iiii 
 

 
 
 
The Plays 
 
 of 
 
 Richard Brinsley Sheridan 
 
 MACMILLAN AND CO., LIMITED 
 
 ST. MARTIN'S STREET, LONDON 
 
 i 920 
 
b 
 
 
 
 
 First Edition 1 900. 
 Reprinted 1901,1903 1908. 1920 
 
BIBLIOGRAPHICAL NOTE 
 
 Sheridan's The Rivals was produced at Covent Garden 
 Theatre on January 17, 1775, and promptly withdrawn. 
 On its reappearance, in a revised form, eleven days later, 
 with a better actor in the part of Sir Lucius O'Trigger, it 
 attained a great success, and was speedily put into print. 
 Before the end of the year another edition was called for, 
 and a third in 1776, but the literary critics, so we are told, 
 were unappreciative, and perhaps to their obtuseness should 
 be attributed the disinclination to publish his plays which 
 Sheridan afterwards showed. Produced on May 2, 1775, 1 
 less than four months after The Rivals, the farce of St. 
 Patrick's Day, certainly his weakest work, was never 
 printed with his sanction. The Duenna, brought out in the 
 following November, remained unprinted till 1794 ; A Trip 
 to Scarborough, his adaptation from Vanbrugh's Relapse, 
 though put on the stage in February 1777, did not appear 
 in book form till 1786. Of The School for Scandal, pro- 
 duced in London on May 8, 1777, an edition was printed 
 for J. Ewling of Dublin, without date, but presumably 
 during the course of the next year. Sheridan had given a 
 copy of his manuscript to his sister, Mrs. Lefanu, who 
 
 1 Moore gives the date of production as 'November 1775/ 
 obviously confusing it with that of The Duenna. 
 
 462838 
 
vi SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 sold it for a hundred guineas to the manager of the 
 Dublin Theatre, and no doubt Ewling's edition was 
 produced with the manager's consent. Several reprints 
 followed, but when Ridgway of Piccadilly pressed Sheridan 
 later on to fulfil a promise of allowing him to print 
 an authorised English edition, he refused to do so on the 
 ground, according to Moore, ' that he had been nineteen 
 years endeavouring to satisfy himself with the style of 
 The School for Scandal, but had not yet succeeded.' 
 
 Of The Critic, Sheridan's last important play, an 
 edition was printed, with his sanction, in 178 1. The 
 comedy had been produced on the 30th October 1779, 
 and its comparatively speedy appearance in print may have 
 been due partly to its great popularity, partly perhaps to 
 the publication in 1780 of a dull political parody in which 
 its title was taken over with impudent completeness. 
 
 Of Pizarro, Sheridan's adaptation from Kotzebue, 
 which is said to have brought ^15,000 to the treasury 
 of Drury Lane, where it was produced on May 24, 
 1799, an edition was printed the same year, and this 
 closes the record of Sheridan 'first editions.' For those 
 who are interested in such matters it may be mentioned 
 that a most unusually fine set of them was sold at 
 Sotheby's in 1898, and that The Rivals then fetched £18, 
 The School for Scandal £24., The Critic £2 : 10s., A Trip to 
 Scarborough £$, and The Duenna and Pizarro £2 a pi e ce. 
 The value of these editions for establishing the true text 
 of the plays is not overwhelming, even those of which the 
 proof-sheets presumably passed through Sheridan's hands 
 being very carelessly printed. In 1821 Thomas Moore 
 edited all Sheridan's plays (including among them the 
 
BIBLIOGRAPHICAL NOTE vii 
 
 wretched ' musical entertainment,' The Camp y the author- 
 ship of which is now universally assigned to Thomas 
 Tickell), and his text is certainly superior to that of the 
 plays as separately published. Even in the case of The 
 School for Scandal, where the Dublin edition in some cases 
 corresponds more closely to Sheridan's early drafts, of which 
 portions have been preserved to us, Moore's text is greatly 
 preferable, and as Sheridan's letter to Ridgway shows 
 that he had himself at times tried to tinker at the play, it 
 is reasonable to believe that Moore had authority for his 
 alterations. In any case there are few men whose judg- 
 ment on what Sheridan was likely to have written is more 
 to be respected. In this edition, therefore, Moore's text 
 has been followed, but in the matter of proof-reading 
 Moore himself was probably no more careful than 
 Sheridan, and here and there obvious corrections have 
 been made. Thus in Act III. Sc. 2 (last line of p. 50) 
 all editions that have been consulted inform us that 
 Julia is ' coming too,' where ' coming to ' is an emenda- 
 tion made certain by Jerome's inquiry, ' What, does 
 she come to? ' in The Duenna (p. 158). So on p. 92 the 
 exclamation ' Hah ! — no faith,' attributed to Sir Lucius by 
 the first edition and Moore, as if he were accusing Faulk- 
 land and Absolute of breaking their appointment, must 
 surely be read as 'Hah! — No, faith!' to introduce the 
 ' I think I see them coming ' by which it is followed. 
 That in Sir Oliver's remark (p. 227), 'I hate to see 
 prudence clinging to the green suckers of youth,' 
 ' suckers ' has been printed instead of ' succours,' and 
 that in the closing tag the ' dear maid ' is made to 
 'waive' instead of to 'wave' her 'beauty's sway,' are 
 
viii SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 alterations for which no apology is needed, though not all 
 editors have been at the pains to make them. In Sir 
 Peter's remark at the opening of Act III., ' I don't see 
 the jet of your scheme,' the substitution of ' gist ' for 
 the old-fashioned 'jet' is less excusable. But in a 
 recent separate edition of this play, and a very good one, 
 'jet' has been replaced by 'jest,' and to avoid such a 
 confusion in any reader's mind it seemed better to give up 
 the old form. In a popular edition, to mark small correc- 
 tions such as these by footnotes would be pedantic, but 
 readers may be assured that editorial meddling has been 
 confined to what is absolutely necessary. 
 
 A, W. P. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 ^The Rivals : A Comedy 
 
 St. Patrick's Day ; or, The Scheming Lieutenant. A 
 Farce .... 
 
 The Duenna : A Comic Opera . 
 
 'The School for Scandal : A Comedy 
 
 The Critic ; or, A Tragedy Rehearsed 
 
 A Trip to Scarborough : A Comedy 
 
 Pizarro : A Tragedy . 
 
 Verses to the Memory of Garrick. . 
 
 I 
 
 IOI 
 
 129 
 191 
 293 
 349 
 399 
 45* 
 
4- 
 
 THE RIVALS 
 
 A COMEDY 
 
 FIRST ACTED AT COVENT-GARDEN THEATRE, ON TUESDAY, THB 
 I7TH OF JANUARY, I 775 
 
DRAMATIS PERSONS, 
 
 AS ORIGINALLY ACTED AT COVENT-GARDEN THEATRE IN 1 775- 
 
 Sir Anthony Absolute 
 
 Captain Absolute . 
 
 Faulkland 
 
 Acres . 
 
 Sir Lucius O' 'Trigger 
 
 Fag . 
 
 David . 
 
 Coachman 
 
 Mrs. Malaprop 
 Lydia Languish 
 Julia . 
 Lucy . 
 
 Mr. Shuter. 
 Mr. Woodward. 
 Mr. Lewis. 
 Mr. Quick. 
 Mr. Lee. 1 
 Mr. Lee Lewes. 
 Mr. Dunstal. 
 Mr. Fearon. 
 
 Mrs. Green. 
 Miss Barsanti. 
 Mrs. Bulkley. 
 Mrs. Lessingham, 
 
 Maid, Boy, Servants, &c. 
 
 Scene — Bath. 
 Time of Action — Five Hours. 
 
 1 Afterwards by Mr. Clinch, 
 
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 as public, before it can be pre- 
 pared for the cooler tribunal of the study. Thus any 
 further solicitude on the part of the writer becomes un- 
 necessary, 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 re- 
 garded as the procrastination of a suit, from a conscious- 
 ness of the weakness of the cause. From these considera- 
 tions 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 imper- 
 fections in the first representation which were too obvious 
 to escape reprehension, and too numerous to admit of a 
 hasty correction. There are few writers, I believe, who, 
 even in the fullest consciousness of error, do not wish to 
 palliate the faults which they acknowledge ; and, however 
 trifling the performance, to second their confession of its 
 
4 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 deficiencies by whatever plea seems least disgraceful to 
 their ability. In the present instance it cannot be said to 
 amount either to candour or modesty in me, to acknow- 
 ledge 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 experi- 
 ence 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 in- 
 capacity, and the indulgence which it shows even to a 
 disposition to remedy the defects of either. 
 
 It were unnecessary to enter into any further extenua- 
 tion of what was thought exceptionable in this play, but 
 that it has been said, that the managers should have pre- 
 vented some of the defects before its appearance to the 
 public — and in particular the uncommon length of the 
 piece as represented the first night. It were an ill return 
 for the most liberal and gentlemanly conduct on their 
 side to 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 vanity of a young 
 author got the better of his desire for correctness, and he 
 left many excrescences remaining because he had assisted 
 in pruning so many more. Hence, though I was not un- 
 informed that the Acts were still too long, I flattered myself 
 that, after the first trial, I might with safer judgment 
 proceed to remove what should appear to have been most 
 dissatisfactory. Many other errors there were, which 
 might in part have arisen from my being by no means 
 
PREFACE 5 
 
 conversant with plays in general, either in reading or at 
 the theatre. Yet I own that, in one respect, I did not 
 regret my ignorance ; for as my first wish in attempting 
 a play was to avoid every appearance of plagiary, I thought 
 I should stand a better chance of effecting this from being 
 in a walk which I had not frequented, and where, conse- 
 quently, the progress of invention was less likely to be 
 interrupted by starts of recollection ; for on subjects on 
 which the mind has been much informed, invention is 
 slow of exerting itself. Faded ideas float in the fancy like 
 half-forgotten dreams ; and the imagination in its fullest 
 enjoyments becomes suspicious of its offspring, and doubts 
 whether it has created or adopted. 
 
 With regard to some particular passages which on the 
 first night's representation seemed generally disliked, I 
 confess that if I felt any emotion of surprise at the dis- 
 approbation, 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 disapprobation must have arisen from 
 virulence of malice rather than severity of criticism ; but 
 as I was more apprehensive of there being just grounds to 
 excite the latter than conscious of having deserved the 
 former, I continue not to believe that probable which I 
 am sure must have been unprovoked. However, if it 
 was so, and I could even mark the quarter from whence 
 it came, it would be ungenerous to retort ; for no passion 
 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 
 
6 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 opinion, from principles of politeness at least, if not from 
 gratitude. 
 
 As for the little puny critics, who scatter their peevish 
 strictures in private circles, and scribble at every author 
 who has the eminence of being unconnected with them, as 
 they are usually spleen-swoln from a vain idea of increasing 
 their consequence, there will always be found a petulance 
 and illiberality in their remarks, which should place them 
 as far beneath the notice of a gentleman as their original 
 dulness had sunk them from the level of the most un- 
 successful author. 
 
 It is not without pleasure that I catch at an opportunity 
 of justifying myself from the charge of intending any 
 national reflection in the character of Sir Lucius O'Trigger. 
 If any gentlemen opposed the piece from that idea I 
 thank them sincerely for their opposition ; and if the 
 condemnation of this comedy (however misconceived the 
 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 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, therefore, but justice to declare, that 
 from this theatre (the only one I can speak of from 
 experience) those writers who wish to try the dramatic 
 line will meet with that candour and liberal attention 
 which are generally allowed to be better calculated to lead 
 genius into excellence, than either the precepts of judg- 
 ment or the guidance of experience. 
 
 THE AUTHOR. 
 
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 ! 
 
 Att. And if the fee offends, your wrath should fall 
 On me. — Serj. Dear Dibble, no offence at all. 
 
 Att. Some sons of Phcebus in the courts we meet, 
 
 Serj. And fifty sons of Phcebus in the Fleet ! 
 
 Att. Nor pleads he worse, who with a decent sprig 
 Of bays adorns his legal waste of wig. 
 
 Serj. Full-bottom'd heroes thus, on signs, unfurl 
 A leaf of laurel in a grove of curl ! 
 Yet tell your client, that, in adverse days 
 This wig is warmer than a bush of bays. 
 
 Att. Do you, then, sir, my client's place supply, 
 
 Profuse of robe, and prodigal of tie 
 
 Do you, with all those blushing powers of face, 
 
 And wonted bashful hesitating grace, 
 
 Rise in the court, and flourish on the case. [Exit. 
 
3 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 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 waves all right of challenge here. 
 No newsman from our session is dismiss'd, 
 Nor wit nor critic we scratch off the list ; 
 His faults can never hurt another's ease, 
 His crime, at worst, a bad attempt to please : 
 Thus, all respecting, he appeals to all, 
 And by the general voice will stand or fall. 
 
 The play being withdrawn after the first night's representation, 
 upon its second appearance the lines from * Hey ! how's this ? ' to 
 1 no offence at all,' were omitted, and the following inserted : — 
 
 ' How's this ! the poet's brief again ! O ho ! 
 ' Cast, I suppose ? — Att. O pardon me — No — No — 
 ' We found the court, o erlooking stricter laws, 
 ' Indulgent to the merits of the cause ; 
 
 * By judges mild, unused to harsh denial, 
 ' A rule was granted for another trial. 
 
 ' Serj. Then hark'ee, Dibble, did you mend your pleadings ; 
 
 * Errors, no few, we've found in our proceedings. 
 
 ' Att. Come, courage, sir, we did amend our p/ea t 
 ' Hence your new brief, and this refreshing fee? 
 
PROLOGUE 
 
 BY THE AUTHOR 
 
 Spoken on the Tenth Night, by Mrs. Bulklet 
 
 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, 
 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 gray experience suited to her youth ? 
 Do solemn sentiments become th»t 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 — 
 
 1 Pointing to the figure of Comedy. 
 
io SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 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 vot'ries 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 fav'rite 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. 
 
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 ; 
 
 * Ma n's social happin ess all rests on us : 
 
 1 Through all the drama — whether d — n'd or not — 
 ' Love gilds the scene and women guide the plot. 
 
 * From every rank obedience is our due — 
 
 ' D'ye doubt ? — The world's great stage shall prove it 
 true.' 
 
 The Cit, well skill'd to shun domestic strife, 
 Will sup abroad ; — but first, he'll ask his wife : 
 John Trot, his friend, for once will do the same, 
 But then — he'll just step home to tell his dame. 
 
 The surly Squire at noon resolves to rule, 
 And half the day — Zounds ! Madam is a fool ! 
 Convinced at night, the vanquish'd victor says, 
 Ah, Kate ! you women have such coaxing ways ! 
 
 The jolly Toper chides each tardy blade, 
 Till reeling Bacchus calls on Love for aid : 
 Then with each toast he sees fair bumpers swim, 
 And kisses Chloe on the sparkling brim ! 
 
 Nay, I have heard that Statesmen — great and wise — 
 Will sometimes counsel with a lady's eyes ; 
 The servile suitors watch her various face, 
 She smiles preferment, or she frowns disgrace, 
 Curtsies a pension here — there nods a place. 
 
12 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 Nor with less awe, in scenes of humbler life, 
 Is viewed 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 his world of night : 
 Dear spark ! that oft through winter's chilling woes 
 Is all the warmth his little cottage knows ! 
 
 The wand'ring Tar, who not for years has press'd 
 The widow'd partner of his day of rest, 
 On the cold deck, far from her arms removed, 
 Still hums the ditty which his Susan loved ; 
 And while around the cadence rude is blown, 
 The boatswain whistles in a softer tone. 
 
 The Soldier, fairly proud of wounds and toil, 
 Pants for the triumph of his Nancy's smile ; 
 But ere the battle should he list' her cries, 
 The lover trembles — and the hero dies ! 
 That heart, by war and honour steel'd to fear, 
 Droops on a sigh and sickens at a tear ! 
 
 But ye more cautious, ye nice-judging few, 
 Who give to Beauty only Beauty's due, 
 Though friends to Love — ye view with deep regret 
 Our conquests marr'd, our triumphs incomplete, 
 Till polish'd Wit more lasting charms disclose, 
 And Judgment fix the darts which Beauty throws ! 
 — -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 ! 
 
ACT I. SCENE I. 
 
 A Street in Bath 
 
 Coachman crosses the stage. — Enter Fag, looking after 
 
 him 
 
 Fag. What! Thomas! — Sure 'tis he? — What! 
 Thomas ! Thomas ! 
 
 Coach. 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 ? 
 
 Coach. Sure, master, Madam Julia, Harry, Mrs. Kate, 
 and the postillion, be all come. 
 
 Fag. Indeed ! 
 
 Coach. Ay ! master thought another fit of the gout 
 was coming to make him a visit ; — so he'd a mind to 
 gi't the slip, and whip ! we were all off at an hour's 
 warning. 
 
 Fag. Ay, ay ! hasty in everything, or it would not be 
 Sir Anthony Absolute ! 
 
 Coach. But tell us, Mr. Fag, how does young master ? 
 Odd ! Sir Anthony will stare to see the captain here ! 
 
 Fag. I do not serve Captain Absolute now. — 
 
 Coach. Why sure ! 
 
 Fag. At present I am employed by Ensign Beverley. 
 
 Coach. I doubt, Mr. Fag, you ha'n't changed for the 
 better. 
 
 Fag. I have not changed, Thomas. 
 
H SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act i 
 
 Coach. No ! why, didn't you say you had left young 
 master ? 
 
 Fag. No. Well, honest Thomas, I must puzzle 
 
 you no further : — briefly then — Captain Absolute and 
 Ensign Beverley are one and the same person. 
 
 Coach. The devil they are ! 
 
 Fag. So it is indeed, Thomas ; and the ensign half of 
 my master being on guard at present — the captain has 
 nothing to do with me. 
 
 Coach. So, so ! — what, this is some freak, I warrant ! 
 —Do tell us, Mr. Fag, the meaning o't — you know I ha' 
 trusted you. 
 
 Fag. You'll be secret, Thomas ? 
 
 Coach. As a coach-horse. 
 
 Fag. Why then the cause of all this is — Love, — 
 Love, Thomas, who (as you may get read to you) has 
 been a masquerader ever since the days of Jupiter. 
 
 Coach. Ay, ay ; — I guess'd there was a lady in the 
 case : — but pray, why does your master pass only for 
 ensign ? — now if he had shamm'd general indeed- 
 
 Fag. Ah ! Thomas, there lies the mystery o'the matter. 
 Hark'ee, Thomas, my master is in love with a lady of a 
 very singular taste : a lady who likes him better as a half- 
 pay ensign than if she knew he was son and heir to Sir 
 Anthony Absolute, a baronet of three thousand a year. 
 
 Coach. 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 ! 
 Z — ds ! Thomas, she could pay the national debt as easily 
 as I could my washer-woman ! — 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 bank-notes ! 
 
 Coach. Bravo, faith ! — Odd ! I warrant she has a set 
 of thousands at least : — but does she draw kindly with the 
 captain ? 
 
 Fag. As fond as pigeons. 
 
 Coach. May one hear her name ? 
 
 Fag. Miss Lydia Languish. — But there is an old tough 
 aunt in the way ; — though, by the by, she has never seen 
 
scene i THE RIVALS 15 
 
 my master — for we got acquainted with miss while on a 
 visit in Gloucestershire. 
 
 Coach. 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 of it — here's a 
 mort o'merry-making, hey ? 
 
 Fag. Pretty well, Thomas, pretty well — 'tis a good 
 lounge ; in the morning we go to the pump-room (though 
 neither my master nor I drink the waters) ; after breakfast 
 we saunter on the parades, or play a game at billiards ; at 
 night we dance ; but d — n the place, I'm tired of it : their 
 regular hours stupefy me — not a fiddle nor a card after 
 eleven ! — however, Mr. Faulkland's gentleman and I keep 
 it up a little in private parties ; — I'll introduce you there, 
 Thomas — you'll like him much. 
 
 Coach. Sure I know Mr. Du-Peigne — you know his 
 master is to marry Madam Julia. 
 
 Fag. I had forgot. — But, Thomas, you must polish a 
 
 little — indeed you must Here now — this wig ! — what 
 
 the devil do you do with a wig, Thomas ? — none of the 
 London whips of any degree of ton wear wigs now. 
 
 Coach. 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 guess'd 'twould mount to the Box ! — but 'tis all out of 
 character, believe me, Mr. Fag : and look'ee, I'll never 
 gi' up mine — the lawyers and doctors may do as they will. 
 
 Fag. Well, Thomas, we'll not quarrel about that. 
 
 Coach. Why, bless you, the gentlemen of they pro- 
 fessions ben't all of a mind — for in our village now, thoff 
 Jack Gauge the exciseman has ta'en to his carrots, there's 
 little Dick the farrier swears he'll never forsake his bob, 
 tho' all the college should appear with their own heads ! 
 
 Fag. Indeed ! well said, Dick ! but hold — mark ! mark ! 
 Thomas. 
 
 Coach. Zooks ! 'tis the captain — Is that the lady with 
 him ? 
 
 Fag. No ! no ! that is Madam Lucy — my master's 
 
16 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act i 
 
 mistress's maid. They lodge at that house — but I must 
 after him to tell him the news. 
 
 Coach. Odd ! he's giving her money ! — well, Mr. 
 Fag 
 
 Fag. Good-bye, Thomas. I have an appointment in 
 Gyde's Porch this evening at eight ; meet me there, and 
 we'll make a little party. 
 
 \Exeunt severally. 
 
 SCENE II. 
 
 A Dressing-room in Mrs. 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 ha'n't been at. 
 
 Lydia. And could not you get 'The Reward of 
 Constancy ' ? 
 
 Lucy. No, indeed, ma'am. 
 
 Lydia. Nor ' The Fatal Connexion ' ? 
 
 Lucy. No, indeed, ma'am. 
 
 Lydia. 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. 
 
 Lydia. Heigh-ho ! — Did you inquire for ' The Delicate 
 Distress ' ? 
 
 Lucy. Or, ' The Memoirs of Lady Wood- 
 ford ' ? Yes, indeed, ma'am. I asked everywhere for it ; 
 and I might have brought it from Mr. Frederick's, but 
 Lady Slattern Lounger, who had just sent it home, had so 
 soiled and dog's-ear'd it, it wa'n't fit for a Christian to 
 read. 
 
 Lydia. 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 con- 
 
scene ii THE RIVALS 17 
 
 venience 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 Tears of Sensibility,' and ' Humphrey 
 Clinker.' This is ' The Memoirs of a Lady of Quality, 
 written by herself,' and here the second volume of ' The 
 Sentimental Journey.' 
 
 Lydia. 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. 
 
 Lydia. Very well — give me the sal volatile. 
 
 Lucy. Is it in a blue cover, ma'am ? 
 
 Lydia. My smelling-bottle, you simpleton ! 
 
 Lucy. O, the drops ! — here, ma'am. 
 
 Lydia. 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. 
 
 Lydia. Is it possible ! 
 
 Enter Julia 
 
 Lydia. My dearest Julia, how delighted am I ! (Em- 
 brace.) How unexpected was this happiness ! 
 
 Julia. True, Lydia — and our pleasure is the greater ; 
 — but what has been the matter ? — you were denied to me 
 at first ! 
 
 Lydia. Ah, Julia, I have a thousand things to tell 
 you ! — but first inform me what has conjured you to 
 Bath ? — Is Sir Anthony here ? 
 
 Julia. He is — we are arrived within this hour — and I 
 suppose he will be here to wait on Mrs. Malaprop as soon 
 as he is dress'd. 
 
 Lydia. Then before we are interrupted, let me impart 
 
 c 
 
1 8 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act i 
 
 to you some of my distress ! — I know your gentle nature 
 will sympathize with me, though your prudence may con- 
 demn me ! — My letters have informed you of my whole 
 connexion wit h Beve rley ; — 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 fallen absolutely in love with a tall 
 ■Irish baronet she met one night since we have been here at 
 Lady Macshuffle's rout. 
 
 Julia. You jest, Lydia ! 
 
 Lydia. 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. 
 
 Julia. Then, surely, she is now more indulgent to her 
 niece. 
 
 Lydia. 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 ! 
 
 Julia. Come, come, Lydia, hope for the best — Sir 
 Anthony shall use his interest with Mrs. Malaprop. 
 
 Lydia. 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. 
 
 Julia. What was his offence ? 
 
 Lydia. Nothing at all ! — But, I don't know how it 
 was, as often as we had been together, we had never had a 
 quarrel ! — And, somehow, I was afraid he would never 
 give me an opportunity. — So, last Thursday, I wrote a 
 letter to myself, to inform myself that Beverley was at 
 that time paying his addresses to another woman. I 
 signed it ' your friend unknown,' showed it to Beverley, 
 charged him with his falsehood, put myself in a violent 
 passion, and vowed I'd never see him more. 
 
 Julia. And you let him depart so, and have not seen 
 him since? 
 
scene ii THE RIVALS 19 
 
 Lydia. '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. 
 
 Julia. 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 ! 
 
 Lydia. 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. 
 
 Julia. Nay, this is aip_rice ! 
 
 Lydia. What, does Julia tax me with caprice? — I 
 thought her lover Faulkland had inured her to it. 
 
 Julia. I do not love even his faults. 
 
 Lydia. But apropos — you have sent to him, I suppose ? 
 
 Julia. 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. 
 
 Lydia. 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. 
 
 Julia. Nay, you are wrong entirely. We were con- 
 tracted before my father's death. That, and some conse- 
 quent 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 unhackneyed in the passion, his affection 
 is ardent and sincere ; and as it engrosses his whole soul, 
 he expects every thought and emotion of his mistress to 
 move in unison with his. Yet, though his pride calls for 
 
20 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act i 
 
 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 tem- 
 per, I must own, has cost me many unhappy hours ; but 
 I have learned to think myself his debtor for those imper- 
 fections which arise from the ardour of his attachment. 
 
 Lydia. Well, I cannot blame you for defending him. 
 But tell me candidly, Julia, had he never saved your life, 
 do you think you should have been attached to him as you 
 are? — Believe me, the rude blast that overset your boat 
 was a prosperous gale of love to him. 
 
 Julia. 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 
 
 Lydia. Obligation ! Why a water-spaniel would 
 
 have done as much ! — Well, I should never think of giving 
 my heart to a man because he could swim ! 
 
 Julia. Come, Lydia, you are too inconsiderate. 
 
 Lydia. Nay, I do but jest. — What's here? 
 
 Enter Lucy in a hurry 
 
 Lucy. O ma'am, here is Sir Anthony Absolute just 
 come home with your aunt. 
 
 Lydia. They'll not come here. — Lucy, do you watch 
 
 [Exit Lucy. 
 
 Julia. Yet I must go. Sir Anthony does not know I 
 am here, and if we meet, he'll detain me, to show me the 
 town. I'll take another opportunity of paying my respects 
 to Mrs. Malaprop, when she shall treat me, as long as she 
 chooses, with her select words so ingeniously. ..misapplied, . 
 without being mispronounced. 
 
 Re-enter Lucy 
 
 Lucy. O Lud ! ma'am, they are both coming up- 
 stairs. 
 
SCENE 11 
 
 THE RIVALS 21 
 
 Lydia. Well, I'll not detain you, coz. — Adieu, my 
 dear Julia, I'm sure you are in haste to send to Faulkland. 
 There — through my room you'll find another stair- 
 case. 
 
 Julia. Adieu ! — {Embrace.) \Exit Julia. 
 
 Lydia. Here, my dear Lucy, hide these books. Quick, 
 quick. — Fling ' Peregrine Pickle ' under the toilet — throw 
 1 Roderick Random ' into the closet — put ' The Innocent 
 Adultery ' into ' The Whole Duty of Man ' — thrust ' Lord 
 Aim worth ' under the sofa — cram 'Ovid' behind the 
 bolster — there — put f The Man of Feeling ' into your 
 pocket — so, so — now lay ' Mrs. Chapone ' in sight, and 
 leave ' Fordyce's Sermons ' open on the table. 
 
 Lucy. O burn it, ma'am, the hair-dresser has torn 
 away as far as ' Proper Pride.' 
 
 Lydia. Never mind — open at ' Sobriety.' — Fling me 
 ' Lord Chesterfield's Letters.' — Now for 'em. 
 
 Enter Mrs. Malaprop and Sir Anthony Absolute 
 
 Mrs. Mai. There, Sir Anthony, there sits the deliberate 
 simpleton, who wants to disgrace her family, and lavish 
 herself on a fellow not worth a shilling. 
 
 Lydia. Madam, I thought you once 
 
 Mrs. Mai. You thought, miss ! I don't know any 
 business you have to think at all — thought does not become 
 a young woman. But the point we would request of you 
 is, that you will promise to forget this fellow — to illiterate 
 him, I say, quite from your memory. 
 
 Lydia. 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 young woman. 
 
 Sir Anth. Why sure she won't pretend to remember 
 what she's ordered not ! — ay, this comes of her reading ! 
 
22 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act i 
 
 Lydia. 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 ? 
 
 Lydia. 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 pre- 
 ference and aversion ? They don't become a young woman ; 
 and you ought to know, that as both always wear off, 'tis 
 safest in matrimony to begin with a little aversion. I am 
 sure I hated your poor dear uncle before marriage as if 
 he'd been a blackamoor — and yet, miss, you are sensible 
 what a wife I made ! — and when it pleased Heaven to 
 release me from him, 'tis unknown what tears I shed ! — 
 But suppose we were going to give you another choice, 
 will you promise us to give up this Beverley ? 
 
 Lydia. 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. 
 
 Lydia. Willingly, ma'am — I cannot change for the 
 worse. \Exit Lydia. 
 
 Mrs. Mai. There's a little intricate hussy for you ! 
 
 Sir Anth. It is not to be wondered at, ma'am, — all 
 this is the na tural conse quence _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 ! 
 
scene ii THE RIVALS 23 
 
 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. Fie, fie, Sir Anthony, you surely speak 
 laconically. 
 
 Sir Anth. Why, Mrs. Malaprop, in moderation, now, 
 what would you have a woman know ? 
 
 Mrs. Mai. Observe me, Sir Anthony. — I would by 
 no means wish a daughter of mine to be a progeny of 
 learning ; I don't think so much learning becomes a young 
 woman ; for instance, I would never let her meddle with 
 Greek, or Hebrew, or Algebra, or Simony, or Fluxions, or 
 Paradoxes, or such inflammatory branches of learning — 
 neither would it be necessary for her to handle any of 
 your mathematical, astronomical, diabolical instruments : 
 — But, Sir Anthony, 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 shame- 
 fully 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 thircLword you say is on my side of the question. 
 But, Mrs. Malaprop, to the more important point in 
 debate, — you say you have no objection to my proposal. 
 
 Mrs. Mai. None, I assure you. I am under no positive 
 engagement with Mr. Acres, and as Lydia is so obstinate 
 against him, perhaps your son may have better success. 
 
 Sir Anth. Well, madam, I will write for the boy 
 
24 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act i 
 
 directly. He knows not a syllable of this yet, though I 
 have for some time had the proposal in my head. He is 
 at present with his regiment. 
 
 Mrs. Mai. We have never seen your son, Sir Anthony ; 
 but I hope no objection on his side. 
 
 Sir Anth. Objection ! — let him object if he dare ! — 
 No, no, Mrs. Malaprop, Jack knows that the least demur 
 puts me in a phrensy directly. My process was always 
 very simple — in their younger days, 'twas ' Jack, do this ' ; 
 — if he demurred, I knocked him down — and if he 
 grumbled at that, I always sent him out of the room. 
 
 Mrs. Mai. Ay, and the properest way, o'my conscience ! 
 — nothing is so conciliating to young people as severity. — 
 Well, Sir Anthony, I shall give Mr. Acres his discharge, 
 and prepare Lydia to receive your son's invocations ; — 
 and I hope you will represent her to the captain as an 
 object not altogether illegible. 
 
 Sir Anth. Madam, I will handle the subject prudently. 
 — Well, I must leave you ; and let me beg you, Mrs. 
 Malaprop, to enforce this matter roundly to the girl ; — 
 take my advice — keep a tight hand : if she rejects this 
 proposal, clap her under lock and key ; and if you were 
 just to let the servants forget to bring her dinner for 
 three or four days, you can't conceive how she'd come 
 about. [Exit Sir Anth. 
 
 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. 
 
 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. 
 
scene ii THE RIVALS 25 
 
 Mrs. Mai. You are sure, Lucy, that you never 
 mentioned 
 
 Lucy. O Gemini ! I'd sooner cut my tongue out. 
 
 Mrs. Mai. Well, don't let your simplicity be im- 
 posed 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 intrusted with (unless it be other 
 people's secrets to me), you forfeit my malevolence for 
 ever ; and your being a simpleton shall be no excuse for 
 your locality. [Exit Mrs. Mal. 
 
 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 ex- 
 pert 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 I — in money, sundry times, twelve pound twelve ; 
 gowns, Jive ; hats, ruffles, caps, etc. etc. numberless I — From 
 the said ensign, within this last month, six guineas and a 
 half. — About a quarter's pay ! — Item, from Mrs. Mala- 
 prop, for betraying the young people to her — when I found 
 matters were likely to be discovered — two guineas and a 
 black padusoy. — 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 ! — 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 ot 
 a gentleman to the necessities of his fortune. \_Exi\. 
 
ACT II. SCENE I. 
 
 Captain Absolute's Lodgings 
 Captain Absolute and Fag 
 
 Fag. Sir, while I was there Sir Anthony came in : I 
 told him you had sent me to inquire after his health, and 
 to know if he was at leisure to see you. 
 
 Abs. And what did he say on hearing I was at Bath ? 
 
 Fag. Sir, in my life I never saw an elderly gentleman 
 more astonished ! He started back two or three paces, 
 rapt out a dozen interjectural oaths, and asked, what the 
 devil had brought you here ? 
 
 Abs. Well, sir, and what did you say ? 
 
 Fag. O, 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. O, not a word, sir, — not a word. Mr. Thomas, 
 indeed, the coachman (whom I take to be the discreetest 
 of whips) — 
 
 Abs. 'Sdeath ! — you rascal ! you have not trusted 
 him ! 
 
 Fag. O, no, sir — no — no — not a syllable, upon my 
 veracity ! — He was, indeed, a little inquisitive ; but I was 
 sly, sir — devilish sly ! My master (said I) honest Thomas 
 (you know, sir, one says honest to one's inferiors), is come 
 to Bath to recruit — Yes, sir, I said to recruit — and' whether 
 
scene i THE RIVALS 27 
 
 for men, money, or constitution, you know, sir, is nothing 
 to him, nor any one else. 
 
 Abs. Well, recruit will do — let it be so. 
 
 Fag. O, sir, recruit will do surprisingly — indeed, to 
 give the thing an air, I told Thomas that your Honour 
 had already inlisted five disbanded chairmen, seven min- 
 ority waiters, and thirteen billiard-markers. 
 
 Abs. You blockhead, never say more than is necessary. 
 
 Fag. I beg pardon, sir — I beg pardon — But, with sub- 
 mission, a lie is nothing unless one supports it. Sir, when- 
 ever I draw on my invention for a good current lie I always 
 forge indorsements as well as the bill. 
 
 Abs. Well, take care you don't hurt your credit by 
 offering too much security. — Is Mr. Faulkland returned ? 
 
 Fag. He is above, sir, changing his dress. 
 
 Abs. Can you tell whether he has been informed of 
 Sir Anthony's and Miss Melville's arrival ? 
 
 Fag. I fancy not, sir ; he has seen no one since he 
 came in but his gentleman, who was with him at Bristol. 
 — I think, sir, I hear Mr. Faulkland coming down 
 
 Abs. Go, tell him I am here. 
 
 Fag. Yes, sir — (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 
 
 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 
 
28 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act 11 
 
 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 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, 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 stript of all. 
 
 Abs. But, for Heaven's sake ! what grounds for appre- 
 hension can your whimsical brain conjure up at present ? 
 
 Faulk. What grounds for apprehension, did you say ? 
 
scene i THE RIVALS 29 
 
 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 apprehension ! 
 
 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 Mel- 
 ville is in perfect health, and is at this moment in Bath. 
 
 Faulk. Nay, Jack — don't trifle with me. 
 
 Abs. She is arrived here with my father within this 
 hour. 
 
 Faulk. Can you be serious ? 
 
 Abs. I thought you knew Sir Anthony better than to 
 be surprised at a sudden whim of this kind. — Seriously, 
 then, it is as I tell you — upon my honour. 
 
 Faulk. My dear friend ! — Hollo, Du Peigne ! my hat 
 — my dear Jack — now nothing on earth can give me a 
 moment's uneasiness. 
 
 Enter Fag 
 
 Fag. Sir, Mr. Acres, just arrived, is below. 
 
 Abs. Stay, Faulkland, this Acres lives within a mile of 
 Sir Anthony, and he shall tell you how your mistress has 
 been ever since you left her. Fag, show the gentleman up. 
 
 [Exit Fag. 
 
 Faulk. What, is he much acquainted in the family ? 
 
3 o SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act n 
 
 Abs. O, 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 selfs, for he does not think his friend Captain 
 Absolute ever saw the lady in question ; and it is ridiculous 
 enough to hear him complain to me of one Beverley^ a 
 concealed skulking rival, who 
 
 Faulk. Hush ! — He's here. 
 
 Enter Acres 
 
 Acres. Hah ! my dear friend, noble captain, and honest 
 Jack, how do'st thou ? just arrived, faith, as you see. — 
 Sir, your humble servant. — Warm work on the roads, 
 Jack — Odds whips and wheels ! I've travelled like a comet, 
 with a tail of dust all the way as long as the Mall. 
 
 Abs. Ah ! Bob, you are indeed an eccentric planet, 
 but we know your attraction hither — Give me leave to 
 introduce Mr. Faulkland to you ; Mr. Faulkland, Mr. 
 Acres. 
 
 Acres. Sir, I am most heartily glad to see you : Sir, I 
 solicit your connexions. — Hey, Jack — what, this is Mr. 
 Faulkland, who 
 
 Abs. Ay, Bob, Miss Melville's Mr. Faulkland. 
 
 Acres. Od'so ! she and your father can be but just 
 arrived before me — I suppose you have seen them. Ah ! 
 Mr. Faulkland, you are indeed a happy man. 
 
 Faulk. I have not seen Miss Melville yet, sir ; — I 
 hope she enjoyed full health and spirits in Devonshire ? 
 
 Acres. Never knew her better in my life, sir, — never 
 better. Odds blushes and blooms ! she has been as healthy 
 as the German Spa. 
 
 Faulk. Indeed ! — I did hear that she had been a little 
 indisposed. 
 
 Acres. False, false, sir — only said to vex you : quite 
 the reverse, I assure you. 
 
 Faulk. There, Jack, you see she has the advantage of 
 me ; I had almost fretted myself ill. 
 
scene i THE RIVALS 31 
 
 Abs. Now are you angry with your mistress for not 
 having been sick. 
 
 Faulk. No, no, you misunderstand me : — yet surely a 
 little trifling indisposition is not an unnatural consequence 
 of absence from those we love. — Now confess — isn't 
 there something unkind in this violent, robust, unfeeling 
 health ? 
 
 Abs. O, it was very unkind of her to be well in your 
 absence to be sure ! 
 
 Acres. Good apartments, Jack. 
 
 Faulk. Well, sir, but you was saying that Miss Mel- 
 ville 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 bell 
 and spirit of the company wherever she has been — so lively 
 and entertaining ! so full of wit and humour ! 
 
 Faulk. There Jack, there. — O, by my soul ! there is an 
 innate levity in woman that nothing can overcome. — 
 What ! happy, and I away ! 
 
 Abs. Have done : — How foolish this is ! just now you 
 were only apprehensive for your mistress's spirits. 
 
 Faulk. Why, Jack, have I been the joy and spirit of 
 the company ? 
 
 Abs. No indeed, you have not. 
 
 Faulk. Have I been lively and entertaining ? 
 ~— Abs. O, upon my word, I acquit you. 
 
 Faulk. Have I been full of wit and humour ? 
 
 Abs. No, faith, to do you justice, you have been con- 
 foundedly 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 harpsichord — 
 such a mistress of flat and sharp, squallante, rumblante, 
 and quiverante ! — there was this time month — Odds 
 
32 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act ii 
 
 minnums and crotchets ! how she did chirup at Mrs. 
 Piano's concert ! 
 
 Faulk. There again, what say you to this? you see 
 she has been all mirth and song — not a thought of me ! 
 
 Abs. Pho ! man, is not music the food of love ? 
 
 Faulk. Well, well, it may be so. — Pray, Mr. , 
 
 what's his d — d name ! — 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 gales ! ' — ' Go, gentle gales ! ' — 
 {sings.) 
 
 Acres. O no ! nothing like it. — Odds ! now I recollect 
 one of them — ' My heart's my own, my will is free.' — 
 {sings.) 
 
 Faulk. Fool ! fool that I am ! to fix all my happiness 
 on such a trifler ! 'Sdeath ! to make herself the pipe and 
 ballad-monger of a circle ! to sooth her light heart with 
 catches and glees ! — What can you say to this, sir ? 
 
 Abs. Why, that I should be glad to hear my mistress 
 had been so merry, sir. 
 
 Faulk. Nay, nay, nay — I'm not sorry that she has 
 been happy — no, no, I am glad of that — I would not have 
 had her sad or sick — yet surely a sympathetic heart would 
 have shown itself even in the choice of a song — she might 
 have been temperately healthy, and somehow, plaintively 
 gay ; but she has been dancing too, I doubt not ! 
 
 Acres. What does the gentleman say about dancing ? 
 
 Abs. He says the lady we speak of dances as well as 
 she sings. 
 
 Acres. Ay truly, does she — there was at our last race 
 ball 
 
 Faulk. Hell and the devil ! There ! there — I told you 
 so ! I told you so ! Oh ! she thrives in my absence ! — 
 Dancing ! but her whole feelings have been in opposition 
 with mine ; — I have been anxious, silent, pensive, sedentary 
 
scene i THE RIVALS 33 
 
 — my days have been hours of care, my nights of watchful- 
 ness. — She has been all health! spirit! laugh! song! 
 dance ! — Oh ! d — n'd, d — n'd levity ! 
 
 Abs. For Heaven's sake, Faulkland, don't expose 
 yourself so. — Suppose she has danced, what then ? — does 
 not the ceremony of society often oblige 
 
 Faulk. Well, well, I'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. O, I dare insure her for that — but what I was 
 going to speak of was her country -dancing: — Odds 
 swimmings ! she has such an air with her ! 
 
 Faulk. Now disappointment on her! — defend this, 
 Absolute ; why don't you defend this ? — Country-dances ! 
 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 ! — 
 Z — ds ! had she made one in a cotillion — I believe I could 
 have forgiven even that — but to be monkey-led for a night ! 
 — to run the gauntlet through a string of amorous palming 
 puppies ! — to show paces like a managed filly ! — O 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 ! 
 
 Abs. Ay, to be sure ! — grandfathers and grandmothers ! 
 
 Faulk. If there be but one vicious mind in the set 
 'twill spread like a contagion — the action of their pulse 
 beats to the lascivious movement of the jig — their quiver- 
 ing, 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. D — n his news ! [£^/V Faulkland. 
 
 Abs. Ha ! ha ! ha ! poor Faulkland five minutes since 
 
 D 
 
34 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act 11 
 
 — ' nothing on earth could give him a moment's un- 
 easiness ! ' 
 
 Acres. The gentleman wa 'n't angry at my praising his 
 mistress, was he ? 
 
 Abs. A little jealous, I believe, Bob. 
 
 Acres. You don't say so ? Ha ! ha ! jealous of me — 
 that's a good joke. 
 
 Abs. There's nothing strange in that, Bob ; let me tell 
 you, that sprightly grace and insinuating manner of yours 
 will do some mischief among the girls here. 
 
 Acres. Ah! you joke — ha! ha! mischief — ha! ha! 
 but you know I am not my own property, my dear Lydia 
 has forestalled me. — She could never abide me in the 
 country, because I used to dress so badly — but odds frogs 
 and tambours ! I sha'n'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. O, you'll polish, I doubt not. 
 
 Acres. Absolutely I propose so — then if I can find out 
 this Ensign Beverley, odds triggers and flints ! I'll make 
 him know the difference o't. 
 
 Abs. Spoke like a man — but pray, Bob, I observe 
 you have got an odd kind of a new method of swear- 
 ing 
 
 Acres. Ha! ha! you've taken notice of it — 'tis genteel, 
 isn't? — I didn't invent it myself though; but a com- 
 mander in our militia — a great scholar, I assure you — says 
 that there is no meaning in the common oaths, and that 
 nothing but their antiquity makes them respectable ; — 
 because, he says, the ancients would never stick to an oath 
 or two, but would say, by Jove ! or by Bacchus ! or by 
 Mars ! or by Venus ! or by 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 
 
scene i THE RIVALS 35 
 
 we call the oath referential^ or sentimental swearing — ha ! 
 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. 
 
 Enter Fag 
 
 Fag. Sir, there is a gentleman below desires to see you 
 — Shall I show him into the parlour ? 
 
 Abs. Ay — you may. 
 
 Acres. Well, I must be gone 
 
 Abs. Stay ; who is it, Fag ? 
 
 Fag. Your father, sir. 
 
 Abs. You puppy, why didn't you show him up 
 directly? \Exit Fag. 
 
 Acres. You have business with Sir Anthony. — I expect 
 a message from Mrs. Malaprop at my lodgings — I have 
 sent also to my dear friend Sir Lucius O'Trigger. — Adieu, 
 Jack, we must meet at night, when you shall give me a 
 dozen bumpers to little Lydia. 
 
 Abs. That I will with all my heart. \Exit Acres. 
 
 Now for a parental lecture — I hope he has heard nothing 
 of the business that has brought me here — I wish the gout 
 had held him fast in Devonshire, with all my soul ! 
 
 Enter Sir Anthony 
 
 Sir, I am delighted to see you here ; and looking so well ! 
 your sudden arrival at Bath made me apprehensive for your 
 health. 
 
 Sir Anth. Very apprehensive, I dare say, Jack. — What, 
 you are recruiting here, hey ? 
 
 Abs. Yes, sir, I am on duty. 
 
 Sir Anth. Well, Jack, I am glad to see you, though I 
 did not expect it, for I was going to write to you on a 
 little matter of business. — Jack, I have been considering 
 
36 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act ii 
 
 that I grow old and infirm, and shall probably not trouble 
 you long. 
 
 Abs. Pardon me, sir, I never saw you look more 
 strong and hearty ; and I pray frequently that you may 
 continue so. 
 
 Sir Anth. I hope your prayers may be heard, with all 
 my heart. Well, then, Jack, I have been considering that 
 I am so strong and hearty, I may continue to plague you 
 a long time. — Now, Jack, I am sensible that the income of 
 your commission, and what I have hitherto allowed you, is 
 but a small pittance for a lad of your spirit. 
 
 Abs. Sir, you are very good. 
 
 Sir Anth. And it is my wish, while yet I live, to have 
 my boy make some figure in the world. I have resolved, 
 therefore, to fix you at once in a noble independence. 
 
 Abs. Sir, your kindness overpowers me — such generosity 
 makes the gratitude of reason more lively than the sensa- 
 tions even of filial affection. 
 
 Sir Anth. I am glad you are so sensible of my attention 
 — and you shall be master of a large estate in a few 
 weeks. 
 
 Abs. Let my future life, sir, speak my gratitude ; I 
 cannot express the sense I have of your munificence. — Yet, 
 sir, I presume you would not wish me to quit the army ? 
 
 Sir Anth. O, 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 mustn't forget her though. — 
 Yes, Jack, the independence I was talking of is by a 
 marriage — the fortune is saddled with a wife — but I suppose 
 that makes no difference. 
 
 Abs. Sir ! Sir ! — you amaze me ! 
 
 Sir Anth. Why, what the devil's the matter with the 
 fool ? Just now you were all gratitude and duty. 
 
scene i THE RIVALS 37 
 
 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 phrensy. 
 
 Abs. Sir, I must repeat it — In this I cannot obey you. 
 
 Sir Anth. Now d — n me ! if ever I call you Jack again 
 while I live ! 
 
 Abs. Nay, sir, but hear me. 
 
 Sir Anth. Sir, I won't hear a word — not a word ! not 
 one word ! so give me your promise by a nod — and I'll 
 tell you what, Jack — I mean, you dog — if you don't 
 by 
 
38 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act ii 
 
 Abs. What, sir, promise to link myself to some mass 
 of ugliness ! to 
 
 Sir Anth. Z — ds ! sirrah ! the lady shall be as ugly as 
 I choose : she shall have a hump on each shoulder ; she 
 shall be as crooked as the Crescent ; her one eye shall roll 
 like the bull's in Cox's Museum ; she shall have a skin 
 like a mummy, and the beard of a Jew — she shall be all 
 this, sirrah ! — yet I will make you ogle her all day, and sit 
 up all night to write sonnets on her beauty. 
 
 Abs. This is reason and moderation indeed ! 
 
 Sir Anth. None of your sneering, puppy ! no grinning, 
 jackanapes ! 
 
 Abs. Indeed, sir, I never was in a worse humour for 
 mirth in my life. 
 
 Sir Anth. 'Tis false, sir, I know you are laughing in 
 your sleeve ; I know you'll grin when I am gone, sirrah ! 
 
 Abs. Sir, I hope I know my duty better. 
 
 Sir Anth. None of your passion, sir ! none of your 
 violence ; if you please — It won't do with me, I promise 
 you. 
 
 Abs. Indeed, sir, I never was cooler in my life. 
 
 Sir Anth. 'Tis a confounded lie ! — I know you are in 
 a passion in your heart ; I know you are, you hypocritical 
 young dog ! but it won't do. 
 
 Abs. Nay, sir, upon my word. 
 
 Sir Anth. So you will fly out ! can't you be cool 
 like me ? 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 reiy upon the mildness of my temper — you do, 
 you dog ! you play upon the meekness of my disposition ! 
 Yet take care — the patience of a saint may be overcome at 
 last ! — but mark ! I give you six hours and a half to 
 consider of this : if you then agree, without any condition, 
 to do everything on earth that I choose, why — confound 
 you ! I may in time forgive you — If not, z — ds ! 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 
 
scene i THE RIVALS 39 
 
 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 d — n 
 me ! if ever I call you Jack again ! 
 
 [Exit Sir Anthony. 
 
 Absolute solus 
 
 Abs. Mild, gentle, considerate father — I kiss your 
 hands. — What a tender method of giving his opinion in 
 these matters Sir Anthony has ! I dare not trust him with 
 the truth. — I wonder what old wealthy hag it is that he 
 wants to bestow on me! — yet he married himself for 
 love ! and was in his youth a bold intriguer and a gay 
 companion ! 
 
 Enter Fag 
 
 Fag. Assuredly, sir, your father is wrath to a degree ; 
 he comes down-stairs eight or ten steps at a time — mutter- 
 ing, 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, d — ns us all, for a puppy triumvirate ! — 
 Upon my credit, sir, were I in your place, and found my 
 father such very bad company, I should certainly drop his 
 acquaintance. 
 
 Abs. Cease your impertinence, sir, at present. — Did 
 
 you come in for nothing more ? Stand out of the way ! 
 
 [Pushes him aside, and exit. 
 
 Fag solus 
 
 Fag. Soh ! Sir Anthony trims my master : he is 
 afraid to reply to his father — then vents his spleen on poor 
 Fag ! — When one is vexed by one person, to revenge one's 
 self on another, who happens to come in the way, is the 
 vilest injustice ! Ah ! it shows the worst temper — the 
 basest 
 
4° SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act u 
 
 Enter Errand 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 ! 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 have a little scruple of con- 
 science 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. Hah ! my little ambassadress — upon my con- 
 science, I have been looking for you ; I have been on the 
 South Parade this half hour. 
 
 Lucy. (Speaking simply.') O gemini ! and I have been 
 waiting for your worship here on the North. 
 
 Sir Luc. Faith ! — may be, that was the reason we did 
 not meet ; and it is very comical too, how you could go 
 out and I not see you — for I was only taking a nap at the 
 
scene ii THE RIVALS 41 
 
 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 incen- 
 tive impulse in love, that has a greater induction than years 
 of domestic combination : such was the commotion I felt at 
 the first superfluous view of Sir Lucius O'Trigger.' — Very 
 pretty, upon my word. — ' 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 mis- 
 tress 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 
 this way — though she is rather an arbitrary writer too — 
 for here are a great many poor words pressed into the 
 service of this note that would get their habeas corpus 
 from any court in Christendom. 
 
 Lucy. Ah ! Sir Lucius, if you were to hear how she 
 talks of you ! 
 
 Sir Luc. O tell her I'll make her the best husband in 
 the world, and Lady O'Trigger into the bargain ! — But 
 
42 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act ii 
 
 we must get the old gentlewoman's consent — and do every- 
 thing fairly. 
 
 Lucy. Nay, Sir Lucius, I thought you wa'n't rich 
 enough to be so nice ! 
 
 Sir Luc. Upon my word, young woman, you have hit 
 it : — I am so poor that I can't afford to do a dirty action. 
 — If I did not want money, I'd steal your mistress and 
 her fortune with a great deal of pleasure. — However, my 
 pretty girl (gives her money), here's a little something to 
 buy you a riband ; and meet me in the evening, and I'll 
 give you an answer to this. So, hussy, take a kiss before- 
 hand to put you in mind. (Kisses her.) 
 
 Lucy. O lud ! Sir Lucius — I never seed such a gem- 
 man ! 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. O faith, I'll quiet your conscience ! 
 
 [Sees Fag. — 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. 
 
 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. 1 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 
 
scene ii THE RIVALS 43 
 
 suppose I have walked by her window an 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. O, he'll be so disconsolate ! 
 
 Lucy. And charge him not to think of quarrelling 
 with young Absolute. 
 
 Fag. Never fear ! — never fear ! 
 
 Lucy. Be sure — bid him keep up his spirits. 
 
 Fag. We will — we will. [Exeunt severally. 
 
ACT III. SCENE I. 
 
 The North Parade 
 
 Enter Absolute 
 
 Abs. 'Tis just as Fag told me, indeed. — Whimsical 
 enough, faith ! My father wants to force me to marry 
 the very girl I am plotting to run away with ! — He must 
 not know of my connexion with her yet awhile. — He has 
 too summary a method of proceeding in these matters. — 
 However, I'll read my recantation instantly. — My con- 
 version 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 
 
 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, besides his pay, ever since ! — But 
 I have done with him ; he's anybody's son for me. — I 
 never will see him more, — never — never — never — never. 
 
 Abs. Now for a penitential face. 
 
 Sir Anth. Fellow, get out of my way. 
 
 Abs. Sir, you see a penitent before you. 
 
 Sir Anth. I see an impudent scoundrel before me. 
 
scene i THE RIVALS 45 
 
 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 con- 
 sidering on your past goodness, and kindness, and con- 
 descension to me. 
 
 Sir Anth. Well, sir ? 
 
 Abs. I have been likewise weighing and balancing 
 what you were pleased to mention concerning duty, and 
 obedience, and authority. 
 
 Sir Anth. Well, puppy ? 
 
 Abs. Why then, sir, the result of my reflections is — a 
 resolution to sacrifice every inclination of my own to your 
 satisfaction. 
 
 Sir Anth. Why now you talk sense — absolute sense — 
 I never heard anything more sensible in my life. Con- 
 found 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 ? 
 
 Abs. Languish ? What, the Languishes of Worcester- 
 shire ? 
 
 Sir Anth. Worcestershire ! No. Did you never meet 
 Mrs. Malaprop and her niece, Miss Languish, who came 
 into our country just before you were last ordered to 
 your regiment ? 
 
 Abs. Malaprop ! Languish ! I don't remember ever to 
 have heard the names before. Yet, stay — I think I do 
 
 recollect something. Languish ! Languish ! She 
 
 squints, don't she ? A little red-haired girl ? 
 
 Sir Anth. Squints ! A red-haired girl ! Z — ds !• 
 
 no. 
 
 Abs. Then I must have forgot ; it can't be the same 
 person. 
 
 Sir Anth. Jack ! Jack ! what think you of blooming, 
 love-breathing seventeen ? 
 
46 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act hi 
 
 Abs. As to that, sir, I am quite indifferent. — If I can 
 please you in the matter, 'tis all I desire. 
 
 Sir Anth. Nay, but, Jack, such eyes ! such eyes ! so 
 innocently wild ! so bashfully irresolute ! Not a glance 
 but speaks and kindles some thought of love ! — Then,' 
 Jack, her cheeks, Jack ! so deeply blushing at the insinua- 
 tions of her tell-tale eyes ! — Then, Jack, her lips ! O Jack, 
 lips smiling at their own discretion ; and if not smiling, 
 more sweetly pouting ; more lovely in sullenness ! 
 
 Abs. That's she indeed. — Well done, old gentleman ! 
 
 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 description 
 would have made me fly like a rocket ! The aunt, indeed ! 
 — Odds life ! when I ran away with your mother I would 
 not have touched anything old or ugly to gain an empire. 
 
 Abs. Not to please your father, sir ? 
 
 Sir Anth. To please my father ! Z — ds ! not to 
 
 please Oh, my father Odd so ! yes — yes ; if 
 
 my father indeed had desired that's quite another 
 
 matter. — — 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 'tis 
 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 singularity in that article. 
 
 Sir Anth. What a phlegmatic sot it is ! Why, sirrah, 
 you're an anchorite ! — a vile, insensible stock. — You a 
 
scene ii THE RIVALS 47 
 
 soldier ! — you're a walking block, fit only to dust the 
 company's regimentals on ! — Odds life ! I've a great mind 
 to marry the girl myself ! 
 
 Abs. I am entirely at your disposal, sir : if you should 
 think of addressing Miss Languish yourself, I suppose you 
 would have me marry the aunt ; or if you should change 
 your mind, and take the old lady — 'tis the same to me — 
 I'll marry the niece. 
 
 Sir Anth. Upon my word, Jack, thou'rt either a very 
 great hypocrite, or but, come, I know your indiffer- 
 ence on such a subject must be all a lie — I'm sure it must 
 — come, now — damn your demure face ! — come, confess, 
 Jack — you have been lying — ha'n't you ? You have been 
 playing the hypocrite, hey ! — I'll never forgive you, if you 
 ha'n't been lying and playing the hypocrite. 
 
 Abs. I'm sorry, sir, that the respect and duty which I 
 bear to you should be so mistaken. 
 
 Sir Anth. Hang your respect and duty ! But come 
 along with me, I'll write a note to Mrs. Malaprop, and 
 you shall visit the lady directly. Her eyes shall be the 
 Promethean torch to you, — come along, I'll never forgive 
 you if you don't come back stark mad with rapture and 
 impatience — if you don't, egad, I'll marry the girl myself! 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. 
 
 Julia's Dressing-room 
 Faulkland solus 
 
 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 ungener- 
 ously fretful and madly capricious ! — I am conscious of it 
 — yet I cannot correct myself! What tender, honest joy 
 
48 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act in 
 
 sparkled in her eyes when we met ! — How delicate was 
 the warmth of her expressions ! — I was ashamed to appear 
 less happy — though I had come resolved to wear a face of 
 coolness and upbraiding. Sir Anthony's presence pre- 
 vented my proposed expostulations : — yet I must be 
 satisfied that she has not been so very happy in my ab- 
 sence. — 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 
 
 'Julia. 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 ? 
 
 Julia. O Faulkland, when your kindness can make me 
 thus happy, let me not think that I discovered something 
 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 ? 
 
 Julia. 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 mirth- 
 ful 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. 
 
 Julia. Must I never cease to tax my Faulkland with 
 this teasing minute caprice? — Can the idle reports of a 
 silly boor weigh in your breast against my tried affection ? 
 
 Faulk. They have no weight with me, Julia : No, no 
 - — I am happy if you have been so — yet only say that you 
 
scene ii THE RIVALS 49 
 
 did not sing with mirth — say that you thought of Faulkland 
 in the dance. 
 
 Julia. I never can be happy in your absence. — If I 
 wear a countenance of content, it is to show that my mind 
 holds no doubt of my Faulkland's truth. — If I seemed sad, 
 it were to make malice triumph ; and say, that I had fixed 
 my heart on one who left me to lament his roving and 
 my own credulity. — Believe me, Faulkland, I mean not to 
 upbraid you, when I say, that I have often dressed sorrow 
 in smiles lest my friends should guess whose unkindness 
 had caused my tears. 
 
 Faulk. You were ever all goodness to me. — O, I am 
 .a brute when I but admit a doubt of your true constancy ! 
 
 Julia. 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 ! 
 
 Julia. For v/hat quality must I love you ? 
 
 Faulk. For no quality ! To regard me for any quality 
 of mind or understanding were only to esteem me. And 
 for person — I have often wished myself deformed, to be 
 convinced that I owed no obligation there for any part of 
 your affection. 
 
 Julia. 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 iEthiop you'd think none so fair. 
 
 Julia. I see you are determined to be unkind — The 
 contract which my poor father bound us in gives you more 
 than a lover's privilege. 
 
 Faulk. Again, Julia, you raise ideas that feed and 
 
 E 
 
50 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act m 
 
 justify my doubts. 1 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 ? 
 
 Julia. Then try me now. — Let us be free as strangers 
 as to what is past : — my heart will not feel more liberty ! 
 
 Faulk. There now ! so hasty, Julia ! so anxious to be 
 free ! — If your love for me were fixed and ardent you 
 would not lose your hold, even though I wished it ! 
 
 Julia. O ! you torture me to the heart ! I cannot 
 bear it. 
 
 Faulk. I do not mean to distress you. — If I loved you 
 less I should never give you an uneasy moment. — But 
 hear me. — All my fretful doubts arise from this. — Women 
 are not used to weigh and separate the motives of their 
 affections : the cold dictates of prudence, gratitude, or filial 
 duty, may sometimes be mistaken for the pleadings of the 
 
 heart. 1 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 indis- 
 cretion in the match. — O Julia ! when Love receives such 
 countenance from Prudence nice minds will be suspicious 
 of its birth. 
 
 Julia. I know not whither your insinuations would 
 tend : — But as they seem pressing to insult me, I will 
 spare you the regret of having done so. — I have given you 
 no cause for this ! [Exit in tears. 
 
 Faulk. In tears ! Stay, Julia : stay but for a moment. 
 
 the door is fastened ! — Julia ! — my soul — but for one 
 
 moment : I hear her sobbing ! — 'Sdeath ! what a brute am 
 I to use her thus ! Yet stay. — Ay — she is coming now : 
 — how little resolution there is in woman ! — how a few 
 
 soft words can turn them ! No, faith ! — she is not 
 
 coming either. Why, Julia — my love — say but that 
 
 vou forgive me — come but to tell me that — now this is 
 being too resentful : stay ! she is coming to — I thought 
 
scene in THE RIVALS 51 
 
 she would — no steadiness in anything ! her going away 
 must have been a mere trick then — she sha'n't see that I 
 was hurt by it. — I'll affect indifference — [hums a tune : then 
 
 listens') No — Z — ds ! she's not coming ! — nor don't 
 
 intend it, I suppose. — This is not steadiness but obstinacy I 
 Yet I deserve it. — What, after so long an absence to 
 quarrel with her tenderness ! — 'twas barbarous and un- 
 manly ! — 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 foily half the 
 day and all the night [Exit. 
 
 SCENE III. 
 
 Mrs. Malaprop's Lodgings 
 
 Mrs. Ma la prop, with a letter in her hand^ and 
 Captain Absolute 
 
 Mrs. Mai. Your being Sir Anthony's son, captain, 
 would itself be a sufficient accommodation ; but from the 
 ingenuity of your appearance, 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 accom- 
 plishments, elegant manners, and unaffected learning, no 
 tongue is silent. 
 
 Mrs. Mai. Sir, you do me infinite honour ! — I beg, 
 captain, you'll be seated. — (Sit.) — Ah ! few gentlemen, 
 nowadays, know how to value the ineffectual qualities in 
 a woman ! few think how a little knowledge becomes a 
 gentlewoman ! — Men have no sense now but for the worth- 
 less flower of beauty ! 
 
 Abs. It is but too true indeed, ma'am ; — yet I fear 
 our ladies should share the blame — they think our admira- 
 
52 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act hi 
 
 tion 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 the 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-breeding 
 — He is the very pine-apple of politeness ! You are not 
 ignorant, captain, that this giddy girl has somehow con- 
 trived to fix her affections on a beggarly, strolling, eaves- 
 dropping ensign, whom none of us have seen, and nobody 
 knows anything of. 
 
