Camp Magazine ; which, by-the-by, is a devilish clever 
 thing, and is sold at No. 3, on the right hand of the 
 way, two doors from the printing-office, the corner 
 of Ivy Lane, Paternoster Row, price only one shilling.' " 
 
 Sneer. Very ingenious indeed ! 
 
 Puff. But the puff collusive is the newest of any ; 
 for it acts in the disguise of determined hostility. It is 
 much used by bold booksellers and enterprising poets. 
 — “ An indignant correspondent observes, that the new 
 poem called Beelzebub's Cotillon, or Proserpine s Fete 
 Champ etre, is one of the most unjustifiable performances 
 he ever read. The severity with which certain char- 
 acters are handled is quite shocking : and as there are 
 many descriptions in it too warmly coloured for female 
 delicacy, the shameful avidity with which this piece is 
 bought by all people of fashion is a reproach on the 
 taste of the times, and a disgrace to the delicacy of the 
 age." Here you see the two strongest inducements are 
 
4io 
 
 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 held forth ; first, that nobody ought to read it ; and 
 secondly, that everybody buys it : on the strength of 
 which the publisher boldly prints the tenth edition, i 
 before he had sold ten of the first ; and then establishes 
 it by threatening himself with the pillory, or absolutely 
 indicting himself for scan. mag. 
 
 Dang. Ha ! ha ! ha ! — 'gad, I know it is so. 
 
 Puff. As to the puff oblique, or puff by implication, it 
 is too various and extensive to be illustrated by an 
 instance : it attracts in titles and presumes in patents ; 
 it lurks in the limitation of a subscription, and invites 
 in the assurance of crowd and incommodation at 
 public places ; it delights to draw forth concealed 
 merit, with a most disinterested assiduity ; and some- 
 times wears a countenance of smiling censure and tender 
 reproach. It has a wonderful memory for parlia- 
 mentary debates, and will often give the whole speech 
 of a favoured member with the most flattering accuracy. 
 But, above all, it is a great dealer in reports and 
 suppositions. It has the earliest intelligence of intended 
 preferments that will reflect honour on the patrons ; 
 and embryo promotions of modest gentlemen, who 
 know nothing of the matter themselves. It can hint a 
 ribbon for implied services in the air of a common 
 report ; and with the carelessness of a casual para- 
 graph, suggest officers into commands, to which they 
 have no pretension but their wishes. This, sir, is the last 
 principal class of the art of puffing — an art which I 
 hope you will now agree with me is of the highest 
 dignity, yielding a tablature of benevolence and public 
 spirit ; befriending equally trade, gallantry, criticism, 
 and politics : the applause of genius — the register of 
 charity — the triumph of heroism — the self-defence of 
 contractors — the fame of orators — and the gazette of 
 ministers. 
 
 Sneer. Sir, I am completely a convert both to the 
 importance and ingenuity of your profession ; and 
 now, sir, there is but one thing which can possibly 
 
 mid 
 ; O! f 
 
THE CRITIC 
 
 411 
 
 increase my respect for you, and that is, your per- 
 mitting me to be present this morning at the rehearsal 
 of your new trage — — 
 
 Puff. Hush, for heaven's sake ! — My tragedy ! — 
 Egad, Dangle, I take this very ill : you know how 
 apprehensive I am of being known to be the author. 
 
 Dang. I'faith I would not have told — but it's in the 
 papers, and your name at length in the Morning 
 Chronicle. 
 
 Puff. Ah ! those damned editors never can keep a 
 secret ! — Well, Mr. Sneer, no doubt you will do me 
 great honour — I shall be infinitely happy — highly 
 flattered 
 
 Dang. I believe it must be near the time — shall we 
 go together ? 
 
 Puff No ; it will not be yet this hour, for they are 
 always late at that theatre : besides, I must meet you 
 there, for I have some little matters here to send to the 
 papers, and a few paragraphs to scribble before I go. — 
 [Looking at memorandums.'] Here is A conscientious 
 Baker , on the subject of the Army Bread ; and a Detester 
 of visible Brick-work , in favour of the new invented 
 Stucco ; both in the style of Junius, and promised for 
 to-morrow. The Thames navigation too is at a stand. 
 Misomud or Anti-shoal must go to work again directly. 
 — Here too are some political memorandums — I see ; 
 ay — To take Paul Jones and get the Indiamen out of the 
 Shannon — reinforce Byron — compel the Dutch to — so ! 
 — I must do that in the evening papers, or reserve it 
 for the Morning Herald ; for I know that I have 
 undertaken to-morrow, besides, to establish the un- 
 animity of the fleet in the Public Advertiser, and to 
 shoot Charles Fox in the Morning Post. — So, egad, I 
 ha'n't a moment to lose. 
 
 Dang. Well, we'll meet in the Green Room. 
 
 [Exeunt severally. 
 
412 
 
 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 ACT II 
 
 Scene I. — The Theatre before the Curtain. 
 
 Enter Dangle, Puff, and Sneer. 
 
 Puff. No, no, sir ; what Shakspeare says of actors 
 may be better applied to the purpose of plays ; they 
 ought to be the abstract and brief chronicles of the time . 
 Therefore when history, and particularly the history of 
 our own country, furnishes anything like a case in 
 point, to the time in which an author writes, if he 
 knows his own interest, he will take advantage of it , 
 so, sir, I call my tragedy The Spanish Armada ; and 
 have laid the scene before Tilbury Fort. 
 
 Sneer. A most happy thought, certainly ! 
 
 Dang. Egad it was — I told you so. But pray now, I 
 don't understand how you have contrived to introduce 
 any love into it. 
 
 Puff. Love ! oh, nothing so easy ! for it is a received 
 point among poets, that where history gives you a 
 good heroic outline for a play, you may fill up with a 
 little love at your own discretion : in doing which, 
 nine times out of ten, you only make up a deficiency in 
 the private history of the times. Now, I rather think 
 I have done this with some success. 
 
 Sneer. No scandal about Queen Elizabeth, I hope ? 
 
 Puff. O Lud ! no, no ; — I only suppose the governor 
 of Tilbury Fort's daughter to be in love with the son 
 of the Spanish admiral. 
 
 Sneer. Oh, is that all ! 
 
 Dang. Excellent, i'faith ! I see at once. But won't 
 this appear rather improbable ? 
 
 Puff. To be sure it will — but what the plague ! a play 
 \ is not to show occurrences that happen every day, but 
 
THE CRITIC 
 
 413 
 
 things just so strange, that though they never did, they 
 might happen. 
 
 Sneer. Certainly nothing is unnatural, that is not 
 physically impossible. 
 
 Puff. Very true— and for that matter Don Ferolo 
 Whiskerandos, for that's the lover's name, might have 
 been over here in the train of the Spanish ambassador, 
 or Tilburina, for that is the lady's name, might have 
 been in love with him, from having heard his character, 
 or seen his picture ; or from knowing that he was the 
 last man in the world she ought to be in love with — or 
 for any other good female reason. — However, sir, the 
 fact is, that though she is but a knight's daughter, egad, 
 she is in love like any princess ! 
 
 Dang. Poor young lady ! I feel for her already ! for I 
 can conceive how great the conflict must be between her 
 passion and her duty ; her love for her country, and 
 her love for Don Ferolo Whiskerandos ! 
 
 Puff. Oh, amazing ! — her poor susceptible heart is 
 swayed to and fro by contending passions like 
 
 Enter Under Prompter. 
 
 Und. Promp. Sir, the scene is set, and everything is 
 ready to begin, if you please. 
 
 Puff. Egad, then we'll lose no time. 
 
 Und. Promp. Though, I believe, sir, you will find it 
 very short, for all the performers have profited by the 
 kind permission you granted them. 
 
 Puff. Hey ! what ? 
 
 Und. Promp. You know, sir, you gave them leave 
 to cut out or omit whatever they found heavy or un- 
 necessary to the plot, and I must own they have taken 
 very liberal advantage of your indulgence. 
 
 Puff. Well, well. — They are in general very good 
 judges, and I know I am luxuriant. — Now, Mr. Hop- 
 kins, as soon as you please. 
 
SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 414 
 
 Und. Promp. [To the Orchestra.] Gentlemen, will 
 you play a few bars of something, just to 
 
 Puff. Ay, that's right ; for as we have the scenes 
 and dresses, egad, we'll go to't, as if it was the first 
 night's performance ; — but you need not mind stopping 
 between the acts — [Exit Under Prompter. — Orchestra 
 play — then the bell rings.] Soh ! stand dear, gentlemen. 
 Now you know there will be a cry of down ! down ! — 
 Hats off ! — Silence ! — Then up curtain, and let us see 
 what our painters have done for us. [Curtain rises. 
 
 Scene II. — Tilbury Fort. 
 
 “ Two Sentinels discovered asleep.” 
 
 Dang. Tilbury Fort ! — very fine indeed ! 
 
 Puff. Now, what do you think I open with ? 
 
 Sneer. Faith, I can't guess 
 
 Puff. A clock ! — Hark ! — [Clock strikes.] I open with 
 a clock striking, to beget an awful attention in the 
 audience : it also marks the time, which is four o'clock 
 in the morning, and saves a description of the rising 
 sun, and a great deal about gilding the eastern hemi- 
 sphere. 
 
 Dang. But pray, are the sentinels to be asleep ? 
 
 Puff . Fast as watchmen. 
 
 Sneer. Isn't that odd though at such an alarming 
 crisis ? 
 
 Puff. To be sure it is, — but smaller things must give 
 way to a striking scene at the opening ; that's a rule. 
 And the case is, that two great men are coming to this 
 very spot to begin the piece ; now it is not to be sup- 
 posed they would open their lips, if these fellows were 
 watching them ; so, egad, I must either have sent them 
 off their posts, or set them asleep. 
 
 Sneer. Oh, that accounts for it. But tell us, who are 
 these coming ? 
 
THE CRITIC 
 
 415 
 
 Puff. These are tjhey — Sir Walter Raleigh, and Sir 
 Christopher Hatton. You'll know Sir Christopher by 
 his turning out his toes — famous, you know, for his 
 dancing. I like to preserve all the little traits of 
 character. — Now attend. 
 
 “ Enter Sir Walter Raleigh and Sir Christopher 
 Hatton. 
 
 Sir Christ. True, gallant Raleigh I ” 
 
 Dang. What, they had been talking before ? 
 
 Puff. O yes ; all the way as they came along . — [To 
 the actors.] I beg pardon, gentlemen, but these are 
 particular friends of mine, whose remarks may be of 
 great service to us . — [To Sneer and Dangle.] Don't 
 mind interrupting them whenever anything strikes you. 
 
 “ Sir Christ. True, gallant Raleigh ! 
 
 But oh, thou champion of thy country's 
 fame, 
 
 There is a question which I yet must ask : 
 A question which I never ask'd before — 
 What mean these mighty armaments ? 
 This general muster ? and this throng of 
 chiefs ? " 
 
 Sneer. Pray, Mr. Puff, how came Sir Christopher 
 Hatton never to ask that question before ? 
 
 Puff. What, before the play began ? — how the plague 
 could he ? 
 
 Dang. That's true, i'faith ! 
 
 Puff. But you will hear what he thinks of the matter. 
 
 “ Sir Christ. Alas ! my noble friend, when I behold 
 Yon tented plains in martial symmetry 
 Array'd ; when I count o'er yon glittering 
 lines 
 
 Of crested warriors, where the proud 
 steeds' neigh, 
 
416 
 
 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 And valour-breathing trumpet's shrill 
 appeal, 
 
 Responsive vibrate on my listening ear ; 
 When virgin majesty herself I view, 
 
 Like her protecting Pallas, veil'd in steel, 
 With graceful confidence exhort to arms ! 
 When, briefly, all I hear or see bears stamp 
 Of martial vigilance and stern defence, 
 
 I cannot but surmise — forgive, my friend, 
 If the conjecture's rash — I cannot but 
 Surmise the state some danger appre- 
 hends ! " 
 
 Sneer . A very cautious conjecture that. 
 
 Puff. Yes, that's his character ; not to give an 
 opinion but on secure grounds. — Now then. 
 
 “ Sir Walt. O most accomplish'd Christopher ! " 
 
 Puff. He calls him by his Christian name, to show 
 that they are on the most familiar terms. 
 
 “ Sir Walt. O most accomplish'd Christopher ! I find 
 Thy staunch sagacity still tracks the 
 future, 
 
 In the fresh print of the o'ertaken past." 
 
 Puff. Figurative ! 
 
 “ Sir Walt. Thy fears are just. 
 
 Sir Christ. But where ? whence ? when ? and what 
 
 The danger is, — methinks I fain would 
 learn. 
 
 Sir Walt. You know, my friend, scarce two revolving 
 suns, 
 
 And three revolving moons, have closed 
 their course 
 
 Since haughty Philip, in despite of peace, 
 With hostile hand hath struck at Eng- 
 land's trade. 
 
THE CRITIC 
 
 417 
 
 Sir Christ . 
 Sir Walt. 
 Sir Christ. 
 Sir Walt. 
 
 Sir Christ. 
 Sir Walt. 
 
 Sir Christ. 
 
 Sir Walt. 
 
 Sir Christ. 
 Sir Walt. 
 
 Sir Chrust. 
 
 Sir Walt. 
 
 I know it well. 
 
 Philip, you know, is proud Iberia's king ! 
 
 He ist 
 
 His subjects in base bigotry 
 And Catholic oppression held ; — while we. 
 You know, the Protestant persuasion hold. 
 We do. 
 
 You know, beside, his boasted armament. 
 The famed Armada, by the Pope baptized. 
 
 With purpose to invade these realms 
 
 Is sailed. 
 
 Our last advices so report. 
 
 While the Iberian admiral’s chief hope, 
 
 His darling son 
 
 Ferolo Whiskerandos hight — 
 The same — by chance a prisoner hath been 
 ta’en, 
 
 And in this fort of Tilbury 
 
 Is now 
 
 Confined — ’tis true, and oft from yon tall 
 turret’s top 
 
 I've mark’d the youthful Spaniard’s 
 haughty mien — 
 
 Unconquer’d, though in chains. 
 
 You also know ” 
 
 Dang. Mr. Puff, as he knows all this, why does Sir 
 Walter go on telling him ? 
 
 Puff. But the audience are not supposed to know 
 anything of the matter, are they ? 
 
 Sneer. True; but I think you manage ill : for there 
 certainly appears no reason why Sir Walter should be 
 so communicative. 
 
 Puff. ’Fore Gad, now, that is one of the most un- 
 grateful observations I ever heard ! — for the less 
 inducement he has to tell all this, the more, I think, 
 you ought to be obliged to him ; for I am sure you’d 
 know nothing of the matter without it. 
 
SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 418 
 
 Dang. That's very true, upon my word. 
 
 Puff. But you will find he was not going on. 
 
 " Sir Christ. Enough, enough — 'tis plain — and I no 
 more 
 
 Am in amazement lost ! ” 
 
 Puff. Here, now you see, Sir Christopher did not 
 in fact ask any one question for his own information. 
 
 Sneer. No. indeed : his has been a most disinterested 
 curiosity ! 
 
 Dang. Really, I find that we are very much obliged 
 to them both. 
 
 Puff. To be sure you are. Now then for the com- 
 mander-in-chief, the Earl of Leicester, who, you know, 
 was no favourite but of the queen's — We left off —in 
 amazement lost ! 
 
 “ Sir Christ. Am in amazement lost. 
 
 But, see where noble Leicester comes ! 
 Supreme in honours and command. 
 
 Sir Walt. And yet, methinks, 
 
 At such a time, so perilous, so fear'd, 
 
 That staff might well become an abler 
 grasp. 
 
 Sir Christ. And so, by Heaven ! think ! ; but soft, 
 he's here ! " 
 
 Puff. Ay, they envy him ! 
 
 Sneer. But who are these with him ? 
 
 Puff. Oh ! very valiant knights : one is the governor 
 of the fort, the other the master of the horse. And now, 
 I think, you shall hear some better language : I was 
 obliged to be plain and intelligible in the first scene, 
 because there was so much matter of fact in it ; but 
 now, i 'faith, you have trope, figure, and metaphor, as 
 plenty as noun-substantives. 
 
THE CRITIC 
 
 419 
 
 “ Enter Earl of Leicester, Governor, Master of 
 the Horse, Knights, &c. 
 
 Leic • How's this, my friends ! is’t thus your new- 
 
 fledged zeal, 
 
 And plumed valour moulds in roosted 
 sloth ? 
 
 Why dimly glimmers that heroic flame, 
 Whose reddening blaze, by patriot spirit 
 fed, 
 
 Should be the beacon ot a kindling realm ? 
 Can the quick current of a patriot heart 
 Thus stagnate in a cold and weedy con- 
 verse, 
 
 Or freeze in tideless inactivity ? 
 
 No ! rather let the fountain of your valour 
 Spring through each stream of enterprise, 
 Each petty channel of conductive daring. 
 Till the full torrent of your foaming wrath 
 O’erwhelm the flats of sunk hostility ! ” 
 
 Puff. There it is — followed up ! 
 
 " Sir Walt. 
 
 Leic . 
 
 All. 
 Leic . 
 
 No more ! — the freshening breath of thy 
 rebuke 
 
 Hath fill’d the swelling canvas of our 
 souls ! 
 
 And thus, though fate should cut the cable 
 of [All take hands. 
 
 Our topmost hopes, in friendship’s closing 
 line 
 
 We’ll grapple with despair, and if we fall, 
 
 We’ll fall in glory’s wake ! 
 
 There spoke old England’s genius! 
 
 Then, are we all resolved ? 
 
 We are — all resolved. 
 
 To conquer — or be free ? 
 
SHERIDAN’S PLAYS 
 
 420 
 
 All . To conquer, or be free. 
 
 Leic. All ? 
 
 All. All.” 
 
 Dang. Nem. con . egad ! 
 
 Puff. O yes ! — where they do agree on the stage, 
 their unanimity is wonderful ! 
 
 “ Leic. Then let’s embrace — and now — — 
 
 [Kneels." 
 
 Sneer. What the plague, is he going to pray ? 
 
 Puff. Yes ; hush ! — in great emergencies, there is 
 nothing like a prayer. 
 
 “ Leic. 
 
 0 mighty Mars ! ” 
 
 
 Dang. 
 
 But why should he pray to Mars ? 
 
 
 Puff. 
 
 Hush ! ~ 
 
 
 “ Leic. 
 
 If in thy homage bred, 
 
 
 Eachpomt of discipline I’ve still observed ; 
 Nor but by due promotion, and the right 
 Of service, to the rank of major-general 
 
 
 Have risen ; assist thy votary 
 
 now ! 
 
 Gov. 
 
 Yet do not rise — hear me ! 
 
 [Kneels. 
 
 Mast. 
 
 And me ! 
 
 [Kneels. 
 
 Knight. 
 
 And me ! 
 
 [Kneels. 
 
 Sir Walt. 
 
 And me ! 
 
 [Kneels. 
 
 Sir Christ. And me ! 
 
 [Kneels" 
 
 Puff. Now pray all together. 
 
 “ All. Behold thy votaries submissive beg, 
 
 That thou wilt deign to grant them all they 
 ask ; 
 
 Assist them to accomplish all their ends, 
 And sanctify whatever means they use 
 To gain them ! ” 
 
THE CRITIC 
 
 421 
 
 Sneer. A very orthodox qumtetto ! 
 
 Puff. Vastly well, gentlemen ! — Is that well managed 
 or not ? Have you such a prayer as that on the stage ? 
 Sneer. Not exactly. 
 
 Leic. [To Puff.] But, sir, you haven't settled how we 
 are to get off here. 
 
 Puff. You could not go off kneeling, could you ? 
 
 Sir Walt. [To Puff.] O no, sir ; impossible ! 
 
 Puff. It would have a good effect i'faith, if you could 
 exeunt praying ! — Yes, and would vary the established 
 mode of springing off with a glance at the pit. 
 
 Sneer. Oh, never mind, so as you get them off ! — 
 I'll answer for it, the audience won't care how. 
 
 Puff. Well, then, repeat the last line standing, and 
 go off the old way. 
 
 “ All. And sanctify whatever means we use 
 
 To gain them. [Exeunt.' ' 
 
 Dang. Bravo ! a fine exit. 
 
 Sneer. Well, really, Mr. Puff 
 
 Puff. Stay a moment ! 
 
 “ The Sentinels get up. 
 
 1 Sent. All this shall to Lord Burleigh's ear. 
 
 2 Sent. 'Tis meet it should. [Exeunt." 
 
 Dang . Hey ! why, I thought those fellows had been 
 asleep ? 
 
 Puff. Only a pretence ; there's the art of it : they 
 were spies of Lord Burleigh's. 
 
 Sneer. But isn't it odd they never were taken notice 
 of, not even by the commander-in-chief ? 
 
 Puff. O Lud, sir ! if people who want to listen, or 
 overhear, were not always connived at in a tragedy, 
 there would be no carrying on any plot in the world. 
 Dang. That's certain. 
 
SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 422 
 
 Puff. But take care, my dear Dangle ! the morning 
 gun is going to fire. [Cannon fires . 
 
 Dang. Well, that will have a fine effect ! 
 
 Puff. I think so, and helps to realise the scene. — 
 [Cannon twice.] What the plague ! three morning guns ! 
 there never is but one ! — Ay, this is always the way at 
 the theatre : give these fellows a good thing, and they 
 never know when to have done with it. — You have no 
 more cannon to fire ? 
 
 Und. Promp. [Within.] No, sir. 
 
 Puff “ Now, then, for soft music. 
 
 Sneer. Pray, what's that for ? 
 
 Puff. It shows that Tilburina is coming ! — nothing 
 introduces you a heroine like soft music. Here she 
 comes ! 
 
 Dang. And her confidant, I suppose ? 
 
 Puff. To be sure ! Here they are — inconsolable to 
 the minuet in Ariadne ! [Soft music. 
 
 “ Enter Tilburina and Confidant. 
 
 Tilb . Now has the whispering breath of gentle 
 morn 
 
 Bid Natures voice and Nature's beauty rise ; 
 While orient Phoebus, with unborrow'd hues, 
 Clothes the waked loveliness which all night 
 slept 
 
 In heavenly drapery ! Darkness is fled. 
 