 Abs. O, 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 proposition before her ; 
 but, I am sorry to say, she seems resolved to decline every 
 particle that I enjoin her. 
 
 Abs. It must be very distressing, indeed, ma'am. 
 
 Mrs. Mai. Oh ! it gives me the hydrostatics to such 
 a degree ; — I thought she had persisted from corresponding 
 with him ; but, behold, this very day I have interceded 
 another letter from the fellow ; I believe I have it in my 
 pocket. 
 
 Abs. O the devil ! my last note. [Aside. 
 
 Mrs. Mai. Ay, here it is. 
 
 Abs. Ay, my note indeed ! O the little traitress Lucy. 
 
 [Aside. 
 
 Mrs. Mai. There, perhaps you may know the writing. 
 
 [Gives him the letter. 
 
 Abs. I think I have seen the hand before— -yes, I 
 certainly must have seen this hand before 
 
 Mrs. Mai. Nay, but read it, captain. 
 
 Abs. (Beads) ' My soul 's idol, my adored Lydia ! ' — 
 Very tender indeed ! 
 
 Mrs. Mai. Tender ! ay, and profane too, o' my 
 conscience ! 
 
scene in THE RIVALS 
 
 53 
 
 Abs. ' 1 am excessively alarmed at the intelligence you 
 send me, the more so as my new rival ' 
 
 Mrs. Mai. That's you, sir. 
 
 Abs. * Has universally the character of being an ac- 
 complished gentleman and a man of honour' — Well, that's 
 handsome enough. 
 
 Mrs. Mai. O, 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. ' 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 ! — ' it shall go hard but 1 
 will elude her vigilance, as I am told that the same ridicu- 
 lous vanity, which makes her dress up her coarse features, 
 and deck her dull chat with hard words which she dont 
 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 
 anything in this world, it is the use of my oracular tongue, 
 and a nice_ dera ngemen t of epitaphs ! 
 
 Abs. He deserves to be hanged and quartered ! let me 
 see — ' same ridiculous vanity ' 
 
 Mrs. Mai. You need not read it again, sir. 
 
 Abs. I beg pardon, ma'am — ' does also lay her open to 
 the grossest deceptions from flattery and pretended admiration ' 
 — an impudent coxcomb ! — ' so that I have a scheme to see 
 you shortly with the old harridan s consent, and even to make 
 
 her a go-between in our interview? Was ever such 
 
 assurance ! 
 
 Mrs. Mai. Did you ever hear 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. 
 
 Malaprop, as the girl seems so infatuated by this fellow, 
 
54 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act in 
 
 suppose you were to wink at her corresponding with him 
 for a little time — let her even plot an elopement with him 
 — then do you connive at her escape — while 7, 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 1 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! 
 
 Abs. Gently, good tongue. \_Aside. 
 
 Mrs. Mai. What did you say of Beverley ? 
 
 Abs. O, 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 laughing, 
 ha ! ha ! ha ! his impudence is truly ridiculous. 
 
 Abs. 'Tis very ridiculous, upon my soul, ma'am, ha ! 
 ha ! ha ! 
 
 Mrs. Mai. The little hussy won't hear. — Well, I'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, ma'am. 
 
 Mrs. Mai. For the present, captain, your servant — 
 Ah ! you've not done laughing yet, I see — elude my vigi- 
 lance ! 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 
 
scene in THE RIVALS 55 
 
 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 
 
 Lydia. What a scene am I now to go through ! surely 
 nothing can be more dreadful than to be obliged to listen 
 to the loathsome addresses of a stranger to one's heart. — I 
 have heard of girls persecuted as I am, who have appealed 
 in behalf of their favoured lover to the generosity of his 
 rival : suppose I were to try it — there stands the hated 
 rival — an officer too ! — but O, 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. 
 
 Lydia. O Heavens ! Beverley ! 
 
 Abs. Hush ! — hush, my life ! softly ! be not surprised. 
 
 Lydia. 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 in- 
 formed 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. 
 
 Lydia. O charming ! — And she really takes you for 
 young Absolute ? 
 
 Abs. O, she's convinced of it. 
 
 Lydia. Ha ! ha ! ha ! I can't forbear laughing to think 
 how her sagacity is over-re&ched ! 
 
 Abs. But we trifle with our precious moments — such 
 another opportunity may not occur — then let me now 
 conjure 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. 
 
 Lydia. Will you then, Beverley, consent to forfeit that 
 portion of my paltry wealth ? — that burden on the wings 
 of love ? 
 
 Abs. O, come to me — rich only thus — in loveliness — 
 
56 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act hi 
 
 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. 
 
 Lydia. How persuasive are his words ! — how charming 
 will poverty be with him ! 
 
 A bs. 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. 
 
 Lydia. Now could I fly with him to the antipodes ! 
 but my persecution is not yet come to a crisis. 
 
 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. 
 
 Lydia. 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 ? 
 
 Lydia. Think not the idle threats of my ridiculous 
 aunt can ever have any weight with me. 
 
 Mrs. Mai. Very dutiful, upon my word ! 
 
 Lydia. 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 ! 
 
 Abs. Thus then let me enforce my suit. [Kneeling. 
 
 Mrs. Mai. Ay, poor young man ! — down on his knees 
 
scene in THE RIVALS 57 
 
 entreating for pity ! — I can contain no longer. — Why, thou 
 vixen ! — I have overheard you. 
 
 Abs. O, confound her vigilance ! [Aside. 
 
 Mrs. Mai. Captain Absolute, I know not how to 
 apologise for her shocking rudeness. 
 
 Abs. So — all's safe, I find. [Aside. 
 
 I have hopes, madam, that time will bring the young 
 lady 
 
 Mrs. Mai. O, there's nothing to be hoped for from 
 her ! she's as headstrong as an allegory on the banks of 
 Nile. 
 
 Lydia. 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 ? 
 
 Lydia. No, madam — I did not. 
 
 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. 
 
 Lydia. '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. 
 
 Airs. Mai. Come, take a graceful leave of the gentleman. 
 
 Lydia. 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 , 
 
 [Absolute kissing his hand to Lydia — Mrs 
 Malaprop stopping her from speaking. 
 
58 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act hi 
 
 SCENE IV. 
 
 Acres's Lodgings 
 Acres and David 
 
 Acres as just dressed 
 
 Acres. Indeed, David — do you think I become it so ? 
 
 David. You are quite another creature, believe me, 
 master, by the mass ! an' we've any luck we shall see the 
 Devon monkerony in all the printshops in Bath ! 
 
 Acres. Dress does make a difference, David. 
 
 David. 'Tis all in all, I think — difference ! why, an' 
 you were to go now to Clod-Hall, I am certain the old lady 
 wouldn't know you ; Master Butler wouldn't believe his 
 own eyes, and Mrs. Pickle would cry, ' Lard presarve 
 me ! ' our dairymaid 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. 
 
 David. 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. 
 
 David. I'll call again, sir. 
 
 Acres. Do — and see if there are any letters for me at 
 the post-office. 
 
 David. I will. — By the mass, I can't help looking at 
 your head ! — if I hadn't been by at the cooking, I wish I 
 may die if I should have known the dish again myself. 
 
 [Exit. 
 [Acres comes forward, practising a 
 dancing step. 
 
 Acres. Sink, slide — coupee — Confound the first in- 
 ventors of cotillons ! say I — they are as bad as algebra to 
 us country gentlemen — I can walk a minuet easy enough 
 
scene iv THE RIVALS 59 
 
 when I am forced ! — and I have been accounted a good 
 stick in a country-dance. — Odds jigs and tabors ! I never 
 valued your cross-over to couple — figure in — right and 
 left — and I'd foot it with e'er a captain in the county ! — 
 but these outlandish heathen allemandes and cotillons are 
 quite beyond me ! — I shall never prosper at 'em, that's 
 sure — mine are true-born English legs — they don't under- 
 stand their curst French lingo ! — their pas this, and pas 
 that, and pas t'other ! — damn me ! my feet don't like to 
 be called paws ! no, 'tis certain I have most Anti-Gallican 
 toes ! 
 
 Enter Servant 
 
 Serv. Here is Sir Lucius O'Trigger to wait on you, sir. 
 Acres. Show him in. 
 
 Enter Sir Lucius 
 
 Sir Luc. Mr. Acres, I am delighted to embrace you. 
 
 Acres. My dear Sir Lucius, I kiss your hands. 
 
 Sir Luc. Pray, my friend, what has brought you so 
 suddenly to Bath ? 
 
 Acres. Faith ! I have followed Cupid's Jack-a-lantern, 
 and find myself in a quagmire at last. — In short, I have 
 been very ill used, Sir Lucius. — I don't choose to mention 
 names, but look on me as 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 ? 
 
60 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act hi 
 
 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 than to fall in love with 
 the same woman ? O, by my soul ! it is the most un- 
 pardonable 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 of 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 broadswords, 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 
 .O'Trigger line, that would furnish the new room ; every 
 one of whom had killed his man S — For though the 
 mansion-house and dirty acres have slipt through my 
 fingers, I thank Heaven our honour and the family-pictures 
 are as fresh as ever. 
 
scene iv THE RIVALS 61 
 
 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 !q Z — ds ! as the man 
 
 in the play says, ' I could do such deeds ' 
 
 Sir Luc. Come, come, there must be no passion at all 
 in the case— these things should always be done civilly. 
 
 Acres. I must be in a passion, Sir Lucius 1 must 
 
 be in a rage. — Dear Sir Lucius, let me be in a rage, if you 
 
 love me. Come, here's pen and paper. — (Sits down to 
 
 write.) — I would the ink were red ! — Indite, I say indite ! 
 — How shall I 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 damme. 
 
 Sir Luc. Pho ! pho ! do the thing decently, and like 
 a Christian. Begin now — ' SirJ 
 
 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. Z — ds ! 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-field will do 
 -' in King 's Mead-fields.' 
 
 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. 
 
62 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act hi 
 
 Acres. Ay, we fight to prevent any misunderstanding. 
 
 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 more of you, unless it 
 
 be by letter, till the evening. 1 would do myself the 
 
 honour to carry your message ; but, to tell you a secret, I 
 believe I shall have just such another affair on my own 
 hands. There is a gay captain here who put a jest on 
 me lately, at the expense of my country, and I only want 
 to fall in with the gentleman to call him out. 
 
 Acres. By my valour, I should like to see you fight 
 first ! Odds life ! I should like to see you kill him, if it 
 was only to get a little lesson. 
 
 Sir Luc. I shall be very proud of instructing you. 
 
 Well for the present but remember now, when you 
 
 meet your antagonist, do everything in a mild and agree- 
 able manner. Let your courage be as keen, but at the 
 
 same time as polished as your sword. 
 
 [Exeunt severally. 
 
ACT IV. SCENE I. 
 
 Acres's Lodgings 
 Acres and David 
 
 David. Then, by the mass, sir ! I would do no such 
 thing — ne'er a Sir Lucius O'Trigger in the kingdom 
 should make me fight when I wa'n't so minded. Oons ! 
 what will the old lady say when she hears o't ? 
 
 Acres. Ah ! David, if you had heard Sir Lucius ! — 
 Odds sparks and flames ! he would have roused your 
 valour. 
 
 David. Not he, indeed. I hates such bloodthirsty 
 cormorants. Look'ee, master, if you'd wanted a bout at 
 boxing, quarter-staff, or short-staff, I should never be the 
 man to bid you cry off ; but for your curst sharps and 
 snaps, I never knew any good come of 'em. 
 
 Acres. But my honour, David, my honour ! I must 
 be careful of my honour. 
 
 David. Ay, by the mass ! and I would be very careful 
 of it ; and I think in return my honour couldn't do less 
 than to be very careful of me. 
 
 Acres. Odds blades ! David, no gentleman will ever 
 risk the loss of his honour ! 
 
 David. I say then, it would be but civil in honour 
 
 never to risk the loss of a gentleman. Look'ee, master, 
 
 this honour seems to me to be a marvellous false friend : 
 ay, truly, a very courtier-like servant. — Put the case, I was 
 a gentleman (which, thank God, no one can say of me) ; 
 well — my honour makes me quarrel with another gentle- 
 man of my acquaintance. — So — we fight. (Pleasant 
 
64 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act iv 
 
 enough that.) Boh ! — I kill him — (the more's my luck.) 
 Nov/, pray, who gets the profit of it ? — Why, my honour. 
 
 But put the case that he kills me ! by mass ! I go to 
 
 the worms, and my honour whips over to my enemy. 
 
 Acres. No, David — in that case ! — Odds crowns and 
 laurels ! your honour follows you to the grave. 
 
 David. Now, that's just the place where I could make 
 a shift to do without it. 
 
 Acres. Z — ds ! David, you are a coward ! — It doesn't 
 become my valour to listen to you. — What, shall I disgrace 
 my ancestors ? — Think of that, David — think what it 
 would be to disgrace my ancestors ! 
 
 David. Under favour, the surest way of not disgracing 
 them is to keep as long as you can out of their company. 
 Look'ee now, master, to go to them in such haste — with 
 an ounce of lead in your brains — I should think might as 
 well be let alone. Our ancestors are very good kind of 
 folks ; but they are the last people I should choose to have 
 a visiting acquaintance with. 
 
 Acres. But, David, now, you don't think there is such 
 very, very, very great danger, hey ? — Odds life ! people 
 often fight without any mischief done ! 
 
 David. By the mass, I think 'tis ten to one against 
 
 you ! Oons ! here to meet some lion-headed fellow, I 
 
 warrant, with his d — n'd double-barrelled swords, and cut- 
 and-thrust pistols ! — Lord bless us ! it makes me tremble 
 
 to think o't ! Those be such desperate bloody-minded 
 
 weapons ! Well, I never could abide 'em ! — from a child 
 I never could fancy 'em ! — I suppose there a'n't been so 
 merciless a beast in the world as your loaded pistol ! 
 
 Acres. Z — ds ! I wont be afraid. — Odds fire and fury ! 
 
 you sha'n't make me afraid. Here is the challenge, and 
 
 I have sent for my dear friend Jack Absolute to carry it 
 for me. 
 
 David. 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- 
 
scene i THE RIVALS 65 
 
 powder like a soldier's pouch ! — Oons ! I wouldn't swear 
 it mayn't go off! 
 
 Acres. Out, you poltroon ! — you ha'n't the value of a 
 grasshopper. 
 
 David. Well, I say no more — 'twill be sad news, to be 
 sure, at Clod-Hall ! — but I ha' done. — How Phillis will 
 howl when she hears of it ! — Ay, poor bitch, she little 
 thinks what shooting her master's going after ! — And I 
 warrant old Crop, who has carried your honour, field and 
 road, these ten years, will curse the hour he was born. 
 
 {Whimpering.} 
 
 Acres. It won't do, David — I am determined to fight 
 — so get along, you coward, while I'm in the mind. 
 
 Enter Servant 
 
 Ser. Captain Absolute, sir. 
 
 Acres. O ! show him up. [Exit Servant. 
 
 David. Well, Heaven send we be all alive this time 
 to-morrow. 
 
 Acres. What's that ! — Don't provoke me, David ! 
 
 David. Good-bye, master. {Whimpering.') 
 
 Acres. Get along, you cowardly, dastardly, croaking 
 raven. [Exit David. 
 
 Enter 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. O ! — There — {Gives him the challenge.) 
 
 Abs. ' To Ensign Beverley.' So — what's going on 
 now ! [Aside. 
 
 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 
 
 F 
 
66 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act iv 
 
 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. 
 
 Enter Servant 
 
 Ser. Sir Anthony Absolute is below, inquiring for the 
 captain. 
 
 Abs. I'll come instantly. Well, my little hero, 
 
 success attend you. [Going.) 
 
 Acres. Stay — stay, Jack. — If Beverley should ask you 
 what kind of a man your friend Acres is, do tell him I am 
 a devil of a fellow — will you, Jack ? 
 
 Abs. To be sure I shall. I'll say you are a 
 
 determined dog — hey, Bob ! 
 
 Acres. Ay, do, do — and if that frightens him, 'egad, 
 perhaps he mayn't come. So tell him I generally kill a 
 man a-week ; will you, Jack r 
 
 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. 
 
scene ii THE RIVALS 67 
 
 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 It. 
 
 Mrs. Mala prop's Lodgings 
 Mrs. Malaprop and Lydia 
 
 Mrs. Mai. Why, thou perverse one ! tell me what you 
 can object to him ? — Isn't he a handsome man ? — tell me 
 that. — A genteel man ? a pretty figure of a man ? 
 
 Lydia. She little thinks whom she is praising ! (Aside.) 
 — 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 ! 
 
 Lydia. Ay, the Captain Absolute you have seen. 
 
 [Aside. 
 
 Mrs. Mai. Then he's so well bred ; — so full of alacrity 
 and adulation ! — and has so much to say for himself : — in 
 such good language too ! — His physiognomy so gram- 
 matical ! — Then his presence is so noble ! — I protest when 
 I saw him, I thought of what Hamlet says in the play : — 
 ' Hesperian curls — the front of Job himself ! — an eye, like 
 March, to threaten at command ! — a station, like Harry 
 Mercury, new — ' Something about kissing — on a hill — 
 however, the similitude struck me directly. 
 
 Lydia. How enraged she'll be presently when she 
 discovers her mistake ! [Aside. 
 
68 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act iv 
 
 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. 
 
 Lydia. Madam, I have told you my resolution ! — I 
 shall not only give him no encouragement, but I won't 
 even speak to, or look at him. 
 
 [Flings herself into a chair, with her face from the 
 door. 
 
 Enter Sir Anthony and Absolute 
 
 Sir Anth. Here we are, 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 ! Lydia, Lydia, 
 rise, I beseech you ! — pay your respects ! [Aside to her. 
 
 Sir Anth. I hope, madam, that Miss Languish has 
 reflected on the worth of this gentleman, and the regard 
 due to her aunt's choice, and my alliance. — Now, Jack, 
 speak to her. [Aside to him. 
 
 Abs. What the d — 1 shall I do ! {Aside.) — You see, 
 sir, she won't even look at me whilst you are here. — I 
 knew she wouldn't ! — I told you so. — Let me entreat you, 
 sir, to leave us together ! 
 
 [Absolute seems to expostulate with his father. 
 
 Lydia. {Aside.) I wonder I ha'n't heard my aunt 
 exclaim yet ! sure she can't have looked at him ! per- 
 haps their regimentals are alike, and she is something 
 blind. 
 
 Sir Anth. I say, sir, I won't stir a foot yet. 
 
 Mrs. Mai. I am sorry to say, Sir Anthony, that my 
 
scene ii THE RIVALS 69 
 
 affluence over my niece is very small. — Turn round, 
 Lydia ; I blush for you ! [Aside to her. 
 
 Sir. Anth. May I not flatter myself, that Miss 
 Languish will assign what cause of dislike she can have 
 to my son! — Why don't you begin, Jack? — Speak> you 
 puppy — speak ! [Aside to him. 
 
 Mrs. Mai. It is impossible, Sir Anthony, she can have 
 
 any. — She will not say she has. Answer, hussy ! 
 
 why don't you answer ? [Aside to her. 
 
 Sir Anth. Then, madam, I trust that a childish and 
 
 hasty predilection will be no bar to Jack's happiness. 
 
 Z — ds ! sirrah ! why don't you speak ! [Aside to him. 
 
 Lydia. {Aside.) I think my lover seems as little inclined 
 
 to conversation as myself. How strangely blind my 
 
 aunt must be ! 
 
 Abs. Hem ! hem ! madam — hem ! (Absolute 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 it don't take away your voice, fool, does 
 it ? — Go up, and speak to her directly ! 
 
 [Absolute makes signs to Mrs. Malaprop to leave 
 them together. 
 
 Mrs. Mai. Sir Anthony, shall we leave them together? 
 — Ah ! you stubborn little vixen ! [Aside to her. 
 
 Sir Anth. Not yet, ma'am, not yet ! — what the d — 1 
 are you at ? unlock your jaws, sirrah, or — 
 
 [Aside to him. 
 [Absolute draws near Lydia.] 
 
 Abs. Now Heaven send she may be too sullen to look 
 round ! — I must disguise my voice. {Aside.) 
 
 [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 d — 1 ails the fellow ? — Why don't 
 you speak out ? — not stand croaking like a frog in a 
 quinsy ! 
 
7 o SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act iv 
 
 Abs. The — the — excess of my awe, and my — my — 
 my modesty, quite choke me ! 
 
 Sir Anth. Ah! your modesty again! — I'll tell you 
 what, Jack, if you don't speak out directly, and glibly 
 too, I shall be in such a- rage ! — Mrs. Malaprop, I wish 
 the lady would favour us with something more than a 
 side-front. [Mrs. Malaprop seems to chide Lydia. 
 
 Abs. So all will out, I see ! 
 
 [Goes up to Lydia, speaks softly. 
 Be not surprised, my Lydia, suppress all surprise at 
 present. 
 
 Lydia. {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 Ant h. 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. 
 
 Lydia. I see no Captain Absolute, but my loved 
 Beverley ! 
 
 Sir Anth. Z — ds ! 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. 
 
 Lydia. With all my soul, ma'am — when I refuse my 
 Beverley 
 
 Sir Anth. O ! she's as mad as Bedlam ! — or has this 
 fellow been playing us a rogue's trick ! — Come here, sirrah, 
 who the d — 1 are you ? 
 
 Abs. Faith, sir, I am not quite clear myself ; but I'll 
 endeavour to recollect. 
 
 Sir Anth. Are you my son or not ? — answer for your 
 mother, you dog, if you won't for me. 
 
scene ii THE RIVALS 71 
 
 Mrs. Mai. Ay, sir, who are you ? O mercy ! I begin 
 to suspect ! — 
 
 Abs. Ye powers of Impudence, befriend me ! (Aside.) 
 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, knowing the singular generosity 
 of her temper, assumed that name, and a station, 
 which has proved a test of the most disinterested 
 love, which he now hopes to enjoy in a more elevated 
 character. 
 
 Lydia. So ! — there will be no elopement after all ! 
 (sullenly.) 
 
 Sir Anih. Upon my soul, Jack, thou art a very 
 impudent fellow ! to do you justice, I think I never saw 
 a piece of more consummate assurance ! 
 
 Abs. O, you flatter me, sir, — you compliment — 'tis my 
 modesty you know, sir — my modesty that has stood in my 
 way. 
 
 Sir Anth. Well, I am glad you are not the dull, 
 insensible varlet you pretended to be, however ! — I'm glad 
 
 you have made a fool of your father, you dog — I am 
 
 So this was your penitence, your duty, and obedience ! — I 
 thought it was d — n'd sudden ! — You never heard their 
 names before, not you! — What, The Languishes of 
 Worcestershire, hey ? — if you could -please me in the affair, 
 'twas all you desired ! — Ah ! you dissembling villain ! — 
 What ! (pointing to Lydia) she squints, dont 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 ' 
 
72 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act iv 
 
 — hey ? — O mercy ! — was it you that reflected on my parts 
 of speech ? 
 
 Abs. Dear sir ! my modesty will be overpowered at 
 last if you don't assist me. — I shall certainly not be able 
 to stand it ! 
 
 Sir Anth. Come, come, Mrs. Malaprop, we must for- 
 get and forgive ; — odds life ! matters have taken so clever 
 a turn all of a sudden, that I could find in my heart to 
 be so good-humoured ! and so gallant ! hey ! Mrs. Mala- 
 prop ! 
 
 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 — is' n't the cheek as I said, hey? — and 
 the eye, you rogue ! — and the lip — hey ? Come, Mrs. 
 Malaprop, we'll not disturb their tenderness — theirs is 
 
 the time of life for happiness ! ' Youth's the season 
 
 made for joy ' — (sings) — hey ! — Odds life ! I'm in such 
 spirits, — I don't know what I could not do ! — Permit me, 
 ma'am — (gives his hand to Mrs. Malaprop.) (Sings) 
 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. So much thought bodes me no good. (Aside.) — 
 So grave, Lydia ! 
 
 Lydia. Sir ! 
 
 Abs. So ! — egad ! I thought as much ! — that d — n'd 
 monosyllable has froze me ! (Aside.) — What, Lydia, now 
 that we are as happy in our friends' consent as in our 
 mutual vows 
 
 Lydia. Friends' consent indeed ! (peevishly.) 
 
 Abs. Come, come, we must lay aside some of our 
 romance — a little wealth and comfort may be endured after 
 all. And for your fortune, the lawyers shall make such 
 settlements as 
 
 Lydia. Lawyers ! I hate lawyers ! 
 
scene ii THE RIVALS 73 
 
 Abs. Nay, then, we will not wait for their lingering 
 forms, but instantly procure the license, and 
 
 Lydia. The license ! — I hate license ! 
 
 Abs. O, my love ! be not so unkind ! — thus let me 
 entreat [Kneeling. 
 
 Lydia. Pshaw ! — what signifies kneeling when you 
 know I must have you ? 
 
 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. — 'Gad, I must try 
 what a little spirit will do. (Aside.) 
 
 Lydia. (Rising.) Then, sir, let me tell you, the interest 
 you had there was acquired by a mean, unmanly imposi- 
 tion, 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 
 
 Lydia. So, while / fondly imagined we were deceiving 
 my relations, and flattered myself that I should outwit and 
 incense them all — behold my hopes are to be crushed at 
 once by my aunt's consent and approbation — and / 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. 
 
74 
 
 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act iv 
 
 Lydia. (Softening.') 'Tis your own doing, sir — I, I, I 
 suppose you are perfectly satisfied. 
 
 Abs. O, most certainly — sure, now, this is much 
 better than being in love ! — ha ! ha ! ha ! — there's some 
 spirit in this ! — What signifies breaking some scores of 
 solemn promises : — all that's of no consequence, you 
 know. — To be sure people will say, that miss didn't 
 know her own mind — but never mind that ! — or, perhaps, 
 they may be illnatured enough to hint that the gentleman 
 grew tired of the lady and forsook her — but don't let that 
 fret you. 
 
 Lydia. There's no bearing his insolence. 
 
 [Bursts into tears. 
 
 Enter Mrs. Malaprop and Sir Anthony 
 
 Mrs. Mai. (Entering.) Come, we must interrupt 
 your billing and cooing awhile. 
 
 Lydia. This is worse than your treachery and deceit, 
 you base ingrate. [Sobbing. 
 
 Sir Anth. What the devil's the matter now ! — Z — ds ! 
 Mrs. Malaprop, this is the oddest billing and cooing I 
 ever heard ! — but what the deuce is the meaning of it ? 
 — I am quite astonished ! 
 
 Abs. Ask the lady, sir. 
 
 Mrs. Mai. O, mercy i — I'm quite analysed, for my 
 part ! — why, Lydia, what is the reason of this ? 
 
 Lydia. Ask the gentleman, ma'am. 
 
 Sir Anth. Z — ds ! I shall be in a phrensy ! — 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. 
 
 Lydia. Ma'am, you once commanded me never to 
 think of Beverley again — there is the man — I now obey 
 you : — for, from this moment, I renounce him for ever. 
 
 [Exit Lydia. 
 
scene in THE RIVALS 75 
 
 Mrs. Mai. O mercy ! and miracles ! what a turn here 
 is — why sure, captain, you haven't behaved disrespectfully 
 to my niece. 
 
 Sir Anth. Ha ! ha ! ha ! — ha ! ha ! ha — now I see it 
 — Ha ! ha ! ha ! — 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 fie, captain ! 
 
 Abs. Upon my soul, ma'am 
 
 Sir Anth. Come, no excuses, Jack ; — why, your father, 
 you rogue, was so before you : — the blood of the Absolutes 
 was always impatient. — Ha ! ha ! ha ! poor little Lydia ! 
 — why, you've frightened her, you dog, you have. 
 
 Abs. By all that's good, sir 
 
 Sir Anth. Z — ds ! say no more, I tell you — Mrs. Mala- 
 prop 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 ! [Pushes him out. 
 
 Mrs. Mai. O ! Sir Anthony ! — O fie, captain ! 
 
 \Exeunt severally. 
 
 SCENE III. 
 
 The North Parade 
 
 Enter Sir Lucius O'Trigger 
 
 Sir hue. 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 serpent in 'em, that makes the little 
 creatures be caught, like vipers, with a bit of red cloth. — 
 
76 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act iv 
 
 Hah ! isn't this the captain coming ? — faith it is ! — There 
 is a probability of succeeding about that fellow that is 
 mighty provoking ! Who the devil is he talking to ? 
 
 [Steps aside. 
 
 Enter Captain Absolute 
 
 Abs. To what fine purpose I have been plotting ! a 
 noble reward for all my schemes, upon my soul ! — a little 
 gypsy ! — I did not think her romance could have made 
 her so d — n'd absurd either. — 'Sdeath, I never was in a 
 worse humour in my life ! — I could cut my own throat, 
 or any other person's, with the greatest pleasure in the 
 world ! 
 
 Sir Luc. O, faith ! I'm in the luck of it. — I never 
 could have found him in a sweeter temper for my purpose 
 — to be sure I'm just come in the nick ! Now to enter 
 into conversation with him, and so quarrel genteelly. 
 
 [Sir Lucius goes up to Absolute. 
 
 With regard to that matter, captain, I must beg 
 
 leave to differ in opinion with you. 
 
 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 mail never utters his 
 thoughts I should think they might stand a chance of 
 escaping controversy. 
 
 Sir Luc. Then, sir, you differ in opinion with me, 
 which amounts to the same thing. 
 
 Abs. Hark'ee, Sir Lucius, — if I had not before known 
 you to be a gentleman, upon my soul, I should not have 
 discovered it at this interview : — for what you can drive 
 at, unless you mean to quarrel with me, I cannot conceive ! 
 
 Sir Luc. I humbly thank you, sir, for the quickness 
 of your apprehension — (Boiving) — you have named the 
 very thing I would be at. 
 
 Abs. Verv well, sir — I shall certainly not balk vour 
 
scene in THE RIVALS 77 
 
 inclinations : but I should be glad you would please to 
 
 explain your motives. 
 
 Sir Luc. Pray, sir, be easy — the quarrel is a very 
 pretty quarrel as it stands, we should only spoil it by 
 trying to explain it. — However, your memory is very 
 short — or you could not have forgot an affront you 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. 1 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 gentle- 
 man can never fight in peace and quietness. — However, if 
 it's the same to you, captain, I should take it as a particular 
 kindness if you'd let us meet in King's-Mead-Fields, as a 
 little business will call me there about six o'clock, and I 
 may despatch both matters at once. 
 
 Abs. 'Tis the same to me exactly. — A little after six, 
 then, we will discuss this matter more seriously. 
 
 Sir Luc. If you please, sir ; there will be very pretty 
 small-sword light, though it wo'n't do for a long shot. — 
 So that matter's settled ! and my mind's at ease. 
 
 [Exit Sir Lucius. 
 
 Enter Faulkland, meeting Absolute 
 
 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 vexed, that if I had not 
 the prospect of a resource in being knocked o' the head by 
 and by, I should scarce have spirits to tell you the cause. 
 
 Faulk. What can you mean ? Has Lydia 
 
 changed her mind ? — I should have thought her duty and 
 inclination would now have pointed to the same object. 
 
 Abs. Ay, just as the eyes do of a person who squints : 
 — when her love-eye was fixed on me — t'other — her eye 
 
78 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act iv 
 
 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. O, to wind up the whole, a good-natured Irish- 
 man 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. 
 
 Enter Servant, gives Faulkland a letter 
 
 Faulk. O Jack ! this is from Julia — I dread to open it 
 — I fear it may be to take a last leave — perhaps to bid me 
 
 return her letters — and restore O ! how I suffer for 
 
 my folly ! 
 
 Abs. Here — let me see. 
 
 [Takes the letter and opens it. 
 Ay, a final sentence, indeed ! — 'tis all over with you, faith ! 
 
 Faulk. Nay, Jack — don't keep me in suspense. 
 
 Abs. Here then. — ' As I am convinced that my dear 
 
scene in THE RIVALS 79 
 
 Faulkland 's own reflections have already upbraided him for 
 his last unkindness to me, I will not add a word on the 
 subject. — / wish to speak with you as soon as possible. — 
 
 Tours ever and truly , Julia.' There's stubbornness and 
 
 resentment for you ! [Gives him the letter. 
 
 Why, man, you don't seem one whit the happier at this. 
 
 Faulk. O, yes, I am — but — but 
 
 Abs. Confound your buts I — You never hear any- 
 thing that would make another man bless himself but you 
 immediately d — n 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 woo d to kindness 
 — and their pardon, like their love, should ' not unsought 
 be won.' 
 
 Abs. I have not patience to listen to you : — thou'rt 
 incorrigible ! — so say no more on the subject. — I must go 
 to settle a few matters — let me see you before six — remem- 
 ber, 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 slave to fretfulness and 
 whim — who has no difficulties but of his own creating — 
 is a subject more fit for ridicule than compassion ! 
 
 [Exit Absolute. 
 
 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 touchstone of Julia's 
 sincerity and disinterestedness — if her love prove pure and 
 sterling ore, my name will rest on it with honour ! — and 
 once I've stamped it there, I lay aside my doubts for ever: 
 — but if the dross of selfishness, the alloy of pride pre- 
 dominate — 'twill be best to leave her as a toy for some 
 less cautious fool to sigh for. [Exit Faulkland. 
 
ACT V. SCENE I. 
 
 Julia's Dressing-Room 
 Julia sola 
 -How this message has alarmed me ! what dreadful 
 
 accident can he mean ? why such charge to be alone ?- 
 
 O Faulldand ! — how many unhappy moments — how many 
 
 tears have you cost me. I 
 
 Enter Faulkland 
 
 Julia. What means this ? — why this caution, Faulk- 
 land? 
 
 Faulk. Alas ! Julia, I am come to take a long farewell. 
 
 Julia. Heavens ! what do you mean ? 
 
 Faulk. You see before you a wretch whose life is 
 forfeited. — Nay, start not! — the infirmity of my temper 
 has drawn all this misery on me. — I left you fretful and 
 passionate — an untoward accident drew me into a quarrel — 
 the event is, that I must fly this kingdom instantly. — O 
 Julia, had I been so fortunate as to have called you mine 
 entirely, before this mischance had fallen on me, I should 
 not so deeply dread my banishment ! 
 
 Julia. My soul is oppressed with sorrow at the nature 
 of your misfortune : had these adverse circumstances 
 arisen from a less fatal cause, I should have felt strong 
 comfort in the thought that I could now chase from your 
 
 bosom every doubt of the warm sincerity of my love. 
 
 My heart has long known no other guardian — I now 
 intrust my person to your honour — we will fly together. 
 
scene i THE RIVALS 81 
 
 — When safe from pursuit my father's will may be ful- 
 filled — 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 upbraiding thought, and pluck 
 the thorn from compunction. 
 
 Faulk. O Julia ! I am bankrupt in gratitude ! but the 
 time is so pressing, it calls on you for so hasty a resolu- 
 tion. — Would you not wish some hours to weigh the advan- 
 tages you forego, and what little compensation poor 
 Faulkland can make you beside his solitary love ? 
 
 Julia. 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 am I grieved to think what 
 numberless distresses will press heavy on your gentle 
 disposition ! 
 
 Julia. 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 tender- 
 ness that would relieve me, break from your arms, and 
 quarrel with your fondness ! 
 
 Julia. If your thoughts should assume so unhappy a 
 bent you will the more want some mild and affectionate 
 spirit to watch over and console you : — one who, by bear- 
 
82 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act v 
 
 ing your infirmities with gentleness and resignation, may 
 teach you so to bear the evils of your fortune. 
 
 Faulk. Julia, I have proved you to the quick ! and 
 with this useless device I throw 'away all my doubts. How 
 shall I plead to be forgiven this last unworthy effect of my 
 restless, unsatisfied disposition ? 
 
 Julia. 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. 
 
 Julia. Hold, Faulkland ! — that you are free from a 
 crime, which I before feared to name, Heaven knows how 
 sincerely I rejoice ! — These are tears of thankfulness for 
 that ! But that your cruel doubts should have urged you 
 to an imposition that has wrung my heart, gives me now 
 a pang more keen than I can express ! 
 
 Faulk. By Heav'ns ! Julia 
 
 Julia. Yet hear me. My father loved you, Faulk- 
 land ! and you preserved the life that tender parent gave 
 me ; in his presence I pledged my hand — joyfully pledged 
 it — where before I had given my heart. When, soon after, 
 I lost that parent, it seemed to me that Providence had, in 
 Faulkland, shown me whither to transfer, without a pause, 
 my grateful duty as well as my affection : hence I have 
 been content to bear from you what pride and delicacy 
 would have forbid me from another. — I will not up- 
 braid you by repeating how you have trifled with my 
 sincerity. 
 
 Faulk. I confess it all ! yet hear- 
 
 Julia. 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 unreproach- 
 ing kindness migrht in time reform your temper, I should 
 
scene i THE RIVALS 83 
 
 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 
 
 Julia. 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 engage- 
 ment. — 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. 
 
 Faulk. She's gone ! — for ever ! — There was an awful 
 resolution in her manner that riveted me to my place. 
 
 O fool ! — dolt ! — barbarian ! — Curst 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. O 
 
 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 
 sensibility to madness ! [Exit. 
 
 Enter Maid and Lydia 
 
 Maid. My mistress, ma'am, I know, was here just 
 now — perhaps she is only in the next room. [Exit Maid. 
 
 Lydia. 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. 
 
84 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act v 
 
 Enter Julia 
 
 Lydia. O, Julia, I am come to you with such an 
 appetite for consolation. — Lud ! child, what's the matter 
 ivith you ? — You have been crying ! — I'll be hanged, if 
 that Faulkland has not been tormenting you ! 
 
 Julia. You mistake the cause of my uneasiness ! — 
 Something has flurried me a little. — Nothing that you can 
 
 guess at. 1 would not accuse Faulkland to a sister ! 
 
 [Aside. 
 
 Lydia. Ah ! whatever vexations you may have, I can 
 
 assure you mine surpass them. You know who Beverley 
 
 proves to be ? 
 
 Julia. 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 subject 
 without a serious endeavour to counteract your caprice. 
 
 Lydia. So, then, I see I have been deceived by every 
 one ! — but I don't care — I'll never have him. 
 
 Julia. Nay, Lydia 
 
 Lydia. 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 elope- 
 ments ! — 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 ! O, I shall die with disappointment ! 
 
 Julia. I don't wonder at it ! 
 
 Lydia. 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 ! O, that I should live to hear myself 
 called Spinster ! 
 
 Julia. Melancholy, indeed ! 
 
scene i THE RIVALS 85 
 
 Lydia. How mortifying, to remember the dear de- 
 licious shifts I used to be put to, to gain half a minute's 
 
 conversation with this fellow ! How often have I stole 
 
 forth, in the coldest night in January, and found him in 
 the garden, stuck like a dripping statue ! — There would he 
 kneel to me in the snow, and sneeze and cough so patheti- 
 cally ! 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. 
 
 Julia. If I were in spirits, Lydia, I should chide you 
 only by laughing heartily at you ; but it suits more the 
 situation of my mind, at present, earnestly to entreat you 
 not to let a man, who loves you with sincerity, suffer that 
 unhappiness from your caprice which I know too well 
 caprice can inflict. 
 
 Lydia. 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, paracide, and simulation going on in the fields ! 
 and Sir Anthony not to be found to prevent the anti- 
 strophe ! 
 
 Julia. 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. 
 
 Lydia. 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. 
 
 Lydia. But quick ! quick, sir ! 
 
 Fag. True, ma'am, as you say, one should be quick 
 in divulging matters of this nature ; for should we be 
 tedious, perhaps while we arc flourishing on the subject 
 two or three lives may be lost ! 
 
86 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act v 
 
 Lydia. 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. 
 
 Lydia. Then, prithee, sir, be brief. 
 
 Fag. Why then, ma'am, as to murder — I cannot take 
 upon me to say — and as to slaughter, or manslaughter, 
 that will be as the jury finds it. 
 
 Lydia. But who, sir — who are engaged in this ? 
 
 Fag. Faith, ma'am, one is a young gentleman whom I 
 should be very sorry anything was to happen to — a very 
 pretty behaved gentleman ! — We have lived much to- 
 gether, and always on terms. 
 
 Lydia. But who is this ? who ! who ! who ! 
 
 Fag. My master, ma'am — my master — I speak of my 
 master. 
 
 Lydia. Heavens ! What, Captain Absolute ! 
 
 Mrs. Mai. O, to be sure, you are frightened now ! 
 
 Julia. But who are with him, sir ? 
 
 Fag. As to the rest, ma'am, this gentleman can inform 
 you better than I. 
 
 Julia. Do speak, friend. {To David.) 
 
 David. Look'ee, my lady by the mass ! there's 
 
 mischief going on. Folks don't use to meet for amuse- 
 ment with fire-arms, firelocks, fire-engines, fire-screens, 
 fire-office, and the devil knows what other crackers 
 beside ! This, my lady, I say, has an angry favour. 
 
 Julia. But who is there beside Captain Absolute, 
 friend ? 
 
 David. My poor master — under favour for mention- 
 ing him first. — You know me, my lady — I am David — 
 and my master of course is, or was, 'Squire Acres. — Then 
 comes 'Squire Faulkland. 
 
 Julia. Do, ma'am, let us instantly endeavour to prevent 
 mischief. 
 
 Mrs. Mai. O fie — it would be very inelegant in us : — 
 we should only participate things. 
 
 David. Ah ! do, Mrs Aunt, save a few lives — they are 
 
scene ii THE RIVALS 87 
 
 desperately given, believe me. — Above all, there is that 
 blood-thirsty 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 petrefactions ! 
 
 Lydia. 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 ? 
 
 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. 
 
 South Parade 
 
 Enter Absolute, -putting his sword under his great coat 
 
 Abs. A sword seen in the streets of Bath would raise 
 as great an alarm as a mad dog. — How provoking this is 
 in Faulkland ! — never punctual ! I shall be obliged to go 
 without him at last. O, the devil ! here's Sir -ruithony ! 
 
 how shall I escape him ? 
 
 [Muffles up his face, and takes a circle to go off. 
 
 Enter Sir Anthony 
 
 Sir Anth. How one may be deceived at a little dis- 
 tance ! only that I see he don't know me, I could have 
 
88 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act v 
 
 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 Auth. Sir, I beg your pardon — I took you — 
 
 hey ? — why, z — ds ! it is Stay 
 
 \Looks up to his face. 
 So, so — your humble servant, Mr. Saunderson ! — Why, 
 you scoundrel, what tricks are you after now ? 
 
 Abs. O ! 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 some- 
 how — 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 look- 
 ing for you, sir, to — to 
 
 Sir Anth. To go with you, I suppose. — Well, come 
 along. 
 
 Abs. O ! z — ds ! 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. O, sir, beg her pardon, humour her — promise 
 and vow : — but I detain you, sir — consider the cold air on 
 your gout. 
 
 Sir Anth. O, not at all ! — not at all ! — I'm in no 
 
scene ii THE RIVALS 89 
 
 hurry. — Ah ! Jack, you youngsters, when once you are 
 
 wounded here 
 
 [Putting his hand to Absolute's breast. 
 Hey ! what the deuce have you got here ? 
 
 Abs. Nothing, sir — nothing. 
 
 Sir Anth. What's this ? — here's something d — n'd 
 hard. 
 
 Abs. O, trinkets, sir ! trinkets — a bauble for Lydia ! 
 
 Sir Anth. Nay, let me see your taste. 
 
 [TuIIs his coat open, the sword falls. 
 Trinkets ! — a bauble for Lydia ! — Z — ds ! sirrah, you are 
 not going to cut her throat, are you ? 
 
 Abs. Ha ! ha ! ha ! — I thought it would divert you, 
 sir, though I didn't mean to tell you till afterwards. 
 
 Sir Anth. You didn't ? — Yes, this is a very diverting 
 trinket, truly. 
 
 Abs. Sir, I'll explain to you. — You know, sir, Lydia is 
 romantic — dev'lish romantic, and very absurd of course : — 
 now, sir, I intend, if she refuses to forgive me — to un- 
 sheath this sword — and swear — I'll fall upon its point, and 
 expire at her feet ! 
 
 Sir Anth. Fall upon a fiddle-stick'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. — ' O, Lydia ! — forgive me, or this pointed steel ' — 
 says I. 
 
 Sir Anth. ' O, booby ! stab away, and welcome ' — says 
 she. — Get along ! — and d — n your trinkets ! 
 
 [Exit Absolute. 
 
 Enter David, running 
 
 David. Stop him ! stop him ! Murder ! Thief ! Fire ! — 
 Stop fire ! Stop fire ! — O ! Sir Anthony — call ! call ! bid 'm 
 stop ! Murder ! Fire ! 
 
 Sir Anth. Fire ! Murder ! where ? 
 
 David. 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 ? 
 
9 o SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act v 
 
 Sir Anth. Z — ds ! the fellow's mad! — Stop whom? 
 stop Jack? 
 
 David. Ay, the captain, sir ! — there's murder and 
 slaughter 
 
 Sir Anth. Murder! 
 
 David. 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 ? 
 
 David. 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. O, the dog ! — I see his tricks ; — do you 
 know the place ? 
 
 David. King's-Mead-Fields. 
 
 Sir Anth. You know the way ? 
 
 David. Not an inch ; — but I'll call the mayor — alder- 
 men — 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 phrensy — So — this was the history of his 
 trinkets ! I'll bauble him ! [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III. 
 
 King's-Mead-Fields 
 Sir Lucius 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 faces along the stage 
 
scene in THE RIVALS 
 
 9i 
 
 There now, that is a very pretty distance — a pretty gentle- 
 man's distance. 
 
 Acres. Z — ds ! we might as well fight in a sentry- 
 box ! I tell you, Sir Lucius, the farther he is off, the cooler 
 I shall take my aim. 
 
 Sir Luc. Faith ! then I suppose you would aim at 
 him best of all if he was out of sight ! 
 
 Acres. No, Sir Lucius, but I should think forty or 
 eight-and-thirty yards 
 
 Sir Luc. Pho ! pho ! nonsense ! three or four feet be- 
 tween 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 T 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 en- 
 gaged 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 ? 
 
92 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act v 
 
 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. 
 
 Acres. Z — ds ! Sir Lucius — are you sure it is not 
 cock'd ? 
 
 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 1 
 
 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 yonder getting over the 
 stile ? 
 
 Acres. There are two of them indeed ! — well — let them 
 come — hey, Sir Lucius ! — we — we — we — we — won't run. 
 
 Sir Luc. Run ! 
 
 Acres. No — I say — we wont run, by my valour ! 
 
 Sir Luc. What the devil's the matter with you ? 
 
 Acres. Nothing — nothing — my dear friend — my dear 
 
scene ii THE RIVALS 
 
 93 
 
 Sir Lucius — but I — I — I don't feel quite so bold, somehow, 
 as I did. 
 
 Sir Luc. O fie ! — consider your honour. 
 
 Acres. Ay — true — my honour — Do, Sir Lucius, edge 
 in a word or two every now and then about my honour. 
 
 Sir Luc. Well, here they're coming. \_Looking. 
 
 Acres. Sir Lucius — if I wa'n't with you I should almost 
 think I was afraid — if my valour should leave me ! — 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 ! 
 
 Enter Faulkland and 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. Heark'ee, Bob, Beverley's at hand. 
 
 Sir Luc. Well, Mr. Acres — I don't blame your saluting 
 the gentleman civilly. — So, Mr. Beverley {to Faulkland), 
 if you'll choose your weapons, the captain and I will measure 
 the ground. 
 
 Faulk. My weapons, sir. 
 
 Acres. Odds life ! Sir Lucius, I'm not going to fight 
 Mr. Faulkland ; these are my particular friends. 
 
 Sir Luc. What, sir, did not you 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 
 
94 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act v 
 
 purpose for 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 disappoint- 
 ment like a Christian — Look'ee, Sir Lucius, there's no 
 occasion at all for me to fight ; and if it is the same to you, 
 I'd as lieve let it alone. 
 
 Sir Luc. Observe me, Mr. Acres — I must not be trifled 
 with. You have certainly challenged somebody — and you 
 came here to fight him — Now, if that gentleman is willing 
 to represent him — I can't see, for my soul, why it isn't just 
 the same thing. 
 
 Acres. Z — ds, Sir Lucius — I tell you, 'tis one 
 Beverley I challenged — a fellow, you see, that dare not 
 show his face ! If he were here I'd make him give up his 
 pretensions directly ! — 
 
 Abs. Hold, Bob — let me set you right — there is no 
 such man as Beverley in the case. — The person who assumed 
 that name is before you ; and as his pretensions are 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 ! Z — ds ! Sir 
 Lucius, you would not have me be so unnatural. 
 
 Sir Luc. Upon my conscience, Mr. Acres, your valour 
 has oozed away with a vengeance ! 
 
 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 anything of the kind, with 
 the greatest pleasure. 
 
 Sir Luc. Pho ! pho ! you are little better than a coward. 
 
 Acres. Mind, gentlemen, he calls me a coward ; coward 
 was the word, by my valour ! 
 
 Sir Luc. Well, sir ? 
 
scene in THE RIVALS 95 
 
 Acres. Look'ee, Sir Lucius, 'tisn't that I mind the word 
 coward — coward may be said in joke — But if you had called 
 me a -poltroon^ odds daggers and balls 
 
 Sir Luc. Well, sir ? 
 
 Acres. I should have thought you a very ill- 
 bred man. 
 
 Sir Luc. Pho ! you are beneath my notice. 
 
 Abs. Nay, Sir Lucius, you can't have a better second 
 than my friend Acres — He is a most determined dog — 
 called in the country, Fighting Bob. — He generally kills a 
 man a week — don't you, Bob ? 
 
 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, David, and the Women 
 
 David. Knock 'em all down, sweet Sir Anthony ; 
 knock down my master in particular — and bind his hands 
 over to their good behaviour ! 
 
 Sir Anth. Put up, Jack, put up, or I shall be in a 
 phrensy — 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 ? 
 
 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. 
 
96 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act v 
 
 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 
 
 Lydia. What is it you mean, sir ? 
 
 Sir Luc. Come, come, Delia, we must be serious now 
 — this is no time for trifling. 
 
 Lydia. '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 pre- 
 tensions to anything in the world — and if I can't get a 
 wife without fighting for her, by my valour ! I'll live a 
 bachelor. 
 
 Sir Luc. Captain, give me your hand — an affront 
 handsomely acknowledged becomes an obligation — and as 
 for the lady — if she chooses to deny her own hand-writing, 
 here [Takes out letters. 
 
 Mrs. Mai. O, he will dissolve my mystery ! — Sir 
 Lucius, perhaps there's some mistake — perhaps I can 
 illuminate 
 
scene in THE RIVALS 97 
 
 Sir Luc. Pray, old gentlewoman, don't interfere where 
 you have no business. — Miss Languish, are you my Delia, 
 or not ? 
 
 Lydia. Indeed, Sir Lucius, I am not. 
 
 [Lydia and Absolute walk aside. 
 
 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 upon 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. 
 
 Mrs. Mai. O Sir Anthony ! — men are all barbarians. 
 \_All retire but Julia and Faulkland. 
 
 Julia. 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. 
 
 Julia. Oh ! Faulkland, you have not been more faulty 
 
98 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act v 
 
 in your unkind treatment of me than I am now in want- 
 ing 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 Anthony comes forward. 
 
 Sir Anth. What's going on here ? — So you have been 
 quarrelling too, I warrant. Come, Julia, I never inter- 
 fered 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 hope 
 to be congratulated by each other — yours for having 
 checked in time the errors of an ill-directed imagination, 
 which might have betrayed an innocent heart ; and mine, 
 for having, by her gentleness and candour, reformed the 
 unhappy temper of one who by it made wretched whom 
 he loved most, and tortured the heart he ought to have 
 adored. 
 
 Abs. Well, Faulkland, 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 
 / 
 
 Lydia. Was always obliged to me for it, hey ! Mr 
 
scene in THE RIVALS 99 
 
 Modesty ? But come, no more of that — our happiness 
 
 is now as unalloyed as general. 
 
 Julia. 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 dropt ! 
 
ST. PATRICK'S DAY 
 
 OR 
 
 THE SCHEMING LIEUTENANT 
 A FARCE 
 
DRAMATIS PERSONS, 
 
 AS ORIGINALLY ACTED AT COVENT-GARDEN THEATRE IN 
 NOVEMBER, 1 775« 
 
 Lieutenant O'Connor 
 Doctor Rosy . 
 Justice Credulous 
 Serjeant Trounce 
 Corporal Flint „ 
 
 Mr. Clinch. 
 Mr. Quick. 
 Mr. Lee Lewes. 
 Mr. Booth. 
 
 Lauretta 
 
 Mrs, Bridget Credulous 
 
 Mrs. Cargill. 
 Mrs. Pitt. 
 
ACT I. SCENE I. 
 
 Enter Trounce, Flint, and four Soldiers 
 
 i st 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. 
 
 id Sol. Right, Jack, we'll argue in platoons. 
 
 %d 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. 
 
 Cor. Let me alone for that. I served three years, 
 within i. bit, under his honour, in the Royal Inniskillions, 
 and I never will see a sweeter tempered gentleman, nor 
 one more free with his purse. I put a great shamrock in 
 his hat this morning, and I'll be bound for him he'll wear 
 it, was it as big as Steven's Green. 
 
 Afth 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 ? 
 
 Cor. Why, the serjeant is a scholar to be sure, and has 
 the gift of reading. 
 
 Serj. 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. 
 
io 4 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act i 
 
 Cor. O faith ! here comes the lieutenant ; now, serjeant. 
 
 Serj. 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 
 
 Lieut. Well, honest lads, what is it you have to com- 
 plain of? 
 
 Sol. Ahem ! hem ! 
 
 Serj. So please your honour, the very grievance of the 
 matter is this : — ever since your honour differed with 
 Justice Credulous, our innkeepers use us most scurwly. 
 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 ruining 
 away with the justice's daughter, or else get us fresh 
 quarters, — hem ! hem ! 
 
 Lieut. Indeed ! Pray which of the houses use vou ill ? 
 
 i st Sol. There's the Red Lion an't half the cinlity of 
 the old Red Lion. 
 
 id Sol. There's the White Horse, if he wasn't case- 
 hardened, ought to be ashamed to show his face. 
 
 Lieut. Very well ; the Horse and the Lion shall answer 
 for it at the Quarter Sessions. 
 
 Serj. 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. 
 
 Lieut. 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 ? 
 
 Cor. Nothing at all, your honour, unless now and then 
 we happen to fling a cartridge into the kitchen fire, or put 
 a spatterdash or so into the soup; and sometimes Ned 
 drums up and down stairs a little of a night. 
 
 Lieut. Oh, all that's fair ; but hark'ee, lads, I must 
 have no grumbling on St. Patrick's day ; so here, take 
 
scene i ST. PATRICK'S DAY 105 
 
 this, and divide it amongst you. But observe me now, — 
 show yourselves men of spirit, and don't spend sixpence of 
 it in drink. 
 
 Serj. 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 
 by all means. 
 
 Cor. Come away, then, lads, and first we'll parade round 
 the Market-cross, for the honour of King George. 
 
 1 st Sol. Thank your honour. Come along ; St. 
 Patrick, his honour, and strong beer for ever ! 
 
 [Exit Soldiers. 
 
 Lieut. 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 Doctor Rosy, my Galen abridged, what's the 
 news ? 
 
 Doctor. 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. 
 
 Lieut. Upon my word the army is very much obliged 
 to him. Well, then, I must marry the girl first, and ask 
 his consent afterwards. 
 
 Doctor. So, then, the case of her fortune is desperate, 
 hey ? 
 
 Lieut. Oh, hang fortune, — let that take its chance ; 
 there is a beauty in Lauretta's simplicity, so pure a bloom 
 upon her charms. 
 
 Doctor. So there is, so there is. You are for beauty 
 as Nature made her, hey ! No artificial graces, no cosmetic 
 varnish, no beauty in grain, hey ! 
 
io6 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act i 
 
 Lieut. 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 breast-work of whalebone, 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. 
 
 Doct. Right, right, my Alexander — my taste to a tittle. 
 
 Lieut. Then, doctor, though I admire modesty in 
 women, I like to see their faces. I am for the changeable 
 rose ; but with one of these quality Amazons, if their 
 midnight dissipations had left them blood enough to raise 
 a blush, they have not room enough in their cheeks to 
 show it. To be sure, bashfulness is a very pretty thing ; 
 but, in my mind, there is nothing on earth so impudent as 
 an everlasting blush. 
 
 Doct. My taste, my taste — Well, Lauretta is none of 
 these — Ah ! I never see her but she puts me in mind of 
 my poor dear wife. 
 
 Lieut. 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. 
 
 Doct. 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 round and not larger than the mouth of a 
 penny phial ; her lips conserve of roses ; and then her 
 teeth — none of your sturdy fixtures — ache as they would, 
 it was but a small pull, and out they came. I believe I 
 have drawn half a score of her poor dear pearls — (weeps) 
 — but what avails her beauty ? Death has no consideration 
 — one must die as well as another. 
 
 Lieut. Oh, if he begins to moralise — [Takes out his 
 snuff-box]. 
 
 Doct. Fair and ugly, crooked or straight, rich or poor 
 — flesh is grass — flowers fade ! 
 
scene i ST. PATRICK'S DAY 107 
 
 Lieut. Here, doctor, take a pinch, and keep up your 
 spirits. 
 
 Doct. True, true, my friend ; grief can't mend the 
 matter — all's for the best ; but such a woman was a great 
 loss, lieutenant. 
 
 Lieut. To be sure, for doubtless she had mental 
 accomplishments equal to her beauty. 
 
 Doct. 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. 
 
 Lieut. How so, pray ? 
 
 Doct. Poor soul ! her illness was occasioned by her zeal 
 in trying an improvement on the Spa-water, by an infusion 
 of rum and acid. 
 
 Lieut. Ay, ay, spirits never agree with water-drinkers. 
 
 Doct. No, no, you mistake. Rum agreed with her 
 well enough ; it was not the rum that killed the poor dear 
 creature, for she died of a dropsy. Well, she is gone never 
 to return, and has left no pledge of our loves behind. No 
 little babe, to hang like a label round papa's neck. Well, 
 well, we are all mortal — sooner or later — flesh is grass — 
 flowers fade. 
 
 Lieut. O, the devil ! — again ! 
 
 Doct. Life's a shadow — the world a stage — we strut an 
 hour. 
 
 Lieut. Here, doctor. [Offers snuff. 
 
 Doct. True, true, my friend — well, high grief can't cure 
 it. All's for the best, hey ! my little Alexander. 
 
 Lieut. 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. 
 
 Doct. True, true ; you should be ready : the clothes 
 are at my house, and I have given you such a character 
 
io8 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act i 
 
 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. 
 
 Lieut. 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. 
 
 Doct. Now you put me in mind of my poor wife 
 again. 
 
 Lieut. Ah, pray forget her a little : we shall be too 
 late. 
 
 Doct. Poor Dolly ! 
 
 Lieut. 'Tis past twelve. 
 
 Doct. Inhuman dropsy ! 
 
 Lieut. The Justice will wait. 
 
 Doct. Cropt in her prime ! 
 
 Lieut. For Heaven's sake, come ! 
 
 Doct. Well, flesh is grass. 
 
 Lieut. O, the devil ! 
 
 Doct. We must all die 
 
 Lieut. Doctor ! 
 
 Doct. Kings, lords, and common whores - 
 
 [Forces him off. 
 
 SCENE II. 
 
 Enter Lauretta and Bridget 
 
 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. 
 
 Bri. For shame, Laura ! how can you talk so ? — or if 
 you must have a military man, there's Lieutenant Plow, or 
 Captain Haycock, or Major Dray, the brewer, are all your 
 admirers ; and though they are peaceable, good kind of 
 men, they have as large cockades, and become scarlet as 
 well as the fighting folks. 
 
 Lau. Psha ! you know, mamma, I hate militia officers ; 
 a set of dunghill cocks with spurs on — heroes scratch'd off 
 a church door — clowns in military masquerade, wearing 
 the dress without supporting the character. No, give me 
 
scene ii ST, PATRICK'S DAY 109 
 
 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. 
 
 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. 
 
 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 entertain- 
 ment 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. 
 
 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. 
 
 Bri. Why, child, I never said but that Lieutenant 
 O'Connor was a very well-bred and discerning young man ; 
 'tis your papa is so violent against him. 
 
 Lau. Why, cousin Sophy married an officer. 
 
 Bri. Ay, Laury, an officer in the militia. 
 
 Lau. No, indeed, mamma, a marching regiment. 
 
 Bri. No, child, I tell you he was a major of militia. 
 
 Lau. Indeed, mamma, it wasn't. 
 
 Enter Justice 
 
 Just. Bridget, my love, I have had a message. 
 Lau. It was cousin Sophy told me so. 
 
 Just. I have had a message, love 
 
 Bri. No, child, she would say no such thing. 
 Just. A message, I say. 
 
 Lau. How could he be in the militia when he was 
 ordered abroad? 
 
no SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act 1 
 
 Bri. Ay, girl, hold your tongue : — well, my dear. 
 
 Just. I have had a message from Doctor Rosy. 
 
 Bri. He ordered abroad ! He went abroad for his 
 health. 
 
 Just. Why, Bridget 
 
 Bri. Well, deary. — Now hold your tongue, Miss. 
 
 Just. A message from Dr. Rosy, and Doctor Rosy 
 says 
 
 Lau. I'm sure, mamma, his regimentals- 
 
 Just. Damn his regimentals ! — Why don't you listen ? 
 Bri. Ay, girl, how durst you interrupt your papa ? 
 Lau. Well, papa. 
 
 Just. Doctor Rosy says he'll bring 
 
 Lau. Were blue turn'd up with red, mamma. 
 
 Just. Laury — says he will bring the young man 
 
 Bri. Red ! yellow, if you please, Miss. 
 
 Just. Bridget — the young man that is to be hired 
 
 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 ? 
 
 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 a chattering, 
 talking 
 
 Lau. Nay, I'm sure, mamma, it is you will not let 
 papa speak now. 
 
 Bri. Why, you little provoking minx 
 
 Just. Get out of the room directly, both of you — get 
 out ! 
 
 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. 
 
scene ii ST. PATRICK'S DAY m 
 
 Enter Servant 
 
 Ser. Doctor Rosy, sir. 
 
 Just. Show him up. [Exit Servant. 
 
 Lau. Then you own, mamma, it was a marching 
 regiment ? 
 
 Bri. You're an obstinate fool, I tell you ; for if that 
 had been the case 
 
 Just. You won't go ? 
 
 Bri. We are going, Mr. Surly. — If that had been the 
 case, I say, how could 
 
 Lau. Nay, mamma, one proof. 
 
 Bri. How could Major 
 
 Lau. And a full proof 
 
 [Justice 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 ? 
 
 Doct. 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 ? 
 
 Doct. 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 morning. I 
 know they have a design upon me ; but I have taken all 
 precautions : I have magazines of arms, and if this fellow 
 does but prove faithful, I shall be more at ease. 
 
 Doct. Doubtless he'll be a comfort to you. 
 
ii2 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act i 
 
 Enter Servant 
 
 Ser. There is a man below, sir, inquires for Doctor 
 Rosy. 
 
 Doct. Show him up. 
 
 Just. Hold ! a little caution : how does he look ? 
 
 Ser. A country looking fellow, your worship. 
 
 Just. O, well, well, for Doctor Rosy ; these rascals 
 try all ways to get in here. 
 
 Ser. Yes, please your worship ; there was one here 
 this morning wanted to speak to you : he said his name 
 was Corporal Breakbones. 
 
 Just. Corporal Breakbones ! 
 
 Ser. And Drummer Crackskull came again. 
 
 Just. Ay ! did you ever hear of such a damn'd con- 
 founded crew ? Well, show the lad in here ! 
 
 [Exit Servant. 
 
 Doct. Ay, he'll be your porter ; he'll give the rogues 
 an answer 
 
 Enter Lieutenant, disguised as Humphrey 
 
 Just. So, a tall — Efacks ! what ! has lost an eye ? 
 
 Doct. Only a bruise he got in taking seven or eight 
 highwaymen. 
 
 Just. He has a damned wicked leer somehow with 
 the other. 
 
 Doct. O, no, he's bashful — a sheepish look — 
 
 Just. Well, my lad, what's your name ? 
 
 Lieut. Humphrey Hum. 
 
 Just. Hum — I don't like Hum ! 
 
 Lieut. But I be mostly call'd honest Humphrey 
 
 Doct. There, I told you so, of noted honesty. 
 