 Now flowers unfold their beauties to the sun, 
 And, blushing, kiss the beam he sends to wake 
 them — 
 
 The striped carnation, and the guarded rose, 
 The vulgar wallflower, and smart gillyflower, 
 The polyanthus mean — the dapper daisy, 
 Sweet-William, and sweet marjoram — and all 
 The tribe of single and of double pinks ! 
 Now, too, the feather'd warblers tune their 
 notes 
 
THE CRITIC 
 
 423 
 
 Around, and charm the listening grove. The 
 lark ! 
 
 The linnet ! chaffinch ! bullfinch ! goldfinch ! 
 greenfinch ! 
 
 But O, to me no joy can they afford ! 
 
 Nor rose, nor wallflower, nor smart gilly- 
 flower, 
 
 Nor polyanthus mean, nor dapper daisy, 
 
 Nor William sweet, nor marjoram — nor lark, 
 Linnet nor all the finches of the grove ! " 
 
 Puff. Yopr white handkerchief, madam ! 
 
 Tilb. I thought, sir, I wasn't to use that till heart- 
 rending woe. 
 
 Puff. O yes, madam, at the finches of the grove, if you 
 please. 
 
 “ Tilb. Not lark, 
 
 Linnet, nor all the finches of the grove ! 
 
 [Weeps.' 
 
 Puff. Vastly well, madam ! 
 
 Dang. Vastly well, indeed ! 
 
 “ Tilb. For, O, too sure, heart-rending woe is now 
 The lot of wretched Tilburina ! " 
 
 Dang. Oh ! — it's too much. 
 
 Sneer. Oh ! — it is indeed. 
 
 “ Con. Be comforted, sweet lady ; for who knows, 
 But Heaven has yet some milk-white day in 
 store ? 
 
 Tilb. Alas 1 my gentle Nora, 
 
 Thy tender youth as yet hath never mourn'd 
 Love's fatal dart. Else wouldst thou know, 
 that when 
 
 The soul is sunk in comfortless despair, 
 
 It cannot taste of merriment." 
 
SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 424 
 
 Dang . That's certain. 
 
 “ Con. But see where your stem father comes : 
 
 It is not meet that he should find you thus.” 
 
 Puff. Hey, what the plague ! — what a cut is here f 
 Why, what is become of the description of her first 
 meeting with Don Whiskerandos — his gallant behaviour 
 in the sea-fight — and the simile of the canary-bird ? 
 Tilb. Indeed, sir, you'll find they will not be missed. 
 Puff. Very well, very well ! 
 
 Tilb. [To Confidant.] The cue, ma'am, if you 
 please. 
 
 “ Con. It is not meet that he should find you thus. 
 Tilb . Thou counsel'st right ; but 'tis no easy task 
 
 For barefaced grief to wear a mask of joy. 
 
 Enter Governor. 
 
 Gov. How's this ! — m tears ! — O Tilburma, shame ! 
 Is this a time for maudling tenderness, 
 
 And Cupid's baby woes ? — Hast thou not 
 heard 
 
 That haughty Spain's pope-consecr aled fleet 
 Advances to our shores, *\mfle England's fate, 
 Like a clipp'd guinea, trembles in the scale ? 
 Tilb . Then is the crisis of my fate at hand ! 
 
 I see the fleets approach — I see ” 
 
 Puff. Now, pray, gentlemen, mind. This is one of 
 the most useful figures we tragedy writers have, by 
 which a hero or heroine, in consideration of their being 
 often obliged to overlook things that are on the stage, 
 is allowed to hear and see a number of things that are 
 not. 
 
 Sneer. Yes ; a kind of poetical second-sight ! 
 
 Puff. Yes. — Now then, madam. 
 
THE CRITIC 
 
 425 
 
 “ Tilb. I see their decks 
 
 Are clear'd ! — I see the signal made ! 
 
 The line is form'd ! — a cable's length asunder! 
 I see the frigates station'd in the rear ; 
 
 And now, I hear the thunder of the guns ! 
 
 I hear the victor's shouts — I also hear 
 The vanquish'd groan ! — and now 'tis smoke 
 and now 
 
 I see the loose sails shiver m the wind ! 
 
 I see — I see — what soon you'll see 
 
 Gov . Hold, daughter ! peace ! this love hath turn'd 
 thy brain : 
 
 The Spanish fleet thou canst not see — 
 because 
 
 — It is not yet in sight ! " 
 
 Dang. Egad, though, the governor seems to make no 
 allowance for this poetical figure you talk of. 
 
 Puff. No, a plain matter-of-fact man ; — that's his 
 
 character. 
 
 “ Tilb. 
 
 But will you then refuse his offer ? 
 
 Gov. 
 
 I must — -I will — I can — I ought — I 
 
 Tilb. 
 
 Think what a noble price. 
 
 Gov. 
 
 No more — you urge in vain. 
 
 Tilb. 
 
 His liberty is all he asks." 
 
 Sneer. 
 
 All who asks, Mr. Puff ? Who is 
 
 Puff . Egad, sir, I can't tell ! Here has been such 
 cutting and slashing, I don't know where they have got 
 to myself. 
 
 Tilb. Indeed, sir, you will find it will connect very 
 well. 
 
 “ — And your reward secure." 
 
 Puff. Oh, if they hadn't been so devilish free with 
 their cutting here, you would have found that Don 
 Whiskerandos has been tampering for his liberty, and 
 
SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 426 
 
 has persuaded Tilburina to make this proposal to her 
 father. And now, pray observe the conciseness with 
 which the argument is conducted. Egad, the pro and 
 con goes as smart as hits in a fencing match. It is 
 indeed a sort of small-sword-logic, which we have 
 borrowed from the French. 
 
 “ Tilb. 
 
 A retreat in Spam ! 
 
 Gov. 
 
 Outlawry here ! 
 
 Tilb. 
 
 Your daughter's prayer I 
 
 Gov. 
 
 Your father's oath ! 
 
 Tilb. 
 
 My lover ! 
 
 Gov. 
 
 My country ! 
 
 Tilb. 
 
 Tilburina ! 
 
 Gov. 
 
 England ! 
 
 Tilb. 
 
 A title ! 
 
 Gov. 
 
 Honour ! 
 
 Tilb. 
 
 A pension ! 
 
 Gov. 
 
 Conscience ! 
 
 Tilb. 
 
 A thousand pounds ! 
 
 Gov. 
 
 Ha ! thou hast touch'd me nearly 1 
 
 Puff. There you see — she threw in Tilburina. Quick, 
 parry Carte with England ! Ha ! thrust in tierce a 
 , title ! — parried by honour . Ha ! a pension over the arm ! 
 — put by by conscience. Then flankonade with a 
 thousand pounds — and a palpable hit, egad ! 
 
 “ Tilb. Canst thou — 
 
 Reject the suppliant, and the daughter 
 too ? 
 
 « Gov . No more ; I would not hear thee plead m 
 
 vain : 
 
 The father softens — but the governor 
 Is fix'd ! [Exit." 
 
 Dang. Ay, that antithesis of persons is a most 
 * established figure. 
 
THE CRITIC 427 
 
 “ Tilb. Tis well, — hence then, fond hopes, — fond 
 passion hence ; 
 
 Duty, behold I am all over thine 
 
 Whisk. \WithoutA Where is my love — my 
 
 Tilb. Ha ! 
 
 Enter Don Ferolo Whiskerandos. 
 
 Whisk. My beauteous enemy ! " 
 
 Puff. O dear, ma'am, you must start a great deal 
 more than that ! Consider, you had just determined in 
 favour of duty — when, in a moment, the sound of his 
 voice revives your passion — overthrows your resolution 
 — destroys your obedience. If you don't express all 
 that in your start, you do nothing at all. 
 
 Tilb. Well, we'll try again. 
 
 Dang. Speaking from within has always a fine effect. 
 Sneer. Very. 
 
 “ Whisk . My conquering Tilbunna ! How ! ls't thus 
 We meet ? why are thy looks averse ? what 
 means 
 
 That falling tear — that frown of boding woe ? 
 Ha ! now indeed I am a prisoner ! 
 
 Yes, now I feel the galling weight of these 
 Disgraceful chains — which, cruel Tilburina ! 
 Thy doting captive gloried in before. — 
 
 But thou art false, and Whiskerandos is 
 undone ! 
 
 Tilb. O no ! how little dost thou know thy Til- 
 burina ! 
 
 Whisk. Art thou then true ? — Begone cares, doubts, 
 and fears, 
 
 I make you all a present to the winds ; 
 
 And if the winds reject you — try the waves." 
 
 Puff. The wind, you know, is the established receiver 
 
428 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 of all stolen sighs, and cast-off griefs and apprehen- 
 sions. 
 
 “ Tilb. Yet must we part ! — stem duty seals our 
 doom : 
 
 Though here I call yon conscious clouds to 
 witness, 
 
 Could I pursue the bias of my soul, 
 
 All friends, all right of parents, I'd disclaim. 
 And thou, my Whiskerandos, shouldst be 
 father 
 
 And mother, brother, cousin, uncle, aunt. 
 And friend to me ! 
 
 Whisk. Oh, matchless excellence ! and must we part ? 
 
 Well, if — we must — we must — and in that 
 case 
 
 The less is said the better." 
 
 Puff. Heyday ! here's a cut ! — What, are all the 
 mutual protestations out ? 
 
 Tilb. Now, pray, sir, don't interrupt us just here : 
 you ruin our feelings. 
 
 Puff. Your feelings ! — but, zounds, my feelings, 
 ma'am ! 
 
 Sneer. No, pray don't interrupt them. 
 
 “ Whisk . One last embrace. 
 
 Tilb . Now, — farewell, for ever. 
 
 Whisk. For ever ! 
 
 Tilb. Ay, for ever ! [Going” 
 
 Puff. 'Sdeath and fury ! — Gad's life ! — sir ! madam ! 
 if you go out without the parting look, you might as 
 well dance out. Here, here ! 
 
 Con. But pray, sir, how am I to get off here ? 
 
 Puff. You ! pshaw ! what the devil signifies how you 
 get off ! edge away at the top, or where you will — 
 r Pushes the Confidant off.] Now, ma'am, you see 
 
THE CRITIC 
 
 429 
 
 Tilb. We understand you, sir. 
 
 “ Ay, for ever. 
 
 Both . Oh ! 
 
 [Turning back , and exeunt . — Scene closes." 
 
 Dang. Oh, charming ! 
 
 Puff. Hey ! — 'tis pretty well, I believe : you see I 
 don't attempt to strike out anything new — but I take 
 it I improve on the established modes. 
 
 Sneer. You do, indeed ! But pray is not Queen 
 Elizabeth to appear ? 
 
 Puff. No, not once — but she is to be talked of for 
 ever ; so that, egad, you'll think a hundred times that 
 she is on the point of coming in. 
 
 Sneer. Hang it, I think it's a pity to keep her in the 
 green-room all the night. 
 
 Puff. O no, that always has a fine effect — it keeps 
 up expectation. 
 
 Dang. But are we not to have a battle ? 
 
 Puff. Yes, yes, you will have a battle at last : but, 
 egad, it's not to be by land, but by sea — and that is 
 the only quite new thing m the piece. 
 
 Dang. What, Drake at the Armada, hey ? 
 
 Puff. Yes, r faith — fire-ships and all ; then we 
 shall end with the procession. Hey, that will do, I 
 think ? 
 
 Sneer. No doubt on't. 
 
 Puff. Come, we must not lose time ; so now for the 
 under-plot. 
 
 Sneer. What the plague, have you another plot ? 
 
 Puff. O Lord, yes ; ever while you live have two 
 plots to your tragedy. The grand point in managing 
 them is only to let your under-plot have as little 
 connection with your main-plot as possible — I flatter 
 myself nothing can be more distinct than mine ; for 
 as in my chief plot the characters are all great people, 
 I have laid my under-plot in low life, and as the former 
 
SHERIDAN’S PLAYS 
 
 430 
 
 is to end in deep distress, I make the other end as 
 happy as a farce. — Now, Mr Hopkins, as soon as you 
 please. 
 
 Enter Under Prompter. 
 
 Under Promp. Sir, the carpenter says it is impossible 
 you can go to the park scene yet* 
 
 Puff. The park scene ! no ! I mean the description 
 scene here, in the wood. 
 
 Under Promp . Sir, the performers have cut it out. 
 
 Puff. Cut it out ! 
 
 Under Promp. Yes, sir. 
 
 Puff. What ! the whole account of Queen Elizabeth ? 
 
 Under Promp. Yes, sir. 
 
 Puff. And the description of her horse and side- 
 saddle ? 
 
 Under Promp . Yes, sir. 
 
 Puff. So, so ; this is very fine indeed 1 — Mr. Hopkins, 
 how the plague could you suffer this ? 
 
 Mr. Hop. [Within.] Sir, indeed the pruning-knife — 
 
 Puff. The pruning-knife — zounds ! — the axe ! Why, 
 here has been such lopping and topping, I shan’t have 
 the bare trunk of my play left presently ! — Very well, 
 sir — the performers must do as they please ; but, upon 
 my soul, I’ll print it every word. 
 
 Sneer . That I would, indeed. 
 
 Puff. Very well, sir ; then we must go on. — Zounds ! 
 I would not have parted with the description of the 
 horse ! — Well, sir, go on. — Sir, it was one of the finest 
 and most laboured things. — Very well, sir ; let them 
 go on. — There you had him and his accoutrements, 
 from the bit to the crupper. — Very well, sir ; we must 
 go to the park scene. 
 
 Under Promp. Sir, there is the point ; the car- 
 penters say, that unless there is some business put in 
 here before the drop, they sha'n't have time to clear 
 away the fort, or sink Gravesend and the river. 
 
THE CRITIC 
 
 43i 
 
 Puff. So ! this is a pretty dilemma, truly ! — Gentle- 
 men, you must excuse me — these fellows will never be 
 ready, unless I go and look after them myself. 
 
 Sneer. O dear, sir, these little things will happen. 
 
 Puff. To cut out this scene ! — but Til print it — egad, 
 f'll print it every word ! [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT III 
 
 Scene I. — The Theatre , before the curtain. 
 
 Enter Puff, Sneer, and Dangle. 
 
 Puff. Well, we are ready ; now then tor the justices. 
 
 I " Curtain rises. 
 
 “ Justices, Constables, &c., discovered.” 
 
 Sneer . This, 1 suppose, is a sort of senate scene. 
 
 Puff. To be sure ; there has not been one yet. 
 
 Dang . It is the under-plot, isn't it ? 
 
 Puff. Yes. — What, gentlemen, do you mean to go 
 at once to the discovery scene ? 
 
 Just. If you please, sir. 
 
 Puff. Oh, very well ! — Hark'ee, 1 don't choose to 
 say anything more ; but, i 'faith they have mangled my 
 play in a most shocking manner. 
 
 Dang. It's a great pity ! 
 
 Puff. Now, then, Mr. Justice, if you please. 
 
 “ Just. Are all the volunteers without ? 
 
 Const. They are. 
 
 Some ten in fetters, and some twenty drunk. 
 Just . Attends the youth, whose most opprobrious tame 
 And clear convicted crimes have stamp'd him 
 soldier ? 
 
SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 432 
 
 Const . He waits your pleasure ; eager to repay 
 
 The best reprieve that sends him to the fields 
 Of glory, there to raise his branded hand 
 In honour's cause. 
 
 Just , 'Tis well — 'tis justice arms him \ 
 
 Oh ! may he now defend his country's laws 
 With half the spirit he has broke them all ! 
 If 'tis your worship's pleasure, bid him enter. 
 Const. I fly, the herald of your will. [ Exit ." 
 
 Puff. Quick, sir. 
 
 Sneer. But, Mr. Puff, I think not only the Justice, 
 but the clown seems to talk in as high a style as the 
 first hero among them. 
 
 Puff. Heaven forbid they should not in a free 
 country ! — Sir, I am not for making slavish distinctions, 
 and giving all the fine language to the upper sort of 
 people. 
 
 Dang. That's very noble in you, indeed. 
 
 “ Enter Justice's Lady." 
 
 Puff . Now, pray mark this scene. 
 
 “ Lady Forgive this interruption, good my love ; 
 
 But as I just now pass'd a prisoner youth, 
 Whom rude hands hither lead, strange 
 bodings seized 
 
 My fluttering heart, and to myself I said, 
 An' if our Tom had lived, he'd surely been 
 This stripling's height ! 
 
 Just. Ha ! sure some powerful sympathy directs 
 Us both 
 
 Enter Constable with Son. 
 
 What is thy name ? 
 
 Son. My name is Tom Jenkins — alias have I none — 
 
 Though orphan'd, and without a friend ! 
 
THE CRITIC 
 
 433 
 
 Just. Thy parents ? 
 
 Son. My father dwelt in Rochester — and was, 
 
 As I have heard — a fishmonger — no more.” 
 
 Puff. What, sir, do you leave out the account of your 
 birth, parentage, and education ? 
 
 Son. They have settled it so, sir, here. 
 
 Puff. Oh ! oh ! 
 
 “ Lady. 
 
 How loudly nature whispers to my heart. 
 Had he no other name ? 
 
 Son. 
 
 I've seen a bill 
 
 Just. 
 
 Of his sign'd Tomkins, creditor. 
 
 This does indeed confirm each circumstance 
 
 The gipsy told ! — Prepare ! 
 
 Son. 
 
 I do. 
 
 Just. 
 
 No orphan, nor without a friend art 
 
 
 thou — 
 
 I am thy father ; here's thy mother ; there 
 Thy uncle — this thy first cousin, and those 
 Are all your near relations ! 
 
 Lady O ecstasy of bliss ! 
 
 Son. O most unlook'd for happiness ! 
 
 Just. O wonderful event ! [ They faint alternately 
 
 in each other* s arms.” 
 
 Puff. There, you see, relationship, like murder, will 
 out. 
 
 “ Just. Now let's revive — else were this joy too 
 much ! 
 
 But come — and we'll unfold the rest within ; 
 And thou, my boy, must needs want rest 
 and food. 
 
 Hence may each orphan hope, as chance 
 directs, 
 
 To find a father — where he least expects ! 
 
 [Exeunt.” 
 
SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 434 
 
 Puff. What do you think of that ? 
 
 Dang. One of the finest discovery-scenes I ever 
 saw ! — Why, this under-plot would have made a 
 tragedy itself. 
 
 Sneer. Ay ! or a comedy either. 
 
 Puff. And keeps quite clear you see of the other. 
 
 “ Enter Scenemen, taking away the seats” 
 
 Puff. The scene remains, does it ? 
 
 Sceneman. Yes, sir. 
 
 Puff. You are to leave one chair, you know. — But 
 it is always awkward in a tragedy, to have your fellows 
 coming in in your play-house liveries to remove things. 
 — I wish that could be managed better. — So now for 
 my mysterious yeoman. 
 
 “ Enter Beefeater. 
 
 Beef. Perdition catch my soul, but I do love thee.” 
 
 Sneer. Haven't I heard that line before ? 
 
 Puff. No, I fancy not. — Where, pray ? 
 
 Dang. Yes, I think there is something like it in 
 Othello. 
 
 Puff. Gad ! now you put me m mind on't, I believe 
 there is — but that's of no consequence ; all that can 
 be said is, that two people happened to hit upon the 
 same thought — and Shakspeare made use of it first, 
 that's all. 
 
 Sneer. Very true. 
 
 Puff. Now, sir, your soliloquy — but speak more to 
 the pit, if you please — the soliloquy always to the pit, 
 that's a rule. 
 
 “ Beef. Though hopeless love finds comfort in despair, 
 It never can endure a rival's bliss ! 
 
 But soft — I am observed. [Exit.” 
 
THE CRITIC 
 
 435 
 
 Dang. That's a very short soliloquy. 
 
 Puff. Yes — but it would have been a great deal 
 longer if he had not been observed. 
 
 Sneer. A most sentimental Beefeater that, Mr. Puff ! 
 
 Puff. Hark'ee — I would not have you be too sure 
 that he is a Beefeater. 
 
 Sneer . What, a hero in disguise ? 
 
 Puff. No matter — I only give you a hint. But now 
 for my principal character. Here he comes — Lord 
 Burleigh in person 1 Pray, gentlemen, step this way — 
 softly — I only hope the Lord High Treasurer is perfect 
 — if he is but perfect ! 
 
 “ Enter Lord Burleigh, goes slowly to a chair , and sits. '* 
 
 Sneer. Mr. Puff ! 
 
 Puff. Hush 1 — Vastly well, sir 1 vastly well ! a most 
 interesting gravity. 
 
 Dang. What, isn't he to speak at all ? 
 
 Puff. Egad, I thought you'd ask me that ! — Yes, it 
 is a very likely thing — that a minister in his situation, 
 with the whole affairs of the nation on his head, should 
 have time to talk ! — But hush 1 or you’ll put him out. 
 
 Sneer. Put him out ; how the plague can that be, if 
 he's not going to say anything ? 
 
 Puff. There's the reason ! why, his part is to think ; 
 and how the plague do you imagine he can think if you 
 keep talking ? 
 
 Dang. That's very true, upon my word ! 
 
 “ Lord Burleigh comes forward , shakes his head , and 
 exit.” 
 
 Sneer. He is very perfect indeed ! Now, pray what 
 did he mean by that ? 
 
 Puff. You don't take it ? 
 
 Sneer. No, I don't, upon my soul. 
 
SHERIDAN’S PLAYS 
 
 436 
 
 Puff. Why, by that shake of the head, he gave you 
 to understand that even though they had more justice 
 m their cause, and wisdom in their measures — yet, if 
 there was not a greater spirit shown on the part of the 
 people, the country would at last fall a sacrifice to the 
 hostile ambition of the Spanish monarchy. 
 
 Sneer. The devil ! did he mean all that by shaking 
 his head ? 
 
 Puff. Every word of it — if he shook his head as I 
 taught him. 
 
 Dang. Ah ! there certainly is a vast deal to be done 
 on the stage by dumb show and expressions of face ; 
 and a judicious author knows how much he may trust 
 to it. 
 
 Sneer. Oh, here are some of our old acquaintance. 
 
 “ Enter Sir Christopher Hatton and Sir Walter 
 Raleigh. 
 
 Sir Christ. My niece and your niece too ! 
 
 By Heaven ! there's witchcraft in't. — He 
 could not else 
 
 Have gain'd their hearts. — But see where 
 they approach : 
 
 Some horrid purpose lowering on their 
 brows ! 
 
 Sir Walt. Let us withdraw and mark them. 
 
 [! They withdraw.” 
 
 Sneer. What is all this ? 
 