 Just. Well, honest Humphrey, the doctor has told 
 you my terms, and you are willing to serve, hey ? 
 
 Lieut. And please your worship, I shall be well 
 content. 
 
 Just. Well, then, hark'ye, honest Humphrey, — you 
 
scene ii ST. PATRICK'S DAY 113 
 
 are sure now you will never be a rogue — never take a 
 bribe, hey, honest Humphrey ? 
 
 Lieut. A bribe ! what's that ? 
 
 Just. A very ignorant fellow indeed. 
 
 Doct. His worship hopes you will never part with your 
 honesty for money. 
 
 Lieut. Noa, noa. 
 
 Just. Well said, Humphrey — my chief business with 
 you is to watch the motions of a rake-helly fellow here, 
 one Lieutenant O'Connor. 
 
 Doct. Ay, you don't value the soldiers, do you, 
 Humphrey ? 
 
 Lieut. 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 ! 
 
 Lieut. 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, Hum- 
 phrey, come with me. — I'll just show him to Bridget, 
 doctor, and we'll agree. — Come along, honest Humphrey. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Lieut. My dear doctor, now remember to bring the 
 Justice presently to the walk : I have a scheme to get into 
 his confidence at once. 
 
 Doct. I will, I will. 
 
 [Shakes hands ; Justice enters, and sees them. 
 
 Just. Why, honest Humphrey, hey ! what the devil 
 are you at ? 
 
 Doct. 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.) Come along, Humphrey. 
 Now I think I am a match for the lieutenant and all his 
 gang. [Exeunt. 
 
ACT II. SCENE I. 
 
 Enter Trounce, Drummer, and Soldiers 
 
 Serj. 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 
 
 Serj. Oh ! these are the lads I was looking for ; they 
 have the looks of gentlemen. A'n't you single, my lads ? 
 
 i st 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 help- 
 less woman. 
 
 Serj. Indeed ! a very extraordinary case — quite your 
 own master then — the fitter to serve his Majesty. — Can 
 you read ? 
 
 i st Coun. Noa, I was always too lively to take to 
 learning ; but John here is main clever at it. 
 
 Serj. So, what ! you're a scholar, friend ? 
 
 2d Coun. I was born so, measter. Feyther kept 
 grammar-school. 
 
 Serj. Lucky man ! — in a campaign or two put yourself 
 down chaplain to the regiment. And I warrant you have 
 read of warriors and heroes ? 
 
 ind 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. 
 
scene i ST. PATRICK'S DAY 115 
 
 Serj. 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. 
 
 Serj. But stay ; for fear I shou'dn't see you again in 
 the crowd, clap these little bits of ribbon into your hats. 
 
 1 st Coun. Our hats are none of the best. 
 
 Serj. Well, meet me at the Magpies, and I'll give 
 you money to buy new ones. 
 
 Coun. Bless your honour, thank your honour. [Exit. 
 
 Serj. {Winking at Sol.) Jack. [Exeunt Soldiers. 
 
 Enter Lieutenant 
 
 So, here comes one would make a grenadier — Stop, 
 friend, will you list ? 
 
 Lieut. Who shall I serve under ? 
 
 Serj. Under me, to be sure. 
 
 Lieut. Isn't Lieutenant O'Connor your officer ? 
 
 Serj. He is, and I am commander over him. 
 
 Lieut. W T hat ! be your Serjeants greater than your 
 captains ? 
 
 Serj. 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.' 
 
 Lieut. And do you complain of him often ? 
 
 Serj. No, hang him, the lad is good-natured at bottom, 
 so I pass over small things. But hark'ee, between our- 
 selves, he is most confoundedly given to wenching. 
 
 Enter Corporal 
 
 Cor. Please your honour, the doctor is coming this 
 way with his worship. — We are all ready, and have our 
 cues. 
 
 Lieut. Then, my dear Trounce, or my dear Serjeant, 
 or my dear Serjeant Trounce, take yourself away. 
 
u6 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act u 
 
 Serj. Zounds ! the lieutenant — I smell of the black 
 hole already. [Exit. 
 
 Enter Justice and Doctor 
 
 Just. I thought I saw some of the cut-throats. 
 
 Doct. I fancy not ; there's no one but honest Hum- 
 phrey. — Ha ! Odds life, here comes some of them — we'll 
 stay by these trees, and let them pass. 
 
 Just. Oh, the bloody-looking dogs ! \JValks aside. 
 
 Enter Corporal and two Soldiers 
 
 Cor. Halloa, friend ! do you serve Justice Credulous ? 
 
 Lieut. I do. 
 
 Cor. Are you rich ? 
 
 Lieut. Noa. 
 
 Cor. Nor ever will with that old stingy booby. Look 
 here — take it. [Gives him a purse. 
 
 Lieut. What must I do for this ? 
 
 Cor. Mark me, our lieutenant is in love with the old 
 rogue's daughter : help us to break his worship's bones, 
 and carry off the girl, and you are a made man. 
 
 Lieut. I'll see you hanged first, you pack of skurry 
 villains ! [Throws away the purse. 
 
 Cor. What, sirrah, do you mutiny ? Lay hold of 
 him. 
 
 Lieut. Nay then, I'll try your armour for you. 
 
 [Beats them. 
 
 All. Oh ! oh ! — quarter ! quarter ! [Exeunt. 
 
 Just. Trim them, trounce them, break their bones, 
 honest Humprey. — What a spirit he has ! 
 
 Doct. Aquafortis. 
 
 Lieut. Betray your master ! 
 
 Doct. 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, 
 
scene i ST. PATRICK'S DAY 117 
 
 doctor, I think I may trust him to guard the women : 
 while he is with them I may go out with safety. 
 
 Doct. 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 and Lieutenant 
 
 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 
 
 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 
 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 you if they can. [Exit. 
 
 Lau. How this booby stares after him. 
 
 [Sits down and sings. 
 
 Lieut. Lauretta ! 
 
 Lau. Not so free, fellow ! [Sings. 
 
 Lieut. Lauretta ! look on me. 
 
u8 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act ii 
 
 Lau. Not so free, fellow ! 
 
 Lieut. No recollection ! 
 
 Lau. Honest Humphrey, be quiet. 
 
 Lieut. Have you forgot your' faithful soldier ? 
 
 Lau. Ah ! O preserve me ! 
 
 Lieut. '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 do 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. 
 
 Lieut. True, my angel, and thus let me fulfil 
 
 Lau. O pray now, dear Humphrey 
 
 Lieut. Nay, 'tis but what old Mittimus commanded. 
 [Offers to kiss her — Enter Justice. 
 
 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 — in- 
 deed there's no harm — you did not mean any rudeness, 
 did you, Humphrey ? 
 
 Lieut. No, indeed, Miss ; his worship knows it is not 
 in me. 
 
 Just. I know that you are a lying, canting, hypocritical 
 scoundrel ; and if you don't take yourself out of my 
 sight 
 
 Lau. Indeed, papa, now I'll tell you how it was. — I 
 was sometime taken with a sudden giddiness, and Hum- 
 phrey, seeing me beginning to totter, ran to my assistance, 
 quite frightened, poor fellow ! and took me in his arms. 
 
 Just. Oh ! that was all — nothing but a little giddiness, 
 hey ? 
 
 Lieut. That's all, indeed, your worship ; for seeing 
 Miss change colour, I ran up instantly. 
 
 Just. O, 'twas very kind in you. 
 
 Lieut. And luckily recovered her. 
 
 Just. And who made you a doctor, you impudent 
 
scene in ST. PATRICK'S DAY 119 
 
 rascal, hey ? — Get out of my sight, I say, this instant, or 
 by all the statutes 
 
 Lau. O now, papa, you frighten me, and I am giddy 
 again — Oh, help ! 
 
 Lieut. 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 ! 
 
 Lieut. Good sir, don't be alarmed ; I mean you no 
 harm. 
 
 Just. Thieves ! Robbers ! Soldiers ! 
 
 Lieut. You know my love for your daughter 
 
 Just. Fire ! Cut-throats ! 
 
 Lieut. And that alone 
 
 Just. Treason ! Gunpowder ! \Enter a Servant with a 
 blunder buss-J\ — 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. 
 
 Lieut. Nay, sir, but hear me 
 
 Just. I'll shoot. 
 
 Lieui. And you'll be convinced 
 
 Just. I'll shoot. 
 
 Lieut. How injurious 
 
 Just. I'll shoot — and so your very humble servant, 
 honest Humphry Hum. \_Exeunt separately. 
 
 SCENE III. 
 
 A Walk 
 
 Enter Doctor Rosy 
 
 Doct. Well, I think 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 
 
120 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act ii 
 
 upon him : faint, peevish, languishing all day, with burn- 
 ing, restless nights. — Ah ! just my case when I pined for 
 my poor dear Dolly ! when she used to have her daily 
 colics, that her little doctor be sent for — Then would I 
 interpret the language of her pulse- — declare my own 
 sufferings in my receipt for her — send her a pearl necklace 
 in a pill-box, or a cordial draught with an acrostic on the 
 label. Well, those days are over ; no happiness lasting : 
 all is vanity — now sunshine, now cloudy — we are, as it 
 were, king and beggar : — then what avails 
 
 Enter Lieutenant 
 
 Lieut. O doctor ! ruined and undone. 
 Doct. The pride of beauty- 
 
 Lieut. I am discovered, and— 
 
 Doct. The gaudy palace 
 
 Lieut. The Justice is 
 
 Doct. The pompous wig- 
 
 Lieut. Is more enraged than ever. 
 
 Doct. The gilded cane 
 
 Lieut. Why, doctor ! (Slapping him on the shoulder.) 
 
 Doct. Hey ! 
 
 Lieut. Confound your morals ! I tell you I am dis- 
 covered, discomfited, disappointed. 
 
 Doct. Indeed ! Good lack, good lack, to think of the 
 instability of human affairs. — Nothing certain in tMs world 
 — most deceived when most confident — fools of fortune all. 
 
 Lieut. My dear doctor, I want at present a little 
 practical wisdom — I am resolved this instant to try the 
 scheme we were going to put in execution last week — I 
 have the letter ready, and only want your assistance to 
 recover my ground. 
 
 Doct. With all my heart — I'll warrant you I'll bear a 
 part in it ; but how the deuce were you discovered ? 
 
 Lieut. I'll tell you as we go ; there's not a moment to 
 be lost. 
 
 Doct. Heaven send we succeed better — but there's no 
 knowing. 
 
scene iv ST. PATRICK'S DAY 121 
 
 Lieut. Very true. 
 
 Doct. We may, and we may not. 
 
 Lieut. Right. 
 
 Doct. Time must show. 
 
 Lieut. Certainly. 
 
 Doct. We are but blind guessers. 
 
 Lieut. Nothing more. 
 
 Doct. Thick-sighted mortals. 
 
 Lieut. Remarkably. 
 
 Doct. Wandering in error 
 
 Lieut. Even so. 
 
 Doct. Futurity is dark. 
 
 Lieut. As a cellar. 
 
 Doct. Men are moles. 
 
 [Lieutenant forcing him out 
 
 SCENE IV. 
 
 Justice's House 
 
 Enter Justice and Bridget 
 
 Just. Odds life, Bridget, you are 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. 
 
 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 Deborah, 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. 
 
 Bri. No, Mr. Credulous, it is you who are a fool, and 
 no one but such a simpleton would be so imposed on. 
 
 Just. Why, zounds ! madam, how durst you talk so ? 
 
122 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act n 
 
 — if you have no respect for your husband, I should think 
 unus quorum might command a little deference. 
 
 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 for his Majesty's representative ? 
 — by the statutes, it's high treason and petty treason, both 
 at once. 
 
 Enter Servant 
 
 Serv. A letter for your worship. 
 
 Just. Who brought it ? 
 
 Serv. A soldier. 
 
 Just. Take it away, and burn it. 
 
 Bri. Stay. — Now you're in such a hurry — it is some 
 canting scrawl from the lieutenant, I suppose, — let me see. 
 — Ay, 'tis signed O'Connor. 
 
 Just. Well, come, read it out. 
 
 Bri. ' 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. 
 
 Bri. ' And though disappointed of my designs upon your 
 daughter ; 1 have still the satisfaction of knowing Vm revenged 
 on her unnatural father ; for this morning, in your chocolate, 
 I had the pleasure to administer 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. 
 
 Bri. Read it yourself. 
 
 Just. * Pleasure to administer a dose of poison? — O 
 horrible ! — Cut-throat villain ! — Bridget ! 
 
 Bri. Lovee, stay, here's a postscript. — ' 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 ! 
 
 Bri. You see, lovee, what you have brought on yourself. 
 
scene iv ST. PATRICK'S DAY 123 
 
 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. Why don't you run 
 for Doctor Rosy, you rascal ? 
 
 Ser. Now, sir ? 
 
 Bri. O ! lovee, you may be sure it is in vain : let him 
 run for the lawyer to witness your will, my life. 
 
 Just. Zounds ! go for the doctor, you scoundrel. You 
 are all confederate murderers. 
 
 Ser. O, here he is, your worship. [Exit. 
 
 Just. Now, Bridget, hold your tongue, and let me see 
 if my horrid situation be present. 
 
 Enter Doctor 
 
 Doct. 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 face, in 
 capitals. Yes, yes, I'm a sure job for the undertakers 
 indeed. 
 
 Bri. Oh ! oh ! alas, doctor ! 
 
 Just. Peace, Bridget. Why, doctor, my dear old 
 friend, do you really see any change in me ? 
 
 Doct. Change ! never was man so altered : how came 
 these black spots on your nose ? 
 
 Just. Spots on my nose ! 
 
 Doct. And that wild stare in your right eye ? 
 
 Just. In my right eye ! 
 
 Doct. Ay, and alack, alack, how you are swelled 1 
 
 Just. Swelled ! 
 
 Doct. Ay, don't you think he is, madam ? 
 
124 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act n 
 
 Bri. O, 'tis in vain to conceal it : indeed, lovee, you 
 are as big again as you were this morning. 
 
 Just. Yes, I feel it now. — I'm poison'd. — Doctor, help 
 me, for the love of justice. — Give me life to see my murderer 
 hang'd. 
 
 Doct. What? 
 
 Just. I'm poison'd, I say ! 
 
 Doct. Speak out ! 
 
 Just. What ! can't you hear me ? 
 
 Doct. Your voice is so low and hollow, as it were, I 
 can't hear a word you say. 
 
 Just. I'm gone then : hie jacet, many years one of 
 his Majesty's justices. 
 
 Bri. Read, doctor. — Ah, lovee, the will. — Consider, my 
 life, how soon you will be dead. 
 
 Just. No, Bridget, I shall die by inches. 
 
 Doct. I never heard such monstrous iniquity. Oh, 
 you are gone indeed, my friend : 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 ; his mandamus binds all alike — no 
 bail, no demurrer. 
 
 Just. Silence, Doctor Croaker : will you cure me, or 
 will you not ? 
 
 Doct. Alas ! my dear friend, it is not in my power, 
 but I'll certainly see justice done on your murderer. 
 
 Just. I thank you, my dear friend, but I had rather see 
 it myself. 
 
 Doct. Ay, but if you recover the villain will escape. 
 
 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 ! 
 
 Doct. 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. 
 
scene iv ST. PATRICK'S DAY 125 
 
 Just. Fetch him, my dear friend, fetch him : I'll get 
 him a diploma if he cures me. 
 
 Doct. Well, there's no time to be lost ; you continue 
 to swell immensely. [Exit. 
 
 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. 
 
 Enter Doctor and Lieutenant, disguised 
 
 Doct. Great luck ; met him passing by the door. 
 
 Lieut. Metto dowsei pulsum. 
 
 Doct. He desires me to feel your pulse. 
 
 Just. Can't he speak English ? 
 
 Doct. Not a word. 
 
 Lieut. Palio vivem mortem soonem. 
 
 Doct. He says you have not six hours to live. 
 
 Just. O mercy ! does he know my distemper ? 
 
 Doct. I believe not. 
 
 Just. Tell him 'tis black arsenic they have given me. 
 
 Doct. Geneable illi arsnecca. 
 
 Lieut. Pisonatus. 
 
 Just. What does he say ? 
 
 Doct. He says you are poisoned 
 
 Just. We know that ; but what will be the effect ? 
 
 Doct. Quid effectum ? 
 
 Lieut. Diable tutellum. 
 
 Doct. He says you will die presently. 
 
 Just. Oh, horrible ! What, no antidote ? 
 
 Lieut. Curum benakere bono fullum. 
 
 Just. What, does he say I must row in a boat to 
 Fulham ? 
 
 Doct. He says he'll undertake to cure you for three 
 thousand pounds. 
 
 Bri. Three thousand pounds ! three thousand halters ! 
 
i?6 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act 11 
 
 No, lovee > you shall never submit to such impositions : die 
 at once, and be a customer to none of them. 
 
 Just. I won't die, Bridget — I don't like death. 
 
 Bri. Pshaw ! 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. 
 
 Bri. O my dear, pray consider the will. 
 
 Enter Lauretta 
 
 Lau. O my father, what is this I hear ? 
 
 Lieut. Quiddam seomriam deos tollam rosam. 
 
 Doct. The doctor is astonished at the sight of your 
 fair daughter. 
 
 Just. How so ? 
 
 Lieut. Damsellum livivum suvum rislibani. 
 
 Doct. He says that he has lost his heart to her, and 
 that if you will give him leave to pay his addresses to the 
 young lady, and promise your consent to the union, if he 
 should gain her affections, he will on those conditions 
 cure you instantly, without fee or reward. 
 
 Just. The devil ! Did he say all that in so few words ? 
 What a fine language it is ! Well, I agree, if he can 
 prevail on the girl ; and that I am sure he never will. 
 
 \Aside. 
 
 Doct. Greal. 
 
 Lieut. Writhum bothum. 
 
 Doct. 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. 
 
 Bri. Don't speak to me, girl. — Unnatural parent ! 
 
 Just. There, doctor ; there's what he requires. 
 
 Doct. And here's your receipt : read it yourself. 
 
 Just. Hey ! what's here ! plain English ? 
 
 Doct. Read it out : a wondrous nostrum, I'll answer 
 for it. 
 
 Just. ' In reading this you are cured, by your affection- 
 
scene iv ST. PATRICK'S DAY 127 
 
 ate son-in-law, O'Connor.' Who, in the name of Beelze- 
 bub, sirrah, who are you ? 
 
 Lieut. 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 poison'd again, and you shall be hang'd. — I'll 
 die, sirrah, and leave Bridget my estate. 
 
 Bri. Ay, pray do, my dear, leave me your estate : 
 I'm sure he deserves to be hang'd. 
 
 Just. He does, you say — hark'ee, Bridget, you show'd 
 such a tender concern for me when you thought me 
 poison'd, that for the future I am resolved never to take 
 your advice again in anything. So, do you hear, sir, you 
 are an Irishman and a soldier, an't you? 
 
 Lieut. I am, sir, and proud of both. 
 
 Just. The two things on earth I most hate ; so I'll 
 tell you what — renounce your country and sell your 
 commission, and I'll forgive you. 
 
 Lieut. 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. 
 
 Doct. 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. 
 
 Lieut. O, sir, say what you please ; with such a gift 
 as Lauretta every word is a compliment. 
 
 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. 
 
 Doct. 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. 
 
THE DUENNA 
 
 A COMIC OPERA 
 
DRAMATIS PERSONS 
 
 AS ORIGINALLY ACTED AT COVENT-GARDEN THEATRE ON TUESDAY, 
 NOVEMBER 21, 177 S' 
 
 Don Ferdinand 
 Isaac Mendoza 
 Don Jerome 
 Don Antonio 
 Father Paul 
 Lopez, . 
 Don Carlos 
 Francis 
 Lay Brother 
 
 Donna Louisa 
 Donna Clara 
 The Duenna 
 
 Mr. Mattocks. 
 Mr. Quick. 
 Mr. Wilson. 
 
 Mr. DuBELLAMY. 
 
 Mr. Mahon. 
 Mr. Wewitzer. 
 Mr. Leoni. 
 Mr. Fox. 
 Mr. Baker. 
 
 Mrs. Mattocks. 
 Mrs. Cargill. 
 Mrs. Green. 
 
ACT I. SCENE I. 
 
 Street 
 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 : soh ! 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 Antonio, with Masks and Music 
 
 Song 
 
 Ant, Tell me, my lute, can thy soft strain 
 
 So gently speak thy master's pain ? 
 
132 
 
 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 ACT I 
 
 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. 
 
 I Mask. Antonio, your mistress will never wake 
 while you sing so dolefully : love, like a cradled infant, is 
 lulled by a sad melody. 
 
 Ant. I do not wish to disturb her rest. 
 
 1 Mask. The reason is, because you know she does 
 not regard you enough to appear, if you awaked her. 
 
 Ant. Nay, then, I'll convince you. [Sings. 
 
 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. 
 
 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 vagabonds are these, I hear, 
 Fiddling, fluting, rhyming, ranting, 
 Piping, scraping, whining, canting, 
 
 Fly, scurvy minstrels, fly ! 
 
 Trio 
 
 Louisa. Nay, pr'ythee, father, why so rough ? 
 
 Ant. An humble lover I. 
 
 Jerome. How durst you, daughter, lend an ear 
 
 To such deceitful stuff? 
 
 Quick, from the window, fly ! 
 Louisa. Adieu, Antonio ! 
 
 Ant. Must you go ? 
 
 Louisa. { We soon, perhaps, may meet again ; 
 
 Ant. \ For though hard fortune is our foe, 
 
 The god of love will fight for us. 
 
scene ii THE DUENNA 
 
 *33 
 
 'Jerome. Reach me the blunderbuss. 
 
 Ant. cff L. The god of love, who knows our pain, 
 
 Jerome. Hence, or these slugs are through your brain. 
 
 [Exeunt severally. 
 
 SCENE II. 
 
 A Piazza 
 
 Enter Ferdinand and Lopez 
 
 Lopez. Truly, sir, I think that a little sleep, once in 
 a week or so 
 
 Ferd. Peace, fool, don't mention sleep to me. 
 
 Lopez. No, no, sir, I don't mention your low-bred, 
 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 
 
 Ferd. Peace, booby, I say ! — Oh, Clara ! dear, cruel 
 disturber of my rest ! 
 
 Lopez. And of mine too. 
 
 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. 
 
 Lopez. Nor I either. 
 
 Ferd. Or is it that her sex never know their desires 
 for an hour together ? 
 
 Lopez. Ah, they know them oftener than they'll own 
 them. 
 
 Ferd. Is there, in the world, so inconstant a creature 
 as Clara ? 
 
 Lopez. I could name one. 
 
 Ferd. Yes ; the tame fool who submits to her caprice. 
 
 Lopez. I thought he couldn't miss it. 
 
 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. 
 
i 3 4 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act i 
 
 Lopez. Oh, those damned smiles have undone all ! 
 
 Air 
 
 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. 
 
 Lopez. Here comes Don Antonio, sir. 
 
 Ferd. Well, go you home — I shall be there presently 
 
 Lopez. Ah, those cursed smiles ! [Exit 
 
 Enter Antonio 
 
 Ferd. Antonio, Lopez tells me he left you chanting 
 before our door — was my father waked ? 
 
 Ant. Yes, yes ; he has a singular affection for music, 
 so I left him roaring at his barred window, like the print 
 of Bajazet in the cage. And what brings you out so 
 early ? 
 
 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 un- 
 bolted ; at two this morning I entered, unperceived, and 
 stole to her chamber — I found her waking and weeping. 
 
 Ant. Happy Ferdinand ! 
 
 Ferd. 'Sdeath ! hear the conclusion— I was rated as 
 the most confident ruffian for daring to approach her 
 room at that hour of night. 
 
 Ant. Ay, ay, this was at first ? 
 
 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. 
 
 Ant. Well, but at last ? — 
 
scene ii THE DUENNA 135 
 
 Ferd. At last ! why, I was forced to leave the house 
 as I came in. 
 
 Ant. And did you do nothing to offend her ? 
 
 Ferd. Nothing, as I hope to be saved — I believe, I 
 might snatch a dozen or two of kisses. 
 
 Ant. Was that all ? well, I think I never heard of 
 such assurance ! 
 
 Ferd. Zounds ! I tell you I behaved with the utmost 
 respect. 
 
 Ant. O Lord ! I don't mean you, but in her — but, 
 hark ye, Ferdinand, did you leave your key with them ? 
 
 Ferd. Yes ; the maid, who saw me out, took it from 
 the door. 
 
 Ant. Then, my life for it, her mistress elopes after you. 
 
 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. 
 
 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 eye, 
 Watch her heaving bosom sigh ? 
 I will do so when I see 
 That heaving bosom sigh for me. 
 
 Besides, Ferdinand, you have full security in my love for 
 vour sister ; help me there, and I can never disturb you 
 with Clara. 
 
136 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act i 
 
 Ferd. As far as I can, consistently with the honour 0/ 
 our family, you know I will ; but there must be no 
 eloping. 
 
 Ant. And yet, now, you would carry off Clara ? 
 
 Ferd. Ay, that's a different case — 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. 
 
 Ant. Well, and am not I so unfortunately circum- 
 stanced ? To-morrow your father forces Louisa to marry 
 Isaac, the Portuguese ; but come with me, and we'll devise 
 something, I warrant. 
 
 Ferd. I must go home. 
 
 Ant. Well, adieu ! 
 
 Ferd. But, Antonio, if you did not love my sister you 
 have too much honour and friendship to supplant me with 
 Clara. 
 
 Air 
 
 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. 
 
 Then if to one I false must be, 
 
 Can I doubt which to prefer — 
 A breach of social faith with thee, 
 
 Or sacrilege to love and her ? [Exit 
 
 Ferd. There is always a levity in 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 ! 
 
scene in THE DUENNA 137 
 
 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. 
 
 SCENE III. 
 
 A Room in Don Jerome's House 
 
 Enter Louisa and Duenna 
 
 Louisa. But, my dear Margaret, my charming Duenna, 
 do you think we shall succeed ? 
 
 Duenna. 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. 
 
 Louisa. My father's oath was, never to see me till I had 
 consented to 
 
 Duenna. 'Twas thus I overheard him say to his friend, 
 Don Guzman, — ' I 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. 
 
 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 ? 
 
 Duenna. 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. 
 
 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. 
 
138 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act j 
 
 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. 
 
 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. 
 
 Duenna. 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 Ferdinand 
 
 Jerome. 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 I'll suffer no more of these midnight 
 incantations — these amorous orgies, that steal the senses 
 in the hearing ; as, they say, Egyptian embalmers 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. 
 
 Louisa. Never, while I have life. 
 
 Ferd. Indeed, sir, I wonder how you can think of such 
 a man for a son-in-law. 
 
 Jerome. Sir, you are very kind to favour me with 
 vour sentiments — and pray, what is your objection to 
 him ? 
 
 Ferd. He is a Portuguese, in the first place. 
 
 Jerome. No such thing, boy ; he has forsworn his 
 country. 
 
scene in THE DUENNA 
 
 J 39 
 
 Louisa. He is a Jew. 
 
 Jerome. Another mistake : he has been a Christian 
 these six weeks. 
 
 Ferd. Ay, he left his old religion for an estate, and 
 has not had time to get a new one. 
 
 Louisa. But stands like a dead wall between church 
 and synagogue, or like the blank leaves between the Old 
 and New Testaments. 
 
 Jerome. Anything more ? 
 
 Ferd. But the most remarkable part of his character is 
 his passion for deceit and tricks of cunning. 
 
 Louisa. Though, at the same time, the fool predomin- 
 ates so much over the knave that I am told he is generally 
 the dupe of his own art. 
 
 Ferd. True, like an unskilful gunner he usually misses 
 his aim, and is hurt by the recoil of his own piece. 
 
 Jerome. Anything more ? 
 
 Louisa. To sum up all, he has the worst fault a 
 husband can have — he's not my choice. 
 
 Jerome. 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. 
 
 Louisa. I detest him as a lover, and shall ten times 
 more as a husband. 
 
 Jerome. I don't know that — marriage generally makes 
 a great change — but, to cut the matter short, will you 
 have him or not ? 
 
 Louisa. There is nothing else I could disobey you in. 
 
 Jerome. Do you value your father's peace ? 
 
 Louisa. So much, that I will not fasten on him the 
 regret of making an only daughter wretched. 
 
 Jerome. Very well, ma'am, then mark me — never more 
 will I see or converse with you till you return to your 
 duty — no reply — this and your chamber shall be your 
 apartments ; I never will stir out without leaving you 
 under lock and key, and when I'm at home no creature 
 can approach you but through my library — we'll try who 
 
140 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act i 
 
 can be most obstinate — out of my sight — there remain till 
 you know your duty. [Pushes her out. 
 
 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. 
 
 Jerome. That, doubtless, is a very great recommenda- 
 tion — I certainly have not paid sufficient respect to it. 
 
 Ferd. There is not a man living I would sooner choose 
 for a brother-in-law. 
 
 Jerome. Very possible ; and if you happen to have e'er 
 a sister, who is not at the same time a daughter of mine, 
 I'm sure I shall have no objection to the relationship — but 
 at present, if you please, we'll drop the subject. 
 
 Ferd. Nay, sir, 'tis only my regard for my sister makes 
 me speak. 
 
 Jerome. Then pray, sir, in future let your regard for 
 your father make you hold your tongue. 
 
 Ferd. I have done, sir — I shall only add a wish that 
 you would reflect what at our age you would have felt, 
 had you been crossed in your affection for the mother of 
 her you are so severe to. 
 
 Jerome. Why, I must confess I had a great affection 
 for your mother's ducats, but that was all, boy. — I married 
 her for her fortune, and she took me in obedience to her 
 father, and a very happy couple we were — we never 
 expected any love from one another, and so we were never 
 disappointed — if we grumbled a little now and then, it 
 was soon over, for we were never fond enough to quarrel ; 
 and when the good woman died, why, why — I had as lieve 
 she had lived, and I wish every widower in Seville could 
 say the same. I shall now go and get the key of this 
 dressing-room — so, good son, if you have any lecture in 
 support of disobedience to give your sister, it must be 
 brief ; so make the best of your time, d'ye hear ? [Exit. 
 
 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 
 
scene in THE DUENNA 141 
 
 the heart's attachment a woman never likes a man with 
 ardour till she has suffered for his sake ; [Noise.] soh ! 
 what bustle is here ! between my father and the Duenna 
 too — I'll e'en get out of the way. [Exit. 
 
 Enter Don Jerome with a Letter, pulling in the 
 Duenna 
 
 Jerome. I'm astonish'd ! I'm thunder-struck ! here's 
 treachery and conspiracy 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 ? 
 
 Duenna. What ? 
 
 Jerome. A scarecrow — to prove a decoy duck — what 
 have you to say for yourself ? 
 
 Duenna. 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 
 intention that your daughter should have served you as all 
 such old tyrannical sots should be served. — I delight in the 
 tender passions, and would befriend all under their influence. 
 
 Jerome. The tender passions ! yes, they would become 
 those impenetrable features ! — why, thou deceitful hag ! 
 I placed thee as a guard to the rich blossoms of my 
 daughter's beauty. — I thought that dragon's front of thine 
 would cry aloof to the sons of gallantry — steel traps and 
 spring guns seemed writ in every wrinkle of it — but you 
 shall quit my house this instant — the tender passions, 
 indeed ! go, thou wanton sybil, thou amorous woman of 
 Endor, go ! 
 
 Duenna. You base, scurrilous, old — but I won't demean 
 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 ? 
 
 Jerome. I took you, mistress, with your wardrobe on — 
 what have you pilfered, heh ? 
 
 Duenna. Sir, I must take leave of my mistress ; she has 
 valuables of mine : besides, my cardinal and veil are in her 
 room. 
 
(42 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act i 
 
 Jerome. 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 ! soh ! 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 ! 
 
 Enter Louisa, dressed as the Duenna, with Cardinal 
 and Veil, seeming to cry 
 
 Jerome. This way, mistress, this way — what, I warrant, 
 a tender parting ; soh ! 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. 
 
 Enter Duenna 
 
 Duenna. 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 v THE DUENNA 143 
 
 SCENE IV. 
 The Court before Don Jerome's House 
 
 Enter Don Jerome and Louisa 
 
 Jerome. 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 has got you turned 
 away, tell him I say it is but just he should take you 
 himself; go. [Exit Louisa.] Soh ! 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. 
 
 SCENE V. 
 
 The Piazza 
 
 Enter Clara and her Maid 
 
 Maid. But where, madam, is it you intend to go ? 
 
 Clara. Anywhere to avoid the selfish violence of my 
 mother-in-law and Ferdinand's insolent importunity. 
 
 Maid. Indeed, ma'am, since we have profited by Don 
 Ferdinand's key, in making our escape, I think we had best 
 find him, if it were only to thank him. 
 
 Clara. No — he has offended me exceedingly. 
 
 [Retire. 
 
 Enter Louisa 
 
 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 that I doubt her prudery would con- 
 demn me. 
 
 Maid. Then suppose, ma'am, you were to try if your 
 friend Donna Louisa would not receive you. 
 
144 
 
 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act i 
 
 Clara. No, her notions of filial duty are so severe, she 
 would certainly betray me. 
 
 Louisa. Clara is of a cold temper, and would think this 
 step of mine highly forward. 
 
 Clara. Louisa's respect for her father is so great, she 
 would not credit the unkindness of mine. 
 
 [Louisa turns^ and sees Clara and Maid. 
 
 Louisa. Ha ! who are those ? sure one is Clara — if it 
 be, I'll trust her. — Clara ! [Advances. 
 
 Clara. Louisa ! and in masquerade too ! 
 
 Louisa. You will be more surprised when I tell you 
 that I have run away from my father. 
 
 Clara. Surprised indeed ! and I should certainly chide 
 you most horridly, only that I have just run away from 
 mine. 
 
 Louisa. My dear Clara ! [Embrace. 
 
 Clara. Dear sister truant ! and whither are you going ? 
 
 Louisa. To find the man I love, to be sure. — And, 
 I presume, you would have no aversion to meet with my 
 brother ? 
 
 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 ! 
 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. 
 
scene v THE DUENNA 145 
 
 Louisa. Well, for all this, I would have sent him to 
 plead his pardon, but that I would not yet a while have 
 him know of my flight. And where do you hope to find 
 protection ? 
 
 Clara. The Lady Abbess of the convent of St. Catherine 
 is a relation and kind friend of mine — I shall be secure with 
 her, and you had best go thither with me. 
 
 Louisa. No ; I am determined to find Antonio first ; 
 and, as I live, here comes the very man I will employ to 
 seek him for me. 
 
 Clara. Who is he ? he's a strange figure ! 
 
 Louisa. Yes ; that sweet creature is the man whom 
 my father has fixed on for my husband. 
 
 Clara. And will you speak to him ? are you mad ? 
 
 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, 
 never saw me in his life. 
 
 Clara. And how do you know him ? 
 
 Louisa. He arrived but yesterday, and he was shown 
 to me from the window, as he visited my father. 
 
 Clara. Well, I'll begone. 
 
 Louisa. Hold, my dear Clara — a thought has struck 
 me — will you give me leave to borrow your name, as I see 
 occasion ? 
 
 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. 
 
 Louisa. Ha ! ha ! ha ! I'll be very particular in my 
 directions where he may not find you. [Exeunt Clara 
 and Maid.] So! my swain, yonder, has done admiring 
 himself, and draws nearer. [Retires. 
 
 Enter Isaac and Carlos ; Isaac with a Pocket Glass 
 
 Isaac. [Looking in the Glass.] I tell you, friend 
 Carlos, I will please myself in the habit of my chin. 
 
 L 
 
146 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act i 
 
 Carlos. But, my dear friend, how can you think tc 
 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 
 Louisa.] See now ! — I'll die if here is not a little damsel 
 struck with it already. 
 
 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. 
 
 Louisa. So ! it's well I am provided. [Aside. ~] My 
 name, sir, is Donna Clara d'Almanza. 
 
 Isaac. What ! — Don Gusman's daughter ? I'faith, I 
 just now heard she was missing. 
 
 Louisa. But sure, sir, you have too much gallantry and 
 honour to betray me, whose fault is love ? 
 
 Isaac. So ! a passion for me ! poor girl ! Why, ma'am, 
 as for betraying you, I don't see how I could get anything 
 by it ; so you may rely on my honour ; but as for your 
 love, I am sorry your case is so desperate. 
 
 Louisa. Why so, signor ? 
 
 Isaac. Because 1 am positively engaged to another — 
 an't I, Carlos ? 
 
 Louisa. Nay, but hear me. 
 
 Isaac. No, no ; what should I hear for ? It is im- 
 possible 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. 
 
 Louisa. Odious wretch ! [Aside^\ 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 ? 
 
 Louisa. No, indeed, it is not. 
 
 Isaac. Then you are a forward, impertinent simpleton ! 
 and I shall certainly acquaint your father. 
 
scene v THE DUENNA 
 
 H7 
 
 Louisa. Is this your gallantry ? 
 
 Isaac. Yet hold — Antonio d'Ercilla, did you say r 
 egad, I may make something of this — Antonio d'Ercilla ? 
 
 Louisa. Yes ; and, if ever you hope 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 ? 
 
 Carlos. Yes, very good — very good — 
 
 Isaac. Ah ! this little brain is never at a loss — cunning 
 Isaac ! cunning rogue ! Donna Clara, will you trust your- 
 self a while to my friend's direction ? 
 
 Louisa. May I rely on you, good signor ? 
 
 Carlos. Lady, it is impossible that 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 : 
 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. I'll conduct the lady to my lodgings, Carlos ; I 
 must haste to Don Jerome. — Perhaps you know Louisa, 
 ma'am. She is divinely handsome — isn't she? 
 
 Louisa. You must excuse me not joining with you. 
 
 Isaac. Why, I have heard it on all hands. 
 
 Louisa. Her father is uncommonly partial to her ; but 
 I believe you will find she has rather a matronly air. 
 
1 48 
 
 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 ACT 1 
 
 Isaac. Carlos, this is all envy — you pretty girls never 
 speak well of one another — 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 ? 
 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. 
 Isaac. Dear lady, my friend you may trust, and he'll prove 
 
 Your servant, protector, and guide. 
 
 Air — Carlos 
 
 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 
 
 Louisa. Never may'st thou happy be 
 
 If in aught thou'rt false to me. 
 
 Isaac. Never may he happy be 
 
 If in aught he's false to thee. 
 
 Carlos. Never may I happy be 
 
 If in aught I'm false to thee 
 
 Louisa. Never may'st thou, &c. 
 Isaac. Never may he, &c. 
 Carlos. Never may I, &c. 
 
 [ Exeunt 
 
ACT II. SCENE I. 
 
 A Library in Don Jerome's House 
 Enter Don Jerome and Isaac 
 
 Jerome. Ha ! ha ! ha ! run away from her father ! has 
 she given him the slip ? Ha ! ha ! ha ! poor Don Gus- 
 man ! 
 
 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 trap, 
 isn't it ? a nice stroke of cunning, hey ? 
 
 Jerome. Excellent ! excellent ! yes, yes, carry her to 
 him, hamper him by all means, ha ! ha ! ha ! poor Don 
 Gusman ! an old fool ! imposed on by a girl ! 
 
 Isaac. Nay, they have the cunning of serpents, that's 
 the truth on't. 
 
 Jerome. Psha ! they are cunning only when they have 
 fools to deal with — why don't my girl play me such a 
 trick — let her cunning overreach my caution, I say — hey, 
 little Isaac ! 
 
 Isaac. True, true ; or let me see any of the sex make 
 a fool of me. — No, no, egad, little Solomon (as my aunt 
 used to call me) understands tricking a little too well. 
 
 Jerome. Ay, but such a driveller as Don Gusman. 
 
 Isaac. And such a dupe as Antonio. 
 
 Jerome. True ; sure never were seen such a couple of 
 credulous simpletons ; but come, 'tis time you should see 
 my daughter — you must carry on the siege by yourself, 
 friend Isaac. 
 
 Isaac. Sir, you'll introduce 
 
150 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act ii 
 
 Jerome. No — I have sworn a solemn oath not to see 
 or speak to her till she renounces her disobedience ; win 
 her to that, and she gains a father and a husband at once. 
 
 Isaac. Gad, I shall never be able to deal with her 
 alone ; nothing keeps me in such awe as perfect beauty — 
 now there is something consoling and encouraging in 
 ugliness. 
 
 Song 
 
 Give Isaac the nymph who no beauty can boast, 
 But 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 : 
 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 the 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. 
 
 Jerome. You will change your note, my friend, when 
 you've seen Louisa. 
 
 Isaac. Oh, Don Jerome, the honour of your alliance — 
 
 Jerome. Ay, but her beauty will affect you — she is, 
 though I say it, who am her father, a very prodigy — there 
 you will see features with an eye like mine — yes, i'faith, 
 there is a kind of wicked sparkling — something of a 
 roguish brightness that shows her to be my own. 
 
 Isaac. Pretty rogue ! 
 
 Jerome. 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 ! 
 
 Jerome. Then the roses on those cheeks are shaded 
 
scene ii THE DUENNA 151 
 
 with a sort of velvet down that gives a delicacy to the 
 glow of health. 
 
 Isaac. Pretty rogue ! 
 
 Jerome. 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 ? 
 
 Jerome. Remarkably pleasing — but if you could prevail 
 on her to sing, you would be enchanted — she is a nightin- 
 gale — a Virginian 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. 
 
 Jerome. 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 ? 
 
 Jerome. I will — Lauretta, come — she'll show you to 
 the room — what ! do you droop ? here's a mournful face 
 to make love with ! [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. 
 
 Louisa's Dressing-Room 
 
 Enter Maid and Isaac 
 
 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 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. 
 
152 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act n 
 
 Duenna. Sir, I attend your pleasure. 
 
 Isaac. So ! the ice is broke, and a pretty civil begin- 
 ning too ! hem ! madam — miss — I'm all attention. 
 
 Duenna. Nay, sir, 'tis I who should listen, and you 
 propose. 
 
 Isaac. Egad, this isn't so disdainful neither. — I believe 
 I may venture to look — no — I dar'n't — one glance of 
 those roguish sparklers would fix me again. 
 
 Duenna. You seem thoughtful, sir — let me persuade 
 you to sit down. 
 
 Isaac. So, so ; she mollifies apace — she's struck with 
 my figure ! this attitude has had its effect. 
 
 Duenna. 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. 
 
 Duenna. You seem surprised at my condescension. 
 
 Isaac. Why, yes, madam, I am a little surprised at it. 
 — Zounds ! this can never be Louisa — she's as old as my 
 mother ! [Aside. 
 
 Duenna. But former prepossessions give way to my 
 father's commands. 
 
 Isaac. [Aside.~] Her father ! Yes, 'tis she then. — 
 Lord, lord ; how blind some parents are ! 
 
 Duenna. Signor Isaac. 
 
 Isaac. 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. 
 
 Duenna. Signor, won't you sit ? [She sits. 
 
 Isaac. Pardon me, madam, I have scarce recovered 
 my astonishment at — your condescension, madam — she 
 has the devil's own dimples to be sure ! [Aside. 
 
 Duenna. I do not wonder, sir, that you are surprised 
 at my affability. — I own, signor, that I was vastly pre- 
 possessed against you, and being teased by my father, 
 I did give some encouragement to Antonio ; but 
 then, sir, you were described to me as a quite different 
 person. 
 
scene ii THE DUENNA 153 
 
 Isaac. Ay, and so you were to me, upon my soul, 
 madam. 
 
 Duenna. 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 on a heap, for my part. 
 
 Duenna. Well, sir, I see our misapprehension has been 
 mutual — you expected to find me haughty and averse, and 
 I was taught to believe you a little, black, snub-nosed 
 fellow, without person, manners, or address. 
 
 Isaac. Egad, I wish she had answer'd her picture as 
 well. 
 
 Duenna. 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. 
 
 Duenna. So little like a Jew, and so much like a 
 gentleman ! 
 
 Isaac. Well, certainly there is something pleasing in 
 the tone of her voice. 
 
 Duenna. You will pardon this breach of decorum in 
 praising you thus, but my joy at being so agreeably de- 
 ceived has given me such a flow of spirits ! 
 
 Isaac. O, 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. 
 
 Duenna. O, sir, you have the most insinuating manner, 
 but indeed you should get rid of that odious beard — one 
 might as well kiss an hedgehog. 
 
 Isaac. Yes, ma'am, the razor wouldn't be amiss — for 
 either of us. [Aside.] Could you favour me with a 
 song ? 
 
 Duenna. Willingly, sir, though I am rather hoarse — 
 ahem ! [Begins to sing. 
 
 Isaac. Very like a Virginia nightingale ! — ma'am, I 
 perceive you're hoarse — I beg you will not distress — 
 
 Duenna. Oh, not in the least distressed ; — now, sir. 
 
154 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act 11 
 
 Song 
 
 When a tender maid 
 
 Is first cssay'd 
 By some admiring swain, 
 
 How her blushes rise 
 
 If she meets his eyes, 
 While he unfolds his pain ! 
 If he takes her hand — she trembles quite ! 
 Touch her 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 : 
 
 If her hand he grasp, 
 
 Or her bosom clasp, 
 No mantling blush ensues ! 
 Then to church well pleased the lovers move, 
 While her smiles her contentment prove ; 
 
 And a pit-a-pat, &c. 
 
 Her heart avows her love. 
 
 Isaac. Charming, ma'am ! enchanting ! and, truly, 
 your notes put me in mind of one that's very dear to 
 me ; a lady, indeed, whom you greatly resemble ! 
 
 Duenna. How ! is there, then, another so dear to you ? 
 
 Isaac. O, no, ma'am, you mistake ; it was my mother 
 I meant. 
 
 Duenna. 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 complete my 
 happiness, by acquainting Don Jerome with your conde- 
 scension. 
 
 Duenna. Sir, I must frankly own to you, that I can 
 never be yours with my father's consent. 
 
 Isaac. Good lack ! how so ? 
 
 Duenna. 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, 
 
scene ii THE DUENNA 155 
 
 if you have spirit and contrivance enough to carry me off 
 without his knowledge, I'm yours. 
 
 Isaac. Hum ! 
 
 Duenna. Nay, sir, if you hesitate 
 
 Isaac. T 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. 
 
 Duenna. 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. 
 
 Duenna. 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. 
 
 Duenna. Well, I leave the management of it all to 
 you ; I perceive plain, sir, that you are not one that can 
 be easily outwitted. 
 
 Isaac. Egad, you're right, madam — you're right, 
 i'faith. 
 
 Enter Maid 
 
 Maid. Here's a gentleman at the door, who begs per- 
 mission to speak with Signor Isaac. 
 
 Isaac. A friend of mine, ma'am, and a trusty friend — 
 let him come in. [Exit Maid.] He is one to be de- 
 pended on, ma'am. 
 
 Enter Carlos 
 So, coz. \Aside. 
 
 Carlos. 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. 
 
156 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act 11 
 
 Carlos. Where is your mistress ? 
 
 Isaac. There, you booby, there she stands. 
 
 Carlos. Why, she's damned ugly ! 
 
 Isaac. Hush ! [Stops his mouth 
 
 Duenna. 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 ? 
 
 Carlos. Ay, such as I never saw before, indeed ! 
 
 Duenna. 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. 
 
 Duenna. Sweet, courteous sir, adieu ! 
 
 Isaac. Your slave eternally. — Come, Carlos, say some- 
 thing civil at taking leave. 
 
 Carlos. I'faith, Isaac, she is the hardest woman to 
 compliment I ever saw ; however, I'll try something I had 
 studied for the occasion. 
 
 Song 
 
 Ah ! sure a pair was never seen 
 
 So justly form'd to meet by nature ! 
 The youth excelling so in mien, 
 The maid in ev'ry grace of feature. 
 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 ! 
 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 Isaac, Carlos, Duenna. 
 
scene in THE DUENNA 157 
 
 SCENE III. 
 A Library 
 
 Jerome and Ferdinand discovered 
 
 'Jerome. Object to Antonio ? I have said it : his poverty, 
 can you acquit him of that ? 
 
 Ferd. Sir, I own he is not over rich ; but he is of as 
 ancient and honourable a family as any in the kingdom. 
 
 Jerome. Yes, I know the beggars are a very ancient 
 family in most kingdoms ; but never in great repute, boy. 
 
 Ferd. Antonio, sir, has many amiable qualities. 
 
 Jerome. But he is poor ; can you clear him of that, I 
 say ? Is he not a gay, dissipated rake, who has squandered 
 his patrimony ? 
 
 Ferd. Sir, he inherited but little ; and that, his genero- 
 sity, more than his profuseness, has stripped him of; but 
 he has never sullied his honour, which, with his title, has 
 outlived his means. 
 
 Jerome. Pshaw ! you talk like a blockhead ! nobility, 
 without an estate, is as ridiculous as gold lace on a frieze 
 coat. 
 
 Ferd. This language, sir, would better become a Dutch 
 or English trader than a Spaniard. 
 
 Jerome. 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 wonder- 
 ful 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. 
 
 Ferd. Doubtless, that agreeable figure of his must have 
 helped his suit surprisingly. 
 
 Jerome. How now? rFERDiNAND walks aside 
 
 Enter Isaac 
 
 Well, my friend, have you softened her ? 
 Isaac. Oh, yes ; I have softened her. 
 
r 5 8 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act i 
 
 Jerome. What, does she come to ? 
 
 Isaac. Why, truly, she was kinder than I expected to 
 find her. 
 
 Jerome. And the dear little angel was civil, hey ? 
 
 Isaac. Yes, the pretty little angel was very civil. 
 
 Jerome. 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 ? 
 
 Jerome. How old ? let me see — eight and twelve — she 
 is twenty. 
 
 Isaac. Twenty ? 
 
 Jerome. Ay, to a month. 
 
 Isaac. Then, upon my soul, she is the oldest looking 
 girl of her age in Christendom ! 
 
 Jerome. Do you think so ? but, I believe, you will not 
 see a prettier girl. 
 
 Isaac. Here and there one. 
 
 Jerome. 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. 
 
 Jerome. She has her father's 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. 
 
 Jerome. Her aunt Ursula's nose, and her grandmother's 
 forehead, to a hair. 
 
 Isaac. Ay, 'faith, and her grandfather's chin to a hair. 
 
 [Aside. 
 
 Jerome. Well, if she was but as dutiful as she's hand- 
 some — 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 over- 
 take her face. 
 
 Jerome. Why, zounds, Master Isaac ! you are not 
 sneering, are you ? 
 
 Isaac. Why now, seriously, Don Jerome, do you think 
 your daughter handsome ? 
 
scene in THE DUENNA 
 
 159 
 
 Jerome. 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 I ever beheld. 
 
 Jerome. By St. Iago, you must be blind. 
 
 Isaac. No, no ; 'tis you are partial. 
 
 Jerome. 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 nan- 
 keen 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 an harpsichord. Then, as to her singing 
 and heavenly voice — by this hand, she has a shrill, cracked 
 pipe, that sounds, for all the world, like a child's trumpet. 
 
 Jerome. Why, you little Hebrew scoundrel, do you 
 mean to insult me ! out of my house, I say ! 
 
 Ferd. Dear sir, what's the matter ? 
 
 Jerome. Why, this Israelite here has the impudence to 
 say your sister's ugly. 
 
 Ferd. He must be either blind or insolent. 
 
 Isaac. So, I find they are all in a story. Egad, I be- 
 lieve I have gone too far ! 
 
 Ferd. Sure, sir, there must be some mistake ; it can't 
 be my sister whom he has seen. 
 
 Jerome. 'Sdeath ! you are as great a fool as he ! what 
 mistake can there be ? did not I lock up Louisa, and 
 hav'n'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. 
 
160 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act 11 
 
 Duet 
 
 Isaac. Believe me, good sir, I ne'er meant to offend j 
 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. 
 
 "Jerome. Zounds ! you'd best not provoke me, my rage is so high ! 
 Isaac. Hold him fast, I beseech you, his rage is so high ! 
 
 Good sir, you're too hot, and this place I must fly. 
 Jerome. 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. 
 
 Jerome. How ? 
 
 Isaac. Ha ! ha ! ha ! I'll be hanged if you hav'n't taken 
 my abuse of your daughter seriously. 
 
 Jerome. You meant it so, did not you ? 
 
 Isaac. O mercy, no ! a joke — just to try how angry it 
 would make you. 
 
 Jerome. 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. 
 
 Jerome. Give me your hand, you little jocose rogue — 
 Egad, I thought we had been all off. 
 
 Ferd. So ! I was in hopes this would have been a 
 quarrel ; but I find the Jew is too cunning. 
 
 Jerome. Ay, this gust of passion has made me dry — I 
 am seldom ruffled — order some wine in the next room — 
 let us drink the poor girl's health — poor Louisa ! ugly, 
 hey ! Ha ! ha ! ha ! 'Twas a very good joke, indeed ! 
 
 Isaac. And a very true one for all that. [Aside. 
 
 Jerome. And, Ferdinand, I insist upon your drinking 
 success to my friend. 
 
 Ferd. Sir, I will drink success to my friend with all my 
 heart. 
 
 Jerome. Come, little Solomon, if any sparks of anger 
 had remained this would be the only way to quench them. 
 
scene iv THE DUENNA 161 
 
 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, etc. 
 
 SCENE IV. 
 
 Isaac's Lodgings 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 Enter Louisa 
 
 Louisa. Was ever truant daughter so whimsically 
 circumstanced as I am ? I have sent my intended husband 
 to look after my lover — the man of my father's choice is 
 gone to bring me the man of my own — but how dispiriting 
 is this interval of expectation ! 
 
 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, etc. 
 
 Enter Carlos 
 
 So, friend, is Antonio found ? 
 
 Carlos. I could not meet with him, lady ; but I doubt 
 not my friend Isaac will be here with him presently. 
 
 M 
 
162 
 
 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 ACT II 
 
 Louisa. Oh, shame ! you have used no diligence. — Is 
 this your courtesy to a lady who has trusted herself to 
 your protection ? 
 
 Carlos. Indeed, madam, I have not been remiss. 
 
 Louisa. Well, well ; but if either of you had known 
 how each moment of delay weighs upon the heart of her 
 who loves, and waits the object of her love, oh, ye would 
 not then have trifled thus ! 
 
 Carlos. Alas ! I know it well ! 
 
 Louisa. Were you ever in love then ? 
 
 Carlos. I was, lady ; but while I have life will never 
 be again. 
 
 Louisa. Was your mistress so cruel ? 
 
 Carlos. If she had always been so I should have been 
 happier. 
 
 Song 
 
 O had my love ne'er smiled on me 
 
 I ne'er had known such anguish ; 
 But think how false, 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 fix'd 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 : 
 Then land was cried — no more resign 'd, 
 
 He glow'd with joy to hear it ; 
 Not worse his fate, his woe, to find 
 
 The wreck must sink ere near it ! 
 
 Louisa. As I live, here is your friend coming with 
 Antonio. — I'll retire for a moment to surprise him. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Enter Isaac and Antonio 
 
 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 ! 
 
scene iv THE DUENNA 163 
 
 Isaac. That you shall see in an instant. — Carlos, where 
 is the lady? [Carlos points to the door.~\ In the next 
 room, is she ? 
 
 Ant. Nay, if that lady is really here she certainly 
 wants me to conduct her to a dear friend of mine, who has 
 long been her lover. 
 
 Isaac. Pshaw ! I tell you 'tis no such thing — you are 
 the man she wants, and nobody but you. Here's ado 
 to persuade you to take a pretty girl that's dying 
 for you ! 
 
 Ant. But I have no affection for this lady. 
 
 Isaac. And you have for Louisa, hey ? but take my 
 word for it, Antonio, you have no chance there— so you 
 may as well secure the good that offers itself to you. 
 
 Ant. And could you reconcile it to your conscience to 
 supplant your friend ? 
 
 Isaac. Pish ! Conscience has no more to do with 
 gallantry than it has with politics — why, you are no 
 honest fellow, if love cannot make a rogue of you — so 
 come, do go in, and speak to her at last. 
 
 Ant. Well, I have no objection to that. 
 
 Isaac. [Opens the door.'] There — there she is — yonder 
 by the window — get in, do — [Pushes him in, and half shuts 
 the door] — now, Carlos, now I shall hamper him, I warrant 
 — stay, I'll peep how they go on — egad, he looks con- 
 foundedly posed — now she's coaxing him — see, Carlos, 
 he begins to come to — ay, ay, he'll soon forget his 
 conscience. 
 
 Carlos. 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. 
 
 Carlos. 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. O, this little cunning head ! I'm a Machiavel — a 
 very Machiavel. 
 
 Carlos. I hear somebody inquiring for you — I'll see 
 who it is. [Exit Carlos. 
 
1 64 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act ij 
 
 Enter Antonio and Louisa 
 
 Ant. Well, my good friend, this lady has so entirely 
 convinced me of the certainty of your success at Don 
 Jerome's, that I now resign my pretensions there. 
 
 Isaac. You never did a wiser thing, believe me — and 
 as for deceiving your friend, that's nothing at all — trick- 
 ing is all fair in love, isn't it, ma'am ? 
 
 Louisa. Certainly, sir ; and I am particularly 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 ! 
 
 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 ? 
 
 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. 
 
 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 ? 
 
 Ant. That I do, most sincerely. 
 
 Isaac. I doubt you have a little hankering there still. 
 
 Ant. None in the least, upon my soul. 
 
 Isaac. I mean after her fortune. 
 
 Ant. No, believe me You are heartily welcome to 
 
 everything 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. 
 
 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. 
 
scene iv THE DUENNA 165 
 
 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 overreach 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 ? 
 
 Ant. Ha ! ha ! ha ! you are indeed ! 
 
 Isaac. Roguish, you'll say, but keen, eh ? — devilish 
 keen ? 
 
 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 ? 
 
 Louisa. Yes, I'll answer for it, we shall have a good 
 laugh when the truth comes out, ha ! ha ! ha ! 
 
 Enter Carlos 
 
 Carlos. Here are the dancers come to practise the 
 fandango you intended to have honoured Donna Louisa 
 with. 
 
 Isaac. O, I sha'n't want them ; but as I must pay 
 them, I'll see a caper for my money — will you excuse me ? 
 
 Louisa. Willingly. 
 
 Isaac. Here's my friend, whom you may command 
 for any service. Madam, your most obedient — Antonio, 
 I wish you all happiness. — Oh, the easy blockhead ! what 
 a tool I have made of him ! — This was a masterpiece ! 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Louisa. Carlos, will you be my guard again, and con- 
 vey me to the convent of St. Catharine ? 
 
 Ant. Why, Louisa — why should you go there ? 
 
 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. 
 
 Ant. I have no hope from him. — O Louisa ! in these 
 arms should be your sanctuary. 
 
 Louisa. Be patient but for a little while — my father 
 cannot force me from thence. But let me see you there 
 before evening, and I will explain myself. 
 
166 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act ii 
 
 Ant. I shall obey. 
 
 Louisa. Come, friend. — Antonio, Carlos has been a 
 lover himself. 
 
 Ant. Then he knows the value of his trust. 
 Carlos. You shall not find me unfaithful. 
 
 Trio 
 
 Soft pity never leaves the gentle breast 
 Where love has been received a welcome guest ; 
 As wand'ring saints poor huts have sacred made, 
 He hallows ev'ry 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 
 
 Enter Jerome and Servant 
 
 Jerome. 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 impossible ! 
 
 Serv. Her maid says, sir, they had your leave to walk 
 in the garden while you was abroad. — The door by the 
 shrubbery was found open, and they have not been heard 
 of since. [Exit. 
 
 Jerome. 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 
 
 Serv. Here is a letter, sir, from Signor Isaac. [Exit. 
 
 Jerome. 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 
 
1 68 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act in 
 
 throw ourselves at your feet, and I hope you will have a 
 blessing ready for one, who will then be, 
 ' Tour son-in-law, 
 
 * Isaac Mendoza.' 
 
 A whim, hey ? Why, the devil's in the girl, I think ! 
 This morning she would die sooner than have him, and 
 before evening she runs away with him ! — 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. 
 
 Enter Servant, with another Letter 
 
 Serv. Sir, here's a man below, who says he brought 
 this from my young lady, Donna Louisa. [Exit. 
 
 Jerome. How ! yes, it is my daughter's hand indeed ! 
 Lord, there was no occasion for them both to write ; 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 too resentful 
 of ill usage, I have also a heart as easily affected by kind- 
 ness? — 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 
 
 ' / am not married yet, though with a man, I am convinced, 
 adores me'' — Yes, yes, I dare say Isaac is very fond of her 
 — ' But I shall anxiously expect your answer, in which, 
 should I be so fortunate as to receive your consent, you will 
 make completely happy, 
 
 ' Tour ever affectionate daughter, 
 
 ' Louisa.' 
 
 My consent ? to be sure she shall have it ! — egad, I was 
 never better pleased — I have fulfilled my resolution — I 
 
 knew I should. — Oh, there's nothing like obstinacy 
 
 Lewis ! 
 
scene i THE DUENNA 169 
 
 Enter Servant 
 
 Let the man, who brought the last letter, wait ; and 
 get me a pen and ink below. I am impatient to set poor 
 Louisa's heart at rest — holloa ! Lewis ! Sancho ! 
 
 Enter Servants 
 
 See that there be a noble supper provided in the saloon 
 to-night — serve up my best wines, and let me have music, 
 d'ye hear ? 
 
 Serv. Yes, sir. [Exeunt. 
 
 Jerome. And order all my doors to be thrown open — 
 
 admit all guests, with masks or without masks 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 I 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! 
 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 
 
 At 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 gray. 
 Yet, old Jerome, thou may'st boast, 
 
 While thy spirits do not tire, 
 Still beneath thy age's frost 
 
 Glows a spark of youthful fire. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
1 7 o SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act in 
 
 SCENE II. 
 
 The New Piazza 
 
 Enter Ferdinand and Lopez 
 
 Ferd. What, could you gather no tidings of her ? nor 
 guess where she was gone ? O Clara ! Clara ! 
 
 Lopez. In truth, sir, I could not. — That she was run 
 away from her father, was in every body'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. 
 
 Ferd. 'Sdeath and fury, you blockhead ! she can't be 
 out of Seville. 
 
 Lopez. 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. 
 
 Ferd. 'Tis false, scoundrel ! no one said that. 
 
 Lopez. Then I misunderstood them, sir. 
 
 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 ! 
 
 Ferd. What ? what was that you said of Clara ? 
 
 Isaac. Oh, Ferdinand ! my brother-in-law, that shall 
 be, who thought of meeting you ! 
 
 Ferd. But what of Clara ? 
 
 Isaac. I'faith, you shall hear. — This morning, as I was 
 coming down, I met a pretty damsel, who told me her 
 name was Clara d'Almanza, and begged my protection. 
 
 Ferd. How ? 
 
 Isaac. She said she had eloped from her father, Don 
 
scene ii THE DUENNA 171 
 
 Guzman, but that love for a young gentleman in Seville 
 was the cause. 
 
 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. 
 
 Ferd. Dear creature ! no more I did indeed ! Oh, I 
 am the happiest fellow ! — [Aside. ~\ Well, Isaac ! 
 
 Isaac. Why, then she entreated me to find him out for 
 her, and bring him to her. 
 
 Ferd. Good Heavens, how lucky ! — Well, come along , 
 let's lose no time. [Pulling him. 
 
 Isaac. Zooks ! where are we to go ? 
 
 Ferd. Why, did anything more pass ? 
 
 Isaac. Anything more ! yes ; the end on't was, that I 
 was moved with her speeches, and complied with her 
 desires. 
 
 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. 
 
 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. 
 
 Ferd. Hell and madness ! [Aside.~] 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. 
 
 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. — Pshaw ! damn your friend, says I. — So, 
 poor wretch, he has no chance — no, no ; he may hang 
 himself as soon as he pleases. 
 
 Ferd. I must go, or I shall betray myself. 
 
172 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act in 
 
 Isaac. But stay, Ferdinand, you ha'n't heard the best 
 of the joke. 
 
 Ferd. Curse on your joke ! 
 
 Isaac. Good lack ! what's the matter now ? I thought 
 to have diverted you. 
 
 Ferd. Be rack'd ! tortured ! damn'd 
 
 Isaac. Why, sure you are not the poor devil of a lover, 
 are you ? I' faith, as sure as can be, he is. — This is a better 
 joke than t'other, ha ! ha ! ha ! 
 
 Ferd. What, do you laugh ? you vile, mischievous 
 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 ? 
 
 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. 
 
 Ferd. Be quick then ! 
 
 Isaac. I will, I will — but people's memories differ — 
 some have a treacherous memory — now mine is a cowardly 
 memory — it takes to its heels at sight of a drawn sword, 
 it does, i'faith ; and I could as soon fight as recollect. 
 
 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 
 
 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 ? 
 
 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. 
 Catharine. 
 
 Ferd. St Catharine ! 
 
 Isaac. Yes ; and that Antonio was to come to her 
 there. 
 
 Ferd. Is this the truth ? 
 
 Isaac. It is indeed— and all I know, as I hope for 
 life. 
 
scene in THE DUENNA 173 
 
 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 welcome. 
 
 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. 
 
 Ferd. 'Tis false ! she is worth the enmity of princes. 
 
 Isaac. True, true, so she is ; and I pity you exceedingly 
 for having lost her. 
 
 Ferd. 'Sdeath, you rascal ! how durst you talk of pity- 
 ing me ? 
 
 Isaac. Oh, dear brother-in-law, I beg pardon, I don't 
 pity you in the least, upon my soul. 
 
 Ferd. Get hence, fool, and provoke me no further ; 
 nothing but your insignificance saves you. 
 
 Isaac. I'faith, then my insignificance is the best friend 
 I have. — I'm going, dear Ferdinand. — What a curst hot- 
 headed bully it is ! [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III. 
 
 The Garden of the Convent 
 Enter Louisa and Clara 
 
 Louisa. And you really wish my brother may not find 
 you out ? 
 
 Clara. Why else have I concealed myself under this 
 disguise ? 
 
 Louisa. Why, perhaps, because the dress becomes you ; 
 for you certainly don't intend to be a nun for life. 
 
 Clara. If, indeed, Ferdinand had not offended me so 
 last night 
 
 Louisa. Come, come, it was his fear of losing you 
 made him so rash. 
 
 Clara. Well, you may think me cruel — but I swear, if 
 he were here this instant, I believe I should forgive him. 
 
174 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act in 
 
 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, 
 
 Enrag'd 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, 
 
 Louisa. I protest, Clara, I shall begin to think you 
 are seriously resolved to enter on your probation. 
 
 Clara. And, seriously, I very much doubt whether 
 the character of a nun would not become me best. 
 
 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. 
 
 Clara. Yonder I see your Antonio is returned. — I shall 
 only interrupt you ; ah, Louisa, with what happy eagerness 
 you turn to look for him ! [Exit. 
 
 Enter Antonio 
 
 Ant. Well, my Louisa, any news since I left you ? 
 
 Louisa. None. — The messenger is not returned from 
 my father. 
 
 Ant. Well, I confess, I do not perceive what we are to 
 expect from him. 
 
 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. 
 
scene in THE DUENNA 175 
 
 Song — Antonio 
 
 How oft, Louisa, hast thou told, 
 
 (Nor wilt thou the fond boast disown), 
 Thou wouldst not lose Antonio's love 
 
 To reign the partner of a throne. 
 And by those lips that spoke so kind, 
 
 And by that hand I've press'd to mine, 
 To be the lord of wealth and power, 
 
 By Heav'ns, I would not part with thine ! 
 
 Then how, my soul, can we be poor, 
 
 Who own what kingdoms could not buy i 
 Of this true heart thou shalt be queen, 
 
 And, serving thee, a monarch I. 
 Thus uncontroll'd, in mutual bliss, 
 
 And rich in love's exhaustless mine, 
 Do thou snatch treasures from my lips, 
 
 And I'll take kingdoms back from thine ! 
 
 Enter Maid, with a Letter 
 
 Louisa. My father's answer, I suppose. 
 
 Ant. My dearest Louisa, you may be assured that it 
 contains nothing but threats and reproaches. 
 
 Louisa. Let us see, however — [Reads.~\ * Dearest 
 daughter, make your lover happy ; you have my full consent 
 to marry as your whim has chosen, but be sure come home 
 and sup with your affectionate father. 
 
 Ant. You jest, Louisa ! 
 
 Louisa. [Gives him the letter.~] Read — read. 
 
 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. 
 
 Louisa. Shall we not then return and thank my 
 father ? 
 
 Ant. But first let the priest put it out of his power to 
 recall his word — I'll fly to procure one. 
 
 Louisa. Nay, if you part with me again, perhaps you 
 may lose me. 
 
 Ant. Come, then — there is a friar of a neighbouring 
 convent is my friend ; you have already been diverted by 
 
176 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act hi 
 
 the manners of a nunnery ; let us see whether there is less 
 hypocrisy among the holy fathers. 
 
 Louisa. I'm afraid not, Antonio — for in religion, as in 
 friendship, they who profess most are ever the least 
 sincere. [Exeunt. 
 
 Enter Clara 
 
 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 for one's friend, but I am sure nothing 
 but the presence of the man we love can support it. — Ha ! 
 what do I see ! Ferdinand, as I live ! how could he gain 
 admission — by potent gold, I suppose, as Antonio did. — ■ 
 How eager and disturbed he seems — he shall not know 
 me as yet. [Lets down her veil. 
 
 Enter Ferdinand 
 
 Ferd. Yes, those were certainly they — my information 
 was right. [Going. 
 
 Clara. [Stops him.~\ Pray, signor, what is your business 
 here ? 
 
 Ferd. No matter — no matter. — Oh, they stop — [Looks 
 out.~] Yes, that is the perfidious Clara indeed ! 
 
 Clara. So, a jealous error. — I'm glad to see him so 
 moved. [Aside. 
 
 Ferd. Her disguise can't conceal her. — No, no, I know 
 her too well. 
 
 Clara. Wonderful discernment ! but, signor 
 
 Ferd. Be quiet, good nun ; don't tease me. — By 
 Heavens, she leans upon his arm, hangs fondly on it ! O 
 woman ! woman ! 
 
 Clara. But, signor, who is it you want r 
 
 Ferd. Not you, not you, so pr'ythee don't tease me. 
 Yet pray, stay — gentle nun, was it not Donna Clara 
 d'Almanza just parted from you ? 
 
 Clara. Clara d'Almanza, signor, is not yet out of the 
 garden. 
 
scene iv THE DUENNA 177 
 
 Ferd. Ay, ay, I knew I was right. — And pray is 
 not that gentleman, now at the porch with her, Antonio 
 d'Ercilla ? 
 
 Clara. It is indeed, signor. 
 
 Ferd. So, so ; now but one question more — can you 
 inform me for what purpose they have gone away ? 
 
 Clara. They are gone to be married, I believe. 
 
 Ferd. Very well — enough — now if I don't mar their 
 wedding ! [Exit. 
 
 Clara. [Unveil s.~] I thought jealousy had made lovers 
 quick-sighted, but it has made mine blind. — Louisa's story 
 accounts to me for this error, and I am glad to find I have 
 power enough over him to make him so unhappy. But 
 why should not I be present at his surprise when undeceived ? 
 When he's through the porch I'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 
 
 Enter Antonio 
 
 Ant. What, my friend Isaac ! 
 
 Isaac. What, Antonio ! wish me joy ! I have Louisa 
 safe. 
 
 Ant. Have you ? — I wish you joy with all my soul. 
 
 Isaac. Yes, I am come here to procure a priest to 
 marry us. 
 
 N 
 
i 7 8 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act m 
 
 Ant. So, then, we are both on the same errand ; I am 
 come to look for Father Paul. 
 
 Isaac. Hah ! I am glad on't — but, i'faith, he must tack 
 me first ; my love is waiting. 
 
 Ant. So is mine. — I left her in the porch. 
 
 Isaac. Ay, but I am in haste to get back to Don 
 Jerome. 
 
 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 mine. 
 Come along — but you're obliged to me for all this. 
 
 Ant. Yes, yes. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE V. 
 
 A Room in the Priory. — Friars at the 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. 
 
 Francis. Have we drank the abbess of St. Ursuline ? 
 
 Paul. Yes, yes ; she was the last. 
 
 Francis. Then I'll give you the blue-eyed nun of 
 St. Catharine'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, 
 
scene v THE DUENNA 179 
 
 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 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 See who's there. 
 
 [A knocking, Francis goes to the door y and opens it. 
 
 Enter Porter 
 
 Porter. Here's one without in pressing haste to speak 
 with Father Paul. 
 
 Francis. Brother Paul ! 
 
 [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 ? 
 
 Porter. I thought they were finished. 
 
 Paul. No, they were not — were they, Brother Francis ? 
 
 Francis. 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 gormandize, and 
 thrive, while we are wasting in mortification. 
 
 Porter. We ask no more than nature craves. 
 
 Paul. 'Tis false, ye have more appetites than hairs ! 
 and your flushed, sleek, and pampered appearance is the 
 disgrace of our Order — out on't. — If you are hungry, can't 
 you be content with the wholesome roots of the earth ; and 
 if you are dry, isn't there the crystal spring ? [Drinks.] 
 Put this away, [Gives a glass] and show me where I'm 
 wanted. [Porter draws the glass. — Paul, going, turns. - ] 
 So you would have drank it, if there had been any left. 
 Ah, glutton ! glutton ! [Exeunt. 
 
180 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act iij 
 
 SCENE VI. 
 
 The Court before the Priory 
 
 Enter Isaac and Antonio 
 
 Isaac. A plaguy while coming, this same Father Paul. — 
 He's detained at vespers, I suppose, poor fellow. 
 Ant. No, here he comes. 
 
 Enter 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 the very 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 
 swoln me like a bladder. 
 
 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. 
 
 Ant. But, to the purpose, father — will you officiate 
 for us ? 
 
scene vi THE DUENNA 181 
 
 Paul. To join young people thus clandestinely is not 
 safe ; and, indeed, I have in my heart many weighty 
 reasons against it. 
 
 Ant. And I have in my hand many weighty reasons 
 for it. Isaac, hav'n'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. 
 
 Ant. Now then, come with us. 
 
 Isaac. Ay, now give us your title to joy and rapture. 
 
 Paul. Well, when your hour of repentance comes 
 don't blame me. 
 
 Ant. No bad caution to my friend Isaac. [Aside.] 
 Well, well, father, do you do your part, and I'll abide the 
 consequence. 
 
 Isaac. Ay, and so will I. [They are going. 
 
 Enter Louisa, running 
 
 Louisa. O, Antonio, Ferdinand is at the porch, and 
 inquiring for us. 
 
 Isaac. Who ? Don Ferdinand ! he's not inquiring 
 for me, I hope. 
 
 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. 
 
 Ant. Never fear, never fear. 
 
 Isaac. Well, you may stay it you will ; but I'll get 
 some one to marry me ; for, by St. Iago, he shall never 
 marry me again while I am master of a pair of heels. 
 
 [Runs out. 
 
i82 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act in 
 
 Enter Ferdinand 
 
 Ferd. So, sir, I have met with you at last. 
 
 Ant. Well, sir. 
 
 Ferd. Base, treacherous man ! whence can a false, 
 deceitful soul, like yours, borrow confidence to look so 
 steadily on the man you've injured ? 
 
 Ant. Ferdinand, you are too warm : — 'tis true you find 
 me on the point of wedding one I love 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 she 
 had left her father's till I saw her. 
 
 Ferd. What a mean excuse ! You have wronged your 
 friend, then, for one whose wanton forwardness anticipated 
 your treachery — of this, indeed, your Jew pander informed 
 me ; but let your conduct be consistent, and since you 
 have dared to do a wrong, follow me, and show you have 
 a spirit to avow it. 
 
 Louisa. Antonio, I perceive his mistake — leave him 
 to me. 
 
 Paul. Friend, you are rude, to interrupt the union of 
 two willing hearts. 
 
 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 Louisa, who shakes her head. 
 
 Ferd. Clara, I thank you for your silence. — I would not 
 have heard your tongue avow such falsity ; be't your 
 punishment to remember I have not reproached you. 
 
 Enter Clara 
 
 Clara. What mockery is this ? 
 
 Ferd. Antonio, you are protected now, but we shall 
 meet. 
 
 [Going, Clara holds one arm, and Louisa the other. 
 
scene vi THE DUENNA 183 
 
 Duet 
 
 Louisa. Turn thee round, I pray thee, 
 
 Calm awhile thy rage. 
 Clara. I must help to stay thee, 
 
 And thy wrath assuage. 
 
 Louisa. Couldst thou not discover 
 
 One so dear to thee ? 
 Clara. Canst thou be a lover, 
 
 And thus fly from me ? 
 
 [Both unveil. 
 
 Ferd. How's this ! my sister ! Clara too — I'm 
 confounded. 
 
 Louisa. 'Tis even so, good brother. 
 
 Paul. How ! what impiety ! Did the man want to 
 marry his own sister ? 
 
 Louisa. And ar'n't you ashamed of yourself, not to 
 know your own sister ? 
 
 Clara. To drive away your own mistress 
 
 Louisa. Don't you see how jealousy blinds people ? 
 
 Clara. Ay, and will you ever be jealous again ? 
 
 Ferd. Never — never — you, sister, I know, will forgive 
 me — but how, Clara, shall I presume 
 
 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 I'll forgive you. 
 
 Ferd. By all 
 
 Clara. There, that will do — you'll keep the oath just 
 as well. [Gives her hand. 
 
 Louisa. But, brother, here is one to whom some 
 apology is due. 
 
 Ferd. Antonio, I am ashamed to think 
 
 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. 
 
1 84 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act hi 
 
 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 
 
 Enter Don Jerome, Servants, and Lopez 
 
 Jerome. 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. So, Lopez, where's your master ? sha'n't we have 
 him at supper ? 
 
 Lopez. Indeed, I believe not, sir — he's mad, I doubt ; 
 I'm sure he has frighted me from him. 
 
 Jerome. Ay, ay, he's after some wench, I suppose ? a 
 young rake ! Well, well, we'll be merry without him. 
 
 Enter Servant 
 Serv. Sir, here is Signor Isaac. 
 
 Enter Isaac 
 
 Jerome. 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. 
 
 Jerome. Oh, fly and bring her in. [Exit Isaac] 
 Poor girl, I long to see her pretty face. 
 
 Isaac. \JVithout] Come, my charmer ! my trembling 
 angel ! 
 
scene vii THE DUENNA 185 
 
 Enter Isaac and Duenna ; Don Jerome runs to meet 
 them ; she kneels 
 
 Jerome. 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 ! 
 
 Jerome. 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 ! 
 
 Jerome. Wife with a vengeance ! Why, zounds, you 
 have not married the Duenna ! 
 
 Duenna. [Kneeling.'] O, dear papa ! you'll not dis- 
 own me, sure ! 
 
 Jerome. Papa ! papa ! Why, zounds, your impudence 
 is as great as your ugliness ! 
 
 Isaac. Rise, my charmer, go throw your snowy arms 
 about his neck, and convince him you are 
 
 Duenna. Oh, sir, forgive me ! [Embraces him. 
 
 Jerome. Help ! murder ! 
 
 Servants. What's the matter, sir ? 
 
 Jerome. 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 Antonio and Louisa ; they kneel 
 
 Jerome. Zounds and fury ! what's here now ? who sent 
 for you, sir, and who the devil are you ? 
 
 Ant. This lady's husband, sir. 
 
 Isaac. Ay, that he is, I'll be sworn ; for I left them 
 with the priest, and was to have given her away. 
 
 Jerome. You were ? 
 
 Isaac. Ay ; that's my honest friend, Antonio ; and 
 that's the little girl I told you I had hampered him with. 
 
 Jerome. Why, you are either drunk or mad — this is 
 my daughter. 
 
186 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act hi 
 
 Isaac. No, no ; 'tis you are both drunk and mad, I 
 think — here's your daughter. 
 
 Jerome. Hark ye, old iniquity, will you explain all this, 
 or not ? 
 
 Duenna. 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? 
 
 Duenna. 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. 
 
 Jerome. And, O Lud ! O Lud ! here's a pretty fellow, 
 to marry an old Duenna instead of my daughter — but how 
 came the rest about ? 
 
 Duenna. 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. 
 
 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 endeavour- 
 ing to overreach you, by getting your daughter's fortune 
 without making any settlement in return. 
 
 Jerome. Overreach me ! 
 
 Louisa. 'Tis so, indeed, sir, and we can prove it to you. 
 
 Jerome. Why, Gad take me, it must be so, or he could 
 never have put up with such a face as Margaret's — so, little 
 Solomon, I wish you joy of your wife, with all my soul. 
 
 Louisa. Isaac, tricking is all fair in love — let you alone 
 for the plot. 
 
 Ant. A cunning dog, ar'n't you ? A sly little villain, 
 heh? 
 
 Louisa. Roguish, perhaps ; but keen, devilish keen. 
 
 Jerome. Yes, yes ; his aunt always called him little 
 Solomon. 
 
scene vii THE DUENNA 187 
 
 Isaac. Why, the plagues of Egypt upon you all ! — but 
 do you think I'll submit to such an imposition ? 
 
 Ant. Isaac, one serious word — you'd better be content 
 as you are ; for, believe me, you will find, that, in the 
 opinion of the world, there is not a fairer subject for 
 contempt and ridicule than a knave become the dupe of 
 his own art. 
 
 Isaac. I don't care — I'll not endure this. Don Jerome, 
 'tis you have done this — you would be so cursed positive 
 about the beauty of her you locked up, and all the time I 
 told you she was as old as my mother and as ugly as the 
 devil. 
 
 Duenna. Why, you little insignificant reptile ! 
 
 Jerome. That's right — attack him, Margaret. 
 
 Duenna. 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 ! — 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 ! 
 
 Jerome. Well done, Margaret ! 
 
 Duenna. 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 ! 
 
 Duenna. Fly where you will, I'll follow you. 
 
 Jerome. Throw your snowy arms about him, Margaret. 
 [Exeunt Isaac and Duenna.] — But, Louisa, are you 
 really married to this modest gentleman ? 
 
 Louisa. Sir, in obedience to your commands, I gave 
 him my hand within this hour. 
 
 Jerome. My commands ! 
 
 Ant. Yes, sir ; here is your consent, under your own 
 hand. 
 
 Jerome. How ! would you rob me of my child by a 
 trick, a false pretence ? and do you think to get her fortune 
 by the same means ? Why, 'slife, you are as great a rogue 
 as Isaac ! 
 
 Ant. No, Don Jerome ; though I have profited by this 
 
188 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act hi 
 
 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. 
 
 Jerome. Why, gad take me, but you are a very extra- 
 ordinary fellow ! But have you the impudence to suppose 
 no one can do a generous action but yourself? Here, 
 Louisa, tell this proud fool of yours that he's the only 
 man I know that would renounce your fortune ; and, by 
 my soul, he's the only man in Spain that's worthy of it. — 
 There, bless you both : I'm an obstinate old fellow when 
 I'm in the wrong ; but you shall now find me as steady in 
 the right. 
 
 Enter Ferdinand and Clara 
 
 Another wonder still ! why, sirrah ! Ferdinand, you have 
 not stole a nun, have you ? 
 
 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. 
 
 Jerome. Gadsbud, and a great fortune. — Ferdinand, 
 you are a prudent young rogue, and I forgive you ; and, 
 ifecks, you are a pretty little damsel. Give your father- 
 in-law a kiss, you smiling rogue. 
 
 Clara. There, old gentleman ; and now mind you be- 
 have well to us. 
 
 Jerome. 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, 'ifaith, we'll make a night on't, with wine, and 
 dance, and catches — then old and young shall join us. 
 
SCENE VII 
 
 THE DUENNA 
 
 189 
 
 Finale 
 
 'Jerome. 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. 
 
 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. 
 
 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. 
 
 Ant. Then healths to every friend, 
 
 The night's repast shall end, 
 
 With a heart at ease, merry, merry glees 
 Can never fail to please. 
 
 Clara. 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. 
 
 'Jerome. For generous guests like these 
 
 Accept the wish to please ; 
 
 So we'll laugh and play, so blithe and gay, 
 Your smiles drive care away. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
THE 
 
 SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL 
 
 A COMEDY 
 
DRAMATIS PERSONS 
 
 AS ORIGINALLY ACTED AT DRURY-LANE THEATRE, MAY 8, 1777 
 
 Sir Peter Teazle 
 
 Sir Oliver Surface . 
 
 Joseph Surface 
 
 Charles . 
 
 Crab tree 
 
 Sir Benjamin Backbite 
 
 Rowley . 
 
 Moses . 
 
 Trip . 
 
 Snake 
 
 Careless . 
 
 Sir Harry Bumper . 
 
 Lady Teazle . . 
 
 Maria . 
 Lady Sneerwell 
 Mrs. Candour 
 
 Mr. King. 
 Mr. Yates. 
 Mr. Palmer. 
 Mr. Smith. 
 Mr. Parsons. 
 Mr. Dodd. 
 Mr. Aickin. 
 Mr. Baddeley. 
 Mr. Lamash. 
 Mr. Packer. 
 Mr. Farren. 
 Mr. Gawdry. 
 
 Mrs x^bington. 
 Miss P. Hopkins. 
 Miss Sherry. 
 Miss Pops. 
 
A PORTRAIT 
 
 ADDRESSED TO MRS. CREWE, WITH THE COMEDY OF 
 THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL 
 
 BY R. B. SHFRJDAN, ES<1_. 
 
 Tell me, ye prim adepts in Scandal's school, 
 Who rail by precept, and detract by rule. 
 Lives there no character, so tried, so known, 
 So deck'd with grace, and so unlike your own, 
 That even you assist her fame to raise, 
 Approve by envy, and by silence praise ! — 
 Attend ! — a model shall attract your view — 
 Daughters of calumny, I summon you ! 
 You shall decide if this a portrait prove, 
 Or fond creation of the Muse and Love. — ■ 
 Attend, ye virgin critics, shrewd and sage, 
 Ye matron censors of this childish age, 
 Whose peering eye and wrinkled front declare 
 A fixt antipathy to young and fair ; 
 By cunning, cautious ; or by nature, cold, 
 In maiden madness, virulently bold ! — 
 Attend ! ye skilled to coin the precious tale, 
 Creating proof, where innuendos 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, 
 
 o 
 
i 9 4 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 In worthier verse is sung thy beauty's fame) ; 
 
 Come — for but thee who seeks the Muse ? and while 
 
 Celestial blushes check thy conscious smile, 
 
 With timid grace, and hesitating eye, 
 
 The perfect model, which I boast, supply : — 
 
 Vain Muse ! couldst thou the humblest sketch create 
 
 Of her, or slightest charm couldst imitate — 
 
 Could thy blest strain in kindred colours trace 
 
 The faintest wonder of her form and face — 
 
 Poets would study the immortal line, 
 
 And Reynolds own his art subdued by thine ; 
 
 That art, which well might added lustre give 
 
 To Nature's best, and Heaven's superlative : 
 
 On Granby's cheek might bid new glories rise, 
 
 Or point a purer beam from 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 th' expression of her face, — 
 
 'Tis less than dignity, and more than grace ! 
 
 On her poor cheek the native hue is such, 
 
 That form'd by Heav'n to be admired so much, 
 
 The hand divine, with a less partial care, 
 
 Might well have fix'd 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 
 
THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL 195 
 
 But moving Love himself appears to teach 
 
 Their action, though denied to rule her speech ; 
 
 And thou who seest her speak and dost not hear, 
 
 Mourn not her distant accents 'scape thine ear ; 
 
 Viewing those lips, thou still may'st make pretence 
 
 To judge of what she says, and swear 'tis sense : 
 
 Cloth'd 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 heav'nly 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 alter'd 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 Jmoret, in mind supreme 
 
 As well as charms, rejects the vainer theme ; 
 
 And half mistrustful of her beauty's store, 
 
 She barbs with wit those darts too keen before : — 
 
 Read in all knowledge that her sex should reach, 
 
 Though Grevilky or the Muse, should deign to teach, 
 
 Fond to improve, nor tim'rous to discern 
 
 How far it is a woman's grace to learn ; 
 
 In Millar s dialect she would not prove 
 
 Apollo's priestess, but Apollo's love, 
 
 Graced by those signs, which truth delights to own, 
 
 The timid blush, and mild submitted tone : 
 
 Whate'er she says, though sense appear throughout, 
 
196 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 Displays the tender hue of female doubt ; 
 Deck'd with that charm, how lovely wit appears, 
 How graceful science, when that robe she wears ! 
 Such too her talents, and her bent of mind, 
 As speak a sprightly heart by thought refined 
 A taste for mirth, by contemplation school'd, 
 A turn for ridicule, by candour ruled, 
 A scorn of folly, which she tries to hide ; 
 An awe of talent, which she owns with pride ! 
 
 Peace ! idle Muse, — no more thy strain prolong, 
 But yield a theme thy warmest praises wrong ; 
 Just to her merit, though thou canst not raise 
 Thy feeble verse, behold th' acknowledged praise 
 Has spread conviction through the envious train, 
 And cast a fatal gloom o'er Scandal's reign ! 
 And lo ! each pallid hag, with blister'd tongue, 
 Mutters assent to all thy zeal has sung — 
 Owns all the colours just — the outline true ; 
 Thee my inspirer, and my model — Crewe! 
 
PROLOGUE 
 
 Written by Mr. Garrick 
 
 A School for Scandal ! tell me, I beseech you, 
 
 Needs there a school this modish art to teach you ? 
 
 No need of lessons now, the knowing think ; 
 
 We might as well 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 ris'n at noon, all night at cards when threshing 
 
 Strong tea and scandal — ' Bless me, how refreshing ! 
 
 ' Give me the papers, Lisp — how bold and free ! (sips) 
 
 1 Last night Lord L. (sips) was caught with Lady D. 
 
 1 For aching heads what charming sal volatile ! (sips) 
 
 1 If Mrs. B. will still continue flirting, 
 
 ' We hope she'll draw, or we'll undraw, the curtain. 
 
 ' Fine satire, poz — in public all abuse it, 
 
 ' But, by ourselves, (sips) our praise we can't refuse it. 
 
 ' Now, Lisp t read you — there, at that dash and star : ' 
 
 ' Yes, ma'am — A certain lord had best beware, 
 
 ' Who lives not twenty mile from Grosvenor Square ; 
 
 1 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. 
 
198 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 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 ! 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 this 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. 
 
ACT I. SCENE I. 
 
 Lady Sneerwell's House 
 
 Discovered Lady Sneerwell at the dressing-table ; 
 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. 
 
 s 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 i 
 of six matches being broken off, and three sons • dis- ' 
 inherited ; of four forced elopements, and as many close ( 
 confinements ; nine separate maintenances, and two y 
 divorces. Nay, I have more than once traced her causing \ 
 a tete-a-tete in the Town and Country Magazine, when j 
 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, 
 
200 SHERIDAN'^ PLAYS act i 
 
 has a free tongue and a bold invention ; but her colouring 
 is too dark, and her outlines often extravagant. She 
 wants that delicacy of tint and mellowness of sneer 
 which distinguishes your ladyship's scandal. 
 
 Lady Sneer. You are partial, Snake, r 
 
 Snake. Not in the least — everybody allows that Lady 
 Sneerwell can do more with a word or a look than many 
 can with the most laboured detail, even when they happen 
 to have a little truth on their side to support it. 
 
 Lady Sneer. Yes, my dear 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 reputation. 
 
 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 character, 
 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's, and apparently your favourite : 
 the latter attached to Maria, Sir Peter's ward, and con- 
 fessedly 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 close 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 attach- 
 ment subsisting between his brother Charles and Maria. 
 
 Lady Sneer. Then at once to unravel this mystery, J 
 must inform you that love has no share whatever in the 
 intercourse between Mr. Surface and me. 
 
scene i THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL 201 
 
 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 I am more puzzled why you should 
 interest yourself in his success. 
 
 Lady Sneer. How dull you are ! Cannot you surmise 
 the weakness which I hitherto, through shame, have con- 
 cealed 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'm thus anxious 
 and malicious, and to gain whom I would sacrifice every- 
 thing ? 
 
 Snake. Now, indeed, your conduct appears consistent ; 
 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 acquaintance, 
 he passes for a youthful miracle of prudence, good sense, 
 and benevolence. 
 
 Snake. Yes ; yet Sir Peter vows he has not his equal 
 in England — and above all, he praises him as a man of 
 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, I fear, he has a power- 
 ful one in Maria's heart, against whom we must direct 
 our schemes. 
 
 Enter Servant 
 
 Serv. Mr. Surface. 
 
 Lady Sneer. Show him up. [Exit Servant. 
 
 Enter Joseph Surface 
 
 Joseph S. My dear Lady Sneerwell, how do you do 
 to-day ? Mr. Snake, your most obedient. 
 
202 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act j 
 
 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. 
 
 Joseph S. 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. 
 
 Joseph S. 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 ? 
 
 Joseph S. Every hour. I am told he has had another 
 execution in the house yesterday. In short, his dissipation 
 and extravagance exceed anything I have ever heard of. 
 
 Lady Sneer. Poor Charles ! 
 
 Joseph S. True, madam ; notwithstanding his vices, 
 one can't help feeling for him. Poor Charles ! I'm sure 
 I wish it were in my power to be of any essential service 
 to him ; for the man who does not share in the distresses 
 of a brother, even though merited by his own misconduct, 
 deserves 
 
 Lady Sneer. O Lud ! you are going to be moral, and 
 forget that you are among friends. 
 
 Joseph S. Egad, that's true ! — I'll keep that sentiment 
 till I see Sir Peter ; — however, it certainly is 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 understanding. 
 
 Snake. I believe, Lady Sneerwell, here's company 
 coming : I'll go and copy the letter I mentioned to you. 
 — Mr. Surface, your most obedient. \Exit Snake. 
 
 Joseph S. Sir, your very devoted. — Lady Sneerwell, 
 I am very sorry you have put any further confidence in 
 that fellow. 
 
 Lady Sneer. Why so ? 
 
 Joseph S. I have lately detected him in frequent 
 
scene i THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL 203 
 
 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 ? 
 
 Joseph S. Nothing more likely : — take my word for't, 
 Lady Sneerwell, that fellow hasn't virtue enough to be 
 faithful eVen to his own villany. Ah ! Maria ! 
 
 Enter Maria 
 
 Lady Sneer. Maria, my dear, how do you do ? 
 
 What's the matter ? 
 
 Maria. Oh ! there is that disagreeable lover of mine, 
 Sir Benjamin Backbite, has just called at my guardian's 
 with his odious uncle, Crabtree ; so I slipt out, and ran 
 hither to avoid them. 
 
 Lady Sneer. Is that all ? 
 
 Joseph S. If my brother Charles had been of the 
 party, madam, perhaps you would not have been so much 
 alarmed. 
 
 Lady Sneer. Nay, now you are severe ; for I dare 
 swear the truth of the matter is, Maria heard you were 
 here. — But, my dear, what has Sir Benjamin done that you 
 would avoid him so ? 
 
 Maria. Oh, he has done nothing — but 'tis for what he 
 has said : his conversation is a perpetual libel on all his 
 acquaintance. 
 
 Joseph S. 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. 
 
 Maria. For my part, I confess, madam, wit loses its 
 respect with me v/hen I see it in company with malice. — 
 What do you think, Mr. Surface ? 
 
 Joseph S. 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. Pshaw ! — there's no possibility of being 
 
204 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act i 
 
 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 ? 
 
 Joseph S. To be sure, madam ; that conversation, where 
 the spirit of raillery is suppressed, will ever appear tedious 
 and insipid. 
 
 Maria. Well, I'll not debate how far scandal may be 
 allowable ; but in a man, I am sure, it is always contempt- 
 ible. 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. 
 
 Enter Servant 
 
 Serv. 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 your taste ; for though 
 Mrs. Candour is a little talkative, everybody allows her to 
 be the best natured and best sort of woman. 
 
 Maria. Yes, — with a very gross affectation of good 
 nature and benevolence, she does more mischief than the 
 direct malice of old Crabtree. 
 
 Joseph S. I' faith that's true, Lady Sneerwell : 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 Sneerwell, how have you 
 
 been this century ? Mr. Surface, what news do you 
 
 hear ? — though indeed it is no matter, for I think one hears 
 nothing else but scandal. 
 
 Joseph S. Just so, indeed, ma'am. 
 
 Mrs. Can. Oh, Maria ! child, — what, is the whole affair 
 
 off between you and Charles ? His extravagance, I 
 
 presume — the town talks of nothing else. 
 
scene i THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL 205 
 
 Maria. 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-4 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. 
 
 Maria. '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 Filigree Flirt. — But, LorcTT there's no minding 
 what one hears ; though, to be sure, I had this from very 
 good authority. 
 
 Maria. 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 stopt her last week just as 
 she was stepping into the York diligence with her dancing- 
 master. 
 
 Maria. 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 circulated 
 last month, of Mrs. Festino's affair with Colonel Cassino ; 
 — though, to be sure, that matter was never rightly 
 cleared up. 
 
 Joseph S. The license of invention some people take is 
 monstrous indeed. 
 
 Maria. '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 
 
206 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act i 
 
 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 H. Boquet and Tom Saunter were to 
 measure swords on a similar provocation. — But, Lord, 
 do you think I would report these things ? — No, no ! 
 tale-bearers, as I said before, are just as bad as the tale- 
 makers. 
 
 Joseph S. Ah ! Mrs. Candour, if everybody had your 
 forbearance and good-nature ! 
 
 Mrs. Can. I confess, Mr. Surface, I cannot bear to 
 hear people attacked behind their backs ; and when ugly 
 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 ? 
 
 Joseph S. 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. 
 
 Joseph S. Doubtless, ma'am — a very great one. 
 
 Enter Servant 
 
 Serv. Mr. Crabtree and Sir Benjamin Backbite. 
 
 [Exit Servant. 
 Lady Sneer. So, Maria, you see your lover pursues 
 you ; positively you sha'n't escape. 
 
 Enter Crabtree and Sir Benjamin Backbite 
 
 ,v Crabt. Lady Sneerwell, I kiss your hand. — Mrs. Can- 
 dour, I don't believe you are acquainted with my nephew, 
 
scene i THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL 207 
 
 Sir Benjamin Backbite ? Egad ! ma'am, he has a pretty 
 wit, and is a pretty poet too ; isn't he, Lady Sneerwell ? 
 
 Sir Benj. B. O fie, uncle ! 
 *' Crabt. 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 com- 
 mander, and ■ 
 
 Sir Benj. B. Uncle, now — pr'ythee- 
 
 J Crabt. I'faith, ma'am, 'twould surprise you to hear how 
 ready he is at all these fine sort of things. 
 
 Lady Sneer. I wonder, Sir Benjamin, you never publish 
 anything. 
 
 Sir Benj. B. 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. 
 V Crabt. 'Fore Heaven, ma'am, they'll immortalise you ! — 
 you will be handed down to posterity like Petrarch's Laura, 
 or Waller's Sacharissa. 
 
 Sir Benj. B. 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 ! 
 
 )/ Crabt. But, ladies, that's true — have you heard the 
 news ? 
 
 Mrs. Can. What, sir, do you mean the report of 
 
 v Crabt. No, ma'am, that's not it — Miss Nicely is going 
 to be married to her own footman. 
 
 Mrs. Can. Impossible ! 
 * Crabt. Ask Sir Benjamin. 
 
 Sir Benj. B. 'Tis very true, ma'am ; everything is 
 fixed, and the wedding liveries bespoke. 
 
208 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act i 
 
 \ t Crabt. 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 Benj. B. O Lud ! ma'am, that's the very reason 
 'twas believed at once. She has always been so cautious 
 and so reserved, that everybody was sure there was some 
 reason for it at bottom. 
 
 Mrs. Can. Why, to be sure, a tale of scandal is as fatal 
 to the credit of a prudent lady of her stamp as a fever is 
 generally to those of the strongest constitutions. But 
 there is a sort of puny, sickly reputation that is always 
 ailing, yet will outlive the robuster characters of a hundred 
 prudes. 
 
 Sir Benj. B. True, madam, — there are valetudinarians 
 in reputation as well as constitution, who, being conscious 
 of their weak part, avoid the least breath of air, and 
 supply their want of stamina by care and circumspection. 
 
 Mrs. Can. Well, but this may be all a mistake. You 
 • know, Sir Benjamin, very trifling circumstances often give 
 
 rise to the most injurious tales. 
 \J Crabt. That they do, I'll 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 Benj. B. Oh, to be sure ! — the most whimsical 
 circumstance. 
 
 Lady Sneer. How was it, pray ? 
 
 Crabt. 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 
 Dun dizzy (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. How- 
 
scene i THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL 209 
 
 ever, 'twas the next morning everywhere reported, and in 
 a few days believed by the whole town, that Miss Letitia 
 Piper had actually been brought to bed of a fine boy and a 
 girl ; and in less than a week there were some people who 
 could name the father, and the farm-house where the babies 
 were put to nurse. 
 
 Lady Sneer. Strange, indeed ! 
 v Crabt. Matter of fact, I assure you. — O Lud ! Mr. 
 Surface, pray is it true that your uncle, Sir Oliver, is 
 coming home ? 
 
 Joseph S. Not that I know of, indeed, sir. 
 ^ Crabt. 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 ! 
 
 Joseph S. 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 Benj. B. To be sure he may ; for my part, I never 
 believed him to be so utterly void of principle as people 
 say ; and though he has lost all his friends, I am told 
 nobody is better spoken of by the Jews. 
 
 v Crabt. 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 Benj. B. 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 waiting in the antechamber, and an 
 officer behind every guest's chair. 
 
 Joseph S. This may be entertainment to you, gentle- 
 men, but you pay very little regard to the feelings of a 
 brother. 
 
 Maria. Their malice is intolerable. — Lady Sneerwell, I 
 must wish you a good morning : I'm not very well. 
 
 [Exit Maria. 
 
 Mrs. Can. O dear ! she changes colour very much. 
 
 F 
 
2io , SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act 1 
 
 Lady Sneer. Do, Mrs. Candour, follow her : she may 
 want assistance. 
 
 Mrs. Can. That I will, with all my soul, ma'am. — Poor 
 dear girl, who knows what her situation may be ! 
 
 [Exit Mrs. Candour. 
 
 Lady Sneer. 'Twas nothing but that she could not 
 bear to hear Charles reflected on, notwithstanding their 
 difference. 
 
 Sir Benj. B. The young lady's penchant is obvious. 
 V Crabt. But, Benjamin, you must not give up the pursuit 
 for that : follow her, and put her into good humour. 
 Repeat her some of your own verses. Come, I'll assist 
 you. 
 
 Sir Benj. B. Mr. Surface, I did not mean to hurt you ; 
 but depend on't your brother is utterly undone. 
 
 \ Crabt. O Lud, ay ! undone as ever man was. — Can't 
 raise a guinea ! — 
 
 Sir Benj. B. And everything sold, I'm told, that was 
 movable. 
 
 Crabt. 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 Benj. B. And I'm very sorry, also, to hear some 
 bad stories against him. [Going. 
 
 Crabt. Oh ! he has done many mean things, that's 
 certain. 
 
 Sir Benj. B. But, however, as he's your brother 
 
 [Going. 
 yj Crabt. We'll tell you all another opportunity. 
 
 [Exit Crabtree and Sir Benjamin. 
 
 Lady Sneer. Ha ! ha ! 'tis very hard for them to 
 leave a subject they have not quite run down. 
 
 Joseph S. And I believe the abuse was no more accept- 
 able to your ladyship than Maria. 
 
 Lady Sneer. I doubt her affections are farther engaged 
 than we imagine. But the family are to be here this 
 evening, so you may as well dine where you are, and we 
 shall have an opportunity of observing farther ; in the 
 
scene ii THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL 211 
 
 meantime I'll go and plot mischief, and you shall study 
 sentiment. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. 
 
 Sir Peter's House 
 
 Enter Sir Peter 
 
 Sir Peter T. When an_old bachelor marries a young 
 wife, what is he to expect?"" 'lis now~six months since 
 La<xy~Teazle made me the happiest of men — and I have 
 been the most miserable dog ever since ! We tifted a 
 little going to church, and fairly quarrelled before the bells 
 had done ringing. I was more than once nearly choked 
 with gall during the honeymoon, and had lost all comfort 
 in life before my friends had done wishing me joy. Yet 
 I chose with caution — a girl bred wholly in the country, 
 who never knew luxury beyond one silk gown, nor dissipa- 
 tion above the annual gala of a race ball. Yet now she 
 plays her part in all the extravagant fopperies of the fashion 
 and the town, with as ready a grace as if she had never 
 seen a bush 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 contra- 
 dicts 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 
 
 Rowley. Oh ! Sir Peter, your servant : how is it with 
 you, sir ? 
 
 Sir Peter T. Very bad, Master Rowley, very bad. I 
 meet with nothing but crosses and vexations. 
 
 Rowley. What can have happened to trouble you since 
 yesterday ? 
 
 Sir Peter T. A good question to a married man ! 
 
 Rowley. Nay, I'm sure your lady, Sir Peter, can't be 
 the cause of your uneasiness. 
 
212 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act i 
 
 Sir Peter T. Why, has anybody told you she was 
 dead ? 
 
 Rowley. Come, come, Sir Peter, you love her, notwith- 
 standing your tempers don't exactly agree. 
 
 Sir Peter T. 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. 
 
 Rowley. Indeed ! 
 
 Sir Peter T. Ay ; and what is very extraordinary, in 
 all our disputes she is always in the wrong ! But Ladv 
 Sneerwell, and the set she meets at her house, encourage 
 the perverseness of her disposition. — Then, to complete 
 my vexation, Maria, my ward, whom I ought to have the 
 power 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. 
 
 Rowley. 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 Peter T. You are wrong, Master Rowley. On 
 their father's death, you know, I acted as a kind of guar- 
 dian 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 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. 
 
scene ii THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL 213 
 
 Rowley. 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 Peter T. What ! let me hear. 
 
 Rowley. Sir Oliver is arrived, and at this moment in 
 town. 
 
 Sir Peter T. How ! you astonish me ! I thought you 
 did not expect him this month. 
 
 Rowley. I did not ; but his passage has been remark- 
 ably quick. 
 
 Sir Peter T. Egad, I shall rejoice to see my old friend. 
 'Tis fifteen 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 ? 
 
 Rowley. Most strictly. He means, before it is known, 
 to make some trial of their dispositions. 
 
 Sir Peter T. Ah ! there needs no art to discover their 
 merits — he shall have his way ; but, pray, does he know I 
 am married ? 
 
 Rowley. Yes, and will soon wish you joy. 
 
 Sir Peter T. What, as we drink health to a friend in a 
 consumption. Ah ! Oliver will laugh at me. We used 
 to rail at matrimony together, and he has been steady to 
 his text. — Well, he must be soon at my house, though ! — 
 I'll instantly give orders for his reception. — But, Master 
 Rowley, don't drop a word that Lady Teazle and I ever 
 disagree. 
 
 Rowley. By no means. 
 
 Sir Peter T. For I should never be able to stand Noll's 
 jokes ; so I'd have him think, Lord forgive me ! that we 
 are a very happy couple. 
 
 Rowley. I understand you ; — but then you must be 
 very careful not to differ while he is in the house with you. 
 
 Sir Peter T. Egad, and so we must — and that's im- 
 possible. Ah ! Master Rowley, when an old bachelor 
 marries a young wife, he deserves — no — the crime carries 
 its punishment along with it. [Exeunt. 
 
ACT II. SCENE I. 
 
 Enter Sir Peter and Lady Teazle 
 
 Sir Peter T. Lady Teazle, Lady Teazle, I'll not bear it ! 
 
 Lady T. Sir Peter, Sir Peter, you may bear it or not, 
 as you please ; but I ought to have my own way in every- 
 thing, and what's more, I will, too. What ! though I was 
 educated in the country, I know very well that women of 
 fashion in London are accountable to nobody after they 
 are married. 
 
 Sir Peter T. Very well, ma'am, very well ; — so a hus- 
 band is to have no influence, no authority ? 
 
 Lady T. 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 Peter T. Old enough \ — 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 T. My extravagance ! I'm sure I'm not more 
 extravagant than a woman of fashion ought to be. 
 
 Sir Peter T. 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 green- 
 house, and give a fete champetre at Christmas. 
 
 Lady T. And am I to blame, Sir Peter, because flowers 
 are dear in cold weather? You should find fault with the 
 climate, and not with me. For my part, I'm sure, I wish 
 it was spring all the year round, and that roses grew under 
 our feet ! 
 
 Sir Peter T. Oons ! madam — if you had been born to 
 
scene i THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL 215 
 
 this, I shouldn't wonder at your talking thus ; but you 
 forget what your situation was when I married you. 
 
 Lady T. No, no, I don't ; 'twas a very disagreeable 
 one, or I should never have married you. 
 
 Sir Peter T. 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 T. O yes ! I remember it very well, and a curious 
 life I led. — My daily occupation to inspect the dairy, super- 
 intend the poultry, make extracts from the family receipt- 
 book, — and comb my aunt Deborah's lap-dog. 
 
 Sir Peter T. Yes, yes, ma'am, 'twas so indeed. 
 
 Lady T. And then, you know, my evening amuse- 
 ments ! To draw patterns for ruffles, which I had not 
 materials to make up ; to play Pope Joan with the curate ; 
 to read a sermon to my aunt ; or to be stuck down to an 
 old spinet to strum my father to sleep after a fox-chase. 
 
 Sir Peter T. 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-k-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 dock'd coach-horse. 
 
 Lady T. No — I swear I never did that : I deny the 
 butler and the coach-horse. 
 
 Sir Peter T. 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 T. Well, then, — and there is but one thing 
 more you can make me to add to the obligation, and that 
 is 
 
 Sir Peter T. My widow, I suppose ? 
 
 Lady T. Hem ! hem ! 
 
216 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act n 
 
 Sir Peter T. I thank you, madam — but don't flatter 
 yourself; for though your ill conduct may disturb my 
 peace, it shall never break my heart, I promise you : how- 
 ever, I am equally obliged to you for the hint. 
 
 Lady T. Then why will you endeavour to make your- 
 self so disagreeable to me, and thwart me in every little 
 elegant expense ? 
 
 Sir Peter T. 'Slife, madam, I say, had you any of these 
 little elegant expenses when you married me ? 
 
 Lady T. Lud, Sir Peter ! would you have me be out 
 of the fashion ? 
 
 Sir Peter T. The fashion, indeed ! what had you to do 
 with the fashion before you married me ? 
 
 Lady T. For my part, I should think you would like 
 to have your wife thought a woman of taste. 
 
 Sir Peter T. Ay — there again — taste. — Zounds! madam, 
 you had no taste when you married me ! 
 
 Lady T. 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, if we have finished our daily 
 jangle, I presume I may go to my engagement at Lady 
 Sneerwell's. 
 
 Sir Peter T. Ay, there's another precious circumstance 
 — a charming set of acquaintance you have made there. 
 
 Lady T. Nay, Sir Peter, they are all people of rank 
 and fortune, and remarkably tenacious of reputation. 
 
 Sir Peter T. Yes, egad, they are tenacious of reputa- 
 tion with a vengeance ; for they don't choose anybody 
 should have a character but themselves ! — Such a crew 1 
 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 T. What ! would you restrain the freedom of 
 speech ? 
 
 Sir Peter T. Ah ! they have made you just as bad as 
 any one of the society. 
 
 Lady T. Why, I believe I do bear a part with a toler- 
 able grace. But I vow I bear no malice against the people 
 I abuse. — When I say an ill-natured thing, 'tis out of pure 
 
scene ii THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL 217 
 
 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 Peter T. Well, well, I'll call in just to look after 
 my own character. 
 
 Lady T. Then indeed you must make haste after me, 
 or you'll be too late. So, good-bye to ye. 
 
 [Exit Lady Teazle. 
 
 Sir Peter T. So — I have gained much by my intended 
 expostulation : yet, with what a charming air she contra- 
 dicts everything I say, and how pleasingly 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. 
 
 At Lady Sneerwell's 
 
 Enter Lady Sneerwell, Mrs. Candour, Crabtree, Sir 
 Benjamin Backbite, and Joseph Surface 
 
 Lady Sneer. Nay, positively, we will hear it. 
 
 Joseph S. Yes, yes, the epigram, by all means. 
 ^ Sir Benj. B. O plague on't, uncle ! 'tis mere nonsense. 
 
 Crabt. No, no ; 'fore Gad, very clever for an ex- 
 tempore ! 
 
 JJ Sir Benj. B. But, ladies, you should be acquainted 
 with the circumstance. You must know, that one day last 
 week, as Lady Betty Curricle was taking the dust in Hyde 
 Park, in a sort of duodecimo phaeton, she desired me to 
 write some verses on her ponies ; upon which I took 
 out my pocket-book, and in one moment produced the 
 following : — 
 
 Sure never were seen two such beautiful ponies ; 
 Other horses are clowns, but these macaronies : 
 To give them this title I'm sure can't be wrong, 
 Their legs are so slim, and their tails are so long. 
 
218 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act ii 
 
 Crabt. There, ladies, done in the smack of a whip, 
 and on horseback too. 
 
 Joseph S. A very Phoebus, mounted — indeed, Sir 
 Benjamin. 
 
 *Sir Benj. B. O 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 T. 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. 
 
 Maria. I take very little pleasure in cards — however, 
 I'll do as you please. 
 
 Lady T. I am surprised Mr. Surface should sit down 
 with her ; I thought he would have embraced this oppor- 
 tunity of speaking to me, before Sir Peter came. [Aside. 
 
 Mrs. Can. Now, I'll die, but you are so scandalous, 
 I'll forswear your society. 
 
 Lady T. What's the matter, Mrs. Candour ? 
 
 Mrs. Can. They'll not allow our friend Miss Ver- 
 million to be handsome. 
 
 Lady Sneer. O surely she is a pretty woman. 
 
 Crabt. I am very glad you think so, ma'am. 
 
 Mrs. Can. She has a charming fresh colour. 
 
 Lady T. Yes, when it is fresh put on. 
 
 Mrs. Can. O fie ! I'll swear her colour is natural : I 
 have seen it come and go. 
 
 Lady T. I dare swear you trave, ma'am : it goes off at 
 night, and comes again in the morning. 
 
 v Sir Benj. B. True, ma'am, it not only comes and goes, 
 but, what's more — egad, her maid can fetch and carry it ! 
 
 Mrs. Can. Ha ! ha ! ha ! how I hate to hear you talk 
 so ! But surely now, her sister is, or was, very handsome. 
 
 Crabt. Who ? Mrs. Evergreen ? O Lord ! she's six- 
 and-fifty if she's an hour ! 
 
 Mrs. Can. Now positively you wrong her ; fifty-two 
 
scene ii THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL 219 
 
 or fifty-three is the utmost — and I don't think she looks 
 more. 
 
 V Sir Benj. B. 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 
 chalks her wrinkles. 
 
 \/ Sir Benj. B. 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 so 
 badly to her neck that she looks like a mended statue, in 
 which the connoisseur sees at once that the head 's modern, 
 though the trunk 's antique. 
 
 Crabt. Ha ! ha ! ha ! well said, nephew ! 
 
 Mrs. Can. Ha ! ha ! ha ! well, you make me laugh ; 
 but I vow I hate you for it. — What do you think of Miss 
 Simper ? 
 «J Sir Benj. B. Why, she has very pretty teeth. 
 
 Lady T. Yes, and on that account, when she is neither 
 speaking nor laughing (which very seldom happens), she 
 never absolutely shuts her mouth, but leaves it always on 
 a jar, as it were, — thus [Shows her teeth. 
 
 Mrs. Can. How can you be so ill-natured ? 
 
 Lady T. 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 ? Tes, madam. 
 
 Lady Sneer. Very well, Lady Teazle ; I see you can 
 be a little severe. 
 
 Lady T. In defence of a friend it is but justice. — But 
 here comes Sir Peter to spoil our pleasantry. 
 
 Enter Sir Peter Teazle 
 
 Sir Peter T. Ladies, your most obedient. — Mercy on 
 me ! here is the whole set ! a character dead at every word, 
 I suppose. [Aside. 
 
220 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act 11 
 
 Mrs. Can. I am rejoiced you are come, Sir Peter. 
 They have been so censorious — and Lady Teazle as bad as 
 any one. 
 
 Sir Peter T. It must be very distressing to you, Mrs. 
 Candour, I dare swear. 
 
 Mrs. Can. O they will allow good qualities to nobody ; 
 not even good nature to our friend Mrs. Pursy. 
 
 Lady T. What, the fat dowager who was at Mrs. 
 Quadrille's last night ? 
 
 Mrs. Can. Nay, her bulk is her misfortune ; and when 
 she takes such pains to get rid of it, you ought not to 
 reflect on her. 
 
 Lady Sneer. That 's very true, indeed. 
 
 Lady T. 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 Peter T. Yes, a good defence, truly ! 
 
 Mrs. Can. Truly, Lady Teazle is as censorious as Miss 
 Sallow. 
 
 Crabt. 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 at six-and-thirty. 
 
 Lady Sneer. Though, surely, she is handsome still — 
 and for the weakness in her eyes, considering how much 
 she reads by candlelight, it is not to 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, 
 v Sir Benj. B. Ah ! you are both of you too good 
 natured ! 
 
scene ii THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL 221 
 
 Sir Peter T. 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 Peter T. No, to be sure ! 
 \J Sir Benj. B. Oh ! you are of a moral turn. Mrs. 
 Candour and I can sit for an hour and hear Lady Stucco 
 talk sentiment. 
 
 Lady T. Nay, I vow Lady Stucco is very well with the 
 dessert after dinner ; for she's just like the French fruit 
 one cracks for mottos — made up of paint and proverb. 
 
 Mrs. Can. Well, I never will join in ridiculing a friend ; 
 and so I constantly tell my cousin Ogle, and you all know 
 what pretensions she has to be critical on beauty. 
 
 Crabt. O to be sure ! she has herself the oldest 
 countenance that ever was seen ; 'tis a collection of 
 features from all the different countries of the globe. 
 V Sir Benj. B. So she has, indeed — an Irish front 
 
 Crabt. Caledonian locks 
 
 * Sir Benj. B. Dutch nose 
 
 Crabt. Austrian lips 
 
 >/ Sir Benj. B. Complexion of a Spaniard — 
 
 Crabt. And teeth a la Chinois 
 
 \j Sir Benj. B. In short, her face resembles a table d'hote 
 at Spa — where no two guests are of a nation 
 
 Crabt. 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 Peter T. 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 Peter T. Madam, madam, I beg your pardon — 
 there's no stopping these good gentlemen's tongues. — But 
 
222 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act n 
 
 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. 
 
 Sir Peter T. Ah ! madam, true wit is more nearly 
 allied to good-nature than your ladyship is aware of. 
 
 Lady T. True, Sir Peter : I believe they are so near 
 akin that they can never be united. 
 
 N Sir Benj. B. Or rather, madam, suppose them to be 
 man and wife, because one seldom sees them together. 
 
 Lady T. But Sir Peter is such an enemy to scandal, I 
 believe he would have it put down by parliament. 
 
 Sir Peter T. 'Fore Heaven, madam, if they were to 
 consider the sporting with reputation of as much im- 
 portance as poaching on manors, and pass an Act for the 
 preservation of fame, I believe there are many would 
 thank them for the bill. 
 
 Lady Sneer. O Lud ! Sir Peter ; would you deprive us 
 of our privileges ? 
 
 Sir Peter T. Ay, madam ; and then no person should 
 be permitted to kill characters and run down reputations, 
 but qualified old maids and disappointed widows. 
 
 Lady Sneer. Go, you monster ! 
 
 Mrs. Can. But, surely, you would not be quite so 
 severe on those who only report what they hear ? 
 
 Sir Peter T. Yes, madam, I would have law merchant 
 for them too ; and in all cases of slander currency, when- 
 ever the drawer of the lie was not to be found, the injured 
 parties should have a right to come on any of the 
 indorsers. 
 
 Crabt. Well, for my part, I believe there never was a 
 scandalous tale without some foundation. 
 
 Sir Peter T. O, nine out of ten of the malicious 
 inventions are founded on some ridiculous misrepresen- 
 tation ! 
 
 Lady Sneer. Come, ladies, shall we sit down to cards 
 in the next room ? 
 
scene ii THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL 223 
 
 Enter a Servant, who whispers Sir Peter 
 
 Sir Peter T. I'll be with them directly. — I'll get away 
 unperceived. [Apart. 
 
 Lady Sneer. Sir Peter, you are not going to leave us ? 
 
 Sir Peter T. Your ladyship must excuse me ; I'm 
 called away by particular business. But I leave my char- 
 acter behind mc. [Exit Sir Peter. 
 ^ Sir Benj. B. 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 T. O, pray, don't mind that ; — come, do let's 
 hear them. 
 
 [Joins the rest of the company going into the next 
 room. 
 
 Joseph S. Maria, I see you have no satisfaction in this 
 society. 
 
 Maria. 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 ! 
 
 Joseph S. Yet they appear more ill-natured than they 
 are, — they have no malice at heart. 
 
 Maria. Then is their conduct still more contemptible ; 
 for, in my opinion, nothing could excuse the interference 
 of their tongues but a natural and uncontrollable bitterness 
 of mind. 
 
 Joseph S. 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 ? 
 
 Maria. Why will you distress me by renewing the 
 subject ? 
 
 Joseph S. Ah, Maria ! you would not treat me thus, 
 and oppose your guardian Sir Peter's will, but that I see 
 that profligate Charles is still a favoured rival. 
 
224 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act 11 
 
 Maria. Ungenerously urged ! — But whatever my 
 sentiments 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. 
 
 Joseph S. Nay, but, Maria, do not leave me with a 
 
 frown : by all that's honest, I swear Gad's life, here's 
 
 Lady Teazle ! — [Aside.~\ You must not — no, you shall 
 
 not — for, though I have the greatest regard for Lady 
 Teazle 
 
 Maria. Lady Teazle ! 
 
 Joseph S. Yet were Sir Peter to suspect 
 
 Enter Lady Teazle, and comes forward 
 
 Lady T. 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 ? 
 
 Joseph S. O, 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 T. Indeed ! but you seemed to adopt a very 
 tender mode of reasoning — do you usually argue on your 
 knees ? 
 
 Joseph S. O, she's a child, and I thought a little bom- 
 bast But, Lady Teazle, when are you to give me your 
 
 judgment on my library, as you promised ? 
 
 Lady T. No, no ; I begin to think it would be im- 
 prudent, and you know I admit you as a lover no farther 
 than fashion sanctions. 
 
 Joseph S. True — a mere platonic cicisbeo — what every 
 wife is entitled to. 
 
 Lady T. Certainly, one must not be out of the fashion 
 — However, I have so much of my country prejudices 
 left, that, though Sir Peter's ill-humour may vex me ever 
 so, it never shall provoke me to 
 
 Joseph S. The only revenge in your power. — Well — I 
 applaud your moderation. 
 
scene in THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL 
 
 Lady T. Go — you are an insinuating wretch, 
 we shall be missed — let us join the company. 
 
 Joseph S. But we had best not return 
 
 Lady T. Well — don't stay ; for IVjPRha'n't come 
 to hear any more of your reasoning, I promise you. 
 
 [Exit Lady Teazle. 
 
 Joseph S. A curious dilemma 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. 
 
 Sir Peter Teazle's 
 
 Enter Rowley and Sir Oliver Surface 
 
 Sir Oliver S. 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. 
 
 Rowley. 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 Oliver S. 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 ? 
 
 Rowley. His prejudice against him is astonishing, and 
 I am sure, greatly increased by a jealousy of him with 
 I Lady Teazle, which he has industriously been led into by 
 a scandalous society in the neighbourhood, who have con- 
 tributed not a little to Charles's ill name. Whereas, the 
 truth is, I believe, if the lady is partial to either of them, 
 his brother is the favourite. 
 
 Sir Oliver S. Ay, I know there are a set of malicious, 
 
 Q 
 
226 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act n 
 
 prating, prudent gossips, both male and female, who murder 
 characters to kill time ; and will rob a young fellow of his 
 good name before he has years to know the value of it. — 
 But I am not to be prejudiced against my nephew by such, 
 I promise you. — No, no, — if Charles has done nothing 
 false or mean, I shall compound for his extravagance. 
 
 Rowley. 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 Oliver S. 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. 
 
 Rowley. Sir, 'tis this reflection gives me assurance that 
 Charles may yet be a credit to his family. — But here comes 
 Sir Peter. 
 
 Sir Oliver S. 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 Peter T. Hah ! Sir Oliver — my old friend ! Wel- 
 come to England a thousand times ! 
 
 Sir Oliver S. Thank you — thank you, Sir Peter ! and 
 i'faith I am glad to find you well, believe me. 
 
 Sir Peter T. Oh ! 'tis a long time since we met — 
 fifteen years, I doubt, Sir Oliver, and many a cross accident 
 in the time. 
 
 Sir Oliver S. Ay, I have had my share. — But, what ! 
 I find you are married, hey ? — Well, well — it can't be 
 helped — and so — I wish you joy with all my heart. 
 
 Sir Peter T. Thank you, thank you, Sir Oliver. — 
 Yes, I have entered into — the happy state ; but we'll not 
 talk of that now. 
 
 Sir Oliver S. True, true, Sir Peter : old friends should 
 not begin on grievances at first meeting — no, no, no. — 
 
scene in THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL 227 
 
 Rowley. Take care, pray, sir. — 
 
 Sir Oliver S. Well — so one of my nephews is a wild 
 fellow, hey ? 
 
 Sir Peter T. 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 Oliver S. I am sorry to hear it ; he has too good 
 a character to be an honest fellow. Everybody speaks 
 well of him ! — Pshaw ! then he has bowed as low to knaves 
 and fools as to the honest dignity of genius and virtue. 
 
 Sir Peter T. What, Sir Oliver ! do you blame him for 
 not making enemies ? 
 
 Sir Oliver S. Yes, it he has merit enough to deserve 
 them. 
 
 Sir Peter T. Well, well — you'll be convinced when 
 you know him. 'Tis edification to hear him converse ; he 
 professes the noblest sentiments. 
 
 Sir Oliver S. 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. 
 
 Rowley. And Sir Peter shall own for once he has been 
 mistaken. 
 
 Sir Peter T. Oh ! my life on Joseph's honour. 
 
 Sir Oliver S. Well, come, give us a bottle of good 
 wine, and we'll drink the lads' health, and tell you our 
 scheme. 
 
 Sir Peter T. Allons then ! 
 
 Sir Oliver S. 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 youth ; 'tis like ivy round a sapling, and spoils the 
 growth of the tree. \Exeunt. 
 
ACT III. SCENE I. 
 
 Sir Peter Teazle's 
 
 Enter Sir Peter Teazle, Sir Oliver Surface, 
 and Rowley 
 
 Sir Peter T. Well, then, we will see this fellow first, 
 and have our wine afterwards : — but how is this, Master 
 Rowley ? I don't see the gist of your scheme. 
 
 Rowley. Why, sir, this Mr. Stanley, who I was speak- 
 ing of, is nearly related to them by their mother. He was 
 a merchant in Dublin, but has been ruined by a series of 
 undeserved misfortunes. He has applied, by letter, 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 Oliver S. Ah ! — he is my brother's son. 
 
 Sir Peter T. Well, but how is Sir Oliver personally 
 to 
 
 Rowley. Why, sir, I will inform Charles and his brother 
 that Stanley has obtained permission to apply personally 
 to his friends, and as they have neither of them ever seen 
 him, let Sir Oliver assume his character, and he will have 
 a fair opportunity of judging, at least, of the benevolence 
 of their dispositions ; and believe me, sir, you will find in 
 the youngest brother one, who, in the midst of folly and 
 dissipation, has still, as our immortal bard expresses it, — 
 
scene i THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL 229 
 
 " a heart to pity, and a hand, open as day, for melting 
 charity." 
 
 Sir Peter T. Pshaw ! 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 ? 
 
 Rowley. Below, waiting his commands, and no one 
 can give him better intelligence. This, Sir Oliver, is a 
 friendly Jew, who, to do him justice, has done everything 
 in his power to bring your nephew to a proper sense of his 
 extravagance. 
 
 Sir Peter T. Pray, let us have him in. 
 
 Rowley. Desire Mr. Moses to walk up-stairs. 
 
 [Apart to Servant. 
 
 Sir Peter T. But, pray, why should you suppose he 
 will speak the truth ? 
 
 Rowley. Oh ! I have convinced him that he has no 
 chance of recovering certain sums advanced to Charles but 
 through the bounty of Sir Oliver, who he knows is arrived ; 
 so that you may depend on his fidelity to his own interests : 
 I have also another evidence in my power, one Snake, 
 whom I have detected in a matter little short of forgery, 
 and shall speedily produce him to remove some of your 
 prejudices. 
 
 Sir Peter T. I have heard too much on that subject. 
 