 Puff. \ Ah ! here has been more pruning ! — but the 
 fact is, these two young ladies are also in love with 
 Don Whiskerandos. — Now, gentlemen, this scene goes 
 entirely for what we call situation and stage effect, by 
 which the greatest applause may be obtained, without 
 the assistance of language, sentiment, or character : 
 pray mark ! 
 
THE CRITIC 
 
 437 
 
 Enter the two Nieces. 
 
 ist Niece . Ellena here ! 
 
 She is his scorn as much as I — that is 
 Some comfort still ! '' 
 
 Puff . O dear, madam, you are not to say that to her 
 face ! — Aside, ma'am, aside. — The whole scene is to be 
 aside. 
 
 “ ist. Niece. 
 2nd. Niece, 
 ist Niece. 
 2nd Niece. 
 
 She is his scorn as much as I — that is 
 Some comfort still. [Aside. 
 
 I know he prizes not Pollina's love ; 
 
 But Tilburina lords it o'er his heart. [Aside. 
 But see the proud destroyer of my peace. 
 Revenge is all the good I've left. [Aside. 
 He comes, the false disturber of my quiet. 
 Now vengeance do thy worst. [Aside. 
 
 Enter Don Ferolo Whiskerandos. 
 
 Whisk. 0 hateful liberty — if thus in vain 
 I seek my Tilburina ! 
 
 Both Nieces. And ever shalt ! 
 
 Sir Christopher Hatton and Sir Walter Raleigh 
 come forward. 
 
 Sir Christ . and Sir Walt. Hold ! we will avenge you. 
 
 Whisk. Hold you — or see your nieces bleed ! 
 
 [The two Nieces draw their two daggers 
 to strike Whiskerandos : the two 
 Uncles at the instant , with their two 
 swords drawn , catch their two Nieces' 
 arms , and turn the points of their 
 swords to Whiskerandos, who im- 
 mediately draws two daggers , and 
 holds them to the two Nieces' 
 bosoms.” 
 
SHERIDAN’S PLAYS 
 
 438 
 
 Puff. There's situation for you ! there's an heroic 
 group i — You see the ladies can't stab Whiskerandos — 
 he durst not strike them, for fear of their uncles — the 
 uncles durst not kill him, because of their nieces. — I 
 have them all at a dead lock ! — for every one of them 
 is afraid to let go first. 
 
 Sneer. Why, then they must stand there for ever ! 
 
 Puff. So they would, if I hadn't a very fine contri- 
 vance for't. — Now mind 
 
 “ Enter Beefeater, with his halbert. 
 
 Beef. In the queen's name 1 charge you all to 
 
 drop 
 
 Your swords and daggers ! 
 
 [They drop their swords and daggers." 
 
 Sneer. That is a contrivance indeed ! 
 
 Puff. Ay — in the queen's name. 
 
 “ Sir Christ. 
 Sir Walt. 
 
 Whisk. 
 
 Beef. 
 
 Whisk. 
 
 Beef. 
 
 Come, niece ! 
 
 Come, niece ! 
 
 [Exeunt with the two Nieces. 
 
 What's he, who bids us thus renounce our 
 guard ? 
 
 Thou must do more — renounce thy love ! 
 
 Thou liest — base Beefeater ! 
 
 Ha ! hell ! the he ! 
 
 By Heaven thou'st roused the lion in my 
 heart ! 
 
 Off, yeoman's habit ! — base disguise ! off ! 
 off ! 
 
 [Discovers himself by throwing off his 
 upper dress , and appearing in a very 
 fine waistcoat. 
 
 Am I a Beefeater now ? 
 
 Or beams my crest as terrible as when 
 
 In Biscay's Bay I took thy captive sloop ? " 
 
THE CRITIC 
 
 439 
 
 Puff. There, egad ! he comes out to be the very 
 captain of the privateer who had taken Whiskerandos 
 prisoner — and was himself an old lover of Til- 
 burina's. 
 
 Dang . Admirably managed, indeed ! 
 
 Puff. Now, stand out of their way. 
 
 “ Whisk. I thank thee. Fortune, that has thus 
 
 bestowed 
 
 A weapon to chastise this msolent. 
 
 [Takes up one of the swords „ 
 Beef . I take thy challenge, Spaniard, and I 
 
 thank thee, 
 
 Fortune, too ! 
 
 [Takes up the other sword." 
 
 Dang. That's excellently contrived ! — It seems as it 
 the two uncles had left their swords on purpose for 
 them. 
 
 Puff. No, egad, they could not help leaving them. 
 
 “ Whisk. 
 Beef. 
 
 Whisk. 
 
 Beef. 
 
 Vengeance and Tilburina ! 
 
 Exactly so- 
 
 [They fight — and after the usual number 
 of wounds given , Whiskerandos falls. 
 
 O cursed parry ! — that last thrust in tierce 
 
 Was fatal. — Captain, thou hast fenced 
 well ! 
 
 And Whiskerandos quits this bustling 
 scene 
 
 For all eter 
 
 nity — he would have added, but stem 
 
 death 
 
 Cut short his being, and the noun at 
 once ! ” 
 
 Puff. Oh, my dear sir, you are too slow : now mind 
 me. — Sir, shall I trouble you to die again ? 
 
440 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 “ Whisk. And Whiskerandos quits this bustling 
 scene 
 
 For all eter 
 
 Beef. nity — he would have added, ” 
 
 Puff. No, sir, — that's not it — once more, if you 
 please. 
 
 Whisk. I wish, sir, you would practise this without 
 me — I can't stay dying here all night. 
 
 Puff. Very well ; we'll go over it by-and-by. — [Exit 
 Whiskerandos.] I must humour these gentlemen ! 
 
 “ Beef. Farewell, brave Spaniard ! and when 
 next " 
 
 Puff. Dear sir, you needn't speak that speech, as the 
 body has walked off. 
 
 Beef. That's true, sir — then I'll join the fleet. 
 
 Puff. If you please. — [Exit Beefeater.] Now, who 
 comes on ? 
 
 “ Enter Governor, with his hair properly disordered. 
 
 Gov . A hemisphere of evil planets reign ! 
 
 And every planet sheds contagious frenzy ! 
 My Spanish prisoner is slain ! my daughter, 
 Meeting the dead corse borne along, has gone 
 Distract ! [A loud flourish of trumpets . 
 
 But hark ! I am summoned to the fort : 
 Perhaps the fleets have met ! amazing crisis ! 
 O Tilburina ! from thy aged father's beard 
 Thou'st pluck'd the few brown hairs which 
 time had left ! [Exit.” 
 
 Sneer. Poor gentleman 1 
 
 Puff. Yes — and no one to blame but his daughter ! 
 
 Dang. And the planets 
 
 Puff. True. — Now enter Tilburina ! 
 
THE CRITIC 
 
 441 
 
 Sneer. Egad, the business comes on quick here. 
 
 Puff. Yes, sir — now she comes in stark mad in white 
 satin. 
 
 Sneer. Why in white satin ? 
 
 Puff. O Lord, sir — when a heroine goes mad, she 
 always goes into white satin. — Don't she, Dangle ? 
 
 Dang. Always — it's a rule. 
 
 Puff “ Yes — here it is — [. Looking at the book.] “ Enter 
 Tilburina stark mad in white satin, and her confidant 
 stark mad in white linen." 
 
 “ Enter Tilburina and Confidant, mad, according to 
 custom ." 
 
 Sneer. But, what the deuce ! is the confidant to be 
 mad too ? 
 
 Puff. To be sure she is : the confidant is always to do 
 whatever her mistress does ; weep when she weeps, 
 smile when she smiles, go mad when she goes mad. — 
 Now, Madam Confidant — but keep your madness in 
 the background, if you please. 
 
 “ Tilb. The wind whistles — the moon rises — see, 
 
 They have kill'd my squirrel in his cage : 
 
 Is this a grasshopper ? — Ha ! no ; it is my 
 Whiskerandos — you shall not keep him — 
 
 I know you have him in your pocket — 
 
 An oyster may be cross'd in love ! — who says 
 A whale's a bird ? — Ha ! did you call, my 
 love ? — 
 
 He's here ! he's there ! — He's everywhere I 
 Ah me ! he's nowhere ! [Exit" 
 
 Puff. There, do you ever desire to see anybody 
 madder than that ? 
 
 Sneer . Never, while I live ! 
 
 Puff. You observed how she mangled the metre ? 
 
SHERIDAN S PLAYS 
 
 442 
 
 Dang . Yes, — egad, it was the first thing made me 
 suspect she was out of her senses ! 
 
 Sneer. And pray what becomes of her ? 
 
 Puff. She is gone to throw herself into the sea, to be 
 sure — and that brings us at once to the scene of action, 
 and so to my catastrophe — my sea-fight, I mean. 
 
 Sneer. What, you bring that in at last ? 
 
 Puff. Yes, yes — you know my play is called The 
 Spanish Armada ; otherwise, egad, I have no occasion 
 for the battle at all. — Now then for my magnificence ! 
 — my battle ! — my noise ! — and my procession ! — You 
 are all ready ? 
 
 Und. Promp. [Within.] Yes, sir. 
 
 Puff. Is the Thames dressed ? 
 
 “ Enter Thames with two Attendants/' 
 
 Thames. Here I am, sir. 
 
 Puff. Very well, indeed ! — See, gentlemen, there's a 
 river for you ! — This is blending a little of the masque 
 with my tragedy — a new fancy, you know — and very 
 useful in my case ; for as there must be a procession, I 
 suppose Thames, and all his tributary rivers, to com- 
 pliment Britannia with a fete in honour of the 
 victory. 
 
 Sneer. But pray, who are these gentlemen in green 
 with him ? 
 
 Puff. Those ? — those are his banks. 
 
 Sneer. His banks ? 
 
 Puff. Yes, one crowned with alders, and the other 
 with a villa ! — you take the allusions ? — But hey ! what 
 the plague ! — you have got both your banks on one 
 side. — Here, sir, come round. — Ever while you live, 
 Thames, go between your banks. — [Bell rings.] There, 
 so ! now for't ! — Stand aside, my dear friends ! — 
 Away, Thames ! 
 
 [Exit Thames between his banks. 
 
THE CRITIC 
 
 443 
 
 [Flourish of drums , trumpets , cannon , &c. y &c. y 
 Scene changes to the sea — the fleets engage — the 
 music plays — “ Britons strike horned — Spanish 
 fleet destroyed by fire-ships , &c. — English fleet 
 advances — music plays, “ Rule Britannia ” — The 
 procession of all the English rivers , and their 
 tributaries, with their emblems, &c., begins with 
 Handel's water music, ends with a chorus to the 
 march in Judas Maccabceus . — During this scene , 
 Puff directs and applauds everything — then 
 Puff. Well, pretty well — but not quite perfect. So, 
 ladies and gentlemen, if you please, we'll rehearse this 
 piece again to-morrow. [Curtain drops. 
 
PIZARRO 
 
 A TRAGEDY 
 
 ADVERTISEMENT 
 
 As the two translations which have been published of 
 Kotzebue's “ Spaniards in Peru ” have, I understand, 
 been very generally read, the public are in possession of 
 all the materials necessary to form a judgment on the 
 merits and defects of the play performed at Drury Lane 
 Theatre. 
 
 DEDICATION 
 
 To her, whose approbation of this Drama, and whose 
 peculiar delight in the applause it has received from the 
 public, have been to me the highest gratification derived 
 from its success — I dedicate this Play. 
 
 Richard Brinsley Sheridan. 
 
 444 
 
DRAMATIS PERSONS 
 
 AS ORIGINALLY ACTED AT DRURY LANE THEATRE IN 1799 
 
 Ataliba 
 Rolla . 
 Orozembo 
 Orano . 
 
 Alonzo 
 
 Pizarro 
 
 Almagro 
 
 Gonzalo 
 
 Da villa 
 
 Gomez 
 
 Valverde 
 
 Las-Casas 
 
 Old Blind Man 
 
 Boy 
 
 Sentinel 
 
 Attendant 
 
 Cora 
 
 Elvira 
 
 Mr. Powell 
 Mr. Kemble 
 Mr. Dowlon 
 Mr. Archer 
 Mr. C. Kemble 
 Mr. Barrymore 
 Mr. Caulfield 
 Mr. Wentworth 
 Mr. Trueman 
 Mr. Surmount 
 Mr. R. Palmer 
 Mr. Aickin 
 Mr. Cory 
 Master Chatterley 
 Mr. Holland 
 Mr. Maddocks 
 Mrs. Jordan 
 Mrs. Siddons 
 
 Peruvian Warriors, Women and Children, High Priests, 
 Priests and Virgins of the Sun, Spanish Officers, 
 Soldiers, Guards, &c., &c. 
 
 SCENE— Peru 
 
 445 
 
PROLOGUE 
 
 Written by Richard Brinsley Sheridan 
 
 SPOKEN BY MR. KING 
 
 Chill'd by rude gales, while yet reluctant May 
 Withholds the beauties of the vernal day ; 
 
 As some fond maid, whom matron frowns reprove. 
 Suspends the smile her heart devotes to love ; 
 
 The season's pleasures too delay their hour, 
 
 And Winter revels with protracted power : 
 
 Then blame not, critics, if, thus late, we bring 
 A Winter Drama — but reproach — the Spring. 
 
 What prudent cit dares yet the season trust, 
 
 Bask in his whisky, and enjoy the dust ? 
 
 Horsed in Cheapside, scarce yet the gayer spark 
 Achieves the Sunday triumph of the Park ; 
 
 Scarce yet you see him, dreading to be late, 
 
 Scour the New Road, and dash through Grosvenor 
 Gate : — 
 
 Anxious — yet timorous too — his steed to show, 
 
 The hack Bucephalus of Rotten Row. 
 
 Careless he seems, yet vigilantly sly, 
 
 Woos the gay glance of ladies passing by, 
 
 While his off heel, insidiously aside, 
 
 Provokes the caper which he seems to chide. 
 
 Scare rural Kensington due honour gains ; 
 
 The vulgar verdure of her walk remains ! 
 
 Where night-robed misses amble two by two, 
 
 Nodding to booted beaux — “ How do, how do ? '' 
 
 With generous questions that no answer wait, 
 
 “ How vastly full ! An't you come vastly late ? 
 
 Isn't it quite charming ? When do you leave town ? 
 An't you quite tired ? Pray, can't we sit down ? " 
 
 446 
 
PIZARRO 
 
 447 
 
 These suburb pleasures of a London May, 
 
 Imperfect yet, we hail the cold delay ; 
 
 Should our play please — and youTe indulgent ever — 
 Be your decree — " Tis better late than never.” 
 
 ACT I 
 
 Scene I. — A pavilion near Pizarro's Tent. 
 
 Elvira discovered sleeping under a canopy. Val verde 
 enters , gazes on Elvira, kneels , and attempts to kiss 
 her hand ; Elvira, wakened, rises and looks at 
 him with indignation . 
 
 Elv. Audacious ! Whence is thy privilege to inter- 
 rupt the few moments of repose my harassed mind can 
 snatch amid the tumults of this noisy camp ? Shall I 
 inform thy master, Pizarro, of this presumptuous 
 treachery ? 
 
 Val. I am his servant — it is true — trusted by him — 
 and I know him well ; and therefore Tis I ask, by what 
 magic could Pizarro gain your heart ? by what fatality 
 still holds he your affection ? 
 
 Elv. Hold ! thou trusty secretary ! 
 
 Val. Ignobly bom ! in mind and manners rude, 
 ferocious and unpolished, though cool and crafty if 
 occasion need — in youth audacious — ill his first man- 
 hood — a licensed pirate — treating men as brutes, the 
 world as booty ; yet now the Spanish hero is he styled 
 — the first of Spanish conquerors ! and, for a warrior 
 so accomplished, Tis fit Elvira should leave her noble 
 family, her fame, her home, to share the dangers, 
 humours, and the crimes of such a lover as Pizarro ! 
 
 Elv. What ! Valverde moralising ! But grant I am in 
 error, what is my incentive ? Passion, infatuation, cal] 
 it as you will ; but what attaches thee to this despised, 
 unworthy leader ? Base lucre is thy object, mean fraud 
 
SHERIDAN’S PLAYS 
 
 
 448 
 
 thy means. Could you gain me, you only hope to win 
 a higher interest in Pizarro. I know you. 
 
 Val. On my soul, you wrong me ! What else my 
 faults, I have none towards you. But indulge the scorn 
 and levity of your nature ; do it while yet the time 
 permits ; the gloomy hour, I fear, too soon approaches. 
 
 Elv. Valverde a prophet too ! 
 
 Val. Hear me, Elvira. Shame from his late defeat, 
 and burning wishes for revenge, again have brought 
 Pizarro to Peru ; but trust me, he overrates his 
 strength, nor measures well the foe. Encamped in a 
 strange country, where terror cannot force, nor cor- 
 ruption buy a single friend, what have we to hope ? 
 The army murmuring at increasing hardships, while 
 Pizarro decorates with gaudy spoil the gay pavilion of 
 his luxury, each day diminishes our force. 
 
 Elv. But are you not the heirs of those that fall ? 
 
 Val. Are gain and plunder, then, our only purpose ? 
 Is this Elvira's heroism ? 
 
 Elv. No, so save me, heaven ! I abhor the motive, 
 means, and end of your pursuits : but I will trust none 
 of you. In your whole army, there is not one of you 
 that has a heart, or speaks ingenuously — aged Las- 
 Casas, and he alone, excepted. 
 
 Val. He ! an enthusiast in the opposite and worst 
 extreme ! 
 
 Elv. Oh ! had I earlier known that virtuous man, how 
 different might my lot have been ! 
 
 Val. I will grant Pizarro could not then so easily 
 have duped you : forgive me, but at that event I still 
 must wonder. 
 
 Elv. Hear me, Valverde. When first my virgm fancy 
 waked to love, Pizarro was my country's idol. Self- 
 taught, self-raised, and self-supported, he became a 
 hero ; and I was formed to be won by glory and 
 renown. Tis known that, when he left Panama m a 
 slight vessel, his force was not a hundred men. Arrived 
 at the island of Gallo, with his sword he drew a line 
 
PIZARRO 
 
 449 
 
 ipon the sands, and said, “ Pass those who fear to die 
 Dr conquer with their leader/' Thirteen alone remained, 
 and at the head of these the warrior stood his ground. 
 Even at that moment when my ears first caught this 
 tale, my heart exclaimed, “ Pizarro is its lord ! ” 
 
 I What since I have perceived, or thought, or felt, you 
 i must have more worth to win the knowledge of. 
 
 Veil . I press no further, still assured that, while 
 {Alonzo de Molina, our general's former friend and 
 i pupil, leads the enemy, Pizarro never more will be a 
 
 I conqueror. [Trumpets without. 
 
 Elv. Silence, ! I hear him coming ; look not per- 
 plexed. How mystery and fraud confound the counten- 
 ance ! Quick, put on an honest face, if thou canst. 
 
 Piz. [W ithout.] Chain and secure him ; I will ex- 
 j amine him myself. 
 
 Enter Pizarro. Valverde bows. — Elvira laughs. 
 
 Piz. Why dost thou smile, Elvira ? 
 
 Elv. To laugh or weep without a reason is one of the 
 few privileges poor women have, 
 j; Piz. Elvira, I will know the cause, I am resolved ! 
 Elv. I am glad of that, because I love resolution, and 
 am resolved not to tell you. Now my resolution, I take 
 I it, is the better of the two, because it depends upon 
 ! myself, and yours does not. 
 
 Piz. Psha ! trifler ! 
 
 Val. Elvira was laughing at my apprehensions 
 that 
 
 Piz . Apprehensions ! 
 
 Val. Yes — that Alonzo's skill and genius should so 
 
 have disciplined and informed the enemy, as to 
 
 Piz. Alonzo ! the traitor ! How I once loved that 
 man ! His noble mother intrusted him, a boy, to my 
 protection. [Elvira walks about pensively in the back- 
 ground .] At my table did he feast — in my tent did he 
 repose. I had marked his early genius, and the valorous 
 
SHERIDAN S PLAYS 
 
 450 
 
 spirit that grew with it. Often had I talked to him oi 
 our early adventures — what storms we struggled with 
 — what perils we surmounted ! When landed with a 
 slender host upon an unknown land — then, when I told 
 how famine and fatigue, discord and toil, day by day, 
 did thin our ranks amid close-pressing enemies — how, 
 still undaunted, I endured and dared — maintained my 
 purpose and my power in despite of growling mutiny 
 or bold revolt, till with my faithful few remaining I 
 became at last victorious ! — When, I say, of these 
 things I spoke, the youth Alonzo, with tears of wonder 
 and delight, would throw him on my neck, and swear 
 his soul's ambition owned no other leader. 
 
 Val. What could subdue attachment so begun ? 
 
 Piz. Las-Casas. — He it was, with fascinating craft 
 and canting precepts of humanity, raised in Alonzo's 
 mind a new enthusiasm, which forced him, as the 
 stripling termed it, to forego his country's claims for 
 those of human nature. 
 
 Val. Yes, the traitor left you, joined the Peruvians, 
 and became thy enemy, and Spain's. 
 
 Piz. But first with weariless remonstrance he sued to 
 win me from my purpose, and untwine the sword from 
 my determined grasp. Much he spoke of right, of 
 justice, and humanity, calling the Peruvians our 
 innocent and unoffending brethren. 
 
 Val. They! Obdurate heathens ! They our brethren! 
 
 Piz . But, when he found that the soft folly of the 
 pleading tears he dropped on my bosom fell on marble, 
 he flew and joined the foe : then, profiting by the 
 lessons he had gained in wronged Pizarro's school, the 
 youth so disciplined and led his new allies, that soon he 
 forced me — ha ! I burn with shame and fury while I 
 own. it ! — in base retreat and foul discomfiture to quit 
 the shore. 
 
 Val. But the hour of revenge is come. 
 
 Piz. It is ; I am returned : my force is strengthened, 
 and the audacious boy shall soon know that Pizarro 
 
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PIZARRO 
 
 45i 
 
 Ho f lives, and has — a grateful recollection of the thanks he 
 htb owes him. 
 
 i a Val. Tis doubted whether still Alonzo lives, 
 old Pi?. Tis certain that he does , one of his armour- 
 ay, bearers is just made prisoner : twelve thousand is their 
 )W, force, as he reports, led by Alonzo and Peruvian Rolla. 
 Hy This day they make a solemn sacrifice on their ungodly 
 uy altars. We must profit by their security, and attack them 
 I unprepared — the sacrifices shall become the victims. 
 