 Rowley. Here comes the honest Israelite. 
 
 Enter Moses 
 
 — This is Sir Oliver. 
 
 Sir Oliver S. Sir, I understand you have lately had 
 great dealings with my nephew, Charles. 
 
 Moses. Yes, Sir Oliver, I have done all I could for 
 him ; but he was ruined before he came to me for 
 assistance. 
 
 Sir Oliver S. That was unlucky, truly ; for you have 
 had no opportunity of showing your talents. 
 
 Moses. None at all ; I hadn't the pleasure of knowing 
 
230 
 
 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act hi 
 
 his distresses till he was some thousands worse than 
 nothing. 
 
 Sir Oliver S. Unfortunate, indeed ! — But I suppose 
 you have done all in your power for him, honest Moses ? 
 
 Moses. 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 Peter T. What, — one Charles has never had money 
 from before ? 
 
 Moses. Yes, — Mr. Premium, of Crutched Friars, 
 formerly a broker. 
 
 Sir Peter T. Egad, Sir Oliver, a thought strikes 
 me ! Charles, you say, does not know Mr. Premium ? 
 
 Moses. Not at all. 
 
 Sir Peter T. Now then, Sir Oliver, you may have a 
 better opportunity of satisfying yourself than by an old 
 romancing tale of a poor relation : go with my friend 
 Moses, and represent Premium, and then, I'll answer for 
 it, you'll see your nephew in all his glory. 
 
 Sir Oliver S. Egad, I like this idea better than the 
 other, and I may visit Joseph afterwards as Old Stanley. 
 
 Sir Peter T. True — so you may. 
 
 Rowley. Well, this is taking Charles rather at a dis- 
 advantage, to be sure ; — however, Moses, you understand 
 Sir Peter, and will be faithful ? 
 
 Moses. You may depend upon me ; — this is near the 
 time I was to have gone. 
 
 Sir Oliver S. 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 ? 
 
 Moses. There's no need — the principal is Christian. 
 
 Sir Oliver S. Is he ? I'm very sorry to hear it. But 
 then, again, a' n't I rather too smartly dressed to look like 
 a money lender ? 
 
 Sir Peter T. Not at all ; 'twould not be out of char- 
 acter if you went in your own carriage — would it, Moses ? 
 Moses. Not in the least. 
 Sir Oliver S. Well— but how must I talk ? — there's 
 
scene i THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL 231 
 
 certainly some cant of usury and mode of treating that I 
 ought to know. 
 
 Sir Peter T. O ! there's not much to learn. The great 
 point, as I take it, is to be exorbitant enough in your 
 demands — hey, Moses ? 
 
 Moses. Yes, that's a very great point. 
 
 Sir Oliver S. I'll answer for't I'll not be wanting in 
 that. I'll ask him eight or ten per cent on the loan, at 
 least. 
 
 Moses. If you ask him no more than that, you'll be 
 discovered immediately. 
 
 Sir Oliver S. Hey ! — what the plague ! — how much 
 then ? 
 
 Moses. That depends upon the circumstances. If he 
 appears not very anxious for the supply, you should 
 require only forty or fifty per cent ; but if you find him 
 in great distress, and want the monies very bad, you may 
 ask double. 
 
 Sir Peter T. A good honest trade you're learning, Sir 
 Oliver ! 
 
 Sir Oliver S. Truly, I think so — and not unprofitable. 
 
 Moses. Then, you know, you hav'n't the monies 
 yourself, but are forced to borrow them for him of an old 
 friend. 
 
 Sir Oliver S. Oh ! I borrow it of a friend, do I ? 
 
 Moses. And your friend is an unconscionable dog ; but 
 you can't help that. 
 
 Sir Oliver S. My friend an unconscionable dog ? 
 
 Moses. Yes, and he himself has not the monies by him, 
 but is forced to sell stock at a great loss. 
 
 Sir Oliver S. He is forced to sell stock at a great loss, 
 is he ? Well, that's very kind of him. 
 
 Sir Peter T. I'faith, Sir Oliver — Mr. Premium, I mean, 
 you'll soon be master of the trade. But, Moses ! would 
 not you have him run out a little against the Annuity Bill ? 
 That would be in character, I should think. 
 
 Moses. Very much. 
 
 Rowley. And lament that a young man now must be 
 at years of discretion before he is suffered to ruin himself ? 
 
232 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act hi 
 
 Moses. Ay, great pity ! 
 
 Sir Peter T. And abuse the public for allowing merit 
 to an Act, whose only object is to snatch misfortune and 
 imprudence from the rapacious gripe of usury, and give 
 the minor a chance of inheriting his estate without being 
 undone by coming into possession. 
 
 Sir Oliver S. So — so — Moses shall give me further 
 instructions as we go together. 
 
 Sir Peter T. You will not have much time, for your 
 nephew lives hard by. 
 
 Sir Oliver S. O ! never fear : my tutor appears so 
 able, that though Charles lived in the next street, it must 
 be my own fault if I am not a complete rogue before I 
 turn the corner. 
 
 [Exeunt Sir Oliver Surface and Moses. 
 
 Sir Peter T. So, now, I think Sir Oliver will be con- 
 vinced : you are partial, Rowley^ and would have prepared 
 Charles for the other plot. 
 
 Rowley. No, upon my word, Sir Peter. 
 
 Sir Peter T. Well, go bring me this Snake, and I'll 
 hear what he has to say presently. — I see Maria, and want 
 to speak with her. [Exit Rowley.] I should be glad to 
 be convinced my suspicions of Lady Teazle and Charles 
 were unjust. I have never yet opened my mind on this 
 subject to my friend Joseph — I am determined I will do 
 it — he will give me his opinion sincerely. 
 
 Enter Maria 
 
 So, child, has Mr. Surface returned with you ? 
 
 Maria. No, sir ; he was engaged. 
 
 Sir Peter T. Well, Maria, do you not reflect, the 
 more that you converse with that amiable young man, 
 what return his partiality for you deserves ? 
 
 Maria. Indeed, Sir Peter, your frequent importunity 
 on this subject distresses me extremely — you compel me to 
 declare, that I know no man who ever paid me a particular 
 attention whom I would not prefer to Mr. Surface. 
 
scene i THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL 233 
 
 Sir Peter T. So — here's perverseness ! — No, no, Maria, 
 'tis Charles only whom you would prefer. 'Tis evident 
 his vices and follies have won your heart. 
 
 Maria. This is unkind, sir. You know I have 
 obeyed you in neither seeing nor corresponding with him : 
 I have heard enough to convince me that he is unworthy 
 my regard. Yet I cannot think it culpable, if, while my 
 understanding severely condemns his vices, my heart 
 suggests some pity for his distresses. 
 
 Sir Peter T. Well, well, pity him as much as you 
 please ; but give your heart and hand to a worthier 
 object. 
 
 Maria. Never to his brother ! 
 
 Sir Peter T. 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. 
 
 Maria. I can only say, you shall not have just reason. x 
 'Tis true, by my father's will, I am for a short period j * 
 bound to regard you as his substitute ; but must cease to / 
 think you so when you would compel me to be miserable. 
 
 [Exit Maria. 
 
 Sir Peter T. 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. 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 T. Lud ! Sir Peter, I hope you hav'n't been 
 quarrelling with Maria ? It is not using me well to be 
 ill-humoured when I am not by. 
 
 Sir Peter T. Ah ! Lady Teazle, you might have the 
 power to make me good-humoured at all times. 
 
 Lady T. I am sure I wish I had ; for I want you to 
 
234 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act in 
 
 be in a charming sweet temper at this moment. Do be 
 good-humoured now, and let me have two hundred 
 pounds, will you ? 
 
 Sir Peter T. Two hundred pounds ! what, an't I to 
 be in a good humour without paying for it ? But speak 
 to me thus, and i'faith there's nothing I could refuse you. 
 You shall have it ; but seal me a bond for the repayment. 
 
 Lady T. O no — there — my note of hand will do as 
 well. [Offering her hand. 
 
 Sir Peter T. 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 T. If you please. I'm sure I don't care how 
 soon we leave off quarrelling, provided you own you were 
 tired first. 
 
 Sir Peter T. Well, then, let our future contest be, 
 who shall be most obliging. 
 
 Lady T. 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 asked me if I 
 thought I could love an old fellow, who would deny me 
 nothing — didn't you ? 
 
 Sir Peter T. Yes, yes, and you were as kind and 
 attentive 
 
 Lady T. Ay — so I was, and would always take your 
 part, when my acquaintance used to abuse you and turn 
 you into ridicule. 
 
 Sir Peter T. Indeed ! 
 
 Lady T. Ay, and when cousin Sophy has called you a 
 stiff, peevish old bachelor, and laughed at me for thinking 
 of marrying one who might be my father, I have always 
 defended you, and said I didn't think you so ugly by 
 any means, and I dared say you'd make a very good sort 
 of a husband. 
 
 Sir Peter T. And you prophesied right ; and we shall 
 now be the happiest couple 
 
scene i THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL 235 
 
 Lady T. And never differ again ? 
 
 Sir Peter T. No, never ! — though at the same time, 
 indeed, 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 T. I beg your pardon, my dear Sir Peter : 
 indeed, you always gave the provocation. 
 
 Sir Peter T. Now see, my angel ! take care — contra- 
 dicting isn't the way to keep friends. 
 
 Lady T. Then don't you begin it, my love. 
 
 Sir Peter T. 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 T. Nay, you know if you will be angry without 
 any reason, my dear — 
 
 Sir Peter T. There ! now you want to quarrel again. 
 
 Lady T. No, I am sure I don't ; — but if you will be 
 so peevish — 
 
 Sir Peter T. There now ! who begins first ? 
 
 Lady T. Why you, to be sure. I said nothing — but 
 there's no bearing your temper. 
 
 Sir Peter T. No, no, madam : the fault's in your 
 own temper. 
 
 Lady T. Ay, you are just what my cousin Sophy said 
 you would be. 
 
 Sir Peter T. Your cousin Sophy is a forward, im- 
 pertinent gipsy. 
 
 Lady T. You are a great bear, I'm sure, to abuse my 
 relations. 
 
 Sir Peter T. Now may all the plagues of marriage be 
 doubled on me if ever I try to be friends with you any 
 more ! 
 
 Lady T. So much the better. 
 
 Sir Peter T. 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 T. And I am sure I was a fool to marry you — ■ 
 an old dangling bachelor, who was single at fifty, only 
 
236 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act hi 
 
 because he never could meet with any one who would 
 have him. 
 
 Sir Peter T. Ay, ay, madam ; but you were pleased 
 enough to listen to me : you never had such an offer 
 before. 
 
 Lady T. 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 Peter T. I have done with you, madam ! 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 T. Take care, Sir Peter ! you had better not 
 insinuate any such thing ! I'll not be suspected without 
 cause, I promise you. 
 
 Sir Peter T. 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 T. 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 Peter T. Plagues and tortures ! Can't I make her 
 angry either ! Oh, I am the most miserable fellow ! but 
 I'll not bear her presuming to keep her temper : no ! she 
 may break my heart, but she sha'n't keep her temper. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 SCENE II. 
 
 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 ? 
 
scene ii THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL 237 
 
 Sir Oliver S. Mr. Moses, what is my name ? 
 
 Moses. Mr, Premium. 
 
 Trip. Premium — very well. 
 
 [Exit Trip taking snuff. 
 
 Sir Oliver S. To judge by the servants one wouldn't 
 believe the master was ruined. But, what ! — sure, this was 
 my brother's house ? 
 
 Moses. Yes, sir ; Mr. Charles bought it of Mr. Joseph, 
 with the furniture, pictures, etc. just as the old gentleman 
 left it. Sir Peter thought it a piece of extravagance in 
 him. 
 
 Sir Oliver S. In my mind, the other's economy in 
 selling it to him was more reprehensible by half. 
 
 Enter Trip 
 
 Trip. My master says you must wait, gentlemen : he 
 has company, and can't speak with you yet. 
 
 Sir Oliver S. 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 Oliver S. Very well ; and I pray, sir, what may be 
 your name ? 
 
 Trip. Trip, sir ; my name is Trip, at your service. 
 
 Sir Oliver S. Well then, Mr. Trip, you have a pleasant 
 sort of place here, I guess ? 
 
 Trip. Why, yes — here are three or four of us pass our 
 time agreeably enough ; but then our wages are sometimes 
 a little in arrear — and not very great either — but fifty 
 pounds a year, and find our own bags and bouquets. 
 
 Sir Oliver S. Bags and bouquets ! halters and basti- 
 nadoes ! [Aside. 
 
 Trip. And, a-propos, Moses — have you been able to 
 get me that little bill discounted ? 
 
 Sir Oliver S. Wants to raise money too ! — mercy on 
 me ! Has his distresses too, I warrant, like a lord, and 
 affects creditors and duns. \_Aside. 
 
 Moses. 'Twas not to be done, indeed, Mr. Trip. 
 
238 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act hi 
 
 Trip. Good lack, you surprise me ! My friend Brush 
 has indorsed it, and I thought when he put his name at the 
 back of a bill 'twas the same as cash. 
 
 Moses. No ! 'twouldn't do. 
 
 Trip. A small sum — but twenty pounds. Hark'ee, 
 Moses, do you think you couldn't get it me by way of 
 annuity ? 
 
 Sir Oliver S. An annuity ! ha ! ha ! a footman raise 
 money by way of annuity ! Well done, luxury, egad ! 
 
 \Aside. 
 
 Moses. Well, but you must insure your place. 
 
 Trip. O, with all my heart ! I'll insure my place, and 
 my life too, if you please. 
 
 Sir Oliver S. It's more than I would your neck. 
 
 [Aside. 
 
 Moses. But is there nothing you could deposit? 
 
 Trip. Why, nothing capital of my master's wardrobe 
 has dropped lately ; but I could give you a mortgage on 
 some of his winter clothes, with equity of redemption 
 before November — or you shall have the reversion of the 
 French velvet, or a post-obit on the blue and silver : — 
 these, I should think, Moses, with a few pair of point 
 ruffles as a collateral security — hey, my little fellow ? 
 
 Moses. Well, well. [Bell rings. 
 
 Trip. Egad, I heard the bell ! I believe, gentlemen, I 
 can now introduce you. Don't forget the annuity, little 
 Moses ! This way, gentlemen. I'll insure my place, you 
 know. 
 
 Sir Oliver S. If the man be a shadow of the master, 
 this is the temple of dissipation indeed ! [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III. 
 
 Charles Surface, Careless, etc. etc. at a table 
 with wine, etc. 
 
 Charles S. 'Fore Heaven, 'tis true ! — there's the great 
 degeneracy of the age. ■ Many of our acquaintance have 
 
scene in THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL 239 
 
 taste, spirit, and politeness ; but, plague on't, they won't 
 drink. 
 
 Careless. It is so indeed, Charles ! they give into all 
 the substantial luxuries of the table, and abstain from 
 nothing but wine and wit. O, certainly society suffers by 
 it intolerably ; for now, instead of the social spirit of 
 raillery that used to mantle over a glass of bright Burgundy, 
 their conversation is become just like the Spa water they 
 drink, which has all the pertness and flatulence of Cham- 
 pagne, without the spirit or flavour. 
 
 1 st Gent. But what are they to do who love play better 
 than wine ? 
 
 Careless. True : there's Sir Harry diets himself for 
 gaming, and is now under a hazard regimen. 
 
 Charles S. Then he'll have the worst of it. What ! 
 you wouldn't train a horse for the course by keeping him 
 from corn ? For my part, egad, I am never so successful 
 as when I am a little merry : let me throw on a bottle of 
 Champagne, and I never lose — at least, I never feel my 
 losses, which is exactly the same thing. 
 
 2nd Gent. Ay, that I believe. 
 
 Charles S. And then, what man- can pretend to be a 
 believer in love who is an abjurer of wine ? 'Tis the test 
 by which the lover knows his own heart. Fill a dozen 
 bumpers to a dozen beauties, and she that floats atop is the 
 maid that has bewitched you. 
 
 Careless. Now then, Charles, be honest, and give us 
 your real favourite. 
 
 Charles S. Why, I have withheld her only in compassion 
 to you. If I toast her, you must give a round of her peers, 
 which is impossible — on earth. 
 
 Careless. Oh ! then we'll find some canonized vestals 
 or heathen goddesses that will do, I warrant ! 
 
 Charles S. Here then, bumpers, you rogues ! bumpers ! 
 Maria ! Maria ! — 
 
 Sir Harry B. Maria who ? 
 
 Charles S. O damn the surname — 'tis too formal to 
 be registered in Love's calendar ; but now, Sir Harry, 
 beware, we must have beauty superlative. 
 
240 
 
 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act hi 
 
 Careless. 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 Harry B. Egad, so I have ! and I'll give him the 
 song instead of the lady. 
 
 Song 
 
 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 the glass. 
 
 Here's to the charmer whose dimples we prize j 
 
 Now to the maid who has none, sir : 
 Here's to the girl with a pair of blue eyes, 
 
 And here's to the nymph with but one, sir. 
 
 Chorus. Let the toast pass, etc. 
 
 Here's to the maid with a bosom of snow ; 
 
 Now to her that's as blown as a berry : 
 Here's to the wife with a face full of woe, 
 
 And now to the girl that is merry. 
 
 Chorus. Let the toast pass, etc. 
 
 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, 
 And let us e'en toast them together. 
 
 Chorus. Let the toast pass, etc. 
 
 All. Bravo ! bravo ! 
 
 Enter Trip, and whispers Charles Surface 
 
 Charles S. Gentlemen, you must excuse me a little. 
 Careless, take the chair, will you ? 
 
 Careless. Nay, prithee, Charles, what now ? This is 
 
scene m THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL 241 
 
 one of your peerless beauties, I suppose, has dropt in by 
 chance ? 
 
 Charles S. No, faith ! To tell you the truth, 'tis a Jew 
 and a broker, who are come by appointment. 
 
 Careless. O damn it ! let's have the Jew in. 
 
 1 st Gent. Ay, and the broker too, by all means. 
 
 id Gent. Yes, yes, the Jew and the broker. 
 
 Charles S. Egad, with all my heart ! Trip, bid the 
 gentlemen walk in — though there's one of them a stranger, 
 I can tell you. 
 
 Careless. Charles, let us give them some generous 
 Burgundy, and perhaps they'll grow conscientious. 
 
 Charles S. O, hang 'em, no ! wine does but draw forth 
 a man's natural qualities ; and to make them drink would 
 only be to whet their knavery. 
 
 Enter Trip, Sir Oliver Surface, and Moses 
 
 Charles S. So, honest Moses, walk in : walk in, pray, 
 Mr. Premium — that's the gentleman's name, isn't it, 
 Moses ? 
 
 Moses. Yes, sir. 
 
 Charles S. Set chairs, Trip — sit down, Mr. Premium — 
 glasses, Trip — sit down, Moses. Come, Mr. Premium, 
 I'll give you a sentiment ; here's Success to usury ! — Moses, 
 fill the gentleman a bumper. 
 
 Moses. Success to usury! 
 
 Careless. Right, Moses — usury is prudence and 
 industry, and deserves to succeed. 
 
 Sir Oliver S. Then — here's all the success it deserves ! 
 
 Careless. No, no, that won't do ! Mr. Premium, you 
 have demurred at the toast, and must drink it in a pint 
 bumper. 
 
 1 st Gent. A pint bumper, at least. 
 
 Moses. O pray, sir, consider — Mr. Premium's a 
 gentleman. 
 
 Careless. And therefore loves good wine. 
 
 id Gent. Give Moses a quart glass— this is mutiny, and 
 a high contempt for the chair. 
 
 R 
 
242 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act in 
 
 Careless. Here, now for't ! I'll see justice done, to the 
 last drop of my bottle. 
 
 Sir Oliver S. Nay, pray, gentlemen — I did not expect 
 this usage. 
 
 Charles S. No, hang it, you sha'n't ! Mr. Premium's 
 a stranger. 
 
 Sir Oliver S. Odd ! I wish I was well out of their 
 company. [Aside. 
 
 Careless. Plague on 'em then ! — if they don't drink 
 we'll 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 ? 
 
 Charles S. I will ! I will ! [Exeunt.'] Careless ! 
 
 Careless. [Returning.'] Well ! 
 
 Charles S. Perhaps I may want you. 
 
 Careless. O, you know I am always ready : word, note, 
 or bond, 'tis all the same to me. [Exit. 
 
 Moses. Sir, this is Mr. Premium, a gentleman of the 
 strictest honour and secrecy ; and always performs what he 
 undertakes. Mr. Premium, this is 
 
 Charles S. Pshaw ! have done. — Sir, my friend Moses 
 is a very honest fellow, but a little slow at expression : 
 he'll be an hour giving us our titles. Mr. Premium, the 
 plain state of the matter is this : I am an extravagant 
 young fellow who wants to borrow money — you I take to 
 be a prudent old fellow, who have got money to lend. — I 
 am blockhead enough to give fifty per cent, sooner than 
 not have it ; and you, I presume, are rogue enough to 
 take a hundred if you can get it. Now, sir, you see we 
 are acquainted at once, and may proceed to business with- 
 out farther ceremony. 
 
 Sir Oliver S. Exceeding frank, upon my word. — I see, 
 sir, you are not a man of many compliments. 
 
 Charles S. Oh no, sir ! plain dealing in business I always 
 think best. 
 
 Sir Oliver S. 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 ? 
 
scene in THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL 243 
 
 Moses. But you can't help that. 
 
 Sir Oliver S. And must sell stock to accommodate you 
 — mustn't he, Moses ? 
 
 Moses. Yes, indeed ! You know I always speak the 
 truth, and scorn to tell a lie ! 
 
 Charles S. Right. People that speak truth' generally 
 do ; but these are trifles-, Mr. Premium. What ! I know 
 money isn't to be bought without paying for't ! 
 
 Sir Oliver S. Well — but what security, could you give ? 
 You have no land, I suppose ? 
 
 Charles S. Not a mole-hill, nor a twig, but what's in 
 the bough-pots out of the window ! 
 
 Sir Oliver S. Nor any stock, I presume ? 
 
 Charles S. 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 connexions ? 
 
 Sir Oliver S. Why, to say truth, I am. 
 
 Charles S. Then you must know that I have a dev'lish 
 rich uncle in the East Indies, Sir Oliver Surface, from whom 
 I have the greatest expectations ? 
 
 Sir Oliver S. That you have a wealthy uncle I have 
 heard ; but how your expectations will turn out is more, I 
 believe, than you can tell. 
 
 Charles S. O no ! — there can be no doubt. They tell 
 me I'm a prodigious favourite, and that he talks of leaving 
 me everything. 
 
 Sir Oliver S. Indeed ! this is the first I've heard of it. 
 
 Charles S. Yes, yes, 'tis just so — Moses knows 'tis true, 
 don't you, Moses ? 
 
 Moses. O yes ! I'll swear to't. 
 
 Sir Oliver S. Egad, they'll persuade me presently I'm 
 at Bengal. \_Aside. 
 
 Charles S. Now I propose, Mr. Premium, if it's agree- 
 able to you, a post-obit on Sir Oliver's life ; though at the 
 same time the old fellow has been so liberal to me, that I 
 give you my word, I should be very sorry to hear that any- 
 thing had happened to him. 
 
 Sir Oliver S. Not more than I should, I assure you. 
 But the bond you mention happens to be just the worst 
 
244 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act hi 
 
 security you could offer me — for I might live to a hundred, 
 and never see the principal. 
 
 Charles S. O yes, you would — the moment Sir Oliver 
 dies, you know, you would come on me for the money. 
 
 Sir Oliver S. Then I believe I should be the most 
 unwelcome dun you ever had in your life. 
 
 Charles S. What ! I suppose you're afraid that Sir 
 Oliver is too good a life ? 
 
 Sir Oliver S. No, indeed, I am not ; though I have 
 heard he is as hale and healthy as any man of his years in 
 Christendom. 
 
 Charles S. 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 don't know 
 him. 
 
 Sir Oliver S. No ! ha ! ha ! ha ! so much altered 
 lately that his nearest relations don't know him ! ha ! ha ! 
 ha ! egad — ha ! ha ! ha ! 
 
 Charles S. Ha ! ha ! — you're glad to hear that, little 
 Premium ? 
 
 Sir Oliver S. No, no, I'm not. 
 
 Charles S. Yes, yes, you are — ha ! ha ! ha ! — You 
 know that mends your chance. 
 
 Sir Oliver S. But I'm told Sir Oliver is coming over ? 
 — nay, some say he is actually arrived ? 
 
 Charles S. Pshaw ! 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 ? 
 
 Moses. O yes, certainly. 
 
 Sir Oliver S. Very true, as you say, you must know 
 better than I, though I have it from pretty good authority 
 — haven't I, Moses ? 
 
 Moses. Yes, most undoubted ! 
 
 Sir Oliver S. But, sir, as I understand you want a few 
 hundreds immediately— is there nothing you could dispose 
 of? 
 
 Charles S. How do you mean ? 
 
 Sir Oliver S. For instance, now, I have heard that 
 
scene in THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL 245 
 
 your father left behind him a great quantity of massy old 
 plate ? 
 
 Charles S. O Lud ! — that's gone long ago. — Moses 
 can tell you how better than I can. 
 
 Sir Oliver S. Good lack ! all the family race cups and 
 corporation bowls ! — [Aside.] Then it was also supposed 
 that his library was one of the most valuable and com- 
 pact 
 
 Charles S. 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 Oliver S. Mercy upon me ! Learning that had 
 run in the family like an heirloom ! [Aside.] Pray, 
 what are become of the books ? 
 
 Charles S. You must inquire of the auctioneer, 
 Master Premium, for I don't believe even Moses can 
 direct you. 
 
 Moses. I know nothing of books. 
 
 Sir Oliver S. So, so, nothing of the family property 
 left, I suppose ? 
 
 Charles S. Not much, indeed ; unless you have a mind 
 to the family pictures. I have got a room full of ancestors 
 above, and if you have a taste for paintings, egad, you 
 shall have 'em a bargain. 
 
 Sir Oliver S. Hey ! what the devil ! sure, you 
 wouldn't sell your forefathers, would you ? 
 
 Charles S. Every man of them to the best bidder. 
 
 Sir Oliver S. What ! your great uncles and aunts ? 
 
 Charles S. Ay, and my great grandfathers and grand- 
 mothers too. 
 
 Sir Oliver S. Now I give him up. [Aside."] 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? 
 
 Charles S. Nay, my little broker, don't be angry : 
 what need you care if vou have your money's worth ? 
 
 Sir Oliver S. Well, I'll be the purchaser : I think I 
 
246 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act hi 
 
 can dispose of the family canvas. Oh, I'll never forgive 
 him this ! never ! [Aside.] 
 
 Enter Careless 
 
 Careless. Come, Charles, what keeps you ? 
 
 Charles S. 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. 
 
 Careless. O, burn your ancestors ! 
 
 Charles S. No, he may do that afterwards, if he 
 pleases. Stay, Careless, we want you : egad, you shall be 
 auctioneer ; so come along with us. 
 
 Careless. Oh, have with you, if that's the case. 
 Handle a hammer as well as a dice-box ! 
 
 Sir Oliver S. Oh, the_prqfligates ! \_Aside.~] 
 
 Charles S. Come, Moses, you shall be appraiser, if we 
 want one. Gad's life, little Premium, you don't seem to 
 like the. business ? 
 
 Sir Oliver S. O yes, I do, vastly. Ha ! ha ! ha ! yes, 
 yes, I think it a rare joke to sell one's family by auction 
 — ha ! ha ! — O the prodigal ! [Aside. 
 
 Charles S. 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. 
 
ACT IV. SCENE I. 
 
 Picture-Room at Charles's 
 
 Enter Charles Surface, Sir Oliver Surface, Moses, 
 and Careless 
 
 Charles S. Walk in, gentlemen, pray, walk in ; — here 
 they are, the family of the Surfaces, up to the Conquest. 
 
 Sir Oliver S. And, in my opinion, a goodly collection. 
 
 Charles S. Ay, ay, these are done in the true spirit of 
 portrait painting ; — no volontier grace and expression. 
 Not like the works of your modern Raphaels, who give 
 you the strongest resemblance, yet contrive to make your 
 portrait independent of you ; so that you may sink the 
 original and not hurt the picture. — No, no ; the merit of 
 these is the inveterate likeness — all stiff and awkward as 
 the originals, and like nothing in human nature besides. 
 
 Sir Oliver S. Ah ! we shall never see such figures of 
 men again. 
 
 Charles S. 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 father's will answer the purpose. 
 
 Careless. Ay, ay, this will do. But, Charles, I 
 
 hav'n't a hammer ; and what's an auctioneer without his 
 hammer ? 
 
 Charles S. Egad, that's true ; — what parchment have 
 we here ? — O, our genealogy in full. Here, Careless, — 
 you shall have no common bit of mahogany, here's the 
 family tree for you, you rogue, — this shall be your 
 
248 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act iv 
 
 hammer, and now you may knock down my ancestors with 
 their own pedigree. 
 
 Sir Oliver S. What an unnatural rogue ! — an ex post 
 facto parricide ! [Aside. 
 
 Careless. Yes, yes, here's a bit of your generation 
 indeed ; — faith, Charles, this is the most convenient thing 
 you could have found for the business, for 'twill serve not 
 
 only as a hammer, but a catalogue into the bargain. 
 
 Come, begin A-going, a-going, a-going ! 
 
 Charles S. Bravo, Careless ! — Well, here's my great 
 uncle, Sir Richard Raveline, a marvellous good general in 
 his day, I assure you. He served in all the Duke of 
 Marlborough's wars, and got that cut over his eye at the 
 battle of Malplaquet. — What say you, Mr. Premium ? — 
 look at him — there's a hero, not cut out of his feathers, as 
 your modern dipt captains are, but enveloped in wig and 
 regimentals, as a general should be. — What do you bid ? 
 
 Moses. Mr. Premium would have you speak. 
 
 Charles S. Why, then, he shall have him for ten pounds, 
 and I'm sure that's not dear for a staff-officer. 
 
 Sir Oliver S. Heaven deliver me ! his famous uncle 
 Richard for ten pounds ! [A side.] — Well, sir, I take him 
 at that. 
 
 Charles S. Careless, knock down my uncle Richard. — 
 Here, now, is a maiden sister of his, my great aunt De- 
 borah, done by Kneller, thought to be in his best manner, 
 and 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 Oliver S. Ah ! poor Deborah ! a woman who set 
 such a value on herself ! [Aside, ,] — Five pounds ten — she's 
 mine. 
 
 Charles S. Knock down my aunt Deborah ! — Here, 
 now, are two that were a sort of cousins of theirs. You 
 see, Moses, these pictures were done some time ago, when 
 beaux wore wigs and the ladies their own hair. 
 
 Sir Oliver S. Yes, truly, head-dresses appear to have 
 been a little lower in those days. 
 
 Charles S. Well, take that couple for the same. 
 
scene i THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL 249 
 
 Moses. 'Tis a good bargain. 
 
 Charles S. 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 ? 
 
 Moses. Four guineas. 
 
 Charles S. Four guineas ! — Gad's life, you don't bid 
 me the price of his wig. — Mr. Premium, you have more 
 respect for the woolsack ; do let us knock his lordship 
 down at fifteen. 
 
 Sir Oliver S. By all means. 
 
 Careless. Gone ! 
 
 Charles S. 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 Oliver S. That is very extraordinary, indeed ! 
 I'll take them at your own price, for the honour of 
 Parliament. 
 
 Careless. Well said, little Premium ! — I'll knock them 
 down at forty. 
 
 Charles S. Here's a jolly fellow — I don't know what 
 relation, but he was mayor of Manchester : take him at 
 eight pounds. 
 
 Sir Oliver S. No, no ; six will do for the mayor. 
 
 Charles S. Come, make it guineas, and I'll throw you 
 the two aldermen there into the bargain. 
 
 Sir Oliver S. They're mine. 
 
 Charles S. Careless, knock down the mayor and alder- 
 men. But, plague on't, we shall be all day retailing in 
 
 this manner ; do let us deal wholesale : what say you, 
 little Premium? Give us three hundred pounds for the 
 rest of the family in the lump. 
 
 Careless. Ay, ay, that will be the best way. 
 
 Sir Oliver S. Well, well, anything to accommodate 
 you ; — they are mine. But there is one portrait which 
 you have always passed over. 
 
 Careless. What, that ill-looking little fellow over the 
 settee ! 
 
250 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act iv 
 
 Sir Oliver S. Yes, sir, I mean that, though 1 don't 
 think him so ill-looking a little fellow, by any means. 
 
 Charles S. What, that ! — Oh ! that's my uncle Oliver ; 
 'twas done before he went to India. 
 
 Careless. Your uncle Oliver ! — Gad, then you'll never 
 be friends, Charles. That, now, to me, is as stern a looking 
 rogue as ever I saw ; an unforgiving eye, and a damned 
 disinheriting countenance ! an inveterate knave, depend 
 on't. Don't you think so, little Premium ? 
 
 Sir Oliver S. 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 ? 
 
 Charles S. 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 Oliver S. The rogue's my nephew after all ! [Aside.] 
 — But, sir, I have somehow taken a fancy to that picture. 
 
 Charles S. I'm sorry for't, for you certainly will not 
 have it. — Oons, haven't you got enough of them ? 
 
 Sir Oliver S. I forgive him everything ! [Aside. ~] — 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. 
 
 Charles S. Don't tease me, master broker ; I tell you 
 I'll not part with it, and there's an end of it. 
 
 Sir Oliver S. How like his father the dog is ! [Aside.] 
 
 — Well, well, I have done. 1 did not perceive it before, 
 
 but I think I never saw such a striking resemblance — 
 [Aside] Here is a draught for your sum. 
 
 Charles S. Why, 'tis for eight hundred pounds. 
 
 Sir Oliver S. You will not let Sir Oliver go ? 
 
 Charles S. Zounds ! no ! — I tell you once more. 
 
 Sir Oliver S. Then never mind the difference, we'll 
 balance that another time — but give me your hand on the 
 bargain ; you are an honest fellow, Charles — I beg pardon, 
 sir, for being so free. — Come, Moses. 
 
 Charles S. Egad, this is a whimsical old fellow ! But 
 hark'ee, Premium, you'll prepare lodgings for these gentle- 
 men. 
 
scene i THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL 251 
 
 Sir Oliver S. Yes, yes, I'll send for them in a day or 
 two. 
 
 Charles S. But, hold ; do now send a genteel con- 
 veyance for them, for, I assure you, they were most of 
 them used to ride in their own carriages. 
 
 Sir Oliver S. I will, I will — for all but Oliver. 
 
 Charles S. Ay, all but the little nabob. 
 
 Sir Oliver S. You're fixed on that ? 
 
 Charles S. Peremptorily. 
 
 Sir Oliver S. A dear extravagant rogue ! [Aside.'] — 
 
 Good-day ! — Come, Moses. Let me hear now who 
 
 calls him profligate ! 
 
 [Exeunt Sir Oliver Surface and Moses. 
 
 Careless. Why, this is the oddest genius of the sort I 
 ever saw ! 
 
 Charles S. Egad, he's the prince of brokers, I think. 
 I wonder how Moses got acquainted with so honest a 
 fellow. — Hah ! here's Rowley ; do, Careless, say I'll join 
 the company in a few moments. 
 
 Careless. I will — but don't let that old blockhead 
 persuade you to squander any of that money on old musty 
 debts, or any such nonsense ; for tradesmen, Charles, are 
 the most exorbitant fellows. 
 
 Charles S. Very true, and paying them is only en- 
 couraging them. 
 
 Careless. Nothing else. 
 
 Charles S. Ay, ay, never fear. [Exit Careless.] — 
 
 Soh ! this was an odd fellow, indeed. Let me see — 
 
 two-thirds of this is mine by right, five hundred and thirty 
 odd pounds : 'Fore Heaven ! I find one's ancestors are 
 more valuable relations than I took them for ! — Ladies 
 and gentlemen, your most obedient and very grateful 
 servant. 
 
 Enter Rowley 
 
 Hah ! old Rowley ! egad, you are just come in time to 
 take leave of your old acquaintance. 
 
 Rowley. Yes, I heard they were a-going. But I wonder 
 you can have such spirits under so many distresses. 
 
252 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act iv 
 
 Charles S. 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. However, 
 I suppose you are surprised that I am not more sorrowful 
 at parting with so many near relations ; to be sure 'tis very 
 affecting : but you see they never move a muscle, so why 
 should I ? 
 
 Rowley. There's no making you serious a moment. 
 
 Charles S. 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. 
 
 Rowley. A hundred pounds ! Consider only 
 
 Charles S. Gad's life, don't talk about it : poor Stan- 
 ley'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. 
 
 Rowley. Ah ! there's the point ! I never will cease 
 dunning you with the old proverb 
 
 Charles S. ' Be just before you're generous.' — Why, 
 so I would if I could ; but Justice is an old lame hobbling 
 beldame, and I can't get her to keep pace with Generosity 
 for the soul of me. 
 
 Rowley. Yet, Charles, believe me, one hour's reflec- 
 tion 
 
 Charles S. Ay, ay, it's all very true ; but, hark'ee, 
 Rowley, while I have, by Heaven I'll give ; so damn your 
 economy, and now for hazard. \Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. 
 
 The Parlour 
 
 Enter Sir Oliver Surface and Moses 
 
 Moses. Well, sir, I think, as Sir Peter said, you have 
 seen Mr. Charles in high glory ; 'tis great pity he's so 
 extravagant. 
 
 Sir Oliver S. True, but he would not sell my picture. 
 
 Moses. And loves wine and women so much. 
 
scene ii THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL 253 
 
 Sir Oliver S. But he would not sell my picture. 
 Moses. And games so deep. 
 
 Sir Oliver S. But he would not sell my picture. 
 
 O, here's Rowley. 
 
 Enter Rowley 
 
 Rowley. So, Sir Oliver, I find you have made a 
 purchase 
 
 Sir Oliver S. Yes, yes, our young rake has parted 
 with his ancestors like old tapestry. 
 
 Rowley. 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. 
 
 Moses. Ah ! there is the pity of all ; he is so damned 
 charitable. 
 
 Rowley. 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 Oliver S. 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. 
 
 Rowley. Not yet a while ; Sir Peter, I know, means to 
 call there about this time. 
 
 Enter Trip 
 
 Trip. O, gentlemen, 1 beg pardon for not showing 
 
 you out ; this way Moses, a word. 
 
 [Exeunt Trip and Moses. 
 
 Sir Oliver S. 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. 
 
 Rowley. Indeed ! 
 
 Sir Oliver S. 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 thread-bare ; but now, they have their vices, 
 like their birth-day clothes, with the gloss on. [Exeunt. 
 
254 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act iv 
 
 SCENE III. 
 
 A Library 
 Joseph Surface and a Servant 
 
 Joseph S. No letter from Lady Teazle ? 
 
 Serv. No, sir. 
 
 Joseph S. I am surprised she has not sent, if she is pre- 
 vented 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 heard without. 
 
 Serv. Sir, I believe that must be Lady Teazle. 
 
 Joseph S. 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. 
 
 Serv. 'Tis her ladyship, sir ; she always leaves her 
 chair at the milliner's in the next street. 
 
 Joseph S. Stay, stay ; draw that screen before the 
 window — that will do ; — my opposite neighbour is a 
 maiden lady of so anxious 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 T. 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. 
 
 Joseph S. O, madam, punctuality is a species of con- 
 stancy, a very unfashionable quality in a lady. 
 
 Lady T. 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 ? 
 
scene in THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL 255 
 
 Joseph S. I am glad my scandalous friends keep that up. 
 
 [Aside. 
 
 Lady T. I am sure I wish he would let Maria marry 
 him, and then perhaps he would be convinced ; don't you, 
 Mr. Surface. 
 
 Joseph S. Indeed I do not. \_Aside.~\ — Oh, certainly I 
 do ! for then my dear Lady Teazle would also be con- 
 vinced how wrong her suspicions were of my having any 
 design on the silly girl. 
 
 Lady T. 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 Sneerwell has 
 circulated I don't know how many scandalous tales of me, 
 and all without any foundation too — that's what vexes me. 
 
 Joseph S. Ay, madam, to be sure, that is the provok- 
 ing 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 T. 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 ! 
 
 Joseph S. 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 confi- 
 dence from her, the original compact is broken, and she 
 owes it to the honour of her sex to outwit him. 
 
 Lady T. 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. 
 
 Joseph S. 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 T. To be sure, what you say is very reasonable, 
 and when the consciousness of my innocence 
 
 Joseph S. Ah ! my dear madam, there is the great 
 
256 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act iv 
 
 mistake : 'tis this very conscious innocence that is of the 
 greatest prejudice to you. What is it makes you negli- 
 gent 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 consciousness of your own 
 innocence. What makes you impatient of Sir Peter's 
 temper, and outrageous at his suspicions ? — why, the con- 
 sciousness of your innocence. 
 
 Lady T. 'Tis very true. 
 
 Joseph S. Now, my dear Lady Teazle, if you would 
 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 T. Do you think so ? 
 
 Joseph S. Oh ! I am 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, ab- 
 solutely dying from too much health. 
 
 Lady T. So, so ; then I perceive your prescription is, 
 that I must sin in my own defence, and part with my 
 virtue to secure my reputation ? 
 
 Joseph S. Exactly so, upon my credit, ma'am. 
 
 Lady T. Well, certainly this is the oddest doctrine 
 and the newest receipt for avoiding calumny ! 
 
 Joseph S. An infallible one, believe me. Prudence, 
 like experience, must be paid for. 
 
 Lady T. Why, if my understanding were once con- 
 vinced 
 
 Joseph S. O, 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. 
 
 Lady T. Don't you think we may as well leave honour 
 out of the question ? 
 
 Joseph S. Ah ! the ill effects of your country educa- 
 tion, I see, still remain with you. 
 
 Lady T. I doubt they do indeed ; and I will fairly 
 own to you, that if I could be persuaded to do wrong, it 
 
scene in THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL 25/ 
 
 would be by Sir Peter's ill usage sooner than your honour- 
 able logic, after all. 
 
 Joseph S. Then, by this hand, which he is unworthy 
 of [Taking her hand. 
 
 Enter Servant 
 
 'Sdeath, you blockhead — what do you want ? 
 
 Serv. I beg your pardon, sir, but I thought you 
 would not choose Sir Peter to come up without an- 
 nouncing him. 
 
 Joseph S. Sir Peter ! — Oons — the devil ! 
 
 Lady T. Sir Peter! O Lud — I'm ruined — I'm 
 ruined ! 
 
 Serv. Sir, 'twasn't I let him in. 
 
 Lady T. Oh ! I'm quite undone ! What will become 
 of me ? Now, Mr. Logic — oh ! he's on the stairs — I'll 
 get behind here — and if ever I'm so imprudent again — 
 
 [Goes behind the screen. 
 
 Joseph S. Give me that book. [Sits down. 
 
 Servant pretends to adjust his hair. 
 
 Enter Sir Peter 
 
 Sir Peter T. Ay, ever improving himself — Mr. Sur- 
 face, Mr. Surface — 
 
 Joseph S. 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 in which I am a coxcomb. 
 
 Sir Peter T. '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 ? 
 
 Joseph S. O, yes, I find great use in that screen. 
 
 Sir Peter T. I dare say you must, certainly, when you 
 want to find anything. in a hurry. - 
 
 Joseph S. Ay, or to hide anything in a hurry either. 
 
 [Aside. 
 
25 8 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act iv 
 
 Sir Peter T. Well, I have a little private business 
 
 Joseph S. You need not stay (/<? the Servant). 
 
 Serv. No, sir. [Exit. 
 
 Joseph S. Here's a chair, Sir Peter — I beg — 
 
 Sir Peter T. Well, now we are alone, there is a sub- 
 ject, my dear friend, on which I wish to unburthen my 
 mind to you — a point of the greatest moment to my 
 peace ; in short, my dear friend, Lady Teazle's conduct 
 of late has made me extremely unhappy. 
 
 Joseph S. Indeed ! I am very sorry to hear it. 
 
 Sir Peter T. Ay, 'tis 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. 
 
 Joseph S. Indeed ! you astonish me ! 
 
 Sir Peter T. Yes ; and between ourselves, I think I've 
 discovered the person. 
 
 Joseph S. How ! you alarm me exceedingly. 
 
 Sir Peter T. Ay, my dear friend, I knew you would 
 sympathise with me ! 
 
 Joseph S. Yes — believe me, Sir Peter, such a discovery 
 would hurt me just as much as it would you. 
 
 Sir Peter T. I am convinced of it. — Ah ! it is a happi- 
 ness to have a friend whom we can trust even with one's 
 family secrets. But have you no guess who I mean ? 
 
 Joseph S. I haven't the most distant idea. It can't be 
 Sir Benjamin Backbite ! 
 
 Sir Peter T. Oh, no ! What say you to Charles ? 
 
 Joseph S. My brother ! impossible ! 
 
 Sir Peter T. Oh ! my dear friend, the goodness of 
 your own heart misleads you. You judge of others by 
 yourself. 
 
 Joseph S. Certainly, Sir Peter, the heart that is con- 
 scious of its own integrity is ever slow to credit another's 
 treachery. 
 
 Sir Peter T. True — but your brother has no sentiment 
 — you never hear him talk so. 
 
 Joseph S. Yet, I can't but think Lady Teazle herself 
 has too much principle. 
 
scene in THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL 259 
 
 Sir Peter T. Ay, — but what is principle against the 
 flattery of a handsome, lively young fellow ? 
 
 Joseph S. That's very true. 
 
 Sir Peter T. And there's, you know, the difference of 
 our ages makes it very improbable that she should have 
 any very 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. 
 
 Joseph S. That's true, to be sure — they would laugh. 
 
 Sir Peter T. Laugh — ay, and make ballads, and para- 
 graphs, and the devil knows what of me. 
 
 Joseph S. No — you must never make it public. 
 - — Sir Peter T. 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. 
 
 Joseph S. Ay, there's the point. — When ingratitude 
 barbs the dart of injury the wound has double danger 
 in it. 
 
 Sir Peter T. 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. 
 
 Joseph S. O, 'tis not to be credited. There may be 
 a man capable of such baseness, to be sure ; but, for my 
 part, till you can give me positive proofs, 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 Peter T. What a difference there is between you ! 
 What noble sentiments ! 
 
 Joseph S. Yet, I cannot suspect Lady Teazle's honour. 
 
 Sir Peter T. 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 
 
z6o SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act iv 
 
 resolved she shall have her own way, and be her own 
 mistress in that respect for the future ; and if I were to 
 die, she will find I have not been inattentive to her interest 
 while living. Here, my friend, are the drafts of two 
 deeds which I wish to have your opinion on. — By one, 
 she will enjoy eight hundred a year independent while I 
 live ; and, by the other, the bulk of my fortune at my 
 death. 
 
 Joseph S. This conduct, Sir Peter, is indeed truly 
 
 generous. 1 wish it may not corrupt my pupil. 
 
 [Aside. 
 
 Sir Peter T. 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. 
 
 Joseph S. Nor I, if I could help it. \_Aside. 
 
 Sir Peter T. And now, my dear friend, if you please, 
 we will talk over the situation of your affairs with Maria. 
 
 Joseph S. [Softly. ~\ — O, no, Sir Peter ; another time, 
 if you please. 
 
 Sir Peter T. I am sensibly chagrined at the little pro- 
 gress you seem to make in her affections. 
 
 Joseph S. I beg you will not mention it. What are 
 my disappointments when your happiness is in debate ! 
 [Softly. ~\ — 'Sdeath, I shall be ruined every way. [Aside. 
 
 Sir Peter T. And though you are so averse to my 
 acquainting Lady Teazle with your passion for Maria, I'm 
 sure she's not your enemy in the affair. 
 
 Joseph S. Pray, Sir Peter, now, oblige me. I am 
 really too much affected by the subject we have been 
 speaking of to bestow a thought on my own concerns. 
 The man who is entrusted with his friend's distresses can 
 never 
 
 Enter Servant 
 Well, sir ? 
 
 Serv. Your brother, sir, is speaking to a gentleman in 
 the street, and says he knows you are within. 
 
 Joseph S. 'Sdeath, blockhead, I'm not within — I'm 
 out for the day. 
 
scene in THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL 261 
 
 Sir Peter T. Stay — hold — a thought has struck me : — 
 you shall be at home. 
 
 Joseph S. Well, well, let him up. [Exit Servant 
 J He'll interrupt Sir Peter, however. [Aside. 
 
 Sir Peter T. Now, my good friend, oblige me, I 
 
 \ entreat you. — Before Charles comes, let me conceal myself 
 
 Vsomewhere — then do you tax him on the point we have 
 
 been talking, and his answer may satisfy me at once. 
 
 \ Joseph S. O fie, Sir Peter ! would you have me join in 
 
 so mean a trick ? — to trepan my brother too ? 
 
 Sir Peter T. 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 : here, 
 behind this screen will be — Hey ! what the devil ! there 
 seems to be one listener there already — I'll swear I saw a 
 petticoat ! 
 
 Joseph S. Ha ! ha ! ha ! Well, this is ridiculous 
 enough. I'll tell you, Sir Peter, though I hold a man of 
 intrigue to be a most despicable character, yet, you know, 
 it does not 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 Peter T. Ah ! you rogue ! But, egad, she has 
 overheard all I have been saying of my wife. 
 
 Joseph S. O, 'twill never go any farther, you may 
 depend upon it. 
 
 Sir Peter T. No ! then, faith, let her hear it out — 
 Here's a closet will do as well. 
 
 Joseph S. Well, go in there. 
 
 Sir Peter T. Sly rogue ! sly rogue ! 
 
 [Going into the closet. 
 
 Joseph S. A narrow escape, indeed ! and a curious 
 situation I'm in, to part man and wife in this manner. 
 
 Lady T. {Peeping.) — Couldn't I steal off? - 
 
 Joseph S. Keep close, my angel ! 
 
 Sir Peter T. [Peeping.) — Joseph, tax him home. 
 
 Joseph S. Back, my dear friend ! 
 
262 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act iv 
 
 Lady T. Couldn't you lock Sir Peter in ? 
 
 Joseph S. Be still, my life ! 
 
 Sir Peter T. (Peeping.) — You're sure the little milliner 
 won't blab? 
 
 Joseph S. In, in, my good Sir Peter — 'Fore Gad, I 
 wish I had a key to the door. 
 
 V 
 
 Enter Charles Surface 
 
 Charles S. 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 ? 
 
 Joseph S. Neither, brother, I assure you. 
 
 Charles S. But what has made Sir Peter steal off? I 
 thought he had been with you. 
 
 Joseph S. He was, brother ; but hearing you were 
 coming, he did not choose to stay. 
 
 Charles S. What ! was the old gentleman afraid I 
 wanted to borrow money of him ? 
 
 Joseph S. No, sir ; but I am sorry to find, Charles, 
 you have lately given that worthy man grounds for great 
 uneasiness. 
 
 Charles S. Yes, they tell me I do that to a great many 
 worthy men. — But how so, pray ? 
 
 Joseph S. To be plain with you, brother — he thinks you 
 are endeavouring to gain Lady Teazle's affections from 
 him. 
 
 Charles S. 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 ? 
 
 Joseph S. This is no subject to jest on, brother. He 
 who can laugh 
 
 Charles S. 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. 
 
 Joseph S. Well, it will give Sir Peter great satisfaction 
 to hear this. [Aloud. 
 
 Charles S. To be sure, I once thought the lady seemed 
 
scene in THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL 263 
 
 to have taken a fancy to me ; but, upon my soul, I never 
 gave her the least encouragement : — besides, you know 
 my attachment to Maria. 
 
 Joseph S. But sure, brother, even if Lady Teazle had 
 betrayed the fondest partiality for you 
 
 Charles S. 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 — 
 
 Joseph S. Well— 
 
 Charles S. 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, 'faith, I always under- 
 stood you were her favourite. 
 
 Joseph S. O, for shame, Charles ! This retort is 
 foolish. 
 
 Charles S. Nay, I swear I have seen you exchange 
 such significant glances — 
 
 Joseph S. Nay, nay, sir, this is no jest. 
 
 Charles S. Egad, I'm serious. — Don't you remember 
 one day when I called here — 
 
 Joseph S. Nay, prithee, Charles — 
 
 Charles S. And found you together — 
 
 Joseph S. Zounds, sir ! I insist — 
 
 Charles S. And another time when your servant — 
 
 Joseph S. Brother, brother, a word with you ! Gad, 
 I must stop him. \Aside. 
 
 Charles S. Informed, I say, that — 
 
 Joseph S. Hush ! I beg your pardon, but Sir Peter 
 has overheard all we have been saying. I knew you would 
 clear yourself, or I should not have consented. 
 
 Charles S. How, Sir Peter ! Where is he ? 
 
 Joseph S. Softly ; there ! [Points to the closet. 
 
 Charles S. O, 'fore Heaven, I'll have him out. Sir 
 Peter, come forth ! 
 
 Joseph S. No, no — 
 
 Charles S. I say, Sir Peter, come into court — (pulls in 
 
264 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act iv 
 
 Sir Peter.) — What ! my old guardian ! — What ! turn in- 
 quisitor, and take evidence incog ? 
 
 Sir Peter T. Give me your hand, Charles — I believe 1 
 have suspected you wrongfully ; but you mustn't be angry 
 with Joseph — 'twas my plan ! 
 
 Charles S. Indeed ! 
 
 Sir Peter T. 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. 
 
 Charles S. Egad, then, 'twas lucky you didn't hear 
 any more — wasn't it, Joseph? [Apart to Joseph. 
 
 Sir Peter T. Ah ! you would have retorted on 
 him. 
 
 Charles S. Ay, ay, that was a joke. 
 
 Sir Peter T. Yes, yes, I know his honour too well. 
 
 Charles S. But you might- as well have suspected him 
 as me in this matter, for all that — mightn't he, Joseph ? 
 
 [Apart to Joseph. 
 
 Sir Peter T. Well, well, I believe you. 
 
 Joseph S. Would they were both well out of the 
 room ! [Aside. 
 
 Enter Servant, and whispers Joseph Surface 
 
 Sir Peter T. And in future, perhaps, we may not be 
 such strangers. 
 
 Joseph S. Gentlemen, I beg pardon — I must wait on 
 you down -stairs : here is a person come on particular 
 business. 
 
 Charles S. Well, you can see him in another room. 
 Sir Peter and I have not met a long time, and I have some- 
 thing to say to him. 
 
 Joseph S. They must not be left together. [Aside.] 
 
 I'll send this man away, and return directly. Sir 
 
 Peter, not a word of the French milliner. 
 
 [Apart to Sir Peter, and goes out. 
 
 Sir Peter T. I ! not for the world ! — [Apart to Joseph.] 
 — Ah ! Charles, if you associated more with your brother, 
 one might indeed hope for your reformation. He is a 
 
scene in THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL 265 
 
 man of sentiment. — Well, there is nothing in the world so 
 noble as a man of sentiment ! 
 
 Charles S. Pshaw ! he is too moral by half — and so 
 apprehensive of his good name, as he calls it, that I sup- 
 pose he would as soon let a priest into his house as a girl. 
 
 Sir Peter T. No, no, — come, come, — you wrong him. 
 — No, no ! Joseph is no rake, but he is no such saint 
 
 either in that respect. 1 have a great mind to tell him 
 
 — we should have a laugh at Joseph. [Aside. 
 
 Charles S. Oh, hang him ! He's a very anchorite, a 
 young hermit. 
 
 Sir Peter T. Hark'ee — you must not abuse him : he 
 may chance to hear of it again, I promise you. 
 
 Charles S. Why, you won't tell him ? 
 
 Sir Peter T. No — but — this way. Egad, I'll tell him. 
 — [Aside], Hark'ee, have you a mind to have a good 
 laugh at Joseph ? 
 
 Charles S. I should like it of all things. 
 
 Sir Peter T. Then, i'faith, we will — I'll be quit with 
 him for discovering me. — He had a girl with him when I 
 called. 
 
 Charles S. What ! Joseph ? you jest. 
 
 Sir Peter T. Hush ! — a little French milliner — and the 
 best of the jest is — she's in the room now. 
 
 Charles S. The devil she is ! 
 
 Sir Peter T. Hush ! I tell you ! [Points. 
 
 Charles S. Behind the screen ! 'Slife, let's unveil her ! 
 
 Sir Peter T. No, no — he's coming — you sha'n't, 
 indeed ! 
 
 Charles S. O, egad, we'll have a peep at the little 
 milliner ! 
 
 Sir Peter T. Not for the world — Joseph will never 
 forgive me — 
 
 Charles S. I'll stand by you — 
 
 Sir Peter T. Odds, here he is — (Joseph Surface 
 enters just as Charles Surface throws down the screen). 
 
 Charles S. Lady Teazle, by all that's wonderful ! 
 
 Sir Peter T. Lady Teazle, by all that's damnable ! 
 
 Charles S. Sir Peter, this is one of the smartest 
 
266 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act iv 
 
 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 cause for so much, uneasiness. — Sir Peter ! 
 there's nothing in the world so noble as a man of senti- 
 ment. [Exit Charles. 
 (They stand for some time looking at each other.) 
 
 Joseph S. 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 Peter T. If you please, sir. 
 
 Joseph S. 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 appre- 
 hensive — as I said — of your jealousy — she withdrew — and 
 this, you may depend on it, is the whole truth of the 
 matter. 
 
 Sir Peter T. A very clear account, upon my word ; 
 and I dare swear the lady will vouch for every article 
 of it. 
 
 Lady T. For not one word of it, Sir Peter ! 
 
 Sir Peter T. How ! don't you think it worth while 
 to agree in the lie ? 
 
 Lady T. There is not one syllable of truth in what 
 that gentleman has told you. 
 
 Sir Peter T. I believe you, upon my soul, ma'am ! 
 
 Joseph S. [Aside.] — 'Sdeath, madam, will you betray 
 me ? 
 
scene in THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL 267 
 
 Lady T. Good Mr. Hypocrite, by your leave, I'll 
 speak for myself. 
 
 Sir Peter T. Ay, let her alone, sir ; you'll find she'll 
 make out a better story than you, without prompting. 
 
 Lady T. Hear me, Sir Peter ! — I came hither on no 
 matter relating to your ward, and even ignorant of this 
 gentleman's pretensions to her. But I came, seduced by 
 his insidious arguments, at least to listen to his pretended 
 passion, if not to sacrifice your honour to his baseness. 
 
 Sir Peter T. Now, I believe, the truth is coming 
 indeed ! 
 
 Joseph S. The woman's mad ! 
 
 Lady T. 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 tender- 
 ness 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 
 discovery, my future life should have spoken the sincerity 
 of my gratitude. As for that smooth-tongued hypocrite, 
 who would have seduced the wife of his too credulous 
 friend, while he affected honourable addresses to his ward 
 — I behold him now in a light so truly despicable, that I 
 shall never again respect myself for having listened to 
 him. [Exit Lady Teazle. 
 
 Joseph S. Notwithstanding all this, Sir Peter, Heaven 
 knows — 
 
 Sir Peter T. That you are a villain ! and so I leave 
 you to your conscience. 
 
 Joseph S. You are too rash, Sir Peter ; you shall hear 
 me. — The man who shuts out conviction by refusing 
 to ■ [Exeunt Sir Peter and Surface talking 
 
ACT V. SCENE I. 
 
 The Library 
 
 Enter Joseph Surface and Servant 
 
 Joseph S. Mr. Stanley ! — and why should you think I 
 would see him ? you must know he comes to ask some- 
 thing. 
 
 Serv. Sir, I should not have let him in, but that Mr. 
 Rowley came to the door with him. 
 
 Joseph S. Pshaw ! blockhead ! to suppose that I 
 should now be in a temper to receive visits from poor 
 relations ! Well, why don't you show the fellow up ? 
 
 Serv. I will, sir. Why, sir, it was not my fault 
 
 that Sir Peter discovered my lady 
 
 Josephs. Go, fool ! [Exit Servant.] — Sure Fortune 
 never played a man of my policy such a trick before. 
 My character with Sir Peter, my hopes with Maria, 
 destroyed in a moment ! I'm in a rare humour to listen 
 to other people's distresses ! I sha'n't be able to bestow 
 even a benevolent sentiment on Stanley. — So ! here he 
 comes, and Rowley with him. I must try to recover my- 
 self, and put a little charity into my face, however. [Exit. 
 
 Enter Sir Oliver Surface and Rowley 
 
 Sir Oliver S. What ! does he avoid us ! — That was 
 he, was it not ? 
 
 Rowley. 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. 1 
 should have gone first to break it to him. 
 
scene i THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL 269 
 
 Sir Oliver S. O, plague of his nerves ! Yet this is he 
 whom Sir Peter extols as a man of the most benevolent 
 way of thinking ! 
 
 Rowley. As to his way of thinking I cannot pretend 
 to decide ; for, to do him justice, he appears to have as 
 much speculative benevolence as any private gentleman in 
 the kingdom, though he is seldom so sensual as to indulge 
 himself in the exercise of it. 
 
 Sir Oliver S. Yet has a string of charitable sentiments 
 at his fingers' ends. 
 
 Rowley. 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 Oliver S. And his, I presume, is of that domestic 
 sort which never stirs abroad at all. 
 
 Rowley. I doubt you'll find it so ; — but he's comino-. 
 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 Oliver S. True ; and afterwards you'll meet me 
 at Sir Peter's. 
 
 Rowley. Without losing a moment. [Exit. 
 
 Sir Oliver S. I don't like the complaisance of his 
 features. 
 
 Enter Joseph Surface 
 
 Joseph S. Sir, I beg you ten thousand pardons for 
 keeping you a moment waiting Mr. Stanley, I pre- 
 sume. — 
 
 Sir Oliver S. At your service. 
 
 Joseph S. Sir, I beg you will do me the honour to sit 
 down — I entreat you, sir ! — 
 
 Sir Oliver S. Dear sir — there's no occasion too 
 
 civil by half ! [Aside. 
 
 Joseph S. 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. Stanlev ? 
 
270 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act v 
 
 Sir Oliver S. 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. 
 
 Joseph S. 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 of that 
 class, and had it in my power to offer you even a small 
 relief. 
 
 Sir Oliver S. If your uncle, Sir Oliver, were here, I 
 should have a friend. 
 
 Joseph S. I wish he was, sir, with all my heart : you 
 should not want an advocate with him, believe me, sir. 
 
 Sir Oliver S. 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. 
 
 Joseph S. My dear sir, you were strangely misinformed. 
 Sir Oliver is a worthy man, a very worthy man ; but 
 avarice, Mr. Stanley, is the vice of age. I will tell you, 
 my good sir, in confidence, what he has done for me has 
 been a mere nothing ; though people, I know, have 
 thought otherwise, and, for my part, I never chose to 
 contradict the report. 
 
 Sir Oliver S. What ! has he never transmitted you 
 bullion — rupees — pagodas ? 
 
 Joseph S. O, 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 Oliver S. Here's gratitude for twelve thousand 
 pounds ! — Avadavats and Indian crackers ! [Aside. 
 
 Joseph S. 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 Oliver S. Not I, for one ! [Aside. 
 
 Joseph S. The sums I have lent him ! — Indeed I have 
 been exceedingly to blame ; it was an amiable weakness : 
 however, I don't pretend to defend it, — and now I feel it 
 doubly culpable, since it has deprived me of the pleasure 
 of serving you, Mr. Stanley, as my heart dictates. 
 
scene i THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL 271 
 
 Sir Oliver S. Dissembler ! [Aside. ~\ — Then, sir, you 
 can't assist me ? 
 
 Joseph S. At present, it grieves me to say, I cannot ; 
 but, whenever I have the ability, you may depend upon 
 hearing from me. 
 
 Sir Oliver S. I am extremely sorry 
 
 Joseph S. Not more than I, believe me ; — to pity 
 without the power to relieve is still more painful than to 
 ask and be denied. 
 
 Sir Oliver S. Kind sir, your most obedient humble 
 servant. 
 
 Joseph S. You leave me deeply affected, Mr. Stanley. 
 William, be ready to open the door. 
 
 Sir Oliver S. O, dear sir, no ceremony. 
 
 Joseph S. Your very obedient. 
 
 Sir Oliver S. Sir, your most obsequious. 
 
 Joseph S. You may depend upon hearing from me 
 whenever I can be of service. 
 
 Sir Oliver S. Sweet sir, you are too good ! 
 
 Joseph S. In the meantime I wish you health and 
 spirits. 
 
 Sir Oliver S. Your ever grateful and perpetual humble 
 servant. 
 
 Joseph S. Sir, yours as sincerely. 
 
 Sir Oliver S. Charles, you are my heir. 
 
 [Aside. Exit. 
 
 Joseph S. 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 sentimental French 
 plate I use instead of it makes just as good a show, and 
 pays no tax. 
 
 Enter Rowley 
 
 Rowley. Mr. Surface, your servant : I was apprehen- 
 sive of interrupting you, though my business demands 
 immediate attention, as this note will inform you. 
 
272 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act v 
 
 Joseph S. Always happy to see Mr. Rowley. [Reads 
 the letter.'] — Sir Oliver Surface ! — My uncle arrived ! 
 
 Rowley. He is, indeed : we have just parted — quite 
 well, after a speedy voyage, and impatient to embrace his 
 worthy nephew. 
 
 Joseph S. I am astonished ! — William ! stop Mr. 
 Stanley, if he's not gone. 
 
 Rowley. Oh ! he's out of reach, I believe. 
 
 Joseph S. Why did you not let me know this when 
 you came in together ? 
 
 Rowley. I thought you had particular business ; — but 
 I must be gone to inform your brother, and appoint him 
 here to meet your uncle. He will be with you in a 
 quarter of an hour. 
 
 Joseph S. So he says. Well, I am strangely over- 
 joyed at his coming. Never, to be sure, was anything 
 
 so damned unlucky. [Aside. 
 
 Rowley. You will be delighted to see how well he 
 looks. 
 
 Joseph S. Ah ! I'm rejoiced to hear it — — Just at this 
 time. [Aside. 
 
 Rowley. I'll tell him how impatiently you expect him. 
 
 Joseph S. Do, do ; pray give my best duty and affec- 
 tion. 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. 
 
 Sir Peter Teazle's 
 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, 
 
scene ii THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL 273 
 
 if it be only for a moment, for I am sure she must be in 
 great distress. [Exit Maid.] Dear heart, how provok- 
 ing ! I'm not mistress of half the circumstances ! We 
 shall have the whole affair in the newspapers, with the 
 names of the parties at length, before I have dropped the 
 story at a dozen houses. 
 
 Enter Sir Benjamin Backbite 
 Oh, Sir Benjamin ! you have heard, I suppose- 
 
 Sir Benj. B. Of Lady Teazle and Mr. Surface 
 
 Mrs. Can. And Sir Peter's discovery 
 
 Sir Benj. B. O ! the strangest piece of business, to be 
 
 sure ! 
 
 Mrs. Can. Well, I never was so surprised in my life. 
 
 I am so sorry for all parties, indeed. 
 
 Sir Benj. B. 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 Benj. B. 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 dis- 
 cover them. 
 
 Sir Benj. B. I tell you I had it from one 
 
 Mrs. Can. And I have it from one 
 
 Sir Benj. B. Who had it from one, who had it 
 
 Mrs. Can. From one immediately but here comes 
 
 Lady Sneerwell ; perhaps she knows the whole affair. 
 
 Enter Lady Sneerwell 
 
 Lady Sneer. So, my dear Mrs. Candour, here's a sad 
 affair of our friend Lady Teazle. 
 
 Mrs. Can. Ay, my dear friend, who would have 
 thought 
 
 Lady Sneer. Well, there is no trusting appearances ; 
 though, indeed, she was always too lively for me. 
 
 T 
 
274 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act v 
 
 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 Benj. B. Ay, there, I told you Mr. Surface was 
 the man. 
 
 Mrs. Can. No, no : indeed the assignation was with 
 Charles. 
 
 Lady Sneer. With Charles ! You alarm me, Mrs. 
 Candour ! 
 
 Mrs. Can. Yes, yes, he was the lover. Mr. Surface, 
 to do him justice, was only the informer. 
 
 Sir Benj. B. Well, I'll not dispute with you, Mrs. 
 Candour ; but, be it which it may, I hope that Sir Peter's 
 wound will not 
 
 Mrs. Can. Sir Peter's wound ! O, mercy ! I didn't 
 hear a word of their fighting. 
 
 Lady Sneer. Nor I, a syllable. 
 
 Sir Benj. B. No ! what, no mention of the duel ? 
 \ Mrs. Can. Not a word. 
 
 Sir Benj. B. O, yes : they fought before they left the 
 room. 
 
 Lady Sneer. Pray, let us hear. 
 
 Mrs. Can. Ay, do oblige us with the duel. 
 
 Sir Benj. B. * Sir,' says Sir Peter, immediately after 
 the discovery, ' you are a most ungrateful fellow.' 
 
 Mrs. Can. Ay, to Charles 
 
 Sir Benj. B. No, no — to Mr. Surface — 'a most un- 
 grateful 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 Benj. B. 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 
 
scene ii THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL 275 
 
 room in strong hysterics, and Charles after her, calling out 
 for hartshorn and water ; then, madam, they began to 
 fight with swords — 
 
 Enter Crabtree 
 
 Crabt. With pistols, nephew — pistols : I have it from 
 undoubted authority. 
 
 Mrs Can. O, Mr. Crabtree, then it is all true ! 
 
 Crabt. Too true, indeed, madam, and Sir Peter is 
 dangerously wounded 
 
 Sir Benj. B. By a thrust in second quite through his 
 left side 
 
 Crabt. By a bullet lodged in the thorax. 
 
 Mrs. Can. Mercy on me ! Poor Sir Peter ! 
 
 Crabt. Yes, madam ; though Charles would have 
 avoided the matter if he could. 
 
 Mrs. Can. I knew Charles was the person. 
 
 Sir Benj. B. My uncle, I see, knows nothing of the 
 matter. 
 
 Crabt. But Sir Peter taxed him with the basest 
 ingratitude. 
 
 Sir Benj. B. That I told you, you know 
 
 Crabt. Do, nephew, let me speak ! and insisted on 
 immediate 
 
 Sir Benj. B. Just as I said 
 
 Crabt. 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 Benj. B. I heard nothing of this. 
 
 Crabt. Sir Peter forced Charles to take one, and they 
 fired, it seems, pretty nearly together. Charles's shot 
 took effect, as I tell you, and Sir Peter's missed ; but what 
 is very extraordinary, the ball struck against a little 
 bronze Shakespeare that stood over the fire-place, grazed 
 out of the window at a right angle, and wounded the 
 
276 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act ▼ 
 
 postman, who was just coming to the door with a double 
 letter from Northamptonshire. 
 
 Sir Benj. B. My uncle's account is more circumstantial, 
 I confess ; but I believe mine is the true one, for all that. 
 
 Lady Sneer. I am more interested in this affair than 
 they imagine, and must have better information. {Aside.) 
 
 \_Exit Lady Sneerwell. 
 
 Sir Benj. B. Ah ! Lady Sneerwell's alarm is very 
 easily accounted for. 
 
 Crabt. Yes, yes, they certainly do say — but that's 
 neither here nor there. 
 
 Mrs Can. But, pray, where is Sir Peter at present ? 
 
 Crabt. 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. 
 
 Crabt. Yes, yes ; and I saw one of the faculty enter 
 just before me. 
 
 Sir Benj. B. Hey ! who comes here ? 
 
 Crabt. O, this is he : the physician, depend on't. 
 
 Mrs. Can. O, certainly : it must be the physician ; 
 and now we shall know. 
 
 Enter Sir Oliver Surface 
 
 Crabt. Well, doctor, what hopes ? 
 
 Mrs. Can. Ay, doctor, how's your patient? 
 
 Sir Benj. B. Now, doctor, isn't it a wound with a 
 small-sword ? 
 
 Crabt. A bullet lodged in the thorax, for a hundred. 
 
 Sir Oliver S. Doctor ! a wound with a small sword ! 
 and a bullet in the thorax ! Oons ! are you mad, good 
 people ? 
 
 Sir Benj. B. Perhaps, sir, you are not a doctor ? 
 
 Sir Oliver S. Truly, I am to thank you for my degree 
 if I am. 
 
 Crabt. Only a friend of Sir Peter's, then, I presume. 
 But, sir, you must have heard of his accident ? 
 
 Sir Oliver S. Not a word ! 
 
scene ii THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL 277 
 
 Crabt. Not of his being dangerously wounded ? 
 
 Sir Oliver S. The devil he is ! 
 
 Sir Benj. B. Run through the body 
 
 Crabt. Shot in the breast 
 
 Sir Benj. B. By one Mr. Surface 
 
 Crabt. Ay, the younger. 
 
 Sir Oliver S. Hey ! what the plague ! you seem to 
 differ strangely in your accounts : however, you agree 
 that Sir Peter is dangerously wounded. 
 
 Sir Benj. B. O, yes, we agree there. 
 
 Crabt. Yes, yes, I believe there can be no doubt of that. 
 
 Sir Oliver S. Then, upon my word, for a person in 
 that situation he is the most imprudent man alive ; for 
 here he comes, walking as if nothing at all was the matter. 
 
 Enter Sir Peter Teazle 
 
 Odds heart, Sir Peter, you are come in good time, I 
 promise you ; for we had just given you over. 
 
 Sir Benj. B. Egad, uncle, this is the most sudden 
 recovery ! 
 
 Sir Oliver S. Why, man, what do you out of bed 
 with a small sword through your body, and a bullet lodged 
 in your thorax ? 
 
 Sir Peter T. A small sword and a bullet ! 
 
 Sir Oliver S. Ay, these gentlemen would have killed 
 you without law or physic, and wanted to dub me a 
 doctor, to make me an accomplice. 
 
 Sir Peter T. Why, what is all this ? 
 
 Sir Benj. B. We rejoice, Sir Peter, that the story of 
 the duel is not true, and are sincerely sorry for your other 
 misfortune. 
 
 Sir Peter T. So, so ; all over the town already. 
 
 [Aside. 
 
 Crabt. Though, Sir Peter, you were certainly vastly 
 to blame to marry at your years. 
 
 Sir Peter T. 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. 
 
278 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act v 
 
 Sir Peter T. Plague on your pity, ma'am ! I desire 
 none of it. 
 
 Sir Benj. B. However, Sir Peter, you must not mind 
 the laughing and jests you will meet with on the occasion. 
 
 Sir Peter T. Sir, sir, I desire to be master in my own 
 house. 
 
 Crabt. 'Tis no uncommon case, that's one comfort. 
 
 Sir Peter T. 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 Peter T. Leave my house ! 
 
 Crabt. And tell how hardly you've been treated. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Sir Peter T. Leave my house ! 
 
 Sir Benj. B. And how patiently you bear it. [Exit. 
 
 Sir Peter T. Fiends ! vipers ! furies ! Oh ! that their 
 own venom would choke them ! 
 
 Sir Oliver S. They are very provoking, indeed, Sir 
 Peter. 
 
 Enter Rowley 
 
 Rowley. I heard high words : what has ruffled you, 
 sir ? 
 
 Sir Peter T. Pshaw ! what signifies asking ? Do I 
 ever pass a day without my vexations ? 
 
 Rowley. Well, I'm not inquisitive. 
 
 Sir Oliver S. Well, Sir Peter, I have seen both my 
 nephews in the manner we proposed. 
 
 Sir Peter T. A precious couple they are ! 
 
 Rowley. Yes, and Sir Oliver is convinced that your 
 \ judgment was right, Sir Peter. 
 
 ^ Sir Oliver S. Yes, I find Joseph is indeed the man, 
 after all. 
 
 Rowley. Ay, as Sir Peter says, he is a man of sentiment. 
 
 Sir Oliver S. And acts up to the sentiments he 
 professes. 
 
 Rowley. It certainly is edification to hear him talk. 
 
 Sir Oliver S. Oh, he's a model for the young men of 
 
 
scene n THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL 279 
 
 the age ! But how's this, Sir Peter ? you don't join us 
 
 in your friend Joseph's praise, as I expected. 
 
 Sir Peter T. Sir Oliver, we live in a damned wicked 
 world, and the fewer we praise the better. 
 
 Rowley. What ! do you say so, Sir Peter, who were 
 never mistaken in your life ? 
 
 Sir Peter T. Pshaw ! Plague on you both ! I see by 
 your sneering you have heard the whole affair. I shall go 
 mad among you ! 
 
 Rowley. 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 Peter T. And does Sir Oliver know all this ? 
 
 Sir Oliver S. Every circumstance. 
 
 Sir Peter T. What, of the closet and the screen, hey ? 
 
 Sir Oliver S. Yes, yes, and the little French milliner. O, 
 I have been vastly diverted with the story ! Ha ! ha! ha! 
 
 Sir Peter T. 'Twas very pleasant. 
 
 Sir Oliver S. I never laughed more in my life, I assure 
 you : ha ! ha ! ha ! 
 
 Sir Peter T. O, vastly diverting ! Ha ! ha ! ha ! 
 
 Rowley. To be sure, Joseph with his sentiments : ha ! 
 ha! ha! 
 
 Sir Peter T. Yes, yes, his sentiments ! Ha ! ha ! ha ! 
 Hypocritical villain ! 
 
 Sir Oliver S. Ay, and that rogue Charles to pull Sir 
 Peter out of the closet : . ha ! ha ! ha ! 
 
 Sir Peter T. Ha ! ha ! 'twas devilish entertaining, to 
 be sure ! 
 
 Sir Oliver S. Ha ! ha ! ha ! Egad, Sir Peter, I should 
 like to have seen your face when the screen was thrown 
 down : ha ! ha ! 
 
 Sir Peter T. Yes, yes, my face when the screen was 
 thrown down : ha ! ha ! ha ! Oh, I must never show my 
 head again ! 
 
 Sir Oliver S. But come, come, it isn't fair to laugh 
 at you neither, my old friend ; though, upon my soul, I 
 can't help it. 
 
2 8o SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act v 
 
 Sir Peter T. Oh, pray, don't restrain your mirth on my 
 account : it does not hurt me at all ! I laugh at the 
 whole affair myself. Yes, yes, I think being a standing 
 jest for all one's acquaintance a very happy situation. 
 O ves, and then of a morning to read the paragraphs 
 
 about Mr. S , Lady T , and Sir P , will be so 
 
 entertaining ! 
 
 Rowley. Without affectation, Sir Peter, you may 
 despise 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 Oliver S. Perhaps my being here prevents her 
 coming to you. Well, I'll leave honest Rowley to mediate 
 between you ; but he must bring you all presently to Mr. 
 Surface's where I am now returning, if not to reclaim a 
 libertine, at least to expose hypocrisy. 
 
 Sir Peter T. Ah, I'll be present at your discovering 
 yourself there with all my heart ; though 'tis a vile unlucky 
 place for discoveries. 
 
 Rowley. We'll follow. [Exit Sir Oliver. 
 
 Sir Peter T. She is not coming here, you see, Rowley. 
 
 fiowley. No, but she has left the door of that room 
 open, you perceive. See, she is in tears. 
 
 Sir Peter T. 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 ? 
 
 Rowley. Oh, this is ungenerous in you ! 
 Sir Peter T. Well, I know not what to think. You 
 remember the letter I found of hers evidently intended for 
 Charles ? 
 
 Rowley. 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 Peter T. 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. 
 
 Rowley. Certainly. 
 
 Sir Peter T. Though when it is known that we are 
 reconciled, people will laugh at me ten times more. 
 
scene in THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL 281 
 
 Rowley. Let them laugh, and retort their malice only 
 by showing them you are happy in spite of it. 
 
 Sir Peter T. I'faith, so I will ! and, if I'm not mistaken, 
 we may yet be the happiest couple in the country. 
 
 Rowley. Nay, Sir Peter, he who once lays aside sus- 
 picion 
 
 Sir Peter T. 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 
 
 Enter Joseph Surface and Lady Sneerwell 
 
 Lady Sneer. Impossible ! Will not Sir Peter im- 
 mediately be reconciled to Charles, and of course no longer 
 oppose his union with Maria? The thought is distraction 
 to me. 
 
 Joseph S. Can passion furnish a remedy ? 
 
 Lady Sneer. No, nor cunning either. O ! I was a fool, 
 an idiot, to league with such a blunderer ! 
 
 Joseph S. Sure, 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 ungrateful 
 libertine, neither your temper nor hypocrisy could prevent 
 your showing the sharpness of your vexation. 
 
 Joseph S. But why should your reproaches fall on me 
 for this disappointment ? 
 
 Lady Sneer. Are you not the cause of it ? Had you 
 not a sufficient field for your roguery in imposing upon 
 Sir Peter, and supplanting your brother, but you must 
 endeavour to seduce his wife ? I hate such an avarice of 
 crimes ; 'tis an unfair monopoly, and never prospers. 
 
 Joseph S. Well, I admit I have been to blame. I 
 
282 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act v 
 
 confess I deviated from the direct road of wrong, but I 
 don't think we're so totally defeated neither. 
 
 Lady Sneer. No ! 
 
 Joseph S. 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. 
 
 Joseph S. 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. 
 
 Joseph S. Come, come ; it is not too late yet. [Knock- 
 ing at the door.~\ But, hark ! this is probably my uncle, Sir 
 Oliver : retire to that room ; we'll consult further when he 
 is gone. 
 
 Lady Sneer. Well, but if he should find you out too ? 
 
 Joseph S. 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 oncroguery at a time. 
 
 [Exit Lady Sneerwell. 
 
 Joseph S. I will, I will. So ! 'tis confounded hard, 
 after such bad fortune, to be baited by one's confederate in 
 evil. Well, at all events, my 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 find him here — and- — 
 
 Enter Sir Oliver Surface 
 
 Gad's life, Mr. Stanley, why have you come back to plague 
 me at this time ? You must not stay now, upon my word. 
 
 Sir Oliver S. 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. 
 
 Joseph S. Sir, 'tis impossible for you to stay now, so I 
 
scene in THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL 283 
 
 must beg Come any other time, and I promise you, 
 
 you shall be assisted. 
 
 Sir Oliver S. No : Sir Oliver and I must be acquainted. 
 
 Joseph S. Zounds, sir ! then I insist on your quitting 
 the room directly. 
 
 Sir Oliver S. Nay, sir 
 
 Joseph S. Sir, I insist on't : here, William ! show this 
 gentleman out. Since you compel me, sir, not one moment 
 — this is such insolence ! [Going to push him out. 
 
 Enter Charles Surface 
 
 Charles S. Hey day ! 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 ? 
 
 Joseph S. So ! he has been with you too, has he ? 
 
 Charles S. To be sure he has. Why, he's as honest a 
 
 little But sure, Joseph, you have not been borrowing 
 
 money too, have you ? 
 
 Joseph S. Borrowing ! no ! But, brother, you know 
 we expect Sir Oliver here every 
 
 Charles S. O Gad, that's true ! Noll mustn't find the 
 little broker here, to be sure. 
 
 Joseph S. Yet Mr. Stanley insists 
 
 Charles S. Stanley ! why, his name's Premium. 
 
 Joseph S. No, sir, Stanley. 
 
 Charles S. No, no, Premium. 
 
 Joseph S. Well, no matter which — but 
 
 Charles S. 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. 
 
 Joseph S. 'Sdeath ! here's Sir Oliver at the door. 
 Now I beg, Mr. Stanley- 
 
 Charles S. Ay, ay, and I beg, Mr. Premium- 
 
 Sir Oliver S. Gentlemen 
 
 Joseph S. Sir, by Heaven you shall go ! 
 Charles S. Ay, out with him, certainly ! 
 Sir Oliver S. This violence 
 
284 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act v 
 
 Joseph S. Sir, 'tis your own fault. 
 Charles S. Out with him, to be sure. 
 
 [Both forcing Sir Oliver out. 
 
 Enter Sir Peter and Lady Te/czle, Maria, and 
 Rowley 
 
 Sir Peter T. My old friend, Sir Oliver — hey ! What 
 in the name of wonder — here are dutiful nephews — assault 
 their uncle at a first visit ! 
 
 Lady T. Indeed, Sir Oliver, 'twas well we came in to 
 rescue you. 
 
 Rowley. Truly, it was ; for I perceive, Sir Oliver, the 
 character of old Stanley was no protection to you. 
 
 Sir Oliver S. Nor of Premium either : the necessities 
 of the former could not extort a shilling from that 
 benevolent gentleman ; and now, egad, I stood a chance of 
 faring worse than my ancestors, and being knocked down 
 without being bid for. 
 
 Joseph S. Charles ! 
 
 Charles S. Joseph ! 
 
 Joseph S. 'Tis now complete ! 
 
 Charles S. Very ! 
 
 Sir Oliver S. 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 dis- 
 covering him to be destitute of faith, charity, and gratitude. 
 
 Sir Peter T. Sir Oliver, I should be more surprised at 
 this declaration if I had not myself found him to be 
 mean, treacherous, and hypocritical. 
 
 Lady T. And if the gentleman pleads not guilty to 
 these, pray let him call me to his character. 
 
 Sir Peter T. 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. 
 
 Charles S. If they talk this way to Honesty, what will 
 they say to me, by and by ? [Aside. 
 
scene in THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL 285 
 
 Sir Oliver S. As for that prodigal, his brother, there- 
 
 Charles S. Ay, now comes my turn : the damned family 
 pictures will ruin me. [Aside. 
 
 Joseph S. Sir Oliver — uncle, will you honour me with 
 a hearing ? 
 
 Charles S. Now if Joseph would make one of his long 
 speeches I might recollect myself a little. [Aside. 
 
 Sir Peter T. I suppose you would undertake to justify 
 yourself entirely ? [To Joseph. 
 
 Joseph S. I trust I could. 
 
 Sir Oliver S. Well, sir ! — and you could justify your- 
 self too, I suppose ? 
 
 Charles S. Not that I know of, Sir Oliver. 
 
 Sir Oliver S. What ! — Little Premium has been let 
 too much into the secret, I suppose ? 
 
 Charles S. True, sir ; but they were family secrets, 
 and should not be mentioned again, you know. 
 
 Rowley. Come, Sir Oliver, I know you cannot speak 
 of Charles's follies with anger. 
 
 Sir Oliver S. Odd's heart, no more I can ; nor with 
 
 gravity either. Sir Peter, do you know, the rogue 
 
 bargained with me for all his ancestors ; sold me judges 
 and generals by the foot, and maiden aunts as cheap as 
 broken china. 
 
 Charles S. 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 sincei e when I tell you — and 
 upon my soul I would not say so if I was not — that if I 
 do not appear mortified at the exposure of my follies, it is 
 because I feel at this moment the warmest satisfaction in 
 seeing you, my liberal benefactor. 
 
 Sir Oliver S. Charles, I believe you ; give me your 
 hand again : the ill-looking little fellow over the settee has 
 made your peace. 
 
 Charles S. Then, sir, my gratitude to the original is 
 still increased. 
 
 Lady T. Yet, I believe, Sir Oliver, here is one whom 
 Charles is still more anxious to be reconciled to. 
 
286 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act v 
 
 Sir Oliver S. Oh, I have heard of his attachment 
 there ; and, with the young lady's pardon, if I construe 
 right — that blush 
 
 Sir Peter T. Well, child, speak your sentiments ! 
 
 Maria. 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 affection, I willingly resign to one who has a better 
 title. 
 
 Charles S. How, Maria ! 
 
 Sir Peter T. Hey day ! 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. 
 
 Maria. His own heart and Lady Sneerwell know the 
 cause. 
 
 Charles S. Lady Sneerwell ! 
 
 Joseph S. 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 con- 
 cealed. [Opens the door. 
 
 Enter Lady Sneerwell 
 
 Sir Peter T. So ! another French milliner ! Egad, he 
 has one in every room in the house, I suppose. 
 
 Lady Sneer. Ungrateful Charles ! Well may you be 
 surprised, and feel for the indelicate situation your perfidy 
 has forced me into. 
 
 Charles S. Pray, uncle, is this another plot of yours ? 
 For, as I have life, I don't understand it. 
 
 Joseph S. I believe, sir, there is but the evidence of 
 one person more necessary to make it extremely clear. 
 
 Sir Peter T. And that person, I imagine, is Mr. Snake. 
 — Rowley, you were perfectly right to bring him with us, 
 and pray let him appear. 
 
 Rowley. Walk in, Mr. Snake. 
 
scene in THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL 287 
 
 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 to speak the truth. 
 
 Sir Peter T. Plot and counter-plot, egad ! 
 
 Lady Sneer. The torments of shame and disappoint- 
 ment on you all. — 
 
 Lady T. Hold, Lady Sneerwell — before you go, let me 
 thank you for the trouble you and that gentleman have 
 taken, in writing letters from me to Charles, and answering 
 them yourself; and let me also request you to make my 
 respects to the scandalous college of which you are presi- 
 dent, and inform them, that Lady Teazle, licentiate, begs 
 leave to return the diploma they gave her, as she leaves 
 off practice, and kills characters no longer. 
 
 Lady Sneer. You too, madam — provoking — insolent — 
 May your husband live these fifty years ! [Exit. 
 
 Sir Peter T. Oons ! what a fury ! 
 
 Lady T. A malicious creature, indeed ! 
 
 Sir Peter T. Hey ! Not for her last wish ? 
 
 Lady T. O no ! 
 
 Sir Oliver S. Well, sir, and what have you to say now ? 
 
 Joseph S. 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 tc 
 injure my brother, I had certainly better follow her directly. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Sir Peter T. Moral to the last drop ! 
 
 Sir Oliver S. Ay, and marry her, Joseph, if you can. 
 — Oil and Vinegar, egad ! you'll do very well together. 
 
 Rowley. I believe we have no more occasion for Mr 
 Snake at present ? 
 
288 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act v 
 
 Snake. Before I go, I beg pardon once for all, for 
 whatever uneasiness I have been the humble instrument of 
 causing to the parties present. 
 
 Sir Peter T. 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 Peter T. 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 ; I have nothing but my infamy to depend on ! 
 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 Oliver S. Well, well, — we'll not traduce you by 
 saying anything in your praise, never fear. [Exit Snake. 
 
 Sir Peter T. There's a precious rogue ! 
 
 Lady T. See, Sir Oliver, there needs no persuasion now 
 to reconcile your nephew and Maria. 
 
 Sir Oliver S. Ay, ay, that's as it should be, and, egad, 
 we'll have the wedding to-morrow morning. 
 
 Charles S. Thank you, dear uncle ! 
 
 Sir Peter T. What, you rogue ! don't you ask the 
 girl's consent first? 
 
 Charles S. Oh, I have done that a long time — a minute 
 ago — and she has looked Yes. 
 
 Maria. For shame, Charles ! — I protest, Sir Peter, 
 there has not been a word. 
 
 Sir Oliver S. Well, then, the fewer the better ; — may 
 your love for each other never know abatement ! 
 
 Sir Peter T. And may you live as happily together as 
 Lady Teazle and I intend to do ! 
 
 Charles S. Rowley, my old friend, I am sure you con- 
 gratulate me ; and I suspect that I owe you much. 
 
 Sir Oliver S. You do indeed, Charles. 
 
 Rowley. 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 overpay me. 
 
scene in THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL 289 
 
 Sir Peter T. Ay, honest Rowley always said you would 
 reform. 
 
 Charles S. Why, as to reforming, Sir Peter, I'll make 
 no promises, and that I take to be a proof that I intend to 
 set about it ; but here shall be my monitor — my gentle 
 guide — ah ! can I leave the virtuous path those eyes 
 illumine ? 
 
 Though thou, dear maid, shouldst waive thy beauty's sway, 
 Thou still must rule, because I will obey : 
 An humble fugitive from Folly, view 
 No sanctuary near but Love and you ; 
 
 [To the audience. 
 You can, indeed, each anxious fear remove, 
 For even Scandal dies if you approve 
 
EPILOGUE 
 
 BY MR. COLMAN 
 
 Spoken by Lady Teazle 
 
 I, who was late so volatile and gay, 
 Like a trade wind must now blow all one way 
 Bend all my cares, my studies, and my vows, 
 To one dull rusty weathercock — my spouse ! 
 So wills our virtuous bard — the motley Bayes 
 Of crying epilogues and laughing plays ! 
 Old bachelors, who marry smart young wives, 
 Learn from our play to regulate 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), 
 
THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL 291 
 
 And at backgammon mortify my soul, 
 
 That pants for loo, or flutters at a vole ? 
 
 Seven's the main ! Dear sound that must expire, 
 
 Lost at hot cockles round a Christmas fire ! 
 
 The transient hour of fashion too soon spent, 
 
 Farewell the tranquil mind, farewell content ! 
 
 Farewell the plumed head, the cushion'd tete, 
 
 That takes the cushion from its proper seat ! 
 
 The 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 : 
 
 Blest were the fair like you ; her faults who stopt, 
 
 And closed her follies when the curtain dropt ! 
 
 No more in vice or error to engage, 
 
 Or play the fool at large on life's great stage. 
 
THB 
 
 CRITIC 
 
 OR 
 
 A TRAGEDY REHEARSED 
 
DRAMATIS PERSONS 
 
 AS ORIGINALLY ACTED AT DRURY-LANE THEATRE, OCTOBER 3O, 1 779 
 
 Dangle . . • 
 
 Sneer 
 
 Sir Fret/id Plagiary . 
 
 Signor Pasticcio Ritornello 
 
 Interpreter 
 
 Under Prompter 
 
 Puff . 
 
 Mrs. Dangle . 
 
 Italian Girls , 
 
 Mr. Dodd. 
 Mr. Palmer. 
 Mr. Parsons. 
 Mr. Delpini. 
 Mr. Baddeley. 
 Mr. Phillimore. 
 Mr. King. 
 Mrs. Hopkins. 
 Miss Field and the 
 Miss Abrams. 
 
 characters of the tragedy 
 
 Lord Burleigh . 
 
 Governor of Tilbury Fort 
 
 Earl of Leicester 
 
 Sir Walter Raleigh 
 
 Sir Christopher Hatton 
 
 Master of the Horse 
 
 Beefeater . 
 
 "Justice 
 
 Son . . o 
 
 Constable . 
 
 Thames . 
 
 Don Ferolo Whiskerandos 
 
 1st Niece . 
 zd Niece . 
 Justice's Lady . 
 Confidant 
 Tilburina 
 
 Mr. Moody. 
 Mr. Wrighten. 
 Mr. Farren. 
 Mr. Burton. 
 Mr. Waldron. 
 Mr. Kenny. 
 Mr. Wright. 
 Mr. Packer. 
 Mr. Lamash. 
 Mr. Fawcett. 
 Mr. Gawdry. 
 Mr. Bannister, jun. 
 
 Miss Collet. 
 Miss Kirby. 
 Mrs. Johnston. 
 Mrs. Bradshaw. 
 Miss Pope. 
 
 Guards, Constables, Servants, Chorus, Rivers, Attendants, etc. etc. 
 
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 judgment 
 and fancy is an ill return for the possession of those en- 
 dowments. Continue to deceive yourself in the idea that 
 you are known only to be eminently admired and regarded 
 for the valuable qualities that attach private friendships, 
 and the graceful talents that adorn conversation. Enough 
 of what you have written has stolen into full public notice 
 to answer my purpose ; and you will, perhaps, be the only 
 person, conversant in elegant literature, who shall read this 
 address and not perceive that by publishing your particular 
 
296 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 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. 
 
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 blust'ring beldam's company forswore. 
 
 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 driv'n 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. 
 
298 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 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 ! 
 
 Our author offers, in these motley scenes, 
 
 A slight remonstrance to the drama's queens : 
 
 Nor let the goddesses be over nice ; 
 
 Free spoken subjects give the best advice. 
 
 Although not quite a novice in his trade, 
 
 His cause to-night requires no common aid. 
 
 To this, a friendly, just, and pow'rful court, 
 
 I come ambassador to beg support. 
 
 Can he undaunted brave the critic's rage r 
 
 In civil broils with brother bards engage ? 
 
 Hold forth their errors to the public eye, 
 
 Nay more, e'en newspapers themselves defy ? 
 
 Say, must his single arm encounter all ? 
 
 By numbers 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. 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Dangle at breakfast, and reading 
 newspapers 
 
 Dangle. [Reading.] ' Brutus to Lord North.'' — * Letter 
 the second on the State of the Army ' — Pshaw ! ' To the first 
 L — dash D. of the A — dash 27 — ' Genuine Extract of a 
 Letter from St. Kitt's. 1 — ' Coxheath Intelligence' — ' // is now 
 confidently asserted that Sir Charles Hardy.'' — Pshaw! — 
 Nothing but about the fleet and the nation ! — and I hate 
 all politics but theatrical politics. — Where's the Morning 
 Chronicle ? 
 
 Mrs Dangle. Yes, that's your gazette. 
 
 Dangle. So, here we have it. — ' Theatrical intelligence 
 extraordinary. — We hear there is a new tragedy in rehearsal 
 at Drury-lane Theatre, called the Spanish Armada, said to 
 he written by Mr. Tuff, 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 ! I 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. Dangle. Lord, Mr. Dangle, why will you plague 
 me about such nonsense? — Now the plays are begun I 
 shall have no peace. — Isn't it sufficient to make yourself 
 ridiculous by your passion for the theatre, without con- 
 tinually 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 ? 
 
3 oo SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act i 
 
 Dangle. Nay, my dear, I was only going to read- 
 
 Mrs. Dangle. 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 signa- 
 tures, demonstrating the certainty of an invasion, and 
 proving that the nation is utterly undone. — But you never 
 will read anything to entertain one. 
 
 Dangle. What has a woman to do with politics, Mrs. 
 Dangle ? 
 
 Mrs. Dangle. 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- 
 ance by your interference in matters where you have no 
 business ? Are not you called a theatrical quidnunc, and 
 a mock Mecasnas to second-hand authors ? 
 
 Dangle. True ; my power with the managers is pretty 
 notorious ; but is it no credit to have applications from all 
 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. Dangle. Yes, truly ; you have contrived to get 
 a share in all the plague and trouble of theatrical property, 
 without the profit, or even the credit of the abuse that 
 attends it. 
 
 Dangle. 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 panto- 
 mime a fortnight previous to its performance ? And 
 doesn't Mr. Fosbrook let you take places for a play 
 before it is advertised, and set you down for a box for 
 every new piece through the season ? And didn't my 
 friend, Mr. Smatter, dedicate his last farce to you at my 
 particular request, Mrs. Dangle ? 
 
 Mrs. Dangle. Yes ; but wasn't the farce damn'd, 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 ! — Yes, my drawing-room is an absolute 
 
scene i THE CRITIC 301 
 
 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 
 Dorindas, Pollys and Ophelias ; and the very furniture 
 trembling at the probationary 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, disguised like fiddlers and 
 figure dancers ? 
 
 Dangle. Mercy ! Mrs. Dangle ! 
 
 Mrs. Dangle. And to employ yourself so idly at such 
 an alarming crisis as this too — when, if you had the least 
 spirit, you would have been at the head of one of the 
 Westminster associations — or trailing a volunteer pike in 
 the Artillery Ground ? — But you — o'my conscience, I 
 believe if the French were landed to-morrow, your first 
 inquiry would be whether they had brought a theatrical 
 troop with them. 
 
 Dangle. 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. Dangle. Ridiculous ! — Both managers and authors 
 of the least merit laugh at your pretensions. — The public is 
 their critic — without whose fair approbation they know no 
 play can rest on the stage, and with whose applause they 
 welcome such attacks as yours, and laugh at the malice of 
 them, where they can't at the wit. 
 
 Dangle. Very well, madam — very well. 
 
302 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act i 
 
 Enter Servant 
 
 Serv. Mr. Sneer, sir, to wait on you. 
 
 Dangle. O, show Mr. Sneer up. [Exit Servant.] 
 Plague on't, now we must appear loving and affectionate, 
 or Sneer will hitch us into a story. 
 
 Mrs. Dangle. With all my heart ; you can't be more 
 ridiculous than you are. 
 
 Dangle. You are enough to provoke 
 
 Enter Mr. Sneer 
 
 Ha ! my dear Sneer, I am vastly glad to see you. My 
 dear, here's Mr. Sneer. 
 
 Mrs. Dangle. Good morning to you, sir. 
 
 Dangle. 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 Puff's tragedy ? 
 
 Sneer. Yes ; but I suppose one sha'n'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. 
 
 Dangle. 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 solicita- 
 tions. 
 
 Dangle. 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 ! 
 
 Dangle. And not a week but I receive fifty letters, and 
 not a line in them about any business of my own 
 
 Sneer. An amusing correspondence ! 
 
 Dangle. [Reading.] ' Bursts into tears, and exit' 
 What, is this a tragedy ? 
 
scene i THE CRITIC 303 
 
 Sneer. No, that's a genteel comedy, not a translation 
 — only taken from the French: it is written in a style 
 which they have lately tried to run down ; the true senti- 
 mental, and nothing ridiculous in it from the beginning to 
 the end. 
 
 Mrs. Dangle. Well, if they had kept to that I should 
 not have been such an enemy to the stage ; there was 
 some edification to be got from those pieces, Mr. 
 Sneer ! 
 
 Sneer. I am quite of your opinion, Mrs. Dangle : the 
 theatre, in proper hands, might certainly be made the 
 school of morality ; but now, I am sorry to say it, people 
 seem to go there principally for their entertainment ! 
 
 Mrs. Dangle. It would have been more to the credit 
 of the managers to have kept it in the other line. 
 
 Sneer. Undoubtedly, madam ; and hereafter, perhaps, 
 to have had it recorded, that in the midst of a luxurious 
 and dissipated age they preserved two houses in the 
 capital where the conversation was always moral, at least, 
 if not entertaining ! 
 
 Dangle. Now, egad, I think the worst alteration is in 
 the nicety of the audience. — No double entendre, no smart 
 innuendo admitted ; even Vanbrugh and Congreve obliged 
 to undergo a bungling reformation ! 
 
 Sneer. Yes, and our prudery in this respect is just on 
 a par with the artificial bashfulness of a courtezan, who 
 increases the blush upon her cheek in an exact proportion 
 to the diminution of her modesty. 
 
 Dangle. Sneer can't even give the public a good word ! 
 — But what have we here ? — This seems a very odd 
 
 Sneer. O, that's a comedy on a very new plan ; re- 
 plete with wit and mirth, yet of a most serious moral ! 
 You see it is called ' The Reformed Housebreaker ; ' where, 
 by the mere force of humour, housebreaking is put into 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. 
 
 Dangle. Egad, this is new indeed ! 
 
 Sneer. Yes ; it is written by a particular friend of 
 
304 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act i 
 
 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 at 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. 
 Dangle. It is truly moral. 
 
 Enter Servant 
 
 Serv. Sir Fretful Plagiary, sir. 
 
 Dangle. Beg him to walk up. [Exit Servant.] 
 Now, Mrs. Dangle, Sir Fretful Plagiary is an author to 
 your own taste. 
 
 Mrs. Dangle. 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. 
 
 Dangle. 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. 
 
 Dangle. Very true, egad — though he's my friend. 
 
 Sneer. Then his affected contempt of all newspaper 
 strictures ; though, at the same time, he is the sorest man 
 alive, and shrinks like scorched parchment from the fiery 
 ordeal of true criticism : yet he is so covetous of popu- 
 larity, that he had rather be abused than not mentioned 
 at all. 
 
 Dangle. There's no denying it — though he is my 
 friend. 
 
 Sneer. You have read the tragedy he has just finished, 
 haven't you ? 
 
 Dangle. O yes ; he sent it to me yesterday. 
 
scene i THE CRITIC 305 
 
 Sneer. Well, and you think it execrable, don't you ? 
 Dangle. 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 per- 
 form 
 
 [Sir Fretful, without, .] Mr. Sneer with him, did you 
 
 say ? 
 
 Enter Sir Fretful Plagiary 
 
 Dangle. 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. Dangle. They are only laughing at you, Sir 
 Fretful ; for it was but just now that 
 
 Dangle. 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 damn'd double-faced 
 
 fellow ! [ Aside. 
 
 Dangle. Yes, yes, — Sneer will jest — but a better 
 humoured 
 
 Sir Fret. O, I know. 
 
 Dangle. 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. Dangle. Because his jest is always at the expense 
 of his friend. 
 
 Dangle. 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 
 
 x 
 
3 o6 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act i 
 
 — I sent it to the manager of Covent Garden theatre this 
 morning. 
 
 Sneer. I should have thought, now, that it might have 
 been cast (as the actors call it) better at Drury Lane. 
 
 Sir Fret. O Lud ! no — never send a play there while 
 I live — harkee ! \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 knowledge 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 them- 
 selves. 
 
 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 Melpo- 
 mene, 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 
 
 Dangle. If it succeeds. 
 
 Sir Fret. Ay, — but with regard to this piece, I think 
 I can hit that gentleman, for I can safely swear he never 
 read it. 
 
 Sneer. I'll tell you how you may hurt him more. 
 
 Sir Fret. How ? 
 
 Sneer. Swear he wrote it. 
 
scene i THE CRITIC 307 
 
 Sir Fret. Plague on't now, Sneer, I shall take it ill. — 
 I believe you want to take away my character as an 
 author. 
 
 Sneer. Then I am sure you ought to be very much 
 obliged to me. 
 
 Sir Fret. Hey ! — sir! — 
 
 Dangle. O you know, he never means what he says. 
 
 Sir Fret. Sincerely, then — you do 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 ? 
 
 Dangle. 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 in- 
 cident ! 
 
 Sneer. Yes ; I own I think the incidents are too few. 
 
 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 ? 
 
 Dangle. 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. 
 
308 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act j 
 
 Dangle. No, I don't, upon my word. 
 
 Sir Fret. Yes, yes, you do, upon my soul — it certainly 
 don't fall off, I assure you. — No, no ; it don't fall off. 
 
 Dangle. Now, Mrs. Dangle, didn't you say it struck 
 you in the same light? 
 
 Mrs. Dangle. 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 judges 
 after all ! 
 
 Mrs. Dangle. 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. Dangle. O Lud ! no. — I speak only with refer- 
 ence to the usual length of acting plays. 
 
 Sir Fret. Then I am very happy — very happy indeed, 
 — because the play is a short play, a remarkably short 
 play : — I should not venture to differ with a lady on a 
 point of taste ; but, on these occasions, the watch, you 
 know, is the critic. 
 
 Mrs. Dangle. Then, I suppose, it must have been Mr. 
 Dangle's drawling manner of reading it to me. 
 
 Sir Fret. O, 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 pro- 
 logue and epilogue, and allow time for the music between 
 the acts. 
 
 Mrs. Dangle. I hope to see it on the stage next. 
 
 Dangle. 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. 
 
scene i THE CRITIC 309 
 
 Dangle. You are quite right — for it certainly must 
 hurt an author of delicate feelings to see the liberties they 
 take. 
 
 Sir Fret. No ! quite the contrary ; their abuse is, in 
 fact, the best panegyric — I like it of all things. An author's 
 reputation is only in danger from their support. 
 
 Sneer. Why, that's true — and that attack, now, on you 
 the other day 
 
 Sir Fret. What ? where ? 
 
 Dangle. Ay, you mean in a paper of Thursday : it 
 was completely ill-natured, to be sure. 
 
 Sir Fret. O, so much the better. — Ha ! ha ! ha ! — I 
 wou'dn't have it otherwise. 
 
 Dangle. Certainly it is only to be laughed at ; for 
 
 Sir Fret. You don't happen to recollect what the fellow 
 said, do you ? 
 
 Sneer. Pray, Dangle — Sir Fretful seems a little 
 anxious — 
 
 Sir Fret. O Lud, no ! — anxious, — not I, — not the 
 least. — I — But one may as well hear, you know. 
 
 Dangle. Sneer, do you recollect? — Make out some- 
 thing. [Aside. 
 
 Sneer. I will. [To Dangle.] — 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 common-place-book — 
 where stray jokes and pilfered witticisms are kept with as 
 much method as the ledger of the lost and stolen office. 
 
 Sir Fret. Ha ! ha ! ha ! — very pleasant ! 
 
 Sneer. Nay, that you are so unlucky as not to have 
 the skill even to steal with taste ; — but that you glean 
 from the refuse of obscure volumes, where more judicious 
 plagiarists have been before you ; so that the body of your 
 
310 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act i 
 
 work is a composition of dregs and sediments — like a bad 
 tavern's worst wine. 
 
 Sir Fret. Ha ! ha ! 
 
 Sneer. In your more serious efforts, he says, your 
 bombast would be less intolerable, if the thoughts were 
 ever suited to the expression ; but the homeliness of the 
 sentiment stares through the fantastic encumbrance of its 
 fine language, like a clown in one of the new uniforms ! 
 
 Sir Fret. Ha ! ha ! 
 
 Sneer. That your occasional tropes and flowers suit 
 the general coarseness of your style, as tambour sprigs 
 would a ground of linsey-woolsey ; while your imitations 
 of Shakspeare resemble the mimicry of FalstafFs page, and 
 are about as near the standard of the original. 
 
 Sir Fret. Ha ! 
 
 Sneer. In short, that even the finest passages you steal 
 are of no service to you ; for the poverty of your own 
 language prevents their assimilating ; so that they lie on 
 the surface like lumps of marl on a barren moor, encum- 
 bering what it is not in their power to fertilise ! 
 
 Sir Fret. \After great agitation. ,] — Now another person 
 would be vexed at this. 
 
 Sneer. Oh ! but I wou'dn'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 ! ha ! 
 
 Dangle. 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 if it 
 is abuse, — why, one is always sure to hear of it from one 
 damn'd good-natured friend or another ! 
 
 Enter Servant 
 
 Serv. Sir, there is an Italian gentleman, with a French 
 interpreter, and three young ladies, and a dozen musicians, 
 
scene i THE CRITIC 311 
 
 who say they are sent by Lady Rondeau and Mrs. 
 Fuge. 
 
 Dangle. Gadso ! they come by appointment. Dear 
 Mrs. Dangle, do let them know I'll see them directly. 
 
 Mrs. Dangle. You know, Mr. Dangle, I sha'n't under- 
 stand a word they say. 
 
 Dangle. But you hear there's an interpreter. 
 
 Mrs. Dangle. Well, I'll try to endure their com- 
 plaisance till you come. [Exit. 
 
 Serv. And Mr. Puff, sir, has sent word that the last 
 rehearsal is to be this morning, and that he'll call on you 
 presently. 
 
 Dangle. 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. Pshaw ! Sir, why should I wish to have it 
 answered, when I tell you I am pleased at it ? 
 
 Dangle. 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 ? 
 
 Dangle. Nay, I only thought 
 
 Sir Fret. And let me tell you, Mr. Dangle, 'tis damn'd 
 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 damn'd nonsense you have been repeating to me ! — 
 and let me tell you, if you continue to believe this, you 
 must mean to insult me, gentlemen — and then your dis- 
 respect will affect me no more than the newspaper criticisms 
 — and I shall treat it with exactly the same calm indiffer- 
 ence 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 
 
3 i2 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act i 
 
 modern critics and authors. — But, Dangle, you must get 
 your friend Puff to take me to the rehearsal of his tragedy. 
 
 Dangle. I'll answer for it, he'll thank you for desiring 
 it. But come and help me to judge of this musical family : 
 they are recommended by people of consequence, I assure 
 you. 
 
 Sneer. I am at your disposal the whole morning ; — 
 but I thought you had been a decided critic in music as 
 well as in literature. 
 
 Dangle. So I am — but I have a bad ear. I'faith, Sneer, 
 though, I am afraid we were a little too severe on Sir 
 Fretful — though he is my friend. 
 
 Sneer. Why, 'tis certain, that unnecessarily to mortify 
 the vanity of any writer is a cruelty which mere dulness 
 never can deserve ; but where a base and personal malignity 
 usurps the place of literary emulation, the aggressor de- 
 serves neither quarter nor pity. 
 
 Dangle. That's true, egad ! — though he's my friend ! 
 
 SCENE II. 
 
 A Drawing-room, Harpsichord, etc., Italian Family, French 
 Interpreter, Mrs. Dangle and Servants discovered 
 
 Interp. Je dis, madame, j'ai l'honneur to introduce et 
 de vous demander votre protection pour le Signor Pasticcio 
 Retornello et pour sa charmante famille. 
 
 Signor Past. Ah ! Vosignoria, noi vi preghiamo di 
 favoritevi colla vostra protezione. 
 
 I st Daugh. Vosignoria fatevi questi grazzie. 
 
 2d Daugh. Si, signora. 
 
 Interp. Madame — me interpret. — C'est k dire — in Eng- 
 lish — qu'ils vous prient de leur faire l'honneur — 
 
 Mrs. Dangle. I say again, gentlemen, I don't under- 
 stand a word you say. 
 
 Signor Past. Questo signore spiegher6 — 
 
 Interp. Oui — me interpret. — Nous avons les lettres de 
 recommendation pour Monsieur Dangle de 
 
scene ii THE CRITIC 313 
 
 Mrs. Dangle. Upon my word, sir, I don't understand 
 you. 
 
 Signor Fast. La Contessa Rondeau e nostra padrona. 
 
 3d Daugh. Si, padre, et mi Ladi Fuge. 
 
 Interp. O \—me interpret. — Madame, ils disent — in 
 English — Qu'ils ont l'honneur d'etre proteges de ces 
 dames. — You understand ? 
 
 Mrs. Dangle. No, sir, no understand ! 
 
 Enter Dangle and Sneer 
 
 Interp. Ah voici, Monsieur Dangle ! 
 
 All Italians. A ! Signor Dangle ! 
 
 Mrs. Dangle. Mr. Dangle, here are two very civil 
 gentlemen trying to make themselves understood, and I 
 don't know which is the interpreter. 
 
 Dangle. Eh, bien ! 
 
 Interp. Monsieur Dangle, le grand bruit de vos 
 talents pour la critique, et de votre interet avec 
 Messieurs les Directeurs a tous les theatres 
 
 Signor Past. Vosignoria flete si famoso par la 
 vostra conoscensa, e vostra interessa colla le Direttore 
 da 
 
 Dangle. Egad, I think the interpreter is the hardest 
 to be understood of the two ! 
 
 Sneer. Why I thought, Dangle, you had been an 
 admirable linguist ! 
 
 Dangle. So I am, if they would not talk so damn'd 
 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. 
 
 [Sneer speaks to Signor Pasticcio — they sing 
 trios, etc.. Dangle beating out of time. Servant 
 •enters and whispers Dangle.] 
 
 Dangle. Show him up. [Exit Servant.] Bravo ! ad- 
 mirable ! bravissimo ! admirablissimo ! — Ah ! Sneer ! where 
 will you find such as these voices in England ? 
 
 Sneer. Not easily. 
 
3H SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act i 
 
 Dangle. But Puff is coming. Signor and little Signora's 
 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 the Italians and 
 Interpreter ceremonionsly.'] 
 
 Re-enter Servant 
 
 Serv. Mr. Puff, sir. 
 Bangle. My dear Puff ! 
 
 Enter Puff 
 
 Puff. My dear Dangle, how is it with you ? 
 
 Dangle. 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 — a gentle- 
 man whose critical talents and transcendent judgment 
 
 Sneer. Dear sir 
 
 Dangle. 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 myself vivd 
 •voce. — I am, sir, a practitioner in panegyric, or, to speak 
 more plainly, a professor of the art of puffing, at your 
 service — or anybody else's. 
 
 Sneer. Sir, you are very obliging! — 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, harkee, — the winter managers were a 
 
 little sore, I believe. 
 
 Dangle. No ; I believe they took it all in good part. 
 
scene ii THE CRITIC 315 
 
 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 them 
 
 out of their pulpits, and they are as dull as catalogues ! 
 
 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 approbation of the grate- 
 ful 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 ! 
 
 Dangle. 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 pre- 
 siding Mercury, the god of traffic and fiction, with a 
 hammer in his hand instead ot a caduceus. But pray, 
 
3 i6 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act i 
 
 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. 
 
 Sneer. From sickness and misfortunes ! You practised 
 as a doctor and an attorney at once ? 
 
 Puff. No, egad ; both maladies and miseries we?t my 
 own. 
 
 Sneer. Hey ! — what the plague ! 
 
 Dangle. 'Tis true, i'faith. 
 
 Puff. Harkee ! By advertisements — ' To the 
 
 charitable and humane ! ' and ' to those whom Providence 
 hath blessed with affluence ! ' 
 
 Sneer. Oh, I understand you. 
 
 Puff. And, in truth, I deserved what I got ; for I 
 suppose never man went 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 in- 
 dustrious tradesman, I was twice burnt 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. 
 
 Dangle. 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 benevolently 
 
scene ii THE CRITIC 317 
 
 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 without 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, 
 sir, — at last, what with bankruptcies, fires, gouts, dropsies, 
 imprisonments, and other valuable calamities, having got 
 together a pretty handsome sum, I determined to quit a 
 business which had always gone rather against my con- 
 science, and in a more liberal way still to indulge my 
 talents for fiction and embellishment, through my favourite 
 
 channels of diurnal communication 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, I am afraid. 
 — Yes, sir, — purring 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 impli- 
 cation. These all assume, as circumstances require, the 
 various forms of letter to the editor, occasional anecdote, 
 impartial critique, observation from correspondent, or 
 advertisement from the party. 
 
 Sneer. The puff direct, I can conceive 
 
3 i8 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act i 
 
 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 received ; 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 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 Louther- 
 bourg'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. O, cool — quite cool — to what I sometimes do. 
 
 Sneer. And do you think there are any who are in- 
 fluenced 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 pufr preliminary ? 
 
 Puff. O that, sir, does well in the form of a caution. 
 In a matter of gallantry now — Sir Flimsy Gossimer wishes 
 to be well with Lady Fanny Fete. He applies to me — I 
 open trenches for him with a paragraph in the Morning 
 Post. — It is recommended to the beautiful and accom- 
 plished 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 
 
scene ii THE CRITIC 319 
 
 certainly not remarkable for the constancy of his attach- 
 ments ! — in Italics. Here, you see, Sir Flimsy Gossimer is 
 introduced to the particular notice of Lady Fanny, who 
 perhaps never thought of him before — she finds herself 
 publicly cautioned to avoid him, which naturally makes 
 her desirous of seeing him : the observation of their ac- 
 quaintance 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 together, by 
 a particular set, and in a particular way — which nine 
 times out of ten is the full accomplishment of modern 
 gallantry. 
 
 Dangle. Egad, Sneer, you will be quite an adept in 
 the business. 
 
 Puff. Now, sir, the puff collateral is much used as an 
 appendage to advertisements, and may take the form of 
 anecdote. Yesterday, as the celebrated George Bon-mot 
 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 in- 
 dignant correspondent observes, that the new poem called 
 Beelzebub's Cotillion, or Proserpine's Fete Champetre, is 
 one of the most unjustifiable performances he ever read. 
 The severity with which certain characters are handled is 
 quite shocking ; and as there are many descriptions in it 
 
3 20 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act i 
 
 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 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, 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. 
 
 Dangle. 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 sometimes wears a counten- 
 ance of smiling censure and tender reproach. It has a 
 wonderful memory for parliamentary debates, and will 
 often give the whole speech of a favoured member with 
 the most flattering accuracy. But, above all, it is a great 
 dealer in reports and suppositions. It has the earliest 
 intelligence of intended preferments that will reflect 
 honour on the patrons ; and embryo promotions of modest 
 gentlemen, who know nothing of the matter themselves. 
 It can hint a riband for implied services in the air 
 of a common report ; and with the carelessness of a casual 
 paragraph, suggest officers into commands, to which they 
 have no pretension but their wishes. This, sir, is the last 
 principal class of the art of puffing — 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, 
 
scene ii THE CRITIC 321 
 
 sir, there is but one thing which can possibly increase my 
 respect for you, and that is, your permitting me to 
 be present this morning at the rehearsal of your new 
 trage 
 
 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. 
 
 Dangle. Ffaith I would not have told — but it's in 
 the papers, and your name at length in the Morning 
 Chronicle. 
 
 Puff. Ah ! those damn'd editors never can keep a 
 
 secret ! Well, Mr. Sneer, no doubt you will do 
 
 me great honour — I shall be infinitely happy — highly 
 flattered 
 
 Dangle. 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 under- 
 taken to-morrow, besides, to establish the unanimity of 
 the fleet in the Public Advertiser, and to shoot Charles 
 Fox in the Morning Post. — So, egad, I ha'n't a moment to 
 lose! 
 
 Dangle. Well ! — we'll meet in the Green Room. 
 
 [Exeunt severally. 
 
# 
 
 ACT II. SCENE I. 
 
 The Theatre 
 
 Enter Dangle, Puff, and Sneer, as before the 
 curtain 
 
 Puff. No, no, sir ; what Shakespeare 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 ! 
 
 Dangle. 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 ; — 1 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 ! 
 
scene i THE CRITIC 323 
 
 Dangle. Excellent, i'faith ! I see it 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 
 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 ! 
 
 Dangle. 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. O, amazing ! — her poor susceptible heart is swayed 
 to and fro, by contending passions, like 
 
 Enter Under Prompter 
 
 Under Promp. Sir, the scene is set, and everything is 
 ready to begin, if you please. 
 
 Puff. Egad, then we'll lose no time. 
 
 Under 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 ? 
 
 Under Promp. You know, sir, you gave them leave to 
 cut out or omit whatever they found heavy or unnecessary 
 to the plot, and I must own they have taken very liberal 
 advantage of your indulgence. 
 
 Puff. Well, well. — They are in general very good 
 
324 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act ii 
 
 judges, and I know I am luxuriant. — Now, Mr. Hopkins, 
 as soon as you please. 
 
 Under Promp. [To the music.'] 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 clear, 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. 
 
 SCENE II. 
 
 The Curtain rises and discovers Tilbury Fort. Two 
 Sentinels asleep 
 
 ~D angle. 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 hemisphere. 
 
 Dangle. 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 supposed 
 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. 
 
scene ii THE CRITIC 325 
 
 Sneer. O, that accounts for it. — But tell us, who are 
 these coming ? — 
 
 Puff. These are they — 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. H. True, gallant Raleigh ! — 
 
 Dangle. What, they had been talking before ? 
 
 Puff. O, yes ; all the way as they came along. — I beg 
 pardon, gentlemen — [to the actors] — but these are particular 
 friends of mine, whose remarks may be of great service to 
 
 us. Don't mind interrupting them whenever anything 
 
 strikes you. — [To Sneer and Dangle.] 
 
 Sir Christ. H. True, gallant Raleigh ! 
 But O, 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 ? 
 
 Dangle. That's true, i'faith ! 
 
 Puff. But you will hear what he thinks of the matter. 
 
 Sir Christ. H. Alas ! my noble friend, when I behold 
 Yon tented plains in martial symmetry 
 Array'd ; when I count o'er yon glittering lines 
 Of crested warriors, where the proud steeds neigh, 
 And valour-breathing trumpet's shrill appeal, 
 Responsive vibrate on my list'ning 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, 
 
326 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act 11 
 
 If the conjecture's rash — I cannot but 
 Surmise the State some danger apprehends ! 
 
 Sneer. A very cautious conjecture that. 
 Puff. Yes, that's his character ; not to give an opinion 
 but on secure grounds now then. 
 
 Sir Walter R. O, most accomplished Christopher — 
 
 Puff. He calls him by his Christian name, to show that 
 they are on the most familiar terms. 
 
 Sir Walter R. O, most accomplished Christopher, I find 
 Thy stanch sagacity still tracks the future, 
 In the fresh print of the o'ertaken past. 
 
 Puff. Figurative 
 
 Sir Walter R. Thy fears are just. 
 
 Sir Ckrist. H. But where ? whence ? when ? and what 
 The danger is, — methinks I fain would learn. 
 
 Sir Walter R. 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 England's trade. 
 
 Sir Christ. H. I know it well. 
 __ Sir Walter R. Philip, you know, is proud Iberia's king. 
 
 Sir Christ. H. He is. 
 
 Sir Walter R. His subjects in base bigotry 
 And Catholic oppression held ; while we, 
 You know, the Protestant persuasion hold. 
 
 Sir Christ. H. We do. 
 
 Sir Walter R. You know, beside, his boasted armament, 
 The famed Armada, by the Pope baptized, 
 With purpose to invade these realms 
 
 Sir Christ. H. Is sailed, 
 
 Our last advices so report. 
 
 Sir Walter R. While the Iberian admiral's chief hope, 
 His darling son 
 
 Sir Christ. H. Ferolo Whiskerandos hight ■ 
 
 Sir Walter R. The same — by chance a pris'ner hath been ta'en, 
 And in this fort of Tilbury 
 
 Sir Christ. H. 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. 
 
 Sir Walter R. You also know 
 
scene n THE CRITIC 327 
 
 Dangle. Mr. Puff, as he knows all this, why does Sir 
 Walter go on telling him ? 
 
 Puff. But the audience are not supposed to know any- 
 thing 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 ungrate- 
 ful 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. 
 
 Dangle. That's very true, upon my word. 
 
 Puff. But you will find he was not going on. 
 
 Sir Christ. H. 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 ! 
 
 Dangle. Really, I find, 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. H. Am in amazement lost. — 
 
 But see where noble Leicester comes ! supreme 
 In honours and command. 
 
 Sir Walter R. And yet, methinks, 
 
 At such a time, so perilous, so fear'd, 
 That staff might well become an abler grasp. 
 
 Sir Christ. H. And so, by Heav'n ! think I ; but soft, he's here ! 
 
 Puff. Ay, they envy him. 
 
 Sneer. But who are these with him ? 
 
 Puff. O ! 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 
 
328 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act 11 
 
 obliged to be plain and intelligible in the first scene, be- 
 cause there was so much matter of fact in it ; but now, 
 i 'faith, you have trope, figure, and metaphor, as plenty as 
 noun-substantives. 
 
 Enter Earl of Leicester, the Governor, and others 
 
 Leicest. 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 redd'ning blaze, by patriot spirit fed, 
 Should be the beacon of a kindling realm ? 
 Can the quick current of a patriot heart 
 Thus stagnate in a cold and weedy converse, 
 Or freeze in tideless inactivity ? 
 No ! rather let the fountain of your valour 
 Spring through each stream of enterprise, 
 Each petty channel of conducive daring, 
 Till the full torrent of your foaming wrath 
 Overwhelm the flats of sunk hostility ! 
 
 Puff. There it is, — followed up . 
 
 Sir Walter R. No more ! the fresh'ning 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 I] 
 Our topmost hopes, in friendship's closing line 
 We'll grapple with despair, and if we fall, 
 We'll fall in Glory's wake ! 
 
 Leicest. There spoke old England's genius ! 
 Then, are we all resolved ? 
 
 All. We are — all resolved. 
 
 Leicest. To conquer or be free ? 
 
 All. To conquer, or be free. 
 
 Leicest. All ? 
 
 All. All. 
 
 Dangle. Nem. con. egad ! 
 
 Puff. O yes, — where they do agree on the stage, their 
 unanimity is wonderful. 
 
 Leicest. Then, let's embrace and now 
 
 Sneer. What the plague, is he going to pray ? 
 Puff. Yes ; hush ! — in great emergencies there is 
 nothing like a prayer. 
 
 Leicest. O mighty Mars ! 
 
scene ii THE CRITIC 329 
 
 Dangle. But why should he pray to Mars ? 
 Puff. Hush! 
 
 Leicest. If in thy homage bred, 
 Each point of discipline I've still observed ; 
 Nor but by due promotion, and the right 
 Of service, to the rank of major-general 
 Have ris'n ; assist thy votary now ! 
 
 Govern. Yet do not rise, — hear me ! 
 
 M. of Horse. And me ! 
 
 Knight. And me ! 
 
 Sir Walter R. And me ! 
 
 Sir Christ. H. And me ! 
 
 Puff. Now, pray all together. 
 
 All. Behold thy votaries submissive beg, 
 That thou will deign to grant them all they ask \ 
 Assist them to accomplish all their ends, 
 And sanctify whatever means they use 
 To gain them ! 
 
 Sneer. A very orthodox quintetto ! 
 
 Puff. Vastly well, gentlemen. — Is that well managed 
 or not ? Have you such a prayer as that on the stage ? 
 
 Sneer. Not exactly. 
 
 Leicest. [To Puff.] — But, sir, you hav'n't settled how 
 we are to get off here. 
 
 Puff. You could not go off kneeling, could you ? 
 
 Sir Walter R. [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. O, 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. 
 
 Dangle. Bravo ! a fine exit. 
 
 Sneer. Well, really, Mr. Puff 
 
 Puff. Stay a moment. 
 
330 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act n 
 
 The Sentinels get up 
 
 \st Sent. All this shall to Lord Burleigh's ear. 
 
 zd Sent. 'Tis meet it should. [Exeunt Sentinels. 
 
 Dangle. 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 were never taken notice 
 of, not even by the commander-in-chief ? 
 