 $e Elv. Wretched innocents ! And their blood shah 
 ir bedew their altars ! 
 
 ir Piz. Right ! — [ Trumpets without.] Elvira, retire 1 
 Elv. Why should I retire ? 
 
 Piz. Because men are to meet here, and on manly 
 f business. 
 
 Elv. O men ! men ! ungrateful and perverse ! O 
 
 ( woman ! still affectionate though wronged ! [Val- 
 verde retires back.] The beings to whose eyes you turn 
 for animation, hope, and rapture, through the days of 
 mirth and revelry ; and on whose bosoms, in the hour 
 of sore calamity, you seek for rest and consolation ; 
 then, when the pompous follies of your mean ambition 
 are the question, you treat as playthings or as slaves — 
 T shall not retire. 
 
 Piz. Remam, then ; and, if thou canst, be silent. 
 Elv. They only babble who practise not reflection. 
 1 shall think — and thought is silence. 
 
 Piz. [Aside.] Ha ! there's somewhat m her manner 
 lately 
 
 [Looks sternly and suspiciously at Elvira, who 
 meets his glance with a commanding and 
 unaltered eye. 
 
 Enter Las-Casas, Almagro. Gonzalo, Davilla 
 Officers, and Soldiers. — Trumpets without, 
 
 Lcts-Cas. Pizarro, we attend thy summons. 
 
 Piz. Welcome, venerable father ! — My friends, most 
 
SHERIDAN’S PLAYS 
 
 452 
 
 
 welcome ! Friends and fellow-soldiers, at length the 
 hour is arrived, which to Pizarro's hopes presents the 
 full reward of our undaunted enterprise and long- 
 enduring toils. Confident in security, this day the foe 
 devotes to solemn sacrifice ; if with bold surprise we 
 strike on their solemnity — trust to your leader’s word — 
 we shall not fail. 
 
 Aim. Too long inactive have we been mouldering on 
 the coast ; our stores exhausted, and our soldiers 
 murmuring. Battle ! battle ! — then death to the armed, 
 and chains for the defenceless. 
 
 Dav. Death to the whole Peruvian race ! 
 
 Las-Cas. Merciful Heaven ! 
 
 Aim. Yes, general, the attack, and instantly ! Then 
 shall Alonzo, basking at his ease, soon cease to scoff 
 at our sufferings, and scorn our force. 
 
 Las-Cas. Alonzo ! — scorn and presumption are not 
 in his nature. 
 
 Aim. ’Tis fit Las-Casas should defend his pupil. 
 
 Piz. Speak not of the traitor, or hear his name but as 
 the bloody summons to assault and vengeance. It 
 appears we are agreed. 
 
 Aim. and Dav. We are. 
 
 Gon. All. — Battle ! battle ! 
 
 Las-Cas. Is, then, the dreadful measure of your 
 cruelty not yet complete ? Battle ! gracious Heaven ! 
 against whom ! Against a king, in whose mild bosom 
 your atrocious injuries even yet have not excited hate ! 
 but who, insulted or victorious, still sues for peace. 
 Against a people who never wronged the living bemg 
 their Creator formed : a people who, children of 
 
 innocence ! received you as cherished guests with eager 
 hospitality and confiding kindness. Generously and 
 freely did they share with you their comforts, their 
 treasure and their homes : you repaid them by fraud, 
 oppression and dishonour. These eyes have witnessed 
 all I speak — as gods you were received, as fiends have 
 you acted. 
 
PIZARRO 
 
 453 
 
 Piz. Las-Casas ! 
 
 Las-Cas. Pizarro, hear me ! — Hear me, chieftains ! — 
 And thou, All-powerful ! whose thunders can shiver into 
 sand the adamantine rock — whose lightnings can pierce 
 to the core the rived and quaking earth — oh, let thy 
 power give effect to thy servant's words, as thy Spirit 
 gives courage to his will ! Do not, I implore you, 
 chieftains — countrymen — do not, I implore you, renew 
 the foul barbarities which your insatiate avarice has 
 inflicted on this wretched, unoffending race ! — But 
 hush, my sighs ! fall not, drops of useless sorrow ! — 
 heart-breaking anguish, choke not my utterance ! — 
 All I entreat is, send me once more to those you call 
 your enemies. — Oh ! let me be the messenger of 
 penitence from you ; I shall return with blessings and 
 with peace from them. — [Turning to Elvira.] Elvira, 
 you weep. — Alas ! and does this dreadful crisis move no 
 heart but thine ? 
 
 Aim . Because there are no women here but she and 
 thou. 
 
 Piz. Close this idle war of words ! time flies, and our 
 opportunity will be lost. Chieftains, are ye for instant 
 battle ? 
 
 Aim. We are. 
 
 Las-Cas. Oh ! men of blood ! — [Kneels. ] God ! thou 
 hast anointed me thy servant — not to curse, but to 
 bless my countrymen : yet now my blessing on their 
 force were blasphemy against thy goodness. — [Rfs^s.] 
 No ! I curse your purpose, homicides ! I curse the bond 
 of blood by which you are united. May fell division, 
 infamy, and rout, defeat your projects and rebuke 
 your hopes ! On you and on your children, be the peril 
 of the innocent blood which shall be shed this day ! 
 I leave you, and for ever ! No longer shall these aged 
 eyes be seared by the horrors they have witnessed. In 
 caves, in forests, will I hide myself ; with tigers and 
 with savage beasts will I commune ; and when at 
 length we meet before the blessed tribunal of that 
 
SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 454 
 
 Deity whose mild doctrines and whose mercies ye have 
 this day renounced, then shall you feel the agony and 
 grief of soul which tear the bosom of your accuser 
 now ! [Going. 
 
 Elv. [Rises and takes the hand of Las-Casas.] Las- 
 Casas ! Oh, take me with thee, Las-Casas ! 
 
 Las-Cas. Stay i lost, abused lady ! I alone am use- 
 less here. Perhaps thy loveliness may persuade to 
 pity, where reason and religion plead in vain. Oh ! save 
 thy innocent fellow-creatures if thou canst : then shall 
 thy frailty be redeemed, and thou wilt share the mercy 
 thou bestowest. [Exit 
 
 Piz. How Elvira ! wouldst thou leave me ? 
 
 Elv . I am bewildered, grown terrified ! Your in- 
 humanity — and that good Las-Casas — oh ! he appeared 
 to me just now something more than heavenly : and 
 you ! ye all looked worse than earthly. 
 
 Piz . Compassion sometimes becomes a beauty. 
 
 Elv. Humanity always becomes a conqueror. 
 
 Aim. Well ! Heaven be praised, we are rid of the 
 old moralist. 
 
 Gon. I hope he'll join his preaching pupil, Alonzo. 
 
 Piz. [Turning to Almagro.] Now to prepare our 
 muster and our march. At midday is the hour of 
 sacrifice. [Elvira site.] Consulting with our guides, 
 the route of your divisions shall be given to each 
 commander. If we surprise, we conquer ; and, if we 
 conquer, the gates of Quito will be open to us. 
 
 Aim. And Pizarro then be monarch of Peru. 
 
 Piz. Not so fast — ambition for a time must take 
 counsel from discretion. Ataliba still must hold the 
 shadow of a sceptre in his hand — Pizarro still appear 
 dependent upon Spam : while the pledge of future 
 peace, his daughter's hand [Elvira rises much agitated ■], 
 secures the proud succession to the crown I seek. 
 
 Aim. This is best. In Pizarro 's plans observe the 
 statesman's wisdom guides the warrior's valour. 
 
 Val. [Aside to Elvira.] You mark, Elvira ? 
 
PIZARRO 
 
 455 
 
 Elv. Oh, yes — this is best — this is excellent ! 
 
 Piz. You seem offended. Elvira still retains my 
 heart. Think — a sceptre waves me on. 
 
 Elv . Offended ? — no ! Thou knowest thy glory is my 
 idol ; and this will be most glorious, most just and 
 honourable. 
 
 Piz. What mean you ? 
 
 Elv . Oh, nothing ! — mere woman's prattle — a jealous 
 whim, perhaps : but let it not impede the royal hero's 
 course . — [Trumpets without .] The call of arms invites 
 you. — Away ! away ! you, his brave, his worthy 
 fellow-warriors . 
 
 Piz . And go you not with me ? 
 
 Elv. Undoubtedly ! I needs must be first to hail 
 the future monarch of Peru. 
 
 Enter Gomez. 
 
 Aim. How, Gomez ? what brmgest thou ? 
 
 Gom. On yonder hill, among die palm trees, we 
 have surprised an old cacique ; escape by flight he 
 could not, and we seized him and his attendant un- 
 resisting ; yet his Ups breathed naught but bitterness 
 and scorn. 
 
 Piz. Drag turn before us. — (E lvira sits pensively. 
 Gomez goes out and returns with Orozembo ana 
 Attendant, in chains , guarded .] What art thou, 
 stranger ? 
 
 Ora. First tell me which among you is the captain 
 of this band of robbers. 
 
 Piz. Ha ! 
 
 Aim. Madman ! — Tear out his tongue, or else 
 
 Oro. Thou'lt hear some truth. 
 
 Dav. [Showing his poniard .] Shall I not plunge tins 
 into his heart ? 
 
 Oro. [To Pizarro.J Does your army boast many 
 such heroes as this ? 
 
 Piz. Audacious ! this insolence has sealed thy doom. 
 
SHERIDAN’S PLAYS 
 
 456 
 
 Die thou shalt, grey-headed ruffian. But first confess 
 what thou knowest. 
 
 Oro. I know that which thou hast just assured me 
 of — that I shall die. 
 
 Piz. Less audacity perhaps might have preserved 
 thy life. 
 
 Oro. My life is as a withered tree ; it is not worth 
 preserving. 
 
 Piz. Hear me, old man. Even now we march against 
 the Peruvian army. We know there is a secret path 
 that leads to your stronghold among the rocks : guide 
 us to that, and name thy reward. If wealth be thy 
 wish 
 
 Oro. Ha ! ha ! ha ! 
 
 Piz. Dost thou despise my offer ? 
 
 Oro. Thee and thy offer ! Wealth ! — I have the 
 wealth of two dear gallant sons — I have stored in 
 heaven the riches which repay good actions here — and 
 still my chiefest treasure do I bear about me. 
 
 Piz. What is that ? Inform me. 
 
 Oro. I will ; for it never can be thine — the treasure 
 of a pure, unsullied conscience. 
 
 [Elvira sits still , paying marked attention to 
 Orozembo. 
 
 Piz . I believe there is no other Peruvian who dares 
 speak as thou dost. 
 
 Oro . Would I could believe there is no other Spaniard 
 who dares act as thou dost ! 
 
 Gom. Obdurate Pagan ! How numerous is your 
 army ? 
 
 Oro. Count the leaves of yonder forest. 
 
 Aim. Which is the weakest part of your camp ? 
 
 Oro. It has no weak part ; on every side 'tis fortified 
 by justice. 
 
 Piz. Where have you concealed your wives and 
 your children ? 
 
 Oro. In the hearts of their husbands and their 
 fathers. 
 
PIZARRO 
 
 457 
 
 Piz. Knowest thou Alonzo ? 
 
 Oro. Know him ! Alonzo ! Know him ! Our nation's 
 benefactor ! the guardian angel of Peru ! 
 
 Piz, By what has he merited that title ? 
 
 Oro. By not resembling thee. 
 
 Aim. Who is this Rolla, joined with Alonzo m 
 command ? 
 
 Oro. I will answer that ; for I love to hear and to 
 repeat the hero's name. Rolla, the kinsman of the 
 king, is the idol of our army ; in war a tiger, chafed by 
 the hunter's spear ; in peace more gentle than the 
 un weaned lamb. Cora was once betrothed to him ; 
 but, finding she preferred Alonzo, he resigned his 
 claim, and, I fear, his peace, to friendship and to Cora's 
 happiness ; yet still he loves her with a pure and holy 
 fire. 
 
 Piz. Romantic savage ! — I shall meet this Rolla soon. 
 
 Oro. Thou hadst better not ! The terrors of his 
 noble eye would strike thee dead. 
 
 Dav. Silence, or tremble ! 
 
 Oro. Beardless robber ! I never yet have trembled 
 before God ; why should I tremble before man ? Why 
 before thee, thou less than man ? 
 
 Dav. Another word, audacious heathen, and I strike ! 
 
 Oro. Strike, Christian ! Then boast among thy 
 fellows — I too have murdered a Peruvian ! 
 
 Dav. Hell and vengeance seize thee ! [Stabs him. 
 
 Piz. Hold ! 
 
 Dav. Couldst thou longer have endured his insults ? 
 
 Piz. And therefore should he die untortured ? 
 
 Oro. True ! Observe, young man — [To Da villa.] 
 Thy unthinking rashness has saved me from the rack ; 
 and thou thyself hast lost the opportunity of a useful 
 lesson ; thou mightst thyself have seen with what 
 cruelty vengeance would have inflicted torments — and 
 with what patience virtue would have borne them. 
 
 Elv. [Supporting Orozembo's head upon her bosom.) 
 Oh, ye are monsters all ! Look up, thou martyred 
 s.p. 
 
SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 458 
 
 innocent — look up once more, and bless me ere thou 
 diest. God ! how I pity thee ! 
 
 Oro. Pity me ! — me ! so near my happiness ! Bless 
 thee, lady ! — Spaniards — Heaven turn your hearts, and 
 pardon you, as I do. 
 
 Piz. Away ! — [Orozembo is borne off dying .J Away ! 
 
 Da villa ! If thus rash a second time 
 
 Dav. Forgive the hasty indignation which 
 
 Piz . No more ! Unbind that trembling wretch — iet 
 him depart : 'tis well he should report the mercy which 
 we show to insolent defiance. — Hark ! our troops are 
 
 moving. 
 
 Attend . [On passing Elvira, j If through your gentle 
 means my master's poor remains might be preserved 
 horn insult 
 
 Elv. I understand thee. 
 
 Attend. His sons may yet thank your chanty, if not 
 avenge their father's fate. [Exit. 
 
 Piz. What says the slave ? 
 
 Etv. A parting word to thank you lor your mercy. 
 
 Piz. Our guards and guides approach. — [Soldiers 
 march through the tents. ] Follow me, friends — each 
 shall have his post assigned, and ere Peru via 's god shall 
 sink beneath the main, the Spanish banner, bathed in 
 blood, shall float above the walls of vanquished Quito. 
 
 [Exeunt all but Elvira and Valverde. 
 
 Vat. Is it now presumption that my hopes gam 
 strength with the increasing horrors which I see appal 
 Elvira's soul ? 
 
 Elv. I am mad with terror and remorse ! Would i 
 could fly these dreadful scenes ! 
 
 Vai. Might not Valverde's true attachment be thy 
 refuge ? 
 
 Elv. What wouidst thou do to save or to avenge me ? 
 
 V at. I dare do all thy injuries may demand — a word 
 — and he lies bleeding at your feet. 
 
 Elv. Perhaps we will speak again of this. Now leave 
 me. — f Exit Valverde.] No ! not this revenge — no i 
 
PIZARRO 
 
 459 
 
 tllQD 
 
 •less 
 
 and 
 
 Jet 
 
 ch 
 
 xe 
 
 ie 
 
 id 
 
 t 
 
 not tliis instrument. Fie, Elvira ! even for a moment 
 to counsel with this unworthy traitor ! Can a wretch, 
 false to a confiding master, be true to any pledge ot 
 love or honour ? — Pizarro will abandon me — yes ; me 
 — who, for his sake, have sacrificed — oh, God ! what 
 have I not sacrificed •for him ! Yet, curbing the 
 avenging pride that swells this bosom, I still will further 
 try him. Oh, men ! ye who, wearied by the fond 
 fidelity of virtuous love, seek in the wanton's flattery a 
 new delight, oh, ye may insult and leave the hearts to 
 which your faith was pledged, and, stifling self-reproach, 
 may fear no other peril ; because such hearts, howe'er 
 you injure and desert them, have yet the proud retreat 
 of an unspotted fame — of unreproaching conscience. 
 But beware the desperate libertine who forsakes the 
 creature whom his arts have first deprived of all 
 natural protection — of all self-consolation 1 What has 
 he left her ! Despair and vengeance 1 [Exit 
 
 ACT II 
 
 Scene L — A Bank surrounded by a wild wood and rocks. 
 
 Cora is discovered playing with her Child ; Alonzo 
 hanging over them with delight . 
 
 Cora. Now confess, does he resemble thee, or not ? 
 
 A Ion. Indeed, he is liker thee — thy rosy softness, thy 
 smiling gentleness. 
 
 Cora . But his auburn hair, the colour ol his eyes, 
 j* Alonzo. — Oh, my lord's image, and my heart's adored ; 
 
 [Presses the Child to her bosom. 
 
 A Ion. The little darling urchin robs me, I doubt, ot 
 some portion of thy love, my Cora. At least he shares 
 caresses, which till his birth were only mine. 
 
 Cora. Oh no, Alonzo 1 a mother's love for her sweet 
 
SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 460 
 
 babe is not a stealth from the dear father's store ; it is 
 a new delight that turns with quickened gratitude to 
 him, the author of her augmented bliss. 
 
 A Ion. Could Cora think me serious ? 
 
 Cora. I am sure he will speak soon : then will be the ' 
 last of the three holidays allowed by Nature's sanction 
 to the fond, anxious mother's heart. 
 
 A Ion. What are those three ? 
 
 Cora. The ecstasy of his birth I pass ; that in part is 
 selfish : but when the first white blossoms of his teeth 
 appear, breaking the crimson buds that did encase 
 them, that is a day of joy ; next, when from his 
 father's arms he runs without support, and clings, 
 laughing and delighted, to his mother's knees, that is 
 the mother's heart's next holiday ; and sweeter still 
 the third, whene'er his little stammering tongue shall 
 utter the grateful sound of father ! mother ! — Oh, that's 
 the dearest joy of all ! 
 
 A Ion. Beloved Cora ! 
 
 Cora. Oh, my Alonzo ! daily, hourly, do I poui 
 thanks to Heaven for the dear blessing I possess in 
 him and thee ! 
 
 A Ion. To Heaven and Rolla ! 
 
 Cora. Yes, to Heaven and Rolla : and art thou not 
 grateful to them too, Alonzo ? art thou not happy ? 
 
 A Ion. Can Cora ask that question ? 
 
 Cora . Why then of late so restless on thy couch ? 
 Why to my waking, watching ear so often does the 
 stillness of the night betray thy struggling sighs ? 
 
 Alon. Must not I fight against my country, against 
 my brethren ? 
 
 Cora. Do they not seek our destruction ? — and are 
 not all men brethren ? 
 
 Alon. Should they prove victorious ? 
 
 Cora. I will fly, and meet thee in the mountains. 
 
 Alon. Fly with thy infant, Cora ? 
 
 Cora. What ! think you a mother, when she flies 
 from danger, can feel the weight of her child ? 
 
PIZARRO 461 
 
 A Ion. Cora, my beloved, do you wish to set my heart 
 at rest ? 
 
 Cora. Oh yes ! yes ! yes ! 
 
 A Ion. Hasten then to the concealment in the 
 mountains ; where all our matrons and virgins, and our 
 warriors' offspring, are allotted to await the issue of 
 the war. Cora will not alone resist her husband's, her 
 sisters', and her monarch's wish. 
 
 Cora. Alonzo, I cannot leave you. Oh ! how in every 
 moment's absence would my fancy paint you, wounded, 
 alone, abandoned ! No, no, I cannot leave you. 
 
 Alon. Rolla will be with me. 
 
 Cora. Yes, while the battle rages, and where it rages 
 most, brave Rolla will be found. He may revenge, but 
 cannot save thee. To follow danger he will leave even 
 thee. But I have sworn never to forsake thee but with 
 life. Dear, dear Alonzo, canst thou wish that I should 
 break my vow ? 
 
 Alon. Then be it so. Oh ! excellence in all that's 
 great and lovely, in courage, gentleness, and truth ; 
 my pride, my content, my all ! Can there on this earth 
 be fools who seek for happiness, and pass by love in the 
 pursuit ? 
 
 Cora. Alonzo, I cannot thank thee : silence is the 
 gratitude of true affection : who seeks to follow it by 
 sound will miss the track. — [Shouts without .] Does the 
 king approach ? 
 
 Alon. No, 'tis the general placing the guard that will 
 surround the temple during the sacrifice. 'Tis Rolla 
 comes, the first and best of heroes. [Trumpets sound. 
 
 Rol. [Without.] Then place them on the hill fronting 
 the Spanish camp. 
 
 Enter Rolla. 
 
 Cora. Rolla ! my friend, my brother ! 
 
 Alon. Rolla ! my friend, my benefactor ! how can 
 our lives repay the obligations which we owe thee ? 
 
SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 462 
 
 Rot. Pass them m peace and bliss. Let Rolla witness 
 it, he is overpaid. 
 
 Cora. Look on this child. He is the life-blood of my 
 heart ; but, if ever he loves or reveres thee less than his 
 own father, his mother's hate fall on him ! 
 
 Rol. Oh, no more ! What sacrifice have I made to 
 merit gratitude ? The object of my love was Cora's 
 happiness. I see her happy. Is not my object gained, 
 and am I not rewarded ? Now, Cora, listen to a 
 friend's advice. Thou must away ; thou must seek the 
 sacred caverns, the unprofaned recess, whither, after 
 this day's sacrifice, our matrons, and e'en the virgins 
 of the sun, retire. 
 
 Cora. Not secure with Alonzo and with thee, Rolla ? 
 
 Rol. We have heard Pizarro's plan is to surprise us. 
 Thy presence, Cora, cannot aid, but may impede our 
 efforts. 
 
 Cora. Impede ! 
 
 Rol. Yes, yes. Thou knowest how tenderly we love 
 thee ; we, thy husband and thy friend. Art thou near 
 us, our thoughts, our valour — vengeance will not be 
 our own. No advantage will be pursued that leads us 
 from the spot where thou art placed ; no succour will 
 be given but for thy protection. The faithful lover 
 dares not be all himself amid the war, until he knows 
 that the beloved of his soul is absent from the peril of 
 the fight. 
 
 A Ion. Thanks to my friend ! 'tis this I would have 
 urged. 
 
 Cora. This timid excess of love, producing tear 
 instead of valour, flatters, but does not convince me * 
 the wife is incredulous. 
 
 Rol. And is the mother unbelieving too ? 
 
 Cora. [Kisses child.] No more ! do with me as you 
 please. My friend, my husband ! place me where you 
 will. 
 
 Alon. My adored ! we thank you both. — [March 
 without .] Hark ! the king approaches to the sacrifice. 
 
PIZARRO 
 
 463 
 
 You, Rolla, spoke of rumours of surprise. A servant of 
 mine, I hear, is missing ; whether surprised or treach- 
 erous I know not. 
 
 Rol. It matters not. We are everywhere prepared. 
 Come, Cora, upon the altar 'mid the rocks thou'lt 
 implore a blessing on our cause. The pious supplication 
 of the trembling wife, and mother's heart, rises to the 
 throne of mercy, the most resistless prayer of human 
 homage. [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene II. — The Temple of the Sun. 
 
 The High Priest, Priests, and Virgins of the Sun, 
 discovered. A solemn march . Ataliba and the 
 Peruvian Warriors enter on one side ; on the 
 other , Rolla, Alonzo, and Cora, with the Child. 
 
 Ata. Welcome, Alonzo ! — [To Rolla.] Kinsman, 
 thy hand ! — [To Cora.] Blessed be the object of the 
 happy mother's love. 
 
 Cora. May the sun bless the father of his people ! 
 
 Ata. In the welfare of his children lives the happiness 
 of their king. — Friends, what is the temper of our 
 soldiers ? 
 
 Rol. Such as becomes the cause which they support ; 
 their cry is, Victory or death ! Our King ! our country ! 
 and our God ! 
 
 Ata. Thou, Rolla, in the hour of peril, hast been 
 wont to animate the spirit of their leaders ere we pro- 
 ceed to consecrate the banners which thy valour knows 
 so well how to guard. 
 
 Rol. Yet never was the hour of peril near, when, to 
 inspire them, words were so little needed. My brave 
 associates — partners of my toil, my feelings, and my 
 fame ! — can Rolla's words add vigour to the virtuous 
 energies which inspire your hearts ? No ! You have 
 judged, as I have, the foulness of the crafty plea by 
 
SHERIDAN’S PLAYS 
 
 464 
 
 which these bold invaders would delude you. Your 
 generous spirit has compared, as mine has, the motives 
 which, in a war like this, can animate their minds and 
 ours. They, by a strange frenzy driven, fight for 
 power, for plunder, and extended rule ; we, for our 
 country, our altars, and our homes. They follow an 
 adventurer whom they fear, and obey a power which 
 they hate : we serve a monarch whom we love — a God 
 whom we adore. Whene'er they move in anger, 
 desolation tracks their progress ! Whene'er they pause 
 in amity, affliction mourns their friendship ! They 
 boast they come but to improve our state, enlarge our 
 thoughts, and free us from the yoke of error ! Yes : 
 they will give enlightened freedom to our minds, who 
 are themselves the slaves of passion, avarice, and pride ! 
 They offer us their protection : yes, such protection as 
 vultures give to lambs — covering and devouring them ! 
 They, call on us to barter all of good we have inherited 
 and proved, for the desperate chance of something 
 better which they promise. Be our plain answer this : — 
 The throne we honour is the people's choice ; the laws 
 we reverence are our brave fathers' legacy : the faith 
 we follow teaches us to live in bonds of charity with all 
 mankind, and die with hope of bliss beyond the grave. 
 Tell your invaders this, and tell them, too, we seek 
 no change : and, least of all, such change as they 
 would bring us. 
 
 [Loud shouts of the Peruvian Warriors. 
 
 Ata. [Embracing Rolla.] Now, holy friends, ever 
 mindful of these sacred truths, begin the sacrifice. — 
 [. A solemn procession commences . The Priests and 
 Virgins arrange themselves on either side of the altar , 
 which the High Priest approaches, and the solemnity 
 begins . The invocation of the High Priest is followed 
 by the choruses of the Priests and Virgins. Fire from 
 above lights upon the altar. The whole assembly rise , and 
 join in the thanksgiving .] Our offering is accepted. Now 
 to arms, my friends ; prepare for battle. 
 
PIZARRG 
 
 465 
 
 Enter Orana. 
 
 Ora. The enemy. 
 
 Ala. How near ? 
 
 Ora. From the hill’s brow, e’en now as I o’erlooked 
 their force, suddenly I perceived the whole in motion : 
 with eager haste they march towards our deserted 
 camp, as if apprised of this most solemn sacrifice. 
 
 Rol. They must be met before they reach it. 
 
 Ata. And you, my daughters, with your dear 
 children, away to the appointed place of safety. 
 
 Cora. Oh, Alonzo ! [ Embracing him. 
 
 A Ion. We shall meet again. 
 
 Cora. Bless us once more ere you leave us. 
 
 A Ion. Heaven protect and bless thee, my beloved ; 
 and thee, my innocent ! 
 
 Ata. Haste, haste ! each moment is precious ! 
 
 Cora. Farewell, Alonzo ! Remember thy life is mine. 
 
 Rol. [As she is passing him.] Not one farewell to 
 Holla ? 
 
 Cora. [Giving him her hand.] Farewell ! The god of 
 war be with you : but bring me back Alonzo. 
 
 [Exit with the Child. 
 
 Ata. [Draws his sword.] Now, my brethren, my sons, 
 my friends, I know your valour. Should ill-success 
 assail us, be despair the last feeling of your hearts. If 
 successful, let mercy be the first. — Alonzo, to you I 
 give to defend the narrow passage of the mountains. 
 On the right of the wood be Rolla’s station. For me, 
 straight forward will I march to meet them, and fight 
 until I see my people saved, or they behold their 
 monarch fall. Be the word of battle — God ! and our 
 native land. [A march . Exeunt . 
 
4 66 
 
 SHERIDAN’S PLAYS 
 
 Scene III. — A Wood between the Temple and the Camp . 
 
 Enter Rolla and Alonzo. 
 
 Rol. Here, my friend, we separate — soon, I trust, to 
 meet again in triumph. 
 
 Atom Or perhaps we part to meet no more. — Rolla, 
 a moment’s pause ; we are yet before our army’s 
 strength ; one earnest word at parting. 
 
 Rol. There is in language now no word but battle. 
 
 A Ion. Yes, one word — one — Cora ! 
 
 Rol . Cora ! — speak ! 
 
 A Ion. The next hour brings us 
 
 Rol. Death or victory ? 
 
 Alon. It may be victory to one — death to the other. 
 
 Rol. Or both may fall. 
 
 Alon. If so, my wife and child I bequeath to the 
 protection of Heaven and my king. But should I only 
 fall, Rolla, be thou my heir. 
 
 Rol. How ? 
 
 Alon. Be Cora thy wife — be thou a father to my 
 child. 
 
 Rol. Rouse thee, Alonzo ! banish these timid fancies. 
 
 Alon. Rolla ! I have tried in vain, and cannot fly 
 from the foreboding which oppresses me : thou 
 
 knowest it will not shake me in the fight : but give me 
 the promise I exact. 
 
 Rol. If it be Cora’s will — yes — I promise. 
 
 [Gives his hand. 
 
 Alon. Tell her it was my last wish ; and bear to her 
 and to my son my last blessing. 
 
 Rol. I will. — Now then to our posts, and let our 
 swords speak for us. [They draw their swords. 
 
 Alon. For the king and Cora ! 
 
 Rol. For Cora and the king. 
 
 [Exeunt severally. Alarms without. 
 
PIZARRO 
 
 407 
 
 Scene TV. — The Peruvian Camp. 
 
 Enter an Old Blind Man and a Boy. 
 
 Old Man. Have none returned to the camp ? 
 
 Boy. One messenger alone. From the temple they 
 all marched to meet the foe. 
 
 Old Man . Hark ! I hear the din of battle. Oh, had 
 I still retained my sight, I might now have grasped a 
 sword, and died a soldier's death ! — Are we quite alone ? 
 
 Boy. Yes ! I hope my father will be safe 1 
 
 Old Man. He will do his duty. I am more anxious for 
 thee, my child. 
 
 Boy. I can stay with you, dear grandfather. 
 
 Old Man. But, should the enemy come, they will 
 drag thee from me, my boy. 
 
 Boy. Impossible, grandfather ! for they will see at 
 once that you are old and blind, and cannot do without 
 me. 
 
 Old Man. Poor child ! thou little knowest the hearts 
 of these inhuman men. — [. Discharge of cannon heard.] 
 Hark ! the noise is near. I hear the dreadful roaring of 
 the fiery engines of these cruel strangers. — [Shouts at a 
 distance.] At every shout, with involuntary haste I 
 clench my hand, and fancy still it grasps a sword! 
 Alas ! I can only serve my country by my prayers. 
 Heaven preserve the Inca and his gallant soldiers ! 
 
 Boy. O father ! there are soldiers running 
 
 Old Man. Spaniards, boy ? 
 
 Boy. No, Peruvians ! 
 
 Old Man. How ! and flying from the field ?— It 
 cannot be. 
 
 Enter two Peruvian Soldiers. 
 
 Oh, speak to them, boy ! — whence come you ? how 
 goes the battle ? 
 
SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 468 
 
 Sold. We may not stop ; we are sent for the reserve 
 behind the hill. The day is against us. 
 
 [Exeunt Soldiers. 
 
 Old Man. Quick, then, quick. 
 
 Boy. I see the points of lances glittering m the light. 
 
 Old Man. Those are Peruvians. Do they bend this 
 way ? 
 
 Enter a Peruvian Soldier. 
 
 Boy. Soldiers, speak to my blind father. 
 
 Sold. I'm sent to tell the helpless father to retreat 
 among the rocks : all will be lost, I fear. The king is 
 wounded. 
 
 Old Man. Quick, boy ! lead me to the hill, where thou 
 mayest view the plain. [Alarms. 
 
 Enter Ataliba, wounded , with Orano, Officers, 
 and Soldiers. 
 
 A ta. My wound is bound ; believe me, the hurt is 
 nothing ; I may return to the fight. 
 
 Ora . Pardon your servant ; but the allotted priest 
 who attends the sacred banner has pronounced that, 
 the Inca's blood once shed, no blessing can await the 
 day until he leave the field. 
 
 Ata. Hard restraint ! Oh, my poor brave soldiers 1 
 Hard that I may no longer be a witness of their 
 valour. — But haste you ; return to your comrades ; 
 I will not keep one soldier from his post. Go, and 
 avenge your fallen brethren. — [Exeunt Orana, 
 Officers, and Soldiers.] I will not repine ; my own 
 fate is the last anxiety of my heart. It is for you, my 
 people, that I feel and fear. 
 
 Old Man. [Coming forward .] Did I not hear the 
 voice of an unfortunate ? — Who is it that complains 
 thus ? 
 
PIZARRO 
 
 469 
 
 Ata. One almost by hope forsaken. 
 
 Old Man. Is the king alive ? 
 
 Ata. The king still lives. 
 
 Old Man. Then thou art not forsaken ! Ataliba 
 protects the meanest of his subjects. 
 
 Ata. And who shall protect Ataliba ? 
 
 Old Man. The immortal powers, that protect the 
 just. The virtues of our monarch alike secure to him 
 the affection of his people and the benign regard of 
 Heaven. 
 
 Ata. How impious, had I murmured ! How won- 
 drous, thou supreme Disposer, are thy acts ! Even in 
 this moment, which I had thought the bitterest trial 
 of mortal suffering, thou hast infused the sweetest 
 sensation of my life — it is the assurance of my people’s 
 love. [Aside. 
 
 Boy. [Turning jorward.\ O father ! — stranger ! see 
 those hideous men that rush upon us yonder ! 
 
 Ata. Ha ! Spaniards ! and I — Ataliba — ill-fated fugi- 
 tive, without a sword even to try the ransom of a 
 monarch’s life. 
 
 Enter Davilla, Almagro, and Spanish Soldiers. 
 
 Dav. Tis he — our hopes are answered — I knew him 
 well — it is the king ! 
 
 Aim. Away ! Follow with your prize. Avoid those 
 Peruvians, though in flight. This way we may regain 
 our line. [Exeunt Davilla, Almagro, and Soldiers, 
 with Ataliba prisoner. 
 
 Old Man. The king ! — wretched old man, that could 
 not see his gracious form ! — Boy, would thou hadst 
 led me to the reach of those ruffians’ swords ! 
 
 Boy. Father ! all our countrymen are flying here for 
 refuge. 
 
 Old Man. No — to the rescue of their king— they 
 never will desert him. r Alarms without. 
 
470 
 
 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 Enter Peruvian Officers and Soldiers, flying across 
 the stage ; Orano following. 
 
 Ora . Hold ! I charge you. Rolia calls you. 
 
 Officer . We cannot combat with their dreadtui 
 engines. 
 
 Enter Rolla. 
 
 RoL Hold ! recreants ! cowards ! What, tear ye 
 death, and fear not shame ? By my soul's fury, I 
 cleave to the earth the first of you that stirs ; or plunge 
 your dastard swords into your leader's heart that he no 
 more may witness your disgrace. Where is the king ? 
 
 Ora. From this old man and boy I learn that the 
 detachment of the enemy, which you observed so 
 suddenly to quit the field, have succeeded in sur- 
 prising him ; they are yet in sight. 
 
 RoL And bear the Inca off a prisoner ? — Hear this, 
 ye base, disloyal rout ! Look there I The dust you see 
 hangs on the bloody Spaniards' track, dragging with 
 ruffian taunts your king, your father — Ataiiba — m 
 bondage ! Now fly, and seek your own vile safety if 
 you can. 
 
 Old Man. Bless the voice of Rolla — and bless the 
 stroke I once lamented, but which now spares these 
 extinguished eyes the shame of seeing the pale 
 trembling wretches who dare not follow Rolia, though 
 to save their king ! 
 
 RoL Shrink ye from the thunder of the foe — and 
 fall ye not at this rebuke ? Oh ! had ye each but one 
 drop of the loyal blood which gushes to waste through 
 the brave heart of this sightless veteran ! Eternal shame 
 pursue you, if you desert me now ! — But do — alone I 
 go — alone — to die with glory by my monarch's side ! 
 
 Soldiers. Rolla ! we'll follow thee. 
 
 [Trumpets sound ; Rolla rushes out y followed 
 by Orano, Officers, and Soldiers. 
 
PIZARRO 
 
 471 
 
 Old Man . O godlike Rolla ! — And thou Sun, send 
 from thy clouds avenging hghtning to his aid ! Haste, 
 my boy ; ascend some height, and tell to my impatient 
 terror what thou seest. 
 
 Boy. I can climb this rock, and the tree above. — 
 [Ascends a rock , and from thence into the tree.} Oh — now 
 I see them — now — yes — and the Spaniards turning by 
 the steep. 
 
 Old Man. Rolla follows them ? 
 
 Boy. He does — he does — he moves like an arrow ! 
 Now he waves his arm to our soldiers. — [Report of 
 cannon heard.} Now there is fire and smoke. 
 
 Old Man . Yes, fire is the weapon of those fiends. 
 
 Boy . The wind blows off the smoke ; they are ail 
 mixed together. 
 
 Old Man. Seest thou the king ? 
 
 Boy. Yes — Rolla is near him ! His sword sheds fire 
 as he strikes ! 
 
 Old Man. Bless thee, Rolla ! Spare not the monsters. 
 
 Boy. Father 1 father I the Spaniards fly ! — Oh — now 
 I see the king embracing Rolla. 
 
 [Waves his cap for joy . Shouts of victory , 
 flourish of trumpets y &c. 
 
 Old Man. [Falls on his knees.] Fountain of life ! how 
 can my exhausted breath bear to thee thanks for this 
 one moment ot my fife I — My boy, come down, and let 
 me kiss thee — my strength is gone. 
 
 Boy . [Running to the Old Man.] Let me help you, 
 lather — you tremble so 
 
 Old Man. Tis with transport, boy ! 
 
 [Boy leads the Old Man off. Shouts, flourish. &c. 
 
 Re-enter Ataliba, Rolla, and Peruvian Officers ana 
 Soldiers. 
 
 Ata. In the name ot my people, the saviour ot whose 
 sovereign thou hast this day been, accept this emblem 
 of his gratitude. — [Giving Rolla his sun of diamonds.] 
 
SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 472 
 
 The tear that falls upon it may for a moment dim its 
 lustre, yet does it not impair the value of the gift. 
 
 Rol. It was the hand of Heaven, not mine, that 
 saved my king. 
 
 Enter Peruvian Officer and Soldiers. 
 
 Rol. Now, soldier, from Alonzo ? 
 
 Off. Alonzo's genius soon repaired the panic which 
 early broke our ranks : but I fear we have to mourn 
 Alonzo's loss : his eager spirit urged him too far in the 
 pursuit ! 
 
 Ata. How ! Alonzo slain ? 
 
 1st Sold. I saw him fall. 
 
 2nd Sold . Trust me, I beheld him up again and 
 lighting — he was then surrounded and disarmed. 
 
 Ata. O victory, dearly purchased ! 
 
 Rol. O Cora ! who shall tell thee this ? 
 
 Ata. Rolla, our friend is lost — our native country 
 saved ! Our private sorrows must yield to the public 
 claim for triumph. Now go we to fulfil the first, the 
 most sacred duty which belongs to victory — to dry the 
 widowed and the orphaned tear of those whose brave 
 protectors have perished in their country's cause. 
 
 [. Triumphant march , and exeunt. 
 
 ACT III 
 
 Scene I. — A wild retreat among stupendous rocks. 
 
 Cora and her Child, with other Wives and Children 
 of the Peruvian Warriors, discovered. They sing 
 alternately stanzas expressive of their situation , witli 
 a Chorus , in which all join. 
 
 1 st Woman. Zuluga, seest thou nothing yet ? 
 
PIZARRO 473 
 
 Zul. Yes, two Peruvian soldiers — one on the hill, the 
 other entering the thicket in the vale. 
 
 2nd Worn. One more has passed. — He comes — but 
 pale and terrified. 
 
 Cora. My heart will start from my bosom. 
 
 Enter a Peruvian Soldier panting for breath . 
 Worn. Well ! joy or death ? 
 
 Sold. The battle is against us. The king is wounded 
 and a prisoner. 
 
 Worn. Despair and misery ! 
 
 Cora. [In a faint voice.] And Alonzo ? 
 
 Sold. I have not seen him. 
 
 ist Worn. Oh ! whither must we fly ? 
 
 2nd Worn. Deeper into the forest. 
 
 Cora. I shall not move. 
 
 2nd Sold. [Without.] Victory ! victory ! 
 
 Enter another Peruvian Soldier. 
 
 2nd Sold. Rejoice ! rejoice ! we are victorious ! 
 
 Worn. [Springing up.] Welcome ! welcome, thou 
 messenger of joy ; — but the king ? 
 
 2nd Sold. He leads the brave warriors who approach. 
 [The triumphant march of the army is heard at a 
 distance. The Women and Children join in 
 a strain expressive of anxiety and exultation. 
 
 Enter the Peruvian Warriors, singing the Song oj 
 Victory. Ataliba and Roll a follow , and are 
 greeted with rapturous shouts. Cora, with her Child 
 in her arms , runs through the ranks searching for 
 Alonso. 
 
 Ata. Thanks, thanks, my children ! I am well, 
 believe it ; the blood once stopped, my wound was. 
 nothing. 
 
SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 474 
 
 Cora [To Rolla.J Where is Alonzo ? — [Rolla turns 
 away in silence .] Give me my husband ; give this 
 child his father. [Falls at Ataliba's feet . 
 
 A ta. I grieve that Alonzo is not here. 
 
 Cora . Hoped you to find him ? 
 
 Ata . Most anxiously. 
 
 Com. Ataliba ! is he not dead ? 
 
 Ata. No ! the gods will have heard our prayers. 
 
 Cora. -Is he not dead, Ataliba ? 
 
 Ata. He lives — m my heart. 
 
 Cora. O king ! torture me not thus 1 Speak out, is 
 this child fatherless ? 
 
 Ata. Dearest Cora ! do not thus dash aside the littJe 
 hope that still remains. 
 
 Cora. The little hope 1 yet still there is hope I 
 [Turns to Rolla.] Speak to me, Rolla : you are the 
 friend of truth. 
 
 Rol. Alonzo has not been found. 
 
 Cora. Not found ! what mean you ? will not you, 
 Rolla, tell me truth ? Oh ! let me not hear the thunder 
 rolling at a distance ; let the bolt fall and crush my 
 brain at once. Say not that he is not found : say at 
 once that he is dead. 
 
 Rol. Then should I say false. 
 
 Cora . False ! Blessings on thee tor that word i But 
 snatch me from this terrible suspense. — [Cora and 
 Child kneel to Rolla.] Lift up thy little hands, my 
 child : perhaps thy ignorance may plead better than 
 thy mother's agony. 
 
 Rol. Alonzo is taken prisoner. 
 
 Cora. Prisoner ! and by the Spaniards ? — Pizarro's 
 prisoner ? Then is he dead ! 
 
 Ata. Hope better — the richest ransom which our 
 realm can yield, a herald shall this instant bear. 
 
 Peruv. Worn. Oh I for Alonzo's ransom — our gold, 
 our gems I — all ! all ! Here, dear Cora — here ! here I 
 [The Peruvian Women eagerly tear off all their 
 ornaments and offer them to Cora. 
 
PIZARRO 
 
 Ata. Yes, lor Alonzo's ransom they would give all ! — 
 I thank thee, Father, who has given me such hearts to 
 rule over ! 
 
 Cora . Now one boon more, beloved monarch. Let 
 me go with the herald. 
 
 Ata. Remember, Cora, thou art not a wife only, but 
 a mother too : hazard not your own honour, and the 
 safety of your infant. Among these barbarians the 
 sight of thy youth, thy loveliness, and innocence, would 
 but rivet faster your Alonzo's chains, and rack his 
 heart with added fears for thee. Wait, Cora, the 
 return of the herald. 
 
 Cora . Teach me how to live till then. 
 
 Ata . Now we go to offer to the gods thanks for our 
 victory, and prayers for our Alonzo's safety. 
 
 [March and procession. Exeunt . 
 
 Scene II. — The Wood . 
 
 Enter Cora and Child. 
 
 Cora. Mild innocence, what will become of thee ? 
 
 Enter Rolla. 
 
 RoL Cora, I attend thy summons at the appointed 
 spot. 
 
 Cora . Oh, my child, my boy ! hast thou still a father ? 
 
 Rol. Cora, can thy child be fatherless, while Rolla 
 lives ? 
 