 Puff. O Lud, sir, if people who want to listen, or over- 
 hear, were not always connived at in a tragedy, there would 
 be no carrying on any plot in the world. 
 
 Dangle. That's certain ! 
 
 Puff. But take care, my dear Dangle ; the morning 
 gun is going to fire. [Cannon fires. 
 
 Dangle. 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 ? 
 
 Promp. [From 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. 
 
 Dangle. 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 
 Bade Nature's voice and Nature's beauty rise ; 
 While orient Phcebus, with unborrow'd hues, 
 Clothes the waked loveliness which all night slept 
 In heav'nly 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, 
 
scene ii THE CRITIC 331 
 
 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 
 
 Around, and charm the list'ning grove. The lark ! 
 
 The linnet ! chaffinch ! bullfinch ! goldfinch ! greenfinch ! 
 
 But O, to me no joy can they afford ! 
 
 Nor rose, nor wallflower, nor smart gillyflower, 
 Nor polyanthus mean, nor dapper daisy, 
 Nor William sweet, nor marjoram — nor lark, 
 Linnet, nor all the finches of the grove ! 
 
 Puff. Your 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. Nor lark, 
 
 Linnet, nor all the finches of the grove ! [Weeps. 
 
 Puff. Vastly well, madam ! 
 Dangle. Vastly well, indeed ! 
 
 Tilb. For, O, too sure, heart-rending woe is now 
 The lot of wretched Tilburina ! 
 
 Dangle. Oh ! — 'tis too much. 
 Sneer. Oh ! — it is indeed. 
 
 Confid. Be comforted, sweet lady ; for who knows, 
 But Heav'n has yet some milk-white day in store ? 
 
 Tilb. Alas ! my gentle Nora, 
 Thy tender youth as yet hath never mourn'd 
 Love's fatal dart. Else wouldst thou know, that when 
 The soul is sunk in comfortless despair 
 It cannot taste of merriment. 
 
 Dangle. That's certain. 
 
 Confid. But see where your stern father comes : 
 It is not meet that he should find you thus. 
 
 Puff. Hey, what the plague ! — what a cut is here ! — 
 why, what 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 ? 
 
332 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act 11 
 
 Tilb. Indeed, sir, you'll find they will not be missed. 
 
 Puff. Very well — very well ! 
 
 Tilb. The cue, ma'am, if you please. 
 
 Confid. 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 
 
 Govern. How's this ! — in tears ? O, Tilburina, shame ! 
 
 Is this a time for maudling tenderness, 
 
 And Cupid's baby woes ? hast thou not heard 
 
 That haughty Spain's pope-consecrated fleet 
 Advances to our shores, while England's fate, 
 Like a clipp'd guinea, trembles in the scale ? 
 
 Tilb. Then is the crisis of my fate at hand ! 
 I see the fleet's approach 1 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. 
 
 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 in the wind ! 
 
 I see 1 see what soon you'll see 
 
 Govern. Hold, daughter ! peace ! this love hath turn'd thy brain : 
 The Spanish fleet thou canst not see — because 
 It is not yet in sight ! 
 
 Dangle. 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 ? 
 Govern. I must — I will — I can — I ought — I do. 
 
scene ii THE CRITIC 333 
 
 Tilb. Think what a noble price. 
 Govern. 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. O, if they hadn't been so devilish free with their 
 cutting here, you would have found that Don Whisker- 
 andos has been tampering for his liberty, and has persuaded 
 Tilburina to make this proposal to her father ; and now, 
 pray, observe the conciseness with which the argument is 
 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 Spain ! 
 
 Govern. Outlawry here ! 
 
 Tilb. Your daughter's prayer ! 
 
 Govern. Your father's oath ! 
 
 Tilb. My lover ! 
 
 Govern. My country ! 
 
 Tilb. Tilburina ! 
 
 Govern. England ! 
 
 Tib. A title ! 
 
 Govern. Honour ! 
 
 Tilb. A pension ! 
 
 Govern. Conscience ! 
 
 Tilb. A thousand pounds ! 
 
 Govern. Hah ! thou hast touch'd me nearly ! 
 
 Puff. There, you see — she threw in Tilburina. Quick, 
 parry cart with England ! — Hah ! thrust in tierce a ' title ' ! 
 — parried by ' honour.' Hah ! '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 ? 
 
 Govern. No more ; I would not hear thee plead in vain : 
 The father softens — but the governor 
 Is fix'd ! [Exit. 
 
334 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act ii 
 
 Dangle. Ay, that antithesis of persons is a most 
 established figure. 
 
 Tilb. 'Tis well, — hence then, fond hopes, — fond passion, hence ; 
 
 Duty, behold I am all over thine 
 
 Whiskerandos. [Without.] Where is my love — my 
 
 Tilb. Ha! 
 
 Whiskerandos. [Entering.] 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 ! 
 
 Dangle. Speaking from within has always a fine effect. 
 
 Sneer. Very. 
 
 Whiskerandos. My conquering Tilburina ! How ! is't thus 
 We meet ? why are thy looks averse ? what means 
 That falling tear — that frown of boding woe ? 
 Hah ! 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 Tilburina ! 
 
 Whiskerandos. 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 
 of all stolen sighs, and cast-off griefs and apprehensions. 
 
 Tilb. Yet must we part ! stern 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 ! 
 
 Whiskerandos. O, matchless excellence ! — and must we part ? 
 
 Well, if we must we must — and in that case 
 
 The less is said the better. 
 
scene ii THE CRITIC 335 
 
 Puff. Hey day ! 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. Tour feelings ! — but zounds, my feelings, ma'am ! 
 
 Sneer. No ; pray don't interrupt them. 
 
 Whisker andos. One last embrace. — 
 
 Tilb. Now, — farewell, for ever. 
 
 Whisker andos. 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 ! 
 
 Confid. But pray, sir, how am 1 to get off here ? 
 
 Puff. Tou, pshaw ! what the devil signifies how you 
 get off ! edge away at the top, or where you will — [Pushes 
 the Confidant off'] Now, ma'am, you see 
 
 Tilb. We understand you, sir. 
 
 Ay, for ever. 
 Both. Ohh ! [Turning back, and exeunt. 
 
 Scene closes. 
 
 Dangle. O, 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. 
 
 Dangle. 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 in the piece. 
 
336 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act 11 
 
 Dangle. What, Drake at the Armada, hey ? 
 
 Puff. Yes, i'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 connexion 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 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 Prompt. 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 Prompt. Sir, the performers have cut it out. 
 
 Puff. Cut it out ! 
 
 Under Prompt. Yes, sir. 
 
 Puff. What ! the whole account of Queen Elizabeth ? 
 
 Under Prompt. Yes, sir. 
 
 Puff. And the description of her horse and side-saddle? 
 
 Under Prompt. Yes, sir. 
 
 Puff. So, so ; this is very fine indeed. — Mr. Hopkins, 
 how the plague could you suffer this ? 
 
 Hopkins. [From within.] Sir, indeed the pruning- 
 knife 
 
 Puff. The pruning-knife — zounds ! — the axe ! Why, 
 here has been such lopping and topping, I sha'n'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. 
 
337 
 
 scene ii THE CRITIC 
 
 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 accoutre- 
 ments from the bit to the crupper. Very well, sir ; we 
 
 must go to the park scene. 
 
 Under Prompt. Sir, there is the point : the carpenters 
 say, that unless there is some business put in here before 
 the drop, they sha'n't have time to clear away the fort, or 
 sink Gravesend and the river. 
 
 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 I'll print it — egad, 
 I'll print it every word ! \Exeunt. 
 
ACT III. SCENE 1. 
 
 Before the Curtain 
 Enter Puff, Sneer, and Dangle 
 Puff. Well, we are ready ; — now then for the justices. 
 
 Curtain rises — Justices, Constables, etc. discovered 
 
 Sneer. This, I suppose, is a sort of senate scene. 
 
 Puff. To be sure ; there has not been one yet. 
 
 Dangle. It is the under plot, isn't it ? 
 
 Puff. Yes. What, gentlemen, do you mean to go 
 
 at once to the discovery scene ? 
 
 Justice. If you please, sir. 
 
 Puff. O, very well. — Harkee, I don't choose to say 
 anything more ; but, i'faith, they have mangled my play 
 I in a most shocking manner. 
 
 Dangle. It's a great pity ! 
 
 Puff. Now, then, Mr. Justice, if you please. 
 
 Justice. Are all the volunteers without ? 
 
 Constable. They are. 
 
 Some ten in fetters, and some twenty drunk. 
 
 Justice. Attends the youth, whose most opprobrious fame 
 And clear convicted crimes have stampt him soldier ? 
 
 Constable. He waits your pleasure ; eager to repay 
 The blest reprieve that sends him to the fields 
 Of glory, there to raise his branded hand 
 In honour's cause. 
 
 , Justice. 'Tis well 'tis justice arms him ! 
 
 O ! 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. 
 
 Constable. I fly, the herald of your will. [Exit Constable. 
 
scene i THE CRITIC 
 
 339 
 
 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. 
 
 Dangle. That's very noble in you, indeed. 
 
 Enter Justice's Lady 
 Puff. Now, pray mark this scene. 
 
 L«dy. Forgive this interruption, good my love ; 
 But as I just now past a pris'ner youth, 
 Whom rude hands hither lead, strange bodings seized 
 My flutt'ring heart, and to myself I said, 
 And if our Tom had lived, he'd surely been 
 This stripling's height ! 
 
 Justice. Ha ! sure some powerful sympathy directs 
 Us both 
 
 Enter Son and Constable 
 
 What is thy name ? 
 
 Son. My name's Tom Jenkins — alias have I none — 
 Though orphan'd, and without a friend ! 
 
 Justice. 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 
 
 Of his sign'd Tomkins, creditor. 
 
 Justice. This does indeed confirm each circumstance 
 The gipsy told ! Prepare ! 
 
 Son. I do. 
 
 Justice. No orphan, nor without a friend art thou — 
 / am thy father ; here's thy mother ; there 
 
340 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act iij 
 
 Thy uncle this thy first cousin, and those 
 
 Are all your near relations ! 
 
 f Mother. O ecstasy of bliss ! 
 Son. O most unlook'd for happiness ! 
 Justice. O wonderful event ! 
 
 [They faint alternately in each other's arms. 
 
 Puff. There, you see relationship, like murder, will 
 out. 
 
 Justice. 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. 
 
 Puff What do you think of that ? 
 Dangle. 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 Sc en em en, 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 you fellows 
 coming in in your playhouse liveries to remove things — I 
 wish that could be managed better. — So now for my 
 mysterious yeoman. 
 
 Enter a Beefeater 
 
 Beefeater. Perdition catch my soul, but / do love thee. 
 
 Sneer. Haven't I heard that line before ? 
 
 Puff. No, I fancy not — Where, pray ? 
 
 Dangle. Yes, I think there is something like it in 
 Othello. 
 
 Puff. Gad ! now you put me in 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 on the same 
 thought — and Shakspeare made use of it first, that's all. 
 
scene i THE CRITIC 341 
 
 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. 
 
 Beefeater. Though hopeless love finds comfort in despair, 
 It never can endure a rival's bliss ! 
 But soft 1 am observed. [Exit Beefeater. 
 
 Dangle. 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. Harkee — 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 ! Pray, gentlemen, step this way — 
 softly — I only hope the Lord High Treasurer is perfect — 
 if he is but perfect ! 
 
 Enter Burleigh, goes slowly to a chair, and sits 
 
 Sneer. Mr. Puff! 
 
 Puff. Hush ! vastly well, sir ! vastly well ! a most 
 interesting gravity ! 
 
 Dangle. 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 ! 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 a reason ! why, his part is to think ; 
 and how the plague do you imagine he can think if you 
 keep talking ? 
 
 Dangle. That's very true, upon my word ! 
 
 Burleigh comes forward, shakes his head, and exit 
 
 Sneer. He is very perfect indeed. — Now, pray, what 
 did he mean by that ? 
 
342 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act in 
 
 Puff. You don't take it ? 
 
 Sneer. No, I don't, upon my soul. 
 
 Puff. Why, by that shake of the head he gave you to 
 understand, that even though they had more justice in 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. 
 
 Dangle. Ah ! there certainly is a vast deal to be done 
 on the stage by dumb show and expression of face ; and 
 a judicious author knows how much he may trust to it. 
 
 Sneer. O, here are some of our old acquaintance. 
 
 Enter Hatton and Raleigh 
 
 Sir Christ. H. My niece, and your niece too ! 
 
 By Heav'n ! there's witchcraft in't He could not else 
 
 Have gain'd their hearts But see where they approach ; 
 
 Some horrid purpose low'ring on their brows ! 
 
 Sir Walter R. 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 ! 
 
 Enter the Two Nieces 
 
 1st 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 y ma'am, aside. — The whole scene is to be 
 
 aside. 
 
scene i THE CRITIC 343 
 
 1st Niece. She is his scorn as much as I — that is 
 Some comfort still ! [Aside. 
 
 id Niece. I know he prizes not Pollina's love ; 
 But Tilburina lords it o'er his heart. [Aside. 
 
 1st Niece. But see, the proud destroyer of my peace. 
 Revenge is all the good I've left. \_Aside. 
 
 id Niece. He comes, the false disturber of my quiet. 
 Now, vengeance, do thy worst. [Aside. 
 
 Enter Whiskerandos 
 
 hateful liberty — if thus in vain 
 
 1 seek my Tilburina ! 
 
 Both Nieces. And ever shalt ! 
 
 Sir Christopher and Sir Walter come forward 
 
 Hold ! we will avenge you. 
 
 Whiskerandos. 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 immediately draws two daggers, and holds them to the two 
 Nieces' bosoms!] 
 
 Puff. There's situation for you ! there's an heroic 
 group ! — 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 contrivance 
 for't Now mind 
 
 Enter Beefeater, with his halberd 
 
 Beefeater. In the Queen's name I charge you all to drop 
 Your swords and daggers ! [ They drop their swords and daggers. 
 
 Sneer. That is a contrivance indeed. 
 Puff. Ay — in the queen's name. 
 
 Sir Christ. H. Come, niece ! 
 
 Sir Walter R. Come, niece ! [Exeunt, zvith the two Nieces. 
 
 Whiskerandos. What's he, who bids us thus renounce our guard ? 
 Beefeater. Thou must do more — renounce thy love ! 
 
344 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act in 
 
 Whiskerandos. Thou liest base Beefeater ! 
 
 Beefeater. Ha ! hell ! the lie ! 
 
 By Heav'n, 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 ? 
 
 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 Tilburina's. 
 
 Dangle. Admirably managed, indeed. 
 
 Puff. Now, stand out of their way. 
 
 Whiskerandos. I thank thee, fortune ! that hast thus bestow'd 
 A weapon to chastise this insolent. [Takes up one of the swords. 
 
 Beefeater. I take thy challenge, Spaniard, and 1 thank thee, 
 Fortune, too ! [Takes up the other sword. 
 
 Dangle. That's excellently contrived ! — it seems as if 
 the two uncles had left their swords on purpose for them. 
 Puff. No, egad, they could not help leaving them. 
 
 Whiskerandos. Vengeance and Tilburina ! 
 
 Beefeater. Exactly so 
 
 [They fight — and after the usual number of wounds given, 
 Whiskerandos falls. 
 
 Whiskerandos. O cursed parry ! that last thrust in tierce 
 
 Was fatal Captain, thou hast fenced well ! 
 
 And Whiskerandos quits this bustling scene 
 For all eter 
 
 Beefeater. — nity — he would have added, but stern death 
 Cut short his being, and the noun at once ! 
 
 Puff. O, my dear sir, you are too slow : now mind 
 me. — Sir, shall I trouble you to die again ? 
 
 Whiskerandos. And Whiskerandos quits this bustling scene 
 
 For all eter 
 
 Beefeater. — nity — he would have added 
 
 Puff. No, sir — that's not it — once more, if you please. 
 Whiskerandos. I wish, sir, you would practise this 
 without me — I can't stay dying here all night. 
 
scene i THE CRITIC 345 
 
 Puff". Very well ; we'll go over it by and by— 1 
 
 must humour these gentlemen ! [Exit Whiskerandos. 
 
 Beefeater. Farewell, brave Spaniard ! and when next 
 
 Puff. Dear sir, you needn't speak that speech, as the 
 body has walked off. 
 
 Beefeater. 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 
 
 Govern. A hemisphere of evil planets reign ! 
 And every planet sheds contagious phrensy ! 
 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 summon'd 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 Governor. 
 
 Sneer. Poor gentleman ! 
 
 Puff. Yes — and no one to blame but his daughter ! 
 
 Dangle. And the planets 
 
 Puff. True. — Now enter Tilburina ! 
 
 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 ? 
 
 Dangle. 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 
 
346 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act in 
 
 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 back 
 ground, 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 ! 
 
 Ah me ! He's nowhere ! [Exit Tilburina. 
 
 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 ? 
 
 Dangle. 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 ? 
 
 Prompter 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 
 
scene i THE CRITIC 347 
 
 case ; for as there must be a procession, I suppose Thames, 
 and all his tributary rivers, to compliment 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, soh ! now for't. — Stand 
 aside, my dear friends ! — away, Thames ! 
 
 j\E#*7 Thames between his banks. 
 [Flourish of drums, trumpets, cannon, etc. etc. Scene 
 changes to the sea — the fleets engage — the music plays 
 1 Britons strike home.' — Spanish fleet destroyed by fire- 
 ships, etc. — English fleet advances — music plays 
 'Rule, Britannia.' — The procession of all the English 
 rivers, and their tributaries, with their emblems, etc. 
 begins with Handel's water music, ends with a 
 chorus, to the march in Judas Maccabeus. — 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. 
 
A TRIP TO SCARBOROUGH 
 
 A COMEDY 
 
DRAMATIS PERSONS 
 
 AS ORIGINALLY ACTED AT DRURY-LANE THEATRE, FEB. 24, 1777 
 
 Lord Foppington 
 
 Sir Tunbelly Clumsy 
 
 Colo fie I Tow nli) 
 
 Loveless . 
 
 Young Fashion 
 
 Probe , 
 
 Jeweller . 
 
 Shoemaker 
 
 La Varole 
 
 Tailor 
 
 Mendlegs 
 
 Lory 
 
 Amanda . 
 Berinthia 
 Miss Hoyden 
 Mrs. Coupler 
 Nurse 
 
 Mr. Dodd. 
 Mr. Moody. 
 Mr. Brereton. 
 Mr. Smith. 
 Mr. J. Palmer. 
 Mr. Parsons. 
 Mr. Lamash. 
 Mr. Carpenter. 
 Mr. Burton. 
 Mr. Parker. 
 Mr. Norris. 
 Mr. Baddeley. 
 
 Mrs. Robinson. 
 Miss Farren. 
 Mrs. Abington. 
 Mrs. Booth. 
 Mrs. Bradshaw, 
 
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 ; 
 Th' Exchange, 'Change Alley, wheresoe'er you're ranging, 
 Court, city, country, all are changed or changing : 
 The streets, sometime ago, were paved with stones, 
 Which, aided by a hackney-coach, half broke your bones. 
 The purest lovers then indulged no bliss ; 
 They ran great hazard if they stole a kiss. 
 One chaste salute — the damsel cried — O fe ! 
 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 swallows up the shoe ; 
 The wearer's foot, like his once fine estate, 
 Is almost lost, th' 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 shuttle-cocks, of cork and feather ? 
 Their pale-faced grand-mammas appear'd 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 fcather'd state, 
 
352 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 Hinder'd the fair to pass the lowest gate ; 
 A church to enter now, they must be bent 
 If ever they should try th' experiment. 
 
 As change thus circulates throughout the nation, 
 Some plays may justly call for alteration ; 
 At least to draw some slender cov'ring 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. 
 
 1 And Fan wants grace, who never wanted wit. — Pop*. 
 
ACT I. SCENE I. 
 
 The Hall of an Inn 
 Enter Young Fashion and Lory, Postillion following with a Portmanteau 
 
 Young F. Lory, pay the post-boy, and take the portmanteau. 
 
 Lory. Faith, sir, we had better let the post-boy take the port- 
 manteau and pay himself. 
 
 You::g F. Why sure there's something left in it. 
 
 Lory. Not a rag, upon my honour, sir — we eat the last of your 
 wardrobe at Newmalton — and if we had had twenty miles farther to 
 go, our next meal must have been of the cloak-bag. 
 
 Young F. Why, 'sdeath, it appears full. 
 
 Lory. Yes, sir — I made bold to stuff it with hay, to save appear- 
 ances and look like baggage. 
 
 Young F. What the devil shall I do ? — harkee, boy, what's the 
 chaise ? 
 
 Post. Thirteen shillings, please your honour. 
 
 Young F. Can you give me change for a guinea r 
 
 Post. O yes, sir. 
 
 Lory. Soh, what will he do now ? — Lord, sir, you had better let 
 the boy be paid below. 
 
 Young F. 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. 
 
 Young F. Ay, ay, the turnpikes by all means. 
 
 Post. And I hope your honour will order me something for my- 
 self. 
 
 Young F. 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 hostler, your honour. 
 
 Lory. Pshaw ! damn the hostler — would you impose upon the 
 gentleman's generosity. — [Pushes him out.] — A rascal, to be so curst 
 ready with his change ! 
 
 Young F. Why, faith, Lory, he had nearly posed me. 
 
 Lory. Well, sir, we are arrived at Scarborough, not worth a guinea ! 
 
 2 A 
 
354 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act i 
 
 I hope you'll own yourself a happy man — you have outlived all your 
 cares. 
 
 Young F. How so, sir ? 
 
 Lory. Why you have nothing left to take care of. 
 
 Young F. 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. 
 
 Young F. Damn my eldest brother. 
 
 Lory. With all my heart ; but get him to redeem your annuity, 
 however. Look you, sir, you must wheedle him, or you must starve. 
 
 Young F. Look you, sir, I will neither wheedle him nor starve. 
 
 Lory. Why, what will you do, then ? 
 
 Young F. Cut his throat, or get some one to do it for 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. 
 
 Young F. 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 has, as you used to do. 
 
 Young F. Why, how wouldst have me treat him ? 
 
 Lory. Like a trout — tickle him. 
 
 Young F. I can't flatter. 
 
 Lory. Can you starve ? 
 
 Young F. Yes. 
 
 Lory. I can't — good-by t'ye, sir. 
 
 Young F. 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. T. 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. T. 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. 
 
 Young F. Why, Lory is an attach'd rogue — there's no getting rid 
 of him. 
 
 Lory. True, sir, as my master says, there's no seducing me from his 
 service, — till he's able to pay me my wages. [Aside. 
 
 Young F. Go, go, sir — and take care of the baggage. 
 
 Lory. Yes, sir — the baggage ! — O Lord ! I suppose, sir, I must 
 charge the landlord to be very particular where he stows this ? 
 
 Young F. Get along, you rascal. [Exit Lory, with the portmanteau.] 
 But, colonel, are you acquainted with my proposed sister-in-law ? 
 
scene i A TRIP TO SCARBOROUGH 355 
 
 Col. T. Only by character — her father, Sir Tunbelly 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. 
 
 Toung F. But is her fortune so considerable ? 
 
 Col. T. Three thousand a year, and a good sum of money, inde- 
 pendent of her father, beside. 
 
 Toung F. 'Sdeath ! that my old acquaintance, dame Coupler, could 
 not have thought of me, as well as my brother, for such a prize. 
 
 Col. T. 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. 
 
 Young F. My dear colonel, what an idea have you started ! 
 
 Col. T. Pursue it, if you can, and I promise you you shall have my 
 assistance ; for besides my natural contempt for his lordship, I have at 
 present the enmity of a rival towards him. 
 
 Toung F. What, has he been addressing your old flame, the widow 
 Berinthia ? 
 
 Col. T. Faith, Tom, I am at present most whimsically circum- 
 stanced. 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 idle- 
 ness, have been diverting my chagrin by offering up incense to the 
 beauties of Amanda, our friend Loveless's wife. 
 
 Toung F. I never have seen her, but have heard her spoken of as 
 a youthful wonder of beauty and prudence. 
 
 Col. T. She is so indeed ; and Loveless being too careless and in- 
 sensible 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 disappoint- 
 ment from the widow with the most Christian resignation. 
 
 Toung F. And Berinthia has never appeared ? 
 
 Col. T. Oh, there's the perplexity ; for just as I began not to care 
 whether ever I saw her again or not, last night she arrived. 
 
 Toung F. And instantly reassumed her empire ? 
 
 Col. T. No, faith — we met — but the lady not condescending to 
 give me any serious reasons for having fool'd me for a month, I left 
 her in a huff. 
 
 Toung F. 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. T. Yes, and I believe is most heartily despised by her — but 
 come with me, and you shall see her and your old friend Loveless. 
 
356 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act i 
 
 Young F. I must pay my respects to his lordship — perhaps you can 
 direct me to his lodgings. 
 
 Col. T. Come with me ; I shall pass by it. 
 
 Young F. I wish you could pay this visit for me, or could tell me 
 what I should say to him. 
 
 Col. T. Say nothing to him — apply yourself to his bag, his sword, 
 his feather, his snuff-box ; and when you are well with them, desire 
 him to lend you a thousand pounds, and I'll engage you prosper. 
 
 Young F. 'Sdeath and furies ! why was that coxcomb thrust into 
 the world before me ? O Fortune, Fortune, thou art a jilt, by Gad. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. 
 
 A Dressing-room 
 
 Enter Lord Foppington, in his Nightgown, and La Varole 
 
 Lord F. Well, 'tis an unspeakable pleasure to be a man of quality 
 — strike me dumb ! Even the boors of this northern spa have learn'd 
 the respect due to a title. [Aside.] La Varole ! 
 
 La Far. Mi lor 
 
 Lord F. You ha'n't yet been at Muddymoathall, to announce my 
 arrival, have you ? 
 
 La Var. Not yet, mi lor. 
 
 Lord F. 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 discern- 
 ment in the world, she thinks no less of my Lord Foppington. 
 
 Re-enter La Varole 
 
 La Var. Mi lor, de shoemaker, de tailor, de hosier, de sempstress, 
 de peru, be all ready, if your lordship please to dress. 
 Lord F. 'Tis well ; admit them. 
 La Var. Hey, messieurs, entrez. 
 
 Enter Tailor, Shoemaker, etc. 
 
 Lord F. So, gentlemen, I hope you have all taken pains to show 
 yourselves masters in your professions ? 
 
 Tai. I think I may presume to say, sir 
 
 La Var. My lor, 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 ? 
 
scene ii A TRIP TO SCARBOROUGH 357 
 
 Lord F. 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. 
 
 Whilst he puts on his clothes, enter Young Fashion and Lory 
 
 Young F. Hey-day ! What the devil have we here ? — Sure my 
 gentleman's grown a favourite at court, he has got so many people at 
 his levee. [Apart. 
 
 Lory. Sir, these people come in order to make him a favourite at 
 court — they are to establish him with the ladies. [Apart. 
 
 Young F. 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 ! [Apart. 
 
 Lory. Sir, tailors and hair-dressers debauch all the women. 
 
 [Apart. 
 
 Young F. Thou say'st true. — But now for my reception. [Apart. 
 
 Lord F. Death and eternal tortures ! Sir — I say the coat is too 
 wide here by a foot. 
 
 Tdi. My lord, if it had been tighter, 'twould neither have hook'd 
 nor button'd. 
 
 Lord F. Rat the hooks and buttons, sir ! Can anything be worse 
 than this ? — As Gad shall jedge mc, it hangs on my shoulders like a 
 chairman's surtout. 
 
 Tat. 'Tis not for me to dispute your lordship's fancy. 
 
 Lory. There, sir, observe what respect does. [Apart. 
 
 Young F. Respect ! — D — n him for a coxcomb — but let's accost 
 him. [Jp.:rt.] Brother, I'm your humble servant. 
 
 Lord F. 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 ? 
 
 Look you, sir [7o the Tailor], I shall never be reconciled to this 
 
 nauseous wrapping gown, therefore pray get me another suit with all 
 possible expedition ; 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 F. In love with them, stap my vitals ! — Bring my bill, you 
 shall be paid to-morrow. 
 
 Semp. I humbly thank your lordship. [Exit. 
 
 Lord F. Hark thee, shoemaker, these shoes ar'n't ugly, but they 
 don't fit me. 
 
 Shoe. My lord, I think they fit you very well. 
 
 Lord F. They hurt me just below the instep. 
 
 Shoe. [Feels his foot.] No, my lord, they don't hurt you there. 
 
 Lord F. I tell thee they pinch me execrably. 
 
 Shoe. Why then, my lord, if those shoes pinch you I'll be d — n'd. 
 
 Lord F. Why, wilt thou undertake to persuade me I cannot 
 feel ? 
 
358 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act i 
 
 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 F. Now, by all that's good and powerful, thou art an in com- 
 prehensive 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 F. Well, pr'ythee, begone about thy business. [Exit She- 
 maker.] Mr. Mendlcgs, a word with you. — The calves of these stock- 
 ings are thicken'd a little too much ; they make my legs look like a 
 porter's. 
 
 Mend. My lord, methinks they look mighty well. 
 
 Lord F. 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 F. Very possibly, Mr. Mendlegs ; but that was in the begin- 
 ning 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 manstrous impropriety, and make no allowance for the 
 fatigues of the winter. [Exit Hosier. 
 
 'Jewel. I hope, my lord, those buckles have had the unspeakable 
 satisfaction of being honoured with your lordship's approbation ? 
 
 Lord F. 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 F. My good sir, you forget that these matters are not as they 
 used to be : formerly, indeed, the buckle was a sort of machine, in- 
 tended 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, and the business of the morning will be pretty well 
 over. [Exit Jeweller. 
 
 Young F. Well, Lory, what dost think on't ? — a very friendly 
 reception from a brother, after three years' absence ! [Apart. 
 
 Lory. 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. [Apart. 
 
 Young F. Nor ever shall, while they belong to a coxcomb. [Apart.] 
 Now your people of business are gone, brother, I hope I may obtain 
 a quarter of an hour's audience of you. 
 
 Lord F. 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. 
 
 Young F. Shall you be back to dinner ? 
 
scene ii A TRIP TO SCARBOROUGH 359 
 
 Lord F. As Gad shall jedge me, I can't tell ; for it is passible I 
 may dine with some friends at Donner's. 
 
 Young F. Shall I meet you there ? for I must needs talk with 
 you. 
 
 Lord F. That I'm afraid mayn't be quite so praper ; for those I 
 commonly eat with are a people of nice conversation ; and you know, 
 Tam, your education has been a little at large — but there 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. 
 
 Young F. Hell and furies ! Is this to be borne ? 
 
 Lory. Faith, sir, I could almost have given him a knock o' the pate 
 myself. 
 
 Young F. 'Tis enough ; I will now show you the excess 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. 
 
 Young F. By this light, madam Coupler j she seems dissatisfied at 
 something : let us observe her. 
 
 Enter Mrs. Coupler 
 
 Mrs. C. Soh ! 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. 
 
 Young F- So he is, upon my soul, old lady ; it must be my brother 
 you speak of. 
 
 Mrs. C. Ha ! — stripling, how came you here ? What, hast spent 
 all, eh ? And art thou come to dun his lordship for assistance ? 
 
 Young F. No, I want somebody's assistance to cut his lordship's 
 throat without the risk of being hang'd for him. 
 
 Mrs. C. Egad, sirrah, I could help thee to do him almost as good 
 a turn without the danger of being burn'd in the hand for't. 
 
 Young F. How — how, old Mischief? 
 
 Mrs. C. Why, you must know I have done you the kindness to 
 make up a match for your brother. 
 
 Young F. I'm very much beholden to you, truly ! 
 
 Mrs. C. 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, — 
 
 Young F. I understand as much. 
 
 Mrs. C. Now you must know, stripling, your brother's a knave. 
 
 Young F. Good. 
 
 Mrs. C. 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 
 
360 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act i 
 
 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. 
 
 Young F. And how the devil wilt thou do that ? 
 
 Mrs. C. 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 hang'd before morning. 
 
 Young F. Agreed, agreed ; and for thy reward 
 
 Mrs. C. Well, well ; — though I warrant thou hast not a farthing 
 of money in thy pocket now — no — one may see it in thy face. 
 
 Young F. Not a sous, by Jupiter. 
 
 Mrs. C. 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 shalt hoist 
 sail and be gone. [Exit. 
 
 Young F. So, Lory, fortune, thou seest, at last takes care of merit : 
 we are in a fair way to be great people. 
 
 Lory. Ay, sir, if the devil don't step between the cup and the lip, 
 as he used to do. 
 
 Young F. Why, faith, he has played me many a damn'd 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. 
 
 Young F. How dost know ? 
 
 Lory. Because, sir, I have wondered at you so often, I can wonder 
 at you no more. 
 
 Young F. 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. 
 
 Young F. Why faith, Lory, though I have play'd many a roguish 
 trick, this is so full-grown a cheat, I find 1 must take pains to come up 
 to't 1 have scruples. 
 
 Lory. They are strong symptoms of death. If you find them 
 increase, sir, pray make your will. 
 
 Young F. No, my conscience sha'n'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 
 
scene ii A TRIP TO SCARBOROUGH 36 r 
 
 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 vict'ry is my lot ; 
 If I subdue his heart, 'tis well — if not, 
 I will subdue my conscience to my plot. 
 
 [ Exeunt. 
 
ACT n. SCENE I. 
 
 Enter Loveless and Amanda 
 
 Love. How do you like these lodgings, my dear ? For my part, I 
 am so pleas'd 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. O ! 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 chiefest 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 some distance from me, she was so exquisitely 
 handsome. 
 
 Aman. So exquisitely handsome ! 
 
 Love. Why do you repeat my words, my dear ? 
 
 Aman. Because you seem'd 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 view'd her 
 with a world of admiration, but not one glance of love. 
 
 Aman. Take heed of trusting to such nice distinctions. 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 ask'd 
 her where she lived — yet still without design — who was she, pray ? 
 
 Love. Indeed I cannot tell. 
 
scene r A TRIP TO SCARBOROUGH 363 
 
 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 farther, and inquire his name ? 
 
 Love. She has reason on her side ; I have talk'd too much ; but I 
 must turn off another way. [Aside.] 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 speak double what we think. 
 
 Enter a Servant 
 
 Serv. Madam, there is a lady at the door in a chair desires to 
 know whether your ladyship sees company : her name is Berinthia. 
 
 Aman. 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 
 
 Serv. 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. 
 
364 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act 11 
 
 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 F. Dear Loveless, I am your most humble servant. 
 
 Love. My lord, I'm yours. 
 
 Lord F. Madam, your ladyship's very obedient slave. 
 
 Love. My lord, this lady is a relation of my wife's. 
 
 Lord F. [Salutes heri\ 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 ! For Gad's sake, madam, how has 
 
 your ladyship been able to subsist thus long under the fatigue of a 
 country life ? [To Amanda. 
 
 Aman. My life has been very far from that, my lord ; it has been 
 a very quiet one. 
 
 Lord F. Why, that's the fatigue I speak of, madam ; for 'tis 
 impossible to be quiet without thinking : now thinking is to me the 
 greatest fatigue in the world. 
 
 Aman. Does not your lordship love reading then. 
 
 Lord F. 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 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 eyes upon the play. So at twelve o'clock, I 
 say, I rise. Naw, if I find it 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 F. Oh, passionately, on Tuesdays and Saturdays ; 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 F. 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 F. Why, madam, that is very pardonable in the country or at 
 
scene i A TRIP TO SCARBOROUGH 365 
 
 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 F. 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 F. Sir, as to weighty affairs, 1 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 F. An ornamental pillar, madam ; for sooner than undergo 
 any part of the fatigue, rat me, but the whole building should fall 
 plump to the ground. 
 
 Aman. 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 F. Soh ! She would inquire into my amours — that's jealousy, 
 poor soul ! — I see she's in love with me. [Aside.] O Lord, madam, I 
 
 had like to have forgot a secret I must needs tell your ladyship. 
 
 Ned, you must not be so jealous now as to listen. 
 
 Love. Not I, my lord ; I am too fashionable a husband to pry into 
 the secrets of my wife. 
 
 Lord F. [Squeezing Amanda's hand.'] I am in love with you to 
 desperation, strike me speechless ! [Apart. 
 
 Aman. [Strikes him on the ear.] Then thus I return your passion, 
 an impudent fool ! 
 
 Lord F. Gad's curse, madam, I am a peer of the realm. 
 
 Love. 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 F. [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 han't killed the fool, 
 however. — Bear him up. — Call a surgeon there. 
 Lord F. Ay, pray make haste. 
 Love. This mischief you may thank yourself for. 
 Lord F. I may so ; love's the devil indeed, Ned. 
 
 Enter Probe and Servant 
 
 Serv. Here's Mr. Probe, sir, was just going by the door. 
 
 Lord F. He's the welcomest man alive. 
 
 Probe. Stand by, stand by, stand by ; pray, gentlemen, stand by. 
 
366 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act u 
 
 Lord have mercy upon us, did you never see a man run through the 
 body before ? — Pray stand by. 
 
 Lord F. Ah, 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 won'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 F. Oh! 
 
 Probe. Why, what the devil have you run the gentleman through 
 
 with a scythe ? A little scratch between the skin and the ribs, 
 
 that's all. [Aside. 
 
 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, I am not master of my trade for nothing. 
 
 Lord F. Surgeon ! 
 
 Probe. Sir. 
 
 Lord F. Are there any hopes ? 
 
 Probe. Hopes ! I can't tell. What are you willing to give for a 
 cure ? 
 
 Lord F. Five hundred paunds with pleasure. 
 
 Probe. Why then perhaps there may be hopes ; but we must avoid a 
 further delay. — Here, help the gentleman into a chair, and carry him 
 
 to my house presently that's the properest place — to bubble him 
 
 out of his money. — [Aside.] — Come, a chair — a chair quickly — there, 
 in with him. [They put him into a chair. 
 
 Lord F. 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 F. Thou art a generous fellow, strike me dumb ! — but thou 
 hast an impertinent wife, stap my vitals ! [Aside. 
 
 Probe. So — carry him off — carry him off — we shall have him prate 
 himself into a fever by and by — carry him off. 
 
 [Exit, with Lord Foppington. 
 
 Enter Colonel Townly 
 
 Col. T. 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 ? 
 
scene i A TRIP TO SCARBOROUGH 367 
 
 Love. O, 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 run him through 
 the body, that was all. 
 
 Col. T. 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 authentic passport to every woman's heart below the 
 degree of a peeress. 
 
 Col. T. 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. T. I am glad you have corrected him without 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 acquaint- 
 ance of yours. 
 
 Love. Explain 
 
 Col. T. 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 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. Whate'er her reason be, I must not tell her true. [Aside.] — 
 Why, I confess she's handsome ; but you must not think I slight your 
 kinswoman, if I own to you, of all the women who may claim that 
 character, she is the last that would triumph in my heart. 
 
 Aman. I'm satisfied. 
 
 Love. Now tell me why you ask'd ? 
 
 Aman. At night I will — adieu. 
 
 Love. I'm yours. [Kissing her. 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 
 
368 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act 11 
 
 something more at the bottom of this than the provocation he pretends 
 from me. \_Aside. 
 
 Atnan. 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 beaus ? 
 
 Ber. Oh no, Amanda ; there are a sort of men make dreadful work 
 amongst them — men that may be called 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 ; in 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. So, so ! here the mystery comes out ! [Aside.] 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. O this is better and better — [Aside] — Well said, innocence ! 
 and you really think, my dear, that nothing could abate your constancy 
 and attachment to your husband ? 
 
 Aman. Nothing, I am convinced. 
 
 Ber. What if you found he loved another woman better ? 
 
scene i A TRIP TO SCARBOROUGH 369 
 
 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 ! 
 
 Ber. Yet I'm very innocent. 
 
 Aman. That I dare swear you are. I know how to make allow- 
 ances for your humour — but you resolve then never to marry again ? 
 
 Ber Oh no ! — I resolve 1 will. 
 
 Aman. How so ? 
 
 Ber. That I never may. 
 
 Aman. You banter me. 
 
 Ber. Indeed 1 don't — but I consider I'm a woman, and form my 
 resolutions accordingly. 
 
 Aman. Well, my opinion is, form what resolution you will, matri- 
 mony will be the end on't. 
 
 Ber. I doubt it — but a Heavens ! I have business 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 being robb'd 
 of a favoured lover must be either an idiot or a wanton. [Exit. 
 
 2 B 
 
ACT III. SCENE I. 
 
 Enter Lord Fopimngton and La Varole 
 
 Lord F. Hey, fellow, let my vis-a-vis come to the door. 
 
 La Var. Will your lordship venture so soon to expose yourself to 
 the weather ? 
 
 Lord F. Sir, I will venture as soon as I can to expose myself to 
 the ladies. 
 
 La Far. I wish your lordship would please to keep house a little 
 longer ; I'm afraid your honour does not well consider your wound. 
 
 Lord F. 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 father-in-law, Sir Tunbelly, and I mean to com- 
 mence 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 Far. I will be sure, mi lor. [Exit. 
 
 Enter Young Fashion 
 
 Young F. Brother, your servant; how do you find yourself to-day ? 
 
 Lord F. So well that I have ardered my coach to the door — so 
 there's no danger of death this baut, Tam. 
 
 Young F. I'm very glad of it. 
 
 Lord F. That I believe's a lie. [Aside."] — Pr'ythee, Tam, tell me 
 one thing, — did not your heart cut a caper up to your mauth, when 
 you heard I was run through the bady ? 
 
 Young F. Why do you think it should ? 
 
 Lord F. Because I remember mine did so, when 1 heard my uncle 
 was shot through the head. 
 
 Young F. It then did very ill. 
 
 Lord F. Pr'ythee, why so ? 
 
 Young F. Because he used you very well. 
 
 Lord F. Well ! — Naw, strike me dumb ! he starv'd me ; he has let 
 me want a thausand women, for want of a thausand paund. 
 
 Young F. Then he hinder'd you from making a great many ill 
 bargains ; for I think no woman worth money that will take money. 
 
scene i A TRIP TO SCARBOROUGH 371 
 
 Lord F. If I was a younger brother I should think, so too. 
 
 Young F. Then you are seldom much in love ? 
 
 Lord F. Never, stap my vitals ! 
 
 Young F. Why then did you make all this bustle about Amanda ? 
 
 Lord F. Because she's a woman of an insolent virtue, and I thought 
 myself piqu'd, in honour, to debauch her. 
 
 Young F. Very well. — Here's a rare fellow for you, to have the 
 spending of ten thousand pounds a year. But now for my business 
 with him. [Aside.] — Brother, though I know to talk of business 
 (especially 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 F. The greatness of your necessities, Tam, is the worst argu- 
 ment 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 twelve- 
 month. 
 
 Young F. I'm sorry you think so. 
 
 Lord F. I do believe thou art — but come, let's know the affair 
 quickly. 
 
 Young F. 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. 
 
 Lord F. Why faith, Tam, to give you my sense of 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, you are relieved 
 t'other. 
 
 Young F. I'm glad to see you are in so pleasant a humour ; I hope 
 I shall find the effects on't. 
 
 Lord F. Why, do you then really think it a reasonable thing that I 
 should give you five hundred pawnds ? 
 
 Young F. I do not ask it as a due, brother; I am willing to receive 
 it as a favour. 
 
 Lord F. Then thou art willing to receive it anyhow, strike me 
 speechless ! But these are d — n'd 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 am 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 dawn to five guineas a maunth — now judge, Tam, 
 whether I can spare you five hundred pawnds ? 
 
 Young F. If you can't, I must starve, that's all. Damn him. 
 
 [Aside 
 
 Lord F. All I can say is, you should have been a better husband. 
 
 Young F. Ouns ! — If you can't live upon ten thousand a year, how 
 do you think I should do't upon two hundred ? 
 
 Lord F. Don't be in a passion, Tam, for passion is the most un- 
 
372 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act iij 
 
 becoming 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. 
 
 Young F. Yes.- — She has made you older. Plague take her ! 
 
 [Aside. 
 
 Lord F. That is not all, Tain. 
 
 Young F. Why, what is there else ? 
 
 Lord F. [Looks first on himself and then on his brother.'] Ask the 
 ladies. 
 
 Young F. Why, thou essence-bottle, thou musk-cat ! — dost thou 
 then think thou hast any advantage over me but what fortune has 
 given thee ? 
 
 Lord F. I do, stap my vitals ! 
 
 Young F. Now, by all that's great and powerful, thou art the 
 prince of coxcombs. 
 
 Lord F. Sir, I am proud at being at the head of so prevailing a 
 party. 
 
 Young F. Will nothing provoke thee ? Draw, coward ! 
 
 Lord F. 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 
 through my lungs into my estate, or to get yourself run through the 
 guts to put an end to your pain — but I will disappoint you in both 
 your designs ; far with the temper of a philasapher, and the discretion 
 of a statesman — I shall leave the room with my sword in the scabbard. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Young F. So ! farewell, brother ; and now, conscience, I defy 
 thee. Lory ! 
 
 Enter Lory 
 
 Lory. Sir. 
 
 Young F. 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 lament- 
 able fright, sir, ever since your conscience had the impudence to intrude 
 into your company. 
 
 Young F. Be at peace ; it will come there no more : my brother 
 has given it a wring by the nose, and I have kick'd it down-stairs. So 
 run away to the inn, get the 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 ? 
 
 Young F. 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 TRIP TO SCARBOROUGH 373 
 
 SCENE II. 
 
 A Garden 
 
 Enter Loveless and Servant 
 
 Love. Is my wife within ? 
 
 Serv. 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 — 
 soh ! — by Heav'ns ! — 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. 
 
 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 betray 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 vour 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 alarm'd me. I could not turn my eyes from 
 whence the danger came — I gaz'd 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 tc 
 ashes. [Takes her hand. 
 
374 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act in 
 
 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 some- 
 body coming. 
 
 Enter a Servant 
 
 Serv. 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. 
 
 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. T. Soh ! 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. 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. T. A little more blood in your cheeks. 
 
 Ber. I have been walking ! 
 
 Col. T. Is that all ? Pray was it Mr. Loveless went from here just 
 now ? 
 
 Ber. O yes — he has been walking with me. 
 
 Col. T. 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. T. So, so ! she hasn't even the modesty to dissemble ! [Aside.] 
 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. T. 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. T. 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 extremely troublesome 
 — and I confess I have been more civil to you than you deserved. 
 
 Col. T. 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 disappointment, have you condescended to explain, or in the slightest 
 way apologise, for your conduct ? 
 
 Ber. O Heavens ! apologise for my conduct ! — apologise to you ! — 
 
scene ii A TRIP TO SCARBOROUGH 375 
 
 O you barbarian ! — But pray now, my good serious colonel, have you 
 anything more to add ? 
 
 Col. T. 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 honour- 
 able 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. 
 
 Col. T. 'Sdeath ! how came she to suspect this ! — \_Aside.~\ Really, 
 madam, I don't understand you. 
 
 Ber. Nay — nay — you saw I did not pretend to misunderstand 
 you. — But here comes the lady — perhaps you would be glad to be left 
 with her for an explanation. 
 
 Col. T. 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. He carries it off" well, however — upon my word — very well ! — 
 how tenderly they part ! — [Aside.] — So, cousin — I hope you have not 
 been chiding your admirer for being with me — I assure you we have 
 been talking of you. 
 
 Aman. Fie, 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 altera- 
 tion 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. 
 
 Aman. You are sure on't ? 
 
 Ber. Positively — he fell in love at the play. 
 
376 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act in 
 
 Aman. Right — the very same — but who could have told you this ? 
 
 Ber. Um O — Townly ! 1 suppose your husband has made 
 
 him his confidant. 
 
 Aman. O base Loveless ! — and what did Townly say on't ? 
 
 Ber. So, so — why should she ask that ? [Aside.] 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. 
 
 SCENE III. 
 
 Outside of Sir Tunbelly's House 
 
 Enter Young Fashion and Lory 
 
 Young F. 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. 
 
 Young F. 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] — 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. 
 
 Young F. Hush, they come. 
 
 Serv. [Within.] Who is there ? 
 
 Lory. Open the door and see — is that your country breeding ? 
 
 Serv. Ay, but two words to that bargain — Tummas, is the blunder- 
 buss prim'd ? 
 
 Young F. 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 
 
 Serv. Well naw, what's ya're business ? 
 
 Young F. Nothing, sir, but to wait upon Sir Tunbelly, with your 
 leave. 
 
 Serv. To weat upon Sir Tunbelly ? — why, you'll find that's just as 
 Sir Tunbelly pleases. 
 
scene in A TRIP TO SCARBOROUGH 377 
 
 Young F. But will you do me the favour, sir, to know whether Sir 
 Tunbelly pleases or not ? 
 
 Serv. 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. 
 
 Young F. D'ye hear that, Lory ? 
 
 Enter Sir Tunbelly Clumsy, with Servants, armed with Guns, 
 Clubs, Pitchforks, lie. 
 
 Lory, O ! [Runs behind his master.] O Lord, O Lord, Lord, we are 
 both dead men ! 
 
 Young F. Fool ! thy fear will ruin us. [Apart to Lory. 
 
 Lory. My fear, sir ? 'Sdeath, sir, I fear nothing. [Apart.] 
 
 Would I were well up to the chin in a horsepond ! [Aside. 
 
 Sir T. Who is it here hath any business with me ? 
 
 Young F. Sir, 'tis I, if your name be Sir Tunbelly Clumsy. 
 
 Sir T. 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. 
 
 Young F. Sir, you have no cause, that I know of. 
 
 Sir T. Sir, if you have no cause either, I desire to know who you 
 are ; for, till I know your name, I sha'n'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. 
 
 Young F. Sir, I hope you'll find this letter an authentic passport. 
 
 [Gives him a letter. 
 
 Sir T. Cod's my life, from Mrs. Coupler ! 1 ask your lordship's 
 
 pardon ten thousand times [To his 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 Young Fashion] My lord, 
 
 I ask your lordship's pardon. [To the 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 lordship's great quality 
 
 every day. Pray, where are your coaches and servants, my lord ? 
 
 Yomig F, 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 T. 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. 
 
 Young F. Sir, I am not a stranger to them, though I am to her : 
 common fame has dene her justice. 
 
 Sir T. My lord, I am common fame's very grateful, humble 
 
378 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act hi 
 
 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. 
 
 Young F. Sir, I wait upon you. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV. 
 An Apartment in Sir Tunbelly Clumsy's House 
 
 Miss Hoyden discovered 
 
 Miss H. Sure nobody was ever used as I am. I know well enough 
 what other girls do, for all they 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 long, so she can 'Tis very well 
 
 Nurse. [Without, opening the door.] Miss Hoyden ! miss, miss, 
 miss ! Miss Hoyden ! 
 
 Enter Nurse 
 
 Miss H. Well, what do you make such a noise for, ha ? 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 H. What care I who's come ? I care not a fig who comes, 
 or who goes, as long as I must be lock'd up like the ale-cellar. 
 
 Nurse. That, miss, is for fear you should be drank before you are 
 ripe. 
 
 Miss H. 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 H. My lord ! Why, is my husband come ? 
 
 Nurse. Yes, marry, is he ; and a goodly person too. 
 
 Miss H. [Hugs Nurse.] Oh, my dear nurse, forgive 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 H. But, my dear nurse, don't lie now — is he come, by your 
 troth ? 
 
 Nurse. Yes, by my truly, is he. 
 
 Miss H. O Lord ! I'll go and put on my laced tucker, though I'm 
 lock'd up for a month for't. [Exeunt. 
 
ACT IV. SCENE I. 
 
 An Apartment at Sir Tunbelly Clumsy's 
 
 Enter Miss Hoyden and Nurse 
 
 Nurse. Well, miss, how do you like your husband that is to be ? 
 
 Miss H. 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, 
 now-a-days, hate a woman that loves 'em. 
 
 Miss H. Love him ! why, do you think I love him, nurse ? 'Ecod, 
 I would not care if he was hang'd 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 H. 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 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. Ah, 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 confound a gypsy. 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 handsomely, and not 
 disgrace me that have brought you up, I'd leave you alone together. 
 
 Miss H. 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. 
 
380 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act iv 
 
 Nurse. Well, this once I'll venture you. But it you disparage 
 
 me- 
 
 Miss H. Never fear. [Exit. 
 
 Enter Toung Fashion 
 
 Young F. Your servant, madam ; I'm glad to find you alone, for I 
 have something of importance to speak to you about. 
 
 Miss H. Sir (my lord I meant), you may speak to me about what 
 you please, I shall give you a civil answer. 
 
 Toung F. You give so obliging a 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 attain your consent to perform what 
 he desires. 
 
 Miss H. Sir, I never disobey my father in anything but eating 
 green gooseberries. 
 
 Toung F. So good a daughter must needs be an admirable wife. I 
 am therefore impatient until 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 H. Pray, my lord, how long is that ? 
 
 Toung F. Madam, a thousand years — a whole week. 
 
 Miss H. Why, I thought it was to be to-morrow morning, as soon 
 as I was up. I'm sure nurse told me so. 
 
 Toung F. And it shall be to-morrow morning, if you'll consent. 
 
 Miss H. If I'll consent ? Why, I thought I was to obey you as my 
 husband ? 
 
 Toung F. That's when we are married. Till then, I'm to obey you. 
 
 Miss H. 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. 
 
 Toung F. With all my heart. But I doubt we must get nurse on 
 our side, or we shall hardly prevail with the chaplain. 
 
 Miss H. No more we sha'n't, indeed ; for he loves her better than 
 he loves his pulpit, and would always be a preaching to her by his 
 good-will. 
 
 Toung F. Why then, my dear, it you'll call her hither, we'll 
 persuade her presently. 
 
 Miss H. O Lud, I'll tell you a way how to persuade her to any- 
 thing. 
 
 Toung F. How's that ? 
 
 Miss H. Why, tell her she's a handsome, comely woman, and give 
 her half-a-crown. 
 
 Toung F. Nay, if that will do, she shall have half a score of them. 
 
 Miss H. O gemini ! for half that she'd marry you herself. — I'll 
 run and call her. [Exit. 
 
 Toung F. Soh ! matters go on swimmingly. Tlvs is a rare girl, 
 i'faith. I shall have a fine time on't with her at London. 
 
scene i A TRIP TO SCARBOROUGH 381 
 
 Enter Lory 
 
 So, Lory, what's the matter ? 
 
 Lory. Here, sir — an intercepted packet from the enemy ; your 
 brother's postillion brought it. I knew the livery, pretended to be a 
 servant of Sir Tunbelly's, and so got possession of the letter. 
 
 Young F. [Looks at the letter.'] Ouns ! he tells Sir Tunbclly 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. 
 
 Young F. And the old Jezebel with 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 of this small 
 acknowledgment for it at present, and depend upon my further kind- 
 ness when I shall be that happy thing, her husband. [Gives her money. 
 
 Nurse. Gold, by the maakins ! [Aside.] Your honour's goodness is 
 too great. Alas ! all I can boast of is, I gave her pure good milk, and 
 so your honour would have said, and you had seen how the poor thing 
 thrived — and how it would look up in my face — and crow and laugh, 
 it would. 
 
 Miss H. [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 gentle- 
 man as he is cares for a fiddle-come tale of a child ? If you have a 
 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. 1 hope youi 
 
 honour will excuse my mis-manners to whisper before you ; it was 
 only to give some orders about the family. 
 
 Young F. Oh, everything, madam, is to give way to business; 
 besides, good housewifery is a very commendable quality in a young 
 lady. 
 
 Miss H. Pray, sir, are young ladies good housewives at London- 
 town ? Do they darn their own linen ? 
 
 Young F. Oh, no, they study how to spend money, not to save. 
 
 Miss H. 'Ecod, 1 don't know but that may be better sport, ha, 
 nurse ? 
 
 Young F. Well, you shall have your choice when you come there. 
 
 Miss H. Shall I ? — then, by my troth, I'll get there as rust as I 
 
 can. His honour desires you'll be so kind as to let us be married 
 
 to-morrow. [To Nurse. 
 
 Nurse. To-morrow, my dear madam ? 
 
 Young F. 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. 
 
382 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act iv 
 
 Miss H. 'Ecod, with all my heart. 
 
 Nurse. Oh, mercy ! worse and worse ! 
 
 Toung F. 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 H. Why, then, we will be married again. 
 
 Nurse. What, twice, my child ? 
 
 Miss H. 'Ecod, I don't care how often I'm married, not I. 
 
 Nurse. Well, I'm such a tender-hearted fool, I find I can refuse 
 you nothing. So you shall e'en follow your own inventions. 
 
 Miss H. Shall I ? O Lord, I could leap over the moon. 
 
 Toung F. 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 his 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. 
 
 Toung F. 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. 
 
 Miss H. Faith, do, nurse, make him marry you too ; I'm sure he'll 
 do't for a fat living. 
 
 Toung F. 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 H. Oh dear, yes, sir ; I don't think you'll do anything 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. 
 
 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. 
 
scene ii A TRIP TO SCARBOROUGH 383 
 
 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 your- 
 self a widow by and by. 
 
 Aman. Would I were anything but what I am ! A base, ungrate- 
 ful 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 
 attach'd 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. Pshaw ! pshaw ! 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 ugl) 
 thing neither. 
 
 Aman. Is she very handsome ? 
 
 Ber. Truly I think so. 
 
 Aman. Whate'er she be, I'm sure he does not like her well enough 
 to bestow anything more than a little outward gallantry upon her. 
 
 Ber. Outward gallantry ! I can't bear this. [Aside.] 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. T. 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 of Lord Foppington's invitation to sup 
 at Sir Tunbelly Clumsy's. 
 
 Col. T. 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 
 
384 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act iv 
 
 ordered till eight, and it is not a five 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. T. Madam, you know you may command me, though I am a 
 very wretched gamester. 
 
 A man. 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. 
 
 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 he-rd 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 encourage- 
 ment ; 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 o{ 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. 
 
 Ber. How, sir, have you had the insolence to presume to run 
 
 in again — here's somebody coming. [Loveless goes into the closet. 
 
scene in A TRIP TO SCARBOROUGH 385 
 
 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 pinn'd 
 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 fear 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. 
 
 Ber. Hold, hold, you are mistaken in your angel, I 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. Be gone 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 communicate to you. 
 
 Ber. Well, well, before we go to Sir Tunbelly's I'll 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 Loveless 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. 
 
 2 C 
 
386 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act iv 
 
 Enter Amanda 
 
 Aman. Bcrinthia, why did you leave me ? 
 
 Ber. I thought I only spoil'd 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 1 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. 
 
 Re-enter Loveless 
 
 Love. Soh — so ! a pretty piece of business I have overheard ! 
 Townly makes love to my wife, and I am not to know it for all the 
 world. I must inquire into this — and, by Heav'n, if I find that Amanda 
 
 has, in the smallest degree Yet what have I been at here ! O, 
 
 '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. 
 
 A Garden. Moonlight 
 
 Enter Loveless 
 
 Love. Now, does she mean to make a fool of me, or not ? T 
 sha'n't wait much longer, tor 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 approaches 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 
 staid five minutes longer 
 
 Ber. You would have gone, I suppose ? 
 
 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 fool of you at last, I believe we 
 had better 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 misfortunes ! 
 
 Ber. A misfortune to be married to so charming a woman as 
 Amanda ? 
 
 Love. I grant 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 Ged, 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 also. I 
 must see a little into this matter. [Steps aside. 
 
 Ber. Oh, if that's your intention, I am no woman if I suffer myself 
 to be outdone in curiosity. [Goes on the other side. 
 
388 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act v 
 
 Enter Amanda 
 
 Aman. Mr. Loveless come home, and walking on the lawn ! 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. T. Madam, you seem disturbed. 
 
 Aman. Sir, I have reason. 
 
 Col. T. Whatever be the cause, I would to Heaven it were in my 
 power to bear the pain, or remove the malady. 
 
 Aman. Your interference can only add to my distress. 
 
 Col. T. Ah, madam, if it be the sting of unrequited 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 tc 
 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. T. He could not upbraid me if you were — he deserves it from 
 me ; for he has not been more false to you than faithless to me. 
 
 Aman. To you ? 
 
 Col. T. Yes, madam ; the lady for whom he now deserts those 
 charms which he was never worthy of, was mine by right ; and I 
 imagined, too, by inclination. — Yes, madam, Berinthia, who now 
 
 Aman. Berinthia ! Impossible ! 
 
 Col. T. '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. T. 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 resentment, 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 believe 
 what you now report ; and for Berinthia, you should have fixed on 
 some more probable person for my rival than she 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. T. If I do not prove to you 
 
 Aman. You never shall have an opportunity. From the artful 
 manner in which you first showed yourself to me, I might have been 
 led, as far as virtue permitted, to have thought you less criminal than 
 
scene i A TRIP TO SCARBOROUGH 389 
 
 unhappy ; but this last unmanly artifice merits at once my resentment 
 and contempt. [Exit. 
 
 Col. T. 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 enter- 
 tained a thought ? 
 
 Love. Why then, sincerely and honestly, Berinthia, there is some- 
 thing in my wife's conduct which strikes 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 shall make 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 shall think 
 proper to undeceive Townly, may your good qualities make as sincere 
 
 a convert of him as Amanda's love of me. When truth's extorted 
 
 from us, then we own the robe of virtue is a sacred habit. 
 
 Could women but our secret counsels 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. 
 
390 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act ? 
 
 SCENE II. 
 Sir Tunbelly Clumsy's House 
 
 Enter Miss Hoyden, Nurse, and Toung Fashion 
 
 Young F. This quick despatch of the chaplain's I take so kindly, 
 it shall give him claim to my favour as long as I live, I assure you. 
 
 Miss H. 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 H. 'Ecod, with all my heart — the more the merrier, I say — 
 ha, nurse ? 
 
 Enter Lory 
 
 Lory. One word with you, for Heaven's sake. 
 
 [Taking Young Fashion hastily aside. 
 
 Young F. What the devil's the matter ? 
 
 Lory. Sir, your fortune's ruin'd 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. 
 
 Young F. Is he in the house yet ? 
 
 Lory. No, they are capitulating with him at the gate. Sir Tun- 
 belly luckily takes him for an impostor ; and I have told him that we 
 had heard of this plot before. 
 
 Young F. 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 H. Oh, the brazen-faced varlet : it's well we are married, or 
 may be we might never have been so. 
 
 Young F. Egad, like enough, [Aside ^\ — Pr'ythee, nurse, run to Sir 
 Tunbelly, and stop him from going to the gate before I speak with 
 him. 
 
 Nurse. An't please your honour, my lady and I had best lock our- 
 selves up till the danger be over. 
 
 Young F. Do so, if you please. 
 
 Miss H. Not so fast ; I won't be locked up any more, now I'm 
 married. 
 
 Young F. Yes, pray, my dear, do, till we have seized this rascal. 
 
 Miss H. Nay, if you'll pray me, I'll do anything. 
 
 [Exit Miss Hoyden and Nurse. 
 
 Young F. [To Lory] Hark you, sirrah, things are better than you 
 imagine. The wedding's over. 
 
 Lory. The devil it is, sir ! 
 
scene n A TRIP TO SCARBOROUGH 391 
 
 Young F. 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 be easily done. 
 
 Enter Sir Tunbelly Clumsy 
 
 Did you ever hear, sir, of so impudent an undertaking? 
 
 Sir T. Never, by the mass ; but we'll tickle him, I'll warrant 
 you. 
 
 Young F. They tell me, sir, he has a great many people with him 
 disguised like servants. 
 
 Sir T. Ay, ay, rogues enow, but we have master'd them. We 
 only fired a few shot over their heads, and the regiment scower'd in an 
 instant. Here, Tummas, bring in your prisoner. 
 
 Young F. If you please, Sir Tunbelly, it will be best for me not 
 to confront the fellow yet, till you have heard how far his impudence 
 will carry him. 
 
 Sir T. Egad, your lordship is an ingenious person. Your lordship, 
 then, will please to step aside. 
 
 Lory. 'Fore Heaven, I applaud my master's modesty. 
 
 [Exit with Young Fashion. 
 
 Enter Servants, with Lord Foppington disarmed 
 
 Sir T. Come, bring him along, bring him along. 
 
 Lord F. What the plague do you mean, gentlemen ? is it fair time, 
 that you are all drunk before supper ? 
 
 Sir T. 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 F. Strollers ! 
 
 Sir T. 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 F. And why dost thou ask me so many impertinent questions ? 
 
 Sir T. Because I'll make you answer 'em before I have done with 
 you, you rascal you. 
 