 Cora. Will he not soon want a mother too ? For 
 canst thou think I will survive Alonzo's loss ? 
 
 Rol. Yes ! for his child's sake. Yes, as thou didst 
 love Alonzo, Cora, listen to Alonzo's friend. 
 
 Cora. You bid me listen to the world. — Who was not 
 Alonzo's friend ? 
 
 Rol . His parting words 
 
SHERIDAN’S PLAYS 
 
 476 
 
 Cora. His parting words ! — [Wildly.] Oh, speak ! 
 
 Rol. Consigned to me two precious trusts — his 
 blessing to his son, and a last request to thee. 
 
 Cora. His last request ! his last ! — Oh, name it ! 
 
 Rol. If I fall, said he (and sad forebodings shook him 
 while he spoke), promise to take my Cora for thy wife ; 
 be thou a father to my child. — I pledged my word to 
 him, and we parted. Observe me, Cora, I repeat this 
 only, as -my faith to do so was given to Alonzo : for 
 myself, I neither cherish claim nor hope. 
 
 Cora. Ha ! Does my reason fail me, or what is this 
 horrid light that presses on my brain ? 0 Alonzo ! it 
 may be thou hast fallen a victim to thy own guileless 
 heart : hadst thou been silent, hadst thou not made a 
 fatal legacy of these wretched charms 
 
 Rol. Cora ! what hateful suspicion has possessed thy 
 mind ? 
 
 Cora. Yes, yes, 'tis clear ! — his spirit was ensnared ; 
 he was led to the fatal spot, where mortal valour could 
 not front a host of murderers. He fell — in vain did he 
 exclaim for help to Rolla. At a distance you looked on 
 and smiled : you could have saved him — could — but 
 did not. 
 
 Rol. Oh glorious sun ! can I have deserved this ? — 
 Cora, rather bid me strike this sword into my heart. 
 
 Cora. No ! — live ! live for love ! — for that love thou 
 seekest ; whose blossoms are to shoot from the bleeding 
 grave of thy betrayed and slaughtered friend ! But 
 thou hast borne to me the last words of my Alonzo ! 
 now hear mine : sooner shall this boy draw poison 
 from this tortured breast — sooner would I link me to 
 the pallid corse of the meanest wretch that perished 
 with Alonzo, than he call Rolla father — than I call 
 Rolla husband ! 
 
 Rol. Yet call me what 1 am — thy friend, thy pro- 
 tector ! 
 
 Cora. [. Distractedly .] Away ! I have no protector but 
 my God ! With this child in my arms will I hasten to 
 
PIZARRO 
 
 477 
 
 the field of slaughter ; there with these hands will I 
 turn up to the light every mangled body, seeking, 
 howe'er by death disfigured, the sweet smile of my 
 Alonzo : with fearful cries I will shriek out his name 
 till my veins snap ! If the smallest spark of life re- 
 main, he will know the voice of his Cora, open for a 
 moment his unshrouded eyes and bless me with a last 
 look. But if we find him not — oh ! then, my boy, we 
 will to the Spanish camp ; that look of thine will win 
 my passage through a thousand swords — they too are 
 men. Is there a heart that could drive back the wife 
 that seeks her bleeding husband ; or the innocent 
 babe that cries for his imprisoned father ? No, no, my 
 child, everywhere we shall be safe. A wretched mother, 
 bearing a poor orphan in her arms, has nature's pass- 
 port through the world. Yes, yes, my son, well go and 
 seek thy father. [Exit with the Child. 
 
 Rot. [After a pause of agitation.] Could I have 
 merited one breath of thy reproaches, Cora, I should be 
 the wretch I think I was not formed to be. Her safety 
 must be my present purpose — then to convince her she 
 has wronged me ! r Exit. 
 
 Scene III. — Pizarro's Tent. 
 
 Pizarro discovered traversing the scene in gloomy and 
 furious agitation. 
 
 Piz. Well, capricious idol, Fortune, be my rum thy 
 work and boast. To myself I will still be true. Yet, ere 
 I fall, grant me thy smile to prosper in one act of 
 vengeance, and be that smile Alonzo's death. 
 
 Enter Elvira. 
 
 Who's there ? who dares intrude ? Why does my 
 guard neglect their duty ? 
 
SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 478 
 
 Elv. Your guard did what they could — but they 
 knew their duty better than to enforce authority, when 
 I refused obedience. 
 
 Piz. And what is it you desire ? 
 
 Elv. To see how a hero bears misfortune. Thou, 
 Pizarro, art not now collected — nor thyself. 
 
 Piz. Would'st thou I should rejoice that the spears 
 of the enemy, led by accursed Alonzo, have pierced the 
 bravest hearts of my followers ? 
 
 Elv. No ! I would have thee cold and dark as the 
 night which follows the departed storm ; still and sullen 
 as the awful pause that precedes nature's convulsion ; 
 yet I would have thee feel assured that a new morning 
 shall arise, when the warrior's spirit shall stalk forth — 
 nor fear the future, nor lament the past. 
 
 Piz . Woman ! Elvira I — why had not all my men 
 hearts like thine ? 
 
 Elv. Then would thy brows have this day worn the 
 crown of Quito. 
 
 Piz. Oh ! hope fails me while that scourge of my life 
 and fame, Alonzo, leads the enemy. 
 
 Elv. Pizarro, I am come to probe the hero further : 
 not now his courage, but his magnanimity — Alonzo is 
 your prisoner. 
 
 Piz. How ! 
 
 Elv. 'Tis certain ; Valverde saw him even now 
 dragged in chains within your camp. I chose to bring 
 you the intelligence myself. 
 
 Piz. Bless thee, Elvira, for the news ! — Alonzo in my 
 power ! — then I am the conqueror ! the victory is 
 mine ! 
 
 Elv. Pizarro, this is savage and unmanly triumph. 
 Believe me, you raise impatience in my mind to see the 
 man whose valour and genius awe Pizarro ; whose mis- 
 fortunes are Pizarro 's triumph ; whose bondage is 
 Pizarro 's safety. 
 
 Piz. Guard ! 
 
PIZARRO 
 
 479 
 
 Enter Guard. 
 
 Dr^g here the Spanish prisoner, Alonzo ! Quick, bring 
 the traitor here ! [Exit Guard. 
 
 Elv. What shall be his fate ? 
 
 Piz. Death ! death ! in lingering torments ! pro- 
 tracted to the last stretch that burning vengeance can 
 devise, and fainting life sustain. 
 
 Elv. Shame on thee ! Wilt thou have it said that the 
 Peruvians found Pizarro could not conquer till Alonzo 
 felt that he could murder ? 
 
 Piz . Be it said — I care not. His fate is sealed. 
 
 Elv. Follow then thy will : but mark me, if basely 
 thou dost shed the blood of this brave youth, Elvira's 
 lost to thee for ever. 
 
 Piz. Why this interest for a stranger ? What is 
 Alonzo's fate to thee ? 
 
 Elv. His fate, nothing ! thy glory, everything ! 
 Thinkest thou I could love thee, stripped of fame, of 
 honour, and a just renown ? Know me better. 
 
 Piz. Thou shouldst have known me better. Thou 
 shouldst have known, that, once provoked to hate, I 
 am for ever fixed in vengeance. 
 
 Re-enter Guard with Alonzo in chains. 
 
 Welcome, welcome, Don Alonzo de Molina ! 'tis long 
 since we have met : thy mended looks should speak a 
 life of rural indolence. How is it that, amid the toils 
 and cares of war, thou dost preserve the healthful 
 bloom of careless ease ? Tell me thy secret. 
 
 Alon. Thou wilt not profit by it. Whate'er the toils 
 or cares of war, peace still is here. 
 
 [Putting his hand to his heart. 
 
 Piz. Sarcastic boy ! 
 
 Elv. Thou art answered rightly. Why sport with 
 the unfortunate ? 
 
SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 480 
 
 Piz. And thou art wedded too, I hear ; ay, and the 
 father of a ]ovely boy — the heir, no doubt, of all his 
 father's loyalty, of all his mother's faith ? 
 
 Alon. The heir, I trust, of all his father's scorn of 
 fraud, oppression, and hypocrisy — the heir, I hope, of 
 all his mother's virtue, gentleness, and truth — the 
 heir, I am sure, to all Pizarro's hate. 
 
 Piz. Really ! Now do I feel for this poor orphan ; 
 for fatherless to-morrow's sun shall see that child. 
 Alonzo, thy hours are numbered. 
 
 Elv. Pizarro — no ! 
 
 Piz. Hence — or dread my anger. 
 
 Elv. I will not hence ; nor do I dread thy anger. 
 
 Alon . Generous loveliness ! spare thy unavailing 
 pity. Seek not to thwart the tiger with the prey be- 
 neath his fangs. 
 
 Piz. Audacious rebel ! thou a renegado from thy 
 monarch and thy God ! 
 
 Alon. 'Tis false. 
 
 Piz. Art thou not, tell me, a deserter from thy 
 country's legions — and, with vile heathens leagued, 
 hast thou not warred against thy native land ? 
 
 Alon. No ! deserter I am none ! I was not bom 
 among robbers ! pirates ! murderers ! When those 
 legions, lured by the abhorred lust of gold, and by thy 
 foul ambition urged, forgot the honour of Castilians, 
 and forsook the duties of humanity, they deserted me. 
 I have not warred against my native land, but against 
 those who have usurped its power. The banners of my 
 country, when first I followed arms beneath them, 
 were justice, faith, and mercy. If these are beaten 
 down and trampled under foot, I have no country ; 
 nor exists the power entitled to reproach me with 
 revolt. 
 
 Piz. The power to judge and punish thee at least 
 exists. 
 
 Alon. Where are my judges ? 
 
 Piz. Thou wouldst appeal to the war council ? 
 
PIZARRO 481 
 
 Alon. If the good Las-Casas have yet a seat there, 
 yes ; if not, I appeal to Heaven ! 
 
 Piz. And, to impose upon the folly of Las-Casas, 
 what would be the excuses of thy treason ? 
 
 Elv. The folly of Las-Casas ! Such, doubtless, his 
 mild precepts seem to thy hard-hearted wisdom ! Oh 
 would I might have lived, as I will die, a sharer in the 
 follies of Las-Casas ! 
 
 Alon. To him I should not need to urge the foul 
 barbarities which drove me from your side ; but I 
 would gently lead him by the hand through all the 
 lovely fields of Quito ; there, in many a spot where late 
 was barrenness and waste, I would show him how now 
 the opening blossom, blade, or perfumed bud, sweet 
 bashful pledges of delicious harvest, wafting their 
 incense to the ripening sun, give cheerful promise to 
 the hope of industry. This, I would say, is my work ! 
 Next, I should tell how hurtful customs and super- 
 stitions, strange and sullen, would often scatter and 
 dismay the credulous minds of these deluded innocents ; 
 and then would I point out to him where now, in 
 clustered villages, they live like brethren, social, and 
 confiding, while through the burning day Content sits 
 basking on the cheek of Toil, till laughing Pastime lead 
 them to the hour of rest — this too is mine ! And 
 prouder, yet, at that still pause between exertion and 
 repose, belonging not to pastime, labour, or to rest, 
 but unto Him who sanctions and ordains them all, I 
 would show him many an eye, and many a hand, by 
 gentleness from error won, raised in pure devotion to 
 the true and only God ! — this too I could tell him is 
 Alonzo’s work ! Then would Las-Casas clasp me in his 
 aged arms ; from his uplifted eyes a tear of gracious 
 thankfulness would fall upon my head, and that one 
 blessed drop would be to me at once this world’s best 
 proof that I had acted rightly here, and surest hope of 
 my Creator’s mercy and reward hereafter. 
 
 Elv. Happy, virtuous Alonzo ! And thou, Pizarro, 
 
SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 482 
 
 wouldst appal with fear of death a man who thinks 
 and acts as he does ! 
 
 Piz. Darling, obstinate enthusiast ! But know, the 
 pious blessing of thy preceptor's tears does not await 
 thee here : he has fled like thee — like thee, no doubt, 
 to join the foes of Spain. The perilous trial of the next 
 reward you hope is nearer than perhaps you've thought; 
 for by my country's wrongs, and by mine own, to- 
 morrow's -sun shall see thy death ! 
 
 Elv. Hold ! Pizarro, hear me : if not always justly, 
 at least always greatly. Name not thy country's 
 wrongs ; 'tis plain they have no share in thy resent- 
 ment. Thy fury 'gainst this youth is private hate, and 
 deadly personal revenge ; if this be so, and even now 
 thy detected conscience in that look avows it, profane 
 not the name of justice or thy country's cause, but let 
 him arm, and bid him to the field on equal terms. 
 
 Piz. Officious advocate for treason — peace ! Bear 
 him hence ; he knows his sentence. [Retires back. 
 
 Alon. Thy revenge is eager, and I'm thankful for it — 
 to me thy haste is mercy. — [To Elvira.] For thee, 
 sweet pleader in misfortune's cause, accept my parting 
 thanks. This camp is not thy proper sphere. Wert 
 thou among yon savages, as they are called, thou'dst 
 find companions more congenial to thy heart. 
 
 Piz. Yes ; she shall bear the tidings of thy death 
 to Cora. 
 
 Alon. Inhuman man ! that pang, at least, might 
 have been spared me ; but thy malice shall not shake 
 my constancy. I go to death — many shall bless, and 
 none will curse, my memory. Thou wilt still live, and 
 still wilt be — Pizarro. [Exit, guarded. 
 
 Elv. Now, by the indignant scorn that burns upon 
 my cheek, my soul is shamed and sickened at the 
 meanness of thy vengeance ! 
 
 Piz. What has thy romantic folly aimed at ? He is 
 mine enemy, and in my power. 
 
 Elv. He is in your power, and therefore is no more 
 
PIZARRO 
 
 483 
 
 in enemy. Pizarro, I demand not of thee virtue, I ask 
 not from thee nobleness of mmd, I require only just 
 dealing to the fame thou hast acquired : be not the 
 assassin of thine own renown. How often have you 
 sworn, that the sacrifice which thy wondrous valour’s 
 high report had won you from subdued Elvira, was the 
 proudest triumph of your fame I Thou knowest I bear 
 a mind not cast in the common mould, not formed for 
 tame sequestered love, content mid household cares to 
 prattle to an idle offspring, and wait the dull delight 
 of an obscure lover’s kindness : no, my heart was 
 framed to look up with awe and homage to the object 
 it adored ; my ears to own no music but the thrilling 
 records of his praise ; my lips to scorn all babbling but 
 the tales of his achievements ; my brain to turn giddy 
 with delight, reading the applauding tributes of his 
 monarch’s and his country’s gratitude ; my every 
 faculty to throb with transport while I heard the 
 shouts of acclamation which announced the coming of 
 my hero ; my whole soul to love him with devotion ! 
 with enthusiasm 1 to see no other object — to own no 
 other tie — but to make him my world ! Thus to love 
 is at least no common weakness. Pizarro ! was not 
 such my love for thee ? 
 
 Piz. It was, Elvira ! 
 
 Elv. Then do not make me hateful to myself, by 
 tearing off the mask at once, baring the hideous im- 
 posture that has undone me ! Do not an act which, 
 howe’er thy present power may gloss it to the world, 
 will make thee hateful to all future ages — accursed 
 and scorned by posterity. 
 
 Piz. And, should posterity applaud my deeds, 
 thinkest thou my mouldering bones would rattle then 
 with transport in my tomb. This is renown for visionary 
 boys to dream of ; I understand it not. The fame I 
 value shall uplift my living estimation, o’erbear with 
 popular support the envy of my foes, advance my pur- 
 poses, and aid my power. 
 
SHERIDAN’S PLAYS 
 
 484 
 
 Elv. Each word thou speakest, each moment that I 
 hear thee, dispels the fatal mist through which I've 
 judged thee. Thou man of mighty name but little 
 soul, I see thou wert not bom to feel what genuine 
 fame and glory are. Go ! prefer the flattery of thy own 
 fleeting day to the bright circle of a deathless name- 
 go ! prefer to stare upon the grain of sand on which 
 you trample, to musing on the starred canopy above 
 thee. Fame, the sovereign deity of proud ambition, 
 is not to be worshipped so ! who seeks alone for living 
 homage stands a mean canvasser in her temple's porch, 
 wooing promiscuously, from the fickle breath of every 
 wretch that passes, the brittle tribute of his praise. 
 He dares not approach the sacred altar — no noble 
 sacrifice of his is placed there, nor ever shall his wor- 
 shipped image, fixed above, claim for his memory 
 a glorious immortality. 
 
 Piz. Elvira, leave me ! 
 
 Elv . Pizarro, you no longer love me. 
 
 Piz. It is not so, Elvira. But what might I not 
 suspect — this wondrous interest for a stranger ! Take 
 back thy reproach. 
 
 Elv . No, Pizarro ; as yet I am not lost to you ; one 
 string still remains, and binds me to your fate. Do 
 not, I conjure you — do not, for mine own sake, tear it 
 asunder — shed not Alonzo's blood ! 
 
 Piz . My resolution's fixed. 
 
 Elv . Even though that moment lost you Elvira for 
 ever ? 
 
 Piz. Even so. 
 
 Elv. Pizarro, if not to honour, if not to humanity, 
 yet listen to affection ; bear some memory of the 
 sacrifices I have made for thy sake. Have I not for 
 thee quitted my parents, my friends, my fame, my 
 native land ? When escaping, did I not risk, in rushing 
 to thy arms, to bury myself in the bosom of the deep ? 
 Have I not shared all thy perils — heavy storms at sea, 
 and frightful 'scapes on shore ? Even on this dreadful 
 
PIZARRO 
 
 4&5 
 
 dky, amid the rout of battle, who remained firm and 
 constant at Pizarro's side ? Who presented her bosom 
 as his shield to the assailing foe ? 
 
 Piz. Tis truly spoken all. In love thou art thy sex's 
 miracle, in war the soldier's pattern ; and therefore my 
 whole heart and half my acquisitions are thy right. 
 
 Elv. Convince me I possess the first : I exchange ail 
 title to the latter for — mercy to Alonzo. 
 
 Piz. No more ! Had I intended to prolong his doom, 
 each word thou utterest now would hasten on his fate. 
 
 Elv. Alonzo then at morn will die ? 
 
 Piz. Thinkest thou yon sun will set ! As surely at 
 his rising shall Alonzo die. 
 
 Elv. Then be it done — the string is cracked — 
 sundered for ever. But mark me— thou hast heretofore 
 had cause, 'tis true, to doubt my resolution, howe'er 
 offended ; but mark me now — the lips which, cold and 
 jeering, barbing revenge with rancorous mockery, can 
 insult a fallen enemy, shall never more receive the 
 pledge of love : the arm which, unshaken by its bloody 
 purpose, shall assign to needless torture the victim who 
 avows his heart, never more shall press the hand of 
 faith ! Pizarro, scorn not my words ; beware you 
 slight them not ! I feel how noble are the motives which 
 now animate my thoughts. Who could not feel as I do, 
 I condemn : who, feeling so, yet would not act as I 
 shall, I despise ! 
 
 Piz. I have heard thee, Elvira, and know well the 
 noble motives which inspire thee — ht advocate in 
 virtue's cause ! Believe me, I pity thy tender feelings 
 for the youth Alonzo ! He dies at sunrise ! [Exit. 
 
 Elv. 'Tis well ! 'tis just I should be humbled — I had 
 forgot myself, and in the cause of innocence assumed 
 the tone of virtue. 'Twas lit I should be rebuked — and 
 by Pizarro. Fall, fall, ye few reluctant drops of 
 weakness — the last these eyes shall ever shed. How a 
 woman can love, Pizarro, thou hast known too well — 
 how she can hate, thou hast yet to learn. Yes, thou 
 
SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 486 
 
 undaunted ! — thou, whom yet no mortal hazard has 
 appalled — thou, who on Panama's brow didst make 
 alliance with the raging elements that tore the silence 
 of that horrid night, when thou didst follow, as thy 
 pioneer, the crashing thunder's drift ; and, stalking 
 o'er the trembling earth, didst plant thy banner by 
 the red volcano's mouth ! — thou, who when battling on 
 the sea, and thy brave ship was blown to splinters, wast 
 seen, as thou didst bestride a fragment of the smoking 
 wreck, to wave thy glittering sword above thy head, 
 as thou wouldst defy the world in that extremity ! — 
 come, fearless man ! now meet the last and fellest peril 
 of thy life ; meet and survive — an injured woman's 
 fury, if thou canst. [Exit. 
 
 ACT IV 
 
 Scene I . — A Dungeon . 
 
 Alonzo is discovered in chains . A Sentinel walking 
 near . 
 
 Alon . For the last time 1 have beheld the shadowed 
 ocean close upon the light. For the last time, through 
 my cleft dungeon's roof, I now behold the quivering 
 lustre of the stars. For the last time, O sun ! (and soon 
 the hour) I shall behold thy rising, and thy level beams 
 melting the pale mists of mom to glittering dew-drops. 
 Then comes my death, and in the morning of my day 
 1 fall, which — no, Alonzo, date not the life which thou 
 hast run by the mean reckoning of the hours and days 
 which thou hast breathed : a life spent worthily should 
 be measured by a nobler line — by deeds, not years. 
 Then wouldst thou murmur not, but bless the Provi- 
 dence which in so short a span made thee the instrument 
 of wide and spreading blessings to the helpless and 
 
PIZARRO 
 
 487 
 
 oppressed. Though sinking in decrepit age, lie pre- 
 maturely falls whose memory records no benefit con- 
 lerred by him on man. They only have lived long, 
 who have lived virtuously. 
 
 Enter a Soldier, shows the Sentinel a passport , who 
 withdraws . 
 
 A Ion. What bear you there ? 
 
 Sold. These refreshments I was ordered to leave m 
 your dungeon. 
 
 A Ion. By whom ordered ? 
 
 Sold. By the lady Elvira. : she will be here herself 
 before the dawn. 
 
 Alon. Bear back to her my humblest thanks ; and 
 take thou the refreshments, friend — I need them not. 
 
 Sold. I have served under you, Don Alonzo. Pardon 
 my saying, that my heart pities you. . [Exit. 
 
 Alon. In Pizarro's camp, to pity the unfortunate, no 
 doubt requires forgiveness. — [Looking out.] Surely, 
 even now, thin streaks of glimmering light steal on the 
 darkness of the east. If so, my life is but one hour 
 more. I will not watch the coming dawn ; but in the 
 darkness of my cell, my last prayer to thee. Power 
 Supreme i shall be for my wife and child ! Grant them 
 to dwell in innocence and peace ; grant health and 
 purity of mind — all else is worthless. 
 
 [Retires into the dungecm . 
 
 Sent. Who's there ? Answer quickly I who's there ? 
 
 Rot. [Without.] A friar come to visit your prisoner. 
 
 Enter Rolla, disguised as a Monk. 
 
 Rot. Inform me, friend — is not Alonzo, the Spanish 
 prisoner, confined in this dungeon ? 
 
 Sent. He is. 
 
 Roi. I must speak with him. 
 
SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 488 
 
 Sent. You must not. [Stopping him with his spear . 
 
 Rol. He is my friend. 
 
 Sent. Not if he were your brother. 
 
 Rol. What is to be his fate ? 
 
 Sent. He dies at sunrise. 
 
 Rol. Ha ! then I am come in time. 
 
 Sent. Just — to witness his death. 
 
 Rol. Soldier, I must speak with him. 
 
 Sent. Back, back ! It is impossible ! 
 
 Rol. I do entreat thee but for one moment ! 
 
 Sent. You entreat in vain ; my orders are most 
 strict. 
 
 Rol. Even now, I saw a messenger go hence. 
 
 Sent. He brought a pass, which we are all accustomed 
 to obey. 
 
 Rol. Look on this wedge of massive gold — look on 
 these precious gems. In thy own land they will be 
 wealth for thee and thine beyond thy hope or wish. 
 Take them — they are thine. Let me but pass one 
 minute with Alonzo. 
 
 Sent. Away ! wouldst thou corrupt me — me, an old 
 Castilian ? I know my duty better. 
 
 Rol. Soldier, hast thou a wife ? 
 
 Sent. I have. 
 
 Rol. Hast thou children ? 
 
 Sent. Four — honest, lovely boys. 
 
 Rol. Where didst thou leave them ? 
 
 Sent. In my native village — even in the cot where 
 myself was born. 
 
 Rol. Dost thou love thy children and thy wife ? 
 
 Sent. Do I love them ! God knows my heart — I do. 
 
 Rol. Soldier ! — imagine thou wert doomed to die a 
 cruel death in this strange land ; what would be thy 
 last request ? 
 
 Sent. That some of my comrades should carry my 
 dying blessing to my wife and children. 
 
 Rol. Oh, but if that comrade was at thy prison gate 
 — and should there be told, thy fellow-soldier dies at 
 
PIZARRO 
 
 489 f 
 
 sunrise, yet thou shalt not for a moment see him, 
 nor shalt thou bear his dying blessing to his poor 
 children or his wretched wife — what wouldst thou 
 think of him who thus could drive thy comrade from 
 the door ? 
 
 Sent. How ! 
 
 Rol. Alonzo has a wife and child — I am come but to 
 receive for her and for her babe the last blessing of my 
 friend. 
 
 Sent. Go in. [Retires. 
 
 Rol. Oh, holy Nature ! thou dost never plead in vain. 
 There is not, of our earth, a creature bearing form, and 
 life, human or savage, native of the forest wild, or 
 giddy air, around whose parent bosom thou hast not a 
 cord entwined of power to tie them to their offspring’s 
 claims and at thy will to draw them back to thee. On 
 iron pinions borne, the blood-stained vulture cleaves 
 the storm, yet is the plumage closest to her breast soft 
 as the cygnet’s down, and o’er her unshelled brood the 
 murmuring ring-dove sits not more gently ! Yes, now 
 he is beyond the porch, barring the outer gate ! — 
 Alonzo ! Alonzo ! my friend ! Ha ! in gentle sleep ! — 
 Alonzo rise ! 
 
 Re-enter Alonzo. 
 
 Alon. [Within.] How ! is my hour elapsed ? Well — 
 [Returning from the recess .] I am ready. 
 
 Rol. Alonzo, know me ! 
 
 Alon. What voice is that ? 
 
 Rol. ’Tis Rolla’s. [Takes off his disguise. 
 
 Alon. Rolla ! my friend ! — [Embraces him.] Heavens! 
 how couldst thou pass the guard ? Did this habit 
 
 Rol. There is not a moment to be lost in words. 
 This disguise I tore from the body of a friar, as I passed 
 our field of battle ; it has gained me entrance to thy 
 dungeon — now take it thou, and fly. 
 
 Alon. And Rolla 
 
SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 49 ° 
 
 RoL Will remain here m thy place. 
 
 Aeon . And die for me. No ! rather eternal tortures 
 rack me. 
 
 RoL I shall not die, Alonzo. It is thy iife Pizarro 
 seeks, not Rolla's ; and from my prison soon will thy 
 arm deliver me. Or, should it be otherwise, I am as a 
 blighted plantain, standing alone amid the sandy 
 desert , nothing seeks or lives beneath my shelter. 
 Thou art 'a husband, and a father ; the being of a 
 lovely wife and helpless infant hangs upon thy life. 
 Go ! go ! Alonzo I go ! to save not thyself, but Cora, 
 iind thy child ! 
 
 Alon. Urge me not thus, my friend 1 I had prepared 
 to die m peace. 
 
 RoL To die in peace I devoting her thou'st sworn to 
 live for, to madness, misery, and death I For, be 
 assured, the state I left her m forbids all hope but from 
 thy quick return. 
 
 Alon. Oh, God ! 
 
 RoL If thou art yet irresolute, Alonzo, now heed me 
 well. I think thou hast not known that Rolla ever 
 pledged his word, and shrank from its fulfilment. And 
 by the heart of truth I swear, if thou art proudly 
 obstinate to deny thy friend the transport of preserving 
 Cora's life in thee — no power that sways the will of man 
 shall stir me hence ; and thou'lt but have the desperate 
 triumph of seeing Rolla perish by thy side, with the 
 assured conviction that Cora and thy child are lost for 
 ever. 
 
 Alon. Oh Rolla l you distract me ! 
 
 RoL Begone 1 A moment's further pause and all is 
 lost. The dawn approaches. Fear not for me — I will 
 treat with Pizarro as for surrender and submission. I 
 shall gain time, doubt not, while thou, with a chosen 
 band, passmg the secret way, mayst at night return, 
 release thy friend, and bear him back m triumph. Yes, 
 hasten, dear Alonzo 1 Even now I hear the frantic 
 Cora call thee \ Haste ! haste ! haste ! 
 
PIZARRO 
 
 49 1 
 
 A Ion. Rolla, I fear thy friendship drives me from 
 honour, and from right. 
 
 Rol. Did Rolla ever counsel dishonour to his friend ? 
 
 A Lon. Oh ! my preserver ! [Embraces him . 
 
 Rol I feel thy warm tears dropping on my cheek. 
 Go ! I am rewarded. — [ Throws the Friar's garment 
 over Alonzo.] — There ! conceal thy face ; and, that 
 they may not clank, hold fast thy chains. Now — God 
 be with thee ! 
 
 A Ion. At night we meet agam. Then, so aid me. 
 Heaven ! I return to save — or perish with thee ! [Exit. 
 
 Rol. [Looking after him.] He has passed the outer 
 porch. He is safe ! He will soon embrace his wife and 
 child ! — Now, Cora, didst thou not wrong me ? This is 
 the first time throughout my fife I ever deceived man. 
 Forgive me, God of truth ! if I am wrong. Alonzo 
 flatters himself that we shall meet agam. Yes — there I 
 — [Lifting his hands to heaven.] Assuredly we shall meet 
 again : there possess in peace the joys of everlasting 
 love and friendship — on earth, imperfect and em- 
 bittered. I will retire, lest the guard return before 
 Alonzo may have passed their lines. 
 
 [Retires into the dungeon. 
 
 Enter Elvira. 
 
 Elv. No, not Pizarro's brutal taunts, not the giowing 
 admiration which I feel for this noble youth, shah raise 
 an interest in my harassed bosom which honour would 
 not sanction. If he reject the vengeance my heart has 
 sworn against the tyrant, whose death alone can save 
 this land, yet shall the delight be mine to restore him 
 to Cora's arms, to his dear ciiild, and to the un- 
 offending people, whom his virtues guide, and valour 
 guards. — Alonzo, come forth ! 
 
492 
 
 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 Re-enter Rolla. 
 
 Ha ! who art thou ? where is Alonzo r 
 
 Rol. Alonzo's fled. 
 
 Elv. Fled ! 
 
 Rol. Yes — and he must not be pursued. Pardon this 
 roughness, — [ Seizing her hand], but a moment's precious 
 to Alonzo's flight. 
 
 Elv. What if I call the guard ? 
 
 Rol. Do so — Alonzo still gains time. 
 
 Elv. What if thus I free myself ? [Shows a dagger. 
 
 Rol. Strike it to my heart — still, with the convulsive 
 grasp of death, I'll hold thee fast. 
 
 Elv . Release me — I give my faith, I neither will 
 alarm the guard, nor cause pursuit. 
 
 Rol. At once I trust thy word ; a feeling of 
 boldness in those eyes assures me that thy soul is 
 noble. 
 
 Elv. What is thy name ? Speak treely : by my order 
 the guard is removed beyond the outer porch. 
 
 Rol. My name is Rolla. 
 
 Elv. The Peruvian leader ? 
 
 Rol. I was so yesterday : to-day, the Spaniards' 
 captive. 
 
 Elv. And friendship to Alonzo moved thee to this 
 act ? 
 
 Rol. Alonzo is my friend ; 1 am prepared to die for 
 him. Yet is the cause a motive stronger far than 
 friendship. 
 
 Elv. One only passion else could urge such generous 
 
 rashness. 
 
 Rol. And that is 
 
 Elv. Love ! 
 
 Rol. True ! 
 
 Elv. Gallant, ingenuous Rolla! Know that my 
 purpose here was thine ; and were I to save thy 
 friend 
 
PIZARRO 
 
 493 
 
 Rol. How ! a woman blessed with gentleness and 
 courage, and yet not Cora ! 
 
 Elv. Does Rolla think so meanly of all female 
 hearts ? 
 
 Rol. Not so — you are worse and better than we are ! 
 
 Elv . Were I to save thee, Rolla, from the tyrant's 
 vengeance, restore thee to thy native land, and thy 
 native land to peace, wouldst thou not rank Elvira 
 with the good ? 
 
 Rol. To judge the action, I must know the means. 
 
 Elv. Take this dagger. 
 
 Rol. How to be used ? 
 
 Elv. I will conduct thee to the tent where fell Pizarro 
 sleeps — the scourge of innocence, the terror of thy race, 
 the fiend that desolates thy afflicted country. 
 
 Rol . Have you not been injured by Pizarro ? 
 
 Elv. Deeply as scorn and insult can infuse then 
 deadly venom. 
 
 Rol. And you ask that I shall murder him m his 
 sleep ! 
 
 Elv. Would he not have murdered Alonzo m his 
 chains ? He that sleeps, and he that's bound, are 
 equally defenceless. Hear me, Rolla — so may I prosper 
 in this perilous act, as, searching my full heart, I have 
 put by all rancorous motive of private vengeance there, 
 and feel that I advance to my dread purpose in the 
 cause of human nature and at the call of sacred justice. 
 
 Rol. The God of justice sanctifies no evil as a step 
 towards good. Great actions cannot be achieved by 
 wicked means. 
 
 Elv. Then, Peruvian, since thou dost feel so coldly 
 for thy country's wrongs, this hand, though it revolt 
 my soul, shall strike the blow. 
 
 Rol. Then is thy destruction certain, and for Peru 
 thou perishest ! Give me the dagger ! 
 
 Elv . Now follow me. But first — and dreadful is the 
 hard necessity — thou must strike down the guard. 
 
 Rol. The soldier who was on duty here ? 
 
494 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 Elv. Yes, him — else, seemg thee, the alarm will be 
 mstant. 
 
 RoL And I must stab that soldier as I pass ? Take 
 back thv dagger. 
 
 Elv. Rolla ! 
 
 RoL That soldier, mark me, is a man. All are not 
 men that bear the human form. He refused my 
 prayers, refused my gold, denying to admit me, till his 
 own feelings bribed him. For my nation's safety I 
 would not harm that man. 
 
 Elv. Then he must with as — I will answer for his 
 safety. 
 
 Rol. Be that plainly understood between us ; for, 
 whatever betide our enterprise, I will not risk a hair of 
 that man's head to save my heart-strings from con- 
 suming fire. [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene II. — Pizarro's Tent. 
 
 Pizarro is discovered on a couch in disturbed sleep. 
 
 Piz. [In his sleep.} No mercy, traitor i — Now at his 
 heart ! — Stand off there, you I — Let me see him bleed ! 
 — Ha ! ha ! ha ! — Let me hear that groan again. 
 
 Enter Rolla and Elvira. 
 
 Elv. There ! Now, lose not a moment. 
 
 Rol. You must leave me now. This scene of blood 
 fits not a woman's presence. 
 
 Elv . But a moment's pause may 
 
 Rol. Go, retire to your own tent, and return not 
 here — I will come to you. Be thou not known in this 
 business, I implore you ! 
 
 Elv. I will withdraw the guard that waits. [Exit. 
 
 Rol. Now have I in my power the accursed destro}^er 
 of my country's peace : yet tranquilly he rests. God I 
 can this man sleep ? 
 
PIZARRO 
 
 495 
 
 Piz. [In his sleep .] Away ! away ! hideous fiends ! 
 Tear not my bosom thus ! 
 
 Rol. No : I was in error — the balm of sweet repose he 
 never more can know. Look here, ambition's fools ! ye, 
 by whose inhuman pride the bleeding sacrifice of 
 nations is held as nothing, behold the rest of the guilty ! 
 He is at my mercy — and one blow ! — No ! my heart 
 and hand refuse the act : Rolla cannot be an assassin ! 
 Yet Elvira must be saved ! — [Approaches the couch .] 
 Pizarro ! awake ! 
 
 Piz . [Starts up.] Who ? — Guard ! 
 
 Rol. Speak not — another word is thy death. Call not 
 for aid ! this arm will be swifter than thy guard. 
 
 Piz. Who art thou ? and what is thy will ? 
 
 Rol. I am thine enemy ! Peruvian Rolla ! Thy death 
 is not my will, or I could have slain thee sleeping. 
 
 Piz. Speak, what else ? 
 
 Rol. Now thou art at my mercy, answer me ! Did a 
 Peruvian ever yet wrong or injure thee, or any of thy 
 nation ? Didst thou, or any of thy nation, ever yet 
 show mercy to a Peruvian in thy power ? Now shalt 
 thou feel, and if thou hast a heart thou'lt feel it keenly, 
 a Peruvian's vengeance ! — [Drops the dagger at his feet.] 
 There ! 
 
 Piz. Is it possible ? [Walks aside confounded. 
 
 Rol. Can Pizarro be surprised at this ? I thought 
 forgiveness of injuries had been the Christian's precept. 
 Thou seest, at least, it is the Peruvian's practice. 
 
 Piz. Rolla, thou hast indeed surprised — subdued me. 
 
 [Walks aside again as in irresolute thought. 
 
 Re-enter Elvira, not seeing Pizarro. 
 
 Elv. Is it done ? Is he dead ? — [Sees Pizarro.] How, 
 still living ! Then I am lost ! And for you, wretched 
 Peruvians ! mercy is no more ! O Rolla : treacherous, 
 or cowardly ? 
 
 Piz. How ! can it be that 
 
SHERIDAN’S PLAYS 
 
 496 
 
 Rot. Away ! — Elvira speaks she knows not what ! — 
 [To Elvira.] Leave me, I conjure you, with Pizarro. 
 
 Elv. How ! Rolla, dost thou think I shall retract ? or 
 that I meanly will deny, that in thy hand I placed a 
 poniard to be plunged into that tyrant's heart ? No : 
 my sole regret is, that I trusted to thy weakness, and 
 did not strike the blow myself. Too soon thou'lt learn 
 that mercy to that man is direct cruelty to all thy race ! 
 
 Piz. Guard ! quick ! a guard, to seize this frantic 
 woman. 
 
 Elv. Yes, a guard ! I call them too ! And soon I know 
 they'll lead me to my death. But think not, Pizarro, 
 the fury of thy flashing eyes shall awe me for a moment ! 
 Nor think that woman's anger, or the feelings of an 
 injured heart, prompted me to this design. No ! had 
 I been only influenced so — thus failing, shame and 
 remorse would weigh me down. But, though defeated 
 and destroyed, as now I am, such is the greatness of 
 the cause that urged me, I shall perish, glorying in the 
 attempt, and my last breath of life shall speak the 
 proud avowal of my purpose — to have rescued millions 
 of innocents from the blood-thirsty tyranny of one — by 
 ridding the insulted world of thee. 
 
 Rol. Had the act been noble as the motive, Rolla 
 would not have shrunk from its performance. 
 
 Enter Guards. 
 
 Piz. Seize this discovered fiend, who sought to kill 
 your leader. 
 
 Elv. Touch me not, at the peril of your souls ; I am 
 your prisoner, and will follow you. But thou, their 
 triumphant leader, first shall hear me. Yet, first — for 
 thee, Rolla, accept my forgiveness ; even had I been 
 the victim of thy nobleness of heart, I should have 
 admired thee for it. But 'twas myself provoked my 
 doom, — thou wouldst have shielded me. Let not thy 
 contempt follow me to the grave. Didst thou but know 
 
PIZARRO 
 
 497 
 
 the fiend-like arts by which this hypocrite first under- 
 mined the virtue of a guileless heart ! how, even in the 
 pious sanctuary wherein I dwelt, by corruption and by 
 fraud he practised upon those in whom I most con- 
 fided — till my distempered fancy led me, step by step, 
 into the abyss of guilt 
 
 Piz. Why am I not obe}^ed ? Tear her hence ! 
 
 Elv. Tis past — but didst thou know my story, Rolla, 
 thou wouldst pity me. 
 
 Rol. From my soul I do pity thee ! 
 
 Piz. Villains ! drag her to the dungeon ! — prepare the 
 torture instantly. 
 
 Elv. Soldiers, but a moment more — Tis to applaud 
 your general. It is to tell the astonished world that, for 
 once, Pizarro's sentence is an act of justice : yes, rack 
 me with the sharpest tortures that ever agonised the 
 human frame, it will be justice. Yes, bid the minions 
 of thy fury wrench forth the sinews of those arms that 
 have caressed — and even have defended thee ! Bid 
 them pour burning metal into the bleeding cases of 
 these eyes that so oft — oh, God ! — have hung with love 
 and homage on thy looks — then approach me bound 
 on the abhorred wheel — there glut thy savage eyes 
 with the convulsive spasms of that dishonoured bosom 
 which was once thy pillow ! — yet will I bear it all ; for 
 it will be justice, all ! and when thou shalt bid them 
 tear me to my death, hoping that thy unshrinking ears 
 may at last be feasted with the music of my cries, I will 
 not utter one shriek or groan ; but to the last gasp my 
 body's patience shall deride thy vengeance, as my soul 
 defies thy power. 
 
 Piz . Hearest thou the wretch whose hands were even 
 now prepared for murder ? 
 
 Rol. Yes ! and if her accusation’s false, thou wilt not 
 shrink from hearing her ; if true, thy barbarity cannot 
 make her suffer the pangs thy conscience will inflict 
 on thee. 
 
 Elv. And now, farewell, world ! — Rolla, farewell ! — 
 
SHERIDAN’S PLAYS 
 
 49S 
 
 farewell thou condemned of Heaven ! [To Pizarro,] 
 for repentance and remorse, I know, will never touch 
 thy heart. — We shall meet again. — Ha ! be it thy horror 
 here to know that we shall meet hereafter ! And when 
 thy parting hour approaches — hark to the knell, whose 
 dreadful beat will strike to thy despairing soul. Then 
 will vibrate on thy ears the curses of the cloistered saint 
 from whom thou stolest me. Then the last shrieks 
 which burst from my mother's breaking heart, as she 
 died appealing to her God against the seducer of her 
 child ! Then the blood-stifled groan of my murdered 
 brother — murdered by thee, fell monster ! — seeking 
 atonement for his sister's ruined honour. I hear them 
 now ! To me the recollection's madness ! At such an 
 hour — what will it be to thee ? 
 
 Piz. A moment's more delay, and at the peril of 
 your lives 
 
 Elv. I have spoken — and the last mortal frailty of 
 my heart is passed. And now with an undaunted 
 spirit and unshaken firmness, I go to meet my destiny. 
 That I could not live nobly, has been Pizarro 's act ; 
 that I wall die nobly, shall be my own. [Exit guarded . 
 
 Piz. Rolla, I would not thou, a warrior, valiant and 
 renowned, shouldst credit the vile tales of this frantic 
 woman. The cause of all this fury — oh ! a wanton 
 passion for the rebel youth, Alonzo, now my prisoner. 
 
 Rol. Alonzo is not now thy prisoner. 
 
 Piz. How ? 
 
 Rol. I came to rescue him — to deceive his guard. I 
 have succeeded ; I remain thy prisoner. 
 
 Piz. Alonzo fled ? Is then the vengeance dearest to 
 my heart never to be gratified ? 
 
 Rol. Dismiss such passions from thy heart, then 
 thou'lt consult its peace. 
 
 Piz. I can face all enemies that dare confront me — I 
 cannot war against my nature. 
 
 Rol. Then, Pizarro, ask not to be deemed a hero : 
 to triumph o'er ourselves is the only conquest where 
 
PIZARRO 
 
 499 
 
 fortune makes no claim. In battle, chance may snatch 
 the laurel from thee, or chance may place it on thy 
 brow ; but, in a contest with thyself, be resolute, and 
 the virtuous impulse must be the victor. 
 
 Piz. Peruvian ! thou shalt not find me to thee un- 
 grateful or ungenerous. Return to your countrymen — 
 you are at liberty. 
 
 Rot. Thou dost act in this as honour and as duty bid 
 thee. 
 
 Piz. I cannot but admire thee, Rolla ; I would we 
 might be friends. 
 
 Rot. Farewell ! pity Elvira 1 become the friend of 
 virtue — and thou wilt be mine. [Exit. 
 
 Piz. Ambition ! tell me what is the phantom I have 
 followed ? where is the one delight which it has made 
 my own ? My fame is the mark of envy, my love the 
 dupe of treachery, my glory eclipsed by the boy I 
 taught, my revenge defeated and rebuked by the rude 
 honour of a savage foe, before whose native dignity of 
 soul I have sunk confounded and subdued ! I would 
 I could retrace my steps ! — I cannot. Would I could 
 evade my own reflections ! No ! thought and memory 
 are my hell ! [Exit. 
 