 Lord F. Before Gad, all the answers I can make to 'em is, that you 
 are a very extraordinary old fellow, stap my vitals ! 
 
 Sir T. Nay, if thou art joking deputy lieutenants, we know how to 
 deal with you. Here, draw a warrant for him immediately. 
 
 Lord F. A warrant ? What the devil is't thou wouldst be at, old 
 gentleman ? 
 
 Sir T. 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 youi 
 throat, you dog you. 
 
 Lord F. And why wouldst thou spoil my face at that rate ? 
 
392 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act v 
 
 Sir 71 For your design to rob me of my daughter, villain. 
 
 Lo<d F. Rab thee of thy daughter ! 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 T. I can't tell whether I will or not, till I know what it is. 
 
 Lord F. Why then, it is, whether thou didst not write to my Lord 
 Foppington, to come down and marry thy daughter ? 
 
 Sir T. Yes, marry, did I, and my Lord Foppington is come down, 
 and shall marry my daughter before she's a day older. 
 
 Lord F. Now give me thy hand, old dad ; I thought we should 
 understand one another at last. 
 
 Sir T. The fellow's mad — here, bind him hand and foot. 
 
 [ They bifid him. 
 
 Lord F. Nay, pr'ythee, knight, leave fooling ; thy jest begins to 
 grow dull. 
 
 Sir T. Bind him, I say he's mad : bread and water, a dark 
 
 room, and a whip, may bring him to his senses again. 
 
 Lord F. 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 ? 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. [Aside. 
 
 Re-enter Miss Hoyden and Nurse 
 Miss H. [Going up to him.] Is this he that would have run- 
 
 Fough, how he stinks of sweets ! — Pray, father, let him be dragged 
 through the horsepond. 
 
 Lord F. This must be my wife, by her natural inclination to her 
 husband. [Aside. 
 
 Miss H. Pray, father, what do you intend to do with him 
 
 hang him ? 
 
 Sir T. That at least, child. 
 
 Nurse. Ay, and it's e'en too good for him too. 
 
 Lord F. Madame la gouvernante, I presume : hitherto this appears 
 to me to be one of the most extraordinary families that ever man of 
 quality march'd into. [Aside. 
 
 Sir T. What's become of my lord, daughter ? 
 
 Miss H. He's just coming, sir. 
 
 Lord F. My lord, what does he mean by that, now ? [Aside. 
 
 Re-enter Young Fashion and Lory 
 
 Stap my vitals, Tam, now the dream's out. 
 
 Young F. Is this the fellow, sir, that dcsign'd to trick me of your 
 daughter ? 
 
 Sir T. This is he, my lord ; how do you like him ? Is not he a 
 pretty fellow to get a fortune. 
 
scene ii A TRIP TO SCARBOROUGH 393 
 
 Young F. I find by his dress he thought your daughter might be 
 taken with a beau. 
 
 Miss H. Oh, gemini ! Is this a beau ? Let me see him again. 
 Ha ! I find a beau is no such ugly thing, neither. 
 
 Young F. Egad, she'll be in love with him presently — I'll e'en 
 have him sent away to jail. [Aside.] Sir, though your under- 
 taking shows you a person of no extraordinary modesty, I suppose 
 you ha'n't confidence enough to expect much favour from me ? 
 
 [To Lord Foppington. 
 
 Lord F. Strike me dumb, Tarn, thou art a very impudent fellow. 
 
 Nurse. Look, if the varlet has not the effrontery to call his lordship 
 plain Thomas. 
 
 Lord F. My Lord Foppington, shall I beg one word with your 
 lordship ? 
 
 Nurse. Ho, ho, it's my lord with him now. See how afflictions 
 will humble folks. 
 
 Miss H. Pray, my lord, don't let him whisper too close, lest he 
 bite your ear off. 
 
 Lord F. I am not altogether so hungry as your ladyship is pleased 
 
 to imagine. 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 ! [Apart to Young Fashion. 
 
 Young F. 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 redeem her. [Apart. Leaving him. 
 
 Sir T. Well, what says he ? 
 
 Young F. Only the rascal offered me a bribe to let him go. 
 
 Sir T. Ay, he shall go, with a plague to him — lead on, constable. 
 
 Enter a Servant 
 
 Serv. Sir, here is Muster Loveless, and Muster Colonel Townly, 
 and some ladies, to wait on you. [To Young Fashion. 
 
 Lory. So, sir, what will you do now ? [Aside. 
 
 Young F. Be quiet ; they are in the plot. [Aside to Lory.] 
 
 Only a few friends, Sir Tunbelly, whom I wish'd to introduce to 
 you. 
 
 Lord F. Thou art the most impudent fellow, Tam, that ever 
 nature yet brought into the world. Sir Tunbelly, strike me speech- 
 less, 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. 
 
 Enter Loveless, Colonel Townly, Amanda, and Berinthia 
 
 Young F. So, gentlemen, this is friendly ; I rejoice to see you. 
 Col. T. My lord, we are fortunate to be the witnesses of your 
 lordship's happiness. 
 
394 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act v 
 
 Love. But your lordship will do us the honour to introduce us to 
 Sir Tunbelly Clumsy ? 
 
 Aman. And us to your lady. 
 
 Lord F. Ged take me, but they are all in a story. 
 
 Sir T. Gentlemen, you do me much honour ; my Lord Foppington's 
 friends will ever be welcome to me and mine. 
 
 Young F. My love, let me introduce you to these ladies. 
 
 Miss H. By goles, they look so fine and so stiff, I am almost 
 asham'd to come nigh 'em. 
 
 Aman. A most engaging lady, indeed ! 
 
 Miss H. Thank ye, ma'am. 
 
 Ber. And I doubt not will soon distinguish herself in the beau 
 monde. 
 
 Miss H. Where is that ? 
 
 Young F. You'll soon learn, my dear. 
 
 Love. But, Lord Foppington 
 
 Lord F. Sir! 
 
 Love. Sir ! I was not addressing myself to you, sir ! — Pray, who is 
 this gentleman ? He seems rather in a singular predicament 
 
 Col. T. For so well-dress'd a person, a little oddly circumstanced, 
 indeed. 
 
 Sir T. Ha, ha, ha ! — So, these are your friends and your guests, 
 ha, my adventurer ? 
 
 Lord F. I am struck dumb with their impudence, and cannot 
 positively say whether I shall ever speak again or not. 
 
 Sir T. Why, sir, this modest gentleman wanted to pass himself 
 upon me as Lord Foppington, and carry off my daughter. 
 
 Love. A likely plot to succeed, truly, ha, ha ! 
 
 Lord F. 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 pink'd 
 through the body by thee. 
 
 Sir T. A likely story, truly, that a peer would behave thus ! 
 
 Love. A pretty fellow, indeed, that would scandalise the character 
 he wants to assume ; but what will you do with him, Sir Tunbelly ! 
 
 Sir T. Commit him, certainly, unless the bride and bridegroom 
 choose to pardon him. 
 
 Lord F. Bride and bridegroom ! For Gad's sake, Sir Tunbelly, 
 'tis tarture to me to hear you call 'em so. 
 
 Miss H . Why, you ugly thing, what would you have him call us, 
 dog and cat ? 
 
 Lord F. By no means, miss ; for that sounds ten times more like 
 man and wife than t'other. 
 
 Sir T. A precious rogue this to come a wooing ! 
 
scene ii A TRIP TO SCARBOROUGH 395 
 
 Re-enter a Servant 
 
 Serv. There are some gentlefolks below to wait upon Lord 
 Foppington. 
 
 Col. T. 'Sdeath, Tom, what will you do now ? 
 
 [Apart to Young Fashion. 
 
 Lord F. Now, Sir Tunbelly, here are witnesses, who I believe are 
 not corrupted. 
 
 Sir T. Peace, fellow ! Would your lordship choose to have your 
 guests shown here, or shall they wait till we come to 'em ? 
 
 Young F. I believe, Sir Tunbelly, we had better not have these 
 visitors here yet. — Egad, all must out. [Aside. 
 
 Love. Confess, confess ; we'll stand by you. 
 
 [Apart to Young Fashion. 
 
 Lord F. Nay, Sir Tunbelly, I insist on your calling evidence on 
 both sides — and if I do not prove that fellow an impostor 
 
 Young F. 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 T. Ouns ! — what's this ? — an impostor ? — a cheat ? — fire and 
 faggots, sir, if you are not Lord Foppington, who the devil are you ? 
 
 Young F. 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 F. Impudent to the last, Gad dem me. 
 
 Sir T. My son-in-law ! Not yet I hope. 
 
 Young F. Pardon me, sir ; thanks to the goodness of your chaplain, 
 and the kind offices of this old gentlewoman. 
 
 Lory. 'Tis true, indeed, sir ; I gave your daughter away, and Mrs. 
 Nurse, here, was clerk. 
 
 Sir T. Knock that rascal down ! — But speak, Jezebel, how's this ? 
 
 Nurse. Alas ! your honour, forgive me ! I have been overreach'd 
 in this business as well as you. Your worship knows, if the wedding- 
 dinner had been ready, you would have given her away with your own 
 hands. 
 
 Sir T. But how durst you do this without acquainting me ? 
 
 Nurse. Alas ! if your worship had seen how the poor thing begg'd 
 and pray'd, and clung and twined about me like ivy round an old wall, 
 you would say I, who had nurs'd it and rear'd it, must have had a 
 heart like stone to refuse it. 
 
 Sir T. Ouns ! I shall go mad ! Unloose my lord there, you 
 scoundrels ! 
 
 Lord F. 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 H. Egad, though, I don't see which is to be my husband 
 after all. 
 
 Love. Come, come, Sir Tunbelly, a man of your understanding 
 
396 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act v 
 
 must perceive that an affair of this kind is not to be mended by ange? 
 and reproaches. 
 
 Col. T. 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 breath'd. 
 
 Love. That he is, depend on't ; and will hunt or drink with you 
 most affectionately : be generous, old boy, and forgive them 
 
 Sir T. Never. The hussy ! — when I had set my heart on getting 
 her a title. 
 
 Lord F. Now, Sir Tunbelly, that I am untruss'd — give me leave to 
 thank thee for the very extraordinary reception I have met with in 
 thy damn'd, 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 T. What's this ? I believe you are both rogues alike. 
 
 Lord F. 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 match'd 
 thy girl to a beggarly younger brother of mine, whose title-deeds might 
 be contain'd in thy tobacco-box. 
 
 Sir T. 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. 
 
 Lord F. 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 T. 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 T. 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 I'm 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 H. 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 H. Squire, is he ? — Well, that's better than nothing. 
 
 Lord F. 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. [Aside.] Dear Tam, since things are fallen out, pr'ythee 
 give me leave to wish thee joy ; I do it de bon cceur, 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 
 
scene ii A TRIP TO SCARBOROUGH 397 
 
 person, modest in her deportment, refined in her sentiments, and of 
 nice morality, split my windpipe ! 
 
 Miss H. By goles, husband, break his bones if he calls me names. 
 
 Young F. Your lordship may keep up your spirits with your grimace, 
 if you please ; I shall support mine by Sir Tunbelly's favour with this 
 lady and three thousand pounds a year. 
 
 Lord F. 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 demn'd, horrid savage ; Ged demn 
 me ! [Exit. 
 
 Sir T. 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 o' her side, in troth. 
 
 Col. T. She has indeed, Sir Tunbelly but I hear the fiddles ; 
 
 his lordship, I know, had provided 'em. 
 
 Love. O, a dance and a bottle, Sir Tunbelly, by all means. 
 
 Sir T. I had forgot the company below ; well — what — we must 
 be merry then, ha ? and dance and drink, ha ? Well, 'fore George, 
 you sha'n'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 friend and I 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 bad evening's entertainment. 
 
 Sir 7". 'Ecod, with all my heart ; though I 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 inten- 
 tion is evidently to please, British auditors will ever be indulgent tc 
 the errors of the performance. [Exeunt. 
 
PIZARRO 
 
 A TRAGEDY 
 
DRAMATIS PERSONS 
 
 AS ORIGINALLY ACTED AT DRURY-LANE THEATRE, MAY 2^., 1799 
 
 Ataliba, King of Quito . 
 
 Rolla, ) , r , . A 
 
 ( Commanders of his Army 
 Alonzo, I 
 
 Cora, Alonzo's Wife 
 
 Pizarro, Leader of the Spaniards 
 
 Elvira, Pizarro's Mistress 
 
 Almagro . . . . . 
 
 Gonzalo, \ 
 
 Davilla, > Pizarro's Associates 
 
 Gomez, ' 
 
 Valverde, Pizarro's Secretary . 
 
 Las-Casas, a Spanish Ecclesiastic 
 
 An old blind Man . 
 
 Orozembo, an old Cacique 
 
 A Boy 
 
 A Sentinel .... 
 
 Attendant , , 
 
 Mr. Powell. 
 
 Mr. K.EM3LE. 
 
 Mr. C. Kemble. 
 Mrs. Jordan. 
 Mr. Barrymore. 
 Mrs. Siddons. 
 Mr. Caulfield. 
 Mr. Wentvvorth. 
 Mr. Trueman. 
 Mr. Surmont. 
 Mr. R. Palmer. 
 Mr. Aickin. 
 Mr. Cory. 
 Mr. Dowton. 
 Master Chatterley. 
 Mr. Holland. 
 Mr. Maddocks. 
 Mr. Archer. 
 
 Peruvian Officer . 
 
 Soldiers, Messrs. Fisher, Evans, Chippendale, Webb, 
 
 ETC. ETC. 
 
 The Vocal Parts by Messrs. Kelly, Sedgwick, Dignum, Danby, Etc. — 
 Mrs. Crouch, Miss De Camp, Miss Stephens, Miss Leak, Miss 
 Dufour, Etc. 
 
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. 
 
 2 D 
 
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. 
 
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 whiskey, 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 thro' Grosvenor Gate : 
 
 Anxious — yet timorous too ! — his steed to show, 
 
 The hack Bucephalus of Rotten Row. 
 
 Careless he seems, yet, vigilantly sly, 
 
 Woos the stray glance of ladies passing by, 
 
 While his off heel, insidiously aside, 
 
 Provokes the caper which he seems to chide. 
 
 Scarce rural Kensington due honour gains ; 
 
 The vulgar verdure of her walk remains ! 
 
 Where white-robed misses amble two by two, 
 
 Nodding to booted beaux — ' How'do, how'do ? ' 
 
 With gen'rous questions that no answer wait, 
 
 ' How vastly full ! A'n't you come vastly late ? 
 
 Fn't it quite charming ? When do you leave town ? 
 
 A'n'c you quite tired ? Pray, can we set you down ? ' 
 
 These suburb pleasures of a London May, 
 
 Imperfect yet, we hail the cold delay ; 
 
 Should our Play please — and you're indulgent ever— 
 
 Be your decree — ' 'Tis better late than never.' 
 
ACT I. SCENE I. 
 
 A magnificent Pavilion near Pizarro's Tent — a View of the Spanish 
 Camp in the back Ground — Elvira is discovered sleeping under a 
 canopy on one side of the pavilion — Valverde enters, gaz.es on Elvira, 
 kneels, and attempts to kiss her hand ; Elvira, awakened, rises, and 
 looks at him with indignation. 
 
 Elv. Audacious ! Whence is thy privilege to interrupt the few 
 moments of repose my harassed mind can snatch amid the tumults of 
 this noisy camp ? Shall I inform your master of this presumptuous 
 treachery ? Shall I disclose thee to Pizarro ? hey ! 
 
 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 born ! in mind and manners rude, ferocious, and 
 unpolished, though cool and crafty if occasion need — in youth audaci- 
 ous — ill his first manhood — 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, call it as you will ; but 
 what attaches thee to this despised, unworthy leader ? — Base lucre is 
 thy object, mean fraud 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 over-rates his strength, nor measures well the foe. Encamped in a 
 strange country, where terror cannot force, nor corruption 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 vou not the heirs of those that fall ? 
 
406 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act i 
 
 Val. Are gain and plunder then our only purpose ? Is this Elvira's 
 heroism ? 
 
 Eh. 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 worse extreme ! 
 
 Eh. 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. 
 
 Eh. Hear me, Valverde. — When first my virgin 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 in a slight vessel, 
 his force was not a hundred men. Arrived in the island of Gallo, 
 with his sword he drew a line upon the sands, and said, ' Pass those 
 who fear to die or conquer with their leader.' Thirteen alone re- 
 mained, and at the head of these the warrior stood his ground. Even 
 at the moment when my ears first caught this tale, my heart exclaimed, 
 ' Pizarro is its lord ! ' What since I have perceived, or thought, or 
 felt, you must have more worth to win the knowledge of. 
 
 Val. I press no further ; still assured that while Alonzo de Molina, 
 our general's former friend and pupil, leads the enemy, Pizarro never 
 more will be a conqueror. [Trumpets without. 
 
 Eh. Silence ! I hear him coming ; look not perplexed. — How 
 mystery and fraud confound the countenance ! Quick, put on an 
 honest face, if thou canst. 
 
 Piz. [Speaking without.'] Chain and secure him ; I will examine 
 him myself. 
 
 Pizarro enters 
 [Valverde bows — Elvira laughs'] 
 
 Piz. Why dost thou smile, Elvira ? 
 
 Eh. To laugh or weep without a reason is one of the few privi- 
 leges poor women have. 
 
 Piz. Elvira, I will know the cause, I am resolved ! 
 
 Eh. I am glad of that, because I love resolution, and am resolved 
 not to tell you. Now my resolution, I take 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 entrusted him, a boy, to my protection. At my table 
 
scene i PIZARRO 407 
 
 did he feast — in my tent did he repose. I had marked his early genius 
 and the valorous spirit that grew with it. Often I had talked to him 
 of our first 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 dropt upon 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 lives, and has — a grateful 
 recollection of the thanks he owes him. 
 
 Val. 'Tis doubted whether still Alonzo lives. 
 
 Piz. 'Tis certain that he does ; one of his armour-bearers is just 
 made prisoner : twelve thousand is their force, as he reports, led by 
 Alonzo and Peruvian Rolla. This day they make a solemn sacrifice 
 on their ungodly altars. We must profit by their security, and attack 
 them unprepared — the sacrificers shall become the victims. 
 
 Eh. Wretched innocents ! And their own blood shall bedew 
 their altars ! 
 
 Piz. Right ! [Trumpets without.'] Elvira, retire ! 
 
 Eh. Why should I retire ? 
 
 Piz. Because men are to meet here, and on manly business. 
 
 Eh. O, men ! men ! ungrateful and perverse ! O, woman ! still 
 affectionate, though wronged ! The beings to whose eyes you turn for 
 animation, hope, and rapture, through the days of mirth and revelry, 
 
4 o8 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act i 
 
 and on whose bosoms in the hour of sore calamity you seek for rest and 
 consolation ; them, when the pompous follies of your mean ambition 
 
 are the question, you treat as playthings or as slaves ! 1 shall not 
 
 retire. 
 
 Piz. Remain then — and, if thou canst, be silent. 
 
 Eh. They only babble who practise not reflection. I shall think 
 — and thought is silence. 
 
 Piz. Ha ! — there's somewhat in her manner lately — 
 
 [Pizarro looks sternly and suspiciously towards Elvira, who 
 meets him with a commanding and unaltered eye. 
 
 Enter Las-Casas, Almagro, Gonzalo, Davilla, Officers and Soldiers. — ■ 
 Trumpets without 
 
 Las-Cas. Pizarro, we attend your summons. 
 
 Piz. Welcome, venerable father — my friends, most 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 our suffering 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 being their Creator 
 formed : a people, who, children of innocence ! received you as 
 cherished guests with eager hospitality and confiding kindness. Gener- 
 ously and freely did they share with you their comforts, their treasures, 
 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. 
 
 Piz. Las-Casas ! 
 
 Las-Cas. Pizarro, hear me ! — Hear me, chieftains ! — And Thou, 
 
scene i PIZARRO 409 
 
 All-powerful ! whose thunders can shiver into sand the adamantine 
 rock — whose lightnings can pierce to the core of 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, 1 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. — 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. — 
 [Rises.] 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 again before the blessed tribunal of that 
 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. 
 
 Eh. Las-Casas ! Oh ! take me with thee, Las-Casas. 
 
 Las-Cas. Stay ! lost, abused lady ! I alone am useless 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 ? 
 
 Eh. I am bewildered, grown terrified ! — Your inhumanity — 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. 
 
 Eh. 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. Now to prepare our muster and our march. At mid-day is 
 the hour of the sacrifice. 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. 
 
410 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act i 
 
 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 Spain : while the pledge 
 of future peace, his daughter's hand, 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. [To Elvira.] You mark, Elvira? 
 
 Elv. O, 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 know'st 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 the first to hail the future 
 monarch of Peru. 
 
 Enter Gomez 
 
 Aim. How, Gomez ! what bring'st thou ? 
 
 Gom. On yonder hill among the palm-trees we have surprised an 
 old cacique : escape by flight he could not, and we seized him and his 
 attendant unresisting ; yet his lips breathe naught but bitterness and 
 scorn. 
 
 Piz. Drag him before us. 
 
 [Gomez leaves the tent, and returns, conducting Orozembo and 
 Attendant, in chains, guarded. 
 What art thou, stranger ? 
 
 Oro. 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 this into his heart? 
 
 Oro. [To Pizarro.] Does your army boast many such heroes as 
 this ? 
 
 Piz. Audacious ! — This insolence has sealed thy doom. Die thou 
 shalt, gray-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 
 
scene i PIZARRO 411 
 
 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 ! 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 un- 
 sullied conscience. 
 
 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 ! 
 
 Gon. 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. 
 
 Piz. Know'st thou Alonzo ? 
 
 Oro. Know him ! — Alonzo ! — Know him ! — Our nation's bene- 
 factor ! — 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 in command ? 
 
 Oro. I will answer that ; for I love to hear and 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 unweaned 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 x 
 
 Piz. And therefore should he die untortured ? 
 
4 i2 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act i 
 
 Oro. True ! Observe, young man — your unthinking rashness has 
 saved me from the rack ; and you yourself have lost the opportunity of 
 a useful lesson ; you might have seen with what cruelty vengeance 
 would have inflicted torments — and with what patience virtue would 
 have borne them. 
 
 Eh. [Supporting Oroze.mbo's head upon her boso?ri.~\ Oh ! ye are 
 monsters all. Look up, thou martyred 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. 
 
 [Orozembo /'/ borne off dying. 
 
 Piz. Away ! — Davilla ! If thus rash a second time — 
 
 Dav. Forgive the hasty indignation which — 
 
 Piz. No more — unbind that trembling wretch — let him depart ; 
 'tis well he should report the mercy which we show to insolent defiance. 
 — Hark ! — our troops are moving. 
 
 Attend. [On passing Elvira.] If through your gentle means my 
 master's poor remains might be preserved from insult — 
 
 Eh. I understand you. 
 
 Attend. His sons may yet thank your charity, if not avenge their 
 father's fate. [Exit. 
 
 Piz. What says the slave ? 
 
 Eh. A parting word to thank you for your mercy. 
 
 Piz. Our guard and guides approach. [Soldiers march through the 
 tents'] Follow me, friends — each shall have his post assigned, and ere 
 Peruvia's god shall sink beneath the main, the Spanish banner, bathed 
 in blood, shall float above the walls of vanquished Quito. [Exeunt. 
 
 Manent Elvira and Valverde 
 
 Val. Is it now presumption that my hopes gain 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 ! 
 
 Val. Might not Valverde's true attachment be thy refuge ? 
 
 Elv. What wouldst thou do to save or to avenge me ? 
 
 Val. I dare do all thy injuries may demand — a word — and he lies 
 bleeding at your feet. 
 
 Eh. Perhaps we will speak again of this. Now leave me. 
 
 [Exit Valverde. 
 
 Eh. [Alone.] No ! not this revenge — no ! not this 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 of 
 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 
 
scene i PIZARRO 413 
 
 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 ! What has 
 he left her ? — Despair and vengeance ! {Exit. 
 
ACT II. SCENE I. 
 
 A Bank surrounded by a wild Wood, and Rocks. — Cora, sitting on the root 
 of a tree, is playing with her Child. — Alonzo hangs over them with 
 delight and cheerfulness. 
 
 Cora. Now confess, does he resemble thee, or not ? 
 
 Alon. Indeed he is liker thee — thy rosy softness, thy smiling 
 gentleness. 
 
 Cora. But his auburn hair, the colour of his eyes, Alonzo. — O ! 
 my lord's image, and my heart's adored ! 
 
 {^Pressing the Child to her bosom. 
 
 Alon. The little daring urchin robs me, I doubt, of some portion 
 of thy love, my Cora. At least he shares caresses which till his birth 
 were only mine. 
 
 Cora. Oh no, Alonzo ! a mother's love for her sweet 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. 
 
 Alon. Could Cora think me serious ? 
 
 Cora. I am sure he will speak soon : then will be the last of the 
 three holydays allowed by Nature's sanction to the fond, anxious 
 mother's heart. 
 
 Alon. What are those three ? 
 
 Cora. The ecstasy of his birth I pass ; that in part is selfish : but 
 when first the white blossoms of his teeth appear, breaking the crimson 
 buds that did incase 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 knee ; that is the mother's heart's next 
 holyday : and sweeter still the third, whene'er his little stammering 
 tongue shall utter the grateful sound of father ! mother ! — Oh ! that 
 is the dearest joy of all ! 
 
 Alon. Beloved Cora ! 
 
 Cora. Oh ! my Alonzo ! daily, hourly, do I pour thanks to Heaven 
 for the dear blessing I possess in him and thee. 
 
 Alon. To Heaven and Rolla ! 
 
 Cora. Yes, to Heaven and Rolla ; and art thou not grateful to 
 them too, Alonzo ? art thou not happy ? 
 
 Alon. Can Cora ask that question ? 
 
 Cora. Why then of late so restless on thy couch ? Why to my 
 
scene i PIZARRO 
 
 4*5 
 
 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 r 
 
 Cera. 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 r 
 
 Cora. What ! think you a mother, when she runs from danger, can 
 feel the weight of her child ? 
 
 Alon. Cora, my beloved, do you wish to set my heart at rest ? 
 
 Cora. Oh yes ! yes ! yes ! 
 
 Alon. 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 ! can you 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 you : silence is the gratitude of true 
 affection : who seeks to follow it by sound will miss the track. [Shout 
 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. ~\ 
 
 Rolla 
 
 Rol. [As entering.'] Then place them on the hill fronting the 
 Spanish camp. [Enters.] 
 
 Cora. Rolla ! my friend, my brother ! 
 
 Alon. Rolla ! my friend, my benefactor ! how can our lives repay 
 the obligations which we owe you ? 
 
 Rol. Pass them in 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 ! 
 
4-i6 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act ii 
 
 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. You must away ; you 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 pre- 
 sence, Cora, cannot aid, but may impede our efforts. 
 
 Cora. Impede ! 
 
 Rol. Yes, yes. Thou know'st 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 pur- 
 sued 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. 
 
 Alan. Thanks to my friend ! 'tis this I would have urged. 
 
 Cora. This timid excess of love, producing fear instead of valour, 
 flatters, but does not convince me : the wife is incredulous. 
 
 Rol. And is the mother unbelieving too ? 
 
 Cora. 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. You, Rolla, spoke of rumours of 
 surprise. — A servant of mine, I hear, is missing ; whether surprised or 
 treacherous, 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 : it represents the magnificence of Peruvian idolatry : 
 in the centre is the altar. — A solemn march. — The Warriors and King 
 enter on one side of the Temple. — Rolla, Alonzo, and Cora, on the 
 other. 
 
 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 
 
scene ii . PIZARRO 417 
 
 the spirit of their leaders, ere we proceed to consecrate the banners 
 which thy valour knows so well 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 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 ! Where'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 protec- 
 tion. — Yes, such protection as vultures give to lambs — covering and 
 devouring them ! They call on us to barter all of good we have in- 
 herited and proved, for the desperate chance cf 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 soldiery. 
 
 Ata. [Embracing Rolla.] Now, holy friends, ever mindful of 
 these sacred truths, begin the sacrifice. — [A solemn procession commences 
 from the recess of the temple above the altar. The Priests and Virgins oj 
 the Sun arrange themselves on either side. The High-priest approaches the 
 altar, 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. 
 
 Enter Orano 
 
 Ora. The enemy ! 
 
 Ata. 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 chey 
 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. 
 
 2 E 
 
4 i 8 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act ii 
 
 Cora. Oh, Alonzo ! [Embracing him. 
 
 Alon. We shall meet again. 
 
 Cora. Bless us once more ere you leave us. 
 
 Alon. 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. Not one farewell to Rolla ? 
 
 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 forwards 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. 
 
 SCENE III. 
 
 The 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. 
 
 Alon. 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. 
 
 Alon. Yes, one word more — Cora ! 
 
 Rol. Cora ! Speak 1 
 
 Alon. 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 fore- 
 boding which oppresses me : thou know'st 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. 
 
scene iv PIZARRO 
 
 419 
 
 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 different ways. J harms without. 
 
 SCENE IV. 
 
 A View of the Peruvian Camp, with a distant l> iew of a Peruvian village. 
 Trees growing from a rocky Eminence on one Side — Alarms continue. 
 
 Enter an Old blind Man and a Boy 
 
 0. Man. Have none returned to the camp ? 
 
 Boy. One messenger alone. From the temple they all marched to 
 meet the foe. 
 
 O. Man. Hark ! I hear the din of battle. O ! 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 ! 
 
 O. Man. He will do his duty. I am more anxious for thee, my 
 child. 
 
 Boy. I can stay with you, dear grandfather. 
 
 O. 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. 
 
 O. Man. Poor child ! you little know the hearts of these inhuman 
 men. — [Discharge of cannon hear a '.] — 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 
 
 O. Man. Spaniards, boy ? 
 
 Boy. No, Peruvians ! 
 
 0. Man. How ! — and flying from the field ! — It cannot be. 
 
 Enter two Peruvian Soldiers 
 
 O speak to them, boy ! — Whence come you ? — How goes the battle r 
 Sold. We may not stop ; we are sent for the reserve behind the 
 
 hill. The day's against us. [Ej^gt Soldiers. 
 
 O. Man. Quick, then, quick ! 
 
 Boy. I see the points of lances glittering in the ligl 
 O. Man. Those are Peruvians. Do they bend this»fl 
 
4.20 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act 11 
 
 Enter a Peruvian Soldier 
 
 Boy. Soldier, 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. 
 
 O. Man. Quick, boy ! Lead me to the hill, where thou may'st 
 view the plain. [Alarms. 
 
 Enter Ataliba, wounded, with Orano, Officers, and Soldiers 
 
 Ata. 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 ! — O ! my poor brave soldiers ! — 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 Orano, 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 and Boy advance. 
 
 O. Man. Did I not hear the voice of an unfortunate ? — Who is it 
 complains thus ? 
 
 Ata. One almost by hope forsaken. 
 
 O. Man. Is the king alive ? 
 
 Ata. The king still lives. 
 
 O. Man. Then thou art not forsaken ! Ataliba protects the meanest 
 of his subjects. 
 
 Ata. And who shall protect Ataliba. 
 
 O. 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 wondrous, 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. 
 
 Boy. [Turning forward^ O, father ! — Stranger! see those hideous 
 men that rush upon us yonder ! 
 
 Ata. Ha ! Spaniards ! — And I — Ataliba — ill-fated fugitive, without 
 a sword even to try the ransom of a monarch life. 
 
 Enter Davilla, Almagro, and Spanish Soldiers 
 
 Dav. 'Tis he — our hopes are answered — I know 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. 
 
scene iv PIZARRO 421 
 
 O. 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. 
 
 O. Man. No — to the rescue of their king — they never will desert 
 him. {Alarms without. 
 
 Enter Peruvian Officers and Soldiers, flying across the stage ; Orano 
 
 following 
 
 Ora. Hold, I charge you ! Rolla calls you. 
 
 Officer. We cannot combat with their dreadful engines. 
 
 Enter Rolla 
 
 Rol. Hold! recreants! cowards! What, fear 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 surprising him ; they are yet in sight. 
 
 Rol. And bear the Inca off a prisoner ? — Hear this, ye base, disloyal 
 rout ! Look there ! The dust you see hangs on the bloody Spaniards' 
 track, dragging with ruffian taunts your king, your father — Ataliba in 
 bondage ! Now fly, and seek your own vile safety, if you can. 
 
 O. 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 Rolla 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 T 
 go — alone — to die with glory by my monarch's side ! 
 
 Soldiers. Rolla ! we'll follow thee. 
 
 [Trumpets sound; Rolla rushes out, followed by Orano, Officers, 
 and Soldiers. 
 
 O. Man. O godlike Rolla ! — And thou Sun, send from thy clouds 
 avenging lightning to his aid ! — Haste, my boy j 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.] — O — now I see them — now — yes — and 
 the Spaniards turning by the steep. 
 
 O. 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. 
 
422 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act 11 
 
 O. Man. Yes, fire is the weapon of those fiends. 
 Boy. The wind blows off" the smoke : they are all mixed together. 
 O. Man. Seest thou the king ? 
 
 Boy. Yes — Rolla is near him ! — His sword sheds fire as he strikes ! 
 O. Man. Bless thee, Rolla ! Spare not the monsters. 
 Boy. Father ! father ! the Spaniards fly ! — O — now I see the king 
 embracing Rolla. 
 
 [Wavi)ig his cap for joy. Shouts of victory, flourish of trumpets, 
 etc. 
 O. Man. [Falls on his knees.] Fountain of life ! how can my 
 exhausted breath bear to thee thanks for this one moment of my life ! 
 
 My boy, come down, and let me kiss thee — my strength is gone ! 
 
 [The Boy having run to the Old Man. 
 
 Boy. Let me help you, father — You tremble so- 
 
 O. Man. 'Tis with transport, boy ! [Boy leads the Old Man off. 
 
 Shouts, Flourish, etc. 
 
 Enter Ataliba, Rolla, and Peruvian Officers and Soldiers 
 
 Ata. In the name of my people, the saviour of whose sovereign you 
 have this day been, accept this emblem of his gratitude. — [Giving 
 Rolla his sun of diamonds?^ — 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 f 
 
 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. 
 
 zd Sold. Trust me, I beheld him up again and fighting — 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- — out 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, are scattered about the 
 scene in groups — They sing alternately stanzas expressive of their 
 situation, with a Chorus, in which all join. 
 
 \st Peruv. Worn. Zuluga, seest thou nothing yet ? 
 
 Zul. Yes, two Peruvian soldiers — one on the hill, the other enter- 
 ing the thicket in the vale. 
 
 zd Peruv. 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. 
 1st Worn. Oh ! whither must we fly? 
 zd Worn. Deeper into the forest. 
 Cora. I shall not move. 
 
 Another Peruvian Soldier. [Without ?{ Victory! victory! — [He 
 enters hastily^] — Rejoice ! rejoice ! We are victorious ! 
 
 Worn. [Springing up.] Welcome ! welcome, thou messenger of 
 joy ; but the king ! 
 
 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. 
 
 The Warriors enter singing the Song of Victory, in which all join. 
 
 T/:e King and Rolla follow, and are met with rapturous and 
 
 affectionate respect. Cora, during this scene, with her Child in her 
 
 arms, runs through the ranks searching and inquiring for Alonzo.] 
 
 Ata. Thanks, thanks, my children ! I am well : believe it ; the 
 
 blood once stopped, my wound was nothing. — [Cora at length approaches 
 
 Rolla, who appears to have been mournfully avoiding her.] — Where is 
 
 Alonzo ? [Rolla turns away in silence. 
 
424 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act hi 
 
 Cora. [Falling at the King's feet.] Give me my husband ; give this 
 child his father. 
 
 Ata. I grieve that Alonzo is not here. 
 
 Cora. Hoped you to find him ? 
 
 Ata. Most anxiously. 
 
 Cora. Ataliba ! is he not dead ? 
 
 Ata. No ! the gods will have heard our prayers. 
 
 Cora. Is he not dead, Ataliba ? 
 
 Ata. He lives — in my heart. 
 
 Cora. Oh, king ! torture me not thus ! speak out, is this child 
 fatherless ? 
 
 Ata. Dearest Cora ! do not thus dash aside the little hope that 
 still remains. 
 
 Cora. The little hope ! yet still there is hope ! 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 for that word ! But snatch me 
 from this terrible suspense. 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 ! for Alonzo's ransom — our gold, our gems ! — 
 
 all ! all ! Here, dear Cora, — here ! Here ! 
 
 [The Peruvian Women eagerly tear off all tkeir ornaments, and 
 run and take them from their children, to offer them to Cora. 
 
 Ala. Yes, for Alonzo's ransom they would give all ! — I thank 
 thee, Father, who hast 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 omnes. 
 
scene ii PIZARRO 425 
 
 SCENE II. 
 
 The Wood 
 
 Enter Cora and Child 
 Cora. Mild innocence, what will become of thee ? 
 
 Enter Roll a 
 
 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 
 
 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 ? Oh, 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 ot 
 my Alonzo ! — now hear mine. — Sooner shall chic 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 ! 
 
426 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act hi 
 
 Rol. Yet call me what I am — thy friend, thy protector ! 
 
 Cora. [Distractedly], Away ! I have no protector but my God ! — 
 With this child in my arms will I hasten to 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 remain 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 me 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 passport through the world. Yes, yes, my son, we'll go 
 and seek thy father. [Exit zvith the Child. 
 
 Rol. [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 ! [Exit. 
 
 SCENE III. 
 
 Pizarro's Tent 
 
 Pizarro, traversing the scene in gloomy and furious agitation 
 
 Well, capricious idol, Fortune, be my ruin 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 ? 
 
 Eh. 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 — not thyself. 
 
 Piz. Wouldst 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 that 
 follows the departed storm ; still and sullen as the awful pause that 
 precedes Nature's convulsion : yet I would have thee feel assured that 
 
scene in PIZARRO 427 
 
 a new morning shall arise, when the warrior's spirit shall stalk forth — 
 nor fear the future, nor lament the past. 
 
 Piz. Woman ! Elvira ! — Why had not all my men hearts like 
 thine ? 
 
 Eh. 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. 
 
 Eh. Pizarro, I am come to probe the hero farther : not now his 
 courage, but his magnanimity — Alonzo is your prisoner. 
 
 Piz. How ! 
 
 Eh. '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 ! 
 
 Eh. Pizarro, this is savage and unmanly triumph. Believe me, you 
 raise impatience in my mind to see the man whose valour and whose 
 genius awe Pizarro ; whose misfortunes are Pizarro's triumph ; whose 
 bondage is Pizarro's safety. 
 
 Piz. Guard ! — [Enter Guard.} — Drag here the Spanish prisoner, 
 Alonzo ! — Ouick, bring the traitor here. [Exit Guard. 
 
 Eh. What shall be his fate ? 
 
 Piz. Death ! death ! in lingering torments ! protracted to the last 
 stretch that burning vengeance can devise and fainting life sustain. 
 
 Eh. 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. 
 
 Eh. 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 ? 
 
 Eh. His fate! — nothing! — thy glory, everything ! — Think'st 
 thou I could love thee stript 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. 
 — [Alonzo is brought in, in chains, guarded. Elvira olserves him with 
 attention and admiration.} — 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 hearth} 
 
 Piz. Sarcastic boy ! 
 
 Eh. Thou art answered rightly. Why sport with the unfortunate ? 
 
 Piz. And thou art wedded too, I hear ; ay, and the father of a 
 lovely boy — the heir, no doubt, of all his father's loyalty, of all his 
 mother's faith. 
 
428 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act hi 
 
 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 1 dread thy anger. 
 
 Alon. Generous loveliness ! spare thy unavailing pity. Seek not to 
 thwart the tiger with his prey beneath 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 born 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 ? 
 
 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 ! — O ! 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 superstitions, 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 leads them to the hour of rest — this too is mine ! — And prouder 
 
scene in PIZARRO 429 
 
 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 gentle- 
 ness 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, wouldst appal 
 with fear of death a man who thinks and acts as he does ! 
 
 Piz. Daring, 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 
 act always greatly. Name not thy country's wrongs ; 'tis plain they 
 have no share in thy resentment. 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. 
 
 Alon. Thy revenge is eager, and I'm thankful for it — to me thy 
 
 haste is mercy. 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 still wilt 
 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 an enemy. 
 Pizarro, I demand not of thee virtue — I ask not from thee nobleness 
 of mind — 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 ' 
 Thou knowest I bear a mind not cast in the common mould — not 
 formed for tame sequestered love — content mid household cares to 
 
430 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act in 
 
 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 ! — 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 imposture 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, think'st 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 purposes, and aid my power. 
 
 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 born 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 ambi- 
 tion, 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 sacri- 
 fice of his is placed there, nor ever shall his worshipped 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 thine 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 
 
scene in PIZARRO 431 
 
 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 day, 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 all 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. Think'st 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. {After a pause, looking at her with an affected smile of contempt, .] 
 1 have heard thee, Elvira, and know well the noble motives which 
 inspire thee — fit 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 my- 
 self, and in the cause of innocence assumed the tone of virtue. 'Twas 
 fit 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, though undaunted ! — thou, whom yet no 
 mortal hazard has appalled ! — thou, who on Panama's brow didst make 
 alliance with the raving 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 L 
 
 A Dungeon in the Rock, near the Spanish Camp — Alonzo in Chains — A 
 Sentinel walking near the Entrance. 
 
 Alon. For the last time I 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 morn to glittering dew-drops. Then comes 
 
 my death, and in the morning of my day I 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 Providence, which in so short a span 
 made thee the instrument of wide and spreading blessings to the help- 
 less and oppressed ! — Though sinking in decrepit age, he prematurely 
 falls whose memory records no benefit conferred by him on man. 
 They only have lived long who have lived virtuously. 
 
 Enter a Soldier, shows the Sentinel a passport, who withdraws 
 
 Alon. What bear you there ? 
 
 Sold. These refreshments I was ordered to leave in your dungeon. 
 
 Alon. 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 glimmer- 
 ing 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 ! 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. 
 
 [Enters the cavern. 
 
 Sent. Who's there ? answer quickly ! who's there ? 
 
 Rol. A friar, come to visit your prisoner. 
 
scene i PIZARRO 433 
 
 Rolla enters, disguised as a monk 
 
 Rol. Inform me, friend — is not Alonzo, the Spanish prisoner, con- 
 fined in this dungeon ? 
 
 Sent. He is. 
 
 Rol. I must speak with him. 
 
 Sent. You must not. 
 
 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 you 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, lively 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 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 — 
 
 2 F 
 
434 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act iv 
 
 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 pennons 
 borne, the blood-stained vulture cleaves the storm — yet is the plumage 
 closest to her heart 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 ! 
 
 Alon. 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. 
 
 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 dead 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 
 
 Rol. Will remain here in thy place. 
 
 Alon. And die for me ! — No ! — Rather eternal tortures rack me. 
 
 Rol. I shall not die, Alonzo. — It is thy life 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 ! — go ! — to save — not thy- 
 self — but Cora and thy child ! 
 
 Alon. Urge me not thus, my friend — I had prepared to die in 
 peace. 
 
 Rol. To die in peace ! — devoting her you've sworn to live for — to 
 madness, misery, and death i — For, be assured, the state I left her in 
 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 
 shrunk 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 ! — you distract me ! 
 
 Rol. A moment's further pause, and all is lost. — The dawn 
 approaches. — Fear not for me — I will treat with Pizarro as for sur- 
 render and submission ; — I shall gain time, doubt not — while thou, 
 with a chosen band, passing the secret way, mayst at night return — 
 release thy friend, and bear him back in triumph. — Yes — hasten — dear 
 
scene i PIZARRO 435 
 
 Alonzo ! — Even now I hear the frantic Cora call thee! — Haste! — 
 haste ! — haste ! 
 
 Alon. Rolla, I fear your friendship drives me from honour and 
 from right. 
 
 Rol. Did Rolla ever counsel dishonour to his friend ? 
 
 Alon. 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 ! — con- 
 ceal thy face ; and that they may not clank, hold fast thy chains. — 
 Now — God be with thee ! 
 
 Alon. At night we meet again. — Then, — so aid me Heaven ! I 
 return to save — or — perish with thee ! [Exit. 
 
 Rol. [Alone.] 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 life I ever deceived 
 man. — Forgive me, God of truth ! if I am wrong. — Alonzo flatters 
 himself that we shall meet again. — Yes — there ! [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 recess. 
 
 Enter Elvira 
 
 Eh. No — not Pizarro's brutal taunts — not the glowing admiration 
 which I feel for this noble youth, shall 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 his Cora's arms, 
 to his dear child, and to the unoffending people whom his virtues 
 guide and valour guards. — Alonzo, come forth ! 
 
 Enter Rolla 
 
 Ha ! — Who art thou ? — Where is Alonzo ? 
 
 Rol. Alonzo's fled. 
 
 Eh. Fled! 
 
 Rol. Yes — and he must not be pursued. — Pardon this roughness, 
 [seizing her hand] — but a moment's precious to Alonzo's flight. 
 
 Eh. What if I call the guard? 
 
 Rol. Do so — Alonzo still gains time. 
 
 Eh. 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. 
 
 Eh. Release me — I give my faith, I neither will alarm the guard 
 nor cause pursuit. 
 
 Rol. At once I trust thy word. — A feeling boldness in those eyes 
 assures me that thy soul is noble. 
 
436 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act iv 
 
 Elv. What is thy name ? Speak freely. — 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 Spaniard's captive. 
 
 Elv. And friendship for Alonzo moved thee to this act ? 
 
 Rol. Alonzo is my friend. — I 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 
 
 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 desolated 
 thy afflicted country. 
 
 Rol. Have you not been injured by Pizarro ? 
 
 Elv. Deeply as scorn and insult can infuse their deadly venom. 
 
 Rol. And you ask that I shall murder him in his sleep ! 
 
 Elv. Would he not have murdered Alonzo in 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 neces- 
 sity — you must strike down the guard. 
 
 Rol. The soldier who was on duty here ? 
 
 Elv. Yes, him — else, seeing thee, the alarm will be instant. 
 
 Rol. And I must stab that soldier as I pass ? — Take back thy dagger. 
 
 Elv. Rolla! 
 
scene ii PIZARRO 437 
 
 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 ! 
 
 Eh. Then he must with us — I will answer for his safety. 
 
 Rol. Be that plainly understood between us : — for, whate'er betide 
 our enterprise, I will not risk a hair of that man's head to save my 
 heart-strings from consuming fire. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. 
 
 The Inside of Pizarro 1 s Tent. 
 Pizarro on a Couch, in disturbed sleep 
 
 Piz. [In his sleep.} No mercy, traitor. — Now at his heart ! — Stand 
 off there, you. — 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 ! 
 
 Eh. I will withdraw the guard that waits. [Exit Elvira. 
 
 Rol. Now have I in my power the accursed destroyer of my 
 country's peace : yet tranquilly he rests — God ! — can this man sleep ? 
 
 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 your power i 
 
438 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act iv 
 
 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 again aside as in irresolute thought. 
 
 Re-enter Elvira [not seeing Pizarro] 
 
 Eh. Is it done ? Is he dead ? [Sees Pizarro.] How ! — still 
 living ! Then I am lost ! And for you, wretched Peruvians ! mercy 
 is no more ! — Oh ! Rolla ! treacherous or cowardly ? 
 
 Piz. How can it be, that — 
 
 Rol. Away ! Elvira speaks she knows not what ! Leave me — 
 [to Elvira] — I conjure you, with Pizarro. 
 
 Eh. 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. 
 
 Eh. 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. 
 
 Eh. Touch me not, at the peril of your souls ; — I am your 
 prisoner, and will follow you. — But thou, their triumphant leader, shalt 
 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 the spell-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 
 
scene ii PIZARRO 439 
 
 in whom I most confided — till my distempered fancy led me, step by 
 step, into the abyss of guilt 
 
 Piz. Why am I not obeyed ? — 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. 
 
 E z'. 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 1 
 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. [Endeavouring to conceal his agitation.'] 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 ! — 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 ear the curses 
 of the cloistered saint from whom you stole 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 
 past. — 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 will 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 
 
4-40 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act iv 
 
 this fury — O ! 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 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 yourself, be resolute, and the virtuous 
 impulse must be the victor. 
 
 Piz. Peruvian ! thou shalt not find me to thee ungrateful or un- 
 generous. — Return to your countrymen. — You are at liberty. 
 
 Rol. 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. 
 
 Rol. Farewell. — Pity Elvira ! — 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 thick Forest — In the back Ground, a Hut almost covered by Boughs of 
 Trees — A dreadful Storm, with Thunder and Lightning — Cora has 
 covered her Child on a Bed of Leaves and Moss — Her whole appear- 
 ance is wild and distracted. 
 
 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 — when faint beneath thy lovely burden, 
 could I refuse to give thy slumbers that poor bed of rest ! O 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, unpi tying 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. 
 
 Song 
 
 Yes, yes, be merciless, thou Tempest dire ; 
 
 Unaw'd, unshelter'd, I thy fury brave : 
 I'll bare my bo3om to thy forked fire, 
 
 Let it but guide me to Alonzo's grave ! 
 
 O'er his pale corse then while thy lightnings glare, 
 I'll press his clay-cold lips, and perish thc;re. 
 
 But thou wilt wake again, my boy, 
 Again thou'lt rise to life and joy — 
 
 Thy father never ! 
 
 Thy laughing eyes will meet the light, 
 
 iconscious that eternal night 
 
 Veils his for ever. 
 
 On yon green be<i 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 hi an. 
 
 Alas ! my babe, if thou wouldst peaceful rest, 
 Thy cradle must not be thy mother's breast. 
 
442 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act v 
 
 Yet, 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. 
 
 [ 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 at a great distance. 
 Alon. Cora ! 
 Cora. Ha ! [Rises.] 
 Alon. [Again.] Cora ! 
 
 Cora. O, my heart ! Sweet Heaven, deceive me not ! — Is it not 
 Alonzo's voice ? 
 
 Alon. [Nearer.] Cora! 
 Cora. It is — it is Alonzo ! 
 
 Alon. [Nearer stilly Cora ! my beloved ! 
 
 Cora. Alonzo ! — Here ! — here ! — Alonzo ! [Runs out. 
 
 Enter two Spanish Soldiers 
 
 1st Sold. I tell you we are near our out-posts, and the word we 
 heard just now was the countersign. 
 
 zd 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. 
 
 id Sold. 'Tis a sweet little babe. Now would it be a great charity 
 to take this infant from its pagan mother's power. 
 
 1st Sold. It would so — I have one at home shall play with it. — 
 Come along. [Takes the Child. Exeunt. 
 
 Re-enter Cora with Alonzo 
 
 Cora. [Speaking without.] This way, dear Alonzo. Now am 1 
 right — there — there — under that tree. Was it possible the instinct of 
 a mother's heart could mistake the spot ? Now will you 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 slumber, blushing like the perfumed morn. 
 
 [She runs up to the spot, and finding only the mantle and veil, 
 which she tears from the ground, and the Child gone, shrieks, 
 and stands in speechless agony.] 
 
scene i PIZARRO 443 
 
 Alon. [Running to /:er.] Cora ! — my heart's beloved ! 
 
 Cora. He is gone ! 
 
 Alon. Eternal God ! 
 
 Cora. He is gone ! — my child ! my child ! 
 
 Alon. Where did you 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, exclaiming] Give me back my child — 
 restore to me my boy ! 
 
 Enter Las-Casas from the Hut 
 
 Las-Cas. Who calls me from my wretched solitude ? 
 
 Cora. Give me back my child ! [Goes into the Hut, and calls] 
 Fernando ! 
 
 Alon. Almighty powers ! do my eyes deceive me ? Las-Casas ! 
 
 Las-Cas. Alonzo, my beloved young friend ! 
 
 Alon. My revered instructor ! [Embracing. 
 
 Cora [Returned.] Will you embrace this man before he restores 
 my boy ? 
 
 Alon. Alas ! my friend — in what a moment of misery do we meet ! 
 
 Cora. Yet 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's 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 ? 
 
 Alon. She is my wife. — Just rescued from the Spaniards' prison, 
 I 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. 
 
 Las-Cas. How ! did you leave him ? — [Cora returns. 
 
 Cora. O, 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. 
 
 Alon. Forgive me, Las-Casas, I must follow her ; for at night I 
 attempt brave Rolla'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. [Exeunt. 
 
444 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act v 
 
 SCENE II. 
 
 The Out-post of the Spanish Camp — The back-ground wild and rocky, 
 with a Torrent falling down the Precipice, over which a Bridge is 
 formed by a felled Tree — Trumpets sound without. 
 
 Almagro. [Without. .] Bear him along — his story must be false. 
 
 [Entering. 
 
 Rolla, in Chains, brought in by Soldiers 
 
 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 un- 
 shackled 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. O ! to thy surprise, no doubt. 
 
 Piz. And bound too ! 
 
 Rol. So fast, thou need'st not fear approaching me. 
 
 Aim. The guards surprised him passing our out-post. 
 
 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 Peruvian 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. 
 
 Rol. And shall I not again be intercepted? 
 
 Piz. No ! — let the word be given that Rolla passes freely. 
 
 Enter Davilla and Soldiers, with the Child 
 
 Dav. Here are two soldiers, captived yesterday, who have escaped 
 from 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. 
 
scene ii PIZARRO 445 
 
 Rol. Gracious heavens ! it is Alonzo's child ! — give it to me. 
 
 Piz. Ha ! Alonzo's 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 — think'st 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 you. 
 
 Piz. My vengeance has a long arrearof hate to settle with Alonzo ! 
 — and this pledge may help to settle the account. 
 
 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 hast 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 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 
 you — prostrate I implore you — but spare that child, and I will be your 
 slave. 
 
 Piz. Rolla ! still art thou free to go — this boy remains with me. 
 
 Rol. Then was this sword Heaven's gift, not thine ! [Seizes the 
 Chili/.] — Who moves one step to follow me dies upon the spot. 
 
 [Exit, with the Child. 
 
 Piz. Pursue him instantly — but spare his life. [Exeunt Almagro 
 and Soldiers.] With what fury he defends himself! — Ha! — he fells 
 them to the ground — and now 
 
 Enter Almagro 
 
 Aim. Three of your brave soldiers are already victims to your 
 command to spare this madman's life ; and if he once gains the 
 thicket 
 
 Piz. Spare him no longer. [Exit Almagro.] Their guns must 
 reach him — he'll yet escape — 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 — Pizarro 
 
 exclaims 
 
 Piz. Now ! quick ! quick ! seize the child ! — 
 
 [Rolla tears from the rock the tree which supports the bridge, and 
 retreats by the back-gro:/;:d, bearing off tie Child.] 
 
+ 4 6 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act v 
 
 Re-enter Almagro 
 
 Aim. By hell ! he has escaped ! — and with the child unhurt. 
 
 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 ! To whom, but to her king, 
 is the wretched mother to address her griefs ? — The gods refuse to hear 
 my prayers ! Did not my Alonzo fight for you ? — And will not my 
 sweet boy, if thou'lt but restore him to me, one day fight thy battles 
 too? 
 
 Alon. Oh ! my suffering love — my poor heart-broken Cora ! — you 
 but wound our sovereign's feeling soul, and not relieve thy own. 
 
 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. 
 
 {Voices behind^ Rolla ! Rolla ! Rolla ! 
 
 Enter Rolla, bleeding, with the Child, followed by Peruvian Soldiers 
 
 Rol. Thy child ! [Gives the Child into Cora's arms, and falls 
 
 Cora. Oh, God ! — there's blood upon him ! 
 
scene iv PIZARRO 447 
 
 Rot. '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 ! — Swords be quick ! — Your wives and 
 children cry to you. — Bear our loved hero's body 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 romantic part of the Recess among the Rocks — Alarms — Women are seen 
 flying, pursued by the Spanish Soldiers — The Peruvian Soldiers drive 
 the Spaniards back from the Field — The Fight is continued on the 
 Heights. 
 
 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 ? 
 
 Enter Alonzo, Orano, and Peruvians 
 
 Alon. Alonzo answers thee, and Alonzo's sword shall speak for 
 Rolla. 
 
 Piz. Thou know'st the advantage of thy numbers. — Thou dar'st 
 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.] 
 Piz. 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.] 
 
 Ataliba enters, and embraces Alonzo 
 
 Ata. My brave 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. 
 Alon. Fear not, you are safe. [Spaniards lay down their arms. 
 
 Elv. Valverde speaks the truth ; — nor could he think to meet me 
 
448 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS act v 
 
 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. 
 Humbled 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, my soul shall dare address the throne of mercy in behalf of 
 others, — for thee, Alonzo — for thy Cora, and thy child, — for thee, thou 
 virtuous monarch, and the innocent race you reign over, shall Elvira's 
 prayers address the God of nature. Valverde, you have preserved 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. 
 
 [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 — On a signal from Alonzo, flourish of music. 
 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 Rolla'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 — In 
 the looks of the King, and of all present, the triumph of the day is 
 lost in mourning for the fallen hero. 
 
 [The curtain slowly descends 
 
EPILOGUE 
 
 WRITTEN BY THE HON. WILLIAM LAMB 
 Spoken by Mrs. Jordan 
 
 Ere yet Suspense has still'd it's throbbing fear, 
 
 Or Melancholy wiped the grateful tear, 
 
 While e'en the miseries of a sinking state, 
 
 A monarch's danger, and a nation's fate, 
 
 Command not now your eyes with grief to flow. 
 
 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 imprest, 
 
 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. 
 
 O 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, 
 2 G 
 
450 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 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 : 
 
 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 prest 
 
 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 — Oh ! be its will obey'd ! 
 
 'Tis Valour's impulse, and 'tis Virtue's aid — 
 
 It prompts to all Benevolence admires, 
 
 To all that heav'nly Piety inspires, 
 
 To all that Praise repeats through lengthen'd years, 
 
 That Honour sanctifies, and Time reveres. 
 
VERSES 
 
 TO THE 
 
 MEMORY OF GARRICK 
 
 SPOKEN AS A MONODY, AT THE THEATRE ROYAL 
 IN DRURY LANE 
 
 2 G 2 
 
TO 
 
 THE RIGHT HONOURABLE 
 
 COUNTESS SPENCER, 
 
 WHOSE APPROBATION AND ESTEEM WERE JUSTLY 
 CONSIDERED BY 
 
 MR. GARRICK 
 
 AS THE HIGHEST PANEGYRIC 
 
 HIS TALENTS OR CONDUCT COULD ACQUIRE, 
 
 THIS IMPERFECT TRIBUTE TO HIS 
 
 MEMORY 
 
 IS, WITH GREAT DEFERENCE, INSCRIBED 
 
 BY HER LADYSHIP'S MOST OBEDIENT 
 
 HUMBLE SERVANT, 
 
 RICHARD BRINSLEY SHERIDAN. 
 
 Map.ch 25TH, 1779. 
 
VERSES 
 
 TO THE 
 
 MEMORY OF GARRICK 
 
 If dying excellence deserves a tear, 
 
 if fond remembrance still is cherish'd here, 
 
 Can we persist to bid your sorrows flow 
 
 For fabled suff'rers and delusive woe ? 
 
 Or with quaint smiles dismiss the plaintive strain, 
 
 Point the quick jest — indulge the comic vein — 
 
 Ere yet to buried Roscius we assign 
 
 One kind regret — one tributary line ! 
 
 His fame requires we act a tenderer part : — 
 His memory claims the tear you gave his art ! 
 
 The general voice, the meed of mournful verse, 
 The splendid sorrows that adorn'd his hearse, 
 The throng that mourn'd as their dead favourite pass'd, 
 The graced respect that claim'd him to the last, 
 While Shakespeare's image from its hallow'd base 
 Seem'd to prescribe the grave, and point the place, — ■ 
 Nor these, — nor all the sad regrets that flow 
 From fond fidelity's domestic woe, — 
 So much are Garrick's praise — so much his due — 
 As on this spot — one tear bestow'd by you. 
 
 Amid the arts which seek ingenuous fame, 
 Our toil attempts the most precarious claim ! 
 To him, whose mimic pencil wins the prize, 
 Obedient Fame immortal wreaths supplies : 
 Whate'er of wonder Reynolds now may raise, 
 Raphael still boasts cotemporary praise : 
 Each dazzling-light and gaudier bloom subdued, 
 With undiminish'd awe his works are view'd : 
 E'en Beauty's portrait wears a softer prime, 
 Touch'd by the tender hand of mellowing Time. 
 
 The patient Sculptor owns an humbler part, 
 A ruder toil, and more mechanic art ; 
 
454 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS 
 
 Content with slow and timorous stroke to trace 
 The lingering line, and mould the tardy grace : 
 But once achieved — though barbarous wreck o'erthrow 
 The sacred fane, and lay its glories low, 
 Yet shall the sculptured ruin rise to-day, 
 Graced by defect, and worshipp'd in decay ; 
 Th' enduring record bears the artist's name, 
 Demands his honours, and asserts his fame. 
 
 Superior hopes the Poet's bosom fire ; 
 O proud distinction of the sacred lyre ! 
 Wide as th' inspiring Phcebus darts his ray, 
 Diffusive splendour gilds his votary's lay. 
 Whether the song heroic woes rehearse, 
 With epic grandeur and the pomp of verse ; 
 Or, fondly gay, unambitious guile, 
 Attempt no prize but favouring beauty's smile ; 
 Or bear dejected to the lonely grove 
 The soft despair of unprevailing love, — 
 Whate'er the theme — through every age and clime 
 Congenial passions meet th' according rhyme ; 
 The pride of glory — pity's sigh sincere — 
 Youth's earliest blush — and beauty's virgin tear. 
 
 Such is their meed — their honours thus secure, 
 Whose arts yield objects, and whose works endure. 
 The Actor, only, shrinks from time's award ; 
 Feeble tradition is his memory's guard ; 
 By whose faint breath his merits must abide, 
 Unvouch'd by proof — to substance unallied ! 
 E'en matchless Garrick's art, to heav'n resign'd, 
 No fix'd effect, no model leaves behind ! 
 
 The grace of action — the adapted mien, 
 Faithful as nature to the varied scene ; 
 Th' expressive glance — whose subtle comment draws 
 Entranced attention and a mute applause ; 
 Gesture that marks, with force and feeling fraught, 
 A sense in silence, and a will in thought ; 
 Harmonious speech, whose pure and liquid tone 
 Gives verse a music, scarce confess'd its own ; 
 As light from gems assumes a brighter ray, 
 And clothed with orient hues, transcends the day ! — 
 Passion's wild break — and frown that awes the sense, 
 And every charm of gentler eloquence — 
 All perishable ! — like th' electric fire, 
 But strike the frame — and as they strike expire ; 
 Incense too pure a bodied flame to bear, 
 Its fragrance charms the sense and blends the air. 
 
 Where then — while sunk in cold decay he lies, 
 And pale eclipse for ever veils those eyes — 
 
VERSES TO THE MEMORY OF GARRICK 455 
 
 Where is the blest memorial that ensures 
 
 Our Garrick's fame ? — whose is the trust ? — 'Tis yours, 
 
 And O ! by every charm his art essay'd 
 To sooth your cares ! — by every grief allay'd ! 
 By the hush'd wonder which his accents drew ! 
 By his last parting tear, repaid by you ! 
 By all those thoughts, which many a distant night 
 Shall mark his memory with a sad delight ! — 
 Still in your hearts' dear record bear his name ; 
 Cherish the keen regret that lifts his fame ; 
 To you it is bequeath'd, — assert the trust, 
 And to his worth — 'tis all you can — be just. 
 
 What more is due from sanctifying Time, 
 To cheerful wit, and many a favour'd rhyme, 
 O'er his graced urn shall bloom a deathless wreath, 
 Whose blossom'd sweets shall deck the mask beneath. 
 For these, — when Sculpture's votive toil shall rear 
 The due memorial of a loss so dear — 
 O loveliest mourner, gentle Muse ! be thine 
 The pleasing woe to guard the laurell'd shrine, 
 As Fancy, oft by Superstition led 
 To roam the mansions of the sainted dead, 
 Has view'd, by shadowy eve's unfaithful gloom, 
 A weeping cherub on a martyr's tomb — 
 So thou, sweet Muse, hang o'er his sculptured bier, 
 With patient woe, that loves the lingering tear ; 
 With thoughts that mourn — nor yet desire relief; 
 With meek regret, and fond enduring grief; 
 With looks that speak — He never shall return ! — 
 Chilling thy tender bosom, clasp his urn ; 
 And with soft sighs disperse th' irreverend dust 
 Which Time may strew upon his sacred bust. 
 
 Printed by R. & R. Clark, Limited, Edinburgh. 
 

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