 ACT V 
 
 Scene I. — A Forest. In the background a hut. 
 
 Cora is discovered teaning over her Child, who is laid on 
 a bed of leaves and moss. A storm , with thunder and 
 lightning. 
 
 Cora. O Nature ! thou hast not the strength of love. 
 My anxious spirit is untired in its march ; my wearied 
 shivering frame sinks under it. And for thee, my boy 
 
SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 500 
 
 when faint beneath thy lovely burden, could I refuse 
 to give thy slumbers that poor bed of rest ! Oh ! my 
 child ! were I assured thy father breathes no more, how 
 quickly would I lay me down by thy dear side ! — but 
 down— down for ever ! — [Thunder and lightning .] I 
 ask thee not, unpitying storm ! to abate thy rage in 
 mercy to poor Cora’s misery ; nor while thy thunders 
 spare his slumbers will I disturb my sleeping cherub ; 
 though Heaven knows I wish to hear the voice of life, 
 and feel that life is near me. But I will endure all while 
 what I have of reason holds. [Sings. 
 
 Yes, yes, be merciless, thou tempest dire ; 
 
 Unaw’d, unshelter’d, I thy fury brave : 
 
 I’ll bare my bosom to thy forked fire, 
 
 Let it but guide me to Alonzo’s grave ! 
 
 O’er his pale corse then, while thy lightnings glare, 
 
 I’U. press his clay-cold lips, and perish there. 
 
 But thou wilt wake again, my boy, 
 
 Again thou ’It rise to life and joy — 
 
 Thy father never ! — 
 
 Thy laughing eyes will meet the light, 
 
 Unconscious that eternal night 
 Veils his for ever. 
 
 On yon green bed of moss there lies my child, 
 
 Oh ! safer lies from these chill’d arms apart ; 
 
 He sleeps, sweet lamb ! nor heeds the tempest wild, 
 
 Oh ! sweeter sleeps than near this breaking heart. 
 
 Alas ! my babe, if thou wouldst peaceful rest, 
 
 Thy cradle must not be thy mother’s breast. 
 
 Yet thou wilt wake again, my boy, 
 
 Again thou’lt rise to life and joy — 
 
 Thy father never ! 
 
PIZARRO 
 
 501 
 
 Thy laughing eyes will meet the light, 
 
 Unconscious that eternal night 
 
 Veils his for ever. [ Thunder and lightning . 
 
 Still, still implacable ; unfeeling elements ! yet still 
 dost thou sleep, my smiling innocent ! O Death ! when 
 wilt thou grant to this babe's mother such repose ? 
 Sure I may shield thee better from the storm ; my veil 
 may 
 
 While she is wrapping her mantle and her veil over him , 
 Alonzo’s voice is heard in the distance. 
 
 A Ion. Cora ! 
 
 Cora. Ha ! [Rises. 
 
 Alon. Cora ! 
 
 Cora. Oh, my heart ! Sweet Heaven, deceive me 
 not ! Is it not Alonzo’s voice ? 
 
 Alon. [Nearer.] Cora ! 
 
 Cora. It is — it is Alonzo ! 
 
 Alon. [Nearer still.] Cora ! my beloved ! 
 
 Cora. Alonzo ! — Here 1 here ! — Alonzo ! [Runs out. 
 
 Enter two Spanish Soldiers. 
 
 1st Sold. I tell you we are near their outposts, and 
 the word we heard just now was the countersign. 
 
 2nd Sold. Well, in our escape from the enemy, to 
 have discovered their secret passage through the rocks 
 will prove a lucky chance to us. Pizarro will reward us. 
 
 1st Sold. This way : the sun, though clouded, is on 
 our left. — [Perceives the Child.] What have we here ? 
 A child, as I’m a soldier ! 
 
 2nd Sold. ’Tis a sweet little babe ! Now would it be 
 a great charity to take this infant from its pagan 
 mother’s power. 
 
SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 502 
 
 1 st Sold. It would so : I have one at home shall play 
 with it. — Come along. [Exeunt with the Child. 
 
 Cora. [ Without .] This way, dear Alonzo ! 
 
 Re-enter Cora, with Alonzo. 
 
 Now I am right — there — there — under that tree. Was 
 it possible the instinct of a mother's heart could mistake 
 the spot ? Now wilt thou look at him as he sleeps, or 
 shall I bring him waking, with his full, blue laughing 
 eyes, to welcome you at once ? Yes, yes ! Stand thou 
 there ; I'll snatch him from his rosy siumber, blushing 
 like the perfumed mom. 
 
 She runs up to the spot , and finding only the mantle and 
 veil , which she tears from the ground , and the 
 Child gone , shrieks. 
 
 A Ion. [Runmng to her.} Cora ! my heart's beloved i 
 
 Cora. He is gone ! 
 
 Alon. Eternal God ! 
 
 Cora. He is gone ! — my child ! my child ! 
 
 Alon. Where didst thou leave him ? 
 
 Cora. [Dashing herself on the spot.} Here ! 
 
 Alon. Be calm, beloved Cora ; he has waked and 
 crept to a little distance ; we shall find him. Are you 
 assured this was the spot you left him in ? 
 
 Cora. Did not these hands make that bed and 
 shelter for him ? and is not this the veil that covered 
 him ? 
 
 Alon. Here is a hut yet unobserved. 
 
 Cora. Ha ! yes, yes ! there lives the savage that has 
 robbed me of my child. — [Beats at the door.) Give me 
 oack my child ! restore to me my boy ! 
 
 Enter Las-Casas from the hut. 
 
 Las-Cas. Who calls me from my wretched solitude ? 
 
PIZARRO 
 
 503 
 
 Cora . Give me back my child ! — {Goes into the hut 
 and calls.] Fernando ! 
 
 A Ion. Almighty powers ! do my eyes deceive me ? 
 Las-Casas ! 
 
 Las-Cas. Alonzo, my beloved young friend. 
 
 A Ion. My revered instructor. [. Embracing . 
 
 Re-enter Cora. 
 
 Cara. Will you embrace this man before he restores 
 my boy ? 
 
 A Ion, Alas, my triend ! m what a moment ot misery 
 do we meet ! 
 
 Cora. Yes, his look is goodness and humanity. Good 
 old man, have compassion on a wretched mother, and I 
 will be your servant while I live. But do not — for pity 
 sake, do not say you have him not ; do not say you 
 have not seen him. [ Runs into the wood . 
 
 Las-Cas. What can this mean ? 
 
 A Ion. She is my wife. Just rescued from the 
 Spaniard's prison, X learned she had fled to this wild 
 forest. Hearing my voice, she left the child, and flew 
 to meet me : he was left sleeping under yonder tree. 
 
 Re-enter Cora. 
 
 Las-Cas . How ! did you leave him ? 
 
 Cora. Oh ! you are right ! right ! unnatural mother 
 that I was ! I left my child, I forsook my innocent ! 
 But I will fly to the earth's brink, but I will find him. 
 
 [Runs out . 
 
 Aion . Forgive me, Las-Casas, 1 must follow her ; for 
 at night I attempt brave Rolia's rescue. 
 
 Las-Cas . I will not leave thee, Alonzo. You must try 
 to lead her to the right : that way lies your camp. 
 Wait not my infirm steps : I follow thee, my friend. 
 
 r Exeunt . 
 
SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 504 
 
 Scene II. — The Outpost of the Spanish Camp. In the 
 background a torrent t over which a bridge is formed 
 by a felled tree. Trumpets sound without. 
 
 Enter Almagro, followed by Soldiers, leading Rolla 
 in chains. 
 
 Aim. Bear him along ; his story must be false. 
 
 Rol. False ! Rolla utter falsehood ! I would I had 
 thee in a desert with thy troop around thee, and I but 
 with my sword in this unshackled hand ! 
 
 [ Trumpets without. 
 Aim. Is it to be credited, that Rolla, the renowned 
 Peruvian hero, should be detected, like a spy, skulking 
 through our camp. 
 
 Rol. Skulking ! 
 
 Aim. But answer to the general ; he is here. 
 
 Enter Pizarro. 
 
 Piz. What do I see ? Rolla ! 
 
 Rol. Oh, to thy surprise, no doubt ! 
 
 Piz . And bound too ! 
 
 Rol. So fast, thou needest not fear approaching me. 
 Aim. The guards surprised him passing our outposts. 
 Piz. Release him instantly ! Believe me, I regret 
 this insult. 
 
 Rol. You feel then as you ought. 
 
 Piz. Nor can I brook to see a warrior of Rolla's fame 
 disarmed. Accept this, though it has been thy enemy's. 
 — [Gives a sword.] The Spaniards know the courtesy 
 that's due to valour. 
 
 Rol. And the Peruvians how to forget offence. 
 
 Piz. May not Rolla and Pizarro cease to be foes ? 
 Rol. When the sea divides us ; yes ! May I now 
 depart ? 
 
 Piz. Freely. 
 
TXZARRO 505 
 
 Rol. And shall I not again be intercepted ? 
 
 Piz. No ! Let the word be given that Rolla passes 
 freely. 
 
 Enter Davilla and Soldiers, with Alonzo's Child. 
 
 Dav. Here are two soldiers, captured yesterday, who 
 have escaped the Peruvian hold — and by the secret 
 way we have so long endeavoured to discover. 
 
 Piz . Silence, imprudent ! Seest thou not 
 
 [Pointing to Rolla. 
 
 Dav. In their way, they found a Peruvian child, who 
 seems 
 
 Piz. What is the imp to me ? Bid them toss it into 
 the sea. 
 
 Rol. Gracious Heavens ! it is Alonzo's child i Give 
 it to me. 
 
 Piz. Ha ! Alonzo's child ! — [T akes the Child.] — 
 Welcome, thou pretty hostage. Now Alonzo is again 
 my prisoner ! 
 
 Rol. Thou wilt not keep the infant from its mother ? 
 
 Piz. Will I not ! What, when I shall meet Alonzo in 
 the heat of the victorious fight, thinkest thou I shall 
 not have a check upon the valour of his heart, when he 
 is reminded that a word of mine is this child's 
 death ? 
 
 Rol. I do not understand thee. 
 
 Piz. My vengeance has a long arrear of hate to settle 
 with Alonzo ! and this pledge may help to settle the 
 account. [Gives the Child to a Soldier. 
 
 Rol. Man ! man ! Art thou a man ? Couldst thou 
 hurt that innocent ? — By Heaven ! it's smiling in thy 
 face. 
 
 Piz. Tell me, does it resemble Cora ? 
 
 Rol. Pizarro ! thou has set my heart on fire. If thou 
 dost harm that child, think not his blood will sink into 
 the barren sand. No ! faithful to the eager hope that 
 now trembles in this indignant heart, 'twill rise to the 
 
SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 506 
 
 common God of nature and humanity, and cry aloud 
 for vengeance on his accursed destroyer's head. 
 
 Piz. Be that peril mine. 
 
 Rol. [Throwing himself at his feet.] Behold me at thy 
 feet — me, Rolla ! — me, the preserver of thy life ! — me, 
 that have never yet bent or bowed before created man ! 
 In humble agony I sue to thee — prostrate I implore 
 thee — but spare that child, and 1 mil be thy slave. 
 
 Piz. Rolla ; still art thou free to go — this boy 
 remains with me. 
 
 Rol. Then was this sword Heaven's gift, not thine 1 — 
 [Seizes the Child.] Who moves one step to follow me, 
 dies upon the spot. [Exit with the Child. 
 
 Piz. Pursue him instantly — but spare his life.— 
 [Exeunt Davilla and Almagro, with Soldiers.] With 
 what fury he defends himself ! Ha ! he fells them to 
 the ground — and now 
 
 Re-enter Almagro. 
 
 Aim. Three of your brave soldiers are already victims 
 to your commands to spare this madman's life ; and 
 if he once gain the thicket 
 
 Piz. Spare him no longer. — [Exit Almagro.j Their 
 guns must reach him — he'll escape yet — holloa to those 
 horse — the Peruvian sees them — and now he turns 
 among the rocks — then is his retreat cut off. — [Rolla 
 crosses the wooden bridge over the cataract, pursued by the 
 Soldiers — they fire at him — a shot strikes him.] Now ! 
 — quick ! quick ! seize the child ! 
 
 [Rolla tears from the rock the tree which supports 
 the bridge , and retreats by the background bearing 
 off the Child. 
 
 Re-enter Almagro and Davilla. 
 
 Atm. By hell l he has escaped l and with the child 
 
 unhurt. 
 
PIZARRO 507 
 
 Dav. No — he bears his death with him. Believe me, 
 I saw him struck upon the side. 
 
 Piz. But the child is saved — Alonzo's child ! Oh, the 
 furies of disappointed vengeance ! 
 
 Aim. Away with the revenge of words — let us to 
 deeds ! Forget not we have acquired the knowledge of 
 the secret pass, which through the rocky cavern's gloom 
 brings you at once to the stronghold, where are lodged 
 their women and their treasures. 
 
 Piz. Right, Almagro ! Swift as thy thought, draw 
 forth a daring and a chosen band — I will not wait for 
 numbers. Stay, Almagro ! Valverde is informed 
 Elvira dies to-day ? 
 
 Aim. He is — and one request alone she 
 
 Piz. I'll hear of none. 
 
 Aim. The boon is small — 'tis but for the noviciate 
 habit which you first beheld her in — she wishes not to 
 suffer in the gaudy trappings which remind her of her 
 shame. 
 
 Piz . Well, do as thou wilt — but tell Valverde, at our 
 return, as his life shall answer it, to let me hear that 
 she is dead. [Exeunt severally. 
 
 Scene III. — Ataliba's Tent. 
 
 Enter Ataliba, followed by Cora and Alonzo. 
 
 Cora. Oh ! avoid me not, Ataliba 1 To whom but to 
 her king, is the wretched mother to address her griefs ? 
 The gods refuse to hear my prayers i Did not my 
 Alonzo fight for thee ? and wiU not my sweet boy, if 
 thou'lt but restore him to me, one day fight thy battles 
 too ? 
 
 Alon. Oh I my suffering love — my poor heart-broken 
 Cora I — thou but wound'st our sovereign's feeling soul, 
 and not reliev'st thv own. 
 
SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 508 
 
 Cora . Is he our sovereign, and has he not the power 
 to give me back my child ? 
 
 Ata. When I reward desert, or can relieve my people, 
 I feel what is the real glory of a king — when I hear them 
 suffer, and cannot aid them, I mourn the impotence of 
 all mortal power. 
 
 Soldiers . [Without.'] Rolla ! Rolla ! Rolla ! 
 
 Enter Rolla, bleeding , with the Child, followed by 
 Peruvian Soldiers. 
 
 Rot. Thy child ! [Gives the Child into Cora's arms, 
 and falls. 
 
 Cora. Oh, God ! there's blood upon him. 
 
 Rol. 'Tis my blood, Cora ! 
 
 Alon. Rolla, thou diest ! 
 
 Rol. For thee, and Cora. [Dies. 
 
 Enter Orano. 
 
 * Ora . Treachery has revealed our asylum in the rocks. 
 Even now the foe assails the peaceful band retired for 
 protection there. 
 
 Alon. Lose not a moment ! Soldiers, be quick ! Youi 
 wives and children cry to you. Bear our loved hero's 
 boby in the van : 'twill raise the fury of our men to 
 
 madness. Now, fell Pizarro ! the death of one of us is 
 near! Away! Be the word of assault, Revenge and 
 Rolla ! [Exeunt. Charge . 
 
 Scene IV. — A Recess among the Rocks . 
 
 Enter Pizarro, Almagro, Valverde, and Spanish 
 Soldiers. 
 
 Piz. Well ! if surrounded, we must perish in the 
 centre of them. Where do Rolla and Alonzo hide their 
 heads ? 
 
pizar.ro 
 
 509 
 
 Enter Alonzo, Orano, and Peruvian Warriors. 
 
 A Ion. Alonzo answers thee, and Alonzo's sword shall 
 speak for Rolla. 
 
 Piz. Thou knowest the advantage of thy numbers. 
 Thou darest not singly face Pizarro. 
 
 Alon. Peruvians, stir not a man ! Be this contest 
 only ours. 
 
 Piz. Spaniards ! observe ye the same. — [Charge. 
 They fight. Alonzo's shield is broken., and he is beat 
 down.} Now traitor, to thy heart ! 
 
 [At this moment Elvira enters , habited as when 
 Pizarro first beheld her. Pizarro, appalled , 
 staggers back. Alonzo renews the fight and slays 
 him. Loud shouts from the Peruvians. 
 
 Enter Ataliba. 
 
 Ata. My brave Alonzo ! [Embraces Alonzo. 
 
 Aim. Alonzo, we submit. Spare us ! we will embark, 
 and leave the coast. 
 
 Val. Elvira will confess I saved her life ; she has 
 saved thine. 
 
 A Ion. Fear not. You are safe. 
 
 [Spaniards lay down their arms . 
 
 Elv. Valverde speaks the truth ; nor could he think 
 to meet me here. An awful impulse, which my soul 
 could not resist, impelled me hither. 
 
 Alon. Noble Elvira ! my preserver ! How can I 
 speak what I, Ataliba, and his rescued country, owe to 
 thee ! If amid this grateful nation thou wouldst 
 remain- 
 
 Elv. Alonzo, no ! the destination of my future life is 
 fixed. Humble in penitence, I will endeavour to atone 
 the guilty errors, which, however masked by shallow 
 cheerfulness, have long consumed my secret heart. 
 When, by my sufferings purified and penitence sincere. 
 
SHERIDAN’S PLAYS 
 
 5io 
 
 my soul shall dare address the Throne ol Mercy in 
 behalf of others, for thee, Alonzo, for thy Cora, and thy 
 child, for thee, thou virtuous monarch, and the 
 innocent race thou reignest over, shall Elvira’s prayers 
 address the God of Nature. — Valverde, you have pre- 
 served my life. Cherish humanity, avoid the foul 
 examples thou hast viewed. — Spaniards, returning to 
 your native home, assure your rulers they mistake the 
 road to glory or to power. Tell them that the pursuits 
 of avarice, conquest, and ambition, never yet made a 
 people happy, or a nation great. 
 
 [1 Casts a look of agony on the dead body of Pizarro 
 as she passes, and exit . Flourish of trumpets. 
 Valverde, Almagro, and Spanish Soldiers, 
 exeunt , bearing off Pizarro ’ s body . 
 
 Alon. Ataliba ! think not I wish to check the voice 
 of triumph, when I entreat we first may pay the 
 tribute due to our loved Rolia’s memory. 
 
 [A solemn march. Procession of Peruvian 
 Soldiers, bearing Rolla’s body on a bier , 
 surrounded by military trophies. The Priests 
 and Priestesses attending chant a dirge over 
 the bier . Alonzo and Cora kneel on either 
 side of it, and kiss Rolla’s hands in silent 
 agony . The curtain slowly descends . 
 
 EPILOGUE 
 
 Written by the Hon. William Lamb . 
 
 SPOKEN BY MRS. JORDAN 
 
 Ere yet suspense has still’d its throbbing fear. 
 Or melancholy wiped the grateful tear, 
 
 While e’en the miseries of a sinkmg state, 
 
 A monarch’s danger, and a nation’s fate. 
 
PIZARRO 
 
 •Command not now your eyes with grief to how. 
 Lost in a trembling mother's nearer woe ; 
 
 What moral lay shall poetry rehearse, 
 
 Or how shall elocution pour the verse 
 So sweetly, that its music shall repay 
 The loved illusion which it drives away ? 
 
 Mine is the task, to rigid custom due, 
 
 To me ungrateful, as 'tis harsh to you, 
 
 To mar the work the tragic scene has wrought, 
 
 To rouse the mind that broods in pensive thought* 
 To scare reflection, which, in absent dreams, 
 
 Still lingers musing on the recent themes ; 
 Attention, ere with contemplation tired, 
 
 To turn from all that pleased, from all that fired ; 
 To weaken lessons strongly now impress'd, 
 
 And chill the interest glowing in the breast — 
 
 Mine is the task ; and be it mine to spare 
 
 The souls that pant, the griefs they see, to share ; 
 
 Let me with no unhallow'd jest deride 
 
 The sigh, that sweet compassion owns with pride— 
 
 The sigh of comfort, to affliction dear, 
 
 That kindness heaves, and virtue loves to hear. 
 E’en gay Thalia will not now refuse 
 This gentle homage to her sister-muse. 
 
 Oh ye, who listen to the plaintive strain, 
 
 With strange enjoyment, and with rapturous pain, 
 Who erst have felt the Stranger's lone despair, 
 
 And Haller's settled, sad, remorseful care, 
 
 Does Rolla's pure affection less excite 
 The inexpressive anguish of delight ? 
 
 Do Cora's fears, which beat without control, 
 
 With less solicitude engross the soul ? 
 
 Ah, no ! your minds with kindred zeal approve 
 Maternal feeling, and heroic love. 
 
 You must approve : where man exists below, 
 
 In temperate climes, or midst drear wastes of snow, 
 Or where the solar fires incessant flame, 
 
 Thy laws, all-powerful Nature, are the same : 
 
SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 512 
 
 Vainly the sophist boasts he can explain 
 The causes of thy universal reign — 
 
 More vainly would his cold presumptuous art 
 Disprove thy general empire o'er the heart : 
 
 A voice proclaims thee, that we must believe — 
 
 A voice, that surely speaks not to deceive : 
 
 That voice poor Cora heard, and closely press'd 
 Her darling infant to her fearful breast : 
 
 Distracted dared the bloody field to tread, 
 
 And sought Alonzo through the heaps of dead, 
 Eager to catch the music of his breath. 
 
 Though faltering in the agonies of death, 
 
 To touch his lips, though pale and cold, once more. 
 And clasp his bosom, though it stream'd with gore : 
 That voice too Rolla heard, and greatly brave, 
 
 His Cora's dearest treasure died to save ; 
 
 Gave to the hopeless parent's arms her child, 
 Beheld her transports, and, expiring, smiled. 
 
 That voice we hear — Ch ! be its will obey'd ! 
 
 'Tis valour's impulse, and 'tis virtue's aid — 
 
 It prompts to all benevolence admires, 
 
 To all that heavenly piety inspires, 
 
 To all that praise repeats through lengthen'd years. 
 That honour sanctifies, and time reveres.